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 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 PRISON JOURNALS 
 
 DURING 
 
 THE FRENCH REVOLUTION 
 
 BY 
 
 THE DUCHESSE DE DURAS 
 
 NEE NOAILLES 
 
 Translated by Mrs. M. Carey 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 
 1892
 
 Copyright, 1891, 
 By Dodd, Mead and Company. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 SSnibctsitg Prrss: 
 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Prison Life during the French Revolution 7 
 
 Addenda 139 
 
 Madame Latour's Memoir 159 
 
 Events of the 21st of July, 1794 199 
 
 Narrative of an Eye-witness of the Affair 
 
 OF July 22, 1794 209 
 
 Letter from Madame la Duchesse de Duras, 
 
 nee Noailles, to Monsieur Grelet . . . 227 
 Extract from the ' Mi^morial Europeen/ 
 
 April 24, 1809 229
 
 PRISON LIFE DURING THE 
 FRENCH REVOLUTION.
 
 T WAS put under arrest, together with my 
 father and mother, on August 23, 1793, 
 at our chateau of Mouchy-le-Chatel, in the 
 Department of the Oise. I was taken to the 
 prison at Saint-Franpois k Beauvais, in the 
 old convent, on the 6th of October of the same 
 year and to that at Chantilly on the 20th of 
 the same month. There I remained until the 
 <fth. of April, 1794, when I was transferred to 
 Paris, to the College du Plessis, from which 
 I was liberated on the 19th of the following 
 October.
 
 PRISON LIFE DURING THE 
 FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 WRITTEN IN 1801, THE YEAR IX. OF 
 THE REPUBLIC. 
 
 'T^HE period of my confinement in different 
 ■*■ prisons during the Reign of Terror was so 
 harassing that the idea of writing out its details 
 did not then occur to me ; but when I had the 
 consolation of seeing my son once more, he 
 was desirous of learning all about it. I feared 
 that I should be overcome by my feelings if I 
 tried to relate the details to him, and conse- 
 quently determined to write the following 
 memoirs. 
 
 My parents retired to their estate of Mouchy- 
 le-Chatel, in the Department of the Oise, in the 
 month of September, 1792. I accompanied 
 them thither, and was their sole companion. 
 They resolved, from prudential motives, to re- 
 ceive visits from no one. This privation cost 
 my father nothing, for he was naturally shy,
 
 8 Prison Life 
 
 though the positions he had occupied had forced 
 him to live constantly in the great world. My 
 mother, who loved him dearly, accustomed her- 
 self to retirement with submission to the will 
 of Providence, with the naturally happy dis- 
 position maintained through all the events of 
 her life. 
 
 She loved system in all things, and she intro- 
 duced it so successfully into our daily life that 
 it passed rapidly. Reading, work, play, and 
 walking filled up every moment. My parents 
 took pleasure in furnishing refreshment to the 
 harvesters during their weary labour, in sympa- 
 thizing with their troubles, and in helping them 
 by kindnesses. In spite of the position in 
 which the Revolution placed my father, and the 
 natural repugnance which he declared he felt 
 for those who were engaged in it, he gave 
 volunteers the means of paying their way. My 
 father had, if I may so express myself, a passion 
 for charity. His hands were always ready to 
 bestow, and whenever he received a sum of 
 money he would in a few hours declare, with 
 satisfaction, that he had none of it left. 
 
 He could keep nothing when he knew that 
 others were suffering ; hospital visiting, aid ren- 
 dered in private, all sorts of kind deeds and 
 comforting words, — in fact all good works
 
 During the French Revolution, 9 
 
 were familiar to him ; in these alone he found 
 happiness. 
 
 I have seen him refuse things which he might 
 have considered necessary for himself in order 
 to add to the number of his charities. Yet my 
 father was born with a very unhappy disposi- 
 tion ; the fortune, the honours, and all the 
 pleasures that his position secured him were 
 spoiled by the most miserable discontent. I 
 frequently endeavoured, firmly and respectfully, 
 to show him that Heaven had bestowed every 
 gift upon him, and that nothing was wanting to 
 his position. He listened patiently to what I 
 had to say ; but I did not succeed in convincing 
 him. I worried myself and gained nothing. 
 My mother, on the contrary, often said to me 
 that if she should return to society she would 
 not desire to change her manner of living in the 
 least. She had a charmingly happy disposition, 
 and was never out of humour for a moment. 
 
 Several times during the Revolution it was 
 proposed that I should emigrate. One of my 
 relatives sent for me at different periods, and 
 urged me to consent to do so. I always re- 
 fused, having a great repugnance to leaving my 
 country, and desiring to watch over the old age 
 of my parents, who were already separated from 
 some of their children.
 
 lo Prison Life 
 
 How great would have been my regret had I 
 not remained with them up to the moment when 
 I was deprived of my liberty. I shall retain 
 to my latest breath the memory of their kind- 
 ness, and the tenderest gratitude for the good 
 exam.ple and daily lessons in virtue which I 
 received from them. 
 
 But to return to the details of our family life 
 at Mouchy. 
 
 Every day I was filled with wonder to see my 
 father, who from his youth had been accustomed 
 to command (he had at the age of seven been 
 given the reversion of the governorship of Ver- 
 sailles after his father's death), obey without 
 complaint the Revolutionary laws and all those 
 who executed them. Everything worried him 
 under the old regime, yet during the Reign of 
 Terror he was calm because he was entirely 
 resigned to the will of God. Religion had 
 regulated all the actions of his life. It was 
 really, for him, eternal happiness. 
 
 We suffered great anxiety during our sojourn 
 at Mouchy. We were utterly ignorant of the 
 fate of my elder brother.^ A price had been 
 put on his head and the notice of it posted at 
 the corners of the streets of Paris, and the news- 
 
 1 The Prince de Poix, who had defended and followed 
 the king on the loth of August.
 
 During the French Revolution. ii 
 
 papers had stated that he had been guillotined. 
 One afternoon, in the month of October (the 
 loth), we saw approaching us quite a large body 
 of troops composed of Hussars and National 
 Guards from different villages of the estate of 
 Mouchy. It was preceded by a commissioner of 
 the Committee of General Security, named Landry, 
 who came to arrest my brother, believing that 
 he was concealed in the castle. We were sur- 
 prised, but not frightened. It was absurd to 
 suppose that he would have chosen his own fa- 
 ther's house for his hiding-place. They searched 
 everywhere under pretext of taking him and 
 of seizing arms, but they found nothing. 
 
 The official report made by the commissioner 
 and the municipality proves this. 
 
 The drawing up of the report and the search 
 lasted from five o'clock in the evening to eleven. 
 Landry called upon my father to denounce his 
 son, though he could not even know whether he 
 was alive or not. He answered with much dig- 
 nity that such a demand was as harsh as it was 
 unusual, and that he would not accede to it ; yet 
 he asked Landry to take something to eat, and 
 lent him one of his saddle horses to take him back 
 to his carriage. My father, who was naturally 
 very fiery, knew how to control himself when 
 the importance of the occasion required it.
 
 12 Prison Life 
 
 The officer of the Hussars who commanded 
 the detachment was a very excellent man. He 
 told us that he was marching with his troop 
 along the highway from Beauvais to Paris ; that 
 being required by the commissioner of the Com- 
 mittee of General Security to accompany him to 
 Mouchy, he had been obliged to obey him, 
 though with great repugnance, and that he came 
 with the kindest intentions possible. He gave 
 me an immediate proof of this ; for he whispered 
 in my ear that if my brother was in the house 
 he would advise me to hasten his escape, and 
 that he would be very glad of it. I have re- 
 tained a feeling of real gratitude for this officer, 
 whose name I do not know ; he was from the 
 region of Rouen. 
 
 The intense animosity which was shown in 
 the attempt to capture my brother increased cur 
 anxiety concerning our own fate. A report, 
 circulated by the newspapers, that he was in 
 England somewhat allayed our anxiety ; and 
 Monsieur Noel (my father's man of business, 
 who has given proof of the strongest attachment 
 to our family) afterward assured us of its truth. 
 When he entered the drawing-room we were 
 much agitated, not knowing what news he was 
 about to announce to us. 
 
 Various accounts have been given of the
 
 During the French Revolution. 13 
 
 manner in which my brother escaped the scaf- 
 fold. Some have said that he escaped from 
 prison by the payment of a hundred thousand 
 crowns to Manuel, then Procureur of the Com- 
 mune ; others, that he left Paris disguised as a 
 wagoner, and had been seen passing along 
 several roads. 
 
 The truth is that he was never arrested, and 
 that he found good and brave men who were 
 kind enough to hide him in their houses ; that 
 he remained for several hours in the very top of 
 the Louvre, stretched upon a beam, at the very 
 moment when the famous search of September, 
 1792, was made ; and that afterward he escaped 
 by means of a passport to Granville, where Mon- 
 sieur Mauduit, his son's old tutor, a naval com- 
 missioner, assisted him to embark for Dover. 
 
 Monsieur Mauduit was guillotined, but he 
 made no mention of my brother's affairs at his 
 trial. My poor brother, having sailed from 
 port, thought he had escaped death. A storm 
 compelled his vessel to return to the port. He 
 was obliged to hide himself in a place so close 
 that his suffering for want of air came near 
 causing him to betray himself. The search 
 ended just in time to save his life, and he again 
 set sail. It is also false that he used large sums 
 of money to get out of his danger. He was not
 
 14 Prison Life 
 
 forced to spend more than two thousand crowns. 
 The knowledge that he was out of danger 
 diminished our daily increasing anxiety. 
 
 We had peaceful consciences, but the condi- 
 tion of affairs was becoming very threatening, 
 and the future very disturbing. We often talked 
 it over. I had the comfort of alleviating the 
 situation of my dear parents, and they showed 
 great pleasure in receiving my attentions. I 
 concealed from them the terrible thoughts which 
 constantly came to my mind, and occupied my- 
 self in distracting them from those by which 
 they were sometimes agitated. We had not 
 even the consolation of religious worship, the 
 curate of the parish having taken the oath to 
 the civil constitution exacted from the clergy ; 
 but we had had until our arrest opportunity to 
 hear Mass from a Catholic priest. I prayed to 
 God with all my heart for grace sufficient to en- 
 dure all the terrible things that I foresaw in our 
 future experience. About the i^th of August, 
 1793, CoUot d'Herbois and Isore were sent en 
 mission into the Departments of the Aisne and 
 the Oise. They immediately put into execution 
 there the decree regarding suspects, though this 
 was not done in Paris until the i8th of the fol- 
 lowing September. Consequently all the priests 
 and nobles were arrested. On the 23d of
 
 During the French Revolution. 15 
 
 August the municipality of Mouchy notified us 
 of the order to remain under arrest in our resi- 
 dences until the houses of confinement were 
 ready to receive us. The mayor, who was a 
 zealous patriot, disposed to enforce an extreme 
 rather than a moderate execution of the severe 
 laws, told us that this was a measure for the 
 public safety, — a phrase much in use during 
 the Reign of Terror, — and that we need not be 
 alarmed. We were allowed a space of a hun- 
 dred paces in the park to walk in, and the free 
 use of the courtyard, provided the grating was 
 closed. We went there sometimes to talk with 
 the people. This way of living was only an ap- 
 prenticeship to the slavery that was impending. 
 One quite singular fact was that, the population 
 of Mouchy being small, our own dependents 
 acted National Guardsmen, and stood sentinel at 
 our gates. I suppose there were those among 
 them who took pleasure in doing this ; for 
 charity's sake I pass over their conduct in 
 silence. 
 
 A very few of them, however, gave my pa- 
 rents strong proof of their attachment. I will 
 give a list of their names at the end of these 
 memoirs. 
 
 The municipality of Mouchy sent a petition 
 to the Department of the Oise, asking to be
 
 1 6 Prison Life 
 
 allowed to keep us within its limits and on its 
 own responsibility. It referred in kindly terms 
 to our wise and prudent conduct, and to our 
 submission to the laws. The Department of 
 the Oise acceded to the petition relative to my 
 parents ; but they did not consider me old 
 enough, and it had been said at Beauvals that 
 they wished to have a titled woman at Chan- 
 tilly. Consequently a sergeant of the national 
 gendarmes came with four horsemen to take me 
 to Beauvais. I was at that moment sick in bed. 
 The village surgeon, named Marais. and my 
 fathers physician considered that I was in no 
 condition to be moved ; but their attestations 
 were not sufficient, and the sergeant sent for the 
 physician of the Department, who decided that 
 it was necessary for me to remain at Mouchy, 
 and drew up an official paper in regard to my 
 condition. I remained about five weeks to re- 
 cuperate, during which time several petitions 
 were sent to the Department in my favour. 
 Monsieur Legendre went to see Collot d'Her- 
 bois and Isore. But all these efforts were 
 fruitless. 
 
 I was so fully persuaded that I was going to 
 be incarcerated that I packed up all my belong- 
 ings, and hoped that my punishment would suf- 
 fice for all. It cost me great suffering to leave
 
 During the French Revolution. 17 
 
 my honoured parents to whom I had the com- 
 fort of being useful. 
 
 I was a little better, and had been for a few 
 days going down into the courtyard to take the 
 air, when I saw a man arrive dressed in the uni- 
 form of the National Guard, — he was the com- 
 mander of the Guard at Beauvais, and his name 
 was Poulain. I immediately suspected with 
 what mission he was charged, and arranged with 
 him that my parents should not know of the 
 time of my departure. We agreed that at a 
 signal which he would give me I should under 
 some pretext leave the drawing-room and not 
 return to it. It was important that my parents 
 should not undergo too much emotion. I went 
 up to them quietly and told them of my arrest. 
 At first they bore the announcement bravely. I 
 avoided saying anything to them which could 
 agitate them, and conversed with the officer 
 upon ordinary subjects. He searched neither 
 my packages nor my papers. At last the mo- 
 ment came when I was obliged to leave them. 
 
