William Godwin: his Friends and Contemporaries
Ch. VII. 1791-1796
Mary Wollstonecraft to Joseph Johnson, 24 December 1792
“Paris, December 26, 1792.
“I should immediately on the receipt of your letter, my
dear friend, have thanked you for your punctuality; for it highly gratified me,
had I not wished to wait, till I could tell you that this day was not stained
with blood. [Wednesday, Dec. 26th, was the day on which the King appeared to
plead, by his advocate Desèze.] Indeed,
the prudent precautions taken by the National Convention to prevent a tumult,
made me suppose that the dogs of faction would not dare to bark, much less to
bite, however true to their scent; and I was not mistaken; for the citizens,
who were all called out, are returning home with composed countenances, ![]()
![]()
shouldering their arms. About nine o’clock this
morning the King passed by my window, moving silently along—excepting now and
then a few strokes on the drum, which rendered the stillness more awful—through
empty streets, surrounded by the National Guards, who, clustering round the
carriage, seemed to deserve their name. The inhabitants flocked to their
windows, but the casements were all shut; not a voice was heard, nor did I see
anything like an insulting gesture. For the first time since I entered France,
I bowed to the majesty of the people, and respected the propriety of behaviour,
so perfectly in unison with my own feelings. I can scarcely tell you why, but
an association of ideas made the tears flow insensibly from my eyes, when I saw
Louis sitting, with more dignity than I
expected from his character, in a hackney-coach, going to meet death, where so
many of his race have triumphed. My fancy instantly brought Louis XIV. before me, entering the capital with
all his pomp, after one of the victories most flattering to his pride, only to
see the sunshine of prosperity overshadowed by the sublime gloom of misery. I
have been alone ever since; and though my mind is calm, I cannot dismiss the
lively images that have filled my imagination all the day. Nay, do not smile,
but pity me; for once or twice lifting my eyes from the paper, I have seen eyes
glare through a glass door opposite my chair, and bloody hands shook at me. Not
the distant sound of a footstep can I hear. My apartments are remote from those
of the servants, the only persons who sleep with me in an immense hotel, one
folding-door opening after another. I wish I had even kept the cat with me! I
want to see something alive, death, in so many frightful shapes, has taken hold
of my fancy. I am going to bed, and, for the first time in my life, I cannot
put out the candle.
Louis XVI, king of France (1754-1793)
King of France 1774-1793; the husband of Marie Antoinette, he was guillotined 21 January
1793.
Comte Raymond de Sèze (1750-1828)
French advocate who defended Louis XVI at his trial and was ennobled upon the Bourbon
restoration.
