On March the 28th, the day of Damien's martyrdom, I went to fetch the
ladies in good time; and as the carriage would scarcely hold us all, no
objection was made to my taking my sweetheart on my knee, and in this
order we reached the Place de Greve. The three ladies packing themselves
together as tightly as possible took up their positions at the window,
leaning forward on their elbows, so as to prevent us seeing from behind.
The window had two steps to it, and they stood on the second; and in
order to see we had to stand on the same step, for if we had stood on the
first we should not have been able to see over their heads. I have my
reasons for giving these minutiae, as otherwise the reader would have
some difficulty in guessing at the details which I am obliged to pass
over in silence.

We had the courage to watch the dreadful sight for four hours. The
circumstances of Damien's execution are too well known to render it
necessary for me to speak of them; indeed, the account would be too long
a one, and in my opinion such horrors are an offence to our common
humanity.

Damien was a fanatic, who, with the idea of doing a good work and
obtaining a heavenly reward, had tried to assassinate Louis XV.; and
though the attempt was a failure, and he only gave the king a slight
wound, he was torn to pieces as if his crime had been consummated.

While this victim of the Jesuits was being executed, I was several times
obliged to turn away my face and to stop my ears as I heard his piercing
shrieks, half of his body having been torn from him, but the Lambertini
and the fat aunt did not budge an inch. Was it because their hearts were
hardened? They told me, and I pretended to believe them, that their
horror at the wretch's wickedness prevented Them feeling that compassion