As soon as we had been informed of the order to leave, we became
anxious to know whether all the prisoners at St. François were to be of
the party. Only a portion of them were destined at that time for
Chantilly. We passed the whole day in packing our belongings. Mine were
taken there from Mouchy, which spared me for that time the worry of
moving them, to which I was afterward compelled to accustom myself. I
forgot to say that the keeper of St. François was the most humane of
all under whom I was placed. I could not determine whether I was sorry
or glad to change my prison. Those to which I was going were infinitely
more wretched; but I did not then know their terrible methods.
About eleven o'clock at night we were told to get into the carriage,
but the train did not start till midnight. It was composed of wagons
and carriages of different sorts. I took in mine Monsieur de Reignac,
an officer of the King's Constitutional Guard, who was afterward
guillotined, a nun from the Hôtel-Dieu at Beauvais, and my
waiting-woman. My coachman, to whom this journey was exceedingly
distressing, wept the whole way. We were escorted by the Beauvais,
National Guard, part on foot and part on horseback. As it was moonlight
the people came out in front of their doors to hoot at us and throw
stones at us. The train which had preceded us had been insulted
infinitely worse. Monsieur Descourtils, an old and very estimable
soldier, who had on all occasions rendered services to the town of
Beauvais, and also Monsieur Wallon, the kind patron of the poor, were
treated in the most outrageous manner.
Our procession moved so slowly, and we stopped so often, that we did
not reach Clermont until eleven o'clock in the morning, after having
come six leagues. My nun, who was not accustomed to travelling in a
carriage, was almost nauseated all the way. I read throughout almost
the whole journey.
We dined at an inn in Clermont. The people watched us dismount with an
expression of pity. This feeling, which it is generally so undesirable
to inspire, gave us pleasure on account of its rarity during the Reign
of Terror. Nothing worthy of remark took place during our short stay at
Clermont, unless it was the manner in which we were guarded. Our
escort, being obliged to rest and get something to eat, confided us to
the care of the National Guard of the city, among whom there were some
prisoners who had been placed there to increase the size of the troop.
The vicinity of Fitz-James made me sadly recall memories of the past. I
had been so happy there from my earliest childhood; now nothing was
left me but to regret it; all those with whom I had spent my life there
were either dead or gone away. But while I was giving way to these sad
thoughts, we were told it was time to leave. The train started, and we
reached Chantilly at three o'clock.
It would be difficult to describe the confusion caused by the unpacking
of the many vehicles loaded with mattresses and other things belonging
to the prisoners, all thrown haphazard in the court, without other
order than to unload them, and that the bundles should not be taken
upstairs till the next day, when there would be time to examine them.
Consequently it was the custom to go to bed on a chair the first night,
after a very scanty supper, or to accept the mattress of some prisoner
willing to deprive himself of it. As we passed the iron grating at the
entrance of the place, I recalled the 2d of September, and said to
Monsieur de Reignac that it was quite probable that we were being
gathered together to be made to submit to the same fate; he seemed to
think so too. Several attempts had been made to invent conspiracies,
which had in fact no real existence at Chantilly any more than in other
prisons. In order to render the name prison less terrible, they were
called houses of arrest, of justice, of detention, etc.; but as during
the Reign of Terror these words were synonyms, I shall make use of them
without distinction. The whole party was taken into a beautifully
gilded chapel, where I had heard Mass in the time of the Prince de
Condé. It was quite filled with bags of flour; I found one which was
placed in a comfortable position, and seated myself on it. Then the
steward of the house, by name Notté, member for the Department of the
Oise, mounted on the altar steps to call the roll, holding in his hand
the list of those who composed the party; he had on his right a man
named Marchand (who was the son of a very respectable waiting-woman of
my aunt, Madame la Maréchale de Noailles), an agent of the
Revolutionary army, who was in the confidence of the Committee of
Public Safety. He seemed to take pleasure, as the names of the priests
and nobles were called, in saying the harshest and most cutting things
to them. A village vicar from the environs of Beauvais, and I had the
worst of it all. This poor priest was quite in a tremor; but as for me,
I did not mind it at all. This man Marchand asked Notté if he had taken
care to see that I was very poorly lodged, and he replied that he had
selected for me the smallest room to be had. When the roll-call was
over, Mademoiselle Dubois, my waiting-woman, asked permission to remain
in prison with me. The commissioners refused her request, and declared
their determination of sending away all those not prisoners who up to
that time had remained in the place. She was much grieved at parting
from me. I was not sorry to give her up, for I had been extremely
worried to see her suffering and deprived of liberty on account of her
attachment to me. I remember with gratitude the feeling she showed for
me at that time, and I am very glad to record it in this memoir. After
a very long and wearisome discussion we left the chapel, quite curious
to see our new quarters. I was agreeably surprised when they conducted
me to a small room, neat and prettily gilded, where I was to be alone.
Notté had had the good manners to keep it for me. I valued it the more
when I saw the lodgings of my travelling companions. Several prisoners
came to see me. I was not acquainted with one of them. I seemed to have
been shipwrecked on an island inhabited by good people. They welcomed
me heartily, and I was permitted to have my belongings, which had come
from Mouchy, sent up to me at once. Consequently I had the pleasure of
sleeping on a bed,--a rare thing on the day of one's arrival. Several
of my neighbours were kind enough to help me make it up. I was quite
overcome, and terribly fatigued. I received all these kindnesses as
graciously as possible, but was impatient to be left to repose.
Mademoiselle de Pons, now Madame de Tourzel, came with a message from
her mother, asking me to supper; and Madame de Chevigné invited me to
breakfast next morning. I accepted the second invitation with pleasure.
I had never known these ladies intimately. They were the only ones
belonging to the court who were in the house. I had only met them at
the houses of my acquaintances.
The fatigue I had undergone the day before made me sleep. I had
scarcely risen when Mademoiselle Lèfvre, the sister-in-law of the
steward of Mouchy, came to my room to give me information
concerning the inhabitants of our prison, and advice about my own
arrangements,--all of which was very useful to me. It is a very sad
thing to find oneself utterly alone in the midst of a crowd.
Monsieur Notté paid me a visit; I did not find his face so severe
as it had seemed on the arrival of our party, when he stood beside
the commissioner of the Revolutionary army. He spoke pleasantly to
me, and told me that, as the prisoners were very much crowded in
their lodgings, he thought it best to put some one with me in a
little cabinet which was under my control. In order to enter it one
had to pass through my room. He allowed me to select the person,
and I chose the hospital sister who had come from Beauvais, with
me. She was a good woman, the daughter of a village farrier,
without education, but a great help to me in the daily needs of
life. I had an opportunity to show her my gratitude for it all
during a severe illness of hers, when I acted not only as her
nurse, but also as her physician, as she was not willing to see a
doctor. She frequently gave me proof of the fact that when one has
not received certain ideas in youth it is impossible to comprehend
some of the simplest things. I would alter my phrases in every
possible way in order to enable her to understand what I
meant,--among other things respect for opinion, etc. She remained
with me until I was removed to Paris, and was never annoying to me.
