The End of Sorrows
The removal of Simon released the Dauphin from actual physical abuse,
but on the whole there was not much change for the better in his
situation. The leaders of the Revolution felt no pity for the royal
child; and instead of appointing a successor to the cobbler, they doomed
him to solitary confinement. The door of communication between his
prison and the anteroom was securely fastened with nails and screws, and
crossed from top to bottom with iron bars. Three or four feet from the
floor there was a small opening over a little shelf, covered by a
movable iron grating, which was secured by a padlock. Through this
opening or wicket little Capet was supplied with food and water, and
when he had eaten he replaced the empty vessels on the shelf. They
allowed him neither light nor fire. His room was heated only by the flue
from a stove in the antechamber, and lighted only by a lamp which hung
opposite the wicket. Here the poor child spent the terrible days and
nights, his only way of reckoning time; for years, months, weeks, days,
were all one in his confused brain. Time, like a stagnant pool, had
ceased to flow for him. There was nothing but suffering to mark the
hours, hence they were indistinguishable.
We will pass quickly over this period—one long monotonous round of
misery and wretchedness, that lasted without intermission for more than
six months. During all that time the air of heaven did not once
penetrate to this barred cell, and only a faint glimmer of daylight
pierced the grating and the close, heavy shutters. The little prisoner
never saw the guards who thrust his scanty meals to him through the
wicket; he heard no sound but the creaking of bolts and a harsh voice,
which at the close of day ordered him to go to bed, since there was no
light for him. The solitude and loneliness lay upon his spirit like a
leaden weight. Without work, without play, without diversion or
occupation of any kind, how endless must the days have been! And then
the night and darkness, with its vague phantoms, its indefinable
terrors, chilling the child’s blood with fear!
Many such days and nights passed, but no word, no sound of complaint,
escaped from the dark cell. The wicket was opened every day, but the
little Prince never sought for pity or compassion. He had given up all
hope of human sympathy, and trusted only to the mercy of God; hoped only
for a speedy death and for everlasting peace beyond.
The deputies, whose duty it was to guard the Dauphin, were cruel and
unfeeling—if not naturally so, then because they feared to be otherwise.
At nightfall they would go up to the den of the “young wolf” to assure
themselves that he was alive and had not escaped. If he did not answer
their harsh summons at once, they would open the wicket with a great
clattering and shout:
“Capet, Capet! Are you asleep? Where are you? Get up, viper!”
The child, so rudely aroused, would drag himself with trembling limbs
from his wretched bed to the grating, his feet colder than the damp
floor on which he trod, to answer gently:
“Here I am!”
“Come nearer, then, so we can see you!” they would cry, holding up a
lantern to light the cell.
“Very good! Go to bed again!”
Two hours later there would be another rattling of bolts, other deputies
would appear, and again the Prince would be roused from his sleep and
compelled, half-naked and shivering with cold and terror, to answer the
questions of his jailers. This persecution soon exhausted him mentally
and physically. The lack of fresh air, the darkness and solitude,
benumbed all his faculties. He no longer wept. His feeble hands could
scarcely lift the earthen plate or jug in which his food and water were
brought. He had ceased to try to clean his room; he no longer had even
the strength to shake up the sack of straw that formed his bed, or to
turn the mattress. The bedclothes were never changed, and his pillow was
in tatters; he could not get clean linen or mend his ragged clothes; he
had not resolution enough to wash and clean himself, but lay patiently
on his bed most of the time, his dull eyes staring into vacancy.
How often must he have prayed to God, “When, oh! when, will my
sufferings end?” How long—how long it must have seemed before the
Almighty listened to the feeble voice and sent the blessed release of
death. But at last the petition was heard, and a gleam of human pity
brightened the last days of this innocent victim of man’s cruelty.
After the execution of Robespierre[21] and his associates in the Reign
of Terror, better days dawned for the little Prince. The new government
sent him a jailer named Laurent, who was kind and humane, and dared to
show his pity for his prisoner. He had the barred door opened, and,
horror-stricken at the sight disclosed, at once took measures to relieve
the poor child, whom he found cowering on a filthy bed, clothed in rags,
his back bent as if with age, his little body covered with sores. The
once lovely child showed scarcely a trace of his former beauty. His face
was yellow and emaciated, his eyes dim and sunken; he was ill, and the
bright and vigorous mind was no longer active. “I want to die! I want to
die!” were the only words Laurent was able to draw from him at his first
visit.
