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-. .^The latter alone could, according to law, direct the execution j the copies were not yet made—they would occupy a considerable portion of the day.' (If the copies, which could be made' by twenty clerks, were to occupy a considerable portion of, .the, day, how could all the originals have been written by one hand in an hour?) 'On my return to Paris I should have waited on the governor,—on the first consul—wrio kno<vs? But all of a sudden this terrific explosion informed us that the prince was no more. ■ ■"'"'

• •' We know not whether HE (Savary) whWtnns hurried on this dreadful execution had orders for doing so.—If he had not, he alone is responsible; if he had, the court, whichikne.w nothing of these orders, which itself was kept in confinement, (an open •count!) the court, whose last resolution was in favour of the, priuqes, could neither foresee nor prevent the catastrophe.'—Esplic. p. 1^,14.

.. (Without dwelling on General Hulin's defence of his own share in the fatal preliminaries, it is quite clear that The Man behind the chair was the immediate murderer; and that this Man was the same Savary who affects to deplore that the duke was put to death by mistake; and who accuses M. de Talleyrand of having hastened the execution, and of having suppressed a letter that might have led to mercy! We want language—we,shqulcl ratjiej say—no language is necessary to express the horror of(,ejfery honest mind at such bloody duplicity. ,,,) ,,, / ••_ •>-fIBQ:i

But M. Savary had not yet finished his task—the gr&ve^ in•deedy was ready—it had been dug before the trial—the duke was condemned—the road to mercy was shut,—but he was still alive! no warrant had been given—no time was appointed for the execution.

'Morning approached,' says M. Dupin,' and Buonaparte would not permit Paris to learn, on awaking, that a prince of the house of Bourbon was in its neighbourhood and alive, even though he was in the dungeon of Vincennes.'—Pieces Hist. p.,30, ' , , . ...

What passed in the three dark hours which elapsed between the sentence and the execution is buried in the graves-oif .-.the Bourbon and Buonaparte, and in the heart of M. Savary* ■' Que-' tiring alone is certain—that, as at his trial, he was depfivedoof what the law expressly allowed, a legal adviser, so in his1 aglttiy" he was denied what never was before refused—the corrso)at?6t)s of religion. By what warrant, he was, in defiance of the general law and of the individual sentence itself, executed so sudderily^'jveV cannot, as we have already stated, discover. . General.Hujraylas we have shown, knows no more than we do. But, M. Supary commanded! His account of the crisis is as follows: ,| j,!,)/,,!

'The court deliberated a long time; it was not till two hours after the room was cleared that the sentence was known.

'The officer who commanded the infantry of my regiment came with

deep 'deep emotion to tell me, that a party was required to execute the sentence—I answered, Give n.'—Memoirs, p. 30. .n .«t -r «.-u ■ 1 ' Nothing in the whole pamphlet has excited so much indignation in France, as the cold-blooded laconism of this answer— "give It"—these two dry words were, as far as we are informed, the only death-warrant of the descendant of so many kings and of so many heroes. Hum 'The trial, as we have seen, had been fair—the court open—the execution too was public. He was shot between five and six o'clock in the morning of a foggy 21st of-March, in the ditch of the fortress, about fourteen feet below the level of the ground! ■M. Savary, who confesses nothing else, admits that he designated the spot—the reasons of his choice are admirable! - • >-m»l '"'Where shall the party of tttectaroh be' placed ?" asked the officeV— "'where,''*! answered," you can'hurt n^bbdy^fifw already the inhabitants of the populous neighbourhood of Paris were proceeding along the roads to the several markets.'—Memoirs, p. SCki xli it >i i >ni> \L (f^he Wilder heart of M. Savary—bis deares£*nxiety 5»w**o hurt'an1 innocent person! but, unfortunately for this pretence, eVetyidhabitant of Paris knows, thtnWd'JMttdl passes within a iHile'of the front of the castle; and still more' unfoifliohatelyy(the grave1 had been dug on the spot early 'the I preceding evening, while the unconscious victim was at supper, i ib^e&avxrysMjs the grave was dug between the senteadeJiatsd ^ttecdtiton; better e'videriefc'gives the fact as we hateigtseed j*# bat wtoens®everdug, if dug before the execution, it contradicts!>M.>Savary's story. But M. Savary tells us a more important and:- affecting circumstance*—it was not till he was brought down'the batckfislairs -suddenly into the ditch, that the prince heard his sentence—they had ingeniously managed this agreeable surprise fori'hintf*-tbe sentence was, at"ihe"swtrte minbtb} read and executed, rF*lrl\his refinement of atrocity1 Wte'W'ereqnite unprepared^ bntirt knrairibe admitted, tihat i* is'the^riaturaUttlirriax of M&dreartrutiberiesof barbarity.'1 " -'" 'td'-His vino ion iomunui> ami yutvee' AA. isi.i 'Another circumstance, though of less- importance^- is too curious to be passed over. Savary tells us that Buonaparte did not intend that the duke should have been shot that night—nay, that it was done without his knowledge; and the proof he gives of this extravagant assertion is, that he, Savary, on returning to town after the execution, met the privy counsellor Real going leisurely down to Vincennes to examine the prisoner. If the fact were true, it would prove no more than that Buonaparte did not acquaint Real that the duke was to be murdered that night. But it seems that even this worthless fact is not true;-for Mehee de la Touche, who was deeply, and we must add disgracefully, im'. '•" plicated


plicated in the whole affair, attests, on his own evidence, and, what is better, upon that of all Real's servants and clerks, that on that never-to-be-forgotten day, Real did not leave his own house till the afternoon, and was consequently not to be met near Vincennes at seven o'clock in the morning. We have some little curiosity (though the fact itself be of no value) to see what Savary will say to this direct contradiction.— •

Let us now, in justice to M. Savary, state that his defence is in two points successful; he proved that he did not fasten a lantern

• to.' the prince's breast, as a mark for the executioners—but, admitting this, we must add that no one, to our knowledge, ever said that he did. We have, indeed, seen it asserted that the prince

-himself had so fixed the lantern—he. may have done so—there was, M. Savary confesses, a lantern in .the ditch, and such an act would be consistent with the whole of the modest yet intrepid conduct of the duke; but certainly M. Savary did not go down into the ditch to fix the lantern; he stood on the parapet and only commanded the troops who fired at the bosom of the victim, which M. Sararyievidently thinks is less horrid than firing at a lantern |,UI

He defends himself also successfully against another imputation, «liich we< never before heard of, his having stolen the prince's watch.;. iMsiiit possible,' he indiguantly asks, 'that any one can suspect me, a general in the French army, a minister of state, of having stolen a watch?' We readily answer—no; and we are not tlie leas slow in this acquittal from a fact stated by oursekes so long ago as July, 1817, namely, that when the body of the illustrious victim was, in 1816, removed for Christian burial from the ditch in which M. Savary had huddled it, his witch was found. No; M. Savary only took his life—his watch be spardd. <i<irt>i^i: -nil !>-•;_•• u^ni /l-t"-■!•: ■ .•■■

Tibet horror of all the rest of this, melancholy detail stifles tbe ridicnle which the disproval of; these two fancied ace ijsatjonsvyould have otherwise excited; and the result, of the whole, discussion is, that M. Savary has confirmed not only all that he was sn$pacjte|d of, but a great deal more; and that he has disproved nothing but two contemptible circumstances of which lie had never.b^en accused. <■■■* "<•<'< hmtni

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