This was a great blessing, since our companionship was enforced. I
soon began to pay visits among our colony, which was composed of
very incongruous material. There were priests, nobles, nuns,
magistrates, soldiers, merchants, and a large number of what were
called 'sans-culottes,' from all parts of the country, and who were
excellent people. I had near me a mail-carrier, a barmaid, and
other domestics, whom I highly esteemed. They had become greatly
attached to a venerable curate from Beauvais who lodged with them.
They called him their father, rendered him many services, and took
perfect care of him during a serious illness which he had while in
prison. I first learned something of the character and habits of
our companions, and which of them seemed most honest. They told me
that we had among us samples of all sorts of persons and opinions.
There were priests, real confessors of Jesus Christ, to be revered
on account of their patience and their charity, others who had
renounced their profession, and declared from the pulpit that they
had formerly only uttered fables. One of these unprincipled
priests, a man still very young, who had served in a regiment,
often said that he did not know why he was kept in prison, for on
every occasion since the Revolution he had done whatever he had
been desired to do. When civic festivals were given in the village
of Chantilly he had been the composer of couplets. He wore
habitually the national uniform. We had two abbesses,--the abbess
of the Parc-aux-Dames and the abbess of Royal-Lieu, Madame de
Soulanges, who was nearly eighty years old, and had been
under-governess to Madame Louise at Fontevrault, and was tenderly
beloved by her. During her sojourns in Compèigne the princess used
to go to see her every day. (Madame Louise, daughter of Louis XV.,
a Carmelite at St. Denis, had been brought up at the abbey of
Fontevrault, together with Madame Victoire and Madame Sophie.)
I discovered, soon after my arrival at Chantilly that loss of liberty
unites neither minds nor hearts, and that people are the same in prison
as in the world at large,--jealous, intriguing, false; for there were
among us many spies,--an epithet, however, which was often lightly
bestowed. I endeavoured to be polite to every one, and intimate only
with a very small circle.
I made some visits every day, and received visitors after dinner,
during which time I also worked. Sometimes some patriots whom I
recognized quite well, pretended to be aristocrats, so as to make me
talk; it was without doubt the most disagreeable part of the day. The
time passed without great weariness, for I filled it up with prayer and
reading, and a little walking in a courtyard, walled on four sides, and
very dreary looking. At first we were able to go to the grating and
talk with persons outside; but it was not desired that we should do
this, and to prevent it planks were placed over the grating. These
concealed the outer view and made communication impossible. On the
third story there were terraces on the leads, upon which all our
windows opened; and these windows, in several instances, also served as
doors; only one person could pass through them at a time. It was really
a comical sight, this file of prisoners, dressed in all sorts of
costumes, and going around and around like a panorama. We were
frequently obliged to stop on account of the great number of
promenaders. Mademoiselle de Pons, who played on the piano, accompanied
on the violin by Monsieur de Corberon (an officer of the French Guards,
who was afterwards guillotined), entertained us most agreeably; she
occupied one of the apartments of which I have just spoken. The view
from it was very pleasant,--the most beautiful rippling waters,
numerous villages, a superb forest, fine buildings belonging to the
château, and a green lawn most charming to look upon. I thoroughly
examined every portion of our prison. Several of the large rooms had
been divided by plank partitions which were only six or seven feet
high. Those who occupied these compartments during the winter suffered
excessively from cold. In the rooms which were not so divided there
were put as many as twenty-five persons. I noticed the arrangement of
one of these communities, in which the curtain-less beds were placed so
close together that during the day the prisoners, in order to move
around, were obliged to pile them up on top of one another. Here is a
list of the individuals occupying this room: A republican general and
his wife, a curate from Noyon, twenty-seven years old, several young
men, two estimable mothers of families, with five or six daughters from
fourteen to twenty years. In another there were a soldier with two or
three nuns. The one next to mine contained a general, called Monsieur
de Coincy, eighty-three years old, who still retained his strength, his
wife, his son, his daughter, a nun of the Visitation, and
Mesdemoiselles de Grammont-Caderousse, the eldest of whom was about
fourteen. A special annoyance in our prison was the mingling of the
sexes in the same lodging. I was the more thankful for my little cell.
Marchand, the commissioner of the Revolutionary army, came to make me a
visit; he found nothing to complain of in the furnishing of my
apartment, which was composed of a servant's bed, two chairs, and a
table. The beds and the trunks served as seats when the company was too
numerous. Generally luxury was an offence to him. I told him he could
find no fault with mine. I was mistaken; he answered that I as well as
my parents had once had too much of it. He went from one end to the
other of the place, and took it into his head, in order to annoy those
ladies who seemed somewhat careful of their toilets, to order them to
have their hair cut off; and he also sent _sans-culottes_ to sleep in
their rooms. These poor fellows were as much worried at this as those
who were compelled to submit to it. They used to come as late as they
possibly could and go away very early in the morning. They were very
well behaved, with the exception of a cobbler from Compiègne, of whom
his hosts complained bitterly; he was ill-tempered and annoying. One of
his comrades, probably better reared, came near dying of colic through
his politeness in not wishing to awaken those with whom he was forced
to lodge.
Care had been taken, in order to avoid too active a correspondence
between the prisoners and outsiders, to send those who were inhabitants
of the district of Senlis to the abbey of St. Paul at Beauvais, and
those of Beauvais, to Chantilly. We could not write even to our
parents, nor could we receive news from them without a great deal of
trouble. Of all the privations we were forced to undergo, this was the
hardest to bear. While Notté was at the head of the house, the
prisoners continually complained of him, though our situation was
endurable. The wretched are naturally fault-finding.
I assured them that if he went away it would be worse for us; and so it
actually happened. This man was passionate but not wicked. I had found
out that one should never ask him anything in the presence of other
persons, because he feared lest they might be indiscreet; but in
private he was quite accommodating. I never had any reason to complain
of him. By one of the strange chances of the Revolution, he is now in
want, and at the very time when I am writing this memoir, is soliciting
my protection, which I would willingly grant him if it were better
worth having.
I was generally strictly obedient to the rules of the household, and
consequently had to endure fewer annoyances than those who strove to
evade them. It is true that they changed so frequently that it was
difficult to keep the run of them.
We were guarded at first by the gendarmerie, afterward by the National
Guard of Chantilly. I was informed of this by a carpenter who, while
doing some work in my room, told me he was now our military commander.
I found it necessary to ask his permission to do something the next
day, and I did so in such a serious manner that Madame Séguier, who was
present, could not help laughing.
The Revolutionary army succeeded the National Guard, and made its
entrance into the house in a manner suitable to the functions with
which it was charged. At ten o'clock in the evening we learned that
there were cannon pointed toward the château, and at the same moment we
heard the grating open amid songs which sounded more like rage than
joy. The van-guard was preceded by cannon, drums, and torches. Women
mingled with the procession. The refrain of 'Ça ira, les aristocrates à
la lanterne!' was repeated with stubborn animosity. My neighbours were
seized with terror, and rushed trembling into my apartment. I reassured
them as well as I could without knowing why, except that the feeling of
fear is one to which I do not readily yield.
