THE GUILLOTINE
Showing the mode of execution in France. A facsimile with wax models now in the Tussaud collection.
On that terrible day, the 10th of August, 1792, when the Swiss Guard was cut to pieces in defending the Tuileries, several of these brave soldiers had their heads stuck upon pikes and exhibited to the mob. The Royalist writer, Suleau, suffered the same fate.
How far had Madame Tussaud been implicated in the accomplishment of the dreadful work of taking casts from decapitated heads?
It was during the autumn of 1789 that Christopher Curtius (who had by this time adopted Marie as his daughter) insisted upon her withdrawing from the service of Madame Elizabeth, to whom she had, with every reason, become devotedly attached. For Curtius had, at the outset of the disturbances in Paris, espoused the cause of the people, and, as an adroit and far-seeing man, had become anxious for his adopted daughter’s safety.
He, without doubt, desired she should return under his own roof to derive the benefit of his protection. So it is that we find Marie in her uncle’s studio adjoining his Exhibition, and where that gruesome work was so soon to be undertaken.
Now during the year 1793 Curtius had been drawn into the service of the National Convention, and on several occasions had to quit Paris for many days at a time, leaving Marie and her mother to do the best they could with the Exhibition during his absence. He was at this time “Envoy Extraordinary of the Republic and War Commissary at Mayence.” On the last occasion of his quitting the capital his absence extended over a period of fully eighteen months.
Meanwhile heads were falling fast, and no one knew how long his own would repose upon his shoulders. Then it was that Marie suffered the terrible experience of having to take the impressions of so many heads that were brought to her from the guillotine. We have it from her own mouth that it was a task with which she dared not hesitate to comply.
It must have been known to many that only a few years back she had been a member of the household of the King’s sister, Madame Elizabeth, at Versailles, and not a few of those who were near and dear to her had suffered death for a far less offence than that. But at last, as the days wore on, the Jacobins themselves fell, and the Reign of Terror gave way to the Directorate. Then easier times came, though still far from tranquil. Nevertheless heads had ceased to fall, and Sanson, the executioner, finding his occupation gone, pawned his guillotine, and got into woful trouble for alleged trafficking in municipal property.