Marie Antoinette and Her Son Part 65

After the careful investigation had been ended, the doctor called the two gentlemen who had withdrawn to the window to the bed again.

"Marquis," said he, "this unfortunate child will never recover, and the least painful thing that could happen to him would be a speedy release from his miserable lot. Yet I do not believe that this will occur, but consider it possible that the boy will protract his unfortunate life a full year after his mind has entirely pa.s.sed away, and nothing is left of him but his body. The boy, if you can regard such a poor creature as a human being, is suffering from an incurable form of scrofula, which will by and by consume his limbs, and convert him into an idiot; he is now deaf; he will be a mere stupid beast. If it were permitted to subst.i.tute the hand of science in place of the hand of G.o.d, I should say we ought to kill this poor creature that is no man and no beast, and has nothing more to expect of life than pain and torture, having no more consciousness of any thing than the dog has when he does not get a bone with which to quiet his hunger."

"Poor, unhappy creature!" sighed the marquis. "Now, I thank G.o.d that He released my sister from the pain of seeing her dear child in this condition.

"Doctor Naudin," said Toulan, solemnly, "is it your fixed conviction that this sick person will never recover?"

"My firm and undoubted conviction, which every physician who should see him would share with me."

"Are you of the opinion that this child has nothing in life to lose, and that death would be a gain to it?"

"Yes; that is my belief. Death would be a release for the poor creature, for life is only a burden to it as well as to others."

"Then," cried Toulan, solemnly, "I will give this poor sick child a higher and a fairer mission. I will make its life an advantage to others, and its death a hallowed sacrifice. Marquis of Jarjayes, in the name of King Louis XVI., in the name of the exalted martyr to whom we have all sworn fidelity unto death, Queen Marie Antoinette, I demand and desire of you that you would intrust to me this unhappy creature, and give his life into my hands. In the name of Marie Antoinette, I demand of the Marquis of Jarjayes that he deliver to me the son of his sister, that he do what every one of us is joyfully prepared to do if our holy cause demands it, that this boy may give his life for his king, the imprisoned Louis XVII."

While Toulan was speaking with his earnest, solemn voice, Jarjayes knelt before the bed of the poor sobbing child, and, hiding his face in his hands, he prayed softly.

Then, after a long pause, he rose and laid his hand on the feverish brow of the boy. "You have addressed me," he said, "in the name of Queen Marie Antoinette. You demand of me as the guardian of this poor creature that I give him to you, that he may give his life for his king. The sons and daughters of my house have always been ready and glad to devote their possessions, their happiness, their lives, to the service of their kings, and I speak simply in the spirit of my sister--who ascended the scaffold to seal her fidelity to the royal family with her death--I speak in the spirit of all my ancestors when I say, here is the last off-spring of the Baroness of Tardif, here is the son of my sister; take him and let him live or die for his king, Louis XVII., the prisoner at the Temple."

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE CONSULTATION.

During the night which followed the second visit of Doctor Naudin, Jeanne Marie Simon had a long and earnest conversation with her husband. The first words which the wife uttered, spoken in a whisper though they were, excited the cobbler so much that he threatened her with his clinched fist. She looked him calmly in the face, however, and said to him softly, "And so you mean to stay perpetually in this hateful prison? You want to remain shut up here like a criminal, and get no more satisfaction out of life than what comes from tormenting this poor, half-witted boy to death?"

Simon let his hand fall, and said, "If there were a means of escaping from this infernal prison, it would certainly be most welcome to me, for I am heartily tired of being a prisoner here, after having prayed for freedom so long, and worked for it so much.

So, if there is a means--"

"There is such a means," interrupted his wife. "Listen to me!"

And Simon did listen, and the moving and eloquent words of his wife at length found a willing ear. Simon's face gradually lightened up, and it seemed to him that he was now able to release his wife from an oppressive, burdensome load.

"If it succeeds," he muttered--"if it succeeds, I shall be free from the mountainous weight which presses upon me day and night and shall become a healthy man again."