When the troop had finished its dances and songs in the courtyard, and
gone through a sort of march, it placed its sentinels and retired. I
had the full benefit of the performance, as my windows opened on the
courtyard.
I cannot now remember the exact time, but a few days after the scene I
have just described took place, several prisoners were sent to the
prisons at Paris, among them Monsieur de Vernon, Master of Horse to the
king, who had gout in his hands, but on whom they put handcuffs. A
curate named Daniel was sent off with him. They were taken to the
prison of the Carmelites on the Rue de Vaugirard. A party of thirty
persons followed them immediately. Madame de Pontevès seeing them
carrying off her husband, asked a commissioner named Martin for
permission to go with him. He answered her roughly, granted her
request, and then separated them when they reached Paris. One of them
was put in the Madelonnettes, and the other in Ste. Pélagie. In order
to fill the prisons of Paris it was sometimes necessary to draw
recruits from the neighbouring prisons; for this purpose different
pretexts were made. Evil designs were imputed to the prisoners,--such
as anti-revolutionary projects; for instance, one was called an
agitator if he spoke to the keeper or to the commissioner in order to
make known his wants.
When any one came to inspect us I kept in the background. I was
obliged, however, to appear before Martin, the commissioner
extraordinary, who was accompanied by a man with a red cap, and had a
roll-call of all the prisoners. He only asked me my name. A sort of
officer who was with them said that he had dined once at the house of
Monsieur de Duras, at Bordeaux, and had been very well entertained. I
did not continue the conversation. Some of the prisoners pleaded their
causes, and petitioned to be allowed to go free. I withdrew as soon as
I possibly could.
Monsieur de Saint-Souplet, the king's esquire, who was constantly
worrying about getting the news, was taken away, arraigned before the
Revolutionary tribunal, and perished on the scaffold with his father,
who was eighty years old, and one of his brothers. He was denounced by
one of his servants; but the latter was guillotined with him for not
having betrayed his master sooner. We now began to hear of a great many
executions; that of Madame de Larochefoucauld-Durtal caused me intense
sorrow, and also made me extremely anxious for the future. She was a
widow of thirty years, lived a most retired life, caring for her
parents, and occupied solely with their happiness and with works of
charity. She was carried off from the Anglaises, where she had been
imprisoned with her mother, who was very old and extremely infirm. She
was taken before the Revolutionary tribunal as a witness for her uncle,
Monsieur de l'Aigle, whose mind was affected. He compromised her in
consequence of his weakness of mind, and the address of a letter which
did not belong to her was made a pretext to remove her from the
position of witness to that of criminal. Sentence was passed at once
upon her. As something was the matter with the guillotine that day, she
spent twenty-four hours in the record-office awaiting her execution;
during this time she lovingly and zealously exhorted her uncle to meet
death bravely. She assured him many times that she forgave him for
being the cause of her own death; and after having somewhat aroused his
senses, she showed him how to die resignedly.
I could not understand how it was that the prisoners who were every day
hearing sad news should feel the need of being amused. They assembled
to play with high stakes, have music, dance, etc. A Monsieur Leloir, an
architect from Paris, and quite facetious, was the leader of all the
amusements. I was constantly invited to join them, but always refused.
Notté was sent away from the place, and a grocer from Chantilly, named
Vion, became our keeper. This was the golden age of our house. Leloir
had influence over him, and as he was one of the prisoners, we reaped
the benefit of it; but the commissioners of the Revolutionary
committees of the neighbouring villages, the greater part of whom were
employed about us, were able to persecute us. In fact, any one could do
so who chose to take the trouble. I will give an example of this which
is ludicrous enough: A man named Bizoti, employed as a wagoner, had the
curiosity to pay us a visit, and took real pleasure in abusing all the
priests. There was an old maid from Vandeuil, once fond of the chase,
who was in the habit of wearing a costume somewhat masculine, composed
of a man's hat and a dressing-gown. The wagoner-citizen said to her: 'I
know you; you are a curate;' and then he addressed to her the same
abusive language he had used to the priests. Loud bursts of laughter
followed this. I sometimes went to see this spinster, who was very
original.
I was very fond of the family of Monsieur de Boury, a captain of the
French Guards, who had a wife and ten children. They are examples of
every virtue; the father is truly religious, honourable, and well
instructed; the wife is sweet and good. The harmony that pervades their
life recalls that of the old Patriarchs. They were entirely resigned to
the decrees of Providence, and preached to us by their example. A
number of pious prisoners used to gather in their apartment for prayer
and edifying reading. In all the house it was the spot I enjoyed most.
It seemed to me that there one breathed purer air than anywhere else.
My chief amusement was to watch from my window the young people of
fourteen or fifteen, who played foot-ball in the courtyard, forgetful
of their captivity, and never dreaming that execution could await them.
Alas! The Terror laid hold on one of them. Young Goussainville, only
fifteen years old, was beheaded with his father. Several of the
prisoners had brought their children with them, even nursing babies.
(Madame de Maupeou was nursing one.) These children were of all ages; I
could never understand how any one dared bring them into houses so full
of dangers, to say nothing of the bad air. The laws now forbid persons
to be received among the prisoners who desire to be there for the
purpose of caring for those they love, which is very wise. We had at
Chantilly several examples of that sort of devotion. The spirit of
everything there was, in general, better than in the prison where I
have since been.
Our keepers took a notion to put us at a common table, and this custom
was afterward elegantly called 'eating in mess.' At first, during our
sojourn at Chantilly, we were fed by eating-house keepers, established
at the château. The keeper Désignon was one of the number. He served,
beyond comparison, the worst fare to his customers; but I took it from
motives of policy, knowing that he had more consideration for those
whose food he furnished. He never failed in respect to me. Although he
was only the subaltern of the commissioner, he arrogated the right to
abuse those of the prisoners who asked to change their lodgings or to
be less crowded together in the rooms they were occupying. The new
arrangement was a calamity for him, since he had contracted with the
government to supply all those who could not pay for their own food,
and of these there was a large number.
A table was set in the gilded gallery of the Petit Château,[3] without
a cloth, and with two hundred covers. The tables were reset three
times, for there were many more than six hundred prisoners in the
house; but the old and infirm were allowed to remain in their
apartments. One of the tables was occupied by priests and unmarried
men, the second by married people and children, the third by those who
were alone; and this was my situation. The places were all numbered,
and each of us had a duplicate number. When the bell rang, we came like
children going to school, with baskets, in which were our plates,
goblets, etc. Often the previous dinner was not over, and we had to
stand a long time in groups in the drawing-room, which was next the
gallery. We ate soup, which was only water with a few lentils such as
are fed to horses, grass for spinach, sprouted potatoes, and a
perfectly disgusting stew called _ratatouille_. I suppose that this
word is not in the dictionary of the Academy, and that the Institute is
not likely to put it there. We rose from the table hungry. There was a
very hearty young man to whom we used to send all that was left at our
table, in order to appease his hunger in some degree.
