“Find us a good place to sit, Suzanne. In front of the scaffold, but not too close.”
“Absolument. I know just the spot.”
“I will be back shortly.”
“Where are you going, Jacqueline?”
“To buy a nosegay.”
“Who's selling flowers on such a day?”
“There's a stall near the tumbrels—next to the prisoner carts. The lilacs have bloomed.”
“Lilacs!”
“Oui, lilacs. Why not lilacs? They’ll match my dress.”
“Mon Dieu! Are you sprucing up for the gendarme?”
“Would you fault me for it? John-Paul is tall, strapping—like my Raphaël was.”
“John-Paul is an excellent national guardsman. He proved himself yesterday when the executioner needed a strong hand. How the marquis slipped the blocks before the blade fell is a mystery.”
“Only to make a botch of the whole thing. The blade took off the left side of his face—down to the shoulder.”
“Heh heh. Imagine having your head blocked in twice—set like a common criminal in the stocks. John-Paul had to hold down the marquis like a farm animal. Embarrassant!”
“Agreed. So who is the executioner?”
“Charles-Henri Sanson.”
“Sanson is good. He will keep the line moving quickly.”
“John-Paul will keep your heart beating quickly.”
“I tell you, Suzanne. If I weren’t already a step into the grave, I’d let John-Paul hold me down. I’d show him a good time.”
“Oh, go on. You are a tricoteuse, not a courtesan! You hold knitting needles in your hands, not silk gloves.”
“I am not the ugliest crone in the crowd.”
“In truth, Jacqueline, you still have vestiges of beauty. But what did your good looks ever earn you on the estates?”
“Young lords.”
“And their fathers…”
“The young lords were good for a tumble, but the old lords were good for a trinket. Dieu merci, I am glad those days are over. Being an old woman brings peace.”
“With the aristos gone, our days of peace are ahead, so to speak. Ha Hah! Liberté, égalité, fraternité!”
“I keep hoping to see the aristos I’ve known over the years waiting in the carts. Especially the ones with the cruel wives.”
“Their Day of Judgment is here, thanks to Robespierre.”
“Ah, look. The crowd is even larger. I will buy flowers before the sun grows too hot, before the Place de la Révolution smells like a slaughterhouse.”
“Too late—there are the priests. They’ve begun to read the psalms, Jacqueline. Come knit with me, and we’ll keep track of the heads. No time left for lilacs, the carts, or dreams of John-Paul.”
“Can’t a woman dream between knits and purls?”
“Young women can dream, Jacqueline.”
“True, Suzanne. Old women mainly have nightmares.”
“Look! They line up. I wonder who will feed la guillotine? Did you recognize anyone in the tumbrels?”
“Non, but I do not like to see them beforehand—the rich and powerful—covered in their own filth. Duc, marquis, comte, vicomte, baron—trussed up like Christmas geese.”
“You pity them in such a state?”
“I trust Robespierre and Robespierre pities no enemy of the Republic. He and the Committee of Public Safety will save France from counter-revolutionaries.”
“Ah, what a line to the scaffold! La guillotine is especially hungry.”
“Much quicker than hanging or the ax. Now those were true spectacles d'horreur.”
“Sauvage et inhumain.”
"It’s good for people in power to see the people’s power. Robespierre knows what he’s doing.”
“By killing off his political rivals?”
“You doubt him?”
“I doubt everything.”
“Even God?”
“Especially God.”
“Don’t blaspheme, Suzanne. Sit! They begin. Can you hear the aristo’s final words?”
“Not quite. Something about ‘pardoning those who have occasioned my death.’ Je m’emmerde! I am so bored. You’d think aristos would say something more memorable at their end.”
“Oof—the blade is swift.”
“The next one is already in the cabbage! How quickly they are proceeding. Remember last week when the blade dulled?”
“The blade was sharp enough. It caught on the fat necks of the aristos. Some are so corpulent la guillotine’s blade must come down on it again and again.”
“Imagine having so much to eat.”
“Chop chop chop! The executioner is swift. One every minute. Hold the head up high, Executioner! Yes, yes! Higher!”
“Ha Hah! That’s a grisly piece of business.”
“It’s hard to look down your nose, Mr. Aristo, when there is nothing below it to see!”
“The basket is already getting full…and the heads are getting ripe. L'odeur!”
“How you complain! You know how these things go, Suzanne.”
