THE DAUPHIN'S SISTER
René, on feeling stronger, resolved to read the manuscript which
awakened his interest more and more deeply. The enigma of Naundorff's
obscure life, the cause of the attack in the square, Amélie's startling
resemblance to the medallion--all would be explained by that roll of
paper in the cylindrical case.
He rose and breakfasted on tea and toast, after which, fortified and
resolute, he examined his pistols and placed them within reach. Then he
stretched himself upon a lounge near the table and broke the seal, which
represented a tuberose and sarcophagus,--a symbolic emblem causing him
to start. His eyes next fell upon the dedicatory words at the head of
the manuscript: TO HER.
"Is this a love history?" he asked himself, recalling Naundorff's
beautiful countenance and indefinable charm. With feverish anxiety, he
turned the leaf and read:
"This is the recital of my misfortunes which you alone can assuage.
Remember that you must at last stand before God."
Then the text continued:
Since my tireless enemies and malevolent fate are combined for the
purpose of forcing me to die beneath a spurious name and destitute of
the rights to which my birth entitles me; since you, yourself (in whom I
had faith because it seemed monstrous to doubt you), have discredited my
claim: I hold up to you a mirror reflecting the insistent memories of
which you are so great a part, that your remorse may hereafter be the
greater, if this appeal I make softens not your heart and if the
impositions of royalty outweigh the supplications of blood.
A day shall come, Thérèse, when posterity, marveling at my abandoned
condition, will indignantly ask why the powers of Europe made no protest
at the iniquity practised upon me. But that posterity should consider
the fate of our parents,--yours and mine, Thérèse,--the fate of the
ignominious journey to the guillotine as well as the indifference before
that spectacle of those who should have burned their last cartridge in
defence of the victims! Ah, Thérèse! In vain do you seek to restore THE
PRINCIPLE,--to use the expression you of the Court employ--in vain do
you seek to restore THE PRINCIPLE which is the basis of our national
glory. Our country's weakness at the present time consists in the
repudiation of that PRINCIPLE.
Perhaps I seem a dreamer or a lunatic, but, nevertheless, 'tis by the
light of my unparalleled misfortunes that I perceive the impending
cataclysm. The PRINCIPLE has suicided and the INSTITUTION has received
its death blow. What life remains to it will be puerile and despicable.
Trampled by its enemies, humiliated, scourged, manacled, crowned in
mockery, buffeted, its purple mantle in shreds, it shall at last be
crucified, not to await a glorious resurrection but to crumble to dust
in a fleur de lis cemetery.
Fools are those who build above a raging torrent. Lay not the flattering
unction to your soul, Thérèse, that you have saved the dynasty by
sacrificing your brother. God is no Moloch to be propitiated by such
holocausts. Sterile has been your womb as a warning to you, and other
lessons, tremendous and desolating, have you yet to learn. As for me, my
descendants will toil and sweat over labors as arduous as my own, and so
shall the ages expiate.
How dreadful is my fate, Thérèse! I live, I breathe, but _I_, as _I_, do
not exist; that _I_ has been buried in an empty coffin, in the angle of
two walls of a cemetery. At times I doubt my very senses and all that I
am about to relate to you seems the very fabric of a dream,--but then no
dream has ever been so long and fearful. 'Tis only my anguish that
convinces me of reality. I co-ordinate my memories and perceive that I
am _not_ a deluded fool. Once I described my misgivings to a physician
in Germany, saying that in believing myself to be another I feared at
times that I was demented. He said he had known similar cases and
advised me to summon all my mental strength and hold a powerful light to
the mirror of my consciousness.
"Impostors have there been who were not liars," said the doctor fixing
upon me a penetrating look. "Those impostors have believed their
asseverations." Thérèse, I appeal to you to rescue me from this
appalling phenomenon.
And as I am opening my heart to you,--the heart which throbs, not the
inert heart which was offered you with the assurance that it had been
taken from my dead body and which you refused to accept,--since I
conceal nothing from you, Thérèse, O listen! I implore you to convince
me that I am a wretched dupe of the Revolution, for perhaps 'twould be
best that I should be persuaded that my reason is diseased. Be pitiful,
Thérèse, even tho you refuse me love.
And now, whether I rave or speak truth, I summon my life's memories even
from infancy. I stand in that incomparable summer palace in which we
lived before the bursting forth of the Revolution. I walk through the
magnificent salons adorned by rare artists, and amid those marvelous
gardens wherein the skill of Le Nôtre surpassed itself. But more vivid
still than the memories of these splendors is the image of the charming
villa of diminutive blue lakes and rustic kiosks and the verdant farm
where our mother in simple muslin (how beautiful she was, Thérèse!)
delighted to drink fresh milk, gather wild flowers and scatter grain to
the birds. How gay we were, you and I, participating in these innocent
amusements, in our straw hats and cool white dresses. One day an artist
painted us so, and, as I grew restive and troublesome during the
sitting, my mother said gently, "Charles Louis, I shall soon know
whether or not you love me." This sweet remonstrance quieted me. I so
loved my mother that the sound of her voice in singing always brought
tears to my eyes.
