"Do you sing too, prince?"
The dauphin raised his eyes to his mother. "Mamma," he asked, "shall
I sing the prayer of this morning?"
Marie Antoinette nodded. "Sing it, my son, for perhaps God heard it this morning, and has graciously answered it."
The dauphin sank upon his knees, and folding his hands, he raised his head and turned his blue eyes toward heaven, and, with a sweet voice and a mild, smiling look, he sang these words:
"Ciel, entends la priere Qu'ici je fais; Conserve un si boil pere A ses sujets." [Footnote: See Beauchesne, vol. i., p. 146. This scene is historical. Sees Hue, "Dernioree Anneesde Louis XVI." This prayer is from the opera so much admired at that time, "Peter the Great" "O Heaven, accept the prayer, I offer here; Unto his subjects spare My father dear.">[
A deep, solemn silence reigned while the dauphin's voice rang through the room. The faces of the deputies, hitherto defiant and severe, softened, deeply moved. They all looked at the beautiful boy, who was still on his knees, his countenance beaming, and with a smile upon it like the face of one in a blissful dream. No one ventured to break the silence. The king, whose arm was thrown around the neck of his daughter, looked affectionately at the dauphin; Madame Elizabeth had folded her hands, and was praying; but Marie Antoinette, no longer able to control her deep emotion, covered her face with her hands, and wept in silence.
From this day the life of the royal family was one of constant excitement—an incessant, feverish expectation of coming evil. The king bore it all with an uncomplaining resignation; no one drew from him a complaint, no one a reproach. But the thought never seemed to occur to him that perhaps even yet safety might be attained by energy, by spirit, or even by flight.
He had surrendered all; he was ready to suffer as a Christian instead of rising as a king, and preferred to fall in honorable battle rather than to live despised.
Marie Antoinette had given up her efforts to inspire her husband with her own energetic will. She knew that all was in vain, and had accepted her fate. Since she could not live as a queen, she would at least die as one. She made her preparations for this calmly and with characteristic decision. "They will kill me, I know," she said to her maids. "I have only one duty left me, to prepare myself to die!"
She lost her accustomed spirit, wept much, and exhibited a great deal of feeling. Yet she still stood guard over the shattered throne like a resolute sentinel, and looked around with sharp and searching glances, to keep an eye on the enemy, and to be ready for his nearer approach.