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Updated: May 16, 2025
Anon the Citizen-President rings a hand-bell, and there is a discordant noise of hoarse laughter and loud curses, some pushing, jolting, and swearing, as the general public is admitted into the hall. Heaven save us! What a rabble! Has humanity really such a scum?
The afternoon of this hot August day, one of the last of glorious Fructidor, had begun to wane, and the shades of evening to slowly creep into the long, bare room where this travesty of justice was being administered. The Citizen-President sat at the extreme end of the room, on a rough wooden bench, with a desk in front of him littered with papers.
Just above him, on the bare, whitewashed wall, the words: "La Republique: une et indivisible," and below them the device: "Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite!" To the right and left of the Citizen-President, four clerks were busy making entries in that ponderous ledger, that amazing record of the foulest crimes the world has ever known, the "Bulletin du Tribunal Revolutionnaire."
"Citizen-President: Having, several days since, arrived with a commission from the president of the United States of America, to represent those states in quality of minister plenipotentiary at the capital of the French republic, I have thought it my duty to make my mission known as early as possible to the national representatives.
"Citizen-President, Citizens all, I thank you; but I should be unappreciative of your kindness did I permit you to entertain false hopes. My purpose is unalterable."
Foucquier-Tinville suppresses a sneer, and the Citizen-President impatiently rings his hand-bell again. "Bring forth the accused!" he commands in stentorian tones. There is a movement of satisfaction among the crowd, and the angel of God is forced to hide his face again. The trial of Juliette.
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