But the roaring tempest broke,--the Revolution. Our father did not
realize the peril; he _could_ not believe that he was hated; he
expected daily a reconciliation with his people. But our mother's virile
spirit perceived from the first that not only the throne but the royal
heads as well were in danger. I was too young to understand causes but I
realized that the atmosphere was transformed into something strained and
dolorous. Accustomed as I was to all manner of attentions, to hear
laughing applause after my youthful sallies, to behold only approving
and smiling countenances, I suddenly realized that no one had the time
or the inclination to caress me and that grave anxiety seemed the reason
for my neglect. Rumors of contentions, abrupt alarms, hurried changing
of apartments, enforced awakenings in the early morning, terrorized
prayers dictated by our good aunt, our father's sister, who, joining our
hands, would bid us kneel and beg God for mercy--all this filled even my
child-mind with the consciousness of impending danger. One night a
furious multitude surrounded the palace. Some one snatched me from bed
and carried me away to concealment, and my mother, _our_ mother,
stripped herself of a lace gown and flung it around me, that I should be
somewhat protected. You were near, Thérèse, sobbing affrightedly and
waiting to be carried away to a place of security.
Do you remember the morning on which the inebriated multitude forced us
to return to Paris? Our carriage was advancing slowly; the heat and dust
almost asphyxiated us; our throats were parched with thirst, but none of
us dared ask for a drop of water. Brawny fellows rode ahead of us,
howling and brandishing pikes surmounted by bleeding human heads. One of
these men, whose wide-open mouth in the midst of a long matted beard
resembled a cavern, came to the window. Terror-stricken, I buried my
face in our mother's bosom and so remained during the entire journey.
After this journey,--how long after, I know not--we made that other
journey, ill-timed and inauspicious, which sealed our fate. And now
appeared my uncle's form, our father's brother, whom, of late, we had
scarcely seen, for since our misfortunes he had frequented the camps of
the disaffected and abetted our parents' calumniators. But on this
occasion he seemed solicitous for our deliverance and co-operated in our
arrangements for escape. Against our mother's judgment, had our father
confided the project to his brother, who advised that the iniquitous
Valory, a creature possessed body and soul by the Count of Provence,
should be entrusted with the details of the flight.
A program was mapped out whose happy exit seemed assured. To what
purpose all the minute precautions? Why was I disguised as a girl and
told I should say my name was 'Amélie,' were I asked: Amélie, a name to
me eternal and which I have given to the daughter of my soul. Reflect,
Thérèse, upon that sinister journey, and decide who profited thereby.
There is a sentence in Hamlet running thus: The serpent that did sting
my father's life now wears his crown.
I shall always believe that our mother suspected the hand that detained
us. Valory, who preceded us, was but the agent of those who with the
kiss of betrayal delivered us shackled. The ambush was prepared with
infernal adroitness. The detention occurred when we had almost reached
the frontier that greater obloquy might be heaped upon the royal family
than if it had been surprised near Paris.
Valory rode mounted ahead of our carriage and took so little pains to
dissemble as to disappear near the last change of horses, causing our
mother mortal terror. She made her suspicions known to our father, who,
displeased and pained, rejected them. Our father's faith in his brother
was implicit. Our mother never succeeded in combating it, not even after
the farce accomplished by the notorious Drouet, who today enjoys the
favor and protection of the usurper.
You, Thérèse, have accepted his protection, also. 'Tis we who make
history and not revolutions caused by currents of ideas. Believe,
rather, in human passions, in the ambitions of the mighty which carry in
their train the faith of a confiding and bewildered multitude. And
believe, also, in a Nemesis of expiation, though 'tis at times the
innocent who wash away the stains of the guilty.
You remember the termination of that flight. On our return I was
exceedingly fatigued and ill at ease. My girl's dress added to my
discomfort and I was at last relieved of it by our faithful valet, who
put me to bed, on this first night in Paris after our capture.
Several officers of the National Guard remained near my bed and
affectionately bade me sleep tranquilly. While I dozed, they smoked and
chatted and their voices soothed me; even the clanking of their spurs
was pleasant reassurance. I sank into a lethargy, of what length I know
not. Suddenly my eyes seemed opening on a startling spectacle. The Guard
surrounded me. They laughed and spoke words which I could not
understand. By degrees their human outlines became blurred and they were
covered with hair. Their hands grew into long grey paws terminating in
sharp nails, their faces projected into snouts, their eyes glowed as
live coals and their voices howled fearfully. Wolves! wolves! famishing,
frantic wolves. Their hot breathing was stifling as they leaned to
devour me--
I must have screamed, for I waked in my mother's arms, as she snatched
me from bed, covering my face with kisses. Those kisses are still on my
face, Thérèse, and I feel now the passionate embrace with which she
clasped me to her, and I see the terrible dread on her beautiful pale
face.