Page 108 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
But Henry was only getting started.
He had been busy with his letters that afternoon, anxious to make the evening just as wonderful as it could be, and it may have been a gamble, but he chanced it. “Léon Lyon, I want you to meet Joseph Guillotin.”
Léon’s face went blank as he met the eyes of the man presented to him. A hand came out, and he shook it by instinct. “Guillotin?” he repeated, stupidly.
There was a tightening of lips, as the man knew Léon was referring to the machine that was named after him even as hesaid his name, and Léon knew he’d stuck his foot directly in his mouth. But then a hand came across Guillotin’s back, the hand of a stout and red-faced man with a big grin. “He doesn’t like to talk about it, but it’s a mighty good thing if you ask me.” The man’s other hand was thrust out. “Citizen Lyon? I’ve heard all about you. I’ve been wanting to meet you.”
Léon threw a silent plea for help across to Henry, but the man went ahead and introduced himself. “Charles-Henri Sanson.”
“San… San…” Léon stuttered. “Sanson!” He snapped to. “Charles-Henri Sanson! It’s an honour.”
Henry’s shoulders loosened, and pure satisfaction shot right through to his fingertips on sight of the enraptured smile lighting Léon’s face. Sanson was to Paris what Léon was to Reims. He was prime executioner, and he was the man, if anyone was going to do it, who would take the King’s head.
Léon was in shock to meet both men there, in acathedral, but it took only Sanson’s opening of, “I hear you’re still using the axe?” to set in motion a chain reaction faster and more dramatic than the pull of the guillotine’s rope. Yes! The axe, so personal and reliable. Utterly, agreed Sanson. Respectable, noble, efficient. The executioner was in complete control, Léon threw out. Barbarians, the rest of them, Sanson declared, saying any man who could hang another deserved no better fate himself.
It was a soothing balm to Léon. Here was the one other man who understood—really and thoroughly understood—and it felt so good. All his efforts, all his lonely and grim thoughts matched and expanded and calmed as they discussed modes of death, styles of axe, the crowd’s role in the execution.
“They shouldn’t be there at all,” said Guillotin. “The whole point of the machine was to make it as quick as possible. It’s no different to a scalpel. If an arm is infected, you cut it off.” Noone noticed the anxious lift of Henry’s hand to his own arm as Guillotin spoke on. “You don’t bring a crowd of people to watch, you don’t give them the arm afterwards, you don’t let them play in the blood. You take the arm and you heal the patient.”
“Won’t be much healing from that,” Sanson joked.
Guillotin rolled his eyes. “You take my point.”
“I do,” said Léon. Then, confidingly, “I don’t like to do it. I don’t think we should be doing it at all.”
Guillotin latched on, leaning close. “Precisely. I was told a lot of people are going to die. And I did what I could to make it painless for them. Yes, I suggested a new method, I approved the machine. But it’s not my design. And now they’ve named the bloody thing after me. I’m a doctor. It’s not my job to kill people, it’s my job to save them.”
“And you’ve done a good thing getting it in play,” said Sanson. “The axe, you need to care for it, or it blunts. I’ve seen some of the tools people use…” He shook his head, shying away from completing the sentence. “With that number of people due to meet their end in the coming months, there’s nothing else for it until they do away with the death penalty.”
“They will,” Henry put in. “Any day now. Robespierre hates it. He always said it was his intention to stop it.”
Both Guillotin and Sanson settled bemused eyes on Henry, but it was Sanson who asked, “And when was the last time you spoke with Robespierre?”
“Uh, well,” on a blush, “never, in person, but my father?—”
“He’s changed,” Guillotin dropped bluntly.
Henry fell silent, so Léon asked, “How do you mean?”
“He’s going mad if you ask me,” said Sanson, speaking low, eyes scanning the crowd to see if anyone might be eavesdropping. “It’s been a lot—of course it has. It’s not an easy thing to steer something like this. But…” Quieter still, “Just between us, I don’t want to take his head.”
“The King?” Léon whispered.
Sanson nodded slow. “I’m no monarchist, far from it. But I don’t want to be the one to do it. I’m already going down in history as a killer, but something like that…”
Léon’s heart went out to him. No one could have known better. That was a legacy few men desired.
But Sanson said, “Still, if anyone deserves it, it’s him.”
“Do you really think they’ll execute him?” Léon asked.
“They won’t kill him,” said Guillotin. “It’s a step too far. A lot of them might want to, but on what grounds?”
“On the ground of being a treasonous pig,” Henry broke in. “If the man in charge has shown himself to be the enemy of the people, is that not treason? A betrayal to his own country? If he bathes in diamonds while his people cannot afford food and shelter, if he goes walking in his own private wood while good citizens are too sickly to leave the fetid environs of the city because they cannot afford the aid of a doctor… I ask you, if a man came in from another country and attacked your people thus, took their homes and food and health, would we not send the military in to safeguard our land? Would we not deal with the enemy to our state in a way that prevents further retribution? So tell me, what is the difference, whether that attack comes from within or without? An enemy is an enemy. Whether he wears a crown of jewels or not is of no interest to me. He should be tried in our courts, and if he is found guilty, he should face the same fate as any other man. And if that requires him to have a close shave, then so be it.” He spoke vehemently, eloquently, as though it were a speech he’d dwelt on writing. Léon didn’t see another thing in that room beyond Henry, scintillating, the centre of the action, exactly where he needed to be.
“Hear, hear!” cried Sanson, thrusting his glass forward. Léon and Guillotin did the same, their glasses clinking with gusto.
“I’d give my right arm to do it myself,” Henry said after a hearty sip. “And failing that,” Léon felt the irresistible press of his hand, “I would love to see you do it.” His voice was fire, and Léon’s cheeks turned pink when their eyes met.
