he said; 'I am very glad to die. A reprieve would cause me more pain than death itself.' He sternly refused the assistance of religion. 'I don't want to go to paradise,' said he, laughing; 'I might meet there the Duke d'Enghien, who fought against his country, and I could never agree with him.' The Abbé Montés, however, obtained admittance to his cell and endeavoured to soften his heart.'

As to us, last actors of all these dismal dramas, we received on June 6, in the evening, an order to take the culprit on the following morning and to behead him on the Place de Grève. In deference to this order, my father and I went to the Conciergerie on the 7th, accompanied by four assistants. We found there a second order, which deferred the execution until half-past five o'clock P.M. We therefore waited until that time, wondering at the cause of this delay. The scaffold had been, of course, erected on the Grève, and an immense crowd gathered around it.

At half-past five we went to Louvel's cell, but my father suddenly remarked that no clerk was present, and another quarter of an hour was lost in fetching one. At a quarter to six exactly we took possession' of Louvel; one of the assistants tied his hands, while another was

1 Culprits-religious culprits, of course-have no doubt derived benefit and consolation from the advice of the Roman Catholic priest who invariably attended them to execution. But it may have been seen in the course of the above Memoirs that spiritual advisers forced their exhortations upon convicts of all kinds, whether religious or not, thereby adding another torment to that of impending death. This merciless tender of consolation to men who persistently refuse to hear it cannot but appear as cruel as it is disgusting.-N. ED.

cutting his hair and the collar of his shirt. Louvel, who was thirty-six years of age, was a middle-sized man; his forehead was high and bumpy, and his eyes were deepset and fierce. His face, on the whole, was anything but prepossessing. When the 'toilette' was complete, he asked for his hat, alleging his baldness. We then started for the Grève. I cannot say why, but I had an idea that the execution would not take place; I thought that the royal family would take into consideration the dying wish of the Duke de Berri, who had asked for Louvel's pardon. Moreover, I always felt prompted to put off the hour of death, in order to give the victim every possible chance of escape. Louvel's only hope of salvation in the present circumstance, was to pretend that he had revelations to make; and I said to my father, loud enough for Louvel to hear:

'If he has accomplices he should say so now, as it is the only means of putting off the execution.'

The Abbé Montés heard this, and turning to the culprit:

'You hear, my friend,' said he; 'you had better speak out while there is time yet.'

Louvel drily replied: 'I have nothing to say.'

We reached the guillotine, and the culprit was about to ascend to the platform, when the Abbé Montés caught hold of his arm, and said, 'Kneel down, my son, and ask God's forgiveness for your crime.'

'Never, sir,' answered Louvel, haughtily; 'I do not regret what I have done, and I would do it again, if necessary.'

'But, my friend, you have but one last effort to make to go to heaven. Come, be humble

'I shall go to heaven, just as you will, if there is one. Leave me alone, pray; think of yourself, not of me.'

'My dear child, I beseech you,' insisted the abbé, think of the salvation of your soul; say that you repent.'

'Sir,' indignantly retorted Louvel, 'I have already done a good many things to please you; you are stepping beyond the bounds of your duty.'1

Hardly had Louvel said these words than he ascended the steps so rapidly that the assistants were obliged to hold him back. He took his place unaided on the fatal plank, and at six o'clock precisely Louvel's head fell into the basket.

We took the corpse to the cemetery of the Barrière du Maine, but we were afterwards ordered to dig it up and bury it in another spot. The secret of this new burial remained unknown to all, save to the executioner and his assistants, who, on this occasion only, acted as gravediggers.

1 The highly improper discussion raised by the Abbé Montés at the foot of the scaffold confirms a preceding note.-N. ED.

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CHAPTER LI.

MY EXECUTIONS.

ON December 6, 1820, the scaffold was again erected on the Place de Grève for a young man, Pierre Louis Martin, who had murdered his father. He was led to the scaffold with a black veil over his head, and, in accordance with the penalty edicted against parricides, his fist was cut off before he was beheaded. It was the first time I saw this kind of punishment. The same sentence was executed on July 21, 1821, on a man named Nicolas Boutillier, who had murdered his mother.

On August II, in the same year, we were sent to Melun to execute one Joseph Gratureau.

A gentleman's blood was shed on the scaffold on October 19. The Viscount de Ruault, officer on halfpay, was sentenced to death for trying to murder General Dujon. He died with great courage.

Six days later it was the turn of a coachman, named Jacques Louis Houster, sentenced for the murder of his mistress.

On January 9, 1822, we executed another young man under age, Jules Louis Théophile Guichet, for the murder of a woman.

On April 2 following we went to Versailles and executed Pierre Roux, wine-merchant, and Jacques Antoine Lecourt, a working man, who had killed a man on the road to Essonne. Their object was theft.

On the 20th of the same month we had to go to Beauvais for a double execution; that of Louis Nicolas Mahon, upholsterer, and Charles Mancheron, labourer, convicted of having murdered a young man they hated. The execution took place at mid-day.

On July 27 following we went again in the department of Oise, but this time our halting-place was Compiègne. The whole department was in a state of terror in consequence of the large number of fires which were constantly taking place throughout the locality. The judicial authorities wished to make an example. A porkbutcher, named Louis Charlemagne Gosslin, was found guilty of having set fire to twenty-two houses in a single village. He was executed at twelve on the Place de l'Hôtel-de-Ville, at Compiègne; he showed great coolness, and to the last protested that he was innocent.

All provincial executions used to take place in the public square at mid-day'in presence of large crowds. The custom of executing in the middle of the day was also being adopted in Paris. Things have altered since then; nowadays, one executes at dawn, before the prison gate; a mysterious veil is cast, as it were, over the proceedings, as if the law were ashamed of what it is doing.