 I seemed to foresee that I should never again 
 behold my parents. 
 
 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
 
 1 8 Prison Life 
 
 it took place, still causes me deep emotion as I 
 recall it ; but there are feelings which it is im- 
 possible to express. I have been told since, 
 and Madame Latour also relates it in her jour- 
 nal, 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.' ^ 
 
 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 com- 
 mittee to ask permission for me to spend the 
 night at his house ; it was granted him. I 
 1 A line of Racine. — Tr.
 
 During the French Revolution. 19 
 
 learned afterward that this kind act, done with- 
 out 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 re- 
 ceived 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 break- 
 fast 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 Chan- 
 tilly. 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,
 
 20 Prison Life 
 
 a man named Poter, head of the manufactory of 
 Chantilly, a nun, a sutler, etc. They scrutin- 
 ized my countenance. I took pains to please 
 my new companions, and then asked to be con- 
 ducted 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 im- 
 possible for me to make myself heard. 
 
 Monsieur Allou, our neighbour from Mouchy, 
 who frequently came to see my parents, ren- 
 dered me all the service in his power, and per- 
 suaded 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 begin- 
 ning, I made some chocolate, which was hor- 
 rible. 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 employ-
 
 During the French Revolution. 21 
 
 ments 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 confes- 
 sion 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 vener- 
 able priests, who set us an example of perfect 
 submission to the will of Providence. I tried 
 hard to imitate them. Shortly after my arrival
 
 22 Prison Life 
 
 at St. Francois 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 attach- 
 ment to my parents. I was particularly dis- 
 tressed 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. Francois, to assist me in making 
 my toilet. To that I have never attached the 
 slightest importance ; but it was a real satisfac- 
 tion to me to receive through her some tidings 
 from my parents, and to send them informa- 
 tion 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 
 i6th of October, by order of the Committee of 
 General Security and taken to Paris to the great
 
 During the French Revolution. 23 
 
 prison of La Force. I knew none of the de- 
 tails (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 estab- 
 lished authorities ; but Robespierre, having 
 learned that the great proprietors who had es- 
 tates 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 Luxem- 
 bourg, 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 addi- 
 tional 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 : —
 
 24 Prison Life 
 
 Beauvais, this igth of October, 
 2Sth 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 abso- 
 lutely 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 
 irriage is at the Gold 
 if she wishes to do so. 
 
 carriaf^e is at the Golden Lion. She can use it 
 
 It was addressed to ' Madame Duras, St. 
 Francois.' 
 
 As soon as we had been informed of the order 
 to leave, we became anxious to know whether 
 all the prisoners at St. Francois were to be of 
 the party. Only a portion of them were des- 
 tined at that time for Chantilly. We passed 
 the whole day in packing our belongings. Mine 
 were taken there from Mouchy, which spared
 
 During the French Revolution. 25 
 
 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. Frangois 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 guil- 
 lotined, a nun from the Hotel-Dieu at Beau- 
 vais, and my waiting-woman. My coachman, 
 to whom this journey was exceedingly distress- 
 ing, 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 infi- 
 nitely worse. Monsieur Descourtils, an old 
 and very estimable soldier, who had on all oc- 
 casions rendered services to the town of Beau- 
 vais, and also Monsieur Wallon, the kind patron
 
 26 Prison Life 
 
 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 Cler- 
 mont 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 through- 
 out 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 rar- 
 ity 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
 
 During the French Revolution. 27 
 
 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 belong- 
 ing 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 with- 
 out distinction. The whole party was taken
 
 28 Prison Life 
 
 into a beautifully gilded chapel, where I had 
 heard Mass in the time of the Prince de Conde. 
 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 Notte, member for the De- 
 partment 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 Marechale 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 Mar- 
 chand asked Nottd 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. Made- 
 moiselle Dubois, my waiting-woman, asked per- 
 mission to remain in prison with me. The 
 commissioners refused her request, and de-
 
 During the French Revohition. 29 
 
 clared 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 dis- 
 cussion 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. 
 Nott6 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 ac- 
 quainted 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
 
 30 Prison Life 
 
 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 Chevigne invited me to break- 
 fast 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 Lefevre, 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 arrange- 
 ments, — 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 
 Notte 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 pleas- 
 antly 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
 
 During the French Revolution, 31 
 
 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 wo- 
 man, 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 ma- 
 terial. 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
 
 32 Prison Life 
 
 esteemed. They had become greatly attached 
 to a venerable curate from Beauvais who lodged 
 with them. They called him their father, ren- 
 dered 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 occa- 
 sion since the Revolution he had done whatever 
 he had been desired to do. When civic festi- 
 vals 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 Sou- 
 langes, who was nearly eighty years old, and had 
 been under-governess to Madame Louise at 
 Fontevrault, and was tenderly beloved by her.
 
 During the French Revolution. 33 
 
 During her sojourns in Compiegne 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 Chan- 
 tilly 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 be- 
 stowed. 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 aristo- 
 crats, 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 
 3
 
 34 Prison Life 
 
 made communication impossible. On the third 
 story there were terraces on the leads, upon 
 which all our windows opened ; and these win- 
 dows, 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. Mademoi- 
 selle de Pons, who played on the piano, accom- 
 panied 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 rip- 
 pling waters, numerous villages, a superb forest, 
 fine buildings belonging to the chateau, 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 exces- 
 sively 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
 
 During the French Revolution. 35 
 
 of these communities, in which the curtainless 
 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 occu- 
 pying 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 four- 
 teen 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 Mesde- 
 moiselles de Grammont-Caderousse, the eldest 
 of whom was about fourteen. A special annoy- 
 ance in our prison was the mingling of the sexes 
 in the same lodging. I was the more thankful 
 for my little cell. Marchand, the commis- 
 sioner of the Revolutionary army, came to make 
 me a visit ; he found nothing to complain of in 
 the furnishing of my apartment, which was com- 
 posed 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 ;
 
 36 Prison Life 
 
 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 m the morning. They 
 were very well behaved, with the exception of 
 a cobbler from Compiegne, 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 inhabi- 
 tants 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 Notte was at the
 
 During the French RevoMion. 37 
 
 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. 1 
 had found out that one should never ask him 
 anything in the presence of other persons, be- 
 cause 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 pro- 
 tection, 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 en- 
 dure 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 neces-
 
 38 Prison Life 
 
 sary to ask his permission to do something the 
 next day, and I did so in such a serious manner 
 that Madame Seguier, who was present, could 
 not help laughing. 
 
 The Revolutionary army succeeded the Na- 
 tional 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 eve- 
 ning we learned that there were cannon pointed 
 toward the chateau, 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 re- 
 frain of ' ^a ira, les aristocrates a 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
 
 During the French Revolution. 39 
 
 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 immedi- 
 ately. Madame de Ponteves, seeing them 
 carrying off her husband, asked a commissioner 
 flamed 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 Made- 
 lonnettes, and the other in Ste. Pelagic. In 
 order to fill the prisons of Paris it was some- 
 times necessary to draw recruits from the 
 neighbouring prisons ; for this purpose dif- 
 ferent pretexts were made. Evil designs were 
 imputed to the prisoners, — such as anti-revolu- 
 tionary projects ; for instance, one was called an 
 agitator if he spoke to the keeper or to the com- 
 missioner 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 ex- 
 traordinary, who was accompanied by a man 
 with a red cap, and had a roll-call of all the
 
 40 Prison Life 
 
 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 conversa- 
 tion. 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 es- 
 quire, who was constantly worrying about get- 
 ting the news, was taken away, arraigned befons 
 the Revolutionary tribunal, and perished on the 
 scaffold with his father, who was eighty years 
 old, and one of his brothers. He was de- 
 nounced 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 sor- 
 row, 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 im- 
 prisoned with her mother, who was very old 
 and extremely infirm. She was taken before 
 the Revolutionary tribunal as a witness for her
 
 During the French Revolution. 41 
 
 uncle, Monsieur de TAigle, 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 crmiinal. 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 in- 
 vited to join them, but always refused. 
 
 Notte 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
 
 42 Prison Life 
 
 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 em- 
 ployed 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 curi- 
 osity 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 some- 
 what 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
 
 During the French Revolution, 43 
 
 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 court- 
 yard, 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 pris- 
 oners 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
 
 44 Prison Life 
 
 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 
 chateau. The keeper Designon 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 ar- 
 rangement 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 Chateau,^ without a cloth, and with two 
 
 1 This ' little chateau,' dated from the sixteenth cen- 
 tury, is one of the finest specimens of Renaissance archi- 
 tecture in existence, and was included in the gift of the 
 Due d'Aumale to the French nation (i8S6). The Grand 
 Chateau, where Conde had spent twenty years of his life, 
 and which was so famous for its literary associations with 
 the names of Moliere, Boileau, Racine, and La Fontaine, 
 was destroyed in 1793. — Tr.
 
 During the French Revolution. 45 
 
 hundred covers. The tables were reset three 
 times, for there were many more than six hun- 
 dred prisoners in the house ; but the old and 
 infirm were allowed to remain in their apart- 
 ments. 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 ratatoidllc. 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
 
 46 Prison Life 
 
 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 con- 
 versed with them. I found one among them 
 to whom his service was extremely disagree- 
 able. 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
 
 During the French Revolution. 47 
 
 Providence protected them, and their consti- 
 tutions held out much better than could have 
 been expected. 
 
 One day as we w^ere dining in the gallery of 
 the Petit Chateau, I recalled the beautiful 
 pictures which formerly adorned it, the armour 
 of the great Conde, 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 gener- 
 ally 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 com- 
 missioner, 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 Cond^. 
 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 pre- 
 sented 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
 
 48 Prison Life 
 
 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 s\ck man. He did not 
 grant my request, and I went away somewhat 
 angry at not being able to obtain the nourish- 
 ment which kept up my strength. My char- 
 woman, 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 sur- 
 rounded the castle. At daybreak some of the 
 prisoners saw the man struggling and scream- 
 ing. 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
 
 During the French Revolution. 49 
 
 of restoring the drowned to life. This was 
 granted them ; and they used every means in 
 their power for several hours, but without suc- 
 cess. 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. Hus- 
 bands were separated from their wives, mothers 
 from their children ; and those who had no in- 
 terests 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 
 4
 
 50 Prison Life 
 
 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 apart- 
 ment 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
 
 During the French Revolution. 51 
 
 communes this right. There was general re- 
 joicing 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 
 Compi^gne were most zealous in gathering re- 
 cruits. 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 suffer- 
 ing terrible pain in the side of her face. One of 
 htr 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 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
 
 52 Prison Life 
 
 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 r6le 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 ^ 
 loved and upon the needs of my daily life. 
 The want of exercise, which is absolutely neces- 
 sary to me from habits contracted in my child- 
 hood, 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
 
 During the French Revolution. 53 
 
 surrounded by kind people, to whom I acknowl- 
 edged 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 re- 
 gained 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 revolu- 
 tionist, 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.
 
 54 Prison Life 
 
 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 ap- 
 pointed 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 Cr^py, 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 revo- 
 lutionists, heard that Monsieur d'Ecquevilly, her 
 father, was dying at Amiens. One may im- 
 agine 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
 
 During the French Revolution. 55 
 
 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 regime, 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
 
 56 Prison Life 
 
 the Reign of Terror the slightest kindness of- 
 fered 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 ob- 
 tain it. The clerk of the commune of Chantilly 
 came quite frequently to the chateau, 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. Mon- 
 sieur 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 resi- 
 dence 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 imigrds 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
 
 During the French Revolution, 5/ 
 
 hooted at from the head of any stairway he at- 
 tempted 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 unfortu- 
 nate 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 Seguier and Made- 
 moiselle 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.
 
 58 Prison Life 
 
 I was quite content with my fate, since I was 
 compelled to endure a hard one. 1 could not 
 have asked to be in a better prison ; Provi- 
 dence 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
 
 During the French Revolution. 59 
 
 Pons (formerly Vicomtesse) at Perdrix's apart- 
 ments. 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 con- 
 sciousness, 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.' 
 
 ' V/ithout mamma I 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
 
 6o Prison Life 
 
 all her property to the Republic; and the 
 only answer she received was, * Your daughter 
 must go I ' 
 
 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 ex- 
 pected. My travelling companions were in de- 
 spair at leaving their parents, but I delighted at 
 going to see mine once more ; every one said 
 pleasant things to me. I received many testi- 
 monials of interest and regret from the prisoners. 
 There were some from whom I was grieved to 
 part, and a secret presentiment (though gener- 
 ally I do not believe in them) seemed to warn 
 me that the reunion with m.y 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
 
 During the French Revolution. 6i 
 
 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 
 chateau, 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 be- 
 fore me. How many of those who gave those 
 blessings and of those who looked on were 
 sacrificed on the scaffold 1 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
 
 62 Prison Life 
 
 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 Mor- 
 taye 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 de- 
 manded 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. Mad- 
 emoiselle de Pons obeyed, and gave a hundred 
 and ninety-two francs. The women whose hus- 
 bands 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
 
 During the French Revolution. 63 
 
 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 bcrline, drawn by post 
 horses, and seated in front was a small clerk, 
 about twelve years old. I said to myself, ' Un- 
 fortunate child, what an education this Terrror- 
 ism 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 Lux- 
 embourg. It began to rain, and continued un- 
 til we reached Paris. Our conductors did not
 
 64 Prison Life 
 
 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 Madelonettes. We had 
 great difficulty in making the porter hear, and he 
 said that no women were received in that house, 
 that Ste. Pelagic, which was set apart for them, 
 was quite full, but that we would find room m 
 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 College 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
 
 During the French Revolution, 65 
 
 separated from the train. I perceived it as we 
 were entering the courtyard, and had a sad satis- 
 faction in seeing them again even in so wretched 
 a place. We passed under an archway and stop- 
 ped. 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 car- 
 jied a lantern, by the light of which I saw grat- 
 ings, enormous bars of iron, heaps of stone 
 and other materials, — in short, the general ap- 
 pearance of a prison which was being enlarged. 
 We were taken through several gratings, and 
 were immediately surrounded by drunken jail- 
 ers, — 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 
 5
 
 66 Prison Life 
 
 agreed to my proposition. Mademoiselle de 
 Pons, who has since married Monsieur de Tour- 
 zel, 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 ab- 
 sent 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 chil- 
 dren, 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 ac- 
 cuser, Fouquier-Tinville, and is only destined
 
 During the French Revolution. 67 
 
 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 mat- 
 tresses, 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 my- 
 self, ' At their age one has had neither the ex- 
 perience of misfortune nor the anxiety born of 
 foresight.' The thought of seeing my par- 
 ents during the day cheered my sad heart. It 
 was extremely cold. Baptiste came in, accom- 
 panied by several of his comrades, who regarded 
 us with a ferocious sort of pleasure, judging
 
 6S Prison Life 
 
 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 hun- 
 gry. 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 
 thev brought us some coffee and chocolate. I 
 breakfasted with the pleasant feeling of alle- 
 viating 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 some- 
 thing 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.
 
