“As it is, you might have saved yourself the trouble of giving him any,” said another, dragging the Prince forcibly out of the room.
A third, somewhat more humane than the others, added, “You need not have any further anxiety; the great and generous country will care for him.”
Heaven was witness what tears of anguish, what cries of despair, followed this distressing scene. In the extremity of her sufferings, the unfortunate mother writhed upon the bed where her son had just been sleeping. She had succeeded in maintaining her courage and a feigned composure in the presence of the merciless wretches who had robbed her of her child, but this unnatural strength, this superhuman exertion, had exhausted all the powers of her being and almost deprived her of reason. Never was there a greater despair than that of this most unhappy Queen and her companions. The three prisoners gazed at one another in speechless agony, and could find no words of consolation. The only comfort of their wretched life was gone. The little Dauphin had been the one ray of sunlight in the darkness of their imprisonment, and that now had been extinguished. What more could follow? Alas! even worse was yet to come, for the resources of inhumanity are boundless!
Chapter V
The Cobbler Simon
Guarded by six deputies and a turnkey, the young Prince, or rather King, since he was the only and lawful heir to the throne, was taken to that part of the Tower formerly occupied by his father. There a guardian was awaiting him, a cruel, tyrannical master, the cobbler Simon. The room was poorly lighted. After conversing with this man for some time in an undertone, the deputies gave him some final instructions and withdrew, and the child found himself alone with Simon, whose slouching gait, rough and violent language, and arrogant manner, easily proclaimed him the future master of the unfortunate Prince.
The cobbler Simon was fifty-seven years old, of more than medium height, powerfully built, with a swarthy skin and a shock of stiff black hair falling over his eyebrows. His features were heavy, and he wore large mustaches. His wife was about the same age, but very short and stout; she was dark and ill-favored, like her husband, and usually wore a cap with red ribbons, and a blue apron. This worthy pair were given absolute control over the Dauphin, the descendant of so many kings, torn from his royal mother’s arms to be delivered into such hands as these! The very refinement of cruelty could scarcely have conceived a greater infamy! The poor child, confused and bewildered by having been awakened so suddenly from a sound sleep, remained for hours sitting on a stool in the farthest corner of the room and weeping pitifully. Simon plied him with rude questions, plentifully sprinkled with curses and blasphemies, as he smoked his pipe, but only succeeded in extracting short answers from his victim.
For the first two or three days the little Prince was in such despair at being parted from his mother that he could swallow nothing but a few mouthfuls of broth. Soon, however, he began to rebel inwardly; gleams of indignation shone through his tears, and his anger broke forth at last in passionate words:
“I want to know,” he cried imperiously to the municipal officers who were visiting Simon, “what law gives you the right to take me from my mother and keep me shut up here? Show me this law! I will see it!”
The officers were amazed at this child of nine years, who dared to question their power and address them in such a kingly tone. But their worthy comrade came to their aid. He harshly ordered his charge to be silent, saying:
“Hold your tongue, Capet! you are only a chatterer.”