The members of the Revolutionary committee, with the officers of our
guard, marched around our table with their red caps on their heads.
There was one of them--the peruke-maker for the whole company--who
watched us closely, to see if any one abstained from meat. Under such
circumstances it was not easy to keep Lent. Many persons, however, did
keep it strictly, although the grand vicars of the diocese had exempted
three days.
Our tables were surrounded by sentinels of the Revolutionary army. I
sometimes conversed with them. I found one among them to whom his
service was extremely disagreeable. He was a servant whom want had
compelled to take such a wretched position. He pitied us, and would
willingly have afforded some alleviation of our terrible condition. One
of the guards' duties was to accompany, with drawn sabres, the
washerwomen when they came to bring and carry away our linen. This
performance was truly humiliating, and I made some effort to avoid its
most embarrassing details.
One day a commissioner delivered a most atrocious reproof to the
keeper. He told him that there did not enough prisoners die in the
house. In fact, through lack of care, the bad food, and the incapacity
of the health officers, a great many would have died; but Providence
protected them, and their constitutions held out much better than could
have been expected.
One day as we were dining in the gallery of the Petit Château, I
recalled the beautiful pictures which formerly adorned it, the armour
of the great Condé, pierced with bullets, his victories represented by
the great painters, all the festivals I had attended in that place; but
happily these ideas came to me rarely. I generally had there very
commonplace thoughts; those which concerned my bill of fare,--such as
the endeavour to introduce into it, by means of bribery, a pound of
butter or a few eggs,--absorbed me. In this connection I had a very
amusing encounter with our new commissioner, named Perdrix. This man
had a grotesque figure, and wore a costume not less so. His former
profession had been to paint the dogs of Monsieur the Prince of Condé.
He probably imagined it would add to his dignity to be more severe than
his predecessors. We were allowed to speak to him only through an
opening made in the wall. I one day presented myself at this strange
parlour to ask him to allow me to have six pounds of chocolate which he
had held back; he replied with dignity that he would allow me exactly
as much of it as was good for my stomach. I assured him that in order
to have the dose exact the only way was to have me breakfast every
morning with the surgeon, and said moreover, that I wanted to give it
to a sick man. He did not grant my request, and I went away somewhat
angry at not being able to obtain the nourishment which kept up my
strength. My charwoman, who fortunately was also his, brought back to
me the full supply the next day.
I will leave off these small details, and tell how a poor soldier of
the Revolutionary army, the father of a family, being unacquainted with
Chantilly, arrived there in the night, and losing his way, fell into
one of the moats which surrounded the castle. At daybreak some of the
prisoners saw the man struggling and screaming. Monsieur de
Bouquerolle, an officer of the navy, who knew how to swim (he was the
eldest son of the much respected family of Boury), started to go into
the water after him. The sentinel prevented his doing so, telling him
that it was a prisoner who had escaped, and left the man to perish. His
body was found afterward, and it was recognized as that of one of their
own men. Monsieur de Corberon and a curate asked that the body should
be brought into the house, in order to try the usual means of restoring
the drowned to life. This was granted them; and they used every means
in their power for several hours, but without success. After this act
of cruelty one can imagine how incensed the prisoners were. Well, they
had their revenge in taking up a collection for the widow and children
which amounted to six hundred francs. These were the people who during
the Revolution were called criminals.
The parties sent off increased in number to an alarming degree. Each
day when one went off we were filled with consternation. Husbands were
separated from their wives, mothers from their children; and those who
had no interests so dear had to regret some one of their companions. We
did not know where they were taken, nor what took place in the prisons
at Paris. For my part, I imagined them to be still worse than ours; and
I was quite right, in spite of the continual vexations, hunger, and
daily anxieties which we experienced.
One evening as I was taking a walk on the terraces in the delightful
moonlight, which gleamed over the forest and made the waters sparkle,
my ears delighted by the rippling sound, my eyes taking in all the
beauty which surrounded me, I congratulated myself upon being, after
all, less unfortunate than a great many persons whom I loved and
respected. The wretched situation of my parents came over me at that
moment so terribly that I shed tears. I scarcely ever received news
from them, or from any of the friends who were dear to me.
Eatables were forbidden to be brought to us, lest letters should be
concealed in them; and this reduced us sometimes to the necessity of
eating soup made of salt and water only.
The Revolutionary guard took it into their heads to go on patrol from
ten to eleven o'clock in the evening. They put out the lights, and made
the prisoners go to bed. One day the soldiers came with drawn sabres
into the apartment of Madame de Boursonne (former lady-in-waiting to
Mesdames), who was very ill from hemorrhage, and had a constant fever.
They went up to her bed, examined her closely, and said aloud 'that
they would not have the trouble of visiting her long.' She came near
dying after they went out. These kind fellow-citizens frequently had
the goodness to forget to come to see me, because they knew that my
cell was somewhat apart from the others.
Suddenly a party of forty prisoners were set at liberty in accordance
with a command from their communes, under a law which granted the
communes this right. There was general rejoicing among those who
departed, and sweet hope for those who remained; but it was seen that
by this means the prisons would be emptied, and the law was repealed. I
was glad to take leave of two good Sisters of Charity from Noyon,
thinking of all they would do for the poor whom they cared for so
tenderly; but scarcely had a few prisoners been set at liberty when a
larger number came to replace them. The districts of Beauvais, Noyon,
Senlis, and Compiègne were most zealous in gathering recruits. We never
had any vacancies. One day I met an old nun whom I did not know, bent
with age and infirmities, who seemed to be suffering terrible pain in
the side of her face. One of her companions told me that as she was
getting into the wagon which brought her to Chantilly she made the sign
of the cross; and one of the soldiers of the escort was so indignant
that he gave her a frightful blow on her cheek which broke several of
her teeth. How horrible! I took great pleasure in visiting these holy
virgins, who were inconsolable at being compelled to leave their
retreats where peace and innocence reigned. In order to console them
for this, they were lodged so close to the coarsest men in the house
that they constantly heard things said which made them very unhappy.
They endured their strange and terrible situation with perfect
resignation, and never failed to read their office as though they were
in their convent.
My companions in misfortune differed very much; there were some who, in
the hope of obtaining their liberty, undertook the rôle of informer.
Several of them tried to sound me; they were not rewarded for their
trouble. When they told me tales I would not listen, but immediately
changed the conversation.
One thing which astonishes me as I look back is how little I suffered
from _ennui_ during my captivity. My thoughts were confined within a
very narrow sphere. They dwelt upon my regret at being separated from
those I loved and upon the needs of my daily life. The want of
exercise, which is absolutely necessary to me from habits contracted in
my childhood, gave me too great fulness of blood. I had violent rushes
of blood to the head, and also rheumatism. Once on awakening I felt so
stunned that I called the hospital nurse, who lodged near me. She
thought I was dying, and went for help. This condition, which was
really dangerous, was relieved by vomiting. I fell asleep; and when I
woke I found myself surrounded by kind people, to whom I acknowledged
my gratitude, and then burst into tears. They did not know what to make
of it. I excused myself, and explained to them that once several years
before I had had a similar attack, when I was surrounded by friends and
relatives, and now I was terribly alone. I regained my composure, and
then went out into the air.
