The Guillotine | ONC 2022

I

21st January, 1793

I woke up early in the morning, leaving my poor ill husband to enjoy at least one more hour of sleep before jumping once again into the routine of his job.

I myself was awaited in the public laundery to get my share of slavery as well, but I wouldn't give them that pleasure. Not that day. Not on that day when I, along with the rest of France, was to be reborn.

That day we killed the tyrant and I wouldn't want to be left out even at the price of losing my job.

So I pulled my good-for-nothing, lazy son out of bed and made him dress up in his best Sunday clothes… well, formerly Sunday clothes. After this glorious revolution he wouldn't be going to mass anymore. Along with the king we threw over God as well.

For the first time in my life, as I walked side by side with my son Henri, a beautiful revolutionary, I felt free, truly free. I was the queen of the world as were all the people around us. There was no king above us, there was no God above us. Which meant only one thing.

We have become Gods ourselves.

And just like God we had the right to judge other people for their sins.

The one, who stood our trial that day, was no-one else than that vulgar criminal Louis XVI.

He was tried for theft and treason.

And the verdict?

Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! Hundred times guilty! To the scaffolds with him!

That was the will of the people, so it happened. And I wanted to see it.

Following my son through the crowds of our fellow citizens I couldn't but marvel at the sight that this foggy morning prepared for me.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride as I saw those, who might have been enemies yesterday, but now were standing side by side in reverent silence as if they were brothers and sisters. Silent, they awaited that one symbolic event that was to announce the dawn of a new era like the bells on the church towers always announce the beginning of any notable event.

Bells of France, ring! Ring for us today! But don't take it as a knell, my friends! This is our Christening!

The closer we got to that scaffold that shone afar like a bloody red star, gliding on the surface of a restless sea, the more I heard people singing.

I was never emotional, but that day I was so touched that a tear almost escaped my eye when I heard all those people uniting their voices in the famous revolutionary song Ça ira.

I was so elated, I felt as if I was flying, as if I rose from the dust, covering the streets, right up to the cloudy sky, from where I could watch the beauty.

And before I realized it I was singing along with them, humming for myself.

Ah, ça ira, ça ira, ça ira…

"Mother?" Henri accosted me laughing. "What got into you? I never heard you singing. I couldn't even force you to sing me a lullaby as a child."

"Lullabies for children don't change the world, but the lullaby we'll sing for his royal highness today will change our lives forever!" I exclaim in such an excited tone that one would believe I'm a child and not a respectable middle aged woman.

"You're too idealistic…" Henri said smiling and shaking his head, making his smooth golden curls fall into his plain but pleasant face. "There is still a lot of work to do."

"And you'll take care of that!" I said resolutely, caressing his rosy cheek. "You and the other Jacobins! The people are on your side. I'm just unsure of this leader of yours… Maximillien Robespierre. I saw him speak once, what a frightful man he is! He spoke so quietly I hadn't heard but half of what he said and how unsure were his words. In my opinion he isn't radical enough…"