 During the French Revolution. 69 
 
 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 
 Grandpr^, who had quite a pleasing counte- 
 nance. Being astonished at seeing us in this 
 prison, and a little touched by our forlorn situa- 
 tion, he promised to endeavour to have us trans- 
 ferred 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 disci- 
 pline at the house at Chantilly. A cry of sur- 
 prise 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 com- 
 pletely astonished than I can express. The 
 false accusations were certainly the least of my 
 woes, — innocence easily consoles itself; but
 
 70 Prison Life 
 
 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 re- 
 maining 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 pur- 
 poses 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 ; fol- 
 lowing 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. Mademoi- 
 selle 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
 
 Dining the French Revolution. 71 
 
 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 as- 
 signats. 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 re- 
 quired, 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 rea- 
 son 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. Made- 
 moiselle de Pons had not left my side since we 
 reached Plessis ; we took the measure of our 
 habitation, and found that with some manage-
 
 72 Prison Life 
 
 ment 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 assur- 
 ing 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 conse- 
 quently 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 
 w^ent to help her. 
 
 My first night's rest was excellent. The in- 
 tense 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
 
 During the French Revolution. 73 
 
 city of Paris. I reflected sadly upon the terri- 
 ble 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, fol- 
 lowed by an enormous dog. This strange man 
 greeted us as though we were in one of the old- 
 time chateaux 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 ea- 
 gerly 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 war- 
 den, thinking thus to render their office more 
 honourable, There were three classes of them, 
 and almost all were drunkards, selfish, rapacious,
 
 74 Prison Life 
 
 Iving, while a few were absolutely ferocious. 
 We specially noticed one of them, who had ta- 
 ken part in the massacre of the 2d of September, 
 1792. This man, who at this time was our des- 
 pot, was a sculptor ; and I was astonished that 
 he should have accepted so miserable an em- 
 ployment. 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 be- 
 fore 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 grati- 
 tude, had the courage to undertake it. A 
 neighbour of the Hotel Mouchy said openly in 
 the street, when she saw him go by, that it was
 
 During the French Revolution. 75 
 
 not worth while taking me anything to eat be- 
 cause I was going to be guillotined. Two re- 
 spectable 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 rela- 
 tives 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
 
 *j6 Prison Life 
 
 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 pre- 
 tended 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 oppor- 
 tunity 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 Luxem- 
 bourg. I suffered intensely at having to inform 
 my parents that I should not have the consola- 
 tion 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.
 
 During the French Revolution. 77 
 
 The commissioner, Grandpr^, fearing lest our 
 crowded condition should cause sickness, pro- 
 posed that we should take the air in the court- 
 yard. We had a great aversion to going down 
 a hundred steps, passing six grated iron doors, 
 preceded, accompanied, and followed by keep- 
 ers. We refused to do it for some time. Then 
 he told us that if we paid no regard to his re- 
 quest 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 consid- 
 ered 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,
 
 78 Prison Life 
 
 the best of our keepers, to bring her some news- 
 papers ; but this was found out, and was consid- 
 ered 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 pre- 
 scribed 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
 
 During the French Revolution. 79 
 
 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 Depart- 
 ments ; 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,
 
 8o Prison Life 
 
 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 with- 
 drawn. 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 feel- 
 ing 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. 
 
 A month had passed since we left Chantilly 
 when a party arrived, among whom was Madame 
 de Pons, to whom I restored the precious 
 charge which I had been so happy as to keep 
 for her ; I was then left in sole possession of
 
 During the French Revohition. 8i 
 
 o 
 
 my room, which I enjoyed very much. I was 
 informed that it was proposed to separate the 
 suspected persons from those indicted by the 
 Revolutionary tribunal, and to place us in a 
 building facing that we were now occupying. 
 This change seemed so advantageous to us that 
 we urged the keeper to carry it out as quickly 
 as possible. To do him justice, he behaved 
 very well on this occasion, using his influence 
 with the terrible Fouquier-Tinville to prevent 
 our being mistaken for the indicted prisoners, 
 and to effect our removal without delay. I re- 
 gretted for a moment the loss of the beautiful 
 view from my apartment ; all the fine buildings 
 in Paris were before me, — the cathedral, St. 
 Sulpice, the Val-de-Gr^ce, etc. I remembered 
 that on Easter Day, as I was grieving over the 
 thought that the holy sacrifice was no longer 
 offered up in those temples made so venerable 
 by their antiquity, and the prayers of the faith- 
 ful, I joined in the prayers of those whose faith 
 was strong, and who were sharing my sad 
 thoughts, and found that I was really more edi- 
 fied than I had often been on that holy day 
 when at the foot of the altar. 
 
 At last the order came for us to leave our 
 apartments, and carry our effects with us. 
 One person was sufficient to assist me in my
 
 82 Piv'son Life 
 
 moving ; a wretched pallet, a straw chair, 
 and a few dishes composed my only furni- 
 ture. The moment of our departure was very 
 trying to those who remained still under the 
 power of the public accuser. Several of them 
 wept when we left them. The separation was 
 final. 
 
 "When I reached my new prison it seemed 
 to me a mansion, since there were only two 
 gratings instead of six, as before ; and as the 
 men were entirely separated from the women, 
 we were allowed to go all over the building, 
 from top to bottom, without a keeper. I was 
 lodged on the fifth floor, in what was called for- 
 merly ' the philosophers' warming-place.' The 
 names of the scholars were, as is customary, 
 written in charcoal on the walls ; I recognized 
 a few of them. There was a fireplace in this 
 pretty room, and I think it was the only one in 
 the corridor. It was immediately made use of 
 to warm all my neighbours' coffee-pots, which 
 occasioned a continual procession not at all 
 agreeable. 
 
 Before my detention, I had thought that a 
 prison would be at least a place of repose, 
 where I could give myself up to study ; but this 
 was not the case at all, at least not in those 
 where I stayed. Every moment the keeper, the
 
 During the French Revolution. 83 
 
 jailers, the turnkeys, the purveyors, etc., came 
 in. We were made to go down to the clerk's 
 office to attend to our commissions. I could 
 not read one single hour without interruption. 
 One thing which I have heard spoken of, and 
 which I have certainly verified, is the habit pris- 
 oners have of being destructive. It arises from 
 their standing in need of a thousand things. I 
 had no shovel, so I broke a piece of slating and 
 used it for one ; I took a floor-tile for a lid. It 
 was very difficult to procure wood, so I burned 
 up my chairs. We could not send a keeper 
 down-stairs without paying him a hundred 
 sous. 
 
 In spite of the admiration inspired by my new 
 dwelling-place, I was forced to sigh for the one 
 I had left. We slept where the plaster was 
 quite fresh, which gave me such a raw sensation 
 in my throat that I could swallow nothing but 
 milk. On the stairways there was a very un- 
 wholesome smell of oil ; all the windows, above 
 and below, had been grated, and boards adjusted, 
 so as to make it impossible to throw letters out. 
 The outer aspect of our building was frightful. 
 We lost by our transfer the promenade in the 
 garden, and had instead one no better than in 
 the courtyard at Plessis, so that one could not 
 make up one's mind to go out except when it
 
 84 Prison Life 
 
 was absolutely necessary to go in the open air. 
 The men and women went there at different 
 hours. They were shut in on every side ; and 
 walls had been erected so that the prisoners 
 could not be seen by their neighbours, and could 
 make no sign to them. One little alley-way, 
 however, which it was impossible to shut out 
 from our view^, allowed us to see human beings 
 at liberty, or who at least believed themselves 
 to be. The window^s which procured this little 
 view for us were very much sought after and 
 always occupied. Persons interested in the 
 prisoners came to assure themselves of our 
 existence. Our numbers increased each day, 
 and brought us some detestable recruits. I had 
 very near me some vulgar creatures, — young 
 women from the Rue de Chartres, some persons 
 with the itch, the hangman's mistress, and a 
 drunken creature, who said she was a person of 
 quality belonging to the family of Desarmoise, 
 to whom in manner at any rate she bore not the 
 slightest resemblance. She assumed the right 
 to come into our rooms every day, make a great 
 noise, and deliver herself of the most abusive 
 language, for which she afterward asked par- 
 don. I was, of course, very much touched by 
 her repentance, but her visits were still very dis- 
 agreeable to me. Another of my neighbours,
 
 During the French Revolution. 85 
 
 a lady of the court, was insane ; and unfortu- 
 nately for me, she took a great fancy to me. 
 She lay down to sleep one day just in my door- 
 way, and could only be gotten away by force. 
 The sort of care that I was obliged to take of 
 her was as disagreeable as it was fatiguing, and 
 it was a real calamity. One of her fancies was 
 to write to Robespierre. I suppose her letters 
 suffered the same fate as ours, — never to reach 
 their destination. Only the two lines added to 
 the requests which we made for necessary things 
 ever found favour at the clerk's office. 
 
 The mess-table, the nature of which we had 
 experienced at Chantilly, was established. We 
 were placed in the rhetoric class-room, and 
 grouped at tables of twelve covers each. Each 
 of us had a wooden spoon, but no fork ; and 
 we were given to understand that the latter was 
 a dangerous thing. We also had a wooden bowl 
 given us from which to eat our soup; and I have 
 kept it as a curiosity. I never used it. It 
 seemed as though pains had been taken to do 
 everything which could excite our disgust. The 
 tables had no cloths, and- were never washed ; 
 as a great deal of wine was spilled the smell was 
 insupportable. Hairs were often found in the 
 food ; and the dirtiest of the prisoners were de- 
 tailed to wait upon us. Pigs ran about the
 
 S6 Prison Life 
 
 refectory while we were at dinner. A notice 
 was posted one day, saying that it was only 
 necessary to give us enough to keep us alive. 
 
 Supper was entirely done away with. Mes- 
 dames de Courteilles, de Rochechouart, and de 
 Richelieu ate with the lowest creatures, and 
 Madame and Mademoiselle de Pons with 
 Mademoiselle Dervieux, of the Opera, a negress, 
 and what were called feminine sans-culotles. 
 
 The men ate in another refectory. My mess- 
 mates were hard to please in the matter of food, 
 among them the daughter of one of the Duke 
 of Bourbon's grooms. Such people were never 
 content. The keeper, angry one day because 
 they tried to throw their plates in his face, 
 pointed me out to the commissioner who ex- 
 amined us, as well as others of my class, and 
 said, ' You can ask those ladies ; they never 
 complain of anything.' He greatly preferred 
 to have charge of us than of the common people. 
 The keepers at Plessis were not at all like those 
 at Chantilly, who were kind, attentive, obliging 
 and attached to us. Those at Plessis persecuted 
 us to get money, demanded services of us, and 
 reproached us when we had two garments for 
 not giving them one of them. They were very 
 hard to get along with. I often served them as 
 secretary in writing to their relatives or making
 
 During the French Revolution. 87 
 
 applications. Once while doing something of 
 this sort a very amusing thing happened to 
 Madame de la Fayette. A woman asked her 
 to compose a petition for her, which she did 
 immediately, with the readiness and kindness 
 which characterized her. But as her handwriting 
 was bad, she charged the person to have it copied ; 
 and she had the stupidity to send it to a prisoner, 
 who, good patriot that he was, was indignant 
 at the want of civism evinced in it, and sent 
 it back with some words effaced, and the follow- 
 ing remarks : ' This petition is aristocratic ; one 
 never uses such phraseology. This is not civic ; 
 it has the odour of a chateau. This person does 
 not know how to draw up a petition,' etc. 
 
 We laughed a great deal at the severe criti- 
 cism aroused by this kind action. 
 
 A convoy from La Force brought Madame 
 de la Fayette to us at Plessis. The van-guard 
 was composed of Madame des Reaux, who was 
 eighty-four years old, Madame de Machaut, and 
 other women who were at least seventy. These 
 were, as a great favour, put into a carriage ; the 
 others, as was the custom, came in a cart. 
 It was a long time before they were put into 
 lodgings, and we were allowed to approach them. 
 At last I was able to see one of my cousins, who 
 found the rules in this prison less severe than in
 
 88 Prison Life 
 
 the one from which she came ; and all the girls 
 of the street from Paris collected there presented 
 a spectacle so indecent that one so pure as she 
 could scarcely endure it. Besides, she slept in a 
 room where there were four other persons whom 
 she did not know ; I was able to get another 
 room for her, which she thought quite palatial. 
 She has often told me of the extreme pleasure 
 she felt on awaking and finding herself alone. 
 The room was so small that she could not put a 
 chair between her bed and the wall ; there was 
 fortunately a recess, however, where with some 
 trouble she could sit down. Having Madame 
 de la Fayette so near me was very pleasant. 
 Her virtues and kindliness, which had suffered 
 no change from the life she had been compelled 
 to live during the first years of the Revolution, 
 the possibility of opening my heart to her with 
 regard to my family, concerning my anxiety for 
 whom I had never spoken to any one, did me 
 much good ; we wept together over her own 
 fate. She seemed to me to be much less pre- 
 pared than I was for the general and particular 
 evils which threatened us. She thought, for 
 instance, that she could defend her cause and 
 that of her husband before the Revolutionary 
 tribunal, and that only those were in danger who 
 had committed some serious or trifling injury to
 
 During the French Revolution. 89 
 
 the Republic. It took me at least a fortnight 
 to set her right on this subject, and enable her 
 to realize her true situation ; but, indeed, what 
 passed before our eyes was more eloquent than 
 anything I could say. 
 
