THE LITTLE DAUPHIN:* situation he was utterly dejected. Some times he mourned in silence; at other times, through his large tears there gleamed A TALE OF SORROW. by the six commissaries a fire of indignation, which upon occasion would burst forth in earnest and angry words. "I wish to know," said he, imperiously, to the municipals, on their coming to see him-"I wish to know what law it is by which you are ordered to separate me from my mother, and keep me in prison. Show me the law; I wish to see it!" The officers, it is said, stood confused before the child, out of surprise at his kingly manner of expressing his indignation. Simon, however, soon silenced him, by commanding him to hold his tongue. Two days passed before the captive child could be prevailed upon to go to bed; but at length he resigned himself to do so with a good grace, and the next morning rose and dressed of his own accord. He no longer wept; but he persisted in maintaining a most persevering silence. Simon could make nothing of him. “Ah ha! little Capet," said he; "so you are dumb, are you? I shall have to teach you to talk, and to sing the Carmagnole, and cry Vive la République! Ah! it's dumb you are, are you?" "If I were to speak out what I think," said the boy, "you would call me mad. I am silent, lest I should say too much.” "O! O!" retorted Simon; "Monsieur Capet would have too much to say; that smacks rather strongly of the aristocrat. But it does not do for me, do you understand? You are young, and so, to be sure, you are excusable; but I, being your master, must not let you remain in ignorance. I must bring you on-give you new ideas." In this way, from day to day, he would continually taunt the child; deeming it,. apparently, his business to render him as miserable as possible. Whether to please or to annoy him, he one day brought him a Jews-harp, saying it would do to accompany his "she-wolf of a mother" when she played on the piano. "And what a fine row that will make," he added. The child felt there was nothing but mockery in the gift, and he therefore resolutely refused it. This roused Simon to rage, and he thereupon dealt the young descendant of a line of kings the first blows which he had ever in his life received. For every little act of insubordination, blows soon came to be regularly inflicted. One day, in deprecation of this treatment, the boy and a porter, young Louis was conducted to that part of the Tower formerly occupied by his father, where there was a person in attendance, who appeared to have been long waiting. The municipals spoke for a few moments with this man, gave him some instructions in a low tone of voice, and then retired. The child found himself alone, in the presence of an individual whose features he did not at first recognize, but whose easy gait, gruff, short manner of talking, and eccentric gestures, soon brought him to remembrance. Among the six commissaries originally charged to inspect the works and expenses at the Temple, there was one named Simon, a shoemaker, who alone of the whole number, under pretense of scrupulously doing his duty, remained constantly in the Tower. He never approached the royal family without giving utterance to some offensive speech. Often he would say to Cléry, the king's valet, within hearing of the king, Cléry, ask Capet if he wants anything, that I may not be troubled to come up again!" This was the man whom little Louis now beheld before him. One of the municipals had told the queen, when taking away her son, that the nation, "always great and generous," would provide for his education; and M. Simon was the tutor whom the representative powers for the time being had provided. Marat and Robespierre had helped to get him the situation. He had a salary of five hundred francs a month, on condition that he was never to leave his prisoner, or on any pretense whatever to quit the Tower. He found his pupil rather unmanageable the first night, for the poor boy sat weeping in the darkest corner of the room for several hours; and it was with the greatest difficulty that Simon could obtain a few brief answers to the questions which he put to him, as he sat smoking and swearing with a steadfast self-complacency. The next morning Madame Simon came to assist her husband in his duties; and it was soon apparent that the two were very well assorted. The young prince remained for two days without accepting any other food than a morsel of bread. In his new *Continued from the May number. said: "You may punish me, if I don't obey you; but you ought not to beat me-you are stronger than I." "I am here to command you, animal!" returned the ruffian. My duty is just what I please to do. Vive la liberté, l'égalité !" for his mother. Some of the men on guard tried to quiet him; when, pointing to Simon, who, along with several persons, was coming out of the Tower, he said indignantly, "They will not, they cannot show me the law which orders that I should be separated from my mother!" Such was the manner in which M. Simon began to train and discipline his pupil. As he proceeded, his system lost nothing in point of decision or severity He even improved upon it, until it became, in its kind, almost unexceptionable. At first he did not exactly know the course of management he was expected to pursue, but taking the earliest opportunity of inquiring, he