CORDAY D’ARMANS, Marie-Anne-Charlotte, born in 1768, at St Saturnin near Séez in Normandy, was descended from a noble family, and numbered among her ancestors the dramatist Corneille. She was educated in a convent, and then sent to live with an aunt at Caen. Here she saw hardly any one but her relative, and passed her lonely hours in reading the works of the philosophes, especially Voltaire and the Abbé Raynal. Another of her favourite authors was Plutarch, from whose pages she doubtless imbibed the idea of classic heroism and civic virtue which prompted the act that has made her name famous. On the outbreak of the Revolution she began to study current politics, chiefly through the medium of the papers issued by the party afterwards known as the Girondins. On the downfall of this party, on May 31, 1793, many of the leaders took refuge in Normandy, and proposed to make Caen the headquarters of an army of volunteers, at tho head of whom Wimpfenn, the commandant of Cherbourg, w as to have marched upon Paris. Charlotte attended their meetings, and heard them speak; but we have no reason to believe that she saw any of them privately, till the day when she went to ask for introductions to friends of theirs in Paris. She saw that their efforts in Normandy were doomed to fail. She had heard of Marat as a tyrant and the chief agent in their overthrow, and she had conceived the idea of going alone to Paris and assassinating him,—doubtless thinking that this would break up the party of the Terrorists and be the signal of a counter-revolution. Apparently she had thought of going to Paris in April, before the fall of the Girondins, for she had then procured a passport which she used in July. Jt contained the usual description of the bearer, and ran thus: “Laissez passer la ...citoyenne Marie, &c., Corday, agée de 24 ans, taille de 5 pieds 1 pouce, cheveux et sourcils châtains, yeux gris, front élevé, nez long, bouche moyenne, menton rond fourchu, visage ovale.” Arrived in Paris she first attended to some business for a friend at Caen, and then she wrote to Marat: —“Citizen, I have just arrived from Caen. Your love for your native place doubtless makes you desirous of learning the events which have occurred in that part of the republic. I shall call at your residence in about an hour; have the goodness to receive me, and to give me a brief interview. I will put you in a condition to render great service to France.” On calling she was refused admittance, and wrote again, promising to reveal important secrets, and appealing to Marat’s sympathy on the ground that she herself was persecuted by the enemies of the republic. She was again refused an audience, and it was only when she called a third time (July 15) that Marat, hearing her voice in the antechamber, consented to see her. He lay in a bathing tub, wrapped in towels, for he was suffering from a horrible disease which had almost reduced him to a state of putrefaction. Our only source of information as to what followed is Charlotte’s own confession. She spoke to Marat of what was passing at Caen, and his only comment on her narrative was that all the men she had mentioned should be guillotined in a few days. As he spoke she drew from her bosom a dinner knife (which she had bought the day before for two francs) and plunged it into his left side. It pierced the lung and the aorta. He cried out, “A moi, ma chère amie!" and expired. Two women rushed in, and prevented Charlotte from escaping. A crowd collected round the house, and it was with difficulty that she was escorted to the prison of the Abbaye. On being brought before the Revolutionary Tribunal she gloried in her act, and when the indictment against her was read, and the president asked her what she had to say in reply, her answer was, “Nothing, except that I have succeeded.” Her advocate, Chaveau Lagarde, put forward the plea of insanity, but of course he could not sustain it. She was sentenced to death, and calmly thanked her counsel for his efforts on her behalf, adding, however, that the only defence worthy of her was an avowal of the act. She was then conducted to the Conciergerie, where at her own desire her portrait (now in the museum of Versailles) was painted by the artist Hauer. She preserved her perfect calmness to the last. There was a momentary shudder when she saw the guillotine, but she recovered immediately, and placed herself in position under the fatal blade without assistance from any one. The knife fell, and one of the executioners held up her head by the hair, and had the brutality to strike it with his fist. Many believed they saw the dead face blush,—probably an effect of the red stormy sunset. It was the 17th of July 1793. It is difficult to analyze the character of Charlotte Corday, we know so little of her; but there was in it much that was noble and exalted. Her mind had been formed by her studies on a pagan type. To Barbaroux and the Girondins of Caen she wrote from her prison, anticipating happiness “with Brutus in the Elysian Fields” after her death, and with this letter she sent a simple loving farewell to her father, revealing a tender side to her character that otherwise we would hardly have looked for in such a woman.
Every writer on the Revolution has dwelt at more or less length on Charlotte Corday. Many of the current versions of her life are very incorrect and even absurd. Of biographies we may mention that of Couet de Gironville, published in 1796, that of Alphonse Esquiros which attempts a defence of Marat, and Adolphe Huard's Mémoires sur Charlotte Corday, 1866. Her letters and her address to the French people were printed at Caen in 1863 under the title of Oeuvres politiques de Charlotte Corday. Lamartine in his Histoire des Girondins has an eloquent eulogy, which ends by styling her “Tange de T assassination." She has even less appro priately been called the “Jeanne d'Arc de la Révolution.’
[1,067 words — estimated reading time: 7 minutes]