The kindly jailer lost no time in bettering his situation as far as he
could. The barred door with the wicket was removed, the shutters taken
down from the windows to admit the light and air freely, and the cell
thoroughly cleaned. One of his first cares was to have the boy bathed,
cleaned, and placed in another bed. He also sent for a physician, and
ordered a tailor to make some new clothes for his charge. At first the
poor little Prince could not understand these expressions of sympathy
and kindness. He had suffered so much and so deeply from the inhumanity
of men, that his crushed sensibilities were slow in starting to life
again.
“Why do you trouble yourself about me?” he asked one day, and when
Laurent made some kindly answer, added, with a swelling heart, “I
thought no one cared for me any more!” while he tried to hide his tears.
Simon had introduced the custom of addressing the Prince simply as
“Capet”; Laurent changed this, and called him by his first name, “M.
Charles.” He also obtained permission for him to walk on the platform of
the Tower whenever he chose, and enjoy the blue sky and the sunshine
again after his long, sad imprisonment. Here, one day, he found some
little yellow flowers that were trying to live in the seams and crevices
of the crumbling stone. He gathered them eagerly, and tied them into a
little nosegay, recalling, perhaps, the sunny days of his early
childhood.
On the ninth of November, 1794, a second jailer arrived—a man named
Gomin, who, like Laurent, was kind and tender-hearted. It was settled
between them that they should share the same room, an arrangement which
suited Laurent very well, since it gave him more freedom; and both men
exerted themselves to make their little captive’s dull days as cheerful
as possible. They would have done even more for him had they not been
restrained by the presence of a deputy, who was required to share their
guard over the Dauphin. These deputies were frequently changed. If the
choice of their superiors happened to fall on a man who was friendly and
obliging, Laurent and Gomin could usually obtain small favors from him.
Thus, on the third day after his arrival in the Temple, Gomin made use
of the good-will of a deputy named Bresson to obtain for the Prince four
plants in pots, all in full bloom. The sight of these flowers was a most
wonderful surprise to the poor child, and his eyes filled with tears of
joy and happiness. He went around and around them, as if intoxicated
with delight, clasped them in his arms, and inhaled their fragrance. He
devoured them with his eyes, examined every blossom, and finally picked
one. Then he looked at Gomin with a troubled expression; an innocent,
childish memory trembled in his heart. He thought of his mother! Alas,
poor child! For her no more should earthly flowers bloom, nor wert thou
ever to be permitted to lay a blossom on her grave!
Soon after this, a deputy named Delboy came to the Temple. He was coarse
and uncouth in appearance, and had a gruff, harsh voice. With an air of
brutality, he opened all the prison doors, and behaved in a rude and
boorish manner; but under this rough exterior was concealed a softness
of heart and highmindedness that greatly surprised the little prisoner.
“Why this miserable food?” he said one day, glancing at the Dauphin’s
scanty meal. “If he were in the Tuileries, we might question what he had
to eat—but here in our hands! We should be merciful to him; the nation
is magnanimous! What are these shutters for? Under the government of the
people, the sun shines for all, and this child is entitled to his share
of it. Why should a brother be prevented from seeing his sister? Our
watchword is fraternity!”
The Prince gazed at him in open-eyed astonishment, and followed every
movement of this rough stranger, whose friendly words were such a
contrast to his forbidding aspect.
“Is it not so, my boy,” continued the deputy; “would you not be very
happy if you could play with your sister? I do not see why the nation
should remember your origin if you forget it.”
Then, turning to Laurent and Gomin, he added: “It is not his fault that
he is the son of a King. He is only a child—an unfortunate one, too—and
should not be treated so harshly. He is, at least, a human being; and is
not France the mother of all her children?”
After his departure, Gomin hastened to procure more comforts for the
Prince, and took pains to see that he had a light in his room at night,
for which the poor child was very grateful. He was not allowed to see
his sister, Marie Thérèse, however, as the government had strictly
forbidden it. But all the care and attention of his jailers could not
save him from being attacked by a bad fever, and unfortunately the
deputies were not all so considerate as the rough but kindly Delboy.
Some of them terrified him by harsh threats and insults, which by no
means improved his condition. One man, named Careaux, to whom Gomin
applied for permission to send for a physician for the sick child, had
the heartless insolence to reply:
“Pah! never mind him. There are plenty of children dying all the time
who are of more consequence than he!”
