By the fire-side, after having partaken of some food, Gabrielle
recovered.
Lindet insisted on giving up to her his room and bed, and on sitting
through the night in the kitchen with Nicholas.
The darkness had set in, and the rain continued to fall. The streets
were still in commotion, and the young man who was anxious to know
what had become of Madeleine, sallied forth in quest of her. He found
the whole town in disorder. Women and men, armed with pikes, hatchets
and cudgels, pursued and insulted the body-guard, which had received
orders not to retaliate. The drum rattling in every street summoned the
national guard to the Place d'Armes. But many of the guards, unable to
sympathise with the exasperation against the body-guard, fomented by
Lecointre, withdrew to their homes.
After the departure of the women, Mounier had remained at the Château.
He firmly declared to the ministers, that the National Assembly
required of the king his frank acceptation of the articles of the
constitution and of the rights of men. He pointed out to them that at
such a time of popular effervescence, it was most important that there
should be no hesitation or prevarication; and that a refusal would
drive the Parisians to measures of the utmost violence. He promised, if
the king would sign the Declaration, to announce the fact to the people
as a singular benefit, and he was convinced that it would greatly tend
to diminish the popular excitement.
The king thereupon reassembled a cabinet council, and Mounier awaited
the issue.
In the other parts of the palace the liveliest anxiety prevailed.
The cries of rage vomited by the populace against the queen made
it necessary to provide for her safety, and orders were given for
preparations to be made for her departure, along with the dauphin, to
Rambouillet. Five carriages issued from the royal stables, and drew up
at the iron gates before the Orangery, and those of the Dragon. The
Swiss opened the former gates, but the national guardsmen of Versailles
rushed to them and shut them again, and refused to permit the Dragon
gates to be opened at all.
The order to retire had been given at night-fall to all the troops
drawn up in the Place d'Armes. The regiment of Flanders quitted
its position and withdrew to the court of the Grandes-Ecuries. The
body-guard defiled in turn; one detachment followed the avenue of S.
Cloud, to betake itself to the Hôtel de Charrost, but the largest
portion directed its course down the avenue de Sceaux, towards their
own hôtel. Mud and stones were cast at them, and they were saluted
with yells of hatred. Some of the guard losing control over themselves
fired their pistols, hit three men, and tore the clothes of two others
with their bullets. The national guard instantly discharged a volley,
wounded one horse and killed another. The soldier mounted on the latter
fell, and the women precipitated themselves upon him and would have
killed him, had not two officers of the national guard come to his
rescue.
Those who had fired on the body-guard returned to their barrack on the
Place d'Armes, and demanded ammunition. It was refused. A lieutenant of
Versailles threatened to blow out the brains of those who kept watch
over it, unless it were given up. Thereupon a barrel of gunpowder was
produced, and Lecointre loaded two cannons and ran them out opposite
the balustrade, so as to command the flank of the troops which still
covered the castle, and the body-guard who were returning to the
square. The commandant of the body-guard, the Duke de Guiche, finding
that the mob were resolved on attacking them in their hôtel, and that
the national guard were making common cause with the people, deemed
it advisable to return to the palace; but finding the grand entrance
closed and cannon directed against them, they galloped down the Rue
de Satory, and making a circuit entered the court of the Ministers by
the Rue de la Surintendance. The mob, furious at their escape, flung
themselves against the railing, vociferating loudly, and they would
have forced the gates, had not a detachment of Swiss been marched to
the reinforcement of the sentinels.
The town then presented a sinister appearance. The rain continued
to fall, and the night was very dark. The shops were closed, with
the exception of the bakers' and the vintners'. All the inhabitants
of Versailles had fastened their doors and put shutters over their
windows. The lamps at wide distances cast a lugubrious light on the
patrols of the national guard, and the crowd of men and women in rags,
covered with mud and dripping, who battered at every door, and demanded
food and shelter.
