French History

               The old forgotten town of Rouse was known for tradition, and by tradition I mean to say it held every day, without fail, at least one public execution. The prominent warden, Pierre Lamont Clarion, was well suited to his job. As a child he watched the executions with glee dreaming of one day becoming the one who organized them. So well did he fulfill his function that people traveled from great distances to see the well-rehearsed spectacle in person. In fact, if you study France long enough you’re sure to stumble across many subtle nods to the town. Here a nod there a nod and all unnoticed by the average reader! Well it’s my pleasure to reveal at least one story pertaining to the town. It’s fitting seeing as it was my introduction to Rouse as well. I discovered it during one of my excursions into the mundane. You see, when one is an academic like me (having no friends) the straightforwardness of study becomes boring, everything becomes boring, one’s sense of reference grows askew and what is interesting or not becomes indecipherable. I’ll call that a disclaimer and with it out of the way I’ll reveal, in confidence, that for a long stretch I became obsessed with what specific day of the week events took place on. How often do you hear for instance that the king’s coronation was on Sunday the 11th, 1775? Do you see dear friend how it could be interesting? Well I’ll intimate one more which has relevance to our story and such a significant fact it is: the mentioned king, Louis XVI, was executed on Monday the 23^rd, 1793… But I digress…

               When the bleak French countryside finally gave way and one approached the town of Rouse they imagined from first sight that they could see the massive guillotine that occupied a raised platform in the town square. Parents squinted and children exclaimed with pointed fingers that one fixture or another must surely be it. “Look! Right there! That’s the top!” they would shout, skipping merrily hand in hand. Each day the festivities would climax as the clock sounded whichever hour signified the release of the great gleaming blade. The prisoners would jockey for position in hopes of obtaining a desirable timeslot for their execution. It was up to Warden Clarion of course but he was a fair man. Like all Frenchmen he was a clear thinker and had no problem with crime per se. To be honest, in almost all circumstances he felt that his prisoners were acting in a morally defensible manner but there is a distinction between moral permissibility and civil permissibility. One cannot, claimed Warden Clarion, morally condemn the criminal but for a society to function there must be stern consequences for those who place their own laws over the laws that we, as a society, have agreed to. He carried out his duty with compassion and had a good relationship with the prisoners who loved him despite the inevitability that would conclude their friendship. Sincere consideration was given in orchestrating the execution docket. Saturday night was the most prestigious allotment because everybody would talk about the beheading the next day at church so it was important that the condemned individual’s story had some mirth. Sunday was good too because after church everyone would rush to the platform, Clarion included, for the afternoon execution and they would all be wearing their finest clothing which gave it a slightly nobler presentation. Mondays were the absolute worst because tithes were collected on Monday and nobody wants to see someone’s head chopped off when they are in a bad mood. So you see why I mentioned Louis? His beheading is not disgraceful in itself because all Frenchmen grow up knowing that their head is only connected to their shoulders via a flimsy neck. No, Louis is forever disgraced because he was executed on a Monday! And I’ll have you know that Robespierre attempted to model his guillotine after the one that stood in Rouse. You learn, dear friends, that there are no coincidences in history. I implore you, read, read! The mundane is a fruit whose seeds one unknowingly spits out only to find fully sprouted when reading a passage and recognizing the care placed in constructing a particular instrument of execution like Robespierre’s guillotine.

               It was the beginning of the week and Warden Pierre Lamont Clarion was hard at work. His desk covered with papers and a secretary sitting upright across from him looked confidently at the modest stack he had for himself. This was what Clarion loved, the administrative aspect. When it all came together, he knew it would be his own handywork that did it. As he shuffled through the files, he noticed a familiar name. A young Manon Sorel was in custody sharing the namesake of a late companion. It’s worth mentioning that this was no Julien Sorel but rather a complete buffoon. He had fought a duel and accidentally shot and killed his rival’s second.

               Clarion sighed, “What do you think?” he asked, passing Manon’s file to his secretary. “Sunday? I was close with his father, it’s the least I can do.”

