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July 1794The Revolutionary Tribunal handed down its verdict: “Celine Reseau, we find you guilty. The sentence shall be death by guillotine.” The twenty-one-year-old seamstress had pled innocent of the charges of treason. With no right to an attorney, she made an impassioned plea to be spared. Yet, the Revolutionary comrades overseeing her trial were not moved.Celine’s journey had been on a tragic trajectory for two years. She lost Papa shortly before she married her husband Phillipe. Several months later, Maman passed. The following year (almost to the day) Phillipe’s fishing vessel didn’t return to port. All hands were presumed dead.The widowed Celine supported herself by serving as a seamstress for her small fishing village. Being young, self-sufficient, and attractive (while certainly not the most beautiful lady in the village, Celine had many admirers) she was the target of much gossip and suspicion by local housewives. It was this unearned ire that would ultimately end her life. Two jealous wives denounced Celine as a traitor to the great Revolution. Without Malatya Escort evidence, they reported that she’d been feeding troop movements to the hated Austrians.Celine’s arrest was swift. She was grabbed by two large men who violently through her in a horse-drawn wagon. As she was whisked to jail, her fellow villagers (including friends and even family members) booed and jeered her. Rotten fruit pelted the side of her cart.Even if she’d had her wits about her, Celine couldn’t calculate the numbers of hours she sat in her dark, lonely, cold stone cell. She felt a mix of fear and relief when her name was called. She was taken (basically manhandled) across the road to a tavern. Angry villagers spat on her and yelled at her as she was dragged before three stern-looking tribunal judges.”The accusations of treason are substantiated by evidence. How do you plead?” asked a stern-looking judge.”I am innocent,” pled a frightened Celine.The second judge held up his index finger to silence the now trembling young woman. “And I suppose Malatya Escort Bayan you didn’t hide this map in the seam of a coat you repaired?” he asked.”No, Monsieur, I swear it.”The judges nodded to one and the other. The tribunal judge who’d remained silent up until now spoke: “We find your story implausible. You are guilty. We sentence you to death by guillotine.”Celine was once again spirited away, this time to a small castle along the Mediterranean coast. She was taken to a dimly lit cell containing other female inmates who looked gaunt and broken.”Citizen Mignotte,” called the guard. Celine could not see the guard’s face, even as he opened the cell door. She noticed the guard’s hand softly brushed Ms. Mignotte’s hand. She screamed in terror. The guard embraced her and whispered something in her ear. Ms. Mignotte appeared less hysterical. He slowly walked her to the jail door. Celine heard the guard ask someone at the door to be gentle with the prisoner. The jail fell deadly silent.A few minutes later the silence was Escort Malatya shattered by the sound of a gathered crowd. The laughing and calls of “traitor” didn’t drown out Ms. Mignotte pleading for her life. A metallic sound was followed by cheers. For Celine, reality set in – soon, she would also be felled by the guillotine’s blade.The guard walked over to the cell. “I’m Jacques Lefarve, the guard of this jail. I will try to make you as comfortable as possible.” Celine introduced herself. After chatting for a few minutes, Jacque gave Celine a weak smile and walked away.Within a few days, Celine’s remaining cellmates were taken one by one to meet the executioner. The young seamstress was now alone. One evening Jacques handed Celine a blanket and half a baguette. Celine was surprised by the gifts. “Merci,” she squeaked. Jacques smiled: “You’re very welcome.” He opened her cell door and entered. “The guillotine is broken. They are working to fix it, but it will take a few more days,” said Jacques, much to Celine’s relief.Somehow, Jacques and Celine ended up chatting the night away. They were around the same age, both widowed, lonely, and suspected by their neighbors. Jacques was a few years older than Celine. His face was weathered (prior to the Revolution he’d owned a fishing vessel). His blue eyes sparkled, but they also hinted at sadness.
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