tomed, but it often acquires a
taste for it; it soon wants to have it stronger; finally, it swallows
it pure, completely raw, with no admixture or condiment to disguise its
repulsiveness--Such, to certain imaginations, is the spectacle of human
gore; after getting accustomed to it they take delight in seeing it.
Lequinio, Laignelot and Lebon invite the executioner to dine with
them;[32157] Monestier, "with his cut-throats, is going himself in
search of prisoners in the dungeons, so that he may accompany them to
the Tribunal and overwhelm them with charges, if they are disposed to
defend themselves; after their condemnation, he attends in uniform"
at their execution.[32158] Fouche, lorgnette in hand, looks out of his
window upon a butchery of two hundred and ten Lyonnese. Collot, Laporte
and Fouche feast together in a large company on the days when executions
by shooting takes place, and, at each discharge, stand up and cheer
lustily, waving their hats.[32159] At Toulon, Freron, in person,
orders and sees executed, the first grand massacre on the Champ de
Mars.[32160]--On the Place d'Arras, M. de Vielfort, already tied and
stretched out on the plank, awaits the fall of the knife. Lebon appears
on the balcony of the theatre, makes a sign to the executioner to
stop, opens the newspaper, and, in a loud voice, reads off the recent
successes of the French armies; then, turning to the condemned man,
exclaims: "Go, wretch, and take the news of our victories to your
brethren."[32161] At Feurs, where the shootings take place at the house
of M. du Rosier, in the great avenue of the park, his daughter, quite a
young woman, advances in tears to Javogues, and asks for the release of
her husband. "Oh, yes, my dear," replies Javogues, "you shall have
him home to-morrow." In effect, the next day, her husband is shot, and
buried in the avenue.[32162]--It is evident that they get to liking
the business. Like their September predecessors, they find amusement in
murdering: people around them allude gaily to "the red theater" and "the
national razor." An aristocrat is said to be "putting his head at the
national window," and "he has put his head through the cathole."[32163]
They themselves have the style and humor of their trade. "To-morrow,
at seven o'clock," writes Hugues, "let the sacred guillotine be
erected!"--"The demoiselle guillotine," writes Lecarlier, "keeps
steadily agoing."[32164]--"The relatives and friends of emigres and of
refr