The Execution Of Louis Xvi

This poem is based on the recollections of an eye witness called Leboucher, who arrived in Paris from Bourges in December,1792, and was present at the execution of Louis XVI. In 1840 he recounted to Victor Hugo most of these details. The Execution of Louis XVI In the Year II of the Republic, on a bitter winter's day The scaffold of the mighty King of France Was built between the pied d'estale and the Champs-Elysées. What was this pedestal? Why, the stone that once carried the statue of his father! Did he look down to watch his son made martyr? This place of horror has had many names Place de Louis XV, Place de la Revolution, Place de la Concorde, Place du Garde-Meuble, Place des Champs-Elysées The scaffold was raised a few steps from this stone, A little behind it. A ladder without rails was at the back, Facing the Garde-Meuble. Was ever a day so black? A basket, covered with leather, would receive it, The King's head, when it fell, Caught after Madame Guillotine had severed it. To the right of the ladder, for this autocrat A wicker basket awaited the royal torso, Here, one of the executioners, had tossed his hat Four lines of armed men, Held in check the empty square In the midst of a baying crowd of Parisiens To the left of the scaffold, The Champs-Elysees, to the right the Tuileries, With Paris full of black and leafless trees. Under the bleak, funereal sky of a morning grey and wintry The victim came, in the carriage of the Mayor of Paris, White shirt, grey silk breeches, the Book of Psalms in his hands, To keep his appointment with death in 1793. King of a line of kings, trussed like a chicken Doomed to be bedded between two layers of quicklime Who at Versailles had sat on a throne of gold Now facing a wicker coffin, a platform of pine. The executioners numbered four; Two to perform the gory execution The third to stay at the foot of the scaffold ladder, The fourth stood on the boards of the headsman's waggon The executioners wore breeches, no lace or fine brocade Coats in the French style Three-cornered hats with huge tri-colour cockades. It was decided that the King's hands Should be tied behind his back 'Never! ' he cried, 'never! ' and pushed the man Holding the rope, a gesture, not an attack 'With a handkerchief, Sire? ' the executioner suggested, Louis XVI winced, the Abbé Edgeworth, to lessen The horror said, "Son of St. Louis, ascend to heaven! " 'So be it, my God! ' the monarch held out his hands His voice, drowned out by the drumming Tied to a plank. He asked Why the drums had stopped beating. He exclaimed 'My people, I die innocent! ' The blade of the guillotine fell, both swift and brutal The head of the king was shown to the people, 'Vive la Nation! Vive la République! ' was the shout A gun salute rang out. Blood trickled down the scaffold. Two priests in the Mayor's carriage, Were laughing and joking aloud The king's coat was flung to the crowd A thousand hands shredded it, uncontrolled The end of 1,000 years of France's monarchy In the name of Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité.