The Peasant and the Prince Part 12

When the peasant-child sees his father dying on his fever-bed, and knows that the question is in the heart of both parents, what is to become of the widow and her children, he may feel his little heart bursting with fear and sorrow, and may think that no one can be more unhappy than he.

But Louis was more unhappy. Here was his father, in the full vigour of his years, about to die a violent death, amidst the hatred of millions of men who, if all had done right, should have been attached to him, and have defended his life at the peril of their own. For the peasant-child there is comfort in prospect. His father's grave is respected in the churchyard; the neighbours are kind; there is the consolation of work for those who survive, and the free air, and the spring flowers, and the mowing, and the harvest, and all the pleasures which cannot be withheld from those who live at liberty in the country. For the princely child there were none of these comforts. As far as he could see, his father and mother had no friends; he and his family were in a dismal prison, with insulting enemies about them, and no prospect of any change for the better, when his father should have been thus violently torn away.

Never, perhaps, was there a more miserable child than Louis was now.

The queen much wished to remain with the king all night; but the king saw that it was better that their strength should not be thus worn-out in grief, and he said that he needed some hours of rest and stillness.

He promised that the family should come to him in the morning: and they therefore left him at a quarter past ten, having spent an hour and three-quarters with him. He told Clery that he never intended to keep this promise, and should spare them and himself the affliction of such an interview. The queen chose to put Louis to bed, as usual; but had hardly strength to do it. She then threw herself, dressed, upon her own bed, where the princesses heard her s.h.i.+vering and sobbing with cold and grief, all night long. The whole family were dressed by six, in expectation of being sent for by the king; and when the door opened, in a quarter of an hour, they thought the summons was come; but it was only an attendant, looking for a prayer-book, as a priest was going to say ma.s.s in the king's apartment. Then they waited hour after hour, and do not seem to have suspected that the king would not keep his promise. At a little after ten, the firing of the artillery, and the shouts in the streets of "Long live the Republic," told them but too plainly that all was over.

The melancholy life they led went on through the rest of the winter and spring with little variety. The parapet of the leads was raised, and every c.h.i.n.k stopped up, to prevent the family seeing anything, or being seen when they walked; so that his daily exercise could have been but little of an amus.e.m.e.nt to the poor boy. On the 25th of March, he was s.n.a.t.c.hed up from sleep, in the middle of the night, in order that his bed might be searched, as it was believed that his mother and aunt carried on a correspondence with people without, by some secret means.

Nothing was found in Louis's bed; and only a tradesman's address, and a stick of sealing-wax, in any of the apartments. The princesses certainly contrived to conceal some pencils; for they had some remaining in the following October. While the king was separated from them, they corresponded with him by putting small notes into the middle of b.a.l.l.s of cotton, which were found by Clery in the linen-press, occasionally, and which would hardly have excited any suspicion if they had been seen there by the most watchful of the gaolers. It is probable that the princesses communicated by the same method with people out of doors, when their linen went out or was brought in. It certainly appears that they did carry on a correspondence by some means. No one would blame them for this: but neither, when the situation and the fears of the new republicans are considered, a.s.sailed and invaded as they were by the powerful friends of royalty, can we wonder at the frequency and strictness of their searches, while certain that their orders were evaded by the prisoners.

On the 9th of May, poor Louis was taken ill with fever. It was a very serious illness, and lasted nearly a month; and he never was in good health again. The want of proper air, exercise, and play, and the dull life he led among melancholy companions, were quite enough to destroy the health _of any_ boy. He was tenderly nursed by his mother and aunt, and his sister played with him; but there was no peace in their minds, and no mirth in their faces, to cheer his young heart. One anecdote shows how sad their manners were now. Tison's wife, who did some of the work of their chambers, went mad, and talked to herself in a way so ridiculous, that the Princess Royal could not help laughing. This made the queen and Princess Elizabeth look at her with pleasure--it was so long since they had seen her laugh! And yet this poor girl who never laughed was then only fifteen years old, and her brother not yet nine.

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

FURTHER SEPARATION.

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 a.s.suring 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 t.i.tles, 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 t.i.tle 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 a.s.sumed. She saw this for herself. He often went to the leads; and the queen found a c.h.i.n.k in a wall at some distance, through which she could watch him as he walked. Sometimes she waited many hours at this c.h.i.n.k, 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 coa.r.s.e 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 n.o.ble 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, pa.s.sing 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.

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

THE END.

How came her little brother to be alone too? Why, Simon accepted an office which he liked better than that of being Louis's guardian, and left him on the 19th of January. n.o.body seems to have remembered to appoint another guardian; and Louis was alone, all day and all night, for months after.

We cannot dwell upon this part of his story. We know little of it; and that little is terrible. There was a broken bell in his room; but he was so afraid of the people that he never rang it. He might, it is said, have left the room: but he was very weak and ill, and seems to have grown bewildered. He had not strength to make his own bed; and it was never made for six months: nor was the bedding changed, nor even his s.h.i.+rt, nor the windows opened in all that time. A pitcher of water was put into his room sometimes; but he never washed himself. There he lay, feeble, and frightened at every noise, surrounded with filth, and covered with vermin, scarcely knowing day from night,--with no voice near to rouse him, no candle in the longest winter nights, no books, no play, no desire for any of these things, no cheerful thoughts in his own mind, and his weak body feverish and aching. Was any poor man's child ever so miserable?