 The number of victims carried off became 
 larger and larger ; they generally went away 
 during the time we were taking our walk in 
 the courtyard. It seems to me now, that I 
 can see the unfortunate Monsieur Titon, a 
 counsellor in the parliament of Paris, as he 
 passed beneath the windows of the room of 
 his wife and daughter, who were not even per- 
 mitted to bid him a last farewell. He went out 
 at five o'clock in the evening, and the next day 
 at noon he was dead. Carts and Fouquier- 
 Tinville's carriage ari^ived at all hours, and were 
 crowded with the accused. This man's coach- 
 man was well worthy of such a master ; while 
 the victims were getting into the wagon he 
 drummed out dancing tunes, and his costume 
 was that of a Merry Andrew. It is almost im- 
 possible to describe the terror excited by the 
 opening of the great gate, especially when it was 
 repeated several times a day. I can hear now 
 the sound of the drum beating. The bailiffs of 
 the Revolutionary tribunal went before the 
 wagons with their hands full of warrants. Then
 
 90 Prison Life 
 
 there was a moment of deathlike silence. Every 
 one thought the fatal order had come for him ; 
 faces were filled with terror, hearts and minds 
 overwhelmed with fright. The bailiffs went up 
 into the corridors to call for those who were to 
 go off, and only allowed them a quarter of an 
 hour to prepare. Each bade the other an eter- 
 nal farewell ; we were in a stunned condition, 
 being only sure of living from ten o'clock in the 
 morning until seven o'clock in the evening. 
 Sleep was light when one suffered such anxiety, 
 and was frequently interrupted by the arrival of 
 convoys. That containing the famous prisoners 
 from Nantais created a great sensation. It was 
 the custom to receive the prisoners with lighted 
 torches ; and the keeper, accompanied by jailers 
 and big dogs, dragged the poor prisoners from 
 the wagons in the roughest manner. They were 
 so much afraid of losing some of the prisoners 
 that they called the roll two or three times in 
 succession, then put them in the ^' mouse-trap," 
 — a new name for a receiving-place. There was 
 no calculation as to whether there was room 
 enough in the house ; room was made : and 
 there have been as many, so we have been as- 
 sured, as seventeen hundred at one time in the 
 colleges of Plessis and Louis-le-Grand. Twenty- 
 five persons were put in the same room, even in
 
 During the French Revolution. 91 
 
 the entresols^ with grated windows. The sever- 
 ity of the treatment increased constantly. One 
 day about three o'clock in the afternoon I heard 
 my bolts shot to, and could not understand 
 the reason ; it was unusual. It was on account 
 of a servant having thrown water out of a win- 
 dow into the courtyard, after having been forbid- 
 den ; and for this great crime we were punished. 
 
 We were not allowed to have any light in our 
 rooms ; this was a very great privation. To 
 room in front of a street lamp was a great piece 
 of good fortune. In the corridors were placed 
 chaffing-dishes, on which we warmed our sup- 
 pers. Those of us who had fireplaces kept the 
 fires bright, so as to give light. Some one would 
 light a candle for a moment, then extinguish it 
 the next, for fear of being punished. To eat 
 with our fingers was intolerable. To go to the 
 jailer every day to ask him to cut up our choco- 
 late was neither amusing nor satisfactory. I re- 
 member a large penknife which belonged to 
 Madame Vassy which was our delight. She was 
 a lovely woman, bright and intelligent, and ex- 
 tremely obliging. She said she liked variety. 
 She married, on leaving the prison, a Prussian, 
 who took her to Berlin. 
 
 On the i8th of June I witnessed a heart-rend- 
 ing scene. I was in Madame de Pons's apart-
 
 92 Prison Life 
 
 ment, playing a game of chess with her, when 
 some one came and called me ; I went out. A 
 person who felt an interest in Madame de Pons's 
 daughter told me that her father had been trans- 
 ferred from the private hospital where he had 
 been, to the Plessis, and that as he was getting 
 out of the wagon he had received his bill of in- 
 dictment ; that he implored most earnestly to be 
 allowed to see his daughter, but was refused, in 
 order to avoid such a harrowing interview. The 
 windows of the keeper's apartment opened di- 
 rectly upon the courtyard where Mademoiselle de 
 Pons was then walking ; they were ordered to be 
 closed. Monsieur de Pons gave himself up to 
 the most frenzied despair, saying that the most 
 precious treasure he had in the world was taken 
 from him.' We did not know how to get his 
 daughter out of the courtyard without arousing 
 her suspicions. Haly had caused her to suspect 
 that something was going on, by forbidding her 
 to go under the windows on account of the arrival 
 of some new prisoners. I made some pretext to 
 persuade her to go into our building with one of 
 my friends ; and the latter led her to a place quite 
 away from her unfortunate father. Then I re- 
 turned to Madame de Pons's room, and from the 
 change in my countenance she perceived that 
 something had happened. I said nothing, but
 
 During the French Revolution. 93 
 
 began playing chess again, in order to gain time 
 to prepare her for it. The state of affairs be- 
 tween herself and her husband rendered this less 
 terrible for her than for her daughter. She urged 
 me to tell her the cause of my emotion. As 
 Monsieur de Pons had been ill of consumption 
 for a long time, I told her that he was about to 
 die. She begged me not to tell her daughter of 
 it, and I promised. This unhappy man was not 
 sent for to be taken to the Conciergerie until 
 nine o'clock in the evening, and consequently he 
 was in the same building with his child for five 
 hours without being able to take her in his arms, 
 comfort her^ or bid her a last farewell. He 
 spent all of the time in seeking by threats and 
 prayers to excite the compassion and interest of 
 the keeper, telling him of her youth, of his af- 
 fection for her, and that his last prayer was that 
 happier days might be in store for her. He cast 
 a farewell glance toward the courtyard, and then 
 was led away. I spent the evening in extreme 
 trouble and agitation ; although I knew Mon- 
 sieur de Pons only very slightly, the thought 
 that he had not in his last agonized hours been 
 able to see his daughter and bless her, and the 
 grief I knew she would feel, all caused me to 
 pass a terrible night. The young girl has since 
 told me that she suspected that something sad
 
 94 Prison Life 
 
 was being concealed from her, by the embarrass- 
 ment in our manner toward her. She came the 
 next day as usual to my apartment to comb my 
 thin white hair, and I could scarcely restrain my 
 feelings while I was dressing when I remem- 
 bered that her father was at that very moment 
 before the tribunal or mounting the scaffold. 
 She went away immediately. Madame de Pons 
 had asked me to tell her the whole truth, and I 
 had done so. She had sent for news of her 
 husband's trial, and learned that he and also 
 Messieurs de Laval, de Rohan-Soubise, de 
 Montbarrey, and fifty others had been con- 
 demned to death as conspirators against Robes- 
 pierre, and were to be executed at the Greve, 
 wearing red shirts, though these by law were re- 
 quired to be worn only by murderers. It seems 
 that in order to make this so-called conspiracy 
 more noted, the most celebrated names of the 
 old regime had been made use of, and that in 
 fact those who bore them had never thought of 
 conspiring. 
 
 All day means were employed to increase 
 Mademoiselle de Pons's anxiety on account of 
 her father's illness as she knew he was in great 
 danger, and feared his end was approaching. 
 She says in one of her prison memoirs, of which 
 a few copies have been printed, that I asked
 
 During the French Revolution. 95 
 
 permission of her mother to tell her of her 
 father's death. She did not know that, on the 
 contrary, it was Madame de Pons who ear- 
 nestly implored me to undertake to break it to 
 her, and that for a long time I refused. At last 
 she gave me some very good reasons for doing 
 so, and I consented. Mademoiselle de Pons, 
 in whose presence I no longer concealed my 
 emotion, suspected her misfortune. She ques- 
 tioned me ; I made no reply, but threw my 
 arms around her and burst into tears. 
 
 Another calamity befel us. the small-pox broke 
 out. Madame des Reaux, eighty-four years old, 
 died of it ; and an only son also died, almost in 
 sight of his father and mother, who were cruelly 
 refused permission to go into another prison to 
 weep over their unhappy child. They drank 
 their cup to the dregs. Two very old ladies by 
 the name of Machault were also attacked by 
 this horrible disease, which naturally was greatly 
 dreaded by all those who had not had it. For- 
 tunately the contagion did not spread, which was 
 extraordinary in a place where so many persons 
 were crowded together. Besides, the manner 
 in which the sick were treated was horrible. 
 No money could procure medicine for them, or 
 even a cup of tea. I saw a very strong woman 
 die, who could have been cured with very little
 
 96 Prison Life 
 
 care. It required two days' negotiation to gain 
 permission to have a warming-pan brought into 
 the house. The prison surgeon was a Pole, 
 named Markoski, who had come to Paris to 
 study medicine, of which he was entirely ignorant. 
 I needed to be bled ; he found that it w^as diffi- 
 cult to do this in my arm. I let him try my foot, 
 and he was successful. I pardoned his want of 
 skill and his ignorance on account of his kind- 
 ness of heart. He was really obliging; he 
 brought us news of persons of our acquaintance 
 who were imprisoned in other houses of arrest. 
 And he was particularly kind to me because I 
 gave him an account of the sick, and because, 
 as I knew some medical phrases, I spared him 
 the trouble of making out certificates of infirm- 
 ity for persons who hoped by that means to 
 escape close imprisonment ; it was only neces- 
 sary for him to sign what I had wTitten. One 
 day when I was feeling very badly, I said to my- 
 self, ' It would be so sweet to die in my bed.' 
 What a terrible condition it is w^hen one re- 
 joices over an illness which may bring death I 
 
 I omitted to relate a very ridiculous incident. 
 The day before the Feast of the Supreme 
 Being ^ all the prisoners were sent down into 
 
 1 One of the holidays laid down in the revised Revo- 
 lutionary calendar. — Tr.
 
 During the French Revolution. 97 
 
 the courtyard, which we found filled with an 
 enormous quantity of branches and leaves. I 
 pretended to work upon them for a few minutes, 
 and then I withdrew into my own room ; sev- 
 eral of our wretched companions worked away 
 zealously, and even offered to plant a liberty-pole 
 in the middle of the courtyard. The keeper, 
 less absurd than they, forbade it, saying that 
 such a decoration would not suit a prison. 
 They danced in the court ; the jailers attended 
 this strange festival, — it was the day of Pente- 
 cost, on which Robespierre permitted God to be 
 adored provided He should not be called by 
 that name. One of them praised me very much 
 (he was not very bad), and said that he thought 
 I would carry myself very well going to the 
 guillotine ; I answered him coolly that I hoped I 
 should. Another boasted of the rapidity with 
 which the Revolutionary tribunal got through 
 with its trials ; and he added that in order to set 
 things right, it would be necessary to cut off 
 seven thousand heads. One day as I was sit- 
 ting alone in my room two gendarmes entered ; 
 I thought that my last moment of life had come. 
 They questioned me about my father and my 
 brothers ; and as the conversation progressed, I 
 hoped that the mere curiosity to see a person of 
 my rank destined for the scaffold had attracted 
 7
 
 98 Prison Life 
 
 them. They went away, and I was much re- 
 lieved by their departure. A little while after, 
 a female who had the appearance of a woman 
 of ill-fame came to tell me that she had been 
 ordered by the keeper to lodge in my room, 
 and that she was going immediately to bring in 
 her bed. For a moment I felt extremely irri- 
 tated, but I restrained myself. I told her that 
 I would leave the room and she could have it 
 all to herself. The women and young girls who 
 were poor had entered into a speculation which 
 I now found useful : they took possession of 
 very small cells, and for money gave them up to 
 other people, finding some way of crowding in 
 elsewhere. I thought of one occupied by the 
 daughter of the Prince of Conde's groom, and 
 she let me have it for a louis in assignats ; she 
 boasted a great deal of her kindness to me, and 
 indeed it was very fortunate for me. I regretted 
 my fireplace very much on account of its con- 
 venience for my neighbours ; moreover, it was 
 both inconvenient and dangerous to light fires 
 in open braziers in so narrow a space, though 
 under the circumstances it was absolutely ne- 
 cessary. My new lodging possessed one advan- 
 tage over those of Madame de la Fayette, in 
 that I could put a chair between my bed and 
 the wall. I could without rising lift the latch
 
 During the French Revolution. 99 
 
 of my door, and even look out into the court. 
 My prison life taught me that even the smallest 
 power is precious. The difficulty of procuring 
 light and fire enabled me to succeed in striking 
 a light with steel. I carefully concealed the 
 possession of this treasure, fearing that it might 
 be regarded as a dangerous weapon in a Revolu- 
 tionary arsenal. The keeper, learning that his 
 name had been used in order to turn me out of 
 my apartment, came to tell me that he had had 
 nothing to do with that enterprise, and requested 
 me to denounce the woman who had contrived 
 it. I replied that I had such a horror of denun- 
 ciations that I would not give her name. He 
 then proposed that I should return to my room, 
 but I refused to do so ; the prison was getting 
 so full that I feared I should be compelled to 
 receive some one into it. Convoys were con- 
 stantly arriving from the different Departments. 
 One came containing eighty peasant women 
 from the Vivarais, who wore very singular cos- 
 tumes. We questioned them concerning the 
 cause of their arrest ; they explained to us in 
 their patois that it was because they went to 
 mass. This was considered so enormous a 
 crime that they were put in the building belong- 
 ing to the tribunal which was called by our wags 
 Fouquier's shop. Some ladies from Normandy
 
 lOO Prison Life 
 
 came to our prison. They seemed countrified, 
 though they did not wear their local costumes ; 
 they spent their time from morning to night 
 writing memoirs and petitions, — a very danger- 
 ous habit during the Reign of Terror, and one 
 which was likely to hasten the hour of death. 
 