A day or two afterward, Gomin was painfully surprised to hear the poor
boy, muttering to himself, repeat the words, “Many children die who are
of more consequence!” and from this time he sank into a state of the
deepest melancholy and failed rapidly. It was with difficulty that Gomin
could induce him to go up to the roof of the Tower, even when he had the
strength; and soon, indeed, his feet could no longer support him, and
his jailers were obliged to carry him up in their arms. The disease made
such terrible progress in a few days that the government finally felt it
necessary to send a deputation to the Temple to inquire into the
condition of the prisoner. Nothing came of it, however. No physician was
summoned, no remedies applied, and the Dauphin was left to sink slowly
into the grave. It was plain that his death had been determined on by
the government, and disease was allowed to finish the work which that
unspeakable wretch, the cobbler Simon, had begun so well.
Gomin still had hope, nevertheless, and used every means in his power to
add to the child’s small pleasures and recreations. He found some books,
which the Prince read eagerly; and, through an acquaintance named
Debierne, obtained a turtle-dove for him, but it did not live long. They
often played draughts together; the Prince did not understand the game
very well, but the kind-hearted jailer always contrived to let his small
opponent win. Shuttlecock, too, was a favorite amusement when the
child’s strength permitted, and at this he proved very skilful. His eye
was sure, his hand quick, and he always rested the left one lightly on
his hip while the right was busy with the battledore.
On the twenty-ninth of March, 1795, Laurent left the Temple, and was
replaced by Etienne Lasne, a house painter and soldier of the Guard. The
Prince thereby lost one friend, but gained another, for Lasne from the
beginning showed the heartiest good-will toward him, and soon learned
how to win his affection. He would spend hours playing with him, sing
lively songs while Gomin joined in with his violin, or entertain him
with humorous fancies; and his devotion so won the child’s love and
confidence that the Dauphin always used the familiar “thou” in speaking
to him, although such had never been his custom.
All this time the condition of the little Dauphin had been growing worse
so steadily that finally, at the urgent demands of the jailers, a
physician was sent for. M. Desault treated him and prescribed some
remedies, though he gave Gomin to understand from the first that he had
little hope of the boy’s recovery. They moved him into a room that was
more light and sunny, but he was very weak, and the change did little to
check the progress of the disease. Though his kind friend often carried
him up to the platform on the Tower, the slight improvement wrought by
breathing the fresh air scarcely compensated for the fatigue the effort
cost him.
In the course of centuries, the rain had hollowed out a sort of little
basin on the battlements of the platform, where the water would remain
for several days, and as there were frequent rains in the spring of
1795, this reservoir was never empty. Every time the Prince was carried
to the roof, he saw a number of sparrows that came daily to the little
pool to drink and bathe in it. At first they would fly away at his
approach, but after a time they became accustomed to seeing him, and
only took flight when he came too close. They were always the same ones,
and he learned to know them. Perhaps they, like himself, had grown
familiar with the old Tower. He called them his birds. As soon as the
door was opened, his first glance would be toward the little basin, and
the sparrows were always there. When he approached, they would all rise
in the air, fluttering and chirping; but after he had passed, they would
settle down again at once. Supported by his jailer’s arm and leaning
against the wall, he would often stand perfectly motionless for a long
time, watching the birds alight and dip their little beaks in the water,
then their breasts, fluttering their wings and shaking the drops off
their feathers, while the poor little invalid would clasp his keeper’s
arm tightly, as if to say: “Alas! I cannot do that!” Sometimes, with
this support, he would take several steps forward, till he was so near
he could almost touch them with his outstretched arm. This was his
greatest pleasure; he loved their cheerful twittering and quick, alert
motions.
[Illustration: _The Dauphin and the sparrows_]
The physician, M. Desault, came every morning at nine o’clock to see his
patient, and often remained with him for some time. The Prince was very
fond of the good old man, and showed his gratitude both in words and
looks. Suddenly, however, his visits ceased, and they learned that he
had died unexpectedly on the thirty-first of May. The little Prince wept
when he was told of it, and mourned sincerely for his kind friend. The
chief surgeon, M. Pelletan, took his place; but he, too, had no hope of
being able to prolong the life of the child, who, like a delicate plant
deprived of light and air, gradually drooped and faded. Yet he bore his
sufferings without a murmur or complaint. The plant was dying; its
bright colors were gone, but its sweet fragrance remained to the last.
