"And now show me your birds! How pretty they are!" she said. But the boy had a question to ask. "My mother! How is she?" he whispered. Poor little fellow! He did not dream that his mother, long since removed from the Tower, had so recently gone to her eternal repose. Even the cruel-hearted cobbler had spared him that blow, and Yvonne would sooner have had her tongue cut out than be the one to impart such news. So she only smiled and pointed to the ceiling. And Louis Charles, rea.s.sured, turned to show her his birds.

He whistled and sang to them, and started the toy-bird playing its tune.

This encouraged all the feathered flock to warble and soon there was a gay little concert in the dingy prison room. The children clapped their hands and laughed with delight. In the midst of this the door suddenly opened, and Simon entered, followed by some new munic.i.p.als who were making their first tour of inspection.

"What's this! What's this!" exclaimed one, more ferociously zealous than the rest, as he approached the cage. The live birds all ceased their music, but the ill-fated automaton went on with its song, "O, Richard!

O, my king!"

"Kings! kings! Here's a pretty state of affairs! How comes such a thing here? There are no more kings!" Then he noticed the ribbon around the leg of the boy's favourite. "And what's this! Here's a _decorated_ bird!

Here's a _privileged_ character! Here's an _aristocrat_, I suppose!" He burst open the door of the cage, and seizing the offending songster, roughly tore off the "Order." Then he threw it violently from him. Poor Louis Charles was watching the treatment of his pet. He sat rooted to his chair with frightened eyes, and a little sob escaped him when the man cast the bird from him. But he knew better than to utter one word in defence of his favourite. Experience had taught him that such a course would conspire even sooner, to bring about the defeat of any wish he might express.

"Take these things away!" ordered the new munic.i.p.al, and Simon quickly removed the cage from the room. Then the munic.i.p.al turned his attention to Yvonne.

"Who is this, and why, pray, is she here?" he stormed. Barelle explained Yvonne's presence.

"Away with her! This is all against the rules!" he shouted, and poor Yvonne was hustled off before she could even say good-bye to her friend.

In her heart she knew that she would never be allowed to come again.

Louis Charles cried himself to sleep that night, in the agony of the day's double disappointment. To be robbed at once of his birds and Yvonne was a crushing blow. But he woke in the night, remembered the packet his mother had sent him, drew it out and opened it. Though he could see nothing, by touch he recognised the prayer-book he had so often seen in his mother's hands. Rea.s.sured by her love and thought for him, he kissed it reverently. After that he thrust it back in its hiding-place, and went to sleep calmed and comforted.

He never saw his birds again, nor did Yvonne ever enter the door of his hated prison as the gloomy weeks pa.s.sed, yet strange events were preparing which were to make radical changes in the life of Louis XVII.

These events related chiefly to the cobbler Simon. The long confinement had been telling on his robust health, and stretching his nerves to an irritable tension. For confined he was, as surely and closely as the little king himself. He was there to guard "Little Capet" every moment of the time, and was being handsomely paid for it. Therefore every request to go out for a while, change scene and air or witness some festival of the Republic, was sternly refused by the Council-General.

Madame Simon also grew restive, though she was allowed more freedom than her husband.

At length the time came when the cobbler felt he could endure it no longer. He liked his work,--nothing pleased him more than to maltreat this little prince of the blood,--and he liked his pay even better. But more than all he wanted freedom, and that he could not have with the position of tutor to "Little Capet." Consequently on the fifth of January, 1794, he handed in his resignation, and was released from a situation now become hateful to him.

A few days after, there was a great noise and confusion in the Tower.

The cobbler and his wife were about to leave it. The child-prisoner could scarcely believe his senses! Was his terrible tormentor really going? Was he actually to be left in peace? He sat motionless and silent, watching their operations, while a frenzy of joy surged within him. At length all was in readiness, and there was no excuse for further delay. Madame Simon, who had never cherished her husband's hard feeling for the child, approached him, pressed his hand kindly and said:

"I do not know when I shall see you again, Little Capet, but good-bye!"

Simon heard her, and added a farewell of his own that was quite characteristic of him.