 I received a letter from my father which made 
 my heart ache. I always awaited and read his 
 letters with deep emotion. He told me that 
 Madame Latour, who was their only consola- 
 tion, who lightened the burden of their old age, 
 had just been taken away from them ; that she 
 had been forced to leave the prison in spite of 
 the efforts she had made to remain or be al- 
 lowed to return. She begged for imprisonment 
 as earnestly as one usually does for liberty. 
 
 All this caused me great grief. I felt more 
 keenly than ever how much my parents needed 
 me, and I again sent in applications to be allowed 
 to go to them ; they were fruitless. Fortunately 
 they had with them my sister-in-law, the wife of 
 Louis, Vicomte de Noailles, whom they valued 
 as she deserved ; but as she was obliged to take 
 care of Madame d'Ayen, her mother, and 
 Madame la Marechale de Noailles, her grand- 
 mother, who were lodging with her, she could 
 not do very much for my parents. Conse- 
 quently they were left entirely alone, my father
 
 During; the French Revolution. loi 
 
 then eighty and my mother sixty.^ Their for- 
 lorn situation was constantly before my mind. 
 One day as I was intensely occupied with 
 thoughts of them, I heard a great noise in the 
 courtyard ; I looked out, and saw a convoy 
 enter containing a hundred and fourteen persons 
 from Neuilly-sur-Seine. They had been com- 
 pelled to pass by the camp of Robespierre's 
 disciples, who had shouted terrible threats at 
 them. As they had received no orders to kill 
 the prisoners, they contented themselves with 
 overwhelming them with threats and insults. 
 The convoy was composed of a great many 
 nobles who had established themselves in the 
 village of Neuilly on account of the leiires de 
 passe. (A decree had compelled all nobles who 
 were not imprisoned in Paris to go away sev- 
 eral leagues from the city.) A most strange 
 thing to happen at such a time was, that some 
 persons who were not of noble blood, but who 
 wished to be considered so, obeyed this decree, 
 which had no reference to them at all. The 
 servants of the nobles had been arrested with 
 them ; and with them were also people of all con- 
 ditions, among them six nuns of the Visitation, 
 — one of whom was Madame de Croi, sister of 
 
 1 A detailed account of the prison of the Luxembourg 
 may be found in the journal of Madame Latour.
 
 102 Prison Life 
 
 Madame de Tourzel. All of these unfortunate 
 creatures were left a whole day in the ' mouse- 
 trap.' I learned that Madame de Choiseul, the 
 mother^ Madame Hippolyte de Choiseul, and 
 Madame de Serent were also of the party. The 
 whole company were searched in the strictest 
 manner. At last, at seven o'clock in the even- 
 ing, they were put into lodgings. The nuns, 
 to their dismay, were put on the sixth floor, with 
 twenty-five persons ; and to make them more 
 wretched, they were put with the lowest crea- 
 tures. All belonging to this convoy suffered 
 extremely from hunger. We gave them what we 
 could. I remember that I made for Mesdames 
 de Choiseul a panado which they thought deli- 
 cious. Bread and wine were usually all that \\'as 
 allowed to be offered to the new-comers. This 
 is a minute detail, and is intended to show the 
 destitution which existed in our prison. I have 
 seen poor women, brought from the suburbs of 
 Paris, sleeping on the tables in the refectory. 
 The greatest attention we could bestow upon 
 people was to give up our mattresses to them 
 while they were waiting for theirs. 
 
 All those composing the convoy from Neuilly^ 
 though scarcely settled in lodgings, came very 
 near being sent in a body to the Conciergerie 
 to perish the next day. About midnight I heard
 
 During the French Revolution. 103 
 
 the sound of carriages, — a not uncommon thing, 
 as I slept lightly. A melancholy curiosity, in- 
 spired by fear, induced me to rise and see what 
 was going on. 
 
 I saw by the light of a number of torches a 
 great many gendarmes and bailiffs, and at the 
 same moment a frightful noise was heard in our 
 corridor. Loud voices cried, ' Let all who be- 
 long to the convoy from Neuilly prepare to de- 
 part.' I trembled all over, and went out to go and 
 see my neighbours, who, little accustomed to the 
 rules of the house, were quite undisturbed, since 
 they had been told that this was only a removal. 
 I do not remem.ber whether I told them of the 
 fate which immediately threatened them, so they 
 might prepare for it, or whether I left them in 
 ignorance of their death-summons. For some 
 time they remained in suspense ; then the jailers 
 came to say that there was a mistake. We 
 afterward learned that it was by mistake that 
 they had come that night to the Plessis. The 
 executioners did not let their wagons remain 
 empty, but went to another prison to fill them. 
 It was necessary to have a certain number of 
 victims every day, except from our prison, where 
 the number varied. I have known as many as 
 sixty-four to be sent from us in one day. 
 
 One thing seems almost incredible unless one
 
 104 Prison Life 
 
 witnessed it : it is that constantly one could 
 hear the prisoners playing on different instru- 
 ments, and singing in chorus the Republican 
 airs ; and again, that one could see women' 
 caring for their dress, and even coquettish, while, 
 besides the guillotine, they were threatened 
 with death by fire and water. We heard that 
 we were to be shot as the Lyonnais were, against 
 a wall which was newly erected in our court- 
 yard and was destined, it was said, for that pur- 
 pose. In addition to these rumours, the fire in the 
 library of the abbey of St. Germain, — which we 
 saw very plainly, — as well as the explosion of 
 the magazine at Crenelle, gave us a great deal of 
 anxiety. As far as I myself was concerned, I 
 am sure these two events disturbed me but 
 little ; but I was terribly anxious on account of 
 those dear to me. The walk in the open air, 
 which was necessary for our existence, became 
 almost intolerable. One day when I was out, 
 I saw several persons dismount who came from 
 Angoumois. It was about six o'clock in the even- 
 ing ; the name of one of them, an old lady named 
 De Boursac, reminded me of two of the king's 
 equerries who bore the same name, and I gave 
 her some information concerning them which 
 seemed to afford her great pleasure. She told 
 me they were her children, and that she had
 
 During the French Revohttion. 105 
 
 two others with her. My first conversation was 
 a last farewell, for she was executed with them 
 the next day. The pretext of conspiracies be- 
 gan to be fashionable in order to cause the death 
 of a great many persons of different classes at 
 the same time. I comforted myself sometimes 
 with the hope that my parents' advanced age 
 and their virtues would save them, and that I 
 only would perish ; for I saw clearly from all 
 the refusals I had received that I should be 
 obliged to renounce entirely the happiness of 
 joining them. This was for me the greatest pos- 
 sible sorrow, but each day brought others. I 
 could never have endured my situation with for- 
 titude had I not resigned myself entirely to the 
 will of God. The charity which we were so 
 frequently called upon to exercise helped to dis- 
 tract our minds. One day, for instance, I met a 
 poor woman who arrived overcome with fatigue 
 from her long, miserable journey, having slept 
 by the way only in infected prisons. The jailer, 
 in order to force her to go to her apartment, 
 which was very high up, spoke to her in most 
 abusive language, and even kicked her, to rouse 
 her from the prostration which overcame her as 
 she mounted the stairs. I begged this cruel 
 citizen not to treat her as a beast of burden, 
 but to put her in my charge. I had great trouble
 
 io6 Prison Life 
 
 to gain this favour from him, but succeeded 
 with the help of one of my companions in 
 getting her away from the barbarian. I think 
 she was Madame de Richelieu. 
 
 Madame de Rochechouart, her mother, was 
 a singular example of the well established fact 
 that prison life cured several very great invalids. 
 When she was arrested at Courteille she was 
 spitting blood so constantly that it was thought 
 she would never reach Paris. On reaching 
 Plessis her health became much better, though 
 she lived in a room where the plaster was still 
 fresh, without fire, and exposed to every wind. 
 I believe it was the strict diet forced upon us 
 by the poor food which produced this happy 
 effect. One ate only what was just necessary 
 to sustain life. The mind was so agitated that 
 the body felt the effects of the strain. I re- 
 member that one night I was so hungry that I 
 got up to get some chocolate, wondering that a 
 physical need could distract me from the sad 
 thoughts which beset me when awake. One 
 day I spoke to Madame de la Fayette on this 
 subject, saying to her that I could not conceive 
 how, occupied as we were constantly with 
 thoughts of death, and having it continually be- 
 fore us, we could provide for the next day what 
 was needful to preserve our lives. While we
 
 During the French Revolution. 107 
 
 were in the refectory we were isformed that a 
 poor woman had thrown herself out of the only 
 window without a grating in the whole house, 
 and that she was dying in the courtyard ; it was 
 surely despair which had urged her to this act of 
 folly. I ran to the spot where they had carried 
 her, and found her crushed, and showing no 
 signs of consciousness. The keeper was be- 
 side himself, fearing lest this accident should 
 compromise him, and never thought of doing 
 anything for the unfortunate creature. I im- 
 plored him, as our surgeon had made his rounds 
 and lived at a great distance, to send for one of 
 the physicians who were imprisoned in the build- 
 ing used as a court. He granted my request very 
 unwillingly ; and the officers from the hospital 
 could scarcely be induced to come to see the 
 injured woman, as they said it was the duty of 
 the surgeon of the house to attend to her. They 
 found she had no money, and made no attempt 
 to do anything for her. I was extremely irri- 
 tated at this. My companions in misfortune 
 shared my desire to be of some assistance. I 
 enter into these details only to show that deeds 
 of kindness were the only distraction from our 
 own sufferings. 
 
 I always waited with impatience, mingled with 
 fear, the notes that came to me from the Lux-
 
 io8 Prison Life 
 
 embourg. I received one on the morning of 
 June 26. My father wrote me (I transcribe 
 the note) : ' Your mother is suffering from 
 severe indigestion, brought on by eating salad, 
 which is all she has for supper ; at first I treated 
 her mys'elf, and afterward our neighbours ren- 
 dered her all sorts of services. We have a good 
 physician here among the prisoners ; he has given 
 her two grains of an emetic which have done 
 her much good. She will be able to take liquids 
 to-morrow, and is improving rapidly. You shall 
 hear from her to-morrow. Our tenderest love 
 and kisses, my dear daughter.' 
 
 On reading this my heart ached ; I thought 
 of my mother as suffering from something like 
 apoplexy, of my father as heart-broken, while I 
 was utterly powerless to help them. I spent 
 the whole day and night in great agitation, and 
 it seemed so long before the sun rose ! I went 
 down and sent message after message to the 
 clerk. Finally, when the time when we usually 
 received letters had passed without my getting 
 one, as a great many of our prisoners had hus- 
 bands at the Luxembourg I went to inquire if 
 they had had their letters ; some said no, others 
 manifested a sort of embarrassment which seemed 
 like compassion. I was struck by it, and a sus- 
 picion of the calamity with which I was threat-
 
 During French Kevolution. 109 
 
 ened immediatelj flashed across my mind. I 
 talked of it the w'nole evening to Madame de 
 la Fajette and other persons. Their terrified 
 expression confirmed my suspicions. I said 
 to them, with extreme emotion : ' You are 
 hiding from me to-day wTn.at I shall learn to- 
 morrow. I know what yoi wish to keep from 
 me. My cousin^ you must tell me the dreadful 
 news.' 
 
 Accordingly she came into my room early in 
 the morning, and I no longer doubted what my 
 misfortune was. I read the whole story in her 
 face. She did not tell me of the death of both 
 at once ; she waited awhile before telling me 
 of the other. I can never express the grief I 
 felt, — the horror of thinking of such virtue, 
 perfect charity, and honour upon the scaffold ! 
 My parents' goodness to me, their tenderness, 
 the immense force of their examples^ the lessons 
 they taught me, — all came to my mind. My 
 sobs choked me. It was the day before the fast 
 of Saint Peter. I observed it strictly, swallow- 
 ing only my tears ; it is impossible to describe 
 what one feels under such circumstances. I 
 could learn no details, except that they had been 
 beheaded as conspirators. I did not go down- 
 stairs for several days, and it was some time be- 
 fore I went to walk in the courtyard. My neigh-
 
 no Prison Life 
 
 hours showed me every atten. on. From that 
 time the thought of death v/as always before 
 me, — everything ^called it to my mind ; and 
 this perhaps soothed the violence of my grief. 
 One of the first visits I made was to a lady who 
 had on the same day Jost her husband and her 
 only son, a youth of sixteen. I was told that 
 I might perhaps comfort her ; and I tried to do 
 so as well as I could. I continually repeated 
 the prayers for the dying for others and for my- 
 self ; I repeated them so frequently that I knew 
 them by heart. I felt sorry to end my life with- 
 out spiritual aid. This was all the sadder since 
 there were two hundred, priests in our house ; 
 but they v ere absolutely forbidden to hold any 
 communication with us. Some persons were in 
 despair on this account. I told them that when 
 it was impossible to confess, one should make a 
 sacrifice of one's life and arouse oneself to per- 
 fect contrition, and one would obtain pardon. 
 I was not greatly disturbed, because I felt 
 entirely resigned to the will of God. 
 