"And if it does not succeed," whispered Jeanne Marie, "the worst that can happen to us is what has happened to thousands before us.

We shall merely feed the machine, and our heads will tumble into the basket, with this difference, that I shall not be able to make any mark in my stocking. I would rather die all at once on the guillotine and have it over, than be dying here day after day, and hour after hour, having nothing to expect from life but pain and ennui."

"And I, too," said Simon, decidedly. "Rather die, than go on leading such a dog's life. Let your doctor come to me to-morrow morning. I will talk with him!"

Early the next day the doctor came in his long, black cloak, and with his peruke, to visit the sick Mistress Simon. The guards at the gate leading to the outer court quietly let him pa.s.s in, and did not notice that another face appeared in the peruke from that which had been seen the day before. The two official guards above, who had just completed their duties in the upper story, and met the doctor on the tower stairs, did not take any offence at his figure. The director of the Hotel Dieu was not personally known to them, and they were familiar with but little about him, excepting that he took the liberty of going about in his old-fas.h.i.+oned cloak, without giving offence to the authorities, and that he had permission from those authorities to come to the Temple for the purpose of visiting the wife of Simon.

"You will find two patients to-day up there," said one of the officials as he pa.s.sed by. "We empower you, doctor, to take the second one, little Capet, under your charge. The boy appears to be really sick, or else he is obstinate and mulish. He answers no questions, and he has taken no nourishment, Simon tells us, since yesterday noon. Examine into the case, doctor, and then tell us what your opinion is. We will wait for you down in the council-room. So make as much haste as possible."

They pa.s.sed on, and the doctor did really make haste to ascend the staircase. At the open door which led to the apartment of the little Capet and his "guardian," he found Simon.

"Did you hear, citizen?" asked the doctor. "The officials are waiting for me below."

"Yes, I heard, doctor," whispered Simon. "We have not much time.

Come!"

He motioned to the physician to pa.s.s along the corridor and to enter the room, while he bolted and locked the outer door. As the doctor entered, Mistress Simon lay upon her bed and looked at the new-comer with curious, glowing eyes.

"Who are you?" she asked, rising quickly from her bed. "You are not Doctor Naudin whom I expected, and I do not know you!"

Meantime the doctor walked in silence to her bed, and stooped over Jeanne Marie, who sank back upon the pillow.

"I am the one who is to help you escape from the Temple," he whispered. "Doctor Naudin has sent me, to work in union with him and you in effecting your release and that of the unfortunate Capet."

"Husband," cried Jeanne Marie to the cobbler, who was just coming in, "this is the man who is going to deliver us from this h.e.l.l!"

"That is to say," said the doctor, with a firm, penetrating voice, "I will free you if you will help me free the dauphin."

"Speak softly, for G.o.d's sake, speak softly," said Simon anxiously.

"If any one should hear you, we are all lost! We will do every thing that you demand of us, provided that we can in that way escape from this miserable, good-for-nothing place. The air here is like poison, and to have to stay here is like being buried alive."