Some of the crowd burst open the gates of the great stables, where the
regiment of Flanders was stationed, and took refuge among the soldiers;
others invaded the barrack of the French guard, and crowded into it out
of the rain and cold. Four thousand, mostly women, occupied the hall of
the Assembly, shouting, swearing, and making an uproar. Maillard alone
could keep them quiet by continual haranguing. Some of the body-guard,
those who had been to the Hôtel de Charrost, finding their position
full of danger, resolved on joining their comrades. On issuing from
their barrack they were pelted with stones; but they spurred their
horses into a gallop and reached the court of the Ministers, though not
without wounds.
Mounier waited on at the door of the council chamber to know the
result of the deliberations within. It was nine o'clock, and nothing
was decided. Then the young Duke of Richelieu arrived disguised like
one of the mob, ragged, muddy, wet through, panting for breath, to
announce to the king that a fresh swarm of people was on its way from
Paris; he had mingled with them, had heard their threats against the
queen, their vows of vengeance against the court. Shortly after the
news reached the palace, that Lafayette was marching upon Versailles at
the head of the Parisian militia or national guard.
The king's heart failed him, and at ten o'clock at night he signed the
Declaration of Rights.
Mounier at once returned to the hall of the Assembly, expecting to find
the delegates there, but they had been so incommoded by the women, who
had intruded everywhere, that the Assembly had been adjourned, and
the mob of women had been left in possession of the hall; one female
occupied the president's chair, but she surrendered it to Mounier on
his appearing. He sent immediately to the municipal officers to request
them to summon the delegates by roll of drum.
Whilst this was being executed, he announced to the people that the
king had accepted the articles of the constitution. The announcement
elicited applause, and then the women asked, simply enough, if this
acceptation would make bread more plentiful and cheaper. The president,
ascertaining that many of these poor creatures had eaten nothing all
day, sent round to the bakers' shops, and all the food that he could
collect, wine, brandy, sausages, bread, was collected at the table, and
was by him distributed among the famished multitude.
The great hall then presented the appearance of a huge eating-house.
During this feast a message was transmitted to Mounier, announcing the
approach of Lafayette and his army of Parisian guards. Mounier at once
commissioned M. Goui-d'Arci to hasten to meet the general, and report
to him the acceptation by the king of the Declaration of Rights.
As soon as it was known at the Château that the Parisian militia were
on their way, orders were issued that the body-guard should quit the
court of the Ministers and betake themselves to the terrace before
the queen's apartments; by this means it was hoped that a collision
would be avoided. During the absence of the Duke de Guiche, who had
gone to the royal apartment for orders, but could get none, though he
waited till two o'clock in the morning, the Marquis de Vilaines took
the command. He transferred the squadron to the Tapis-Vert, leaving
some videttes on the terraces. The Count d'Estaing came to him there,
and assured him that it would be quite impossible for the guards to
re-enter their hôtel before day-break, as the streets were in a tumult
of excitement on the approach of Lafayette's soldiers. Acting on this
advice, he withdrew his guards to Trianon for the rest of the night.
Lafayette, immediately on his arrival, which took place at midnight,
went to the hall of the National Assembly, but finding it crowded with
women, and the Assembly not sitting, he betook himself to the palace,
which he found full of people waiting his arrival with anxiety, and
endeavouring to read on his countenance whether his dispositions were
hostile or pacific.
In the Œil-de-Bœuf, one of the courtiers said, 'There goes Cromwell;'
to which Lafayette replied aptly, 'Sir, Cromwell would not have entered
alone.'
He was perfectly calm, his cheeks fresh through encountering the
wind, and his fair hair wet with rain. He entered the royal cabinet
accompanied only by two commissioners of the Paris municipality. He
informed the king of all that had taken place, and of the arrival of
his army, and received the order for the national guard under him to
occupy the posts which had formerly been held by the French guard; the
body-guard and the Swiss were to retain the posts usually confided
to them. He returned to the head of his column, to provide for the
execution of this order, and the national guards thereupon took
possession of the posts confided to them; the rest dispersed over the
town in search of shelter. The men were worn out with their long and
toilsome march, drenched with rain, and soiled with mud. They found
an asylum in the churches of S. Louis, Notre-Dame, and the convent of
the Recollects. One battalion invaded the deserted barracks of the
body-guard, and quartered themselves comfortably therein.