 Three peasant women from Berry, who slept 
 just back of my bed, received their indictments 
 just as they were going to bed. One of them 
 had spit upon a patriot's cloak ; another had 
 stepped upon the arm of a statute of Liberty, 
 which had tumbled down ; I do not know the
 
 During the French Kevohition. 1 1 1 
 
 crime of the third. They were in a terrible 
 state all night. Their sobling prevented my 
 sleeping at all. I got up and endeavoured to 
 encourage them, and exhort them to submit to 
 the decree of Providence. After a while they 
 grev^ more calm, appeared before the tribunal, 
 and w^ere acquitted. This was for the purpose 
 of making it appear that the decisions were 
 rendered with some sort of equity. 
 
 These pretended conspiracies niultiplied in a 
 frightful manner. After that of the f-uxembourg, 
 one was invented at St. Lazare, and another at 
 Bicetre. The victims collected at the last men- 
 tioned prison, as a,diip6t, were brought to ours, 
 and kept there twenty-four hours. The convoy 
 was escorted by forty gendarmes, armed with 
 guns. There were a good many priests. These 
 unfortunate beings were chained together by 
 twos and threes, like wild beasts ; most of them 
 held their breviaries in their hands. All of them 
 were put in the dungeon to sleep, and they were 
 taken away in a body the next day to the Con- 
 ciergerie. It is even doubted whether they 
 were ever condemned before being beheaded. 
 I cannot explain the barbarous curiosity which 
 incited us to go to the windows to see these 
 itinerant hearses come and go. I remarked one 
 day to some of my companions that under the
 
 112 Prison Life 
 
 old regime we should have gone a long way to 
 avoid meeting a Ci'iminal who was going to be 
 hanged, and now we gazed upon every innocent 
 victim. I think we grew somewhat hardened 
 from constant contact with those who were so. 
 The famous Osselin, author of all the decrees 
 against the ^migr4s, was in the party from 
 Bicfitre ; he had concealed a dagger under his 
 coat with which he wounded himself several 
 times during the night he passed at the Plessis. 
 These wounds were dressed as well as was pos- 
 sible, and he was carried to the tribunal on a 
 litter. He was guillotined the next day. The 
 sight of this man's suffering, criminal though he 
 was, inspired me with horror beyond description. 
 He was literally cut to pieces. 
 
 On the 2 2d of July it was rumoured in the 
 prison that some of the ladies of the house of 
 Noailles had been condemned. I did not speak 
 of it to Madame de la Fayette, but tried in 
 vain to learn the truth of the report. A little 
 while after, however, I read in a newspaper 
 that Madame la Marechale de Noailles and 
 Madame la Duchesse d'Ayen had been guil- 
 lotined. Nothing was said about my dear little 
 sister-in-law.^ The difficulty of procuring news 
 from outside was extremely great. The servants 
 
 1 The Vicomtesse de Noailles.
 
 . During the French Revolution. 113 
 
 of the Reign of Terror even trembled for them- 
 selves. When I questioned them, they answered 
 vaguely. I no longer doubted the truth of this 
 new calamity ; but I wanted to be sure of it 
 before announcing it to Madame de la Fay- 
 ette^ whose fears I sought in vain to arouse, 
 and who was always hoping for the best. At 
 last I paid a jailer to gain for me the con- 
 firmation of what I feared. 
 
 It was a sorrow to me the whole time I was 
 hiding it from my cousin, and my spirit was 
 crushed. I loved the Vicomtesse de Noailles 
 as a daughter and friend. She possessed 
 every possible virtue and charm, and was the 
 member of my family whom I most loved and 
 confided in. 
 
 To find myself bereaved of five members of 
 my family within so short a space of time seemed 
 almost incredible. And how could I tell 
 Madame de la Fayette that she no longer had 
 mother or grandmother or sister ! At last she 
 became conscious of the embarrassed manner 
 of those whom she questioned. She asked me 
 the reason ; and I answered her by a flood of 
 tears. It was a sad service which I rendered in 
 return for what she had done for me, under the 
 same circumstances. She comprehended the 
 death of her parent and grandparent, but she
 
 114 Prison Life 
 
 could not be persuaded of the death of the 
 angel sister whom she adored. I shared all her 
 sorrow, and our hearts bled for each other. Her 
 situation was terrible, and awakened anew my 
 still fresh grief. We frequently talked together 
 of our revered parents ; and we were only roused 
 from our stunned condition by misfortunes more 
 recent than our own, which urged us to com- 
 fort those who were suffering from them. The 
 indispensable duty of preparing food is a real, 
 though wretched, distraction when the heart is 
 aching. 
 
 We were now threatened with a domiciliary 
 visitation ; the keeper, who was quite kind to 
 me, advised me to put my devotional books 
 where they would not be seen. I concealed 
 them carefully, as well as my assignats, a few 
 of which still remained, between the beams of 
 our cells. This visitation did not take place. 
 One night (I do not exactly remember the 
 date) I heard a great noise of horses' feet ; 
 the great gate opened and shut every mo- 
 ment, and horsemen came in and out. At 
 daybreak I found the courtyard filled with 
 gendarmes. They went away without doing 
 anything, and I have never learned why they 
 came. 
 
 I had some business to transact with Haly,
 
 During the French Revolution. 115 
 
 and we talked afterward of what was going on ; 
 and he informed me that soon all persons of my 
 rank were to be beheaded. I realized that I 
 had but little time to live, and profited by the 
 conversation. I set a strict watch over myself, 
 and prayed God to sustain my courage, — a 
 prayer which was fully granted me. 
 
 I did not think it necessary to overwhelm my 
 companions with the weight of my griefs and 
 fears. Some of them deluded themselves as 
 certain sick persons do during epidemics, though 
 already attacked by the disease, saying, ' He 
 who just died had a hemorrhage ; I have not. 
 The other complained of a pain in his back ; I 
 have not felt anything of the sort.' Just so 
 with the prisoners ; they said to each other, 
 ' Those who were beheaded were in corres- 
 pondence with the dmigr^s, they were aristocrats, 
 money was found on their persons,' etc. They 
 tried to persuade themselves that they were not 
 in the category of those who were every day 
 being condemned. I looked at the situation in 
 a different light ; it appeared to me impossible, 
 if the Reign of Terror continued, that any one 
 of our class should escape. I felt sure I should 
 suffer the same fate as my parents ; I sought to 
 imitate their resignation, and to honour their 
 memory by dying in a manner worthy of them.
 
 1 1 6 Prison Life 
 
 I thought that terrible armchair^ had been 
 honoured by the many virtuous persons who 
 had occupied it. Every evening when I went 
 to bed I repeated my In manus. I arranged for 
 the distribution of all my small supply of furni- 
 ture among my companions. I constantly strove 
 to forgive injuries. My parents, who had been 
 very admirable in this respect, were my models. 
 How beautiful, how Christian, how truly worthy 
 of emulation it is to feel no resentment against 
 those who, after having overwhelmed us with 
 insult, conduct us to the tomb in a manner so 
 atrocious I It is only by following the teaching 
 of the Gospel in every respect that one can be 
 enabled to practise a charity so perfect. 
 
 One more sacrifice remained for me to make, 
 — the saddest of all : it was, never to see my 
 son again. I can never express what I felt then, 
 or what an effort it cost me to be resigned to 
 it. I believed that God would pardon me ; and 
 I was in as peaceful a state of mind as could be 
 expected under such cruel circumstances. I 
 resolved that when I should be called before the 
 tribunal I would make no answer to the ques- 
 tions of the iniquitous judges, but after hearing 
 
 1 The victims brought before the Revolutionary tribunal 
 for examination were placed in an armchair, and from it 
 they were taken to the scaffold.
 
 During the French Revolution. 117 
 
 my sentence read, I would say, ' You are con- 
 demning an innocent person ; as a Cliristian I 
 forgive you, but the God of vengeance will judge 
 you/ 
 
 I grieved to think that I was not to die for 
 the faith. Ah ! how delightful, when one finds 
 one's last hour approaching, to be able to be 
 sure of possessing a crown of glory and dwell- 
 ing in that country of which Saint Augus- 
 tine says that ^ Truth is the King, Charity 
 the Law, and the Duration, Eternity.' The 
 idea that I was to die only because of the in- 
 eradicable stain of aristocracy displeased me 
 inexpressibly. 
 
 On the 8th Thermidor, July 27th, 1794, we 
 perceived toward evening an extreme degree of 
 the usual terrible watchfulness. The prisoners 
 were not allowed to go into the courtyard ; the 
 gratings were closed. One would have been 
 anxious under any circumstances ; but when one 
 "s daily expecting one's fate, one has no other 
 fear. I had still, however, a great dread of 
 being killed by piecemeal, as was done on the 
 2d of September, with pikes, bayonets, and 
 such infernal weapons. I slept as usual ; and the 
 next day, the 9th Thermidor, the sound of can- 
 non was heard. The keeper and jailer were in 
 a state of great excitement ; their eyes looked
 
 Ii8 Prison Life 
 
 haggard and their faces downcast. We knew 
 nothing of what was passing, but we presumed 
 it must be something frightful. That evening 
 their countenances seemed more human, and 
 there was a rumour of the death of Robespierre. 
 The next day, the loth, the inhabitants of 
 houses adjoining the Plessis made from their 
 windows signs of satisfaction. Our keepers 
 appeared more serene. We heard cries of joy 
 and clapping of hands in the courtyard ; a man 
 named Lafond, who had been in close confine- 
 ment for five months, and of whose very exis- 
 tence we had been ignorant, had been set at 
 liberty. This was the dawn of less terrible days 
 for us. We believed for the first time that we 
 might possibly be released from our tomb. On 
 the nth, Madame Rovere's waiting-woman was 
 set at liberty. The moment a prisoner ap- 
 proached the grating, cries of ' Liberty ' re- 
 sounded through the prison ; and this word 
 sounded very sweet to our ears. I could not 
 imagine what was going on outside. We learned 
 that the famous Terrorists continued to take the 
 lead in the Convention, that the terrible CoUot 
 d'Herbois, who had had us imprisoned, was one 
 of the number, which made me think that people 
 of our class in society would still be imprisoned. 
 The thought of death never left me nor my
 
 During the French Revolution. 119 
 
 companions. Madame de Pons was very anx- 
 ious to leave the Plessis ; she obtained permis- 
 sion to go to a private hospital. (The private 
 hospitals were the prisons where prisoners were 
 best lodged and fed.) It was proposed that I 
 should send in the same petition ; but I refused 
 to do so for two reasons : first, because I did 
 not wish to act contrary to the will of Provi- 
 dence, which had placed me in the Plessis ; and 
 second, because it was very expensive living irt 
 the private hospitals. 
 
 The men were now allowed to walk in the 
 courtyard with the women ; I was disgusted 
 at this. One can easily imagine the unpleas- 
 antness of such a mingling of hussars, spies, 
 women and girls of the street. I advised the 
 good nuns not to appear. It was a horrid sight 
 for any decent person, still more for a holy 
 Carmelite. I lent my chamber to these good 
 women that they might say their prayers in 
 peace. One of them told me she could not en- 
 dure the language of the vulgar creatures who 
 were lodged with her ; I told her her only resource 
 was to stop her ears, since she could not alter 
 their conversation. Another went quite out of 
 her mind because she was not set free. One 
 of her companions came for me to quiet her. I 
 went to her and undertook to treat her as though
 
 120 Prison Life 
 
 she were ill, persuaded her to take something 
 to drink, and comforted her with the hope of 
 liberty, and after a while she became calm. It 
 was terrible to see her. 
 
 As the number of persons who were set at 
 liberty increased every day. we began to hope 
 for escape from our bars, which up to this time 
 we had expected to see open only for us to pass 
 to the scaffold. The women of the lower classes 
 were favoured first ; and six months elapsed be- 
 fore any one dared say a word for one of the 
 nobility. I felt real gratification when I saw 
 Monsieur Legendre, the registrar of Mouchy, 
 go out. Every time I had seen him, I had said 
 to myself, ' He is one of the victims of our fam- 
 ily ; ' and I had felt quite heart-sick on account 
 of it. 
 
 Our seclusion was so strict that when I met 
 two men (the men were never allowed to enter 
 the building appropriated to the women) on my 
 corridor it astonished me greatly. They seemed 
 curious, and asked questions. I inquired about 
 these new people, and was told that they were 
 attached to the Committee of General Security, 
 and had considerable influence there. One of 
 them asked me if I belonged to the nobility ; I 
 replied that I did. One of my companions re- 
 proved me for this, considering it an impru-
 
 During the French Revolution. 121 
 
 dence. I told her that I never kept back the 
 truth, and besides it would be perfectly useless 
 to do so. These men returned for several days 
 following ; they showed a desire to gain the 
 confidence of the prisoners in order to inter- 
 fere in their affairs. Those who were set at 
 liberty were now frequently of a higher class. 
 Among them were priests, soldiers, and land 
 owners. We had very miserable recruits in 
 their places, — some Terrorists, and a legion of 
 spies. The judges of the Revolutionary tribu- 
 nal came again to the clerk of our prison to in- 
 quire for accused prisoners, who were given 
 permission to go and confer with their defend- 
 ing counsel. As for us, being only suspected, 
 we had no right to do so ; but we pretended to 
 have, so as to hear something from those who 
 were dear to us. The first person who came 
 to see me was Madame Dubois de la Motte ; 
 and the first who succeeded in sending me a 
 letter at this still most dangerous period was the 
 Vicomtesse de Durfort. She offered me her 
 aid and money. I shall never forget this great 
 kindness. Madame de Grimaldi, her mother's 
 sister, who was with us the day she set out for 
 the tribunal, saw Mademoiselle de Pons as 
 she was getting into Fouquier's wagon ; she 
 pressed her hand as she bade her good-by,
 
 122 Prison Life 
 
 and said, ' I am content ; my troubles will soon 
 be over.' 
 