"Ah, you little toad! I suppose you're glad to be rid of me, aren't you!

But you won't get out of this hole, I can tell you, and you may do worse than have Simon the cobbler about you!" With this he pressed his hand heavily on the child's head, almost drawing from him a cry of pain.

Then the door was shut, and Simon the cobbler went out of the life of Louis XVII forever!

All that day the boy was left alone to amuse himself at will, seeing none but Caron the cook who brought him his meals. In breathless expectation he awaited whatever might happen next. Who could tell! He might even be sent to his mother! Next day, however, another surprise awaited him.

The Council-General, it seemed, found great difficulty in replacing Simon. In fact, they declared that his counterpart could not be found, and so he should have no successor. They determined instead, to try the effect of absolute solitude for a time on the little sovereign.

Perhaps we wonder why, since the child's existence was so troublesome to them, they did not kill him outright, as they had his royal parents.

But no! Such a crime would not befit a Republic "always great and generous!" They did not go about slaughtering innocent children whose only offence was that of having been born to the purple! By no means!

They would make a great pretence of caring for and guarding him, but in time he should simply fade away, disappear, be lost to public interest.

Or, in plainer words, he should die a natural death, brought about by systematic ill-treatment and neglect. The first stage had already been accomplished by the cobbler. The second was about to begin.

On the morning of the following day, into the room walked carpenters and workmen. What were they about to do, wondered the boy? He was soon to discover. First they moved his bed into a dark little back room that adjoined the large one. Then they cut down the door between to about breast-height, and criss-crossed the open upper part with heavy iron bars. In the middle of this they made a wicket or hole closed by other movable bars, and fastened with an enormous padlock.

Louis Charles was then commanded to enter. He did so, and the door was shut and fastened unalterably by every device of which they could think.

And so he was left, having no communication with the outer world save the little wicket. Through this was pa.s.sed his coa.r.s.e meals, and whatever necessaries they thought fit to allow him. Through this also he sent out whatever he wished removed. The cell was lighted only by a lantern hung in the room outside, whose feeble rays scarcely penetrated beyond the bars of the door. He was allowed no books, no playthings, no occupation of any kind except to keep his cell clean with an old broom.

For the first few days, in spite of the utter desolation of his surroundings, the boy was contented, even happy. His young life had for the past six months been so constantly harried by the cruel cobbler and merciless munic.i.p.als, that he was devoutly thankful for the peace and rest of his solitude. One of the first things he did was to draw his mother's prayer-book from its hiding-place, and try in the dim light to decipher some of the prayers she had so often repeated with him. This he had never dared to do when the cobbler had charge of him. Then he examined the glossy curl of Moufflet's hair, and wondered whether he should some day see his pet once more. When in want of other occupation, he would sweep his cell again and again, and make and re-make his bed.

His meals were handed to him twice a day. Coa.r.s.e, ill-cooked fare it was, and very little of that,--some watery soup, a small morsel of meat, a loaf of stale bread and a pitcher of water. He never saw the one who brought it, for the wicket was so arranged as to hide the face outside.

The commissaries changed daily, and their visits were always after nightfall. They would come to his wicket and call loudly, "Little Capet, are you there?" "Yes!" he would reply. "Well, go to bed then! You can't have any more light!" they would shout, and extinguish the lantern in the next room.

And so the time pa.s.sed! Louis Charles soon lost all track of the dragging days and weeks, but this solitude began to tell frightfully on his strength, and he grew almost too weak to move about. Upstairs, just above him, his sister and aunt knew nothing of his troubles. They only knew that Simon was gone, for they heard no more dreadful shouting and scolding, nor the plaintive child's voice singing the songs of the Revolution at his jailer's command. But one dark night, Madame Elizabeth received a summons to appear before the terrible tribunal. And she also went out of the Temple, never to return, for she was shortly to travel the same dark way that the King and Queen had gone before her. Little Marie-Therese was also left in solitude.

And so for a s.p.a.ce of several months must we leave the three children, each to a solitary cell, one in the Conciergerie, and two in the Temple Tower.