M. Pelletan, who realized only too well his dangerous condition, had
requested from the government the advice and assistance of another
physician, and on the seventh of June M. Dumaugin was sent to accompany
him to the Temple. The Prince’s weakness had increased alarmingly, and
that morning, after having taken his medicine and been rubbed as usual,
he had sunk into a sort of swoon, which made the jailers fear the end
was near. He revived a little, however, when the physicians arrived; but
they saw plainly it was useless to attempt to check the malady. They
ordered a glass of sweetened water to be given to him, to cool his dry,
parched mouth, if he should wish to drink, and withdrew with a painful
sense of their helplessness. M. Pelletan was of the opinion that the
little Prince would not live through another day, but his colleague did
not think the end would come so soon. It was agreed that M. Pelletan
should make his visit at eight o’clock the next morning, and M. Dumaugin
was to come at eleven.
When Gomin entered the room that evening with the Dauphin’s supper, he
was pleasantly surprised to find the sick child a little improved. His
color was better, his eyes brighter, his voice stronger.
“Oh, it is you!” he said at once to his jailer, with evident pleasure at
seeing him.
“You are not suffering so much now?” asked Gomin.
“Not so much,” answered the Prince softly.
“You must thank this room for that,” said Gomin. “Here there is at least
fresh air to breathe, and plenty of light; the good doctors come to see
you, and you should find a little comfort in all this.”
At these words the Prince looked up at his jailer with an expression of
deepest sadness. His eyes grew dim, then shone suddenly bright again, as
a tear trickled through his lashes and rolled down his cheek.
“Alone—always alone!” was his answer. “And my mother has been over
there, in that other Tower, all this time!”
He did not know that she, as well as his aunt, Madame Élisabeth, had
long since been dragged to the guillotine, and all the warmth and
tenderness of which the poor child’s heart was still capable of feeling
were fixed on the mother from whose arms he had been so cruelly torn.
This childish affection had survived through everything; it was as
strong as his will, as deep as his nature. “Love,” says the Holy
Scriptures, “is stronger than death,” and this child confirmed the
saying. Now, when his mind was dwelling on memories of the past and the
recollection of his sufferings, every other thought was forgotten, and
his tried and tortured heart had room for no other image than that of
his dearly and tenderly beloved mother.
“It is true you are often alone here, and that is sad, to be sure,”
continued Gomin; “but then you no longer have the sight of so many bad
men around you, or the example of so many wicked actions.”
“Oh, I have seen enough of them,” murmured the child; “but,” he added in
a gentler tone, laying his hand on the arm of his kindly jailer and
raising his eyes to his face, “I see good people also, and they keep me
from being angry with those who are not.”
At this, Gomin said suddenly: “That wicked Careaux you have seen here so
often, as deputy, has been arrested, and is now in prison himself.”
The Prince started.
“Careaux?” he repeated. “He did not treat me well. But I am sorry. Is he
here?”
“No, in La Force, in the Quartier St. Antoine.”
An ordinary nature would have harbored some feeling of revenge, but this
royal child had the greatness of soul to pity his persecutor.
“I am very sorry for him; he is more unhappy than we, for he deserves
his misfortunes!”
Words so simple and yet so noble, on the lips of a child scarcely ten
years old, may be wondered at; nevertheless, they were actually spoken
by the Dauphin, and the words themselves did not impress Gomin so much
as the sincere and touching tone in which they were spoken. Without
doubt, misfortune and suffering had matured the child’s mind
prematurely, and he may have been inspired by some invisible presence
from above, such as God often sends to the bedside of the suffering and
dying.
Night came on—the last night the poor little prisoner was to spend in
solitude and loneliness, with only those old companions, misery of mind
and body. He had always been left alone at night, even during his
illness; and not until eight o’clock in the morning were his jailers
allowed to go to him. We do not know how the Prince passed that last
night, or whether he waked or slept; but in either case death was
hovering close beside his pillow. The next morning, Monday, the eighth
of June, Lasne entered the room between seven and eight o’clock, Gomin
not daring to go first for fear he should not find their charge alive.
But by the time M. Pelletan arrived the Prince was sitting up, and Lasne
thought he had even improved somewhat since the day before, though the
physician’s more experienced eye told him there was no change for the
better. Indeed, the poor little invalid, whose feet felt strangely
heavy, soon wanted to lie down again.
When M. Dumaugin came at eleven o’clock, the Prince was in bed; but he
welcomed him with the unvarying gentleness and sweetness that had never
deserted him through all his troubles, and to which the physician
himself testified later on. He shrugged his shoulders over the patient’s
condition, and felt that the end was not far off. After he had taken his
leave, Gomin replaced Lasne in the sick room. He seated himself near the
bed, but, fearing to rouse or disturb the child, did not speak. The
Prince never began a conversation, and was silent likewise, gazing
mournfully at his friend.
“How unhappy it makes me to see you suffer so much!” said Gomin at last.
