Charlotte Corday: Angel of Assassination

Sure! Here’s a sanitized version of the transcript, with spelling and grammatical errors corrected, and any potentially sensitive or inappropriate content removed:

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Hello and welcome to yet another episode of Biographics. I’m your interim host, Carl Smallwood. That’s Carl with a “C” and Smallwood with an “S-M-A-L-L-W-O-O-D.” Today, we’re talking about Charlotte Corday, the Angel of Assassination.

Before we get into the body of today’s video, I should point out that, like with all videos here at Biographics, this one is based on a script submitted to us by a member of our writing team. That member today is Arnaldo Tani—go follow them on the social links below if you are so inclined.

Also, because this is a video about a French person, there are a lot of French words and pronunciations. I’ve done my best to familiarize myself with the more difficult French pronunciations, but as someone from the north of England, for the ones that I’m really not familiar with, I’m just going to do what many British people do in my situation: I’ll try my best and move on.

So, it’s one of the most famous works of art of the 18th century, painted by French artist Jacques-Louis David. If you take a look at the painting, you’ll see a man sitting in a bathtub, slumped slightly to his right, clutching the instruments of his profession and power—a pen and a letter. A small wound just below the right collarbone uses blood on the floor. We can see the murder weapon, a stained knife. The image is realistic yet solemn; it conveys the dignity, even in death, of the man portrayed. His name was Jean-Paul Marat, a friend of the artist, later hailed as a martyr of the French Revolution.

Just outside the confines of the frame, the drama is not over yet. A young woman has been beaten, struck with a chair, and thrown to the ground. Until that very afternoon, that woman was a young and sheltered aristocrat whose involvement with the politics of the French Revolution was limited mainly to her drawing-room discussions. Well, this afternoon, that woman has decided to take action and strike at a man who, in her eyes, represents tyranny. Her name is Charlotte Corday, later immortalized by the author Alphonse de Lamartine as a brave and gracious angel enacting God’s own justice—the Angel of Assassination.

Marie-Anne Charlotte Corday was born on July 27, 1768, in Évreux, Normandy, northern France. She was the third of five children born to François and Charlotte Corday, who just happened to be cousins, both descendants of Pierre Corneille, one of the greatest French playwrights. Despite this remarkable ancestry, François was always strapped for cash as a third-born son and inherited little land, but he had spent what little money he had on his children’s education. The works of Corneille played a fundamental role in Charlotte’s education, as she admired his selfless heroes who were always willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater good.

Charlotte’s father also introduced her to the works of philosophers like Montesquieu and Rousseau, which contributed to her political awareness and a propensity for progressive thoughts—at least progressive by the standards of the day. From an early age, Charlotte dreamed of accomplishing some spectacular deed, a feat of arms and courage fueled by a spirit of self-sacrifice and a service to a higher ideal of truth, justice, and the French way.

If we have given the impression of a bookworm who only acted through imagination, we do apologize. In fact, Charlotte was a vivacious and active girl, almost turbulent. While she was expected to keep her fragile mother and delicate sister’s company, she preferred to play outdoors with her brothers and the local peasant boys. This idyllic phase of her childhood, however, did not last long. In 1782, Charlotte’s mother died, leaving François in a quandary. He could not possibly look after all of his children, so his only choice was to send them to the care of a religious institution, such as the Abbey of the Ladies in Normandy.

This institution was created to take care of aristocratic yet somehow destitute young ladies like Charlotte, and this is where she spent most of her formative years. Most of the education she received was, as you probably guessed, of a religious nature. Quite naturally, the young Mother Superior took Charlotte under her wing, supplying her with philosophical and political books that the girl loved.

Charlotte was a guest at the abbey until February of 1791, shortly after the religious orders had been suppressed and all of the clergy’s property nationalized. This upheaval was one of the consequences of the French Revolution. The starting date of the French Revolution is generally indicated as July 14, 1789, when the people of Paris stormed the Bastille prison, a symbol of royal oppression. This act had been the result of long-simmering tension between the so-called Third Estate (the commoners) and the other two estates (the aristocracy and the clergy).

Despite her aristocratic background, Charlotte Corday was sympathetic from the start to the revolutionary ideals, which she defended fiercely against more conservative relatives. One of them, Frédéric Corday, would later recall her energy, independence of thought, and single-mindedness, stating, “You could not change her mind; it was useless. She never had doubts or uncertainties. Her decisions, once taken, she no longer admitted any contradiction.”

After the abbey was shut down in 1791, Charlotte returned to the real world, moving back to her father’s farm. The 23-year-old supplemented her father’s income by tutoring local children. Charlotte developed a reputation as a skilled and caring teacher, beloved by her pupils. However, once she returned home, the dining table became a battlefield. Charlotte and her father would engage in endless heated arguments during which she staunchly defended revolutionary ideals against her father’s conservative views. Eventually, Charlotte could take it no longer, and in June 1791, she went to live with an elderly relative based in Caen.