The weak condition to which I was reduced made me unable to restrain
the feelings and emotions which these sad memories aroused, though
generally I have an aversion to speaking of what grieves me. The health
officer of the prison was sent for; he was a violent revolutionist,
small, very dark, uneducated, and dressed in a _carmagnole_, the
uniform of the _sans-culottes_. Being difficult to bleed, I dared not
have him bleed me, although I was in great need of it. He put leeches
on my neck, which eased the pains in my head.
Very disturbing news reached us from Paris, and those were the only
tidings which could come to us. It was reported that we were to be
interrogated by means of blanks, which must be filled up. I had a great
dread of this kind of torture on account of my love of truth, which
might compromise both myself and others. Heaven did not allow them to
realize this base project.
One of the prisoners died from the mistaken treatment of that imbecile
surgeon, who, without asking him if he had hernia, gave him an emetic,
which caused his death in twenty-four hours.
The treatment of the sick was terrible; no medicine was given them, no
one was appointed to nurse them, and even the prisoners were forbidden
to show them any attention. I once saw five cases of putrid fever in
one room. A respectable girl from Crépy, who stayed in the apartment,
was obliged to spend every night waiting on the patients. A good
schoolmaster, who also was in the room, helped her as well as he could.
I have seen him since, with great pleasure, and I entertain a real
esteem for him.
Madame de Boursonne, who had recovered from her illness, and from the
visit of the revolutionists, heard that Monsieur d'Ecquevilly, her
father, was dying at Amiens. One may imagine her great desire to go to
him and hear his last words; but an insurmountable barrier was placed
between us and those dear to us. She could only hope to hear frequently
from him, being very near him; but our keeper, Perdrix, refused even
this, and kept all letters addressed to her. After a fortnight of
terrible suspense had passed, he sent for her to come to him; this was
for the purpose of reading to her, in the presence of every one, the
letter announcing the death of her father, without even allowing her to
have it, which at least would have given her the consolation of
learning the details. Poor Madame de Boursonne was in a terrible state.
I did everything in my power for her, and took her back to her own room.
One day as I was sitting alone in my chamber some officers of our guard
came in with Monsieur Lambert, the Commissioner of War. The dread of
something frightful was the first thing that flashed across my mind;
but I was mistaken in my fear. This Monsieur Lambert, to whom I had
rendered services under the old régime, had expressed a desire to see
the place and my little cell. I made no sign of recognition because of
the fear I had always had since the Revolution of compromising those
who wished me well. When the officers were going out he let them pass
before him, and said to me that if I had need of his services and
wished to send off any letters he would take charge of them, and would
be delighted to do me any kindness. I cannot tell how touched I was by
this proposition, which, however, I was unwilling to accept. During the
Reign of Terror the slightest kindness offered to persons of our rank
was so dangerous that I still feel grateful to him for his good will.
Perdrix did not spoil us. Several of us asked him for a copy of our
entry in the jail-book; this seemed a small favour, but we could not
obtain it. The clerk of the commune of Chantilly came quite frequently
to the château, in order to give certificates of residence. He showed a
sort of interest in the prisoners. Whenever they were not harshly
treated it was on account of the natural amiability of individuals.
Monsieur Wallon, of Beauvais, having confidence in the clerk,
commissioned him to procure some money for him; he accepted the
commission graciously, and disappeared. I never should have imagined it
necessary to have one's residence in a prison certified. It seemed to
me that to make a list of those who were there would have been
sufficient; but it turned out very well for me that I took the
precaution I thought superfluous, as I was inscribed upon the list of
_émigrés_ during my imprisonment.
I was not pleased at the reception given a fat curate from Noyon who
had apostatized, and had denounced and caused to be imprisoned a good
many of our fellow-prisoners. He was hooted at from the head of any
stairway he attempted to ascend; and the crowd pushed him back, and
used syringes upon him. I was very sorry to see a man so lost to
principle among us; but I should have preferred not to see any
unfortunate being insulted. Any one is unfortunate who has lost his
liberty; and those who are wicked are the most to be pitied under such
circumstances. I was sorry also for those who, instead of thinking of
more serious things, fed themselves with vain hopes concerning the
future, and the possibility of shaking off their fetters.
I grew accustomed to living at Chantilly, and my companions in
misfortune treated me with great kindness. Madame de Séguier and
Mademoiselle le Caron de Troupure, now Madame Flomond, both amiable and
excellent women, were a great comfort to me. I tried to help those who
needed courage. The Coincy family, who lodged near me, were good
company. I had great consolation from a religious point of view. A
venerable priest undertook to confess me, and even to give me the
communion. He had had the courage to bring a large supply of
consecrated wafers, and had kept them in spite of the danger he ran
should the fact have been discovered.
I was quite content with my fate, since I was compelled to endure a
hard one. I could not have asked to be in a better prison; Providence
had placed me there, and six months sojourn had accustomed me to it.
Toward the end of March, 1794, I received a letter from my mother, full
of kindness, but which grieved me very much. She told me that she had
thought it astonishing that I made no application to the government
commissioners who came to Chantilly, to be allowed to join her. This
intimation seemed to be an order and a command of Providence which
altered my destiny. I immediately inquired when Citizen Martin, who
inspected our house, was to come. I presented him a petition, asking to
be sent to the Luxembourg by the first train destined for Paris. He
assented, and then occupied himself in getting ready a most atrocious
party, composed of young girls who were torn from the arms of their
mothers without knowing for what they were destined.
Many persons believed, and it was really talked of, that the intentions
of the Terrorists was to marry them to _sans-culottes_. To this party
were added some priests, women, laymen, etc. The unhappy mothers were
in despair. I was a witness of the scene with Madame de Pons (formerly
Vicomtesse) at Perdrix's apartments. She fell on her knees before him
and before Martin; she said everything to them that the desperation of
such a moment could suggest, using the most touching expressions; they
would listen to nothing. She fell fainting at their feet. After she
recovered her consciousness, she implored to be permitted at least to
follow her daughter; they refused her.
I forgot to say that a moment before Madame de Pons came to see Perdrix
the latter had sent for her daughter, and in the presence of Martin and
two gendarmes said to her,
'What is your name?'
'Pons.'
'Yes, but give your Christian names.'
'You should speak to my mother; I will go for her.'
'No, no; I ask you for your names.'
'There they are. May I know what use you have for them?'
'You will leave here with other prisoners to-morrow, to go to another
prison.'
'Without mamma! O God! What will be my fate?'
'Go, or I will have you carried out.'
Madame de Pons wrote several letters to Martin, asking only for a
delay; she offered all her property to the Republic; and the only
answer she received was, 'Your daughter must go!'
