M. de Vaublanc, in his “Memoirs,” relates the following circumstance:—
“A nobleman, named M. de Chateaubrun, having been condemned to death by the revolutionary tribunal, had been placed on the fatal tumbril and taken to the Place de la Revolution, to be put to death. After the ‘Terror’ he was met by a friend, who gave a cry of surprise; and, scarcely able to believe the evidence of his senses, asked De Chateaubrun, to explain the mystery of his appearance. The explanation was given, and I heard it from his friend.
“He was taken away with twenty other unhappy victims. ‘After twelve or fifteen executions,’ he said, ‘one part of the horrible instrument broke, and a workman was sent for to mend it. M. de Chateaubrun was, with the other victims, near the scaffold, with his hands tied behind his back. The repairing took a long time. The day began to darken; the great crowd of spectators were far more intent on watching the repairing of the guillotine than on looking at the victims who were to die; and all, even the gendarmes themselves, had their eyes fixed on the scaffold. Resigned, but very weak, the condemned man leant, without meaning it, on those behind him; and they, pressed by the weight of his body, mechanically made way for him, till gradually, and by no effort of his own, he came to the last ranks of the crowd. The instrument once repaired, the executions began again, and they hurried to the end. A dark night concealed both executioners and spectators. Led on by the crowd, De Chateaubrun was at first amazed at his situation, but soon conceived the hope of escaping. He went to the Champs Elysées and there, addressing a man who looked like a workman, he told him, laughingly, that some comrades with whom he had been joking had tied his hands behind his back, and taken his hat, telling him to go and look for it. He begged the man to cut the cords, and the workman pulled out a knife and did so, laughing all the while at the joke. M. de Chateaubrun then proposed going into one of the small wineshops in the Champs Elysées. During a slight repast he seemed to be expecting his comrades to bring back his hat; and seeing nothing of them, he begged his guest to carry a note to some friend, whom he knew would lend him one, for he could not go bareheaded through the streets. He added that his friend would bring him some money, for his comrades, in fun, had taken away his purse. The poor man believed every word M. de Chateaubrun told him, took the note, and returned in half an hour, accompanied by the friend, who embraced Chateaubrun, and gave him all the help he required.’"—(Memoirs of M. de Vaublanc.)
SYDNEY SMITH.
1797.
Commodore William Sydney Smith, afterwards admiral, had been made prisoner at the mouth of the Seine, where he had ventured in his frigate, then stationed at Havre. This enterprise seemed so daring that the English sailor was suspected of having wished to favour a royalist attempt, and of being a dangerous spy. The suspicions as to the nature of his mission seemed confirmed by the fact that his secretary was an exile, named De Trommelin, who had been with him a long time, in the hopes of being in some way useful
to the royal cause. If the nationality of this man had been recognised, he would have been instantly put to death, according to the law then existing in France; but the commodore passed him as his servant. In vain England begged the exchange of Sydney Smith; the Directory refused, knowing how dangerous an enemy to France he was. Imprisoned at the Abbaye, then at the Temple, he was more than once on the point of escaping, in spite of the vigilance of the police. Several ladies, as well as Trommelin, attempted to aid him at various periods. Trommelin’s wife—who could, at least, invoke duty as the motive of her conduct—came to Paris, and hired a house near the Temple. A mason was bribed to open a communication between this house and the Temple, by way of the cellar, and everything seemed sure of success, when the fall of a few stones gave the alarm. The prisoners were more strictly watched than ever. In a short time Trommelin, having a better fate than a man deserves who carries arms against his country, was exchanged; but Sydney Smith was obliged to forego that advantage. After the 18th Fructidor, he was still more rigorously treated; but the moment of his freedom was drawing nigh.