_January 17, 1792._ The Convention up all night upon the question of the King's sentence. At eleven this night the sentence of death was pronounced,--three hundred and sixty-six for death; three hundred and nineteen for seclusion or banishment; thirty-six various; majority of five absolute. The King desired an appeal to be made to the people, which was not allowed. Thus the Convention have been the accusers, the judges, and will be the executors of their own sentence. This will cause a great degree of astonishment in America, where the departments are so well divided that the judges have power to break all acts of the Legislature interfering with the exercise of their office.
_January 20._ The fate of the King disturbs everybody.
_January 21._ I had engaged to pass this day, which is one of horror, at Versailles, with Mr. Morris. The King was beheaded at eleven o'clock. Guards at an early hour took possession of the Place Louis XV., and were posted at each avenue. The most profound stillness prevailed. Those who had feeling lamented in secret in their houses, or had left town. Others showed the same levity and barbarous indifference as on former occasions. Hitchborn, Henderson, and Johnson went to see the execution, for which, as an American, I was sorry. The King desired to speak: he had only time to say he was innocent, and forgave his enemies. He behaved with the fortitude of a martyr. Santerre ordered the executioner to dispatch.
Louis Napoleon ordered the destruction of this venerable monument of antiquity, and did much else to efface the landmarks of the ancient Paris, and to give his elegant capital the air of a city entirely modern.
The history of the Bastile has been published in many volumes, some of which I have read. It was the convenient dark closet of the French nursery. Whoever gave trouble to the Government or to any of its creatures was liable to be set away here without trial or resource. One prisoner confined in it escaped by patiently unravelling his shirts and drawers of silk, and twisting them into a thick cord, by means of which he reached the moat, and so passed beyond bounds.
An historical personage, whose name is unknown, passed many years in this sad place, wearing an iron mask, which no official ever saw removed. He is supposed by some to have been a twin brother of the King, Louis XIV.; so we see that, although it might seem a piece of good fortune to be born so near the crown, it might also prove to be the greatest of misfortunes. Think what must have been the life of that captive--how blank, weary, and indignant!