               “Young ones do go over well on Sundays, everyone is more sympathetic. Yes, I believe he is a good choice, Warden.” The secretary said with several nods.

               The days rolled on and the Warden worked as normal. On Wednesday the secretary entered his office at the customary time and informed Clarion that Manon, seeing the execution docket, had begun refusing his meals. Considering the prisoners are not fed well to begin with and are essentially on hunger strike without even knowing it Warden Clarion was confused. He was informed that the young Sorel preferred dying on Tuesday. Supposing that the youth wanted to live a day or two extra the Warden decided to grant this request despite its underlining ungratefulness. The secretary informed Clarion that Manon ate his black bread gleefully after hearing the news and the guards all commented on his improved mood. Satisfied, Pierre Lamont Clarion went to his chamber where a servant was placing his supper. Browned peacock with saffron and cardamom sat atop a silver plate, its juices replicating a mirror on the polished surface making the fowl appear twofold. A shimmering glass of wine sat next to it, so clean and full that Clarion could see his reflection in the red elixir. There was bread too but the Warden had a taste primarily for meat and only ate the common stuff to help alleviate headaches caused by an excess consumption of wine.

               The next day, Thursday, the Secretary came in, informing the warden that two prisoners had agreed to switch allotments pending his prudent judgement. When Clarion asked of the prisoners requesting it, he was informed of their sterling behavior. In fact, a young Josue Bisset was the unanimous favorite among the guards. A clever lad with raven hair and nice cheek bones, his thin chin produced an angular shaped face that most would agree was handsome. He had a habit of winking every so often as he spoke and many people found it endearing. It was a mannerism he acquired in boyhood when he noticed a visiting magistrate displaying a similar proclivity when speaking with the bishop. Although it’s worth mentioning that the quirk Josue produced was contorted and exaggerated to something no longer resembling the magistrates. It’s the case with the peasant class that everything they do is in one way or another a blasphemous distortion of something they have seen from the nobility. Like a game of telephone, a simple ear scratch from a count can ripple until every plebian is yanking their ear after asking a question (and they all find it endearing!). None the less, Josue was well behaved, and if another prisoner agreed to let him live a few extra days, until next Wednesday, Clarion didn’t see the harm in it.

               Saturday night was a good night for Pierre Lamont Clarion. The air was brisk after a sweltering day on Friday which had him worried. Over the years he had noticed that the body odor of so many people gathered can ruin the atmosphere of a good execution not to mention that the syrupy way in which blood sits in hot weather isn’t as pleasant. The cool breeze blew his elegant curls to and fro and his jovial smile put his audience in a good mood. Although there was an easy straightforward path from the prison cells to the guillotine Warden Clarion occasionally had his guards bring the prisoner in a roundabout way so that the spectators could have a more interactive experience and since it was Saturday night, he found it appropriate. The guards lumbered with the man through the crowd of people, his eyes darting back and forth in a panic. His shackled limbs offered little movement and a slack rope tied to himself and to one of the guards meant that they were bound together. The well-trained guards made use of this to invigorate the people in attendance, they both feigned a fall, splaying to the ground allowing the prisoner’s shackled feet to sprint a few paces before being tripped up by the rope. The crowd gasped and screamed for his death. A woman shouted, “he was going after my son!”, and they all yelled “treachery!” One of the guards, as is the ritual, smacked the man on the head and for comedic effect said “This one’s in a hurry!” and the whole crowd laughed. He was brought up the tall steps and his head was placed in the contraption. The Warden read a dramatized history of the man and a fictional letter from one of his victims make believe daughter. Tears filled the eyes of the audience and Clarion himself choked on his words, “Signed… No I cannot give her name for this world has defiled her enough…” and he let the sobs linger for a minute before lifting his hand and placing it on the lever. The crowd perked up, tears were wiped away, and after a moment the lever was pulled and the man’s head popped off and fell the great distance to the ground below. The crowd cheered as the Warden bowed.

