Think of this.

However, we do not ask for a sudden and absolute abolishment of capital punishment at once, as was so thoughtlessly advocated by the Chamber of Deputies. On the contrary, we desire every precaution and all possible prudence. Morever, we seek not merely the abolishment of capital punishment, we want a complete change of the punishment in all its forms, from the highest to the lowest, from the lock to the chopper; and time is an element which should enter into such an undertaking, in order that it may be well done. So, on this subject, we hope to develop the system of ideas which we consider practicable. But aside from the partial abolishment in the case of counterfeit money, incendiary, so-called robberies, etc., we ask that from now on, in every capital question, the president put this question to the jury: “Was the accused moved by passion or by interest?” and that in case of the jury’s replying, “The accused acted from passion,” that he be not condemned to death. This, at least, would spare us some revolting executions. Ulbach and Debacker would be saved. Othello would no longer be guillotined.

Furthermore, that one may not be deceived, this question of capital punishment is developing daily. Before long all society will think as we do.

Let the most obstinate criminal lawyers pay attention to the fact that, for a century, capital punishment has been moderating. It is almost a mild thing now, which shows it is growing weak, and feeble, and approaching death. Torture has disappeared. The wheel has gone. The gallows has gone. Strange fact that the guillotine is a step toward progression.

Monsieur Guillotine was a philanthropist.

Yes, the horrible, voracious Thémis, with her long teeth, the Thémis of Farinace and Vouglaus, Delancre and Isaac Loisel, Oppède and Machauêt, is growing weak. She is wasting away and dying.

La Grève wants her no more. La Grève wants to reinstate herself. The old drinker of blood acted nobly in July. She wants now to lead a better life, and to prove herself worthy of her last beautiful act. She, who for three centuries has been prostituted to every scaffold, is covered with shame. She blushes at her old career. She wishes to forget her evil name. She repels the hangman. She washes her pavement.

Even now capital punishment is carried on outside of Paris. And let us emphasize the fact here, that to go outside of Paris is to go beyond civilization.

The symptoms all appear to be favorable to us. It seems, too, that this hideous machine is disheartened and glum, this monster of wood and iron, which is to Guillotine what Galatea is to Pygmalion. Looked at from one standpoint, the fearful executions which we have described above are good signs. The guillotine hesitates. She fails to strike. The old scaffold for capital punishment is out of order.

The infamous machine will leave France, we are sure; and if God is willing, she will leave it limping, for we shall try and give her some hard blows.

Let her seek hospitality elsewhere, from some barbarous people; not in Turkey, which is growing civilized, nor among the savages, who do not want her (the Parliament of Otahiti has just abolished capital punishment); but let her descend several more rounds of the ladder of civilization; let her go to Spain or to Russia.

The social edifice of the past rests on three columns,—the priest, the king, and the hangman. Long ago a voice cried: “The gods will it!” Later a voice shouted: “The kings will it!” It is time now for a third voice to cry: “The hangman wills it!”

Thus the ancient structure of society will fall, stone after stone; thus Providence will complete the crumbling of the past.

To those who regret the gods, we may therefore say, “God remains.” To those who regret the laws, “The country remains.” To those who regret the hangman, we have nothing to say.

Nor will order disappear with the hangman; do not think this.