It was on the 26th of August, at eight in the evening, that Cléry entered once more upon his service. The queen desired him to resume his attendance upon the Dauphin, and to unite with the king’s valet in rendering the family as comfortable as they could. The princesses had now been eight days without the attendance of their women; and their hair much needed proper combing and arranging. At supper they asked Cléry whether he could dress their hair. His reply was, that he should be happy to do whatever they desired. The officer on guard commanded him aloud to be more guarded in his replies. Poor Cléry was aghast at finding that he must not be civil in his expressions to his master and mistress.
Cléry did not devote himself exclusively to the service of the Dauphin; for there were at first few, and latterly no other servants than himself, except a man named Tison, and his wife, who did the rough work of the chambers for a time.
The way in which the royal prisoners passed their days, for some few months, was as follows:
The king rose at six in the summer, and at seven as winter came on. He shaved himself, and then Cléry dressed his hair, and finished his toilette. The king retired to a small turret-chamber, which he made his study, and there kneeled at his prayers, and read religious books till nine o’clock, his guard always taking care that the door was half-open; so that the king could not even kneel to pray in entire privacy.—Meantime Cléry made the bed, and prepared the room for breakfast, and then went down to take up little Louis. After washing and dressing him, he dressed the queen’s hair, and then went to the other princesses, to do the same service for them. This was the opportunity seized for telling the family any news he had been able to obtain of what was going on out of doors. It was almost the only occasion on which he could speak without being overheard by the guards: and even this was contrived with caution. Cléry showed, by an appointed sign, that he had something to say; and one of the princesses engaged the guard at the door in conversation, while Cléry whispered his news into the ear of the other, as he bent over her head, to dress her hair.—At nine, the princesses and Louis went up to the king’s apartment to breakfast, when Cléry waited upon them, making haste, when the meal was done, to go down and get the other beds made. At ten, the whole family came down to the queen’s apartment, and began the business of the day. Louis said his geography lesson to his father, read history with his mother, and learned poetry by heart; and did his sums with his aunt. His sister did her lessons at the same time. Hers lasted till twelve, while Louis’s were over by eleven, when he played by himself for an hour. The queen generally worked at her tapestry-frame; but sometimes she wrote out extracts from books for her daughter’s use. When she did this, and when the young princess wrote out sums into her cyphering-book, the officer on guard used to stand looking over their shoulders, to see that they did not, under false pretences, carry on any secret correspondence. It is believed that they did so, notwithstanding all this vigilance; but how they contrived it will probably never be known; for, of course, they have not told their plan, and their gaolers were not aware of it.
At twelve o’clock the ladies changed their dress in the Princess Elizabeth’s room, before going out to walk in the garden. The king and queen did not relish this daily walk in the garden, because they rarely went without being insulted: but they persevered as long as the practice was permitted, for the sake of the children. That Louis, particularly, might have air and exercise, they would have made a point of going out, in all but the very worst weather. They were, however, allowed no choice. Wet or dry, rain or shine, out they must go, at the same hour every day, because the outside guard was changed at that hour; and the officer chose to see, without trouble to himself, that the prisoners were all safe. Several guards were always in attendance upon the steps of the family as they walked; and there was only one walk which they might enter, because workmen were rebuilding the walls in other parts of the inclosure. Louis would thus have benefited little by the hour or two out of doors, if it had not been for good Cléry, who seems to have found time to do everything that could serve or please the family. Cléry went out with them every day, and kept Louis at play the whole time,—sometimes at football,—sometimes at quoits,—sometimes at running races.
This daily walk did not long continue the practice of the family; and, though they thought it right not to give it up themselves, some of them were very glad when it was over. Their gaoler treated them with intolerable insolence. He would not stir till they reached the door they were to pass out at, and then made a prodigious jingling with his great bunch of keys, and kept them waiting, under pretence of not being able to find the key: then he made all the noise he could in drawing the bolts; and, stepping before them, stood in the doorway, with his long pipe in his mouth, with which he puffed smoke into the face of each of the princesses as she passed,—the guard bursting into loud laughs at each puff. Wherever they went, the prisoners saw a guillotine, or a gallows, or some vile inscription chalked upon the walls. One of these inscriptions was, “Little cubs must be strangled.” Others threatened death, in a gibing way, to the king or the queen. Cléry one day saw the king reading some such threat of death, and would have rubbed it out; but the king bade him let it alone.
They had one object of interest in their walks, which, however, they were obliged to conceal. Certain of their devoted friends obtained entrance to the houses whose back windows commanded this garden, and, though afraid to make signals, looked down upon the forlorn party with sympathy which was well understood. Cléry one day believed that Madame de Tourzel had watched them during their walk; a lady very like her had so earnestly followed Louis with her eyes through his play. He whispered this to the Princess Elizabeth, who shed tears on hearing it; so persuaded had the royal family been that Madame de Tourzel had perished.—It was not she however: neither had she perished. She was at one of her country estates, hoping that she was kindly remembered by the royal family, and forgotten by their enemies.
One of the most important pieces of intelligence that reached them, they first learned in the course of their walk. A woman at a window which overlooked the garden watched the moment when the guards turned their backs, and held up for an instant a large sheet of pasteboard, on which was written “Verdun is taken.” The Princess Elizabeth saw and read this. The woman no doubt thought this good news; and perhaps they, too, were pleased that their friends and the foreign army were fairly in France, and had taken a town on the road to Paris: but we shall see how it turned out to be anything but good news.—After a few weeks they walked no more in the garden, and had only such air and exercise as they could obtain upon the leads of the Temple.
From their walk they came in to dinner at two o’clock, where Cléry was again ready to wait, when he became the only remaining servant. This was the hour when Santerre the brewer, now commanding the National Guard of Paris, came daily, with two other officers, to examine all the apartments inhabited by the family. The king sometimes spoke to him,—the queen never.
After dinner, the king and queen played piquet or backgammon; not because they could enjoy at present any amusement of the kind, but because they found means, while bending their heads together over the board, to say a few words unheard by the guard. At four o’clock, the ladies and children left the king, as it was his custom to sleep at this hour. At six Cléry and Louis entered the apartment, and Cléry gave the boy lessons in writing, and copied, at the king’s desire, passages from the works of Montesquieu and others, for the use of the Dauphin. Then Cléry took Louis to his aunt’s room, where they played at ball, and battledore and shuttlecock, till Louis’s supper-time, at eight o’clock. Meanwhile the queen and the Princess Elizabeth read aloud, till eight o’clock, when they went to Louis, to sit beside him while he had his supper. Then the king amused the children with riddles, which he had found in a collection of old newspapers. All kindly exerted themselves to send Louis cheerful to bed. He was too young, they thought, to lie down with so sad a heart as they each had every night in their prison.