"And then the dreams, the frightful dreams," muttered Jeanne Marie, with a shudder. "I cannot sleep any more in this dreadful prison, for that pale, fearful woman, with great, fixed eyes, goes walking about through the Temple every night, and listens at the doors to see whether her children are alive yet, and whether we are not killing them. Lately, she has not only listened at the doors, but she has come into my room, and pa.s.sed my bed, and gone into the chamber of little Capet. Simon was asleep, and did not see her. I sprang up, however, and stole softly to the door; for I thought somebody had crept in here in disguise, possibly Citizen Toulan, who had already twice made the attempt to release the Austrian and her children, and whom I then denounced at headquarters. There I saw-- although it was entirely dark in the hall--there I saw little Capet lying asleep on his mattress, his hands folded over his breast, and with an expression of countenance more happy, altogether more happy, than it ever is when he is awake. Near the mattress kneeled the figure in white, and it seemed as if a radiance streamed out from it that filled the whole room. Its face was pale and white, just like a lily, and it seemed as if the fragrance of a lily was in the apartment. Her two arms were raised, as if she would utter a benediction, over her sleeping boy; around her half-opened lips played a sweet smile, and her great eyes, which had the aspect of stars, looked up toward heaven. But while I was there in a maze, and watched the figure in a, transport of delight, there occurred, all at once, something wonderful, something dreadful. The figure rose from its knees, dropped its arms, turned itself around, and advanced straight toward me. The eyes, which had been turned so purely heavenward before, were directed to me, with a look which pierced my breast like the thrust of a knife. I recognized that look-that sad, reproachful glance. It was the same that Marie Antoinette gave me, when she stood on the scaffold. I was sitting in the front row of the knitters, and I was just going to make the double st.i.tch for her in my stocking, when that look met me; those great, sad eyes were turned toward me, and I felt that she had recognized me, and her eyes bored into my breast, and followed me even after the axe had taken off her head. The eyes did not fall into the basket, they were not buried, bat they remain in my breast; they have been piercing me ever since, and burning me like glowing coals. But that night I saw them again, as in life--those dreadful eyes; and as the figure advanced toward me, it raised its hand and threatened me, and its eyes spoke to me, and it seemed as if a curse of G.o.d were going through my brain, for those eyes said to me--'Murder!'--spoke it so loudly, so horribly, that it appeared as if my head would burst, and I could not cry, and could not move, and had to look at it, till, at last, I became unconscious."

"There, see there, doctor," cried Simon, in alarm, as his wife fell back upon the pillow with a loud cry, and quivered in all her limbs; " now she has convulsions again, and then she will be, for a day or two, out of her mind, and will talk strangely about the pale woman with dreadful eyes; and when she goes on so, she makes even me sad, and anxious, and timid, and I grow afraid of the white ghost that she says is always with us. Ah! doctor, help us! See, now, how the poor woman suffers and twists!"

The doctor drew a bottle from his breast-pocket, and rubbed a few drops upon the temples of the sick woman.

"Those are probably the famous soothing-drops of Doctor Naudin?"

asked Simon, in astonishment, when he saw how quiet his wife became, and that her spasms and groans ceased.

"Yes," answered the doctor, "and the eminent physician sends them as a present to your wife. They are very costly, and rich people have to pay a louis-d'or for every drop. But Doctor Naudin. gives them to you, for he wishes Jeanne Marie long to enjoy good health. How is it with you now?"

"I feel well, completely well," she said, as the doctor rubbed some drops a second time on her temple. "I feel easier than I have felt for a long time."

"Give me your hand," said the doctor. "Rise up, for you are well.

Let us go into the chamber of the poor boy, for I have to speak with you there."

He walked toward the chamber-door, leading Jeanne Marie by the hand, while Simon followed them. Softly and silently they entered the dark room, and went to the mattress on which the child lay.

The boy stared at them with great, wide-opened eyes, but they were without expression and life, and only the breath, as it came slowly and heavily from the half-opened lips, showed that there was vitality still in this poor, little, shrunken form.

The doctor kneeled down beside the bed, and, bending over it, pressed a long, fervent kiss on the delicate, hot hand of the child.

But Charles Louis remained motionless; he merely slowly dropped his lids and closed his eyes.

"You see, doctor, he neither hears nor sees," said Simon, in a low, growling voice. "He cares for nothing, and does not know any thing about what is going on around him. It is a week since he spoke a word."

"Not since the day when you wanted to compel the child to sing the song that makes sport of his mother."

"He did not sing it?" asked the doctor, with a tremulous voice.

"He is a mulish little toad," cried Simon, angrily. "I begged him at first, then I threatened, and when prayers and threats were of no use I punished him, as a naughty boy deserves when he will not do what his foster-father bids him do. But even blows did not bring him to it; the obstinate youngster would not sing the merry song with me, and since then he has not spoken a word. [Footnote: Historical.- -See Beauehesne'a "Histoirede Louis XVII.," vol. ii.] He seems as if he had grown deaf and dumb as a punishment for not obeying his good foster-father."