trial of the queen, Marie-Antoinette.
Begun on the 4th of October, 1793, this trial had been actively proceeded with. On the 14th of October she had appeared before the revolutionary tribunal; on the 16th, at four in the morning, the ill-fated widow had been condemned; and the same day, at eleven, she was beheaded on the scaffold.
In the morning I had received a letter from Solange, who wrote to say she would not let such a day pass without seeing me.
I arrived about two o’clock at our little apartment in the Rue Taranne, where I found Solange in tears. I was myself most sensibly affected by this execution. The queen had been very kind to me in my youth, and I had never forgotten that indulgence.
I shall ever remember that day; it fell on a Thursday. There was something heavier than sorrow over Paris; there was affright.
As for me, I experienced a strange dejection – something like the presentiment of a great misfortune. I had wished to console Solange, who lay upon my bosom weeping; but no words of comfort could I command, because my own heart was inconsolable.
We passed the night together as usual; it was still sadder than the day had been. I recollect there was a dog locked up in the room over our heads, who kept howling until two in the morning.
Next day we made inquiries. His master had gone out and taken the key; he had been arrested in the street, taken before the bloody tribunal, condemned at three o’clock, and executed at four.
We were forced to separate. Solange’s classes began at nine in the morning. Her boarding-school was situated near the Garden of Plants. I hesitated a long time before I would let her go. She was equally unwilling to leave me; but to stop out for two days together would have exposed her to an investigation, which in her circumstances would have been dangerous.
I ordered a coach, and went with her to the corner of the Rue des Fosses-Saint-Bernard; where I got out. During the whole drive, we had held each other firmly embraced without uttering a word, mingling our tears together, which flowed over our lips, our sweet kisses being embittered by them.
I alighted from the coach; but, instead of going my way, I stood fixed to the spot, looking after the carriage which bore her away. When the coach had gone about twenty yards, it stopped, Solange looked out of the door, as though she had guessed I was still there. I ran up. I got into the vehicle once more; and put up the windows. Again I hugged her in my arms. But nine o’clock struck by the parish church. I wiped the tears from her eyes, closed her mouth with kiss upon kiss, and, springing out of the coach, hastened away running.
I thought that Solange called me back; but these tears, these faltering delays, might be remarked. I had the mournful courage not to return.
I returned home in despair; I spent the whole day in writing to Solange; in the evening I sent her a book.
I had just left my letter at the post-office, when I received one from her.
She had been very much scolded; they had worried her with a host of questions, and threatened to deprive her of her next holiday.
Her next holiday was the following Sunday; but Solange promised me that whatever might come, even though she broke with the schoolmistress, she would see me on that day.
I, too, made the same vow; it seemed to me that if I were to be seven days without seeing her, which would happen if she lost her first holiday, I should go mad.
The more so that Solange expressed some uneasiness, as a letter she had found at the boarding-school on her return, and which was from her father, appeared to her to have been unsealed.
I spent a bad night, and a still worse day on the morrow. I wrote as usual to Solange; and, as it was the day of my experiments, I called upon my brother about three o’clock to take him with me to Clamart.
My brother was not at home; I went off by myself.
The weather was awful; the sky was dissolving into rain – that cold heavy rain which
Begun on the 4th of October, 1793, this trial had been actively proceeded with. On the 14th of October she had appeared before the revolutionary tribunal; on the 16th, at four in the morning, the ill-fated widow had been condemned; and the same day, at eleven, she was beheaded on the scaffold.
In the morning I had received a letter from Solange, who wrote to say she would not let such a day pass without seeing me.
I arrived about two o’clock at our little apartment in the Rue Taranne, where I found Solange in tears. I was myself most sensibly affected by this execution. The queen had been very kind to me in my youth, and I had never forgotten that indulgence.
I shall ever remember that day; it fell on a Thursday. There was something heavier than sorrow over Paris; there was affright.
As for me, I experienced a strange dejection – something like the presentiment of a great misfortune. I had wished to console Solange, who lay upon my bosom weeping; but no words of comfort could I command, because my own heart was inconsolable.
We passed the night together as usual; it was still sadder than the day had been. I recollect there was a dog locked up in the room over our heads, who kept howling until two in the morning.
Next day we made inquiries. His master had gone out and taken the key; he had been arrested in the street, taken before the bloody tribunal, condemned at three o’clock, and executed at four.
We were forced to separate. Solange’s classes began at nine in the morning. Her boarding-school was situated near the Garden of Plants. I hesitated a long time before I would let her go. She was equally unwilling to leave me; but to stop out for two days together would have exposed her to an investigation, which in her circumstances would have been dangerous.
I ordered a coach, and went with her to the corner of the Rue des Fosses-Saint-Bernard; where I got out. During the whole drive, we had held each other firmly embraced without uttering a word, mingling our tears together, which flowed over our lips, our sweet kisses being embittered by them.
I alighted from the coach; but, instead of going my way, I stood fixed to the spot, looking after the carriage which bore her away. When the coach had gone about twenty yards, it stopped, Solange looked out of the door, as though she had guessed I was still there. I ran up. I got into the vehicle once more; and put up the windows. Again I hugged her in my arms. But nine o’clock struck by the parish church. I wiped the tears from her eyes, closed her mouth with kiss upon kiss, and, springing out of the coach, hastened away running.
I thought that Solange called me back; but these tears, these faltering delays, might be remarked. I had the mournful courage not to return.
I returned home in despair; I spent the whole day in writing to Solange; in the evening I sent her a book.
I had just left my letter at the post-office, when I received one from her.
She had been very much scolded; they had worried her with a host of questions, and threatened to deprive her of her next holiday.
Her next holiday was the following Sunday; but Solange promised me that whatever might come, even though she broke with the schoolmistress, she would see me on that day.
I, too, made the same vow; it seemed to me that if I were to be seven days without seeing her, which would happen if she lost her first holiday, I should go mad.
The more so that Solange expressed some uneasiness, as a letter she had found at the boarding-school on her return, and which was from her father, appeared to her to have been unsealed.
I spent a bad night, and a still worse day on the morrow. I wrote as usual to Solange; and, as it was the day of my experiments, I called upon my brother about three o’clock to take him with me to Clamart.
My brother was not at home; I went off by myself.
The weather was awful; the sky was dissolving into rain – that cold heavy rain which
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