“Never mind,” answered the child softly, “I shall not always suffer.”
Gomin knelt down by the bed to be nearer him, and the affectionate child
seized his keeper’s hand and pressed it to his lips. At this, Gomin gave
way to his emotion, and his heart went out in prayer—the prayer that man
in his deepest sorrow sends up to the all-merciful Father; while the
Prince, still clasping the faithful hand in his, raised his eyes to
heaven with a look of angelic peace and holiness impossible to describe.
After a time, Gomin, seeing that he lay quiet and motionless, said to
him:
“I hope you do not suffer now?”
“Oh, yes, I still suffer,” whispered the Prince, “but much less—the
music is so beautiful!”
Now, there was no music in or near the Temple at this solemn moment; no
noise of any kind from outside entered the room where the soul of the
little martyr was preparing for flight. Gomin, much surprised,
therefore, asked him:
“Where does the music come from?”
“From above there!” replied the child.
“Is it long that you have heard it?”
“Since you knelt down by me and prayed. Have you not heard it?
Listen—listen now!”
With a quick motion he held up his feeble hand, his blue eyes shining
with rapture, while Gomin, not wishing to dispel this last sweet
illusion of the dying child, made a pious effort to hear what could not
be heard, and pretended to be listening to the music. In a few moments
the Prince raised himself suddenly and cried out in an ecstasy of joy:
“Oh! among all those voices I can hear my mother’s!” and as this holy
name escaped the orphan’s lips, all his pain and sorrow seemed to
disappear. His eyebrows, drawn with suffering, relaxed and his eyes
sparkled with the light of victory and freedom. But the radiance of his
glance was soon dimmed; the old worn look came back to his face and he
sank back, his hands crossed meekly on his breast. Gomin watched him
closely and followed all his movements with anxious eyes. His breathing
was not more difficult, but his eyes wandered about vacantly and
absently, and were often fixed on the window. Gomin asked if anything
troubled him, but he did not seem to hear even when the question was
repeated, and made no reply. Lasne came soon after to relieve Gomin, who
left his little friend with a heavy heart, although he did not realize
the end was so near. Lasne sat by the bed for a long time in silence,
the Prince gazing at him sorrowfully; but when he moved a little, Lasne
asked him how he felt and whether he wanted anything. Instead of
replying, he asked abruptly:
“Do you think my sister could hear the music? It would make her so
happy!”
Lasne could not answer this. The yearning eyes of the dying boy, dark
with the anguish of death, were turned toward the window. Suddenly a cry
of joy escaped him; then, turning to Lasne, he said:
“I have something to tell you.”
The jailer took his hand—the little head drooped upon his breast—he
listened, but in vain. The last word had been spoken! God had spared the
little Dauphin the last agonizing death-struggle, and in a last dream of
joy and rapture had taken him to His loving arms!
Lasne laid his hand gently on the child’s heart, but it no longer beat.
That troubled heart was quiet now. The little Dauphin had exchanged his
sorrowful earthly dwelling for the eternal peace and happiness of
Heaven—had found his loved ones and his God.[22]
* * * * * * * *
Only a few more words, gentle reader. I have unrolled a sad picture
before you, and, however much it may have excited your sympathy, it
could not be softened, for from beginning to end it is the truth and
only the truth. The little Dauphin, Louis Charles, the son of a King and
a King himself, really bore all these sorrows; he lived, suffered, and
died as has been described in these pages. A conscientious and reliable
investigator, M. de Beauchesne, has with untold zeal and patience
collected all the incidents here recounted; and the facts have been
corroborated by Lasne and Gomin, the two worthy men who tried to
brighten the last days of the unfortunate little Prince.
And now, should you ask what moral is to be drawn from this true
narrative, I would answer: Learn from the perusal of this child’s life
to be submissive under affliction and trouble. God keep you from pain
and sorrow; but, should they one day fall to your lot, then remember the
little Dauphin and King of France, and endure, as he endured, suffering
and heart-break with calmness and patience, with humility and submission
to the will of the Lord, before whose mysterious and inscrutable decrees
weak mortality must bow without repining.
Appendix
The following is a chronological statement of the most important events
mentioned in this volume, as well as of those directly connected with
the French Revolution:
August 23, 1754 Birth of Louis XVI.
1770 Marriage of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette.
1774 Louis XVI ascends the throne.
March 27, 1785 Birth of Louis XVII.
1789 Louis XVII becomes Dauphin.
May 5, 1789 Meeting of States General. Revolutionary agitations.
June 17, 1789 Third Estate takes the name of Constituent Assembly.
