The new republic of France celebrated her saturnalia in the following months, and unfurled her blood-stained standard over the nation.  She was not satisfied with having brought to the guillotine more than ten thousand aristocrats and royalists, to terrify the faithful adherents and servants of the throne.  She required, moreover, the death of those for whose sake so many thousands had perished—­the death of the king and of the queen.

On the 5th of December began the trial of Louis Capet, ex-King of France, now accused by the Convention.  The pages of history have illustrated this stupendous and tragical event in all its shapes and colors.  Each party has preyed upon it, the poets have sung it, and made it the central point of tragedy and romance:  but none have painted it in so telling, in so terse, masterly traits, none have so fully comprehended and expressed the already stupendous event, as Lieutenant Napoleon Bonaparte, the future Emperor of France.

He happened to be in Paris during these days of terror.  He had, with all the energies of his soul, given himself up to the new state of things, and he belonged to the most upright and zealous faction of the republicans.  He acknowledged himself won over to their ideas, he participated in their celebrations, he was the friend of many of the most influential and conspicuous members of the Convention, and he was rarely absent from their meetings; but in the presence of the awful catastrophe of the king’s accusation and execution his proud and daring soul shrank back, and, full of misgivings, shuddered within itself.  The young, enthusiastic republican, to his own great horror, found in the depths of his soul a holy respect and awe in the presence of this royalty which he so often in words had despised, and the fall of the king, this enemy of the republic, moved his heart as a calamity which had fallen upon him and upon all France.  He himself gave to one of his friends in Ajaccio a very correct description of these days.  After narrating the events of the first days of the trial of the king, he continues: 

“The day after I heard that the advocate Target had refused to undertake the king’s defence, to which he was privileged by virtue of his office.  This is what may be called, in the strictest sense of the word, to erase one’s name from history.  What grounds had he for such a low cunning?  ’His life I will not save, and mine I dare not risk!’ Malherbes, Tronchet, Deseze, loyal and devoted subjects, to imitate them in their zeal would be impossible for me; but were I a prince I would have them sit at my right hand—­united together in the most strenuous efforts to defend the successor of St. Louis.  If they survive this deed of sublime faithfulness, never can I pass by them without uncovering my head.