This elderly relative had never met Charlotte before but begrudgingly accepted to take her in. She must have later regretted this decision, as she immediately tried to marry Charlotte off to various suitors in the city. Charlotte would have none of this, as her suitors paled in comparison to the idealized heroes that spoke directly to her from the pages of the books she had read. Moreover, this relative’s environment was supportive of an absolute monarchy, which only fueled Charlotte’s stubborn pro-constitutional sentiments.

Thus far, Charlotte’s involvement with the revolution consisted almost exclusively of heated discussions against the provincial backdrop. However, the threads of fate would soon drag this innocent Norman girl into the grinding cogs of history. In June 1793, Charlotte’s life in Caen was shaken to the core by the influx of a group of very argumentative neighbors. A group of about 20 members of parliament had moved into the Hôtel de l’Intendance, very close to Charlotte’s and her elderly relative’s residence.

These politicians belonged to a party known as the Girondins and had escaped Paris in haste after an insurrection flared up on May 31st. Charlotte was delighted to meet such important revolutionaries and listened avidly to their discussions. However, the more time she spent with them, the more the ideals of the revolution were shattered. The young Corday was well-informed about the power politics within the revolutionary parliament, which was roughly split into two main parties: the Girondins and the Montagnards (known as the Jacobins).

The latter were altogether a more radical faction who counted the notorious Maximilien Robespierre among their ranks. These were the main proponents of abolishing the monarchy and were inclined to violent action. On the other hand, Charlotte’s new friends, the Girondins, were more moderate. They were ambivalent towards the elimination of the monarchy, advocated for economic liberalism, and opposed the centralization of government.

After an initial position of strength, the Girondins gradually lost credibility as they continued to support a constitutional monarchy. Louis XVI committed a series of blunders, starting with a botched escape attempt in June 1791, which led to his eventual deposition and the declaration of the Republic on September 21, 1792. Despite the best efforts of the Girondins to save him, the King was eventually guillotined on January 21, 1793.

Charlotte Corday learned about Jean-Paul Marat’s misdeeds over the course of several meetings with Girondin refugees. They told her that after the events of September 1792, the Girondins saw Marat as a dangerous radical figure and brought him to trial in April of 1793. However, the tactic backfired; Marat was acquitted, and the Girondins’ downfall from power accelerated. Marat then instigated a series of vicious political attacks against the Girondins, culminating in the insurrection of May 31, 1793.

A Parisian mob surrounded the parliament and demanded that 29 Girondin delegates be brought to trial. Most of them managed to escape the riots and eventually fled to Caen, befriending the young Charlotte Corday. The 24-year-old listened intently to the Girondin’s recollections of events, and their tales of persecution painted a very clear picture in her head. The Montagnards were corrupting the very essence of the revolution, replacing tyranny with worse tyranny, and the vilest of his actions was Jean-Paul Marat, a liar who spread injustice from the pages of his newspaper.

During one of these meetings, she heard one of the Girondin delegates exclaim, “Let Marat’s head roll, and the country will be saved.” Corday couldn’t agree more. On July 9th, Charlotte made up her mind: Marat had to die, and she would be the one to do it. She left Caen immediately, reaching Paris on the 11th, and went to a sympathetic Girondin delegate, from which she learned that Jean-Paul Marat was seldom seen in public.

It wasn’t widely known, but he had contracted a painful skin infection that forced him to take long medicinal baths prepared by his wife, Simonne. This was an annoying snag; Charlotte had intended to murder Marat in full view of the public, preferably while he was speaking in parliament. But it was just a minor snag—after all, killing a man in his bathtub is still a pretty visual image that people are going to remember.

July 13, 1793, was a Sunday. Early in the morning, Charlotte took a stroll through Paris on a shopping trip, like many French ladies do. She first bought a fashionable black hat decorated with a silk green ribbon, then stopped at a cutlery shop to purchase what she really needed: a large knife. Later in the day, she boarded a carriage and asked the driver to take her to the home of Jean-Paul Marat.

Corday reached Marat’s house at 11:30 in the morning, and as she climbed the stairs leading to the flat on the first floor, she was interrupted by Catherine, Simonne’s sister. Charlotte was told that Marat was simply too ill to receive visitors and had to return to her lodgings. While there, she had two notes dispatched to Marat, claiming that she wanted to discuss sensitive information regarding an anti-Marat plot being hatched in Caen.

She then prepared for her meeting with Marat, called for a hairdresser, changed into an elegant dress, and finally took her birth certificate and a letter addressed to the French people down the front of her undergarments. Too impatient to wait for a reply to her note, she called for another carriage and, by 7 in the evening, was once again at Marat’s house. This time, Simonne blocked her way, resulting in a heated exchange. Charlotte protested loudly that she wanted to inform Citizen Marat about the Girondin plots in Normandy, and the ruse worked.

Marat called from his bath and asked Charlotte to sit next to his tub, which doubled as his writing desk. People don’t know, but he did a lot of his writing in his bath, and he would even say it was a great place because no one wants to meet with you in your bath unless you really insist upon it, so no one bothers him. Under Simonne’s watchful eye, Charlotte talked at length about the alleged plot, naming several actual Girondins along the way—names which Marat took careful note of.