I busied myself in arranging my trunks and packing them for the
Luxembourg, so as to have with me only what was strictly necessary. On
the 3d of April, 1794, we were told to hold ourselves in readiness to
leave the next day or the day following, as the carriages were
expected. My travelling companions were in despair at leaving their
parents, but I delighted at going to see mine once more; every one said
pleasant things to me. I received many testimonials of interest and
regret from the prisoners. There were some from whom I was grieved to
part, and a secret presentiment (though generally I do not believe in
them) seemed to warn me that the reunion with my parents would never be
effected. The days of the 3d and 4th were passed in leave-taking. I did
not know that the train was to start early on the 5th, the anniversary
of the birth of my son. I was summoned at ten o'clock in the morning. I
found the wagons almost full; consequently I had a wretched seat next a
vile woman who boasted of being a friend of Robespierre, and told us
that she would receive on the way some marks of public interest. She
sat almost half on top of me; and to add to our suffering, the straw
which is usually put in the bottom of the carts for calves, was left
out. When we left, the courtyard was filled with our companions in
misery, who were mourning and sighing over our fate. They concealed
their tears, fearing to let them be seen.
Our procession stopped as it passed out of the gate, in order to have
the roll-call, lest some prisoner should have escaped; we were as
accustomed to it as the soldiers were. We were surrounded by the
National Guard, and remained an hour under the windows of the château,
in sight of mothers disconsolate at the removal of their daughters, and
who, with their hands raised to heaven, were giving them their
blessings. That sad sight is still distinctly before me. How many of
those who gave those blessings and of those who looked on were
sacrificed on the scaffold! I should like to be able to depict and
describe fully all that terrible and touching scene, but I cannot. As
for me I was terribly overcome, but I struggled to hide it.
The train was put in command of a printer's apprentice from Beauvais,
who went ahead of us. The first cart was filled with young girls, the
second with women, and three others with men. The vehicles were
surrounded by musketeers. We started at eleven o'clock in the morning,
in very bad weather. A terribly cold wind was blowing, and there were
no covers to our wagons.
At the entrances of towns and villages our escort was gathered
together, and we entered with dignity, drums beating.
In some places, particularly at Creil-sur-Oise, gestures indicating the
cutting off of the head were made to us. In a village called La Mortaye
a dozen persons suddenly appeared, who came to see my heavy neighbour,
and whispered to her that she would not be much longer in prison.
When we reached Mesnil-Aubry we were made to get out at an inn,--that
is, the women and young girls at one, and the men at another. It was
Saturday. I obtained the favour of an omelette. Immediately after
dinner it was demanded of us that we should pay on the spot the
expenses of our removal; I refused to do this, saying truly that I had
no money. Mademoiselle de Pons obeyed, and gave a hundred and
ninety-two francs. The women whose husbands were in the train asked
permission to go to see them while the horses were resting, but could
not obtain it. The notorious Martin, of whom I have already had
occasion to speak several times, came to inspect us, and placed himself
at the head of our train when it started off. He was in a gilded
_berline_, drawn by post horses, and seated in front was a small clerk,
about twelve years old. I said to myself, 'Unfortunate child, what an
education this Terrorism is!' Along the way he reviewed us as though he
were a superior officer, going from end to end of our melancholy
column, to see if it was coming up in order. Sometimes our horses began
to trot, and we were terribly jolted. As we were approaching Paris, my
side, which was pressed against the wagon, with nothing between, began
to hurt me very much. My love of books, and the fear of being without
them, had caused me to fill two pairs of pockets with them, and they
thumped against me. If we had been obliged to go any farther I should
have been compelled to change my position, but I could not make up my
mind to ask any favour of the friend of Robespierre.
The train stopped about eight o'clock in the evening at St. Denis.
Martin left us. The officer of the guard separated the men from the
women, in order to take the former to the Luxembourg. It began to rain,
and continued until we reached Paris. Our conductors did not know the
streets. We implored them to tell us where we were going; their reply
was that they knew nothing about it. After driving us around until
eleven o'clock in the darkness, they came to the gates of the
Madelonnettes. We had great difficulty in making the porter hear, and
he said that no women were received in that house, that Ste. Pélagie,
which was set apart for them, was quite full, but that we would find
room in the Plessis, an old college of the University, Rue St. Jacques,
next to that of Louis-le-Grand. Our guards, who were but human, were
overcome with fatigue, and impatient to put us down in some prison or
other. I saw that we were taking the way to the Conciergerie; then
frightful thoughts rushed over me, and also a suspicion that our end
was near at hand if we were to be confined there. But we passed by
without stopping, and I felt more tranquil the remainder of the way.
The gate of the Collège du Plessis was the end of our journey. Our
conductor knocked there a long time without attracting any notice;
perhaps no one heard, or perhaps the porter did not wish to be aroused.
It was one o'clock. At last in the darkness the gates were opened; we
did not know where we were. I feared lest the cart in which the young
girls were had been separated from the train. I perceived it as we were
entering the courtyard, and had a sad satisfaction in seeing them again
even in so wretched a place. We passed under an archway and stopped.
Our guards were kind enough to assist us to descend from our rude
vehicles; we should scarcely have had strength to do so without their
help, weary and bruised as we were from our fourteen hours' journey.
The first object to attract my attention was a man dressed in a sort of
dressing-gown, who said he was the porter. He had an enormous bunch of
keys hanging from his belt, and carried a lantern, by the light of
which I saw gratings, enormous bars of iron, heaps of stone and other
materials,--in short, the general appearance of a prison which was
being enlarged. We were taken through several gratings, and were
immediately surrounded by drunken jailers,--great heavily built men,
half naked, with their sleeves rolled up, and red caps on their heads,
and whose speech was suited to their costumes. I trembled at the sight
of these creatures, who seemed to wish to be familiar with our young
girls. I immediately proposed to the ladies who came with me that we
should each take one of them under our care, so as to protect them
against this vulgar herd. They agreed to my proposition. Mademoiselle
de Pons, who has since married Monsieur de Tourzel, fell to my charge.
I warned her not to get behind me, but to hold on to my dress, and not
leave me for a moment. One of the jailers, who was a regular Goliath,
began to read the list of those who composed our train, and could
scarcely decipher it. Detention in the gate-house being impossible, he
conducted us to a large hall where there was not a single pane of glass
in the windows, and only wooden benches to sit on. We were suffering
terribly from thirst; the worst of the jailers, named Baptiste, brought
us a bucket of water, which we hailed with intense delight. A moment
after he brought another for other purposes. The visit of this man,
Baptiste, was accompanied by speeches such as we had never before
heard, and which filled me with horror, particularly on account of our
young friends. About two o'clock in the morning our keeper appeared; he
had been absent when we arrived. His name was Haly; his face was pale
and livid. He smiled as he saw the young girls, and said to them, 'My
children, you have not yet been entered in the jail-book. I keep you
here only for humanity's sake. This house is at the disposal of the
public accuser, Fouquier-Tinville, and is only destined for the
anti-revolutionists; you do not seem to be such. To-morrow your report
will be made out, and I will inform you of your destination.'