It was three o'clock in the morning before every arrangement was
complete. The Parisian national guardsmen were at their posts, and
patrolled the streets, or reposed. The rabble of men and women had
fallen asleep in the hall of the Assembly, in the barrack of the
French guard, and in the taverns. Calm seemed to have been restored,
and Lafayette then visited the Count of Luxembourg and the Marquis
d'Aguesseau, to warn them that a battalion of his militia having taken
possession of the hôtel of the body-guard, it would be impossible for
the latter to return to it without running the risk of a fight.
The count at once sent a messenger in disguise to Trianon, with a
recommendation to the Marquis de Vilaines to leave Versailles; he
accordingly mounted his soldiers, and they retreated to S. Leger.
Lafayette, having again made the circuit of the town, and finding all
quiet, went to the Hôtel de Noailles, and flung himself on a bed to
snatch a few hours of rest, after having spent seventeen consecutive
hours with every faculty strained to its utmost.
But what had Nicholas done? We left him sallying forth at night-fall
into the streets in quest of his half-sister and stepmother.
Nicholas went direct to the Swiss guard-house, on the right side of the
court of the Ministers, but found it impossible to enter the grating
before the court. There was, however, a door opening into the building
from the back street, and at this he applied, and asked to see his
father. He was immediately admitted, and found, to his surprise, Madame
Deschwanden and Madeleine sitting beside the fire drying their clothes.
The former was talking in the most animated manner to a score of Swiss
guardsmen, who laughed and joked with her, whilst the corporal looked
on, and listened good-humouredly.
'But I won't go,' said madame, stamping on the ground; 'no human power
shall persuade me to leave France for your detestable land of lakes and
perpetual snows.'
'Now, wife,' said the corporal, 'what has been your object in coming
here to Versailles?'
'To carry off the king to Paris,' answered she, sharply.
'What! whether he like it or not?'
'To be sure. We know best what is to his interest.'
'Very well, madame,' said the corporal, roguishly. 'Do to others as
you would be done by. I am going to treat you precisely as you want to
treat the king. To-morrow is my last day of service. To-morrow I reckon
on obtaining my discharge. After to-morrow, as soon as possible, I
intend to transport you from Paris to Lucerne, whether you approve or
not; for I know best what is to _your_ interest.'
This sally was greeted by the soldiers with applause.
'My faith!' exclaimed Madame Deschwanden, not at all taken aback,
'the cases are totally different; but that is what you Alpine bears
can never perceive. In the case of his majesty, it is the ladies
who insist, and he is too gallant to refuse our wishes. Whoever
heard--unless he were a German--of a man dragging a woman after him
into a wilderness against her will? Hah! Nicholas, my boy, what brings
you here?'
'I have come in search of you and Gabrielle,--Madeleine, I mean?'
'Where is Gabrielle?' asked his sister, looking up.
'She is in safe keeping,' answered the lad; 'and, if you and my mother
wish for shelter, you can have it in the same house.'
'That entirely depends,' said madame; 'we are exceedingly comfortable
here.'
'But the house is that of a curé, and when I told him that you and
Madeleine were out, he insisted on my inviting you to partake of his
hospitality.'
'A curé, did you say, Nicholas?'
'Yes, mother.'
'Mon Dieu! To think of my leaving the society of soldiers for that
of priests! I am much obliged to him, but scarlet coats are a more
cheerful sight than black cassocks. Do you think I am going to put my
head into the lion's mouth? I have plenty of naughty little things
on my conscience, but I don't want to precipitate myself into a
confessional to-night. Thank you, Nicholas; I prefer to remain here,
where I can have a good laugh, I am too wet and cold to endure the
cold water and freezing to which a curé would subject me. In Lent,
yes--not now.'
Madame's determination was received by the soldiers with satisfaction.
'You are all priest-bitten,' said madame; 'that is the mischief of you
Swiss. There was once a spider called the Tarantula, and there was at
the same time another spider called Curatus, and these two went forth
a scamper one day, and the former entered France and bit the people
here, and set them all dancing; and the other spider crawled over the
Alps, and spun his web in Switzerland, and nibbled at the good folk
there, and made them all conscientious. Mon Dieu! what it is to be
conscientious!'
The soldiers laughed heartily.
'Madeleine,' said Nicholas, 'will you come to Gabrielle?'
