PRISON.

The royal family were placed for three days in a forsaken monastery,

where four cells were allotted to them and their attendants. There

Madame Campan went to them on the 11th. In one cell the king was having

his hair dressed. In another, the queen was weeping on a mean bed,

attended by a woman, a stranger, but civil enough. The children soon

came in, and the queen lamented bitterly over them, mourning that they

should be deprived of so fine an inheritance as this great kingdom; for

she now knew, she said, that the monarchy was really coming to an end.

She spoke of the kingdom, with its many millions of inhabitants, as she

would have spoken of a landed estate with the animals upon it,--as a

property with which monarchs ought to be able to do what they like.

Such was her idea of royalty. She lamented in this crisis over her

boy's loss of the crown, as if that were the greatest of the misfortunes

that awaited him--as if he could not possibly be happy anywhere but on

the throne. Such was her idea of human life. She was brought up with

such ideas, and was to be pitied, not blamed, for acting and feeling

accordingly.

She mentioned to Madame Campan her vexation at the king having been so

eager about his dinner, and having eaten and drunk so heartily in the

presence of malignant strangers, on that dreadful day, and in this

miserable place. She need not have minded this so much; for everybody

now knew the king and his ways, and how he never dreamed, under any

circumstances, of not eating and drinking as usual.

The departure from the Tuileries had been so sudden that the family had

at first only the clothes that they wore. Louis would have wanted for

clean linen, if the lady of the English ambassador had not kindly

thought of the poor boy, and sent him some clothes.

On the 13th, the family were removed to the prison of the Temple; and

Madame Campan, and almost all the servants of the royal household, lost

sight of their master and mistress for ever. It was seven in the

evening when the removal to the Temple took place; and then there was so

much disputing about where the family should be accommodated, whether in

the tower of the building or another part of it, that poor Louis, though

overcome with sleep, had to sit up while his father and mother supped.

At eleven o'clock Madame de Tourzel took him to the Tower, to find some

place where he might go to rest. When the others lay down, at one in

the morning, there was no preparation made for their comfort. The

Princess Elizabeth, with her waiting-woman, slept in the kitchen.

Louis, with his governess and lady-attendant, slept in the

billiard-room. It was all confusion and discomfort. The next morning,

Louis was taken to breakfast with his mother; and then all went together

to see the best rooms in the Tower, and arrange how they were to be

occupied.

It soon became unnecessary to plan for so many people; for an order

arrived for the royal attendants to be removed, to make room for a new

set appointed by the Common Council. The king and queen refused to be

waited upon by strangers, who were, no doubt, to act as spies: but their

own people were removed notwithstanding. On the night of the 19th, the

king's valets were carried off; and then the Princess de Lamballe, and

Madame de Tourzel and her daughter, and even the waiting-women. Louis

was taken up, and carried to his mother's apartment, that he might not

be left quite alone. He probably slept after thus losing his governess

a second time: but his mother and aunt did not. They were too anxious

to think of sleeping: too anxious to know what to believe, and whether,

as they had been assured, they should see their companions again in the

morning. In the morning, instead of the ladies, came the news that they

were all removed to another prison. At nine o'clock, one of the king's

valets reappeared. He alone had been pronounced innocent of any

offence, and permitted to return to his master.

Clery, the Dauphin's valet at the Tuileries, had been on the watch for

an opportunity of returning to his office, after having been left behind

on the dreadful 10th of August, when his life had been in the utmost

danger. He now heard that the mayor was about to appoint two more

servants to wait on the king and the dauphin; and he so earnestly

entreated that he might be one, that he obtained the appointment. No

one was more pleased than Louis to see Clery again.

It was on the 26th of August, at eight in the evening, that Clery

entered once more upon his service. The queen desired him to resume his

attendance upon the Dauphin, and to unite with the king's valet in

rendering the family as comfortable as they could. The princesses had

now been eight days without the attendance of their women; and their

hair much needed proper combing and arranging. At supper they asked

Clery whether he could dress their hair. His reply was, that he should

be happy to do whatever they desired. The officer on guard commanded

him aloud to be more guarded in his replies. Poor Clery was aghast at

finding that he must not be civil in his expressions to his master and

mistress.

Clery did not devote himself exclusively to the service of the Dauphin;

for there were at first few, and latterly no other servants than

himself, except a man named Tison, and his wife, who did the rough work

of the chambers for a time.

