This Day in History

January 21, 1793

:

Louis XVI Guillotined 

 

Below is the continuation of last week's post, "Louis XVI Condemned." It comes from our text, Light to the Nations II: The Making of the Modern World. For ordering information on Light to the Nations II and our other books, please click here.

Louis XVI in the Tower of the Temple

It was Malesherbes who first reported the Convention's decision to the king. Louis received the news with great calm. Only Malesherbes' distress seemed to affect him. He sought to comfort the old man, who had once served him as a minister of state; but, said the king, "For myself, death does not frighten me; I have the greatest confidence in the mercy of God."

  

Later that Sunday, January 20, an official delegation of the Convention -- led by the minister of justice, Dominique Joseph Garat -- formally informed the king that he was to die. They, too, were impressed by the king's demeanor as he received the news; he seemed calm and at peace with his fate. Quel homme! Quelle résignation! Quel courage! ("What a man! What resignation! What courage!") said Minister Garat of the king.

  

Imprisonment and suffering had seemed to transform Louis XVI. The dull, weakwilled, and imprudent man had now truly become a king. He commanded himself. Moreover, he gave no thought to himself but to the comfort of his loved ones who shared his durance. Over the weeks and months of their imprisonment, the royal family had suffered insult and many small cruelties from their guards. The king was never allowed to speak to anyone, not even to his wife, without the presence of a guard. When the royal family walked in the gardens of the Temple fortress, they endured the mockery of their captors. Yet Louis's response was to forgive. "I pardon very willingly those who have been my guards for the ill treatment and cruelty which they have thought fit to use towards me," he wrote in his will on Christmas Day.

The Abbé Henry Edgeworth

For weeks, since the beginning of his trial, the king had been forbidden to see his family -- the queen, Marie Antoinette; his son, the Dauphin Louis-Charles; his daughter; and Madame Elizabeth, his sister. Now, on the day before his execution, Louis with firm hand wrote a note to his captors, asking that he be able to speak with his family, in private, for the last time. But this was not his only request. He asked to be granted three days more of life "to permit me to appear before the presence of God." To aid him in this task, the king requested the presence of his confessor, the Abbé Henry Edgeworth.

 

The Convention deputies would not postpone the execution, but they did allow Louis his other requests. About 8 p.m. on that cold Sunday in January 1793, the heavy oaken door of the king's cell opened to admit the royal family. Marie Antoinette, Madame Elizabeth, and the children threw themselves into the king's arms; their cries were so piercing that they could be heard in the courtyard outside the tower. Gathering his family about him, the king spoke with them for two hours. Taking his son (a mere boy, but the heir to the throne) between his knees, Louis bade him never to take revenge for what he was about to suffer. At about a quarter after 10 p.m., the interview ended. The king led the family to the door. So expressive was his adieu that the queen fell fainting at his feet. She was lifted, he embraced her again, and repeating, "Adieu! Adieu!" he reentered his chamber.

Marie Antoinette in 1793

The king had promised his wife that he would visit her once more the following morning, Monday, January 21. But this was not to be. He arose before dawn, prayed, and prepared to hear Mass. A chest of drawers was arranged as an altar in the middle of the room, and there the Abbé Edgeworth said Mass. After Mass, Louis asked that a seal be given to his son and a ring -- his wedding ring -- to his wife. But He did not wish to see his family again, for he wanted "to spare them the pain of so cruel a separation."

After 9 a.m., the king and Edgeworth entered a roomy carriage. They passed from the courtyard of the Temple and then rolled down broad boulevards, lined on both sides by ranks of soldiers and militia. Before the carriage, soldiers marched; most of them were drummers who kept up an incessant, deafening noise. Inside the carriage, the king and Edgeworth read from the Psalms. At last, after turning into the Rue Royale, they felt the carriage come to a stop. Turning to Edgeworth, Louis said in a low voice, "Unless I am mistaken, we are there."

 

They were there, the place of execution. In a large plaza before the palace of the Tuileries, the Place de la Révolution, a scaffold of wood had been erected. Rising from it vertically were two posts connected by a horizontal crossbeam, from which hung a large, keenly sharpened blade -- a guillotine. The king was to mount this scaffold and lie facedown on a wooden platform; his neck would be placed under the blade that, descending, would quickly -- and, it was thought, painlessly -- sever it.

The execution of Louis XVI

Stepping down from his carriage, the king could see the soldiers placed around the scaffold and, beyond them, a multitude. As he prepared to mount the scaffold, three executioners approached Louis to take off his coat and collar. But the king, pushing them aside, undressed himself. One executioner holding a cord then prepared to bind the king's hands. The king withdrew his hands.

"What do you want?" he cried.

 

"To bind you," said the other.

 

With regal pride Louis replied, "Bind me? Never will I consent to that. Do as you have been ordered, but think not that you will bind me."

 

The executioners now cried out for help, but Edgeworth intervened. With tears he said to the king, "Sire, in this new outrage I see only a final resemblance between Your Majesty and the Savior who is to reward you." In sorrow, then, the king turned to his executioners. "Do what you wish; I will drain the cup to the dregs," he said, and was bound.

 

As the king mounted the steep steps, supported by Edgeworth, he seemed to falter. The priest half glanced at the king, fearing Louis's courage was weakening. But then, to the priest's astonishment, upon reaching the platform, the king left him and, crossing the scaffold, gave a stern glance to fifteen or so drummers, and all fell silent. In a loud voice the king then said, "I die innocent of all the crimes imputed to me. I pardon the authors of my death, and pray God that the blood you are about to shed will never fall on France." It appeared the king would say more, but a man on horseback, sword drawn, rode up, ordering the soldiers to commence the drum roll. The king's words were drowned out. The executioners seized him, bound him to the wooden platform; and, at the command, the blade of the guillotine fell.The youngest of the executioners took hold of the king's severed head. Holding it aloft, he walked around the platform, displaying it to the crowd. At first there was silence. Then a few cries of Vive la République! ("Long live the Republic!") were heard. The cries increased as more voices joined in the praise of the Republic; finally the entire crowd, holding hats aloft in the air, was roaring the words, Vive la République! Vive la République! If they had felt even for a moment the old fear and awe (the respect paid to kings), they felt it no longer. People rushed the scaffold. They could not be held off -- indeed, the executioners seemed to welcome them (it is said they sold portions of the king's clothes and hair). The people pushed against the scaffold; they strained their hands to dip handkerchiefs and the points of pikes in the blood -- the blood of the man whom all France had once acclaimed as His Most Christian Majesty, the anointed of God.

The King's Complaint, Robespierre's Response

 

The following is a medley of two songs from the period around 1793. The one song is the "Complaint of Louis XVI of France," in which is interwoven and parody of the song.

 

  Complainte de Louis XVI aux

Français & Parodie de la complainte