July 14, 1789 Storming of the Bastille.
July 14, 1790 The “Feast of the Pikes” on the Champ de Mars, and
the oath of Federation.
June 20, 1791 Flight of the Royal Family to Varennes.
June 25, 1791 Brought back to Paris as captives.
September, 1791 Constitution adopted.
April, 1792 War with Prussia and Austria.
September 21, 1792 Proclamation of the Republic.
January 21, 1793 Execution of Louis XVI.
March, 1793 Establishment of Revolutionary Tribunal.
April, 1793 Establishment of Committee of Public Safety.
July 3, 1793 Imprisonment of the Dauphin in the Temple.
July 13, 1793 Assassination of Marat.
October 16, 1793 Execution of Marie Antoinette.
1793-94 Reign of Terror.
April 6, 1794 Execution of Danton.
July 27, 1794 Execution of Robespierre.
June 8, 1795 Death of the Dauphin in the Temple.
October 5, 1795 Victory of Buonaparte over the Sections.
1796 Beginning of the Napoleonic Wars.
November, 1799 Beginning of the Consulate.
1802 Napoleon made Life Consul.
March 18, 1804 Establishment of the Empire.
Footnotes
[1]Louis Charles, Duke de Normandie, second son of Louis XVI and Marie
Antoinette, was born at Versailles March 27, 1785, became Dauphin in
1789, and three years later was imprisoned in the Temple, where he
died June 8, 1795. At the time this story opens, he was the only son.
His brother, Louis Joseph Xavier François, born October 22, 1781,
died June 7, 1789. He had two sisters, Maria Theresa Charlotte, born
December 19, 1778, married the Duke d’Angoulême, eldest son of
Charles X of France, died October 19, 1851; and Sophia Hélène
Beatrice, born July 9, 1786, died June 16, 1787.
[2]Louis XVI, grandson of Louis XV, was born at Versailles August 23,
1754. In 1770 he married Marie Antoinette, daughter of the Emperor
Francis I and Maria Theresa, of Austria. Louis XVI was guillotined
January 21, 1793, and Marie Antoinette October 16, 1793.
[3]The Champ de Mars is a large square on the left bank of the Seine,
devoted to military exercises. From a very early period it has been
the scene of battles, riots, pageants, festivals, and great public
gatherings. Besides the Fête of the Federation, sometimes called the
“Feast of the Pikes,” mentioned above, it was the scene of the
Massacres in 1791, and of the “Fête à l’Être suprême,” the latter a
festival in which an effort was made, under the auspices of
Robespierre, who had obtained a decree from the Assembly recognizing
the existence of the Supreme Being and the immortality of the soul,
to set up a new religion in the place of Catholicism and reason
worship. Carlyle calls it “the shabbiest page of human annals.”
[4]The Marquis de Lafayette was not only a statesman, but a soldier. He
served with great distinction in the War of the American Revolution,
commanded the French National Guard, 1789-90, fought the Austrians in
1792, commanded the National Guard in 1830, and helped place Louis
Philippe on the throne. He came to this country twice, the second
time in 1824.
[5]Talleyrand, a French abbé, was made Bishop of Autun in 1788, but he
was much more celebrated as a statesman and diplomatist. He was
prominent in all the political events of French history from 1789 to
1834, and was also a leading figure in all the diplomatic affairs of
that period. He died at Paris May 17, 1838.
[6]Varennes-en-Argonne is a small town in the department of Meuse on the
river Aire.
[7]Arnaud Berquin, a French author, was born at Langoiran in 1749, and
died at Paris in 1791. He was famous as a writer for children. Among
his most popular works are “The Children’s Friend” and “The Little
Grandison.”
[8]The Marquis de Bouillé, a French general, was born at Auvergne in
1739, and died at London in 1800. He was governor in the Antilles
from 1768 to 1782, and when the French Revolution broke out was in
command at Metz. In 1790 he quelled the mutiny of the garrison at
Nancy, and in the following year made an effort to get Louis XVI out
of the country; failing in which, he fled to England, where he died a
few years afterward.
[9]Élisabeth Philippine Marie Hélène, sister of Louis XVI, was born at
Versailles, May 3, 1764, and was guillotined May 10, 1794. Of her
courage at the scaffold, Carlyle says “Another row of tumbrils we
must notice: that which holds Élisabeth, the sister of Louis. Her
trial was like the rest, for plots, for plots. She was among the
kindliest, most innocent of women. There sat with her, amid
four-and-twenty others, a once timorous Marchioness de Crussol,
courageous now, expressing toward her the liveliest loyalty. At the
foot of the scaffold, Élisabeth, with tears in her eyes, thanked this
marchioness, said she was grieved she could not reward her. ‘Ah!