The way in which the royal prisoners passed their days, for some few

months, was as follows:

The king rose at six in the summer, and at seven as winter came on. He

shaved himself, and then Clery dressed his hair, and finished his

toilette. The king retired to a small turret-chamber, which he made his

study, and there kneeled at his prayers, and read religious books till

nine o'clock, his guard always taking care that the door was half-open;

so that the king could not even kneel to pray in entire privacy.--

Meantime Clery made the bed, and prepared the room for breakfast, and

then went down to take up little Louis. After washing and dressing him,

he dressed the queen's hair, and then went to the other princesses, to

do the same service for them. This was the opportunity seized for

telling the family any news he had been able to obtain of what was going

on out of doors. It was almost the only occasion on which he could

speak without being overheard by the guards: and even this was contrived

with caution. Clery showed, by an appointed sign, that he had something

to say; and one of the princesses engaged the guard at the door in

conversation, while Clery whispered his news into the ear of the other,

as he bent over her head, to dress her hair.--At nine, the princesses

and Louis went up to the king's apartment to breakfast, when Clery

waited upon them, making haste, when the meal was done, to go down and

get the other beds made. At ten, the whole family came down to the

queen's apartment, and began the business of the day. Louis said his

geography lesson to his father, read history with his mother, and

learned poetry by heart; and did his sums with his aunt. His sister did

her lessons at the same time. Hers lasted till twelve, while Louis's

were over by eleven, when he played by himself for an hour. The queen

generally worked at her tapestry-frame; but sometimes she wrote out

extracts from books for her daughter's use. When she did this, and when

the young princess wrote out sums into her cyphering-book, the officer

on guard used to stand looking over their shoulders, to see that they

did not, under false pretences, carry on any secret correspondence. It

is believed that they did so, notwithstanding all this vigilance; but

how they contrived it will probably never be known; for, of course, they

have not told their plan, and their gaolers were not aware of it.

At twelve o'clock the ladies changed their dress in the Princess

Elizabeth's room, before going out to walk in the garden. The king and

queen did not relish this daily walk in the garden, because they rarely

went without being insulted: but they persevered as long as the practice

was permitted, for the sake of the children. That Louis, particularly,

might have air and exercise, they would have made a point of going out,

in all but the very worst weather. They were, however, allowed no

choice. Wet or dry, rain or shine, out they must go, at the same hour

every day, because the outside guard was changed at that hour; and the

officer chose to see, without trouble to himself, that the prisoners

were all safe. Several guards were always in attendance upon the steps

of the family as they walked; and there was only one walk which they

might enter, because workmen were rebuilding the walls in other parts of

the inclosure. Louis would thus have benefited little by the hour or

two out of doors, if it had not been for good Clery, who seems to have

found time to do everything that could serve or please the family.

Clery went out with them every day, and kept Louis at play the whole

time,--sometimes at football,--sometimes at quoits,--sometimes at

running races.

This daily walk did not long continue the practice of the family; and,

though they thought it right not to give it up themselves, some of them

were very glad when it was over. Their gaoler treated them with

intolerable insolence. He would not stir till they reached the door

they were to pass out at, and then made a prodigious jingling with his

great bunch of keys, and kept them waiting, under pretence of not being

able to find the key: then he made all the noise he could in drawing the

bolts; and, stepping before them, stood in the doorway, with his long

pipe in his mouth, with which he puffed smoke into the face of each of

the princesses as she passed,--the guard bursting into loud laughs at

each puff. Wherever they went, the prisoners saw a guillotine, or a

gallows, or some vile inscription chalked upon the walls. One of these

inscriptions was, "Little cubs must be strangled." Others threatened

death, in a gibing way, to the king or the queen. Clery one day saw the

king reading some such threat of death, and would have rubbed it out;

but the king bade him let it alone.

They had one object of interest in their walks, which, however, they

were obliged to conceal. Certain of their devoted friends obtained

entrance to the houses whose back windows commanded this garden, and,

though afraid to make signals, looked down upon the forlorn party with

sympathy which was well understood. Clery one day believed that Madame

de Tourzel had watched them during their walk; a lady very like her had

so earnestly followed Louis with her eyes through his play. He

whispered this to the Princess Elizabeth, who shed tears on hearing it;

so persuaded had the royal family been that Madame de Tourzel had

perished.--It was not she however: neither had she perished. She was at

one of her country estates, hoping that she was kindly remembered by the

royal family, and forgotten by their enemies.

