The 3rd of July was the most terrible morning to Louis. Before he was
up, and while his mother was by his bedside, some officers came into the
room, with an order from the Convention that Louis should be taken from
his family, and kept in the most secure room in the Temple. If the
queen could have commanded herself so far as to obey at once, and let
him go quietly, the unhappy boy might have been less terrified than he
was. But this was hardly to be expected. These repeated cruelties had
worn out her spirits; and she now made a frantic resistance. For a
whole hour she kept off the officers from his bed, and her lamentations
were dreadful to hear: so that the terrified boy not only wept, but
uttered cries. His aunt and sister, though in tears, commanded
themselves so far as to dress him, and thus show that they intended no
vain opposition. The officers were made angry by the delay in obeying
orders of which they were only the bearers. They did all they could in
assuring the queen that no danger to the boy's life was to be feared,
and in promising to convey to the authorities her request that she might
see him at meal-times, at least. Then they carried him off, crying
bitterly. He never again saw his mother, though she saw him by stealth.
It was not likely that her request about meeting him at meals would be
granted; for the very object of separating him was to put out of his
head all the ideas of princely power and authority of which the mind of
a royal child was likely to be full. The intention was to bring him up
with republican ideas and feelings, in order at once to make of him what
was then called "a good citizen," and to render him less an object of
hope and expectation to the foreign powers who already gave him the
royal titles, and led on their armies, as if to the rescue of a king,
while the French nation declared that royalty was abolished, and that
they had no king, and would have none. So this sickly, sad, helpless
little boy was taken by one of the party from the arms of his mother and
aunt, to be brought up in contempt of his family and rank, while the
other party were, all over Europe, giving him the title of Louis the
Seventeenth, and speaking with reverence of him, as if he sat upon a
throne. This unhappy child, called a king, wept without pause for two
whole days, begging every one he saw to take him to his mother. The
endeavour then was to make him forget her; but though they awed him so
that he soon did not dare to speak of her, or to weep, an incident
showed that he still pined for her. A report got abroad that he had
been seen in one of the public walks of Paris; and others said that he
was dead. Some members of the Convention were therefore sent to the
Temple, to ascertain the truth. Louis was led down to the garden to be
seen by them; and he immediately begged to be taken to his mother; but
was told that it was impossible.
Long and wearily did she pine for him. She heard of him frequently,
from one of the gaolers; but there was nothing to be told which could
cause her anything but grief: for those who had taken from her the
charge of her child, did not fulfil the duty they had assumed. She saw
this for herself. He often went to the leads; and the queen found a
chink in a wall at some distance, through which she could watch him as
he walked. Sometimes she waited many hours at this chink, in hopes of
his coming: and yet it might have been better for her not to have seen
him; for he altered sadly.
It was the duty of the authorities, if they meddled with the boy at all,
to have educated him well. Nothing could excuse their not taking him
from prison, tending his weak health, and having him kindly cheered and
well taught. Instead of this, they committed him to the charge of the
man called Simon (mentioned before), a shoemaker, whose business it was
to tend and bring up the boy. Simon was a coarse and ignorant man, full
of hatred of rank and royalty. He would not let Louis wear mourning for
his father, and took away his black clothes. He taught him to sing the
rough songs of the day, mocking royalty and praising revolution. Louis
never till now drank wine, and had always disliked it. This man made
him drink a great deal of wine, and eat to excess, so as to bring on his
fever again. This might be meant for kindness; but it shows how unfit a
guardian Simon was. Louis recovered less favourably from the second
fever than the first. He still walked on the leads; but, instead of
growing taller, he was stunted in his growth, and became fat and
bloated, and thoroughly unhealthy.
On the 8th of October, just after he had got up, his room-door opened,
and his sister ran in. She threw her arms round his neck; but almost
before he could express his surprise, she was fetched away. She had
been sent for by some people below, who were waiting to question her;
and knowing which was Louis's room, she had run downstairs to it; thus
making use of the only opportunity she was likely to have of seeing her
brother.
In a little while, these two royal children were each left entirely
alone. The queen had been removed early in August, and was beheaded in
October, the day week after Louis saw his sister. The good Princess
Elizabeth was always persuaded that her turn would come; and so it did.
She suffered on the 10th of the next May, when she was thirty years of
age. It will be remembered that the king implored her not to enter a
convent in her youth, as she desired; and that he obtained her promise
to refrain from being a nun till she should be thirty years old. If he
had not interfered at first, and if her noble disinterestedness had not
caused her to devote herself to her brother and his family when she saw
adversity coming upon them, she might have fulfilled a long course of
piety and charity, and even been living now. Her life was so innocent,
so graced by gentleness and love, that it may well be a matter of wonder
on what accusation she could have been tried and put to death. It was
the accusation most common at that day--of having conspired with the
enemies of the Republic to set up royalty again in France. That she
corresponded with the friends of royalty, is probable: that she wished
for the re-establishment of the throne, there can be no doubt: but to
suppose that she could in her prison conspire for such a purpose is
absurd. The true reason of her death no doubt was, that the
party-leaders of the time wished to be rid of as many royal personages
as possible, and to strike terror into the hearts of all who were not
pleased with the Republic. The Princess Royal was not told what had
become of her mother and aunt. She remained alone, passing her weary
hours in keeping her chamber and clothes neat, in knitting, and in
reading a few books, which she had read over and over again.