Ten Boys from History Part 7

"G.o.d grant it!" sighed the queen, pressing him tenderly to her. "May He grant it--oh, my precious child!" and then with his face close to hers, and a little hand held tight in the big one of his father, whose arm was around them both, Louis continued:

"If it is mine now, please tell me what it means--that name, the Dauphin."

The king answered:

"My son, this is what it means. You are now the eldest son of the King of France, and some day you will be the king, and to you belong now the t.i.tles and honours that were your brother's. Do you understand?"

Instead of showing appreciation, Louis' blue eyes looked entreatingly at the Queen, and his lips quivered.

"Mamma," he whispered, "I like being Duke of Normandy best. Will you love me any better if I am called the Dauphin?"

"No, dear child," answered the Queen tenderly, "I shall not love you better, but you are no longer the Duke of Normandy. You are the Dauphin now, the future King of France!" A sob choked the words as Marie Antoinette turned hastily away to hide her grief, and in doing so, she put her foot on the flowers which little Louis had brought her. His face clouded as he saw this, then with a bright smile he looked into the Queen's face, saying quickly:

"Mamma, I wish you always walked on flowers I picked for you."

Without a word Marie Antoinette turned, and clasping him in her arms, was comforted. Then, reminded of state duties to be done, she was about to release him when he whispered:

"Did my poor dear brother only leave me his t.i.tle? Oh, mamma, I do not want it. But there is something of his that I _do_ want to have very, very much now that I am the Dauphin."

The King looked bewildered, but the Queen smiled through her tears.

"I think I can guess what it is," she said, "see if I can, little Louis," and putting him down, she softly left the room, and when she came back there ran and frisked about her, jumping for joy of comrades.h.i.+p, a tiny black dog who rushed up to Louis, and jumped on him over and over again, and the child clasped it in his arms, while the dog put its paws on Louis' shoulders and licked his rosy cheeks with frantic affection.

"Now, my Louis," asked the Queen, "did I guess right? Wasn't that what you wanted so much?"

"Oh, yes it was! It was!" exclaimed the boy, his eyes s.h.i.+ning with joy.

"Is he really mine now? Does he belong to my inheritance?"

The Queen could not answer, but the King spoke sadly.

"Yes, my son, he belongs to your inheritance."

The Dauphin shouted with joy.

"He is mine! He is mine!" and as he held the little dog close to him, the picture was a pretty one, the boy with his round rosy face, dimpled chin and deep blue eyes shaded by long, dark lashes, with his high forehead, and heavy golden hair, all the delicacy of his colouring and features thrown into relief by the dark blue velvet of his suit, all the charm of his expressive face shone in his joy over the new treasure which he was clasping tight. What to the little Dauphin was the silver star embroidered on his left shoulder, which showed his princely rank and removed him from the rank and file of other boys? What was a crown, a t.i.tle--even the throne itself? They were less than nothing to him in comparison with the little dog nestling in his arms and licking his face, and while the King and Queen watched the pretty picture they sighed for the simple joys of childhood, and Marie Antoinette, looking into her husband's face murmured:

"G.o.d keep him in His care!"

Although the little Louis' new t.i.tle was of such small value to him, yet the possession of it changed the whole of his life, and as soon as he became the Dauphin, his education and training were of the gravest importance, for he would some day rule in his father's place.

Accordingly, every possible advantage that could be given him was secured, and while his father saw to it that he should have enough out-of-door exercise to keep him st.u.r.dy and strong, his mother superintended his lessons, as well as those of his sister, Therese.

Although Marie Antoinette was young and pleasure-loving and was often called frivolous because of the spontaneous gaiety into which her nature often led her, yet she was a devoted mother, and every morning at ten o'clock, Therese, the Dauphin, and their teachers went to the queen's rooms, and there learned and recited lessons.

The little Dauphin was a brilliant scholar and said such bright things that all the courtiers took great pleasure in asking him questions, that they might hear his answers. One day while saying his lessons, he began to hiss loudly, for which his mother reproved him.

"I was only hissing at myself," he said, "because I just said my lesson so badly."

On the evening before the queen's birthday the king told the Dauphin that he would buy him a handsome bouquet to give his mother for a birthday present, but that he wanted him to write a letter of congratulation to go with it. To his surprise the Dauphin did not show as much pleasure as he expected at this and finally on questioning him he discovered the truth.

"I have got a beautiful everlasting in my garden," Louis said, "I want to give it to her, please, papa, it will be my bouquet and my letter all together, for when I give it to mamma I shall say, 'I hope mamma, that you will be like this flower.'"

The idea was so pretty and the boy so eager, that he had his way, and King Louis' pride in this clever child was great.

He was no prig, no saintly child, this little King Louis Seventeenth to be, he was just a sensitive, affectionate boy, whose winning manner and charm of person attracted all to him, and made him an especial pet of the older people from whose conversation he gathered much information which they never thought he understood.

One day when playing in the garden, full of excited vigour, he was just going to rush through a hedge of roses, when an attendant stopped him and warned him, saying:

"Monseigneur, one of those thorns might blind you or tear your face."

But the Dauphin persisted, and when halfway through the hedge, called back:

"Th.o.r.n.y paths lead to glory"--a phrase so ominous of the poor little Dauphin's future that it has ever been remembered as one of the most remarkable of his sayings.

