I went away, saying nothing, but feeling broken-hearted. I felt as
though my limbs were giving way under me. And that scene of grief,
which I am describing on the very spot where it took place, still
causes me deep emotion as I recall it; but there are feelings which it
is impossible to express. I have been told since, and Madame Latour
also relates it in her journal, that my father and mother remained in a
frightful state of dejection; they would take no nourishment, and
passed the nights weeping and constantly reiterating that they had been
deprived of half their existence when their dear daughter was taken
away.
It was on the 6th of October, 1793, that I left Mouchy, at five o'clock
in the evening, in one of my father's carriages, with Monsieur Poulain
and my maid. We reached Beauvais, after a drive of two hours. The
carriage tilted as we drove along; the officer endeavoured to assure me
there was no danger. I somewhat insolently replied, 'I fear God, dear
Abner, and have no other fear.'[2]
I was, however, suffering intensely inwardly. Fortunately the darkness
concealed the tears that fell from my eyes. I prayed Heaven earnestly
to sustain my courage.
The officer had orders to have me alight at the prison. He went to the
Revolutionary committee to ask permission for me to spend the night at
his house; it was granted him. I learned afterward that this kind act,
done without my knowledge, and the irreproachable manner in which he
had treated me had brought persecution upon him, and that he had been
obliged to flee from Beauvais. His wife received me very politely. She
tried to make me take some supper; I accepted a very little, but it may
easily be imagined that my appetite was not of the best. I passed a
wretched night. The desolate situation of my parents weighed constantly
upon my mind and heart,--their age, their loneliness (they who so short
a time before had been surrounded by so many relatives and friends),
and the uncertainty of their future, which left so much to be feared.
I did not have the grief of awakening, so terrible to the unhappy. I
received all sorts of care from my kind hostess, who had me breakfast
with her husband and herself. After that I set out for a convent of
nuns of the third order of Saint Francis, which was occupied by some
sick soldiers, and by prisoners who were placed here temporarily until
a sufficient number were collected to form a convoy and be sent to
Chantilly. I entered a drawing-room where the company was assembled; it
was composed of ecclesiastics, a few nobles, and some women. The most
important ones were, among others, a man named Poter, head of the
manufactory of Chantilly, a nun, a sutler, etc. They scrutinized my
countenance. I took pains to please my new companions, and then asked
to be conducted to my lodging-room, which was a former linen closet,
far away from every one, so that if I had wanted anything it would have
been impossible for me to make myself heard.
Monsieur Allou, our neighbour from Mouchy, who frequently came to see
my parents, rendered me all the service in his power, and persuaded me
to have a young girl, a prisoner, sleep in my apartment. I agreed,
though with extreme reluctance, for I greatly preferred being alone.
Sad thoughts prevented my sleeping, besides my being so unaccustomed to
lying upon sacking for a bed. I at once had to give up the habit of
having a light, upon which I was very dependent; but being destined to
undergo great privations, I from that moment renounced the conveniences
of life and set myself to learn how to attend to my own wants. As a
beginning, I made some chocolate, which was horrible. Seeing my
incapacity, I took some lessons, and after a day or two I ventured to
invite one of my neighbours to breakfast; and she felt herself obliged,
for politeness' sake, to praise my new talent. I arranged my
employments so that the days might not seem so long. I read, I wrote,
and I fixed a certain time to walk in the cloisters. They were always
filled with the odour of sulphur, which was much used in the house for
treating the soldiers afflicted with the itch. The air was not good on
account of the gutters of stagnant water which crossed the yard. We
were not allowed to go into the garden; it was appropriated to the use
of the convalescents. The old chapel of the nuns was still in
existence, and most of the prisoners went there to say their prayers. I
sometimes thought how great in the eyes of Heaven must be the
difference between us and the pure spirits who had gone there before
us. They had voluntarily given up their liberty to consecrate it to
God, while I felt that the loss of mine was a great sacrifice. Formerly
the walls of this sacred place echoed only the praises of God, and now
within them the soldiers blasphemed undisturbed. One day while I was at
confession I was deafened by the songs of the Terror, the guardhouse of
the Revolutionary army being just back of my room.
Among the prisoners there were some venerable priests, who set us an
example of perfect submission to the will of Providence. I tried hard
to imitate them. Shortly after my arrival at St. François the steward
of Mouchy, named Legendre (whom I shall set down at the end of these
memoirs among those persons who have been most devoted to us), was
arrested and thrown into our prison on account of his attachment to my
parents. I was particularly distressed at this, because if I had sent
warning to him at Beauvais, when Monsieur Poulain came to arrest me at
Mouchy, he would have had time to escape. I told him all I felt on this
point. I shall have occasion to speak of him again more than once.
Upon a petition from Monsieur Poulain to the Revolutionary committee of
Beauvais, my waiting-woman (Mademoiselle Dubois) was granted permission
to come for an hour each day to St. François, to assist me in making my
toilet. To that I have never attached the slightest importance; but it
was a real satisfaction to me to receive through her some tidings from
my parents, and to send them information concerning myself, and which
they too received with kindest interest. Imagine how terrible a shock
it was to me when I heard through Monsieur Allou, our neighbour from
Mouchy, that they had been carried off on the 16th of October, by order
of the Committee of General Security and taken to Paris to the great
prison of La Force. I knew none of the details (they are recounted in
Madame Latour's memoirs), and was completely overwhelmed. This poor man
was moved also, and we wept together. I had hoped that the advanced age
of my parents, their virtues, and the voice of the poor would appease
the anger of the established authorities; but Robespierre, having
learned that the great proprietors who had estates in the environs, had
retired to them, and were living quietly upon them, resolved to drive
them away and have them put in prison.
My parents passed only twenty-four hours in La Force. They were
transferred to the Luxembourg, which they left only to pass into
eternity.
Every day I heard sad news through prisoners who read the public
papers, and who desired to communicate it to me. I refused to listen,
thinking that to do so was only to incur additional pain. One day, when
I was wondering what my parents were undergoing, I saw enter the
cloister Monsieur d'Aryon, a captain of the National Guard (a very
honest man, to whom I was afterward under many obligations), who seemed
anxious not to meet me, so entirely was he dismayed by his mission. He
sent a prisoner to deliver to me my order of imprisonment, of which the
following is a copy:--
BEAUVAIS, this 19th of October,
28th day of the 2d month of
the year II. of the Republic.
You are informed that you are to start for Chantilly on the night of
this day, Saturday to Sunday. You would do well to make all your
preparations to take with you everything absolutely necessary to you.
If you have occasion to procure a carriage, let me know.
(Signed)
E. PORTIER. MICHEL,
TAQUET, DUFOUR,
_Procureur, of the Commune_.
To Madame Duras [la dame Duras], whose carriage is at the Golden Lion.
She can use it if she wishes to do so.