Every one tried to speak to him. I had my turn, and told him that as I
had never been denounced I was only to be classed among the suspected;
that I ought not to be kept in his prison; and that I had left
Chantilly in order to be transferred to the Luxembourg. I implored him
to have me sent there. Several persons told him he had no right to keep
us; he paid no attention to what they said, and had the mattresses,
which had been brought in the wagons, brought in. I had not taken the
precaution to bring one, and consequently passed the night seated on a
small wooden bench, occupied in trying to conceal the small amount of
paper money I had with me. I did not sleep a moment; neither did my
companions. As the day dawned I saw with delight that our young girls
were sleeping sweetly and peacefully. I said to myself, 'At their age
one has had neither the experience of misfortune nor the anxiety born
of foresight.' The thought of seeing my parents during the day cheered
my sad heart. It was extremely cold. Baptiste came in, accompanied by
several of his comrades, who regarded us with a ferocious sort of
pleasure, judging that we were good recruits for their house, and that
they would have a good share of our purses. One of them, a former
lackey of Madame de Narbonne, recognized me, and behaved very properly
toward me. A gendarme, whose name I never learned, came up to me and
whispered in my ear, 'Hide your money and your jewels. They will leave
you only fifty francs in paper money, and will take away your knives
and your scissors.' I thanked him, and he retired. Although the great
mental agony we endured caused us to pay but little heed to our
physical needs, we nevertheless became extremely hungry. We had taken
nothing to eat since the day before, and had endured excessive physical
and mental fatigue. We petitioned our jailers for food, and after
keeping us waiting two hours they brought us some coffee and chocolate.
I breakfasted with the pleasant feeling of alleviating suffering for a
moment at least. Martin came in afterward to get a cloak which had been
lent to Madame de Vassy; he looked at us sternly. Several went up to
him to ask something of him, among them the young girls, who were
extremely anxious to let their mothers know what had become of them.
They gave him some notes for this purpose, but these never reached
their destination.
I implored the said Martin (I may speak of him in this way under the
circumstances) to send me to the Luxembourg; he gave me some hope, but
I regarded it as slender. His visit was soon over. Up to this time the
National Guard of Chantilly had remained with us; it was now replaced
by jailers who never left us. A new face appeared; it was an inspector
named Grandpré, who had quite a pleasing countenance. Being astonished
at seeing us in this prison, and a little touched by our forlorn
situation, he promised to endeavour to have us transferred to a house
for suspected persons, and me in particular to the Luxembourg. Haly,
our keeper, now came in, and said that our fate had been decided,--that
we were entered on the jail-book as agitators and as refractory to
discipline at the house at Chantilly. A cry of surprise and grief
arose, but our keeper was deaf to all complaints. My companions
deserved such terms as little as I did; and I declare that after my
conduct there, submitting as I did to all the wishes of the
commissioners, meddling with nothing, complaining of nothing, being
taken to Paris at my own request, I was more completely astonished than
I can express. The false accusations were certainly the least of my
woes,--innocence easily consoles itself; but to see myself deprived of
the delight of rejoining my parents made my heart ache, and all the
more because I was very sure that they would fully share my sorrow.
We were obliged to resign ourselves to remaining under the immediate
rule of Fouquier-Tinville, shut up with those directly accused, and
consequently treated more severely than the suspected. We remained
fifteen hours in that hall, into which we had been thrown rather than
conducted. If we went out for necessary purposes we were escorted by
two musketeers; most of us preferred to suffer rather than take such a
promenade. The day wore away; we saw a movement among our jailers.
Following the example of one of my pious companions, I had got into a
corner of the hall to recite my mass and office. It was Passion Sunday;
following the example of our divine Master we forgave insult, and tried
to imitate his patience.
We were given to understand that we could write and receive letters, a
pleasure of which we had been deprived at Chantilly. Mademoiselle de
Pons received one letter, which gave us some little hope. Toward
evening a rumour spread that we were to be searched and put in
lodgings. We sought new means of concealing our watches and our paper
money. The keeper ordered us to appear before him two by two to be
registered; he then informed us that it was the custom of the house to
turn over to him all scissors, knives, forks, and watches, because such
things could be used to file away the bars. Afterward he demanded all
our jewels and money with the exception of fifty francs in _assignats_.
He had the politeness not to search us, saying that he would dispense
with that out of respect for us. I gave up to him all he required,
except a few _assignats_ and a small and very ugly brass clock, which
was precious to me because it had sounded in my hearing the last hours
of the lives of my dear friends Mesdames de Chaulnes and de Mailly. The
keeper would not leave it with me, in spite of the sorrow I assured him
I felt in giving it up, alleging the same reason that he gave when he
demanded the watches. When this agreeable operation was over we were
told to follow the jailers. They made us mount to the very top of the
building, passing through a grating on each floor, fastened by enormous
bolts and guarded by four men. We had to go through these two at a time.
At last we reached our own rooms. Mademoiselle de Pons had not left my
side since we reached Plessis; we took the measure of our habitation,
and found that with some management we had room enough for two beds,
placing the head of one at the foot of the other. This sweet girl burst
into tears when she saw our poor little establishment, sat down on a
mattress beside me, and said, 'We shall surely die. It is impossible to
live in such a contracted place. O God! may none of my friends ever
come here!'
I did my best to arouse her courage, which had quite vanished, and to
remove her dislike at living so intimately with an old woman by
assuring her that I had no disease. Our furniture consisted of two
chairs; our mattresses were on the floor, and the wall served as our
pillow. Fortunately it was freshly whitened, and consequently clean.
The bolts were fastened,--a sad moment; for the sound they made told us
that until morning, no matter what happened, it was impossible for us
to receive any assistance. We were told that a jailer of the guard
would answer if we called; but I heard one of my neighbours cry all
night with pain, and no one went to help her.
My first night's rest was excellent. The intense fatigue I had suffered
the preceding days made me sleep. My young companion slept soundly and
late. When daylight appeared I found we had a fine view; I could see
the whole city of Paris. I reflected sadly upon the terrible condition
of my unhappy country, once so far-famed as a place where one could
spend peaceful, happy days. I thought of all the horrors which were
being committed there; the tears rose to my eyes, but I dried them
quickly so as not to discourage Mademoiselle de Pons when she first
awakened.
About eight o'clock in the morning the bolts were drawn and the keeper,
Haly, came in, followed by an enormous dog. This strange man greeted us
as though we were in one of the old-time châteaux where abundance,
peace, and pleasure reigned. He even seemed astonished that we were not
charmed with the pleasant lodgings he had given us. After he was gone,
and our companions' bolts were drawn, we eagerly gathered together, and
had no trouble in finding one another, as the corridor on which we were
lodged was only three feet wide. The first thing to be done was to
arrange about our meals. It was only after repeated requests that we
received permission to go down six steps to get water. The jailer who
had charge of us, as well as his comrades, assumed the title of warden,
thinking thus to render their office more honourable. There were three
classes of them, and almost all were drunkards, selfish, rapacious,
lying, while a few were absolutely ferocious. We specially noticed one
of them, who had taken part in the massacre of the 2d of September,
1792. This man, who at this time was our despot, was a sculptor; and I
was astonished that he should have accepted so miserable an employment.
