For the Ladies' Pearl.

CHARLOTTE CORDAY,
THE POLITICAL ENTHUSIAST.

BY DANIEL WISE.
(1813-1898)

"I have heard voices of immortal truth, Blent with the everlasting torrent-sounds That make the deep hills tremble. Shall I quail? Shall Arman's daughter sink? — No! He, who there Spoke to my heart in silence and in storm, Will not forsake his child!"

      The French revolution! How glorious and how terrible are those records of France, that relate to this fearfully grand epoch of her history! Glorious, in that they exhibit an oppressed and crushed people rising in revolutionary energy and bravely shaking off the feudal tyranny of ages, in defiance of the power of a rich noblesse, and of the crowned heads of Europe; terrible, as they relate the political ultraism, bloody excesses, ferocious assassinations and barbarous public murders that constituted the "reign of terror," into which the revolutionary spirit relapsed. Such a revolution could not fail to develope many varieties and many extremes of human character. Among those characters, stands the name of Charlotte Corday, whose brief, but remarkable history we propose to lay before our readers.

      This enthusiastic young woman was a native of St. Saturnin des Lignerets in France. She was educated in a convent, and very early exhibited strong powers of mind, and an ardent love of study. She united to a person of remarkable beauty, a mind of a strong and masculine order; her wit was brilliant and keen, and her feelings extremely sensitive: her character was pure and above reproach; but her inind, ever restless and active, constantly indulged the strongest emotions of political feeling and enthusiasm.

      To obtain greater command of her time, she left the residence of her father, while yet a girl, and resided at Caen with a female friend. Here she formed an affectionate intimacy with M. Belzance, a major in the French army; and in all probability would have married him, but for his untimely death. Marat, the wolf of the revolution, denounced him in his journal, and in 1789, he was barbarously massacred by the creatures of the Jacobins.

      The death of her betrothed had a potent influence on the active mind of Charlotte, and justly considering Marat as the cause of his murder, she conceived the most bitter hatred towards that most malicious man. Being deeply interested in the progress of the revolution, that hatred increased with the success of Marat and Robespierre's party, and the decline of the more moderate revolutionists. She had strongly believed and hoped for a republic in which law, justice and purity should prevail, but instead of this, she saw the prevalence of riot, bloodshed and anarchy. This she attributed to the influence of Marat; and thought, if he could be removed, moderate and rational republicanism might succeed. France, she thought, demanded his death, and she resolved to procure it at the expense of her own life.

      Procuring letters of introduction, she proceeded to Paris. It was her intention to assassinate her victim in open convention, but his sickness caused her to change her plan. At the Palais Royal she purchased a knife, and driving to Marat's house, demanded a private interview with the terrible man. It was refused. She retired and wrote him a letter "Citizen," she wrote, "I have just arrived from Caen; your love for your country inclines me to suppose you will listen with pleasure to the secret events of that part of the republic. I will present myself at your house; have the goodness to give orders for my admission, and grant me a moment's private conversation. I can point out the means by which you may render an important service to France."

      She was admitted, and was left alone with her victim. She related what she knew of the deputies at Caen, who opposed Marat and Robespierre. Marat eagerly took notes of her communications, while she intently watched him and coolly decided where and how to strike. — After writing the names of the deputies, he replied with a malicious grin,

      "Very good: they shall all go to the guillotine!"

      "To the guillotine!" exlaimed she indignantly, and the next moment her knife quivered in his heart!

      "Help!" cried Marat, and expired. — His piercing cry aroused his mistress, a young woman of twenty-seven, and a servant. They rushed into the apartment and found the fierce revolutionist covered with blood, while his beautiful murderess stood calm and motionless beside him. — Seizing a chair, the man knocked her down with a blow; the young woman trampled upon her; the crowd, hearing the tumult, rushed in, and, but for her firmness, beauty and decision, Charlotte Corday had been torn in pieces on the spot. She was conducted to prison.

      The next day, she stood at the bar of the revolutionary tribunal, as firm and composed as ever. They accused her, and bro't witnesses to prove her a murderess. She interrupted the witness by crying out:

      "It was I who killed Marat!"

      "What induced you?"

      "His crimes!"

      "What crimes?"

      "The calamities he has occasioned ever since the revolution!"

      "Who instigated you?"

      "Myself alone!" said she proudly. "I had long resolved upon it. I was anxious to give peace to my country."

      She was sentenced to the guillotine. The reading of her sentence excited no visible emotion, and a sweet smile played around her lips as they conducted her back to prison.

      Here, she wrote to her father: "Pardon me," she wrote, "my dear father, for having disposed of my life without your permission. I have avenged many victims — prevented others. The people will one day acknowledge the services I have rendered my country. For your sake, I wished to remain incognito; but it was impossible. I only trust you will not be injured by what I have done. Farewell, my beloved father! Forget me, or rather rejoice at my fate, for it has sprung from a noble cause. Embrace my sister for me, whom I love with all my heart. — Never forget the words of Corneille — the crime makes the shame, and not the scaffold."

      The day subsequent to her trial, she underwent the terrible punishment of death. As usual, at executions, the concourse of people was immense. A few of the rabble crowded round the cart and heaped insults and abuse upon her; but the mass of the spectators, touched with her youth, beauty, dignity and magnanimity, applauded her, and rent the air with acclamations. With a smile, she met both the abuse and the plaudits of the people; and, when she stepped upon the scaffold, her face glowed with delight. In this state of feeling she calmly laid her head under the knife, the axe fell, and Charlotte Corday, the political enthusiast of the revolution, was no more!

      That the assassination of Marat was a crime, however pure the motive of Miss Corday, none will deny. Her disgust at the atrocity of Marat was just; but her error lay in yielding to the impulses of a vigorous imagination and of strong feeling — an error too common to all her sex. While, therefore, we admire the fortitude and constancy of this young heroine, let us condemn and avoid her error, viz. unqualified submission to feeling and imagination.