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 pass 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-fashioned 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 passed 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 passed 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 pass 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 hell!"
"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 God'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 passed 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 stitch 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 God 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."
"He is neither deaf nor dumb," said the doctor, solemnly. "He is simply a good son, who would not sing the song which made sport of his noble and unfortunate mother. See whether I am not right: see these tears which run from his closed eyes. He has heard us, he has understood us, and he answers us with his tears! Oh, sire," he continued passionately, "by the sacred remembrance of your father and your mother, I swear devotion to you until death; I swear that I have come to set you free, to die for you. Look up, my king and my darling one! I intrust to you and to both these witnesses my whole secret; I let the mask fall to show myself to you in my true form, that you may confide in me, and know that the most devoted of your servants is kneeling before you, and that he dedicates his life to you. Open your eyes, Louis of France, and see whether you know me!"
He sprang up, threw off the great peruke, and the long black cloak, and stood before them in the uniform of an official guard.
"Thunder and guns!" cried Simon, with a loud laugh. "it is—"
"Hush!" interrupted the other—"hush! He alone shall declare who I am! Oh, look at me, my king; convince these unbelieving ones here that your mind is clear and strong, and that you are conscious of what is going on around you. Look at me, and if you know me, speak my name!"
And with folded hands, in unspeakable emotion, he leaned over the bed of the child, that still lay with closed eyes.
"I knew that he could hear nothing, and that he was deaf," growled Simon, while his wife folded her trembling hands, and with tearful eyes whispered a prayer.
A deep silence ensued, and with anxious expectation each looked at the boy. At length he slowly raised the heavy, reddened eyelids, and looked with a timid, anxious glance around himself. Then his gaze fixed itself upon the eloquent, speaking face of the man whose tears were falling like warm dew-drops upon his pale, sunken features.
A quiver passed over the coutenance of the boy, a beam of joy lighted up his eyes, and something like a smile played around his trembling lips.
"Do you know me? Do you know my name?"
The child raised his hand in salutation, and said, in a clear, distinct voice: "Toulan! Fidele!"
Toulan fell on his knees again and covered the little thin hand of the boy with his tears and his kisses.
"Yes, Fidele," he sobbed. "That is the title of honor which your royal mother gave me—that is the name that she wrote on the bit of paper which she put into the gold smelling-bottle that she gave me. That little bottle, which a queen once carried, is my most precious possession, and yet I would part with that if I could save the life of her son, happy if I could but retain the hallowed paper on which the queen's hand wrote the word 'Fidele.' Yes, you poor, pitiable son of kings, I am Fidele, I am Toulan, at whom you have so often laughed when he played with you in your prison."
A flash like the sunlight passed over the face of the child, and a smile illumined his features.
"She used to laugh, too," he whispered—"she, too, my mamma queen."
"Yes, she too laughed at our jests," said Toulan, with a voice choked with tears; "and, believe me, she looks down from heaven upon us and smiles her blessing, for she knows that Toulan has come to free her dear son, and to deliver him from the executioner's hands. Tell me now, my king and my dearly-loved lord, will you trust me, will you give to your most devoted servant and subject the privilege of releasing you? Do you consent to accept freedom at the hands of your Fidele?"
The child threw a timid, anxious glance at Simon and his wife, and then, with a shudder, turned his head to one side.
"You make no answer, sire," said Toulan, imploringly. "Oh! speak, my king, may I set you free?"
The boy spoke a few words in reply, but so softly that Toulan could not understand him. He stooped down nearer to him, and put his ear close to the lips of the child. He then could hear the words, inaudible to all but him,
"He will disclose you; take care, Toulan. But do not say any thing, else he will beat me to death!"
Toulan made no reply; he only impressed a long, tender kiss upon the trembling hand of the child.
"Did he speak?" asked Simon. "Did you understand, citizen, what he said?"
"Yes, I understood him," answered Toulan. "He consents; he allows me to make every attempt to free him, and is prepared to do every thing that we ask of him. And now I ask you too, are you prepared to help me release the prince?"
"You know already, Toulan," said Simon, quickly, "that we are prepared for every thing, provided that our conditions are fulfilled. Give me a tolerable position outside of the Temple; give me a good bit of money, so that I may live free from care, and if the new place should not suit me, that I could go into the country, and not have to work at all; give my Jeanne Marie her health and cheerfulness again, and I will help you set young Capet free."
"Through my assistance, and that of Doctor Naudin, you shall have a good place outside of the Temple," answered Toulan, eagerly. "Besides this, at the moment when you deliver the prince into my hands, outside of this prison, I will pay you in ready money the sum of twenty thousand francs; and as for the third condition, that about restoring her health to Jeanne Marie, I am sure that I can fulfil this condition too. Do you not know, Simon, what your wife is suffering from? Do you not know what her sickness is?"