'No,' said the girl, 'I shall remain with my mother; at any rate, at
present. What street are you in?'
'We are immediately opposite the opening into the Rue des Recollets,
in the Rue du Vieux Versailles, with M. le Curé Lindet lodging in the
house of the widow Maupied.'
'I shall see you to-morrow, Nicholas,' said the corporal. 'I will take
good care of these two madcaps. You know that to-morrow my time of
service is out. I shall be on duty early in the morning at the grand
staircase, and that is the last office I shall perform for his gracious
majesty. Then, huzza! we shall be off to the brave Switzerland, to
the mountains and lakes! to the land of Werner Stauffacher, Erni of
Melchthal, and Walter Fürst.'
'Never!' cried madame.
'We shall see,' said the corporal.
'We shall see,' said madame; 'a woman has a will of her own, and it is
a stubborn one.'
'Good night!' said Nicholas.
At five in the morning, before daylight, a crowd was already prowling
about the streets, and crossing the Place d'Armes, armed with pikes,
spits, and scythes. Seeing some of the obnoxious body-guard as
sentinels at the iron gates, they forced the national guards to fire on
them; the latter obeyed, taking care not to hit them.
Fires were burning in the open square, and men and women were treading
on one another to warm their hands and dry their clothes at the blaze.
A hunchback on a tall horse was trotting up and down and haranguing the
people. A very handsome man, with long black hair and beard, dressed
in the costume of a Greek slave, with bare arms and legs and throat,
gesticulated, put himself into postures, and recited scraps of poetry.
To understand what followed, certain particulars must be explained.
The guard of the castle had been refused to Lafayette, and he had been
given only the outer posts. Those of greater importance were confided
to the Swiss and to the body-guard. These latter had received an order
to retire, but they had been recalled when it was ascertained that
their squadron had left Versailles, and were retained in the posts they
had occupied the day before. During the 5th, all the iron gates of the
Château had been shut and guarded by sentinels, so that the people had
been unable to penetrate within the walls. It was otherwise on the
morning of the 6th.
When the French guard had attended on the king, they had been charged
with the custody of the railing in face of the grand court of entrance,
and of the gates opening into the gardens. To facilitate their service,
the gates of the Princes' court had been wont to be left open, so that
they might pass through into the park to relieve the sentinels. When it
was decided that the national guard should resume the posts formerly
occupied by the French guard, the gates of the courts of the Ministers
and of the Princes were opened as of old.
About half-past five the women, who had been sleeping in the barrack
adjoining the Place d'Armes, woke up and issued forth into the square.
Finding the gate into the grand court of entrance open, they passed
through it, without the sentry of the national guard refusing them
admission. On the left was the gate into the court of the Princes,
guarded by two soldiers of the same militia corps; the women, probably
more from curiosity than any other reason, penetrated into this court,
and finding that it gave access to the park, ran out upon the terrace
to admire the gardens and the ponds full of statuary.
These explorers were speedily followed by other women, and by the
rabble of armed men; and the terrace was soon crowded with them,
talking noisily beneath the queen's windows.
Their voices awoke the queen, who rang the bell for her
lady-in-waiting, Madame Thibault. This woman looked out of the window,
and told her majesty that the noise arose from a number of women who,
having been unable to find shelter during the night, were walking
about. This reply satisfied the queen, and Madame Thibault returned to
her bed.
By this time the grand court was full of the rabble which began
to arrive from all sides, and poured through the gates armed with
cutlasses, pistols, guns, and pikes, vowing vengeance against the
body-guard and the queen.
Major d'Aguesseau at once sent guards into the passage opening out
of the court of the Princes into the Cour Royale. But, too few to
withstand such a mass of people, they were driven back, and a horde
of ruffians precipitated themselves into the Cour Royale, uttering
horrible threats and cries of rage. One detachment rushed towards the
vestibule leading to the apartments of the queen and the princesses;
another flung itself upon the sentinel at the gate of the court,
disarmed him, threw him down, and stabbed him with their pikes and
sabres. The fellow in the costume of a Greek slave--his name was
Jourdain, and he was an artist's model--rushed upon the guard, armed
with a hatchet, and, jumping on his breast, chopped at his neck till
the head came off and rolled among the feet of the by-standers.