Let us pa.s.s on to a brighter day, which came at last.

On the 28th of July following, there was much noise in the streets, and bustle in the prison, so early as six in the morning; and some finely-dressed gentlemen entered the poor boy's room. He did not know who they were; and they said little, and soon went away. They were, however, sufficiently impressed with what they saw to take some measures for Louis's relief. They had been sent by the Convention, on the downfall and death of the great revolutionary leader, Robespierre, to see what was the state of things at the Temple; and in consequence of their report, a person named Laurent was appointed to visit the royal children.

At last, Louis found himself visited, several times in the day, by one whom he need not be afraid of. Laurent spoke tenderly to him, and told him he should be better taken care of. The dirty bed was carried away; the window was opened, and the room cleaned; and then a clean comfortable bed was brought in. The best thing was that Louis was put into a warm-bath; and Laurent cleansed him from head to foot. Louis was sorry to see Laurent leave the room; but he knew he would soon be back again; and never failed to appear three times during the day. He would have done more for the poor boy: he would have changed his room, and found him amus.e.m.e.nts, and had him well nursed, but that he feared being dismissed if he showed too much indulgence at once; and that then Louis would be allowed to relapse into his former state. Perhaps it was better for the boy that the improvement in his condition took place gradually; for it might have overpowered him to have had people about him, taking care of him all day, after so many months spent entirely alone.

In November there was another Commission sent to the prison, to give further account of Louis. One of the visitors, a kind-hearted gentleman, named Gomier, remained to a.s.sist Laurent in his charge.

Gomier devoted himself to the boy, and made him as comfortable as he could be made in his diseased state. Louis need not fear the long dark winter evenings this year; for Gomier had lights brought, as soon as it grew dusk. Gomier pa.s.sed many hours of the day in talking with him, and got him to play sometimes. Gomier rubbed the swollen joints of his knees and wrists, and obtained leave to give him such exercise as he could take. He did not carry him at once into the open air, but removed him into a little parlour, where Louis seemed so happy that it touched the heart of his kind guardian. Then Gomier and Laurent took him to the leads again, and wished him to go there every fine day. They used all gentle means to tempt him up, and to amuse him when there,--but poor Louis was now too weak to enjoy air and exercise. He complained directly of being tired, and begged to go down: and his pleasure was to spend the whole day quietly by the fire-side. It was better to indulge him in this; for it was clear that he could never again be well, and that all that could be done was to make his decline as easy as possible.

He had several attacks of fever during the winter; and his knees swelled more and more. Laurent had to leave him; but happily a man no less kind succeeded him in his charge. This man's name was Loine. During the spring the boy's strength failed, day by day. He was attended by good surgeons, who saw that he must die, but did what they could to give him ease. His mind had now become dull and confused; but he had no pain.

Except when he had occasional fever fits, he seemed in an easy state, and died, at length, quite peacefully. He breathed his last on the 9th of June, 1795, at three o'clock in the afternoon, his age being ten years and two months.

His sister then felt as if she was quite alone: but it was not for long; and in the interval she was treated kindly. On the 19th of December following, which happened to be her seventeenth birthday, she was released from the Temple, and sent to her uncles and aunts, with whom she lived from that time forward. She married her cousin, the Duke d'Angouleme, and is still living, having seen her family once more restored to the throne of France, and again deposed for tyranny. No cruelty was inflicted upon them in the course of this last change. They were quietly sent into a foreign country, where they are now living, surrounded by all the comforts and luxuries suitable to their rank; and their gentle punishment is no more than, in the opinion of almost everybody but themselves, their ignorant misuse of power deserves.

The pictures of human life which are here given are almost too sad and dreary to be dwelt upon. But we must dwell upon them long enough to learn from them one important thing. We are accustomed to say that the sufferings of men come from the hand of G.o.d, and ought to be submitted to with perfect patience on that account. This is true with respect to many of the woes of mankind; but we are far too hasty in declaring this occasionally where it is not true.

How is it in the cases before us? G.o.d gave to the French nation one of the richest, gayest, and most beautiful countries in the world. This country, with its sunny hills, its fertile plains, its great forests, and br.i.m.m.i.n.g rivers, can easily produce more of all the good things of life than are wanted for the use of all its inhabitants. No man, woman, or child within its boundaries ought ever to be in want of the comforts of life. G.o.d has also given to the people of that country affectionate hearts, and loyal tempers: as was shown by their long forbearance with their rulers, under cruel oppression. If such a people in such a land were miserable, some living in pinching poverty and gross ignorance, and others in tyranny and selfishness which brought upon them a cruel retribution, let no one dare to say that such misery was from the will of G.o.d. G.o.d showed what his will was when he placed beings with loving hearts in the midst of the fruitful land. They might and must have been happy, but for their misuse of his gifts.

The mischief cannot be undone: the misery cannot now be helped: but men may learn from it not to allow such a case to happen again. It is not only France that has been ignorant, and guilty, and miserable. Every country is full of blessings given by the hand of G.o.d; and in every country are those blessings misused, more or less, as they were in France. If every child, as he grows up, was taught this truth--taught to reflect how all men may have their share of these blessings who are willing to work for them, there would be no more danger of such woe as we have been contemplating. It would then appear as impious as it really is to call G.o.d the author of sufferings which need never happen.

Instead of crying to Him for mercy under intolerable misery, all might then bless Him for having placed His children on a fair and fruitful earth, where all may have their fill and dwell in peace.