[ 262 ] [Sbpt. 



THE EXECUTIONER OF PARIS. 



Nothing of the sublimity of horror is associated in the mind of an 

 Englishman with the mention of" Jack Ketch ;" we even denote him by 

 a pleasant sobriquet : we feel no convulsive shudder when we hear of his 

 whereabout ; we do not cross over the way when we meet him in Fleet- 

 street. We regard him, with the exception of the vice of drunkenness — 

 some trifling brutality of manner — a rather too prominent expression of 

 contempt for the refinements of society, " taste, Shakspeare, and the 

 musical-glasses," as a mighty respectable professor — in his way. Per- 

 haps the familiarity which our laws permit, between him and the public, 

 may have detracted from all that should have been imposing or impres- 

 sive about him. But " I'executeur dcs hautcs ceuvrcs" is regarded in 

 France in a far different and more formidable light. Although a re- 

 sident in the centre of the French capital, he is never seen but in the 

 ])ublic performance of his dreadful duty: — a degree of cautious and not 

 impolitic mystei'y is attached to him ; and such are the feelings his very 

 name excites, that the mere announcement of his presence, in the common 

 walks of life, would render the very Boulevards sacred to himself alone ; 

 would disperse the myriads of barricaders in the noontide of their patrio- 

 tic travail ; — would calm the tremendous clamours of the Chamber of 

 Deputies, and prorogue or dissolve it without the solemnity of proclama- 

 tion. Should he deign to usher in the Due de Bourdeaux he might clear 

 a way for him to the Tuileries and the throne without dread of compe- 

 tition or resistance. The mandates of the Prociirenr-generale himself, 

 which summon him to his duty, are deposited in a bouche defer, inserted 

 in the large and massive iron grating that guards the entrance to his 

 dwelling ; for perhaps not one could be found, daring and reckless 

 enough of popular opinion, to consign them in person to their terrible 

 address. — He reads and obeys. In the darkness and depth of night, 

 with his assistants, he arranges the materials of death : no word is spoken 

 as he labours in his awful calling ; the feeble light, which enables him to 

 prepare the machinery, glimmering on the scaffold, renders the guards 

 that surround it barely discernible : while they, motionless and dumb, 

 seem rather phantoms of the night than breathing men. If allowed to 

 trace such an official to the solitude of his shunned domicile — to see him 

 seated, Crusoe-like, beside his hearth, and to consider the economy of his 

 vinprofessional hours — something might be learned of good or ill which 

 might point a moral, if it would not adorn a tale. To him it has 

 been given to know the last words, looks, and actions of many, unob- 

 scured by affectation or deceit : — the secret affections of numbers long 

 concealed from the world's view have been laid open, once and briefly, 

 yet prominently, to his sight. He has witnessed the eloquence of re- 

 morse or of innocence, at the hour of death, when the retrospect of a 

 lengthened life of sin or misfortune has been comprehended perhaps in 

 one last sentence, one parting word or look, more emphatic than all that 

 " saint or sophist ever writ." 



Grave reflections these ; but they were passing through my mind as I 

 rung at the bell of a small neat house in the Rue des Maraisdu Temple ; 

 the door being opened, I was ushered into a low well - furnished 

 room, wherein a man, of the age of sixty, was employed touching the 

 keys of a piano with his right hand, while his left arm embraced a child 



