They had hoisted both these heads upon
pikes, which two men of the mob carried before the procession.
Between them strode, with proud, triumphant mien, a gigantic figure,
with long, black beard, with naked blood-flecked arms, with flashing
eyes, his face and hands wet with the blood with which he had imbued
himself, and in his right hand a slaughter-knife which still dripped
blood. This was Jourdan, who, from his cutting off the heads of both
the Swiss guards, had won the name of the executioner--a name which
he understood how to keep during the whole revolution.[Footnote:
Jourdan, the executioner, had, until that time, been a model in the
Royal Academy of Painting and Sculpture.]
Like storm-birds, desirous to be the first to announce to Paris the
triumph of the populace, and impatient of the slow progress of the
royal train, these heralds of victory, bearing their bloody banner,
hastened on in advance of the procession to Paris. In Sevres they
made a halt--not to rest, or wait for the oncoming train--but to
have the hair of the two heads dressed by friseurs, in order, as
Jourdan announced with fiendish laughter to the yelling mob, that
they might make their entrance into the city as fine gentlemen.
While before them and behind them these awful cries, loud singing
and laughing resounded, within the carriage that conveyed the royal
family there was unbroken silence.
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