“Still, the stench…”
“Cover your nose and mouth with your scarf. Perhaps I should have gotten my lilacs after all. How many rivers of blood and pools of merde have we seen this past year…?”
“I won’t have my dress splattered like last time!”
“An easy fix. Just soak your frock in cold water with white vinegar.”
“I know. I know. When I used to be a laundress, I knew all the tricks. Soda ash cleaned the blood from my clothes when my vicomtesse whipped me to shreds.”
“Now, your vicomtesse is a pile of ash!”
“Ha Hah! That she is.”
“Robespierre sent them to the scaffold last winter. It was a good day. Bright and clear.”
“Look at this, Jacqueline! I’ve finished another one.”
“Let me see. Oui, you knit so well. Your latest liberty cap! Let me wear it while you start another.”
“I am almost out of red yarn.”
“I brought along another spool in my bag. I knew today would be long. So much commotion in Paris.”
“La guillotine is on number nine.”
“Already?”
“Who is next?”
“That’s Antoine Simon—a friend of Robespierre. He guards the dauphin. I don’t understand why he is on the scaffold.”
“He won’t be for long. So quick! Look at the head. Are you sure that is Simon?”
“Oui. He belonged to the Commune of Paris. He must have been a spy.”
“Or a counter-revolutionary.”
“Bien sûr. Robespierre is masterful at finding wolves in sheep's clothing.”
“Who’s next in line?”
“Hard to tell. The man’s face is so swollen—wrapped tight—the jaw bleeds…”
“He stands so still.”
“See how regal he is. How stoic! He walks the steps as if he knows them well.”
“His bandages will have to be removed to prepare the neck…”
“Oh, that cry. That man’s jaw is shattered. It’s in pieces!”
“La guillotine will stop his shrieks—end his pain.”
“The blade drops! Finally, finally.”
“The crowd cheers at that one. Who was he? Can you see?”
“Non-non-non—ça ne peut pas être!”
“Jacqueline, qu'est-ce? Whose head is that?
“Sacré bleu! None other than Robespierre.”
“Then who will lead us now?”
“Chaos.
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45 comments
Deliciously gruesome, Deidra. The turn at the end is great, the two women who were calloused, deadened to the carnage, slightly bored by it all, and gleeful about the comeuppance of the aristocracy, now had their own world knocked out from under them. Who will lead them now, and what does it mean for them?
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So much fun, love the macabre conversation mixed in with the more trivial like knitting and potential romance ... great smattering of French throughout to give it atmosphere while still being easy to follow.
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This was a gamble...wasn't sure the ooo la la smatterings of French would meld or look like a copy/paste job from Google Translate (which it was...hon hon hon <-- French for hah hah hah)
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The light/bored way these women view the Reign of Terror is almost comical, until it's horrific. (Oh, what humans can get used to) This was masterful, Deidra, from the talk of lilacs, to impressing gentlemen, to talking down the dying aristos. And then Robespierre gets what was coming for him. It would be funny if you made a sequel story with the women discussing Napoleon...
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Hi Deidra! A gal pal and I recently went to see a live show of The Scarlet Pimpernel-set in this time period about an Englishman opposed to the French government. This piece felt very reminiscent of that intense chaos of the time. I really loved the dialogue and imagery. Your use of French had me smiling as well. “Merde” is such a fantastic word. This piece was grueling and gory, but in a poetic way. It’s the epitome of “war changes you”. Nice work!!
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Ahhh, yes, the sweet (and other) smell(s) of summer.....a sobering but very realistic little vignette set half-way through the French revolution. Masterfully done. -:) Hannah Arendt described the banality of evil well, and, fiction or not, this story captures the essence of the extremes than can happen when groupthink takes over. Today's current cabal of pols grasping for power at any cost would do well to remember that Robespierre was also an elected official. I will now get down from my soapbox and say: Great writing! -:) Cheers! RG
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Deidra, how gruesomely gorgeously wickedly wonderfully perverse prose you have stored within you. I'm pleased you chose to let it out for your own sake, as well as for the sake of quality entertainment this world so sorely lacks. You are a breath of toxic quality. More, please.
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gruesomely gorgeously wickedly wonderfully perverse (All words my mother used to describe me at one point or another...haha)
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Ah, mothers and daughters! Mine raised me on Tales of Terror and the Supernatural. I wonder what she was trying to say?
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Bravo! This story would be very good for "ending a cycle" #192. :)
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Ooo. Good point. But the cycle never ends, does it? The rise and fall of empires. Predictable.