 Monsieur Noel inquired for me at the clerk's 
 office ; and I was very glad to be able to show 
 my gratitude to him for the proofs of affection 
 he had shown my parents. He proposed to 
 make application for me to be set at liberty. I 
 refused to allow him to do so, urging as my ob- 
 jection that I had read in one of the newspapers 
 a denunciation against Lecointre, of Versailles, 
 issued by the Convention on account of his 
 having secured the release of Madame d'Adhe- 
 mar from La Bourbe (the convent of Port- 
 Royal, on the Rue de la Bourbe, had been 
 converted into a prison under the appropriate 
 name of Port- Libre), which made me fear to 
 compromise those who took an interest in me 
 and our class generally ; and I determined to 
 wait patiently a while longer. Next, the entire 
 convoy from Neuilly was set at liberty amid the 
 cheers of the prisoners. The nobles were not 
 excluded from this measure, — a fact which 
 made me really believe, for the first time, that I 
 should not remain forever in the Plessis ; and I 
 wrote to Monsieur Noel that he mis^ht bear me 
 in mind. He had sent me tidings of all the 
 members of my family except my son, of whom 
 I could learn nothing ; the children of my un-
 
 During the French Revolution. 123 
 
 fortunate sister-in-law came to see me.^ Others 
 were present ; and I could not utter a single 
 word, so great was my emotion. I embraced 
 them and then retired to my chamber, com- 
 pletely overwhelmed by the heart-rending 
 memories aw^akened by their presence. 
 
 There was now great excitement among the 
 prisoners. When one has no hope, there is 
 nothing to do but to be resigned ; but we had 
 laid aside the thought of approaching death 
 and had conceived the idea of being released 
 from captivity. 
 
 One day as I was sitting in my old room with 
 the fireplace, which had been vacated, and the 
 possession of which once more was a real pleas- 
 ure to me, I saw a man come in from outside 
 who was named Fortin ; he told me he was a 
 lawyer frequently employed by Monsieur Le- 
 gendre, a deputy from Paris, and member of 
 the Committee of General Security, and that he 
 could be of service to me. He asked me a 
 great many questions, and inspired me with con- 
 fidence ; he came to see me for several succes- 
 sive days, and asked me for my papers. I 
 showed him proofs that I had never emigrated ; 
 that I had not gone outside of the Departments 
 
 1 Alexis and Alfred de Noailles, sons of the Vlcomtesse 
 de Noailles.
 
 124 Prison Life 
 
 of Paris and the Oise, from which I had certifi- 
 cates of civism and residence ; that I was im- 
 prisoned only as a noble, and that there was not 
 the slightest accusation against me. I afterward 
 entered into correspondence with him. 
 
 Letters circulated more freely ; and we could 
 send them out by the prisoners, who were leav- 
 ing every day. I commissioned the governess of 
 Madame de Chauvelin's children to carry tidings 
 of me to my mother-in-law. We had learned 
 that deputies had been sent into all the prisons 
 to release the prisoners, and that Bourdon, 
 of the Oise, and Legendre had charge of ours. 
 
 On the 1 6th of October, 1794, the great gate 
 opened, and we saw the carriage of these depu- 
 ties enter. — which seemed a strange and pleasant 
 sight, since hitherto whenever a vehicle entered 
 the courtyard it departed loaded with victims. 
 The deputies ascended to the clerk's office, 
 where the prisoners of the lower class were 
 called up. Eighty of them were at once set at 
 liberty. The nobles were still ignorant whether 
 or not they would soon be numbered among the 
 elect. The deputies adjourned their second 
 sitting to October 18. I felt that this would 
 probably be the day on which we would be 
 subjected to our examinations, and I dreaded it 
 on account of my love of the truth. I feared that
 
 During the French Revolution. 125 
 
 I might be unfaithful to it, or that if I spoke the 
 truth plainly I might remain several years more 
 in captivity. As I was turning these thoughts 
 over in my mind, which was very much troubled 
 (it was the famous i8th of October), I received 
 orders to present myself at the clerk's office. 
 As we entered the room where the deputies 
 were, they said to us in a severe tone : ' Let the 
 ci-devants leave the room ; it is not proper to 
 examine the good sans-culottes in their pres- 
 ence.' We retired and waited almost three 
 hours, most of the time standing. I conversed 
 all this time with Madame de la Fayette. At 
 last my turn came. Bourdon asked me my 
 names ; I told them to him. He jumped up 
 out of his chair and exclaimed, ^ These are ter- 
 rible names ! We cannot set this woman at lib- 
 erty ; her case must be carried before the 
 Committee of General Security.' 
 
 I silently implored the aid of Heaven to en- 
 able me to watch over myself at this moment 
 and not to violate the truth. 
 
 Bourdon asked me several insignificant ques- 
 tions with regard to my abode, the time of my 
 imprisonment, etc. Legendre, whom Fortin 
 and Monsieur Noel had interested in my be- 
 half, assumed a kindly manner, and pointed out 
 to his colleague that • my papers were good.
 
 126 Prison Life 
 
 that I had been spoken well of to him, that he 
 knew that I had been a member of the charita- 
 ble board of St. Sulpice.' I felt a real satis- 
 faction in being under obligations to the poor. 
 Fortin asked me what I had done to aid the 
 Revolution. I replied, • All my life I have 
 done any kind act that I could ; and I gave 
 money to poor volunteers on my father's estate 
 when they set out for the army/ A prisoner 
 who was present at my examination had the 
 kindness to bestow a panegyric upon me which 
 the keeper approved and added to, praising my 
 submission to the rules of the house. 
 
 I leaned quietly upon a table on which were 
 all the judges' papers. I learned afterward 
 that my manner was considered haughty. No 
 sentence was pronounced upon me, and at last I 
 told them that the unparalleled miseries I had 
 endured gave me a right to justice from them. 
 Legendre seemed somewhat moved, but I went 
 out of his presence a moment after feeling that 
 my cause was lost. He treated Madame de la 
 Fayette in a most insulting manner. He told 
 her ' that he had great fault to find with her, 
 that he detested her husband, herself, and her 
 name.' She replied with equal courage and 
 nobleness ' that she would always defend her 
 husband, and that a name was not a crime.'
 
 During the French Revolution. 127 
 
 Bourdon asked her several questions, to which 
 she replied with firmness. Legendre finally 
 ended this pleasant dialogue by telling her that 
 she was an insolent creature. They decided to 
 liberate the greater part of our companions. I 
 retired fully persuaded that I should be again 
 entered in the jail-book. But one of my neigh- 
 bours assured me that I was on the list of those 
 who were to be set at liberty. I received on 
 this occasion strong proofs of the interest my 
 companions took in my doubtful fate ; I re- 
 turned to my own room sure that I was to re- 
 sume my fetters ; I was resigned to this, as was 
 also Madame de la Fayette. It is not nearly 
 so hard to feel so when one has experienced 
 many misfortunes, and when one has no hope 
 of being restored to those one loves. 
 
 I have noticed that it is better, when one is 
 about to give up life, not to be surrounded by 
 those who make it so dear. What one suffers 
 for others and on one's own account is, taken 
 together, too miuch to be endured. 
 
 On the 19th of October, 1794, at ten o'clock 
 in the morning, while I was busy with my morn- 
 ing duties, I heard my door open suddenly. A 
 little while before I should have been sure that 
 it was the announcement of my death, and I 
 did not even now think this sudden interruption
 
 128 Prison Life 
 
 brought me good news ; but some one, whose 
 name I do not remember, said to me delicht- 
 edly, ' You are free ! ' My heart, so unused to 
 pleasurable emotions, was slow to entertain the 
 idea. The keeper entered, confirmed the news, 
 and brought me my acle de liberU. I then 
 thought sadly of how little use it would be to 
 me. Deprived of every comfort, separated 
 from my son and my parents, from Madame de 
 Chimay, — the only friend that Heaven had left 
 to me, — without a home, and in want of the very 
 necessaries of life, I felt irritated by the con- 
 gratulations of the jailers and the gendarmes 
 who had formerly threatened me with the guil- 
 lotine, and was very much afraid that they would, 
 according to their usual custom, manifest their 
 feelings by embracing me ; but I fortunately 
 escaped. In this confused condition of thought 
 and feeling, the memory of my dear son and the 
 thought of what I could be to him aroused my 
 courage, which had succumbed at this terrible 
 crisis. It was necessary to pack up my small 
 wardrobe, which took only a short time. All 
 my effects were put in two bundles. I bade 
 farewell to Madame de la Fayette, who, with 
 several other persons, was destined to remain 
 in prisT)n. I felt very grateful for the pleasure 
 which, despite her unfortunate situation, she
 
 During the French Revolution. 129 
 
 showed at seeing me released from bondage. I 
 engaged a commissioner at the grating, who 
 helped me with my baggage. We arrived safely 
 at the house of my mother-in-law, who then 
 lived on the Rue de Bellechasse. She received 
 me most kindly and tenderly. I found her with 
 my niece ; they did not expect me, and neither 
 did Monsieur Noel, who had on account of his 
 interest and attachment for me laboured to have 
 me liberated. He came to see me, and assured 
 me that Madame Drulh (a former governess of 
 Madame de Mailly) was very anxious to have 
 me stay at her house. I accepted the kind offer 
 for a few days, though I feared to compromise 
 her, since there was still great ill-feeling enter- 
 tained against our class. I went to see my 
 nurse, Royale. who was much moved at sight of 
 me , she had saved all she could for me. I 
 asked her for some mourning dresses, as I had 
 not worn any since the death of my parents. 
 Madame Latour came to see me. Our inter- 
 view was interrupted by bitter weeping. It is 
 impossible to imagine what I felt at seeing the 
 person who had last seen my parents, and who 
 had shown them such true affection ; it carried 
 me back to the first hours of my bereavement. 
 She thought me frightfully changed ; I looked 
 ten years older, and like one risen from the dead. 
 
 9
 
 130 Prison Life 
 
 A few of the servants of our house also came 
 to see me. The number of those who were 
 faithful was very small, the Revolution having 
 made a portion of them ' patriots,' and some of 
 them even Terrorists. 
 
 It was a great pleasure to me to see my old 
 friends once more, — among others, Madame de 
 Tourzel, who had gone through more terrible 
 scenes than any of them ; she had made the 
 fearful journey from Varennes, had been sen- 
 tenced by the ' bloody tribunal ' of the 2d of 
 September, and had been six times imprisoned. 
 I could scarcely believe my eyes as I embraced 
 her. She showed under all the trying circum- 
 stances in which she was placed a courage be- 
 yond all praise. It was really pitiful, after the 
 solemn scenes in which we had been actors and 
 witnesses, to see the value we attached to the 
 small necessities of life after having been so 
 long deprived of them. It was an intense 
 pleasure to me to be able to use a knife, a clean 
 plate, scissors, to look in a mirror, etc. ; but 
 the greatest delight of all was to be no longer 
 subjected to the low and wicked. I feel some 
 gratitude, however, to Haly, the keeper, and 
 Tavernier, the clerk, for having preserved and 
 restored to me the clock I mentioned before, 
 which I valued very much.
 
 During the French Revolution. 131 
 
 The deliverance from all my past ills was very 
 pleasant to me, but a pall seemed over every- 
 thing ; I felt a distaste for everything, as one 
 does for medicines. Accustomed as I had been 
 to be surrounded by sympathizing love, the 
 thought of my isolation overwhelmed me. It 
 seemed that though the period of my misfortune 
 was becoming more remote, liberty increased 
 the intensity of my feelings ; and my thoughts 
 grew sadder every day. The thought of death 
 necessarily most effectually blunts the edge of 
 grief, since it brings us near to the moment when 
 we find what we have lost, and we cease to 
 regret. My mind returned to its former grief 
 with renewed constancy, and I could no longer 
 open my heart to my friends. I was not sure 
 that my son was alive until I had been a long 
 time out of prison. I had planned to retire to 
 a village, with one servant, and there mourn for 
 my loved ones. The consolation of rendering 
 to the precious remains of my parents the duties 
 observed in all ages, and by all religions, was 
 refused me. Their ashes are mingled with those 
 of criminals in the cemetery of Picpus. the 
 ground of which has been bought by Madame 
 la Princesse de Hohenzollern, sister of the 
 Prince of Salm-Kirbourg. But at the last great 
 day when all hearts shall be opened, God will
 
 132 Prison Life 
 
 know how to recognize his elect, and show 
 them, resplendent in glory, to the assembled 
 nations. 
 
 I was one of the first, after the re-establish- 
 ment of the church, to have prayers said for 
 my parents. A Mass was said for them at the 
 Foreign Missions. We have need of their pro- 
 tection I trust that their heavenly blessing 
 may rest upon their children and grandchildren 
 to the latest generation. 
 
 The forlorn situation of my mother-in-law, 
 who, though she had not been in prison, had 
 been under arrest in her own house with a dozen 
 jailers, who never left her until their pay failed, 
 determined me to devote myself to taking care 
 of her ; but I could not do this as the law 
 exiling nobles was not abrogated. We were 
 allowed only two ddcadis ^ to make our prepa- 
 rations, and immediately after were to retire some 
 leagues from Paris. It was necessary for me 
 to seek some shelter ; Madame de la Rochefou- 
 cauld-Doudeauville, a relative of mine, pro- 
 posed to me to come to her house in the country, 
 and assured me that I was welcome to anything 
 she had. Her kind feeling for me caused her 
 to offer what she really had not ; for the little 
 
 1 The division of ten days, by which the Republican 
 calendar supplanted the week — Tr.
 
 During the French Revolution, 133 
 
 house which she occupied . in the village of 
 Wisson, near Longjumeau, was scarcely large 
 enough for her own family. I went to see it, and 
 concluded to rent some lodgings near her and 
 Mesdames de la Suze and de la Roche-Aymon. 
 I did not, however, have the opportunity to 
 occupy them, as I obtained a prolongation of my 
 sojourn in Paris, and during that time the law 
 was repealed. 
 
