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Memoirs of the Sansons
When the messengers of death entered, the Queen rose and made a step to meet them, but she was stopped by Bault's daughter, whom she embraced with much tenderness. She wore a white dress, a white handkerchief covered her shoulders, and her hair was surmounted by a cap tied with a black ribbon. She was pale, but not out of apprehension, for her lips were red and her eyes brilliant.
My grandfather and father took their hats off; many others bowed; Nappier the usher, and a few gendarmes, were the only persons who abstained from giving so slight a token of deference. Before any one had time to speak, the Queen advanced, and in a dry voice she said 'Gentlemen, I am ready. We can set out.'
Charles Henri Sanson observed that a few formalities had yet to be fulfilled. Marie Antoinette showed the back of her neck, where the hair had been cut. 'That will do, I think' said she to him. At the same time she held out her hands for him to bind them. While my father was so occupied, the Abbe Lothringer entered the room and asked her leave to accompany her. The abbe, who had taken the oath of fidelity to the Republic, had already proffered his services, but they had been declined. His repeated request visibly displeased the Queen, who however answered 'You can come with me if you like.' The cortege immediately moved forward. The gendarmes preceded the queen, by whose side was the abbe; behind came the clerk, the executioners, and more gendarmes.
On reaching the court, Marie Antoinette saw the cart ; she came to a sudden halt, and a strong feeling of horror appeared on her features. She, however, mastered her emotion, and was helped up by my grandfather and his son. The gates were slowly opened, and the Queen of France appeared before the people. There was an immense clamour of maledictions, a torrent of curses, and cries of 'Death!' The crowd was so compact that the cart could hardly move, and the horse reared and backed. There was so terrible a moment of confusion that both my grandfather and father rose and placed themselves before Marie Antoinette. At two different points men had broken through the rank of the escort, and instead of driving them back, or trying to calm popular effervescence, the gendarmes joined in their vociferations. The son of Nourry-Grammont, who, like his father, was an officer in the army, had the cowardice to threaten the Queen's face with his clenched fist. The Abbe Lothringer pushed him back, and upbraided him for his unworthy conduct. This scene lasted two or three minutes. Never, my father often told me, did anyone appear more dignified then she did then. Grammont, the father, went forward with a few horsemen and cleared the way. From time to time cries and curses partly subsided. A few cries of 'Death to the Austrian! Death to Madame Veto!' rose from the crowd; but these exclamations became rarer and rarer.
Marie Antoinette stood erect in the cart; the Abbe Lothringer was speaking to her, but she did not answer, and did not even seem to hear him. When the Palais Egalite was passed, she began to manifest some uneasiness. She looked at the numbers of the houses with more than commonplace curiosity. The Queen had foreseen that no priest of her religion would be allowed to accompany her; and a proscribed ecclesiastic, with whom she had communicated, had promised to be in a house of the Rue St. Honord on the day of the execution, and to give her from a window absolution in extremis. The number of the house had been designated to Marie Antoinette, and that was what she was looking for. She discovered it; and then, at a sign which she alone understood, having recognised the priest, she bent her head and prayed. After this she breathed more freely, and a smile came to her lips.
On reaching the Place de la Revolution, the cart halted precisely opposite the large walk of the Tulleries; for a few moments the Queen was plunged in painful contemplation; her colour faded away, her eyelids trembled, and she was heard to murmur: 'My daughter! My children!'. The sight of the scaffold recalled her to herself, and she prepared to descend. My grandfather and my father supported her. As she placed her foot on the ground, Charles Henri Sanson, who was bending towards her, said in her ear: 'Have courage, Madame!'. The Queen looked round, as if surprised to find pity in the heart of the man who was about to put her to death, and answered: 'Thank you, sir, thank you.' A few yards separated the cart from the guillotine. My father offered to continue to support her, but she declined, saying: 'No; I am, thank Heaven, strong enough to walk that short distance.'. She advanced slowly, but with a firm step, and mounted the scaffold as majestically as if the steps of the guillotine had been those of the grand staircase at Versailles.
Her arrival on the platform produced some confusion. The Abbe Lothringer, who had followed her, was going on with his useless exhortations. My father thrust him aside, wishing to finish the execution without the loss of a second. The assistants took possession of Marie Antoinette. While they were tying her down to the weigh-plank, she exclaimed, in a loud voice: 'Farewell my children; I am going to join your father!' the plank was replaced in its original position, and the knife came down.
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