got presently enlightened. Not many days after young Louis had been intrusted to his charge, a report was circulated in Paris that the "son of the tyrant" had been carried off from the Tower, by means of a conspiracy entered into by General Dillon and others for the purpose. To put a stop to this rumor, which created much excitement, a numerous deputation from the Committee of Public Safety was sent in haste to the Temple, to see that the little prisoner was really there, and make an official report of the fact. On this occasion, M. Simon, feeling the vague-ing his wife sit down to join him. ness of his original instructions, put a few pointed questions to his superiors, with a view to ascertain their actual wishes and intentions in regard to the treatment of his pupil. "Citizens," said he, "what do you decide about the wolf-cub? He has been taught to be insolent; but I shall know how to tame him. So much the worse if he sinks under it! I don't answer for that. After all, what do you want done with him? Do you want him transported ?" Answer: "No." Affected by his distress, the men began to question Simon, who now approached. In reply to them he said: "The wolf-cub is hard to muzzle; he would like to know the law, like yourselves; he is always asking the reasons of things, as if reasons were made for him! Come, come; silence, Capet, or I'll show the citizens how I work you when you deserve it." The little prisoner appealed to the municipals for protection. But they were unable to do anything for his relief; and he was left with Simon, to be "worked" according to that person's caprices. "Killed?" "No." "Poisoned?" "No." "But what then?" "We want to get rid of him!" Simon now comprehended the object of his work, and appears to have done his utmost to perform it. From that day he redoubled his severity toward his victim. He even manifested a superior rigor on the instant. The dauphin had been carried down into the garden, that he might be seen from the streets by the crowd which had followed the deputation; and while undergoing the inspection, he cried loudly This patriotic tutor was a great admirer of Marat, who, it may be remembered, was about this time assassinated by Charlotte Corday. The day after the event-14th July, 1793-the news reached Simon in the Temple, and plunged him into a state of extraordinary excitement. He sent for wine and brandy, and began to drink, mak Being unable to settle himself indoors, he dragged both wife and pupil up to the platform of the Tower, to catch an echo of the homage that was then being paid to his departed idol. "Capet," said he, "do you hear these noises down there? It is the groans of the people round the death-bed of their friend. I did intend to have made you leave off your black clothes to-morrow, but you shall keep them on now. Capet shall wear mourning for Marat!" Then turning round, and swearing furiously, he proceeded: "You don't look distressed at all; you are glad of his death!" And full of this absurd impression, he laid his hand heavily on the prince's head, forcing it down violently upon his shoulder. "I did not know the person who is dead," replied the child. "Don't think that I am glad of it; we do not wish for the death of any one." "Ah! we do not wish, don't we! Do you pretend to talk to us in the style of your tyrants of fathers!" “I said we in the plural," rejoined the boy; "for my family and myself." Simon seemed to accept this grammatical excuse; but as he walked up and down sister had but one thought-that of making smoking, he kept constantly repeating, with a chuckle, as though he had hit upon a rare device: "Capet shall wear mourning for Marat!" Not many days after, it was the master's whim to dress him out in red, observing: "If I make you leave off mourning for Marat, at least you shall wear his livery—that will befit his memory." As yet, however, the scarlet cap was wanting: Simon had forgot to order it. This was soon obtained; but on its arrival the little prince refused to wear it. He had become the servant of his jailers, borne their violent abuse and blows, endured continual privations, but he seemed determined not to adopt the head-dress of his father's murderers. Simon, for the present, was even obliged to let him have his way. Tired with scolding and beating, he gave in at Madame Simon's solicitation. The good woman, though nowise very amiable, several times took part with the little oppressed boy. One day she said to an acquaintance of hers, "The little fellow is a very amiable and charming child; he cleans and polishes my shoes, and he brings me my foot-stove to my bedside when I get up." From this one perceives the sort of offices to which the son of a king was trained! Meanwhile, the affair of the red cap was not allowed to rest. Madame Simon had said, "Let him alone; he'll come to reason;" and in order to bringing mourning for his father, and was arhim to such a desirable state of mind, she cut off his beautiful hair, when, shamed by the shearing, he yielded, and accepted the detested covering. Simon was rejoiced at the victory. "Capet," said he, "after all you're a Jacobin.". But how fares it all this time with the anxious mother and her companions in another part of the Temple? Never had she ceased to interrogate the jailers and municipals on guard about the welfare of her son; never