"No, truly not. I am no doctor. How should I know what her sickness is?"
"Then I will tell you, Citizen Simon. Your wife is suffering from the worst of all complaints, a bad conscience! Yes, it is a bad conscience that robs her of her sleep and rest; it is that which makes her see the white, pale form of the martyred queen in the night, and read the word 'murderer' in her eyes."
"He is right!-oh, he is right!" groaned Jeanne Marie, falling on her knees. "I am to blame for her death, for I denounced Toulan to the authorities just when he was on the point of saving her. I tortured her!—oh, cruelly tortured her, and I laughed when she ascended the scaffold, and I laughed too, even when she gave me that dreadful look. But I have bitterly regretted it since, and now she gnaws at me like a scorpion. I wanted to drive her away from me at first, and therefore I was cruel to her son, for I wanted to put an end to the fearful remorse that was tormenting me. But it grew even more powerful within me. The more I beat the boy, the more his tears moved me, and often I thought I should die when I heard him cry and moan. Yes, yes, it is a bad conscience that has made me sick and miserable! But I will do right after this. I repent—oh, I repent! Here I lay my hand on the heart of this child and swear to his murdered mother I will do right again! I swear that I will free her son! I swear by all that is sacred in heaven and on earth that I will die myself, unless we succeed in freeing this child! I* swear to you, Marie Antoinette, that I will free him. But will you forgive me even then? Will you have rest in your poor grave, and not come to my bedside and condemn me and accuse me with your sad, dreadful eyes?"
"Free her son, Jeanne Marie," said Toulan, solemnly, "and his mother will forgive you, and her hallowed shade will no longer disturb your sleep, for you will then have restored to her the peace of the grave! But you, Citizen Simon, will you too not swear that you will faithfully assist in releasing the royal prince? Do you not know that conscience is awake in your heart too, and compels you to have compassion on the poor boy?"
"I know it, yes, I know it," muttered Simon, confused. "His gentle eyes and his sad bearing have made me as weak and as soft as an old woman. It is high time that I should be rid of the youngster, else it will be with me just as it is with my wife, and I shall have convulsions and see ghosts with daggers in their eyes. And so, in order to remain a strong man and have a good conscience and a brave heart, I must be rid of the boy, and must know that I have done him some service, and have been his deliverer. And so I swear by the sacred republic, and by our hallowed freedom, that I will help you and do all that in me lies to release little Capet and get him away from here. I hope you will be satisfied with my oath, Toulan, for there is nothing for me more sacred than the republic and freedom."
"I am satisfied, Simon, and I trust you. And now let us talk it all over and consider it, my dear allies. The whole plan of the escape is formed in my head, all the preparations are made, and if you will faithfully follow all that I bid you, in one week's time you will be free and happy."
"So soon as a week!" cried Simon, delightedly. "Yes, in a week, for it happens fortunately that one of the officials of the Public Safety service is dangerously sick and has been carried to the Hotel Dien. Doctor Naudin says that he can live but three days longer, and then the post will be vacant. We must be active, therefore, and take measures for you to gain the place. Now listen to me, and mark my words."
They had a long conversation by the bedside of the little prince, and they saw that he perfectly understood the whole plan which Toulan unfolded in eloquent words, for his looks took on a great deal of expression; he fixed his eyes constantly on Toulan, and a smile played about his lips.
Simon and Simon's wife were also perfectly satisfied with Toulan's communication, and repeated their readiness to do every thing to further the release of the prince, if they in return could only be removed from the Temple.
"I will at once take the steps necessary to the success of my plan," said Toulan, taking his leave with a friendly nod, and kissing the boy's hand respectfully.
"Fidele," whispered Louis, "Fidele, do you believe that I shall be saved?"
"I am sure of it, my dear prince. The grace of God and the blessing of your exalted parents will be our helpers in bringing this good work to a completion. Farewell, and preserve as long as you remain here the same mood that I found you in. Show little interest in what goes on, and appear numb and stupid. I shall not come again, for after this I must work for you outside of the prison. But Doctor Naudin will come every day to see you, and on the day of your flight I shall be by your side. Till then, God bless you, my dear prince!"