One of the most important pieces of intelligence that reached them, they

first learned in the course of their walk. A woman at a window which

overlooked the garden watched the moment when the guards turned their

backs, and held up for an instant a large sheet of pasteboard, on which

was written "Verdun is taken." The Princess Elizabeth saw and read

this. The woman no doubt thought this good news; and perhaps they, too,

were pleased that their friends and the foreign army were fairly in

France, and had taken a town on the road to Paris: but we shall see how

it turned out to be anything but good news.--After a few weeks they

walked no more in the garden, and had only such air and exercise as they

could obtain upon the leads of the Temple.

From their walk they came in to dinner at two o'clock, where Clery was

again ready to wait, when he became the only remaining servant. This

was the hour when Santerre the brewer, now commanding the National Guard

of Paris, came daily, with two other officers, to examine all the

apartments inhabited by the family. The king sometimes spoke to him,--

the queen never.

After dinner, the king and queen played piquet or backgammon; not

because they could enjoy at present any amusement of the kind, but

because they found means, while bending their heads together over the

board, to say a few words unheard by the guard. At four o'clock, the

ladies and children left the king, as it was his custom to sleep at this

hour. At six Clery and Louis entered the apartment, and Clery gave the

boy lessons in writing, and copied, at the king's desire, passages from

the works of Montesquieu and others, for the use of the Dauphin. Then

Clery took Louis to his aunt's room, where they played at ball, and

battledore and shuttlecock, till Louis's supper-time, at eight o'clock.

Meanwhile the queen and the Princess Elizabeth read aloud, till eight

o'clock, when they went to Louis, to sit beside him while he had his

supper. Then the king amused the children with riddles, which he had

found in a collection of old newspapers. All kindly exerted themselves

to send Louis cheerful to bed. He was too young, they thought, to lie

down with so sad a heart as they each had every night in their prison.

However busy Clery might be, he never failed to be in the king's little

study at seven o'clock. Regularly at that hour every evening, a crier

stood in the street, close by the tower of the Temple, and proclaimed

what had been done that day in the Assembly, the Magistrates' Hall, and

in the army. This crier was no doubt sent, or induced to stand in that

particular place, by friends of the royal family. In the little

turret-room, while all was silent there, Clery could catch what the

crier said: and he found means to whisper it to the queen when she had

heard Louis say his prayers, and when Clery put him into bed.

Louis had added to his prayer one for the safety and welfare of Madame

de Tourzel. He had so well learned the temper and feelings of the

guards that were always about the family, that when one of them stood

near enough to hear the words of his prayer, he repeated the parts in

which persons were named in a whisper.

At nine o'clock, Clery went down to wait at supper. As the Dauphin was

never to be left alone, while such guards stood about, his mother and

aunt took it in turn to sit beside him; and Clery brought up supper for

whichever of them it might be. This afforded opportunity for a few more

words of news, if there was any to tell.

After supper the king attended his wife, sister, and daughter to the

queen's apartment, shook hands with them as he said good-night, and

retired to his little study, where he read till midnight. The guard was

changed at midnight; and the king would never go to rest till he knew

who was to be on guard. If it was a stranger, he would learn his name.

This kept Clery up too. After he had assisted the king to undress, he

lay down on his small bed, which he had placed beside that of the king,

in order to be at hand in case of danger.

Such was the course of the weary days of this unhappy family's

imprisonment. The king does not seem to have been troubled by any

suspicion that they were all here through his fault; and there was

nothing in their conduct to remind him of it. They could not but have

felt it; but they probably did not blame, but only mourned over him.

His quietness they called heroism, and his indolent content, patience.

His worst weaknesses were hidden here, where there was nothing to be

done. The queen would have been better pleased if he had never spoken

to any of their gaolers; but, upon the whole, they managed to persuade

themselves and each other that he was a martyr suffering in piety and

patience. We should have thought better of him if he had shown himself

capable of self-reproach for having done nothing in defence of his

crown, his family, and friends, but much towards the destruction of all.