ceased imploring them to grant her the privilege of seeing him. Utterly without success. No interview might be allowed. Nevertheless, one of the jailers-Tison-was prevailed on to furnish her with information; and by and by there was a plan devised whereby she might get sight of him. The walk on the platform that has been mentioned was divided by wooden partitions, not so closely arranged but that the prisoners on each side might see each other at a distance, if they were all out for exercise at the same time. Henceforth, the mother, aunt, and rayed in the most unseemly habiliments, with the odious bonnet rouge upon his head; and by the side of him there was the insolent Simon, giving utterance to incessant oaths and blasphemies! Eventually, she learned all his deplorable condition; learned that he was always spoken to with oaths, commanded by threats and blows, and that his tormentors wanted to force him to sing regicide songs and obscene parodies. As yet his mind was not much debased; but later on, that also was effected. They made him drunk with wine and brandy; they ruined his health by stifling confinement and improper food; they harassed him with endless toils; they taught him to sing at last a number of infamous and revolting songs; and, worst treachery of all, they made him subscribe his name to the most abominable slanders against his mother! Poor, dishonored, overburdened mother! The world has dealt very hardly with thee; and for thy devoted head there are yet harder things in store. Wait a little, and thou shalt be led through the fiery gates of pain and ignominy, which he whom thou lamentest has passed without returning! Why linger over the well-known fate of this beautiful and noble woman? We will not dwell upon the horrible details of her doom. It is doubtless known to you, O reader, that by the great French nation, "always just and generous," she was guillotined on the 16th of October, 1793. Let us rather pity than execrate the deed; for, misled by blinding passions and desperation, the people knew not what they did. We have not space to crowd in half the anecdotes and incidents which have been collected, illustrative of the atrocities of Simon's discipline. Let it suffice to say, that they were all of the same character as those we have already given; and their effect, as we have seen, was to crush and debase his victim. Simon held his situation from the 3d of July, 1793, to the 19th of January of the succeeding year, when he was dismissed in consequence of a decree of the Council-General of the ComThe Committee of Public Safety had come to regard the man's services as useless, and were of opinion that the members of the Council ought alone to superintend the prisoners of the Temple. Four of them were, accordingly, appointed to the charge; and the little dauphin was thenceforth subjected to a different system of management. mune. The new arrangements were concerted by Hébert and Chaumette-two of the most hateful characters that appear in the Revolution-and were such as reflected the merciless savagery of their natures. They restricted the prisoner's habitation to a single room-a back-chamber, without outlooks or connection, save with another room in front. The door of communication between the two was cut down, so as to leave it breast high, fastened with nails and screws, and grated from top to bottom with bars of iron. Half-way up was placed a shelf, on which the bars opened, forming a sort of wicket, closed by other movable bars, and fastened with an enormous padlock. By this wicket his coarse food was passed in to little Capet, and it was on the ledge that he had to put whatever he wanted to send away. It was the system of solitary confinement. He had room to walk in, a bed to lie upon; he had bread and water, and linen and clothes; but he had neither fire nor candle. His room was warmed only by a stove-pipe, the stove being placed in the outer-room; it was lighted only by the gleam of a lamp suspended opposite the grating, through the bars of which, also, it was that the stovepipe passed. By a fatal coincidence, the royal orphan was transferred to his new prison on the anniversary of the day of his father's execution. But there was neither date nor anniversary for him thenceforth; months and weeks, day and night, the dancing hours as they sped round in their rotation-all were confused together in his mind, and produced only the impression of a continuous, unvarying perpetuity of suffering. Shut up in dim seclusion, with nothing but his thoughts and the most painful remembrances to dwell upon, the heavy hours rolled on in slow succession, prolonging and intensifying only a monotonous sensation of abandonment and isolation. The fresh air of heaven never came into his chamber; the light was dim that entered through the gratings; the victim did not see the hand that passed his food through the grated door; often he was left to shiver in the coldest weather without heat; and at other times his prison was like a furnace, from the reckless heaping of too much fuel in the stove. He heard no sound but the clang of bolts; no one came to cleanse his room; no one visited him when he was sick, or ministered to him in the helplessness of his prostration. Only, as the day closed in, a stern voice would call to him, and command him to go to bed, that