Toulan left the prison of the little Capet and repaired at once to the H6tel Dieu, where he had a long conversation with Doctor Naudin. At the end of it, the director of the hospital entered his carriage and drove to the city hall, in whose largest chamber a committee of the Public Safety officials were holding a public meeting. With earnest and urgent words the revered and universally valued physician gave the report about the visits which he had made at the Temple for some days at the command of the authorities, and about the condition of affairs there. Petion the elder, the presiding officer of the committee, listened to the report with a grave repose, and the picture of the low health of the "little Capet," while he paid the most marked attention to that part of the report which concerned the Simons.
"Citizen Simon has deserved much of the country, and he is one of the most faithful supporters of the one and indivisible republic," said Petion, when Doctor Naudin ended his report. "The republic must, like a grateful mother, show gratitude to her loyal sons, and care for them tenderly. So tell us, Citizen Naudin, what must be done in order to restore health to Citizen Simon and his wife."
"They are both sick from the same cause, and, therefore, they both require the same remedy. That remedy is, a change of air and a change of location. Let Simon have another post, where he shall be allowed to exercise freely out of doors, and where he shall not be compelled to breathe only the confined air of a cell; and let his wife not be forced to listen to the whining and the groaning of the little sick Capet. In one word, give to them both liberty to move around, and the free air, and they will, without any doubt, and within a short time, regain their health."
"It is true," said Petion, "the poor people lead a sad life in the Temple, and are compelled to breathe the air that the last scions of tyranny have contaminated with their poisonous breaths. We owe it to them to release them from this bad atmosphere, in consideration of their faithful and zealous service to the country. Citizen Simon has always taken pains to repair the great neglect in Capet's education, and to make the worthless boy prove some day a worthy son of the republic."
"But even if Simon should remain in the Temple, he would not be able to go on much longer with the education of the boy," said the hospital director, with a shrug.
"What do you mean by that, citizen doctor?" asked Petion, with a pleasant lighting up of his eyes.
"I mean that the boy has not a long time to live, for he is suffering at once from consumption and softening of the brain, and the latter disease will soon reduce him to an idiot, and render him incapable of receiving instruction."
"You are convinced that the son of the tyrants will not recover?" asked Petion, with a strained, eager glance.
"My careful examination of his case has convinced me that he has but a short time to live, and that he will spend the larger part of this time in an idiotic state. On this account Simon ought to be removed from the Temple, in order that his enemies may not be able to circulate a report about this zealous and worthy servant of the republic, that he is guilty of the death of little Capet—that Simon's method of bringing him up killed him. And besides, in order that the same charge should not be laid to the one and great republic, and it be accused of cruelty to a poor sick child, kindly attentions should be bestowed on him."
Petion's countenance clouded, and his eyes rested on the physician with a sinister, searching expression.
"You have a great deal of sensibility, doctor, and you appear to forget that the boy is a criminal by birth, and that the republic can have no special sympathy with him."
"For me," answered Naudin, with simplicity, "every sick person at whose bed I am called to stand, is a poor, pitiable Iranian being, and I never stop to think whether be is a criminal or not, but merely that he is a sufferer, and then I endeavor to discover the means to assist him. The hallowed and indivisible republic, however, is an altogether too magnanimous and exalted mother of all her children not to have pity on those who are reduced to idiocy, and in sore sickness. The republic is like the sun, which pours its beams even into the dungeon of the criminal, and shines upon the just and unjust alike."
"And what do you desire that the republic should do for the offspring of tyrants?" asked Petion, peevishly.
"I desire not much," answered Naudin, with a smile. "Let me be permitted to visit the sick child from time to time, and in his hopeless condition to procure him a little relief from his sufferings at least, and let him be treated like the child he is. Let a little diversion be allowed him. If it is not possible or practicable for him to play with children of his age, let him at least have some playthings for his amusement."
"Do you demand in earnest that the republic should condescend to provide playthings for her imprisoned criminals?" asked Petion, with a scornful laugh.
"You have commanded me to visit the sick boy in the Temple, to examine his condition, and to prescribe the necessary remedies for his recovery. I can offer no hope of recovery to the patient, but I can afford him some relief from his sufferings. Some of my medicines are called playthings! It lies with you to decide whether the republic will refuse these medicines to the sick one."
"And you say that the little Capet is incurable?" asked Petion, eagerly.
"Incurable, citizen representative."
"Well, then," said Petion, with a cold smile, "the republic can afford to provide the last of the Capets with toys. They have for centuries toyed fearlessly with the happiness of the people, and the last thing which the people of France give back to the tyrants is some toy with which they may amuse themselves on the way to eternity. Citizen doctor, your demands shall be complied with. The first place which shall become vacant shall be given to Citizen Simon, that he may be released from prison and enjoy his freedom. The little Capet will be provided with playthings, and, besides, you are empowered to give him all needful remedies for his relief. It is your duty to care for the sick child until its death."