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This is a fascinating glimpse of la guillotine at work, Deirdra. The lighthearted nattering of the women as the gruesome entertainment unfolds is disturbing, and the rise and fall of Robespierre within their conversation underpins the madness. I can’t imagine that a grislier interpretation of the flower buying prompt is possible!
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Grislier interpretation? In the words of Miley Cyrus....(kidding) I often wonder what day-to-day conversations people have in the most ridiculous of times. (Like Russian soldiers in Ukraine talking on cell phones to the mothers/wives/girlfriends...) Imagine the new normal being so far beyond the pale of civilized society. In the words of Voltaire, “Anyone who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.” Or at least, witness them while knitting and dreaming about flirting with a policeman.
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A grisly fast-paced horror show full of interesting points. How did the women really feel when they watched the spectacle? Had they become so immune to death, they really felt nothing, but the faint interest of a spectator sport? Great dialogue revealing their true characters. At least it was quick (well, relatively!) You could almost smell the stench and see the blood! Great twist at the end! Not for the queasy.
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Queasy, indeed. I'm not sure when public executions became a spectator sport, but I don't know how anyone could stand it. GAH. The callousness is terrifying, the "love of man waxing cold." History wrote the twist, as the father of the "Reign of Terror" ended up chopped like the 17,000 he personally sent. Robespierre should be a cautionary tale for all autocrats who lose their way.
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I was thinking of the quote “live by the sword, die by the sword.”
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Karma always shows up... :)
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Goodness me, that was too good. The idea was so good. You really played on your points of strength: good realistic dialogue with an engaging story. I never read a story with tricoteuses as the center of attention even though they'd make a great story; and a great story they did make. The slow realization that it was him was executed with such smoothness I loved it: all in the masterful dialogue. I wish I could write dialogues like you. I know I'm supposed to have some good criticism to offer, but I do not. I just believe this was such an ori...
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Happy spring, Ismail! Glad to see you on Reedsy and I hope you are your writing are well. Thanks so much for coming on and reading my French Revolution tale. In hindsight, it's meh. But onward :) Sending much love from Virginia to Morocco :)
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Wow Deidra, what a great story. The soullessness of the knitters chatting happily about the various deaths they have witnessed. I found myself commenting loudly whilst reading this - really great writing. The descriptions of the environment, what they were wearing, and the type of flowers to make the nosegay. I was there, I was there (quietly throwing up in a corner!).
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Agreed. And begs the question: how long does it take for a person (or a whole society!) to become callous? I imagine the horrors that have abounded throughout history (and into the present.) How do we get to the point of slaughtering people in the town square? :(
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Ha … viva la revolution … and he was decapitated, true to history … I’m a big proponent of description … stories that are just narrative are hard for me to see or picture … but the title helped; the French and name dropping as well; the production line at the guillotine was fun to imagine, execution as spectacle, I like the gruesomeness … a smart read, I relied on my tablet to look things up and keep me in the game :) regrettably, I’m not as attuned to French history that this piece demanded … R
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Thanks for playing along. I'm working on a collection of dialogue-only stories between two characters for the stage. Some work out better than others :) Peasant revolts seem to come along when income inequality forces a reshuffling. Winston Churchill put it best..."Those who fail to learn from history are condemned to repeat it." Let's hope we can avoid another Robespierre and subsequent mobocracy (which is usually followed by a Napoleon.)
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Grin Thomas Jefferson believed we should have them every generation … helps keep entrenched interests honest :) Today, I wish for an empowered bunch of people in LA wielding guns and guillotines, pissed off at an egg producer making 780% profit … and to see those people drag the corporatists into the street as we knit … I’m so there! :) change is good :) Your piece was great. It feels like New Yorker Magazine kind of material :) R
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Jefferson had a point on generational tyranny: "it may be proved that no society can make a perpetual constitution or even a perpetual law. The earth belongs always to the living generation..."
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Grin - I love your style, Deidra!
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Well, "A Tale of Two Cities" revisited! Nice. The dialogue, as usual, is so good, so authentic. I can see myself sitting next to these two old crones and listening in. I can feel the heat, smell the stench, understand the lack of empathy in the crowd. And you gave a nice jab at the English of the time by commenting on how much better it is to be guillotined than to be beheaded by axe, or by hanging. The French, of course, always do it with style. Even killing nobles. LOL Just a great little vignette that says so much about the mood of the ...
