Page:Littell's Living Age - Volume 133.djvu/321

Rh me, do you know a greater mourning than that, or one so humbly worn?

The order was that the prisoner should not be allowed any books or paper, or even thread or scissors, in order, no doubt, that she should be deprived of everything that might distract her from her sorrows. But she, however, finding a little bit of old carpet in her cell, pulled out the threads from it, and with them amused herself by making a little braid, her knees serving her as a cushion and some pins doing the rest. Sometimes on Sundays her jailor brought her a few flowers in an old earthen pot, which alone would make her smile sadly — she who never smiled any more, and who loved flowers so dearly. Ah! the lovely flowers of Trianon, the dear friends of her leisure hours The sweet roses she cultivated with her own hands, the pinks that bore her name, the tender marguerites that bloomed at the caressing touch of their queen, and the soft, pearly dew which fell from those multitudinous fountains that were silent neither day or night. Ah! the fields enamelled with wild flowers that she loved to wander in, shaded by her large straw hat, or the white does that would come to eat out of her small white hands; ah me! where had they fled, those happy days?

Soon the jailer ceased bringing her any roses; they gave the captive too much pleasure, and he was afraid of Fouquier-Tinville. They saw that the queen, too, loved the sweet face and tender, pitying look of the young Breton peasant girl, so they placed an enormous screen to separate them; but sometimes with difficulty, Rosalie would stand on tiptoes and look over the barrier; as though to say to the poor queen "I am still here, madame." But then those moments were so short.

Behind this screen were placed the gendarmes, and with them a liberated convict, named Barassin, who was so dirty that when he would leave the place for a little while, the queen, made almost ill by the foul atmosphere of the cell, would beg Rosalie to burn a little piece of paper to change the air. Rosalie had obtained permission to brush the queen's shoes. They were pretty little black kid ones, which easily could have been taken for Cinderella's, so small they were. All France had been prostrated before these two little feet, that would have been adored for their beauty alone, even were they not the feet of a queen. The cold and humidity of the prison floor clung to these light shoes as mud would have done on a winter's day. One day a republican gendarme even took pity on them, and taking his sabre scraped with care all the moisture which covered the tiny soles.

In the adjoining courtyard, with eyes fixed on the iron bars that separated them from their sovereign, were kept some prisoners from the Temple, royalists devoted even to the death. There were aged priests of the Church, old officers of Fontenoy, and some noblemen forgotten by the guillotine, and all of them forgot their captivity, their present misery, their approaching death, to think only of their queen, shut up there in her miserable cell. And so it happened that when these poor unfortunates saw the gendarme wiping the queen's shoes, they held out their hands to him in supplicating prayer, and he out of pity passed one of the little shoes between the bars to them, who, taking it, kissed it with reverent, faithful lips.

At twelve o'clock the jailer would bring the queen her dinner, which consisted of half a chicken and a few vegetables, which she was forced to eat with a common pewter fork. The queen would eat this from off a little table, no one waiting on her. More than one prisoner, though, would wait till her meagre repast was over, and beg for some of the crumbs which had fallen from this poor, but still royal table, and happy and proud was he who could drink from the queen's glass; for bending low, with uncovered head, he would drink to her Majesty's health.

There was neither bureau, or wardrobe, or even a little mirror in her cell, but after many prayers the queen obtained permission to have a small paper box in which to keep her few clothes, and a tiny looking-glass, which she hung on the same nail where she had kept her watch, and on that day she was as pleased as though they had brought to her the loveliest Venetian mirror and the handsomest furniture in Boule.

Soon, however, the Revolution thought it was too much luxury for the queen to have half a chicken and a plate of vegetables for her dinner, and it suppressed half of her already small ration, so that even the market-women had no longer the consolation of saying to the prison cook, "Here, monsieur, take this poor chicken to our queen." But even in this complete abandonment, in the mists of this horrible poverty, and overwhelmed with all her sorrows, she still remained the lovely woman and the great queen of her prosperous days; and she held out her pewter cup for the jailer to fill with water from an old earthen jug with the same majestic grace she was wont to hold the golden