The Shasta courier., 1867-04-20

cold indifference of her husband had chang
ed to the most passionate attachment. She
was joyful mother; idolized by the people,
admired by all. Impulsive and affectionate,
she had surrounded herself with friends,
whom 1t was her delight to overwhelm with
favors. Her tender compassion, her gener
osity, endeared her to her people and her
influence over the King was unbounded.
Had death lin mercy suddenly cut short
the bright young life of the Queen she
would have lived in history merely as a
brilliant, beautiful princess, whose heart and
impulses had prompted her to many good
deeds. None would have OWNED the deep
devotion, the heroism, the resignation,
which has cast holy halo around the name
of Marie Antoinette. Memory brings her
now before us hopeless and alone in the
prison cell at the Conciergerie, rather than
as the beautiful and naughty queen in the
mirrored halls of Versailles
In the temple now we find the queen
Dethroned, subject to every insult, exposed
to every privation, smitten to the heart, but
not humbled, for to humble Marie An
toinette was beyond the power of the con-
ventional government.
She who had been frivolous, light, impru-
dent, vain, giving full play to the calumny
and malice that watched all her steps, in
the prison of the Temple, resumed her
queenly state. In the days of prosperity
she had sighted her husband, laughed at
his want of refinement in the last strug
giles of the monarchy she had up5raded his
weakness, and abused her influence, making
him act according to her prejudices or her
partialities, in direct contradiction to his own
judgment.
- II
comfortless garret at the Temple, she be-
came dutiful, respectful, loving wife, CON-
forting and consoling as well as she might,
deferential, as she had never been. His
misfortunes and his pious, unmurmuring
resignation had invested Louis WI. with
something sacred and holy. On the throne
he was the weak scion of an exhausted race,
in the prison, he was indeed the son of St.
Louis.
Alas, madam" said the King to her
one day, when they were still allowed to see
each other in their prison, +" | have deprived
you of everything is nothing left
you."
DO you think it is nothing, sir" said she,
'' to be the wife of the noblest of men,"
But darker days even than these were
yet to come. The roll of the drums had an
nounced to the Queen that she was a widow
she bowed her head, and perhaps amid the
tears she shed. there were some of joy that
he was beyond all suffering. She had still
her children Marie Therese, the young,
pale, pensive girl, who could trace fourteen
summers spent in her fathers palace, and
who, understanding all, could share her
tears. But her boy, the gay, light. hearted
boy OF seven years, who could play as con-
tentedly at soldiers ON the sill of prison
window as on the gilded balconies of Yer
sailles, he was the sunshine of his gloom,
his merry laugh, his bright look, his
caresses, left something on earth still to cling
to. An heritage of woe had she alone to
leave these children of her pride and state;
but human state, its glories and its pomps,
had passed away. She scorned them not
for her children, but to watch, to save, to
rear, to love this heir of so many past aspira-
tions, left the pale light of hope still
glimmering in her heart
Coarse food, torn raiment, hard pallet
bed, these were all tried as tortures by her
enemies, but they passed on unheeded or
unfelt. One by one were the implements of
woman S work, that still beguiled the tedious
prison hours, taken from these helpless and
forlorn women, books were forbidden, all
communications with the living beyond their
.jailors had ceased, yet not one word of anger
Or complaint had passed the proud lips of
Marie Antoinette. Indignities and inso-
lence could raise neither blush nor frown,
kind word was rewarded with the courtesy
that would have thanked a Versailles cour-
tier.
To look back was agony, to look forward
despair. The Queen could live only in the
present, and all the present was to her the
young son, the only one of his race, still for
getful, fearless, and unconscious.
So the Queen, watching him, bore all. for
gave ALL was in the presence of her enemies
indeed queen, remembering that to struggle
now would be degradation.
One day there came strange, ruthless men
to that old, silent prison. The Queen rose
to receive them in stern. cold dignity. She
listened; she heard but the few first words.
They had come to take her son-her last
hope, her infant, helpless boy. Then the
Queen of France, the daughter of the Caesars,
the wife of the martyred King, forgot all
rank, pride, station, state; she was nothing
then but a mother-a bereaved, despairing,
hopeless mother. She dragged herself on
her knees at the feet of Simon, and the
deputation. She wept, she implored, and
seeing all Twas vain, with phrenzied love she
claSpeQ uDe DOy III arms. anu struggled
for him hand to hand. Two hours her
strength repleted this terrible but useless
combat, till at last exhausted, fainting,
senseless, she fell to the floor, and the
Dauphin was torn from her arms. Shrek
ing he was borne by Simon, the shoemaker,
from his mother, never to see her again till
on his death bed bis soul futtering on the
confines of Heaven and earth, he beheld her,
as he whispered with his dying breath among
the angels.
With Marie Antoinette besides her daugh
ter, was the Kings sister, the Princess
Elizabeth woman whose life from the
cradle to the scafold was one deed of piety
and virtue. 1t would seem that Elizabeth
had felt in her earliest youth that the sins
of her race had need of some atonement,
for leaving aside all the advantages of rank,
state and youth, she only lived for charity
She sold her diamonds, her estates for the
poor; she refused royal household, and
lived in retirement and privacy. Rarely
she was seen at court. but when danger as
sailed her family she came, Though she had
shared neither their follies, their pleasures,
nor their faults but she came to share
their perils and their fate.
Madame Elizabeth was too far above sub