               The cheerful Warden was walking back to his abode on the other side of the prison when he heard from a distant cell his name being called, “Pierre! Pierre!” He turned to his secretary who was running to catch up and asked who the man was that was shouting his first name. The secretary, with labored breath, replied that it was Manon Sorel and that he had not eaten all of Friday or today.

               “Didn’t I give him what he wanted?” Clarion asked perplexedly.

               “Yes, Warden you’ve been more than gracious, he is young and ungrateful.”

               “What’s he want now?”

               “He’s asked on the honor of his father to be killed on Thursday instead of Tuesday.”

               Clarion laughed heartily and yelled across the courtyard, “Thursday it is dear boy!” and continued on noticing that the boy put his hands together signifying a “thank you” and bowed repeatedly. Clarion walking side by side with his secretary added, “But no more food for him.”

               The next day Pierre Lamont Clarion was sitting at his desk as normal when his secretary knocked on his door, leading the young prisoner Josue Bisset in.

               “What’s the meaning of this?” Clarion asked, to which his secretary replied,

               “You’ve always said you have no problem with we underlings taking bribes, so long as it doesn’t interfere with Justice, so here I am, accepting a bribe from Josue Bisset for an audience with you.”

               “Fine fine. Go on then Josue Bisset what is it you want?”

               “Thank you for your time Warden.” Josue said with a sincere expression, adding “I would like to die on Friday.”

               Clarion laughed heartily, “And why would I agree to that?”

               Josue looked at Clarion with piercing eyes but said nothing.

               “Can you pay? How much do you have?” The Warden asked.

               “750 livre is my life’s savings 250 of which I have given to your associate here as a bribe and 250 I had given for the initial trade to Wednesday.”

               Clarion sighed, “You should know that the fee I allow my jailors to exact is 250 livre per day.”

               Josue walked to the adjacent window and looked out into the street where the guillotine stood tall, “Thursday would work… Although…” he said, clearly in thought, “Would you allow me to be the last execution on that day?”

               “Fine fine.” Clarion looked to his secretary as if to confirm that he had received his bribe, to which the secretary nodded. “Back to your cell.” He added.

               As they exited Clarion yelled after them, “And no more food for him.” This was Clarion’s punishment for attempts at cleverness.

               Warden Clarion, confused by the urgency with which Josue postponed the inevitable, rummaged through a stack of folders until he came to the one labelled “Bisset.” He took it anxiously and opened it up. As he read a smile grew on his face and he began to laugh. He called his secretary in and watched anxiously as the man read it and began to laugh himself. They both laughed heartily.

               “Bring Manon in here.”

               Manon was brought in and the Warden noted how gaunt his face looked. His hallow cheeks and sunken eyes didn’t match his stomach which still retained its rotund shape, leading Clarion to believe he was a well-fed fellow before his imprisonment but his successive hunger strikes had really tormented him. A great many fellows who had good standing in their communities had come to stay in Clarion’s prison and he had witnessed time and time again their inability to display virtue after missing as little as one meal. Because of this Clarion did gain a certain respect to those in society who are perpetually hungry and this respect is perhaps what made the prisoners accept him. Manon’s hunger, though, was no longer in his own hands, he suffered due to the Warden’s restriction and his face showed it.

               “Tell me dear Manon, why you were so adamant to put off the date of your execution? So adamant as to invoke the honor of your late father, my friend.”

               Manon sighed, “If a man’s got to die, better later than sooner…”

               “I’ve read your file,” Clarion said, “You killed your opponent’s second in a duel? By all accounts an accident, one that shows a great deal of negligence no doubt, but I would expect more protestations, although they probably wouldn’t do any good.”

               “I’m guilty all the same Warden…” Manon said with a hazy gaze, “I’m guilty… Maybe not of that but of a load of other things… I’m a god-fearing man Warden. This is my comeuppance. Suppose that I had taken someone’s life when I was younger and it haunts me to this day and suppose that I steal grain from the Abbe’s stock too?” He looked tired, “What I’m saying is I’m a criminal either way.”