Madame, would your Royal Highness deign to embrace me, my wishes were
complete.’ ‘Right willingly, Marquise de Crussol, and with my whole
heart.’”
[10]Count de Axel Fersen, who accompanied the King in this flight, was
born at Stockholm, September 4, 1755, and was murdered in the same
city, June 20, 1810, by the populace, who suspected that he and his
sister had been concerned in the death of Prince Christian of
Holstein-Augustenburg, who was to be the successor of Charles XIII.
Count Fersen was commander of the Royal Swedish Regiment in the
service of Louis XVI.
[11]“Nor is Postmaster Drouet unobservant all this while, but steps out
and steps in, with his long flowing nightgown, in the level sunlight,
prying into several things.... That lady in slouched gypsy-hat,
though sitting back in the carriage, does she not resemble someone we
have seen sometime—at the Feast of Pikes or elsewhere? And this
Grosse-Tête in round hat and peruke, which, looking rearward, pokes
itself out from time to time, methinks there are features in it—?
Quick, Sieur Guillaume, Clerk of the Directoire, bring me a new
assignat! Drouet scans the new assignat, compares the paper-money
picture with the Gross Head in round hat there, by day and night; you
might say the one was an attempted engraving of the other. And this
march of troops, this sauntering and whispering—I see
it.”—_Carlyle’s_ “_French Revolution._”
[12]Antoine Pierre Barnave, one of the French revolutionists, was deputy
to the Third Estate in 1789, and President of the National Assembly
in 1790. He was arrested for alleged treason in 1791, and was
guillotined in 1793.
[13]Pétion, mentioned in this connection, another of the revolutionists,
was President of the Constituent Assembly in 1790, and Mayor of Paris
in 1791-92. He was proscribed in June, 1793, but escaped, and at last
committed suicide near Bordeaux in 1794.
[14]The Temple was a fortified structure of the Knights Templars, built
in 1128. After the order was abolished in 1312, it was used for
various purposes. The chapel remained until 1650, and the square
tower, where the royal family were imprisoned, was destroyed in 1810.
[15]The Princess de Lamballe was the daughter of the Prince de Carignan
of the house of Savoy-Carignan, and an intimate friend of Marie
Antoinette, and shared the latter’s imprisonment in the Temple. She
married the Prince de Lamballe, a great-grandson of Louis XIV and
Madame de Montespan. She was put to death in 1792, because she
refused to take the oath against the monarchy. Carlyle, in his
“French Revolution,” says of her murder: “The brave are not spared,
nor the beautiful, nor the weak. Princess de Lamballe has lain down
on bed. ‘Madame, you are to be removed to the Abbaye’ (the military
prison at St. Germain-des-Prés). ‘I do not wish to remove; I am well
enough here.’ There is a need-be for removing. She will arrange her
dress a little, then. Rude voices answer: ‘You have not far to go!’”
The sad story of her fate is told in the last outcry from the mob.
Although innocent of any offence, unless sympathy with the royal
family or friendship with Marie Antoinette were an offence, she was
executed. She went calmly to the guillotine and bravely gave up her
life.
[16]History relates that the King mounted the scaffold without
hesitation and without fear, but when the executioners approached to
bind him he resisted them, deeming it an affront to his dignity and a
reflection upon his courage. The Abbé who had accompanied him, as a
spiritual consoler, reminded him that the Saviour had submitted to be
bound, whereupon Louis, who was of a very pious nature, at once
consented, though still protesting against the indignity of the act.
Before the fatal moment, he advanced to the edge of the scaffold and
said to the people: “Frenchmen, I die innocent; it is from the
scaffold and near appearing before God that I tell you so. I pardon
my enemies. I desire that France—” The sentence was left unfinished,
for at that instant the signal was given the executioner. The Abbé
leaning towards the King said: “Son of Saint Louis, ascend to
Heaven.” Undoubtedly the reason for the interruption of the King’s
last words was the fear of popular sympathy, for notwithstanding the
revolutionary frenzy he was personally liked by many.
[17] The Carmagnole was originally a Provençal dance tune, which was
frequently adapted to songs of various import. During the Revolution,
so-called patriotic words were set to it, and it was sung, like the
“Marseillaise,” to inspire popular wrath against royalty.
