The government, after the king (Louis XVI.) was deposed, was placed
in the hands of the National Assembly—or Convention, as it now called
itself—of deputies chosen by the people.
There is nothing but what is sad and terrible to be told of France for
the next four or five years, and the whole account of what happened would
be too hard for you to understand, and some part is too dreadful to dwell
upon.
The short account of it is that, for years and years before, the kings,
the nobles, and some of the clergy too, had cared for little but
their own pride and pleasure, and had done nothing to help on their
people—teach, train, or lead them. So now these people were wild with
despair, and when the hold on them was a little loosened, they threw it
off, and turned in furious rage upon their masters. Hatred grew, and all
those who had once been respected were looked on as a brood of wolves,
who must be done away with, even the young and innocent. The king, queen,
his children, and sister (Madame Elizabeth), were shut up in a castle
called the Temple, because it had once belonged to the Knights Templar,
and there they were very roughly and unkindly treated. A national guard
continually watched them, and these men were often shockingly rude and
insulting to them, though they were as patient as possible. Great numbers
of the nobles and clergy were shut up in the other prisons; and when news
came that an army of Germans and emigrant nobles was marching to rescue
the king, a set of ruffians was sent to murder them all, cutting them
down like sheep for the slaughter, men and women all alike. The family in
the Temple were spared for the time, but the emigrant army was beaten at
Jemappes; and the brave nobles and peasants who had risen in the district
of La Vendée, in hopes of saving them, could not make head against the
regular French army, all of which had joined in the Revolution, being
angered because no one not of noble birth could be an officer. All his
friends did for the king only served to make his enemies hate him trebly;
and three men had obtained the leadership who seemed to have had a
regular thirst for blood, and to have thought that the only way to make
a fresh beginning was to kill every one who had inherited any of the
rights that had been so oppressive. Their names were Marat, Danton, and
Robespierre; and they had a power over the minds of the Convention and
the mob which no one dared resist, so that this time was called the Reign
of Terror. A doctor named Guillotin had invented a machine for cutting
off heads quickly and painlessly, which was called by his name; and this
horrible instrument was set up in Paris to do this work of cutting off
the old race. The king—whom they called Louis Capet, after Hugh, the
first king of his line—was tried before the Assembly, and sentenced to
die. He forgave his murderers, and charged the Irish clergyman, named
Edgeworth, who was allowed to attend him in his last moments, to take
care that, if his family were ever restored, there should be no attempt
to avenge his death. The last words of the priest to him were: “Son of
St. Louis, ascend to the skies.”
The queen and her children remained in the Temple, cheered by the piety
and kindness of Madame Elizabeth until the poor little prince—a gentle,
but spirited boy of eight—was taken from them, and shut up in the lower
rooms, under the charge of a brutal wretch (a shoemaker) named Simon, who
was told that the boy was not to be killed or guillotined, but to be “got
rid of”—namely, tormented to death by bad air, bad living, blows and rude
usage. Not long after, Marie Antoinette was taken to a dismal chamber
in the Conciergerie prison, and there watched day and night by national
guards, until she too was brought to trial, and sentenced to die, eight
months after her husband. Gentle Madame Elizabeth was likewise put to
death, and only the two children remained, shut up in separate rooms; but
the girl was better off than her brother, in that she was alone, with her
little dog, and had no one who made a point of torturing her.
Meanwhile the guillotine was every day in use. Cart-loads were carried
from the prisons—nobles, priests, ladies, young girls, lawyers, servants,
shopkeepers—everybody whom the savage men who were called the Committee
of Public Safety chose to condemn. There were guillotines in almost every
town; but at Nantes the victims were drowned, and at Lyons they were
placed in a square and shot down with grape shot.
Moreover, all churches were taken from the faithful. A wicked woman was
called the Goddess of Reason, and carried in a car to the great cathedral
of Notre Dame, where she was enthroned. Sundays were abolished, and
every tenth day was kept instead, and Christianity was called folly
and superstition; in short, the whole nation was given up to the most
horrible frenzy against God and man.
In the midst, Marat was stabbed to the heart by a girl named Charlotte
Corday, who hoped thus to end these horrors; but the other two continued
their work of blood, till Robespierre grew jealous of Danton, and had
him guillotined; but at last the more humane of the National Convention
plucked up courage to rise against him, and he and his inferior
associates were carried to prison. He tried to commit suicide with
a pistol, but only shattered his jaw, and in this condition he was
guillotined, when the Reign of Terror had lasted about two years.
There was much rejoicing at his fall; prisons were opened, and people
began to breathe freely once more. The National Convention governed more
mildly and reasonably; but they had a great deal on their hands, for
France had gone to war with all the countries round; and the soldiers
were so delighted at the freedom they had obtained, that it seemed as
if no one could beat them, so that the invaders were everywhere driven
back. And thus was brought to light the wonderful powers of a young
Corsican officer, Napoleon Bonaparte, who had been educated, at a
military school in France, as an engineer. When there was an attempt of
the mob to rise and bring back the horrible days of the Reign of Terror,
Colonel Bonaparte came with his grape shot, and showed that there was a
government again that must be obeyed, so that some quiet and good order
was restored.
Some pity had at last been felt for the poor children in the Temple.
It came too late to save the life of the boy, Louis XVII., as he is
reckoned, who had for the whole ninth year of his life lain alone in
a filthy room, afraid to call any one lest he should be ill-used, and
without spirit enough to wash himself, so that he was one mass of sores
and dirt; and he only lingered till the 8th of June, 1795, when he died,
thinking he heard lovely music, with his mother’s voice among the rest.
In the end of the same year his sister was released, and went to Russia
to join her uncle, who had fled at the beginning of the Revolution, and
was now owned by the loyal among the French as Louis XVIII.
In the meantime the French army had beaten the Germans on the frontier,
and had decided on attacking their power in the north of Italy. Bonaparte
made a most wonderful passage of the Alps, where there were scarcely any
roads but bridle-paths, and he gained amazing victories. His plan was to
get all the strength of his army up into one point, as it were, and with
that to fall upon the center of the enemy; and as the old German generals
did not understand this way of fighting, and were not ready, he beat them
everywhere, and won all Lombardy, which he persuaded to set up for a
republic, under the protection of the French.
All this time, the French were under so many different varieties of
government, that you would not understand them at all; but that which
lasted longest was called the Directory. People were beginning to feel
safe at last; the emigrants were coming home again, and matters were
settling down a little more.—_Yonge._