When Simonne left the room to fetch a medicinal powder, Marat looked at the list of names and said, “I will have them all guillotined in Paris.” It was at that point that Charlotte Corday rose to her feet, drew her knife, and plunged it into Marat’s chest just above the right collarbone. She then grabbed the incriminating list and threw it into the bathtub, hoping that the water would destroy it. With his dying breath, Marat howled for help. Simonne promptly arrived, followed by Laurent, an employee of Marat’s.

Charlotte did not offer any resistance; nonetheless, Laurent hit her violently with a chair and pinned her to the ground. A police commissioner, Citizen Goulard, soon arrived to formally arrest Charlotte Corday. Calmly and bravely, she admitted to Goulard that she had killed Marat by her own hand with absolutely no outside help whatsoever. Interrogators were incredulous; surely a young, well-bred woman was incapable of such an unspeakable act of cruelty and violence. They suspected she must have been manipulated by one or more male conspirators, possibly by a lover.

Finally, in the dead of night, Charlotte was transferred to the Abbaye prison, barely escaping the clutches of a furious mob. She was kept in solitary confinement as authorities tried to make her confess that she must have been part of a Girondin conspiracy, preferably a much larger one with more people they could guillotine. Her interrogator was the president of the Revolutionary Tribunal, Jacques Monge. Corday calmly confessed to her crime and admitted premeditation. Monge suspected that she had to have been helped by two gendarmes, Deputy Duper and Bishop Fouché.

In the magistrate’s view, such an assassination could not have been conceived by “a person of her age and gender,” to which Corday replied, “It’s easier to carry out such a project from one’s own hatred than from that of others.” The following day, July 15th, the Angelic assassin was transferred to the Conciergerie as she awaited her trial. She wrote two letters: the first was a peculiar request addressed to the Committee of General Safety, stating, “Since I only have a few moments to live, might I hope, citizens, that you allow me to have my portrait painted? If you deign to attend to my request, I would ask that you send me tomorrow a painter of miniatures.”

The committee was headed by Robespierre, notoriously more interested in cutting off heads than having them portrayed, and he and his colleagues complied nonetheless. An artist, Monner, was sent to the Conciergerie. The second letter was addressed to her father, in which she asked for forgiveness, stating in part, “For disposing of my life without your permission.” In this letter, Charlotte also made mention of her lawyer, Guyot, but on the day of the trial, July 17th, Guyot did not show up.

The public prosecutor, Monner, had been tasked with defending Charlotte, but this message was delivered too late for Guyot to participate. Charlotte would not be without counsel; however, her defense would be taken up by a very famous lawyer of the time, Claude Chavagnac. A curious parallel in history here: the same prosecutor and attorney would actually face each other in court some months later during the trial of Marie Antoinette.

Getting back to Corday’s case, Chavagnac may have been a star lawyer, but there was really little he could do to defend Charlotte Corday. She had been caught in the act—literally red-handed—and had confessed several times to the murder. During the trial, each deposition of the witnesses for the prosecution was met by Corday’s words, “It’s true.” Finally, she admitted to the tribunal that anything was justified for the security of the nation: “I killed one man in order to save a thousand.”

Her lawyer could only look for extenuating circumstances, namely the “exaltation of political fanaticism” that had put the dagger into her hand. He asked the citizens of the jury to apply prudence and take into account this “moral consideration in the balance of justice.” The trial started at 8:00 a.m. and was over by early afternoon. The verdict was predictably guilty, with the sentence being death by guillotine to be carried out that very same day at 6:30 p.m.

Under heavy rain, Charlotte Corday was taken to the Place de la Révolution. Her hair was now cut short, and her elegant dress was replaced by a simple red shirt. As she climbed the steps to the guillotine, the executioner, Sanson, stepped in front of her, hoping to hide the machine of death from her view. Charlotte ordered him to please step aside, stating, “Please, I have never seen a guillotine before, and I’m curious to know what it looks like.” Moments later, the heavy blade had done its job.

One of Sanson’s assistants, a man called Lros, lifted Charlotte’s head from the basket and slapped her cheeks as a last tribute to the executioner. The crowd, moved by the dignity and courage she displayed until the very end, loudly threatened the man. Charlotte may have killed one of their leaders, but she had eventually earned their respect by simply being so courageous about the whole thing.

The Angel of Assassination had serenely accepted the ultimate consequence of her mission. But it’s worth asking: was her mission a successful one? The note she threw into the bath was retrieved almost immediately, and they got all the names off it. One of them even commented after the fact, “She has killed us, but at least she has shown us how to die.”

Jean-Paul Marat’s death did prompt his fellow Montagnards to crack down hard on the remaining Girondins and other enemies of the revolution. Eventually, the reaction to the assassination, along with other external and internal threats to the revolution, brought about the so-called Reign of Terror—a period of massacres and public executions that claimed as many as 27,000 lives. Corday had stated that she killed Marat to save thousands of lives, but tragically, as fate often likes to do, her deed had the exact opposite effect.

I hope everybody at home enjoyed this video and found it informative, educational, and entertaining. If you do agree, Arnaldo Tani’s socials can be found below, as can my own. You can also find our sister channels, Geographics and Top 10s, which I’m also the interim host of. As I always like to say, if you