When it was first introduced in France, towards the late 1700’s, the guillotine was called the most humane form of execution known to mankind. Before this instrument was invented (?), the accepted methods of execution in France was by hanging ( for commoners) and state beheadings( mostly nobility), carried out by an executioner with an axe or sword. Both these, Monsieur Joseph Guillotin argued on behalf of his brainchild, were methods marked with a distinct lack of sportsmanship ( the English coined that word – ‘sportsmanship’, but like most other English things, including EnglishAlan Moore, and James Bond, sportsmanship was accepted by every other nation in the world ) – for instance, a State Executioner, who has not recovered from the previous night’s escapade at Monsieur B___’s tavern, could easily miss hitting the correct spot between the skull and the shoulder the first time, the second time, and worst of all, he might even hit the incorrect spot on the incorrect head on the third try.
“Simple”, said Monsieur Guillotin. “Presenting my contraption – it is 2.3 metres high, weighs 580 kilograms (though it can be made to weigh heavier or lighter, depending on your specifications ), comes equipped with a 40 kilogram( ditto) blade that is guaranteed to slice of the correct head at the correct spot with minimal fuss ( the guarantee is based on the assumption that executions happen in the morning, when the blade is sharp and shiny, and not later in the day). It does not require the presence of a musclebound oaf in the immediate vicinity. And oh, yes, the most important part – it assures one of immediate death.”
That’s not quite what M Guillotin said when he was talking to the King. In all probability, the old gentlemen must have stammered and hemmed quite a lot, having not had any access to a B-School of repute, or any of the gentlemen who come from the Fyne Fylde Of Myrketinge. But he got his point across, and within a decade, the King of France was so convinced by the results of M Guillotin’s fine invention that he reportedly pranced up the steps of Madame Guillotin, and hummed Auld Lang Syne to himself in his final moments ( Scotch always does that to you, others whispered).
Sorry, bad joke.
An estimated forty thousand people died in public executions under the blade of the Guillotine in Paris during the Frenzy – the period immediately following the French Revolution.
What brings this bloody part of history to mind right now is this. There must have been a fixed set of executioners at work on each of these machines during that time. Each of them charged with the act of leading the doomed noblemen to their knees, binding their hands to the sides of the wooden block, and placing the neck on the correct spot. Then the rope holding the blade would be let go, at the appropriate moment, and 1/70th of a second later, a newly cut head would join the pile of half-rotten heads before the guillotine. ( I am not precisely aware of specifics here, but I think the heads were piled in baskets and taken away in bulk later. I am not aware of what were done to the bodies)
Right.
If you were an executioner doing your job, wouldn’t you, even once, think of exactly how the man or woman you just put to death felt in those final moments? Would you imagine, in those nights when you can’t fall asleep, your own reactions to being placed under the blade, the excruciating moment when you hear the rope being sliced behind you? Like that squirmy feeling on your back that you cannot quite reach with your hand and scratch away? Would you, some night, in a moment of weakness, go to your place of work, when there is no one around, and gingerly kneel in front of it, and pretend you’re about to die? Would you put your head on the bloodstained ( and in all likelihood, foul-smelling) block and close your eyes and, for an instant, revel in the last breath of air that you are about to inhale?
What if someone, at that precise instant, sneaked up behind you and screamed – “Boo”?