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This is the part that the Comte de Provence, her uncle, wrote about the daughter of Marie Antoinette.  It starts from the last paragraph on the page three of  the book “Madame Royale” by Ernest Daudet.  Original English text with Japanese translation.

Ernest Daudet著「マダム・ロワイヤル」3ページ最後の段落から、叔父プロバンス伯の手記から書かれた部分です。。英語の原文と和訳。


Image: Wikipedia

Her uncle the Comte de Provence, in one of his writings, show her to us in this role.  He is describing the events of the 18th April, 1791.  The King had been seriously ill, and at the same time, wished to save clergy of his chapel from the horrors that threatened every priest who was true to his faith.  The doctors declared that His Majesty was in need of country air, and there was a more or less general belief that he would be able to go to Saint-Cloud as in the previous year.  On the 18th April, the day fixed for his departure, the royal family drove away from the palace a little before midday, and had already reached the Carrousel when the National Guard, supported by the mob and the fish-wives, attacked the carriage, leveled their muskets at it repeatedly, heaped insults upon the King and his family, and rained blows upon his attendants.  In defiance of the Rights of Man, which their originator, General de la Fayette, invoked with equal verbosity and futility, His Majesty was forced to give up his journey.


Photo: widipedia

“It was on this occasion,” writes the Comte de Provence, “that I first saw my niece in her true colours.  All the strength that the King and Queen and my sister had hitherto drawn from their natural firmness, courage, and piety seemed now exhausted.  We stared at one another in melancholy silence.  My niece, who was then twelve years old, stood alone in the centre of this miserable circle.  Her expression, as she flitted from her father’s side to her mother or her aunt, showed that she was well aware of her position, but rose above it: tears were in her eyes, but her lips were smiling.  Her innocent caresses, her tender though for us all, and her comforting words were as balm upon all our wounds.  When she came to me I clasped her in my arms, and said:  ‘Oh, my child, may Heaven shower upon you all the happiness that is denied to your unhappy family!'”

Photo: chateauversailles.fr


No words of praise were ever better deserved.  The qualities that Madame Royale showed that day she never lost.  Condemned as she was to tread the path of martyrdom, she climbed every step of the way with equal courage and resignation.


And the incidents that I have just recalled were but the entrance to the Via Dolorosoa.  It was within the walls of the Temple that she was to give the most signal proofs of the shining virtues that endowed her youth with its imperishable halo.