Was that the reason they came to Versailles yesterday, and were so wicked, ah! so very wicked? For those bad men-they were the people, were they not?"
"No, my son," answered Louis, "I hope they were not the people. The people cannot come to me in such great masses; they must have their representatives. The representatives of the people I have myself called to me; they are the States-General, which I assembled at Versailles. I asked of them money for the outlays which I had to make for the people, but they asked things of me that I could not grant, either for my own sake, or for yours, my son, who are some day to be my successor. Then wicked men came and stirred up the people, and told them that I did not love the people any more, and that I wanted to trouble my subjects. And the poor people have believed what these evil advisers and slanderers have told them, and have been led astray into ****** the riot against me. But every thing will come out right again, and my subjects will see that I love them, and am ready to share every thing with them. That is the reason I have come to Paris, to live here among my people. It is certainly not so pleasant as in Versailles; our rooms are not so fine and convenient, and we do not have the beautiful gardens here that we had there. But we must learn to be contented here, and put up with what we have. We must remember that there is no one in Paris better than we, and that the Parisians must acknowledge that the king loves them, for he has given up his beautiful Versailles, in order to live with them, and share all their need, and all the disagreeable things which they have to bear."
"Papa king, I have understood every thing, and I am very much ashamed that I have complained before. I promise you, sire," he continued, with earnest mien, and laying his hand upon his breast, "yes, sire, I promise you, that I will take pains to give the people a good example, and to be really good and kind. I will never complain again that we are living in Paris, and I will take pains to be happy and contented here."
And the dauphin kept his word. He took pains to be contented; he said not another word about the old pleasant life at Versailles, but appeared to have forgotten all about ever having been anywhere but in this great, desolate palace, with its halls filled with faded tapestry; stately, solemn furniture, their golden adornments having grown dim, and their upholstery hard; he seemed never to have known any garden but this, only one little corner of which was set apart for the royal family, and through the iron gate of which threatening words were often heard, and spiteful faces seen.
One day, when the dauphin heard such words, and saw such faces beyond the paling, he shrank back, and ran to his mother, earnestly imploring her with trembling voice to leave the garden, and go into the palace. But Marie Antoinette led him farther into the garden, instead of complying with his wish. In the little pavilion which stood at the corner of the enclosure on the side of the quay, she sat down, and lifting her boy up in her arms, set him before her on the marble table, wiped away his tears with her handkerchief, and tenderly implored him not to weep or feel badly any more.
"If you weep, my child," she said, sadly, as the dauphin could not control his tears, "if you weep, I shall have no courage left, and it will be as dark and dreary to me as if the sun had gone down. If you weep, I should want to weep with you; and you see, my son, that it would not be becoming for a queen to weep. The wicked people, who want to hurt our feelings, they find pleasure in it, and therefore we must be altogether too proud to let them see what we suffer. I have this pride, but when I see you suffer it takes away all my strength. You remember our ride from Versailles here, my son? How the bad men who surrounded us, mocked at me and said foul things to me! I was cold and calm, but I could not help weeping, my child, when you complained of being hungry."
"Mamma," cried the child, with flashing eyes, "I will never complain again, and the bad men shall never have the pleasure of seeing me weep."
"But good men, my child, you must always treat kindly, and behave very prettily to them."
"I will do so," answered the dauphin, thoughtfully. "But, mamma queen, tell me who the good men are!"
"You must believe, Louis, that all men are good, and therefore you must be kind to all. If then they despise your goodness or friendliness, and cast it from them, it will not be your fault, and our heavenly Father and your parents will be pleased with you."
"But, mamma," cried the prince, and a shadow passed over his pure, beautiful child's face, "but, mamma, I cannot see that all men are good. When they were abusing us, and cursing us, and speaking bad words at us in the carriage, and were talking so angrily at you, dear mamma, the men were not good, and I never could treat them friendly if they should come again."
"They will not come again, Louis. No, we will hope that the bad men will not come again, and that those who come to see us here are good men; so be very kind and polite to everybody, that all may love you, and see that their future king is good and polite, even while a child."
"Good?" cried the boy, spiritedly. "I will be good and polite to everybody, that you may be satisfied with me. Yes, just for that will I be so."
Marie Antoinette pressed the pretty boy to herself, and kissed his lips. Just then an officer entered and announced General Lafayette and Bailly, the mayor of Paris.
"Mamma," whispered the prince, as the two gentlemen entered--" mamma, that is the general that was at Versailles, then. I can never be kind to him, for he belongs to the bad men."
"Hush! my child-hush!" whispered the queen. "For God's sake, do not let anybody hear that. No, no, General Lafayette does not belong to our enemies, he means well toward us. Treat him kindly, very kindly, my child."