[18]Jean Paul Marat, the French revolutionist, was born in Switzerland
in 1744. He was both physician and scientist in his earlier years,
but at the outbreak of the Revolution took a prominent part in the
agitation for a republic, and incited the people to violence. In 1792
he was elected to the National Convention, and in 1793 was tried
before the Revolutionary Tribunal as an ultra-revolutionist, but was
acquitted. July 13, 1793, he was assassinated by Charlotte Corday,
who was guillotined for the murder four days later.
[19]Saumur is a town in the department of Maine-et-Loire, on the Loire
River. It was here that the Vendeans, who were partisans of the royal
rising against the Revolution and the Republic, won a victory over
the Republican Army June 9, 1793, and took the town.
[20]Marie Antoinette died upon the scaffold as bravely as the King had
done. Her trial was a mock one, for her execution had been decided
upon before she was tried. She was never liked by the French people,
and all sorts of charges had been made against her, many of them
untrue. She had inherited her ideas of royalty and absolution from
her mother, Maria Theresa of Austria, and never showed any interest
in the lower classes. Her biographer in the Encyclopædia Britannica
says: “In the Marie Antoinette who suffered on the guillotine we
pity, not the pleasure-loving Queen; not the widow who had kept her
husband against his will in the wrong course; not the woman who
throughout her married life did not scruple to show her contempt for
her slow and heavy but good-natured and loving King, but the little
princess, sacrificed to state policy and cast uneducated and without
a helper into the frivolous court of France, not to be loved but to
be suspected by all around her and eventually to be hated by the
whole people of France.”
[21]Maximilien Robespierre, one of the most prominent among the
revolutionists, was the leader of the extreme Left in the Constituent
Assembly, and a member of the Committee of Public Safety in 1793. He
was also identified with the Reign of Terror, but was finally
stripped of all his power, and was guillotined July 28, 1794.
[22]The Dauphin died in the afternoon of June 8, 1795.
LIFE STORIES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
_BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCES
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY_
GEORGE P. UPTON
_A new, interesting, and very useful series that will be found especially
suitable for school libraries and for supplementary reading_
The books in this series are translated from the German, because in that
country a specialty is made of really desirable reading for the young.
Eight titles are now ready and more will follow.
Their simplicity and accuracy make them very useful for every school
library in the grades.
For parents who feel disposed to give their children books that provide
a mild element of historical information, as well as first-class
entertainment, the little books will prove a veritable find.
The “life-stories” retain the story form throughout, and embody in each
chapter a stirring event in the life of the hero or the action of the
time. The dramatis personæ are actual characters, and the facts in the
main are historically correct. They are therefore both entertaining and
instructive, and present biography in its most attractive form for the
young.
A FULL LIST OF THE TITLES IS GIVEN ON THE NEXT PAGE
The work of translation has been done by Mr. George P. Upton, whose
“Memories” and Lives of Beethoven, Haydn, and Liszt, from the German of
Max Mueller and Dr. Nohl, have been so successful.
_Each is a small square 16mo in uniform binding, with four
illustrations. Each 60 cents net._
_FULL LIST OF TITLES_
Frederick the Great
The Maid of Orleans
The Little Dauphin
Maria Theresa
William Tell
Mozart
Beethoven
Johann Sebastian Bach
“These narratives have been well calculated for youthful minds past
infancy, and Mr. Upton’s version is easy and idiomatic.”—_The Nation._
“He is a delightful writer, clearness, strength, and sincerity marking
everything to which he puts his hand. He has translated these little
histories from the German in a way that the reader knows has conserved
all the strength of the original.”—_Chicago Evening Post._
“They are written in simple, graphic style, handsomely illustrated, and
will be read with delight by the young people for whose benefit they
have been prepared.”—_Chicago Tribune._
“The work of translation seems to have been well done, and these little
biographies are very well fitted for the use of young people.... The
volumes are compact and neat, and are illustrated sufficiently but not
too elaborately.”—_Springfield Republican._
“These books are most entertaining and vastly more wholesome than the
story books with which the appetites of young readers are for the most
part satisfied.”—_Indianapolis Journal._
_OF ALL BOOKSELLERS OR OF THE PUBLISHERS_
A. C. McCLURG & CO., CHICAGO
LIFE STORIES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
_Translated from the German by
GEORGE P. UPTON_
8 Vols. Ready
Beethoven
Mozart
Bach
Maid of Orleans
William Tell
The Little Dauphin
Frederick the Great
Maria Theresa
_Each, with 4 Illustrations, 60 cents net_
Transcriber’s Notes
--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public
domain in the country of publication.
--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the
HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)
--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
dialect unchanged.