Misgive, that you may not mistake.
Charlotte Corday.
There are few incidents of the French Revolution more intensely interesting than those which relate to Charlotte Corday. Paris was the scene of the most violent commotions that have ever been witnessed in civilized society. All France was agitated with the strife of parties that wrestled with each other in the capital. The hearts of men seemed to be filled with frenzy. The common bonds of society were rent asunder; new and strange ideas took possession of the minds of the people. In the midst of this excitement, and wrought up by the fever of the time, to a design beyond her sex, Charlotte Corday appeared upon the theatre of action, and arrested even the attention of the maddened populace of Paris, by her heroic self-devotion.
The triumph of the Jacobins over the rival Girondists in May, 1793, rendered their power uncontrollable. Marat was treated with more honor and respect than any individual since the revolution, and exerted a sway in the Convention and the clubs more absolute than was ever before known in bodies styled deliberative. In fact, they submitted to all his whims and caprices, and seemed to derive to themselves honor from the submission. His extravagances were more bearable from the obvious certainty that the wretch was hastening to the grave, and that nothing could save him. His constitution was never good, and at this time, he was preyed upon by a leprous complaint; which adding its ravages to his natural deformity and habitual want of personal cleanliness, rendered him a most disgusting object. But this man of blood was not destined to end his days by disease.
Of the Girondists, some were arrested and executed, others succeeded in escaping, and were outlawed. Of this latter class, a number, among them Barbaroux, he whose beauty of person and energy of mind could move the heart of the philosophic Madame Roland, had taken refuge at Caen. They held daily meetings at the town-hall, and thither frequently came Charlotte Corday, a young lady of stately figure, with an open and intelligent countenance, and about twenty-five years of age. Her deportment was modest; she was of studious and meditative habits, and was a republican before the revolution. In her visits to the town-hall, she was always attended by a servant, and her inquiry was for Barbaroux, with whom she had been long acquainted, and with whom she pretended to have business. She now heard much of the atrocities of the Terrorists; of the ferocity of Marat, who held in his hands the destiny of her country, and what was as much to her, the fate of Barbaroux. Patriotism and love both prompted her to the commission of an act, by which, at the sacrifice of her own life, she should be the savior both of her country and her friend.
A nun of Caen was desirous to obtain some family papers which were in the office of the Minister of the Interior at Paris. Charlotte offered to proceed thither to procure them, and was furnished by Barbaroux, with a letter of introduction to his friend Dupenet, who would aid her in procuring them.
On the 9th of July we find her seated in the diligence, and the details of her journey are thus given in a letter to Barbaroux.
“You requested an account of my journey, and I will not excuse you from the slightest anecdotes. I travelled with good mountaineers, whom I suffered to talk as much as they pleased, and their discourse, which was as absurd as their persons were disagreeable, contributed not a little to lull me to sleep. I was not perfectly awake till I arrived at Paris. One of my fellow travellers, who is, undoubtedly an admirer of sleepy women, took me for the daughter of one of his old friends, supposed me possessed of a fortune which I have not, gave me a name which I never heard, and, in conclusion, offered me his hand and fortune. When I was tired of his conversation, I said, ‘We are admirable comedians, what a pity that, with such talents, we have no spectators; I will go and fetch our fellow-travellers, that they may have their share of the amusement.’ I left him in a very ill humor; all night he sung plaintive songs, excellent procreatives of sleep. At length I parted with him at Paris, refusing to give him my address, or that of my father, of whom he wished to ask me in marriage.”
She delivered her letter to Dupenet, and the ostensible object of her journey was accomplished. But she said nothing of returning. She visited the Convention. Marat was not there, he was confined to his house by sickness. She proceeded thither, but was refused admittance.