Whilst this horrible scene was being transacted in the court, the band
of ruffians who had run to the vestibule, found the door shut in their
faces by the sentinels. They then directed their attack upon the marble
staircase, which was defended by Corporal Deschwanden and another
Swiss. Foremost among them was a militiaman of the guard of Versailles,
a diminutive locksmith, bald-headed, with small sunken eyes, and his
hands chapped and begrimed. The rioters assailed the Swiss, and by dint
of numbers forced them up several steps. The corporal was disarmed
and maltreated. The little locksmith, seeing him deprived of his gun
and sword, sprang vindictively at him and struck him in the breast
with a long knife he held in his hand; then leaving him, hanging over
the balustrade bleeding and faint, he ran up the steps screaming and
flourishing his knife, and the crowd poured after him to the landing,
where several guards were prepared to defend the door into the hall
of the king. One of the guards, Miomandre, descended a few steps, and
asked the rabble, 'What, my friends! do you love the king, and seek to
disturb him in his palace?'
Without answering him, the locksmith seized him by the belt, others
caught him by the hair, and they would have flung him down the stairs
to the ruffians below, had not his companions rescued him. Too few in
number to oppose the crowd, the guard retired into the hall and shut
and locked the door. Then the rioters endeavoured to break it open, and
succeeded in staving in one of the panels. The soldiers blocked the
hole with a wooden chest and kept them out.
Others attacked the door of the hall of the queen's guard, and,
bursting it open, precipitated themselves into the room, and catching
one of the guard who was unable to escape, cut him down with their
swords, and Jourdain, leaping upon him, as he had on the other guard,
hacked off his head, tossed it into the air, and caught it again with a
shout of laughter. Another guardsman was dragged down by his belt, and
drawn along the polished oak floor, through the blood of his comrade,
to the head of the grand staircase, where Jourdain clamoured to get at
him with his axe. A man struck at him with his pike, but the soldier
caught the weapon, and drawing it towards him, by means of it regained
his feet; then, with the energy of despair, he disarmed his adversary,
and defended himself with the pike against the blows that were rained
upon him, till he reached the door of the king's hall, which his
comrades opened to receive him; and he was drawn in by one of the
guard, whilst another fired in the face of the crowd and shot one man.
Another guardsman, Miomandre, was struck down with the handle of a
pike, and one of the assailants, a man in the uniform of a soldier,
wrenched from him his gun, and with the butt end struck him a blow
which cut his head open and stunned him. Thinking him dead, the ruffian
robbed him of his watch, and then deserted him. On his recovery,
finding none of the mob near him, he crawled to the door and obtained
admission.
The rioters were at that moment engaged in forcing an entrance into
the ante-chamber of the queen's apartments. The sister of the queen's
chambermaid, Madame Angué, hearing a rapping at the door, half opened
it, and seeing four guardsmen covered with blood, shut and locked it
again. They continued to rap, and she admitted them. They stationed
themselves before the door of the queen's bedroom, and bade Madame
Thibault and Madame Angué take their mistress to the king's apartment.
The rest of the guard, driven from the king's hall, betook themselves
to the Œil-de-Bœuf, a gallery opening into the private apartments of
the king, lighted by an oval window at one end, and having an oval
mirror at the other. In this they took up their position, determined
that the mob should only enter the cabinet of their sovereign over
their bodies.
But by this time the news of the invasion of the palace had reached
Lafayette, who sprang from his bed, and, without waiting for his horse,
ran into the Place d'Armes to collect his militia. The first to arrive
was the detachment of the Parisian militia, who had slept in the church
of the Recollects. It came up under the conduct of its commandant,
Doctor Gondran, and ranged itself in the marble court, under the
windows of the king's apartments. At that moment, the fellow who had
been shot by the guards was brought down and placed in a slanting
position on the stairs, so that all might see the corpse. Next moment,
one of the body-guard was dragged by his collar down the steps, and the
mob were about to butcher him with their knives and swords beside the
body of the labourer whose head had been split by a bullet, when Dr.
