The Little Dauphin

by Franz Hoffmann

The first step toward this dreadful dénouement of the tragedy was the formal arrest of the royal family and their imprisonment in the Temple.[14] On the thirteenth of August, 1792, they were taken to this prison, the gates of which closed behind the King, never to open for him again till he went forth to lay his head under the guillotine.

The Temple was originally the residence of the Grand Priors of the Knights Templars, and in the thirteenth century occupied an extensive area, acquired by the purchase of surrounding lands. In the year 1792, however, little remained of it but the so-called Tower of the Temple, a dark square structure whose massive, frowning walls were flanked by turrets at each corner. The Tower had four stories. On the ground floor there was but one large room, and a kitchen which was unused. The first story consisted of an antechamber and a dining-room, which communicated with a small closet in one of the turrets. The second floor also contained an anteroom and two apartments, one of which the Queen and her daughter used as a bedchamber, others being occupied by the Dauphin, Madame Élisabeth, and Madame de Tourzel. The third floor was similar to the second, and here at first the King was lodged with his attendants, M. Hue and M. Chamilly.

A few faithful and devoted friends had chosen to share the royal family’s imprisonment, but this consolation was not long permitted them. On the nineteenth of August, two officers made their appearance with an order from the Commune to remove all persons not belonging to the Capet family. In vain the Queen opposed the departure of the Princess de Lamballe,[15] on the ground that she was a relative. Their parting was most affecting; both the royal children mingled their tears with those of their elders, until the Princess and Madame de Tourzel were forcibly separated from them and carried away. Not a single attendant was left to the unfortunate prisoners, except M. Hue, who, much to his surprise, was permitted to remain.

Their life in the Tower of the Temple was very sad and monotonous. The King arose every morning between six and seven, and employed himself with his devotions in his little oratory in the turret until nine o’clock, while M. Hue set the room in order, laid the table for breakfast, and then went down to the Queen. Marie Antoinette was up even before the King, dressed herself and her son, and heard him say his prayers. She kept her door closed, however, until M. Hue appeared, in order to prevent the officers, sent by the Commune to remain in her room during the day, from entering any earlier. At nine she went with her children and Madame Élisabeth to breakfast with the King, and M. Hue took this opportunity to clean their rooms and light the fires. At ten the whole family returned to the Queen’s room, where they remained for the rest of the day. The King devoted himself to his son’s instruction, and the Queen heard the Princess recite her lessons, while Madame Élisabeth taught them ciphering and drawing.

At one o’clock, when the weather was fine and Santerre, the commander of the guards, was present, the whole family walked in the little garden of the Temple, and the Dauphin amused himself with childish sports and games. At two they had dinner, after which came an hour of recreation, when the children’s amusements and laughter somewhat enlivened the customary gloom. About four the King would often take a short nap in his arm-chair, while the Princesses sat by with a book or some needlework, and the little Prince studied his lessons or applied himself to his drawing and copy-book. M. Hue superintended his work, and after it was finished took him into the other room, where they played ball or shuttlecock together.

At seven the family gathered around the table, and read aloud from some religious or historical work that would interest and instruct the children. At eight M. Hue gave the Dauphin his supper in Madame Élisabeth’s room; his parents were usually present, and the King would often give him little easy riddles to guess, the solution of which occupied and diverted the child. After supper he was undressed and said his evening prayer, which usually was as follows:

“Almighty God, who hast created and redeemed me, to Thee I pray. Preserve the life of the King, my father, and watch over the days of my family also. Protect us from our enemies! Grant to Madame de Tourzel strength to bear the sorrows she is enduring on our behalf.”

After his prayer the Queen put him to bed, and she and Madame Élisabeth remained with him in turn. As soon as the family supper was over, the King came to say good-night to his son. After a few moments’ talk, he pressed the hand of his wife and sister, received the caresses of his children, and returned to his own room, retiring at once to his oratory, where he remained till midnight.

The Princesses sat together some time later, often making use of this quiet hour to mend the family clothing; and the King rarely composed himself to sleep until after the guard was changed at midnight. This was the daily routine as long as the King remained a prisoner. The days passed in sadness and humiliation, and there was scarcely an hour in which they were not exposed to some fresh insult or indignity.

At this time the little Dauphin was seven and a half years of age. Through all their troubles, he showed a courage and sweetness of disposition seldom found even in the happiest natures. Sometimes the seriousness of his thoughts would betray itself by word or look; but he never failed to respond to his parents’ affected cheerfulness with all a child’s unquestioning light-heartedness. Apparently he thought no more of past greatness; he was glad to be alive, and the only thing that made him unhappy was his mother’s tears. He never spoke of his former amusements and pleasures, showed no regrets, and seemed to have forgotten all the joys of happier days. He applied himself diligently to his studies, and with the aid of a good memory he was far more advanced than most children of his age. Through all this time of sorrow and trouble, the poor little Prince had possessed one unfailing consolation—his parents’ love and care. But alas! the time was soon to come when he would be deprived of this, too, and lose, first, his father, then his mother.