               “I see… And you’re settled for Thursday? No more issues?”

               “Yes Warden, Thursday.”

               “And the reason for your hunger strikes is simply a matter of putting off the date a little longer?”

               “Yes Warden.”

               “Then I should tell you.” Clarion said with a grin, “That I have just spoken with a Josue Bisset who has entreated me to allow him, as opposed to Wednesday, to be the last execution on Thursday.”

               Manon’s eyes widened. His dry lips parted in horror. With a shaking voice he began, “Monsieur, your Excellency, anointed one, vassal of God himself…” He fell to his knees, “Please no… I must die on Friday it must be Friday.”

               The Warden couldn’t help but laugh and his secretary who stood behind Manon bounced up and down nodding his head ferociously.

               “But you’ve just said, Thursday?”

               “Friday Warden Friday…”

               “I simply cannot do it Manon.” The Warden said triumphantly.

               Manon, frozen upright on his knees, appeared to look through Clarion, his dejection so thorough that it took on a determined character. His mind regained a glimmer, searching for a reason powerful enough to persuade the Warden.

               “Justice… Fairness… You Warden intend to deprive an honest Manon Sorel, who shares the name of your late best friend, of his dying wish…? Josue Bisset is my mortal enemy sir…” Manon stood up with deference.

               “And your final wish is to outlive him?” The Warden asked with a smile.

               Manon sighed, “I only ask that you compare our crimes and you’ll no doubt come to the conclusion that Justice entitles me to having this wish granted.”

               Manon’s rally faltered after he finished speaking and as the glimmer faded from his eyes, his back rounded and hunger returned to his features. The Warden’s secretary led him out. Clarion had had enough for one day. Later as he laid in his feather bed he thought about the rivalry and what Manon had said. He liked when it felt like whether Justice be done or not resided in him. As he saw it this was a case of higher order Justice, the type of substance that transcended laws. He slept soundly like always.

               The next day Clarion thought hard. He sent his secretary away to allow the clarity provided by solitude to alleviate his trepidation. Finally, he decided he was ready to speak with Josue Bisset and had him brought in.

               Josue was no doubt hungry but looked lively none the less. His black hair somehow maintained a shine despite the dirtiness of his condition and his mouth curled upward in a smirk. The secretary led him in and he sat down comfortably at a chair. The nature of the cells at the Warden’s prison forced one to sit only on the hard stone ground so as Josue sat his eyes closed in relaxation before opening to view the Warden who sat in front of him.

               “Don’t get too comfortable Bisset. My decision might not be to your liking.”

               Josue’s smirk remained but a respectful tinge of reverence colored his features. “Go on…” he nearly whispered.

               “I’ll be transparent. The most important virtue after all, honesty. And have you been honest with me? You’ve transported your expiration date twice now.”

               “And did I ever lie?” Josue asked.

               “What does it mean to lie?” The Warden asked indignantly, “You’ve put me in the middle of something. You’ve made me the decider of a great fate without my knowing it.”

               Josue shrugged his shoulders, “I suppose you’re right, Warden…”

               “I’ve read your file. You committed the same crime as Manon Sorel?” Clarion, paused before adding, “Although your crime lacks the accidental element?” Clarion’s features took on an element of elation, his laughing eyes prodded Josue.

               “Ah, transparency! Yes, Warden that is correct. In the midst of a duel with the stupidest man I have ever met I was again surprised, as I had been so often during our acquaintance, with his stupidity. He missed me completely and killed my second. The only fitting retribution as I saw it was to return the transgression. I fired at his second and hit my mark, killing the man.”

               Clarion laughed, “And do you regret it?”

               “No Warden…” Josue paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, “When I was a boy I loved to walk.” He said, “Long walks, all day. My father, bless his soul, tried to understand me. He tried to teach me. He would say, ‘why don’t you walk this basket to Marseille.’ Or even to challenge me, ‘why don’t you see if you can walk all the way to Montpellier.’ But it was not the same, Warden. This difference between my father who built a successful business and I who lost it after he died. It was the aimlessness that impelled me. And with aimlessness, Warden, comes the sensation of an early and impending death, don’t ask me why but it’s true. I’ve always known I will die in a stupid way although I’ve been granted an unforeseen consolation. Let me ask you this, has a man ever exacted revenge as quickly as I have? I achieved it within seconds Warden… Ah that will have to do, it will have to do.”