A FRIEND RE-ENTERS AND EVENTS MOVE ON

CHAPTER XII

A FRIEND RE-ENTERS AND EVENTS MOVE ON

On the morning of July first, 1794, Jean sat on the edge of his straw mattress, listening intently for the slightest sound in the corridor without. He had been in the Conciergerie over eight months. How he had come to be left so long without undergoing a trial was a mystery to him, except that it might be explained by the fact of his age. Under fifteen, the Republic considered people as children, and these they did not punish with death. Over it, he would have to suffer as an adult. Now his fifteenth birthday having occurred the day before, he held himself in readiness for trouble!

How he had endured those long, dreary weeks, he could scarcely himself have told. Sometimes it seemed as though the solitude, combined with his fears for his loved ones and himself, and the despair at this frustration of all his hopes, would deprive him of his reason. But Jean was a lad of many and varied resources! For one thing he had made friends with his jailers on the very first day, and had lost no opportunity since to improve their acquaintance. With them he held long conversations, and tried thus to learn as much as possible of the state of affairs in the city. But the turnkeys, though friendly, were rather chary of information, and Jean gleaned but little intelligence in this direction. Yesterday, however, one of them had casually dropped a remark that filled him with an unreasoning joy:

"We are hideously crowded now, and there's no place to be longer reserved for solitary confinement. So by to-morrow you may have a lodger, my friend!" Jean dared not exhibit the pleasure this announcement caused him. To see and speak to a human being other than these almost inhuman monstrosities, the turnkeys, was almost too good to be true!

"Oh, well! I'll not object, only do not crowd in too many, I beg!" he replied with greatest indifference. But his heart sang in a very jubilee of thanksgiving. Therefore was he waiting in breathless expectancy, for either one of two events,--a companion in his solitude, or a call to himself face the tribunal of justice and its almost certain result.

Which would it be?

He waited till noon in eager suspense, but the corridor remained silent.

Jean began to be very impatient. He longed for anything to break the monotony of this waiting, even were it to mean his own call to judgment.

At last, about two o'clock, voices were heard along the corridor, tramping footfalls, the hoa.r.s.e growl of the turnkeys, and finally the unbolting of the cell-door. But his joy was beyond all words when the two turnkeys flung into the room a stranger, and closed the door with a bang and the cheerful remark:

"There you are! Keep each other company till you go to make your call on Mistress Guillotine!" The stranger fell heavily on the bed, as though in a stupor, and so remained for many minutes. While in this state, Jean had time to look him over and judge what manner of companion he had been given. The man was clothed in the peasant costume, evidently of Picardy.

His face was covered with a five days' growth of beard, and his expression indicated no large amount of wits. As he lay on the mattress, he seemed overcome by a very paroxysm of terror. When he appeared to be somewhat recovered, Jean broke the conversational ice:

"And what may be _your_ crime against the Republic, Citizen Friend?" The peasant started at the sound of his voice, sat up and gave the boy a scrutinising look. Then his face underwent the strangest transformation Jean had ever seen. The stupid expression vanished, the eyes sparkled brilliantly, and a smile played about the bearded mouth. In that instant Jean recognised him.

"The Baron de Batz!" he exclaimed, springing forward.

"Hush!" whispered the Baron, as he wrung the boy's hand. "This is luck indeed! I knew that you had been sent here, but I thought regretfully, that you had long since perished!" Jean explained the supposed reason that he had been so far spared.

"But tell me, I beg, how you come to be here!" he ended.

"Oh," said De Batz, "it's not under my right name that I have been arrested, as you probably surmise. Of course, I'm still devoted to the cause of rescuing my little king, but up till now all my plans have failed, chiefly through just such misfortunes as that which spoiled the one in which you took part. But there is something on foot now,--or will be soon,--that is of greater scope than any yet conceived!

"As to how I came here?--well, I was prowling this morning about the Temple, in this disguise of a peasant of Picardy, seeking to obtain some needful information. For this purpose I engaged a guard in conversation, in the course of which he remarked that the country was going to the Evil One! 'Not _going_, but there already!' I responded, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned, and confronted--who but Simon the cobbler!