bunniesandbeheadings:Where shall I find the true colors with which to paint a picture of the public
bunniesandbeheadings:Where shall I find the true colors with which to paint a picture of the public happiness that existed in the midst of this terrible spectacle, to describe the explosion of burning joy that spread and resounded as far as the scaffold itself? His name, accompanied by curses, is in every mouth; they no longer called him the incorruptible, the virtuous Robespierre, the mask has fallen away. They execrate him, they blame him for every crime of both committees [The Committee of General Security and the Committee of Public Safety], they surge forward from the shops, boutiques, and windows. Rooftops are covered with people, thronged by a huge mob of spectators drawn from every class of society, all with only one desire, to see his death.Instead of sitting on a dictator’s throne, he is half-sitting, half-lying in the tumbrel that also holds his accomplices, Couthon and Hanriot. The noise and tumult that accompanies him is composed of a thousand cries and mutual congratulation. His head is enveloped in dirty bloodstained bandages; only half of his pale, ferocious face is visible. His mutilated, disfigured companions look less like animals than wild beasts caught in a trap. Even the burning sun cannot deter the women from exposing the lilies and roses of their delicate cheeks to its rays; they want to see the executioner of these citizens…On the scaffold, the executioner, as if spurred by the public’s hatred, roughly tears away the bandage covering his wounds; he [Robespierre] roars like a tiger; his lower jaw snaps off from the upper jaw and blood spurts out, changing this human head into the head of a monster, the most horrible sight imaginable. His two companions, no less hideous in their torn, bloodstained clothing, were the acolytes of this famous criminal, for whose suffering no one can summon a vestige of pity… The crowd surged forward, so as not to miss witnessing the exact second when his head would go beneath the blade, that blade to which he himself had sent so many others. The applause lasted more than fifteen minutes Twenty-two heads fell with his. Sebastian Mercier, Memoirs -- source link
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