               The Warden sighed and although he never drank during the day he felt his tongue salivating for some alcohol. “I’m in a tough spot. I told you that you would be the last execution and although I like you that won’t happen. Manon will be after you and I will justify it by pointing out I could just as easily move him to the next day and your entire reason for wanting the slot would be void. It will play good with the audience this way. Additionally, I’ve decided to move you to Saturday night, so rest easy knowing you will at least get some exposure out of it.” Clarion took a swig from his glass of water and dissatisfied that it was not wine put it down before continuing, “Ah yes… The reason. Well I see your act as a great deal worse than Manon’s and you’ve admitted much the same. Manon’s act was one of stupidity, whereas yours was of intentional action. Between you and me, I see no issue with revenge… But in our enlightened society it’s the government that doles out the revenge.”

               Josue nodded, “Indeed… Although I have a proposal.”

               “Go on.” Clarion urged.

               Josue turned to look at the Warden’s secretary who nodded to him, before addressing the Warden, “Warden I confess that as part of my bribe to your secretary I had him promise to inform me of any changes worth noting. In other words, I was aware of your conclusion.” Josue paused for a moment to arrange his words, “I therefore had time to think… I have an idea of what Manon said to sway you, he appealed to your sense of Justice? Well I have an appeal of my own, one to determination, let it be in my own hands…”

               “I don’t follow.” The Warden said with curiosity.

               “No matter how much of a longshot, allow me a chance to have my way, instead of the guillotine, give me the wheel.”

…

               Excuse me dear reader but I feel a pause accompanied by an explanation is necessary here. There may be some questions as to why Rouse is so fond of the guillotine, especially as the story takes place in a chronologically distant and barbaric landscape. I’ll first clear something up: that the method used is not actually the guillotine but something so similar that I have taken the liberty of calling it so. For the purposes of visualization, one must trust me and my literary prowess that the word guillotine will produce the most vivid scenes.

               Secondly the method of execution is so consistent in Rouse because the Warden himself had developed a preference. As a young boy he enjoyed all methods of execution but he initially enjoyed the guillotine the least. It just seemed to be over so quick and with nothing but a thud, bounce. One day to satisfy his gory proclivities he got as close to the scene as possible, crawling on all fours between people’s legs. He managed to maneuver himself under the structure itself, closer than anyone else to where the head would inevitably fall. He knew this because of the dry blood that resided inches away from him. He heard the man above him screaming ‘Mercy!’ over and over, ‘Mercy!’ He heard the great blade fall and a thud and then… The eyes of the man met his. And from the head he heard a voice say ‘mercy’. It was from then on that Clarion was obsessed with the guillotine and when he became Warden it was his masterpiece.

…

               The countryside was ablaze with talk of the pending executions. The story had been plastered everywhere. Lifelong rivals both committing the same crime using diplomacy and cunning to outmaneuver each other, pushing their respective execution dates later and later. How the cunning Josue Bisset begged to be broken on the wheel in a final attempt to outlast his enemy. Clarion was so pleased with the reception from the countryside that he allowed the two prisoners their timid rations of rotten black bread. When Saturday came, a long procession of peasants marched eagerly into the town for the impending festivities. The shops and markets comprising much of the town elected to stay open an extra hour to take advantage of the large influx of people. Pierre Lamont Clarion smiled, looking out the window of his office and seeing the commotion of the town.

