The Youth of Charlotte Corday, From the French [pp. 86-91]

THE YOUTH OF CHARL 0 TTE CORDA r.
in its real physiognomy, I find nothing in her
opinions to. prevent her assenting to those of
the eminent historian. "It is impossible not
to feel sad as we see the deplorable disorder
into which the influence of her times had
thrown a soul so generous and pure. Neglect
or scorn of religious and moral duties, pride
in individual ideas, faith in emphatic and thileat rical language, anarchy of opinions, had delu ded and, as it were, intoxicated this naturally
noble and delicate character; the insane deed
that she executed was the crime of her time
rather than hers; she went to assassination as
she would have gone to martyrdom, and shed
the blood of Marat less willingly than she would
have shed her own in the cause of humanity."
Charlotte Corday was doubly mistaken. A
republican and a federalist, she hastened the
ruin of the federalists, and did not save the
republic from its bloody rage, for Robespierre
was to succeed to Marat, and no isolated act
of abnegation and courage could save a nation
bowed under the yoke of terror. Her name
will pass to future ages associated with a deed
which the worthlessness of the victim can not
redeem. No cause, however just and innocent
of all complicity it may be, will ever see its
defenders grasp the poniard without deep injury
to those inflexible principles of public morality,
to respect and defend which is the first duty
and supreme interest of honest men.
Much has been said, much written about
Charlotte Corday. None yet has known or
judged her well. Almost all have substituted
fable for history, and attempted, by painting an
imaginary portrait according as they were variously moved, to condemn or absolve the intrepid
and devoted deed which will make her name
eternal. The act, blameworthy no doubt, was
inspired by a single sentiment, rare in our
days-love of her native land.
Charlotte Corday sacrificed herself for her
country. She thought so at least, and thiserror
may, in a certain degree, ennoble a crime whose
motive was so disinterested and pure. Charlotte Corday, in the bloom of youth and beauty,
sacrificed her life to save the life of thousands
of Frenchmen, and extinguish the torch of civil
discord. So lofty an aim, so powerful a motive
was necessary to induce this celebrated girl to
act in a manner so contrary to the modesty of
her~sex, the gentleness of her manners, and the
tenderness of her heart; but our writers, skillful in describing the scenes of past centuries, are
often less successful in matters of the present
times. Destitute of authentic documents, they
make their heroes think and act as they would
have thought and acted; in this way they have
dwarfed this great and lofty soul to their own
narrow proportions. Incapable of rising to her
elevation, they have attributed to her motives
comprehensible to ordinary minds. They could
not understand the exalted sentiment, the sub lime devotion and masculine courage which,
notwithstanding the repugnance of a gentle and
compassionate nature, nerved the arm of Char lotte Corday, and guided her avenging steel to
the breast of a monster unworthy to die by
such a hand.
I can not, alas! silence falsehood and folly.
I can not efface so many stupid writings where in a deed, of which the Holy Scriptures alone
furnish an example, is found basely miscon strued; but I, who knew the heroine, I, who
was her friend, can at least contradict her traducers. I believe I owe her memory a kind of
moral rehabilitation, and, neither condemning
nor absolving her, I will show her in her true
light, with particulars whose scrupulousness I
affirm. She shall be seen as she was in her
early years, and followed up to the ill-omened
era when the misfortunes of the times, developing a rich and powerful organization, plunged
the young girl into that delirium which made her
inflict and accept death with equal intrepidity.
When Charlotte Corday had sent Marat to
the bar of God, and human justice had pronounced her sentence, a thousand absurd fables
were invented with regard to her who had arrested a career stained with so much blood and
so many crimes. I remember seeing an image
at that time which represented her in a simple
servant girl's costume, with a small round cap
on her head. They made her a kind of harlot
seeking to avenge her lover, whom Marat, it
was said, had sent to the scaffold. A lover of
Charlotte Corday! But this explanation was
simple, probable, within the reach of those who
gave it and received it. Thus represented and
brought down to the level of ordinary women,
she was better understood. People petted her,
thought her almost excusable, and many a young
girl must have said in the secret of hir heart, I
would have done the same. But Charlotte Corday was quite superior to human foibles, and
her dagger would have disdained to avenge a
personal wrong, a common misfortune. To
snatch her country from the tyranny of a scoundrel, to stay bloodshed, to silence forever that
frantic voice which demanded a hundred thousand heads, were the true and only motives
which made a Judith of this timid, modest creature, whose life, till that terrible day, had been
quiet, innocent, and retired. This is what inspired that manly energy in her, which she ctrried to the scaffold. French by birth, Roman
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