Gondran appealed to his soldiers: 'Will you suffer an assassination to
take place under your eyes?'
They replied at once that they would not permit it, and, running to the
foot of the marble stairs, they rescued the guardsman from the hands of
the populace.
The doctor then advanced his troop up the staircase, which was
encumbered with ruffians carrying off chairs, mirrors, pictures, and
any object worth securing that they had found in the rooms they had
forced open. He made them lay down their spoil, and traversing the
rooms, he knocked at the door of the Œil-de-Bœuf.
As the guard within did not obey, he exclaimed, 'Come, open to us,
body-guard; we have not forgotten that you saved us French guards at
Fontenoy.'
The door was thrown open. The king and his brave defenders were saved.
Nicholas had slept soundly on a mat before the fire, and Lindet had
made himself a bed on a settle.
In the morning the two men rose refreshed, and the widow Maupied came
in to make up the fire, and prepare breakfast.
Gabrielle appeared shortly after, quite recovered from her fright and
exhaustion, her cheeks brilliant with colour, and her dress cleansed
from the stains of the dirty road.
'So the whole family are here,' said Lindet, good-humouredly, to
Nicholas; 'your father, mother, sister, and--Gabrielle.'
'Yes,' answered Nicholas; 'we have got a story in Switzerland of a
young man who carried a goose with golden feathers through a town, and
a woman ran behind to pluck one of the plumes; but, lo! her fingers
stuck to the goose, and she could not detach them; then her mother,
indignant at seeing her daughter run through the streets after a
young man, rushed up to her, and caught her by the arms to arrest
her; but, lo! the mother stuck fast. Then the husband, who was parish
clerk, amazed at such an exhibition, ran after his wife and was fast
directly. He was followed by the priest; and so they ran, a train of
persons after the golden goose, unable to disengage themselves. I think
Madeleine started the wild-goose chase in this instance, and my mother
ran after her, dragging Gabrielle along with her, and----' he suddenly
paused and reddened.
'And you ran after Gabrielle and caught her,' said the curé, laughing.
'You see, monsieur,' said Nicholas, still very red, 'it would not have
done for me to have let those three women go into danger without me.
What might have happened? Madeleine was nearly hung, and Gabrielle
well-nigh strangled, and I dare say my mother was all but trampled
upon by the crowd. It was a foolish thing for them to come--it was not
Gabrielle's fault; but, as they came, I could not in conscience leave
them unprotected. Madame Deschwanden generally knows how to take care
of herself, and so, for the matter of that, does Madeleine; but what
if they should be separated by the crowd from poor little Gabrielle?
The thought frightened me. And very lucky--no! providential, I will
say--was it that I did follow. When I saw her--' he nodded to the
girl--'in the hands of those frenzied mad women, I vowed a mass to the
honour of Bruder Klaus if he would obtain her release, and extend to
her his protection.'
'Bruder Klaus,' repeated Lindet, with a puzzled look; 'who was he? or
what was he?'
'Bruder Klaus was a hermit, a patriot, and a saint,' began Nicholas,
delighted to find a hearer to whom he could recount the history of his
patron. 'The holy brother lived a miraculous life without food----'
'Bruder Klaus must wait a moment,' interrupted Lindet; 'here is some
one coming for you.'
In fact, Madeleine rushed in, her eyes full of tears, out of breath;
she could only articulate, 'Nicholas! quick, your father is dying;' and
then, leaning her head on the back of a chair, gasp for air and sob.
When she had recovered sufficiently she added, 'The corporal wants to
see a priest. M. le Curé, will you follow me?'
'I am ready,' answered Lindet, catching up his hat.
'Come, Gabrielle, come too,' said Madeleine; 'he asked after you.'
'Where is he?' asked Nicholas, his breast heaving convulsedly.
'He is in the gardens,--the park,' answered the girl. 'I found him--he
had dragged himself out upon the terrace, and he made me take him out
of the way of the crowd to the side of one of the sheets of water, and
lay him on the grass.'
She could speak no more, for her tears burst forth anew. 'Dear old
corporal!' she said between her sobs, 'he never knew how I reverenced
and loved him. I would have followed him over the world.'
