The Battle of the Strong: A Romance of Two Kingdoms — Volume 1 — John Shaqi
The Battle of the Strong: A Romance of Two Kingdoms — Volume 1Parker, Gilbert
General
The Battle of the Strong: A Romance of Two Kingdoms — Volume 1
Parker, Gilbert
Anglo-French War, 1793-1802 -- Fiction; Channel Islands -- Fiction
"MY DEAR AND HONOURED Cousin"--The chevalier paused, frowned a
trifle, and tapped his lips with his finger in a little lyrical
emotion--"My dear and honoured cousin, all is lost. The France we
loved is no more. The twentieth of June saw the last vestige of
Louis's power pass for ever. That day ten thousand of the sans-
culottes forced their way into the palace to kill him. A faithful
few surrounded him. In the mad turmoil, we were fearful, he was
serene. 'Feel,' said Louis, placing his hand on his bosom, 'feel
whether this is the beating of a heart shaken by fear.' Ah, my
friend, your heart would have clamped in misery to hear the Queen
cry: 'What have I to fear? Death? it is as well to-day as to-
morrow; they can do no more!' Their lives were saved, the day
passed, but worse came after.
"The tenth of August came. With it too, the end-the dark and bloody
end-of the Swiss Guard. The Jacobins had their way at last. The
Swiss Guard died in the Court of the Carrousel as they marched to
the Assembly to save the King. Thus the last circle of defence
round the throne was broken. The palace was given over to flame and
the sword. Of twenty nobles of the court I alone escaped. France
is become a slaughter-house. The people cried out for more liberty,
and their liberators gave them the freedom of death. A fortnight
ago, Danton, the incomparable fiend, let loose his assassins upon
the priests of God. Now Paris is made a theatre where the people
whom Louis and his nobles would have died to save have turned every
street into a stable of carnage, every prison and hospital into a
vast charnel-house. One last revolting thing alone remains to be
done--the murder of the King; then this France that we have loved
will have no name and no place in our generation. She will rise
again, but we shall not see her, for our eyes have been blinded with
blood, for ever darkened by disaster. Like a mistress upon whom we
have lavished the days of our youth and the strength of our days,
she has deceived us; she has stricken us while we slept. Behold a
Caliban now for her paramour!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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