If he had been brave and sincere, however ignorant and mistaken, his

family would now have been in a condition of honour and safety, though

perhaps exiles from France.

These dreary days were varied by the arrival of bad news; never of

good,--though the taking of Verdun at first looked like good news. It

does not appear to have occurred to the king that, though his brothers

and other friends were nearer than they had been, his most deadly

enemies were nearer still,--close round about him, and sure to be made

more cruel by every alarm given them by his allies. The nearer the army

approached, the greater was the danger of the prisoners. A few minutes

after the Princess Elizabeth had read the words on the pasteboard, a new

guard arrived, in a passion of fear and anger. He bade them all go in;

he arrested and carried off Clery's fellow-servant, whom they never saw

again, though he got off with a month's imprisonment. While the valet

was packing up his clothes, the guard kept shouting to the king, "The

drum has beat to arms: the alarm-bell is ringing: the alarm-guns have

been fired: the emigrants are at Verdun. If they come here, we shall

all perish; but you shall die first." On hearing this, Louis burst into

an agony of tears, and ran out of the room. His sister followed, and

tried to comfort him. He saw that his father was not frightened. The

king was full of hope; but there was more reason for Louis's terror than

for his father's expectation of deliverance. Many warnings of the kind

occurred, but the king never believed them. One of his guards said to

him, one night, that if the invaders advanced, the whole royal family

would certainly perish. This man declared that many people pitied the

little boy; but that, as the son of a tyrant, he must die with the rest.

The fears of the disorderly people of Paris, who knew that they were ill

prepared for an invasion, made them desperate; and they began murdering

before the very gates of the prison, all whom they supposed to be the

king's friends, and therefore their enemies. It was not likely that the

Princess de Lamballe should escape,--she who had been the superintendent

of the royal household, and the intimate friend of the queen;--she who,

after having been in safety in London, had gone back to France, to share

the fortunes of her mistress and friend. This news of the taking of

Verdun cost her her life; and a multitude more were massacred during the

next three days.

In the night after the news came, the queen, who could not sleep, heard

the drums rolling continually. The next day, the 3rd of September, as

she was sitting down to backgammon with, the king, at three o'clock, a

great clamour was heard in the street. The officer on guard in the room

shut the window, and drew the curtains,--knowing well what was the

matter. Clery at this moment entered. The queen asked him why he was

not at dinner. He replied that he was indisposed,--and well indeed he

might feel so. He had just sat down to dinner with Tison and his wife,

when something was held up at the window which he knew at a glance to be

the head of the Princess de Lamballe. He ran to prevent the queen's

hearing of it, if possible.

The king asked some of the officers if his family were in danger; and

was told that the people had heard that the royal prisoners had left the

Temple, and were crying out for the king to appear at a window; but that

this was not to be allowed, as the people must learn to have more

confidence in their magistrates. Meantime, curses of the queen were

heard without; and one of the guard told her that the people wanted to

show her her friend's head, that she might see how tyrants were to be

served; and that if she did not go to the window, the people would come

up to her.

The queen dropped in a fainting-fit; and the brute left the room. The

Princess Elizabeth and Clery lifted the queen into an arm-chair; and

Louis helped his sister to try to revive their mother. He put his arms

about her neck, and his tears fell upon her face. When she revived,

they were glad to see her shed tears. They all went into the Princess

Elizabeth's room, where the noise from without was less heard. There

the queen stood, silent and motionless, and apparently unaware of all

that was said and done in the room. Yet this was the time chosen by a

messenger from the mayor for settling some accounts with the king. This

man, not understanding the queen's misery, thought, when he saw her lost

and motionless, that she remained standing out of respect to him!

The noise continued for two hours; and it is believed that the mob would

have burst the doors, and murdered the family, if an officer of the

magistrates had not fastened a tricolor ribbon across the great gate,--a

symbol which the people always respected. This officer made Clery pay,

out of the king's money, for this ribbon, which cost somewhat less than

two shillings.

The queen had not slept the night before; this night, her daughter and

sister heard her sobs the whole night through, while the continual roll

of the distant drums prepared them for new horrors. Nothing more

occurred to alarm them, however, for some weeks; and it was long before

they knew that the massacre which began on that dreadful day was carried

on through the two next.