She drew Gabrielle after her, the priest followed. Nicholas ran forward
in the direction indicated by the girl,--to the large pond or lake
called the Pièce aux Suisses, and when Madeleine came up she found
Nicholas supporting his head.
'My boy,' said the old corporal, faintly, lying with his head propped
against his son's shoulder, 'whilst I have been alone I have had such a
beautiful vision. Look yonder!' He pointed to a mass of cloud lit with
the brilliant beams of the morning sun, standing crisply against a blue
sky. 'It is changed,' continued the Swiss soldier, 'but you may see
what has been. There was the Jungfrau, as truly as I have seen it from
Interlaken. A little to the right, where you can still distinguish an
elevation in the cloud, was the dazzling Silber-horn, with its glacier
flashing in the sun. There was the Mönch, and there the precipice of
the Eiger. Is it not beautiful still? but the outline is not what it
was. God be praised that I have been shown my dear Alps once more. God
be praised!'
He folded his hands, and his eyes still watched the cloud mountains
gradually changing their forms in the roseate morning light.
'Shall I fetch you a doctor, father?' asked Nicholas, bending over him.
'It is of no use, my boy,' answered the old man; 'I have received my
death-wound. I bear no resentment against him who dealt it. God willed
that I should obtain my discharge from service this way, with a stroke
of the knife instead of with that of a pen. Klaus! have you your
flageolet with you?'
'Yes, father,' sobbed the boy.
'Then play me "Herz, mein Herz."'
The young man obeyed, but sadly and imperfectly, for his fingers
refused to move correctly. However, the corporal sang to himself,
disregardful of the false notes:
'Heart, my heart, why art thou weary,
Why to grief and tears a prey?
Foreign lands are bright and cheery;
Heart, my heart, what ails thee, say?'
And then he went abruptly to the verse--
'I should climb the rugged gorges
To the azure Alpine lake,
Where the snowy peak discharges
Torrents, that the silence break.
'I should see the old brown houses;
At the doors in every place,
Neighbours sitting, children playing,
Greetings in each honest face.'
'Here is the priest, father,' said Nicholas, interrupting the tune, and
laying aside his flageolet.
The corporal instinctively put his hand to his brow, as a salute.
Gabrielle burst into tears and threw herself at his side, and put her
arms around him. The old man patted her affectionately on the head and
kissed her brow; then, raising his eyes to Madeleine, he asked her to
take the place of Nicholas, who supported him. The girl readily obeyed,
and pressed her stepfather's head to her bosom, whilst she endeavoured
to stanch the blood that flowed from his wound with a handkerchief.
'Come here, Nicholas,' said the corporal; 'here, Gabrielle, dear child,
look up. I want you to grant me a very great favour, little friend.'
Gabrielle looked earnestly in the weatherbeaten face of the dying man,
endeavouring to read his meaning. He smiled at her, and took her hand
in his.
'I have often longed, of late, to see the day when my Klaus should lead
you to the altar; and I have loved to think how good a little wife
you would be to him, and how dear a daughter you would prove to me.
Gabrielle, will you allow me the satisfaction of joining your hands
before I die?'
She did not answer, but trembled violently, and the tears rolled down
her cheeks. The old man, without waiting for a formal reply, took the
right hand of Nicholas, and placing it in that of Gabrielle, held them
together, saying to the priest, with a grave smile,--'I call you to
witness, Father, that I have betrothed these children. May God bless
them both! And now leave me alone with the curé for a few moments.'
The young people withdrew, and sat down at the water's edge sorrowfully
and silently.
When the priest made them a sign to approach, they returned to take the
last kiss. The sun was shining down on the old man and glorifying his
face; he held the crucifix between his hands clasped to his breast, and
his eyes looked across the water, beyond the wooded hill that formed
the horizon to the golden clouds floating in the blue sky, and his lips
murmured:
'Heart, my heart, in weary sadness
Breaking far from Fatherland,
Restless, yearning, void of gladness,
Till once more at home I stand.'
Madeleine gently closed his eyes, as his spirit fled.
A few hours later, the king and queen bade farewell to Versailles,
which they were destined never to see again, and were escorted by the
crowd and by the national guard to Paris, destined to be their prison
and their grave.