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Del, you give me far too much credit. This "conversation" of mine was inspired by an article I read about Robespierre -- hoisted by his own petard! Yes, you can unleash the mob, but you can't control the mob. (Looking at you, January 6th). Robespierre was consumed by a conflagration of his own making. He guillotined 17,000 people, only to join them in the basket himself. After centuries of being oppressed, the oppressed are going to act out like a high schooler before spring break (haha, contemporary allusion for me. You know how March...
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Fun and grim :) The ladies have a jovial attitude, but I wonder if it's not actually masking deep fear. It's a time of chaos - as they even state at the end - and nothing is certain. What do you do when you have no control? Latch onto any semblence of stability. In this case, it means enjoying the sport, as is expected, and cheering for their team in Robespierre. The desire for lilies then? Perhaps she hates this grotesque spectacle and cannot admit it even to herself. Flowers would be an acceptable diversion, and they'd be a barrier aga...
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Przy, brilliant brilliant brilliant insight per normal. I wish I were as clever as your commentary :) I hadn't thought of fear being a unifying feature in mob hysteria, but in hindsight, it's all fear, isn't it? Savvy (and shady) politicians have known this for millennia. “Fear is a powerful weapon. When people are afraid for their lives they’ll obey whoever’s in charge, whoever claims he can lead them out of the desert, and for that they’ll gladly give up all of their rights.” ― Shay K. Azoulay (They may even sit and knit while they do so...
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The twist is brilliant cos you spared no effort in depicting how the 2 ladies were deluded into thinking it was Robespierre, their hero, who staged the guillotine.
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Truth is usually more interesting than fiction. Robespierre got caught up in his own Reign of Terror...historical karma at its best.
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Oh my…bloodcurdling! How well you captured the callousness of the speakers, sitting and knitting while heads fall into the bins. And the contrasts between the smell of lilacs and blood. Ugh! What a horrible time in history. Ah, but, that ending! Manifique!
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Merci beaucoup! "Callousness" is the perfect word, and begs the question: "When do we lose our humanity?" Having lived in Florida, I've witnessed a few hurricanes over several decades. When "compassion fatigue" sets in, things often go awry.
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Absolutely 👏
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Wow. I loved the knitting. It's almost like I could see madame Defarge's ghost looking on at the chaos. Perfectly balanced writing; not too much, not too little detail. Lovely -or, as lovely as it could be- seeing through the character's eyes as hope for the future is tinged with the grimness of the guillotine, and finally the decay of the heads infecting the movement and Robespierre. Great read!
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Thanks, King! Love the literary allusion to "A Tale of Two Cities" -- one of my favorite novels. The French Revolution fascinates me, especially at the end when it started to eat itself. As chaos ends with a strong man -- Napoleon, in this case. (But that's another story entirely.) Fun fact: Dickens based Lucy Manette on the actress he was seeing on the side. Ol' Charles wasn't super happy with his wife who'd cranked out 10 kids...Dickens had a messy private life.
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I don't know if this is overstepping, but we must see more! Hopefully we get your take on Napoleon and his role. On Dickens, it's sad really, but then you could say that about lots of artists. 'The tortured artist' and all.
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Men are more easily governed through their vices than through their virtues. - Napoleon Bonaparte
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wow. that was quite a twist at the end. had that actually happened? Robespierre killed by the guillotine? yikes a fun read!! :)
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💯 true. Robespierre started the Reign of Terror, successfully arguing to kill the king (and Marie Antoinette). He got caught up in conspiracies in the end, tried to shoot himself, but ended up blowing away his jaw. He was in agony until the end. Someone in the crowd gave Robespierre a handkerchief to stop the bleeding from his jaw. His last words were said to the person who had given him the handerchief: “Merci, Monsier.” [Napoleon enters the chat]
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wow. yeesh. that's a hard way to go
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Deidra, we both wrote about the Guillotine in stories. Funny but cool. I enjoyed this story and the irony at the end. It seems that France at the time was a free for all with who was sent to the guillotine - the aristocrats from previous days had all had their heads land in the basket but this day you write about was different. The women knitters and pearlers recognized the same and were shocked to discover Robiespierre who's head rolled that day. Setting the order of the city into chaos. Nicely done Diedra. Good context clues given to hin...
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Hi Lily -- Oooo I'm going to head over and see what you've written. Thanks for the read and the wonderful comment :)
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