For some time, the Dauphin who was quick to respond to joy or sadness in those around him noticed many signs of distress, not only in the faces of his father and mother, but in those of others whom he saw daily, and many an hour when no one knew it, his childish mind spent in wondering about the situation, trying to understand the heated words he heard, the tears he saw, and sometimes he would creep up to Marie Antoinette and pat her smooth cheek rea.s.suringly, and kiss her lovingly, and though this comforted, it added to the pain of the Queen, who feared for the happiness of the future King of France.

The Reign of Terror was at hand. The Revolutionists, fierce and strong in their murderous frenzy had risen, risen to kill monarchs and monarchy. Louis Sixteenth was on the throne--therefore Louis Sixteenth must go; Marie Antoinette was his wife; she had danced, and spent money like water while they, the people had needed bread, so they said--and Marie Antoinette must go. Little Louis was heir to the throne--that throne whose power must be overthrown, and so Louis the Dauphin must go.

The rulers of France had for generations proved so false to their trust and to their kingly responsibility that the love of the people had at last been changed into hate. Louis Fourteenth and Louis Fifteenth had sinned so deeply against those whom their oath of office bound them to protect, that now at last there was no feeling but revenge and hatred in the hearts of the subjects of the King of France, and on the heads of the reigning sovereigns, Louis Sixteenth and Marie Antoinette fell the horrors of the Reign of Terror, which was now reaching a point where only torture and bloodshed could appease the fiends who were rapidly becoming all-powerful. It was claimed that the taxes collected from the people for the expenses of war and government were being misused for the extravagances and frivolities of the royal family. It was even claimed that the people were starving for bread while the King and Queen were living in luxury, and this because the fiends of the revolution had caused all bake-shops to stop baking bread, so that the cry of starvation might be raised among the people, who could then be incited to storm the palace and demand bread of the royal family.

The very sc.u.m of civilisation, the dregs of the population of France, were roused in fierce and unjust revolt against the royal family; yes, in revolt and in power, and on a day of early October, 1789, a howling mob of frenzied men, women and children swept up the peaceful avenues of Versailles, shrieking their fiendish cries for vengeance on the royal family, and then they invaded and took possession of the royal apartments. Aghast at the outrages committed in the name of the French people, the King and Queen tried in every way to restore the mob to peace, but in vain. The leaders of the rebellion demanded the immediate appearance in Paris, which was the seat of the revolution, of King Louis and his family, where they could be closely watched by their enemies, describing in alarming terms, the danger to his majesty if he did not comply with the request. Accordingly, after hours of indescribable horrors and humiliation and anguish, the king was obliged to give his consent to the plan, and the royal family made ready for their departure from Versailles. During their seven hours' journey to Paris, they were followed by a rabble of such human fiends as had invaded the palace at Versailles, and although throughout the whole terrible trip, Marie Antoinette and the King bore themselves with sad and dignified composure, yet the strain on them both was almost too great to be borne. Through all the agony and excitement, the Dauphin frightened though he was, seeing his mother's tears, tried to smile courageously into her face, and to keep back words of complaint, and the sight of his courage almost broke his mother's heart. What would this all mean to him, the future king of France? Alas, poor little Dauphin!

At last they reached the Tuileries, the royal palace in Paris, where no French King had lived since Louis Fifteenth was a young man. There had been no preparations made for the coming of the royal family. The palace, so long uninhabited was in a state of dilapidation, and there were no comforts in it, and very few necessities. But the travellers were too much exhausted to heed anything but that they had reached a temporary shelter and were relieved that death, which the day before had seemed so imminent, had been, for the present, put aside.

Exhausted to the breaking point, Marie Antoinette slept soundly that night, and on the next morning as she sipped her chocolate in a room which had been hastily transformed into a sitting-room for her, she was thinking sadly of life and its changes when the door opened and the Dauphin ran in and flung himself into her arms.

"Oh, mamma," he cried, "please let us go back to our beautiful palace at home. This big house frightens me with its shadows. Why have we come here, mamma, when we have such a lovely palace and garden of our own?"

The queen sighed.

"My son," she said, "this palace belongs to us too, as well as Versailles, and it is considered a beautiful palace. It is where the great Louis Fourteenth lived, you know."

"Well, I don't like it at all and I wish we could go away," whispered the Dauphin, casting a homesick look around the great bare room, furnished so meagrely with faded furniture.

"I wish so too." The queen scarcely breathed the words, but the sensitive child's ears caught them, and he answered eagerly.

"Then why do we have to stay? I thought a queen could always do what she wanted to do."

In answer the poor, sore-hearted queen burst into tears, whereupon the Dauphin's tutor tried to take the child from her, saying severely:

"My prince, you see you trouble the queen, and her majesty sorely needs a rest. Come with me for a walk."

But Marie Antoinette shook her head and clung to the child whose hand was now gently stroking her cheek, and whose tears were mingled with her own.

Then from the street came the dreaded sound of loud shouts and cries and threats, and the Dauphin clung more tightly to his mother, both s.h.i.+vering with dread but both brave.

"Mamma," asked the Dauphin, "is to-day going to be just like yesterday?"

His question was answered by the king himself, who entered the room just then and flung himself into a chair, telling the queen that those who had aided the mob in their violent acts were about to be brought to trial for them, and he added his request that the queen should receive the committee who had come to judge the people for their violence.