the municipality might not be burdened by providing him with a light! The day was weary, but the night was more intolerable. Darkness and silence came down with shuddering wings, and wrapped him in the folds of an insufferable embrace. In the long hours that preceded sleep, what crowding fears, what minatory apprehensions, did his quickened imagination summon up around his bed! The forms he knew of old came back to him; but not as he used to see them in the remembered foretime, with compassionate, loving eyes, and looks of approving gentleness; they rushed in with affrightened faces, forlorn and woe-worn, with beckoning fingers pointing to abysses of prospective wretchedness. In his dreams again he saw them; shadowy, gliding shapes, that sorrowed over him, but whose troubled countenances, and despairing gestures, seemed evermore to tell him that hope had been banished from his life, and there was nothing left but the dungeoned grave in which he had been cast to perish. Then other forms came in-scowling, hideous, and malignant; with scoffing laugh, and menacing derision, bearing instruments of cruelty upon their shoulders-emissaries, as it seemed, of a terrible, inscrutable power which no faculty of his could comprehend the omnipotent, remorseless Commune, that dethroned and beheaded kings, and doomed women and children to perpetual captivity; and in his fright, and in the agony thus produced, he would start up in his sleep, and quail to find himself awake. And there he lay, in his dread loneliness, through the long watches of the night, sleepless and unresting, till the dawn sent in some fragments of its beams through the grated and shuttered casement, and gave token that the beneficent daylight was resuming its empire over the earth. And so the nights and days revolved with him, for weeks and months which he could not number; bringing no return of liberty, no hint or gleam of human sympathy or compassion. He lived the life of a caged animal, but was worse tended, inasmuch as his existence was esteemed of no account. His food was a watery soup, with some bits of bread in it, of which he received only two little portions in a day, along with a morsel of beef, a loaf, and a pitcher of water. His bed-a palliasse and a mattress-which he was left to manage as he pleased, soon became unfit to sleep in, and no one cared to restore it to a state of wholesomeness and order. The commissaries of the Commune, who were removed daily, were almost all men of that ignoble class which the heavings of the Revolution had now raised to the surface of society. The food, the health, the existence of the child, were of no concern to them; their vigilance was limited to the watching of his person, that they might give an account of him from day to day, and pass him over to the charge of those that succeeded them in the duty. Most of them were cruel by nature, and the rest were rendered so by fear; the least mercy or misgiving being certain to be construed into defective patriotism or sympathy with tyrants. Thus the invariable treatment of the little prisoner was one of uncompromising harshness. No one for a moment was affected by any consideration for his comfort or convenience. Often the new commissaries appointed by the Council-General did not arrive at the Temple before midnight; when, preceded by a turnkey, they straightway went up to the "wolf-cub's" kennel, and a pitiless voice would call to him to make sure that he had not been carried off. If, on some occasions, plunged in the forgetfulness of sleep, he delayed a moment in replying, an arm, moved by disquietude, would open the turning wicket with a great noise, and the voice would cry, "Capet! Capet! are you asleep? Where are you? Young viper, get up!" The child, waking with a start, would get out of bed and come trembling to the grating; "I am here, citizens," he would answer, as he feebly crawled along. "Come here, that I may see you," exclaims the voice. "Here I am; what do you want with me?" "To see you," says Ceberus, turning his lantern on the opening. "All right. Get to bed. In! Down!" Perhaps two or three hours afterward the enormous keys grated harshly again, and the iron door moved on its hinges: it was the turn of some commissaries who had been delayed, and who, no less zealous or curious than the first arrivals, wished to see the prisoner; thus bringing disturbance to a rest that was just again commencing, and terror to an imagination that was beginning to grow calm. The child was again obliged to get up and be inspected. During these visits the conversation between the municipals on guard, and those who were coming to relieve them, was oftentimes prolonged; a hundred idle questions were exchanged, bringing on a long interrogatory, in the course of which the child, half-naked, bathed in the perspiration of sleep, and shivering from the night air, was forced to stand and hear their cruel language, with the blazing lantern dazzling his eyes, injured and almost blinded by the effects of his dusky solitude. Under so much harassing and suffering, his frame became emaciated, his mind stupified and deadened, and all the springs of his affections were utterly dried up. But still the lagging hours dragged round their heaviness, by night and day, through unnoted weeks and months, bringing only the same old burden of dull |