s of their homes in the Swiss valleys, and their
wives and children singing of them, while tending the cows on the
mountain side. Yet the king who, by his orders and arrangements, gave
them over to such a death as this, and deserted them at the crisis, was
for ever consoling himself with the thought that not a drop of blood had
ever been shed by his command.

In the neighbourhood of Lucerne, in Switzerland, there is a monument to
the memory of these men. Above a little lake rises a precipitous face
of rock. In the midst of this the monument is hollowed out. The Swiss
lion, wounded and dying, grasps with its failing claws the French
shield, with the royal lilies upon it.--If the king had sent his family
to the Assembly for safety, and himself remained to fall with his
adherents, this monument would not have been, as it is now, a reproach
upon his memory, durable as Swiss honour and as the everlasting rock.

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER TWELVE.

PRISON.

The royal family were placed for three days in a forsaken monastery,
where four cells were allotted to them and their attendants. There
Madame Campan went to them on the 11th. In one cell the king was having
his hair dressed. In another, the queen was weeping on a mean bed,
attended by a woman, a stranger, but civil enough. The children soon
came in, and the queen lamented bitterly over them, mourning that they
should be deprived of so fine an inheritance as this great kingdom; for
she now knew, she said, that the monarchy was really coming to an end.
She spoke of the kingdom, with its many millions of inhabitants, as she
would have spoken of a landed estate with the animals upon it,--as a
property with which monarchs ought to be able to do what they like.
Such was her idea of royalty. She lamented in this crisis over her
boy's loss of the crown, as if that were the greatest of the misfortunes
that awaited him--as if he could not possibly be happy anywhere but on
the throne. Such was her idea of human life. She was brought up with
such ideas, and was to be pitied, not blamed, for acting and feeling
accordingly.

She mentioned to Madame Campan her vexation at the king having been so
eager about his dinner, and having eaten and drunk so heartily in the
presence of malignant strangers, on that dreadful day, and in this
miserable place. She need not have minded this so much; for everybody
now knew the king and his ways, and how he never dreamed, under any
circums