After he had granted us permission to go for water, the need of having
something to eat made itself felt. The mess-table had not then been
established. I inquired how we could procure provisions at a moderate
price. An eating-house keeper sent us our dinner; but before he could
reach the floor on which we lodged, which was the highest in the house,
the food he carried was often taken from him as he passed along on the
other floors. Finding that I could not possibly live in this way, I
sent to learn whether my dinner could be sent me every day from my own
house. Lucas, my father's former clerk, was very anxious that this
should be done; but it was very difficult to find any one in the house
who was willing to bring it to me, as it was considered a dangerous
thing to do, and not very 'civic'. At last an old postilion named
Lerot, whose name I mention with gratitude, had the courage to
undertake it. A neighbour of the Hôtel Mouchy, said openly in the
street, when she saw him go by, that it was not worth while taking me
anything to eat because I was going to be guillotined. Two respectable
ladies clubbed together with me, and we divided our provisions,--they
furnishing some also; and we set about getting them cooked.
Mademoiselle de Pons did not find our fare good enough, and joined with
a woman from Beauvais, and two young girls.
I enter into minute details which would be very tiresome if this memoir
was intended to be read by strangers; but it is for my own relatives
that it is written, and I am too sure of the interest they take in what
I have suffered to omit to mention the least thing.
The rules of our prison were extremely strict. At eight o'clock in the
morning the keepers opened the doors; this was a truly agreeable
moment,--if I may use such an expression in such a connection; then
they wrote our names on the registers, but being so little accustomed
to such matters they never made the list as it should be, and so were
obliged to have the roll-call two or three times a day. One moment they
ordered us to remain inside our rooms, and another we were told to
stand like sentinels at our doors. The locking up, and ascertaining
that each prisoner was in her place, seemed a more solemn affair. The
keeper, followed by the turnkeys, gendarmes, and some large dogs, came
about ten o'clock in the evening or at midnight. This goodly company
made pleasing jokes and a great deal of noise. I always pretended to be
asleep, and made no reply to what they said. It seemed sad that our
sleep, which alone had the power to cause us to forget our troubles,
should be interrupted by that sound which most quickly recalled them.
During the first days after our arrival we spent our time mostly in
sending petitions to Fouquier-Tinville, asking to be reunited to our
families. We have since learned that not one of them reached him. I
eagerly sought for some opportunity of sending or receiving
communications from my parents. At last I discovered that in sending
some trifling thing to the Luxembourg I could add two or three lines,
which at least served to say we were alive. The notes were sent open,
and passed through the hands of the registrars and jailers of Plessis
and the Luxembourg. I suffered intensely at having to inform my parents
that I should not have the consolation of joining them; they tenderly
expressed their deep regret for this. The sight of their handwriting,
after having been so long deprived of it, moved me profoundly; I
received a few words from them every two or three days.
The commissioner, Grandpré, fearing lest our crowded condition should
cause sickness, proposed that we should take the air in the courtyard.
We had a great aversion to going down a hundred steps, passing six
grated iron doors, preceded, accompanied, and followed by keepers. We
refused to do it for some time. Then he told us that if we paid no
regard to his request we should be charged with aristocratic opinions;
consequently, we were obliged to yield, and take the walk. The place
appointed for our promenade was very confined, enclosed by plank
fences, and surrounded by gendarmes, who kept their eyes upon us. We
found there about twenty women who had come from the Conciergerie, and
who were lodged under us without our knowing anything about it. After
conversing with them our fears were redoubled; for they gave us a most
fearful account of that terrible prison, which has been called the
anti-chamber of death. They told us that every day a large number of
victims for the scaffold were sent from there, and that our house was
considered a sort of annex to the Conciergerie. We were entirely
ignorant of what was going on outside our cells. Madame de Vassy, a
pupil of J. J. Rousseau, and daughter of Monsieur de Girardin, had
induced a jailer named Launay, the best of our keepers, to bring her
some newspapers; but this was found out, and was considered an
unpardonable crime. He was taken to another prison and put in irons,
and but for the death of Robespierre would have perished. This man, who
is still living, actually wept when he took us out on our compulsory
airing, which rather seemed like leading out a pack of dogs. Rain or
shine we were taken out for the prescribed time. If some of us wished
to go in sooner than others, we were forbidden to do so, and we were
taken out whenever our keepers chose. The men who lodged near the
stairway were obliged to retire when we passed in front of their
gratings; but their windows looked out upon the space where we were
allowed, or rather ordered, to walk, and there they often recognized
their wives and children,--all those whom they loved, and of whose very
existence they were ignorant.
Only prisoners from Chantilly were now lodged on our corridor. Among
those who came from the Conciergerie were Mesdames de Grimaldi and de
Bussy, from whom we had a full account of all the horrors which were
being enacted there. A few days later Madame de Bussy was carried off,
to be indicted by the Revolutionary tribunal; but her case was not
pressed, and she returned to Plessis. We were just congratulating her
on the subject when she was sent for again, and led to the scaffold.
She had scarcely gone when the jailers seized upon all her effects, and
tried to sell them to us,--an incident which shocked us greatly. We
repelled their disgusting proposition with horror.
The condition of affairs grew worse every day. Parties came to us from
all the Departments; our prison was terribly crowded; the faces
constantly changed. Those who arrived told us of the death of persons
of the highest reputation. We questioned the keeper, but he would give
no explanation of the vague rumours which reached us. I implored him
once more to effect my reunion with my parents, but with no result. He
replied to my earnest solicitations compassionately, 'You do not know
what you are asking; you would certainly not be better off at the
Luxembourg.' He seemed to foresee the horrors which were to take place
there. Alas! I was not thinking of the strictness of the prison rule,
but of the longings of my own heart.
A garden was given us for our promenade-ground instead of the courtyard
surrounded by the plank fence. One day as I was passing very near the
building in which we were living, accompanied by Mesdemoiselles de Pons
and Titon, I saw them pick up a scrap of paper which was thrown out of
the vent-hole of an underground apartment, the window of which they had
neglected to close. There were a few lines written upon it, which were
almost illegible, but which we made out to be, 'Three unfortunate
beings, completely destitute, implore your pity.' The paper was tied to
a string, which was withdrawn. Mademoiselle de Pons, much moved, said
to her companion, 'Is it possible that we are surrounded by such
miserable beings?' She asked my permission to throw them some money,
and I granted it. She wrapped it in a tiny package, and pretended to
pick up a stone, while Mademoiselle Titon let it drop quietly into the
dungeon. We heard a clapping of hands. The eyes of the young girls
filled with tears; and the evening was passed in the satisfied feeling
that they had been able, for a moment at least, to render the situation
of those suffering creatures less wretched.
We never learned what became of them.