               The honor of breaking Josue Bisset on the wheel fell to an émigré from Savoy who went by the name Titus. Titus was a guard in Clarion’s retinue who possessed the rare delicate brutality necessary for successfully handling insubordinate prisoners. The worst conclusion a prisoner could reach (from Clarion’s perspective) was that his misbehavior in some way annoyed his jailors. Thankfully Titus enjoyed such provocations because he enjoyed punishing such provocateurs and this unquestionable characteristic made these provocateurs infinitely less likely to engage in these provocations. He was instructed by Clarion to conduct the execution as he saw fit but supposing Bisset said ‘Mercy,’ he was to kill him (Bisset was made aware of this).

               The time was drawing nearer, Titus inspected the wheel he planned to use with a smile. His dark skin and robust features trembling with excitement. He wore a modest black beard and thick hair covered his arms and head. He looked like a farmer might look after a good harvest that was ready to be brought to the city and sold. As he surveyed the large round object that was to be his canvas, he tried to envision how he would go about each step. He knew there was one hour between the beginning of Josue Bisset’s execution and Manon Sorel’s and therefore concluded that he should not begin in too brutal a manner. He acknowledged the element of contest that was occurring and wanted to give Josue a genuine chance of outlasting Manon. He tangled his limbs through the spokes to get an idea on the logistics. Eventually feeling prepared he let out a sigh of relief and went to convene with Clarion who was readying himself for his role of executing Manon.

               He entered Clarion’s office and saw him giving final instructions to some guards. When Clarion was finished he nodded to Titus and the two walked together towards the guillotine, in front of which Josue Bisset was beginning to be secured to the wheel. The crowd was tightly packed and brimming with anticipation, the festivities were about to begin. Clarion gave a final nod to Titus before mounting the platform to speak. His senses perked, he could feel the electricity in the air and the impatience of the crowd. He prudently kept his introduction short, knowing that the story was already familiar. The crowd roared when he symbolically threw the lever of the guillotine down, unleashing the blade to an empty chamber, signifying to Titus to begin.

               The wheel was large and empathetic, it supported Josue as best it could, standing upright with a slight lean to provide better viewing for those in attendance. Josue’s body was forced into a crouch but his limbs fully extended outward, being secured by leather belts wherever possible. His free torso wiggled to get comfortable and he leaned his head back along one of the spokes, gazing towards the frenzied crowd, sweat accumulating on his forehead. He looked at Titus and a laugh escaped his lips when he saw the stern disposition the man was displaying. Titus reached into a sack and produced a wooden cudgel, holding it up the crowd erupted again. A doctor who Warden Clarion perspicaciously stationed near the wheel looked pale. He was instructed to educate the audience on the intricacies that occurred but he could not lift his eyes. He stood timidly near the wheel hoping not to be noticed.

               The process began. Titus swung his cudgel in a brutal arc colliding with Josue’s forearm that was strapped along a spoke. A loud crack accompanied the climax. The doctor stood sheepishly but as Josue screamed his eyes wandered upward. Seeing the broken bone he jumped before turning to the crowd who cheered. He came alive and his shaky voice yelled, “radius! That’s the radius bone!” and as the crowd responded with excitement he came alive. His paleness evaporated and he ran to Josue who wheezed in pain. The doctor poked the arm inquisitively and turning to the crowd added, “the ulna too, the ulna!” he ran over to a peasant who looked particularly good humored and grabbed him by the arm, holding it up for the whole crowd to see and pointed to the two large bones that occupied the meaty arm of the man. Once the doctor’s presentation was complete Titus swung again, making a loud sound of exertion his cudgel met with the hand of Josue Bisset that was loosely curled around a spoke. The sound was different this time, it resembled wood on wood contact leading the crowd to believe he had missed but Josue’s anguished cry relieved them of the notion. The doctor enthusiastically ran to Josue looking closely at the mangled hand. “Capitate, hamate, second, third, and fourth metacarpals!” He ran back to the agreeable peasant and took his hand hailing it to the audience, who all cheered. “There are twenty-seven bones in the hand!” he added, to interested sounds of satisfaction from the crowd. The astute Titus immediately recognized a sublime chemistry with the doctor and after swinging for the third time, hard at Josue’s bicep he anxiously turned to the doctor for an explanation. The doctor did not disappoint, running back to the peasant and shouting in ecstasy, “the humerus!”