Whatever hopes the king had from abroad soon grew fainter. The army

began to retreat before the end of September. One of the reasons of

this was that the king's brothers and friends had misled the sovereigns

of other countries, by saying that the French nation generally were

attached to the king, and that the country people would rise in his

favour all along the line of march. They may have believed this

themselves: but it was a great mistake; and when the foreign forces

entered France, they found the country people universally their enemies.

They would not furnish food, or any other assistance, and deserted

their homes to join the revolutionary forces. Thus, the foreign troops

could not get on; and before a month was out, they were retreating,

having done the royal cause nothing but harm by taking Verdun.

The people of Paris, encouraged and delighted, now declared royalty

abolished in France. The gaolers at once left off calling the family by

their titles, and objected to Clery's making any requests in the name of

the king, whom, to his face, they called Louis or Capet. A shoemaker,

named Simon, was always in office in the Temple, superintending the

management of the prison in some of its departments. This man prided

himself upon his rudeness, and would now sometimes say, in the king's

hearing, "Clery, ask Capet if he wants anything, that I may not have the

trouble of coming up a second time."

Some new linen being at last sent (after the princesses had been obliged

to mend their clothes every day, and to sit up to mend the king's after

he was in bed), the sempstresses were found to have marked the linen, as

usual, with crowned letters; and the princesses were ordered to take out

the marks before they were allowed to wear the clothes. As it was found

that some correspondence was carried on between the prisoners and their

friends without, and the means could not be detected, all their

employments looked suspicious in the eyes of their gaolers. After pen,

ink, and paper had been forbidden, the queen gave directions to Clery as

to what should be done with some chair-covers of tapestry-work which she

and her sister-in-law had worked for their amusement; but the guard

would not let them be sent out of the prison, as they were supposed to

contain hieroglyphic figures, which would be understood by the lady to

whom they were directed. One day, when Louis was by his mother's side,

studying a multiplication-table which Clery had made for him, at her

desire, the guard interfered, saying that he was afraid the queen was

teaching her son a cipher-language, under pretence of giving him lessons

in arithmetic. So the poor boy learned no more arithmetic. While

reading history with her son, the queen had many lectures to undergo

about giving him a republican education,--lectures which were cruel

because they were perfectly useless. The queen knew nothing about

republicanism, beyond what she had seen of late in Paris; and she had

seen nothing which could induce her to instruct her child in its favour.

Everything that came in and went out was searched; but yet it does not

appear that the real means of communication were discovered. The

macaroons were broken, the fish cut open, the walnuts split, in search

of notes; and none were found. A book which the Princess Elizabeth

wished to return to the person who had lent it to her, had all the

margins cut off, lest there should be writing on them in invisible ink.

The washing-bills, and all paper wrappers, were held to the fire, under

the same suspicion: and all the folds of the linen from the wash were

examined for hidden notes.

Once there was a fancy that the king wished to poison himself; and the

guards made poor Clery swallow some essence of soap, bought for the king

to shave with. All these things show the dread entertained by the newly

freed people of being crushed by foreign powers, and the opinion that

prevailed of the selfishness and tyrannical habits of the king and

queen. The jealousy and cruelty from which they were now suffering were

signs, perhaps, of the ignorance of the people; but they told quite as

plainly of a condition of desperate fear. If they had known the truth,

they might have discovered that their persecutors were not less wretched

than themselves. In point of ignorance of one another's views, wishes,

and intents, and of the means of securing the welfare of a nation, it

might be difficult to say which party was the least fit to govern.

Now that royalty was declared to be abolished, the family must have

pondered night and day what was to become of them, if a foreign army did

not come to release them; of which there seemed less chance now than on

that summer night when the queen had gazed at the moon, and hoped that

another month would restore her to freedom and dignity. She could not

now avoid supposing that they might be got rid of by death: yet she

heard rumours of another fate. One day she was told that her husband

and son were to be imprisoned for life in the castle of Chambord. The

king was under forty years of age, and it was early for him to have to

quit the activity and enjoyment of life: but what must she have felt as

she looked upon her boy, not yet eight years old, and imagined him mured

up in a fortress for as long as he might live! She seems to have felt

more keenly than anything else any fear or vexation caused to her boy;

which was natural enough, as he was the youngest of the party. Almost

the only time when she showed any impatience at the behaviour of their

guards was when one of them waked Louis suddenly one night, to see

whether he was safe in bed.