He never saw his birds again, nor did Yvonne ever enter the door of his hated prison as the gloomy weeks passed, 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 passed his coarse 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.