               Josue was sobbing at this point but Titus was confident he would get a second wind and regain his composure. The process continued and Titus unlatched the belts that secured the noodlelike arm and let it fall limply before taking it sternly and intertwining it through several spokes, securing it again with belts. His initial plan was to move clockwise until every limb was similarly pulverized but inspired by the doctor’s interaction with the happy peasant, he walked towards the crowd and asked them what should be next. Everyone shouted something different and Titus listened intently. He heard one enthusiastic voice say the phrase, “around the world!” and it caught his imagination. He did not know what the man meant by it but he had a premonition that it meant to break one bone of every limb, thus making a full rotation. Besides that, Titus recognized that it was catchy. He shouted to the crowd, “Around the world!” and although they had also never heard the phrase before they screamed in affirmation.

               Manon Sorel laid in his cell with his hands comfortably supporting his head. Only aware that the docket had Josue scheduled to be executed before him, and that the scheduled time had already passed, a huge weight was lifted from him. He noted how everything worked out perfectly, not only had he outlived his rival but his execution would be on Saturday night, the most prestigious allotment. So happy was he that he didn’t even notice the uproar occurring in town, which could no doubt be heard in his cell. The black bread he had that morning had tasted especially savory. Seeing an assortment of guards approach his cell door, he sat up gracefully and stood loftily. They chained his feet and hands then commenced the silent march to the scaffold.

               Manon nearly skipped as they approached discretely from behind but the deafening roar of the crowd somewhat unsettled him. He had witnessed enough executions to know that this pitch was unusual. Still he managed to attribute the anomaly to whatever factors he could fabricate and maintained his merry attitude. He had imagined that there would be a tunnel vision phenomenon but the closer he got he realized, to his surprise, that it would not come. Completely lucid of his surroundings he saw the robust back of Warden Clarion standing atop the high platform peering down at something. He began ascending the long staircase leading up to the guillotine. Each step he took the volume of the crowd increased and he noticed Clarion counting down with his fingers to the audience as he drew nearer to top. Finally reaching it the crowd’s continual eruption reached new heights and Manon as if being blinded turned away for a moment from the sheer magnitude of the screams. Regaining himself he smiled happily and scanned the crowd, noticing something amiss. His eyes drawn to a clearing in front of the platform he noticed a contraption. A great animated wheel that had weaved into each spoke a mangled and bloody limb. His eyes drifted to the face of Josue Bisset who wore a demonic smile.

               The crowd now eerily silent waited to see how Manon would respond. He turned abruptly and attempted to spring down the steps before being grabbed by two of the guards. He struggled roughly but was no match, he yelled, “Please! Please!” to no effect. The Silent crowd watched eagerly along with Josue Bisset who hung comfortably by tangled limbs. Manon’s mind quickened by impending death sprang into action, his pleas changed direction and he shakily implored, “I’ll have what he’s having! I’ll have what he’s having!” And the crowd laughed merrily.

               His head was placed in the guillotine and he had one final glimpse of Josue Bisset who had never looked so happy. Staring at his rivals face he witnessed Josue’s annoying features contort in a wink. And the blade fell. Manon’s severed head thudded on the ground, mouthing “…what he’s having,” before the eyes closed and the crowd cheered. Titus holding his cudgel high brought it down on Josue’s skull sending the crowd into a final frenzy as the doctor and his new peasant friend danced gaily, pointing to each other’s head.

…

               Now dear friend I related this story knowing that it may not be of utility at this moment. As I’ve said, with no one to gauge my interest against, a normal calibration may be beyond recovery. My only choice is to catalogue my expeditions, the things I classify as worth knowing and supposing someone (perhaps you) falls into a similar state maybe through my writing I can operate as a surrogate friend. One to nod and say, “yes, that’s interesting.” Who else among your friends would recognize the symptoms of the impending affliction better than me? And so I leave you now having introduced you to my brand of French History. Au revoir, dear friend, au revoir.