 After remaining six months at the house of 
 good Madame Drulh, I found a vacant room in 
 the house where my mother-in-law was staying, 
 which I took immediately. It was extremely 
 cold, and the winters of 1794 and 1795 were 
 very trying. I had no one to wait upon me. I 
 would come in to go to bed, and find the fire 
 had gone out, and this frequently after having 
 walked a long distance. I missed much of the 
 sunlight in the streets as I had to prepare both 
 my breakfast and my supper. In order to at- 
 tend Mass I had to go out before day and resort 
 to the secret places of worship, where pious 
 mechanics gladly received me. There was 
 nothing more edifying during the whole Reign 
 of Terror than the courage they showed in 
 procuring for the faithful the opportunities of 
 engaging in the exercise of their religion. I 
 dressed myself as a servant, and consequently
 
 134 Prison Life 
 
 could not wear any of the warm crdpes which lux- 
 ury supplies for us ; this masquerade was neces- 
 sary in order not to make known the places 
 where the holy mysteries were celebrated. 
 
 On Christmas day, 1794, when the Reaumur 
 thermometer fell to eighteen degrees, I sat in the 
 Rue Montorgueil, near Montmartre, through the 
 whole of the office, the sermon, vespers, and 
 the benediction. I found myself on the Pont 
 Neuf at six o'clock in the evening, and the 
 north wind cut my face like a knife. I had 
 formed the habit, after leaving prison, of going 
 out into the streets alone ; I continued to do so, 
 and found it very convenient. I never took 
 cold once during that severe winter. I met my 
 old acquaintances from time to time, and always 
 felt deeply moved. We invariably talked about 
 the treatment in the different prisons, and the suf- 
 erings we had endured. Almost all the promi- 
 nent persons had been imprisoned, or at least 
 under arrest in their own houses, which was sub- 
 stituted only as a great favour in the case of the 
 infirm or aged. We found a certain variety in 
 the horrors ; but on comparison the Conciergerie 
 and the Plessis proved to have been the most 
 terrible of all the prisons, on account of the 
 treatment and the great number of victims who 
 were constantly taken from them to the scaffold.
 
 During the French Revolution. 135 
 
 Madame Doudeauville very kindly persuaded 
 me to spend a few days with her at her coun- 
 try-house. Her loveliness, the attractions of 
 her home, the sincere sorrow she had felt at the 
 death of my parents, and her goodness to me, 
 cheered me somewhat, though I was so over- 
 come with grief. I had almost forgotten how 
 to write an ordinary letter, and had long been 
 entirely out of the habit of doing so. The care- 
 lessness of the style of this memoir and its dul- 
 ness are proof of what I have stated. 
 
 At last I received news from my son, and this 
 restored me to life. 
 
 The latter part of the winter was terribly hard, 
 on account of both the scarcity of food and the 
 cold. It was almost impossible to procure wood, 
 candles, or bread. We sent thirty and forty 
 leagues, for them. I carried something in my 
 pocket when I went out to dine, even at the 
 house of Madame la Duchesse d'Orleans, who 
 lodged in the Rue de Charonne, near the bar- 
 rier at the Faubourg St. Antoine. She boasted 
 of having a farmer who sent her a loaf of bread 
 weighing four pounds, every week. She had 
 wretched fare ; her dishes were what are com- 
 monly called culs-noirs. A dwarf served her as 
 butler and valet. She endured her poverty 
 nobly, and joked about it. I remember hearing
 
 136 Prison Life 
 
 a lady say to the queen, the wife of Louis XVI., 
 while she was at the Tuileries, that she knew 
 one woman more unfortunate than she, and that 
 was the Duchess of Orleans. She had inher- 
 ited a hundred and twenty millions from Mon- 
 sieur le Due de Penthievre, of which the 
 nation took possession, and did not even give 
 her enough out of it to support life. 
 
 The Revolution has taught us how to under- 
 stand poverty, by causing us to experience it 
 ourselves. Two farmers on the estate of Mou- 
 chy, whose names I record with gratitude, — 
 Duraincy and Isore, — sent me some flour. I am 
 sure a casket full of gold could never have 
 given me so much pleasure. People conversed 
 in the evening only of what they had eaten dur- 
 ing the day. Servants stood in line from three 
 o'clock in the morning trying to procure provi- 
 sions. Women and young girls often waited 
 twenty-four hours. Sometimes a whole day was 
 spent in obtaining a loaf of bread or two ounces 
 of something made of hempseed, green pears, 
 and all sorts of horrid stuff. Whenever I had 
 any of this unwholesome food I divided it with 
 those about me. It was the maximum ^ that 
 reduced Paris to this state of distress. 
 
 1 [The highest price at which food, at that time, was 
 allowed to be sold in Paris!
 
 During the French Revolution. 137 
 
 Soon I found myself in a fresh dilemma, be- 
 ing sent away from my lodgings, which had 
 been rented to some one else. Madame de 
 Tourzel offered me a residence in the name of 
 Madame de Charost, and I accepted it ; it was 
 very high up. I dined with my mother-in-law, 
 and consequently^ in the evening, was exceed- 
 ingly weary from the number of steps I had 
 climbed ; for I was very much broken down 
 from all I had endured. The charming society 
 of that house amply repaid me for all the fatigue 
 I suffered. My mother-in-law was obliged to 
 leave the house where she was staying, and 
 Madame de Beuvron lent her hers. "We had 
 very fine lodgings, but our food was miserable. 
 My mother-in-law and I lived for three francs a 
 day (in assignats) at an eating-house, — the uncer- 
 tainty of the future compelling me to economize 
 the small means still left me. Both the quan- 
 tity and quality of the food was insufficient ; 
 nothing could be more disgusting than the meats 
 which were served us. I had Ions: been accus- 
 tomed to such fare ; but I grieved on my mother- 
 in-law's account, though she never complained 
 of it. She endured the horrors of her situa- 
 tion with admirable resignation and patience. 
 Heaven doubtless sustained her to the end of 
 her sad life. A most fortunate thing for me now
 
 138 Prison Life. 
 
 happened : Madame de Beuvron went to occupy 
 her own house, and several apartments became 
 vacant in that of Madame de la Rochefoucauld ; 
 we took possession of them on the ist of Octo- 
 ber, 1/9). This arrangement was very much 
 more agreeable for me ; I have continued to 
 live there ever since, and I desire nothing bet- 
 ter. Being near my son and daughter-in-law 
 adds another attraction to it ; and as my life 
 now passes in the most commonplace fashion I 
 end this tiresome story, asking the reader to 
 excuse its faults. 
 
 Paris, February 11, 1804. 
 
 (Signed) Noailles de Durfort-Duras.
 
 ADDENDA. 
 
 /^N re-reading my memoirs I find a great 
 ^-^ many repetitions, particularly in the notes 
 where I have several times referred to Madame 
 Latour. 
 
 When my honoured father left the prison of 
 the Luxembourg to be removed to the Concier- 
 gerie he said in a sorrowful voice to the prison- 
 ers who accompanied him to the doorway : ' At 
 sixteen I went into the trenches to serve my 
 king ; at eighty I mount the scaffold in obedi- 
 ence to the will of God/ 
 
 The ' Messager du Soir,' though an organ of 
 the Reign of Terror, inserted the following ar- 
 ticle in its columns on the 20th of May, 179^, 
 year III. of the Republic: — 
 
 ' When the venerable Mar^chal de Noailles- 
 Mouchy, who was all his life the father of the 
 unfortunate, was led out with his good wife to 
 be beheaded, a wretch cried aloud : " Now the 
 sans-culottes will enjoy your bread and drink 
 your wine." He answered with that serenity 
 which a pure conscience bestows upon an
 
 140 Prison Life 
 
 honest man : " God grant that you may have 
 bread for another year, and that you may not be 
 compelled to devour one another/' ' 
 
 Different Notes and Memoranda relating to 
 Monsieur and Madame de Mouchy and 
 THEIR Daughter-in-law, Louise Noailles, 
 
 WHO WAS condemned AND EXECUTED THE 
 
 4th Thermidor, 22d OF July, 1794. 
 
 The following was brought to me from the 
 office by Robert Lindet, when I went to the 
 court sitting at the abbey of St. Germain to 
 reclaim the last will and testament of my father 
 and mother, which was then delivered up to me : 
 
 National Convenlion. 
 
 Committee of General Security of the Na- 
 tional Convention. Fifth day of the third de- 
 cade of the first month of the French Republic, 
 one and indivisible. 
 
 The Committee authorizes Citizen Braut to 
 go to Mouchy, near Beauvais, for the purpose 
 of arresting the citizen Noailles-Mouchy (whose 
 son^ the former Prince de Poix, has emigrated),
 
 During the French Revolution. 141 
 
 the wife of the said Mouchy, and all other per- 
 sons who are suspected ; he shall conduct them 
 to the prison of La Grande Force, make all 
 necessary search and requisitions for papers, set 
 seals, and bring away everything that seems sus- 
 picious. After the seals have been affixed the 
 citizen Braut, in the virtue of these presents, 
 shall cause the citizen Mouchy to be arrested 
 wherever he shall be found, and also his wife 
 and other suspected persons. He can moreover 
 call for the assistance of the constitutional au- 
 thorities and the armed force. 
 
 (Signed) Vadier, Panis, 
 
 Lavicomterie, Jagot, 
 David, and Dubarrat.^ 
 
 Certified to be conformable to the warrant 
 deposited in the clerk's office of the prison of 
 La Force by me the undersigned. 
 
 ' Paris, 5 Prairial year II. 
 
 (Signed) S. F. Richelot, clerk. 
 
 1 The first Revolutionary tribunal had been established 
 by the law of the 17th of August, 1792.
 
 142 Prison Life 
 
 Extract from the Minutes of the Clerk's 
 Office of the Revolutionary Tribunal, 
 
 ESTABLISHED AT PaRIS, MaRCH 10, 1 793. 
 
 By decision rendered the 9th Messidor, 
 year II. of the French Republic, at a public 
 session of the tribunal, composed of : Naulin, 
 vice-president ; Bravet, Legarnier, Launay, 
 judges, who signed the minute, together with 
 the clerk, upon the declaration of the jury, set- 
 ting forth that Phillippe Noailles-Mouchy and 
 others before mentioned in the said minute are 
 proven to have been the enemies of the people, 
 by having been accomplices of the traitor Capet 
 in the distribution of money employed by that 
 tyrant to bribe refractory priests by whose aid 
 the civil war was fomented ; by seconding with 
 all their abilities and means all the projects of 
 the former court to overthrow liberty, crush 
 the people, and re-establish despotism ; by hold- 
 ing intercourse with the enemies of the Republic, 
 for the purpose of obtaining men and money to 
 assist in the invasion of French tei'ritory ; by 
 seeking to promote by speech and writing the 
 degradation and dissolution of the national rep- 
 resentation and the re-establishment of the mon- 
 archy ; by assassinating patriots in the Champ
 
 During the French Revolution. 143 
 
 de Mars, as well as by bringing about the civil 
 war, and seeking to excite citizens against one 
 another ; and finally, by seeking by every possi- 
 ble means to annihilate public liberty. 
 
 It appears that the tribunal, having heard 
 the examination by the public accuser, has, in 
 accordance with the law, condemned to death 
 Phillippe Noailles-Mouchy, aged seventy-nine 
 years, born at Paris, ex-noble, ex-duke, and 
 marshal of France, former governor of the pal- 
 aces of Versailles and Marly and of other places, 
 living at Mouchy, in the Department of the Oise, 
 and at Paris in the Rue de T University, and 
 declared his property confiscated to the Republic. 
 
 From an indictment drawn up by Fouquier, 
 the public accuser, on the 8th Messidor, year 
 II., the following extract has been taken ver- 
 batim : — 
 
 Noailles-Mouchy was the agent of Capet 
 for the distribution of sums of money by means 
 of which he bribed refractory priests, ^migrds, 
 and other accomplices of their infamous intrigues, 
 and paid them to commit their crimes. 
 
 Extract conformable to the minute given 
 gratis by me, the keeper of archives. 
 
 (Signed) Perret.
 
 144 Prison Life 
 
 Copy of the label put upon the inkstand of 
 Monsieur le Marechal de Mouchy, found among 
 his effects at the Luxembourg, and vvhich has 
 been returned to his relatives : — 
 
 No. 20. 
 
 Noailles, upon ivhom the svjord of the law 
 has rendered justice. 
 
 Different Letters and Notes from my 
 Sister-in-Law, written from the Prison 
 OF the Luxembourg. 
 
 To Monsieur Grelet, her children's tutor, who 
 
 was like a father to them : 
 
 I confide to the keeping of Monsieur Grelet 
 my three children, — my two boys, and my girl. 
 I declare that it is my most positive and express 
 desire, in case I should come to want, that he 
 should have charge of them. I give over to 
 him all my rights and authority over them. I 
 implore him to be a mother to them, and under 
 no circumstances to allow any one to separate 
 them from him. I authorize him to remove 
 them from one place to another as may seem 
 best to him, — in short, to treat my children as if 
 they were his own. I am sure that all who care 
 for me will most sacredly regard this my desire.
 
 During the French Revolution, 145 
 
 Written ill the prison of the Luxembourg, 
 this 24th Messidor, year II. of the French Re- 
 public, one and indivisible. 
 (Signed) 
 Louise Noailles, wife of Noailles. 
 
 Letter of the Same to the Same. 
 
 I send you, my dear friend, a short will 
 which I am told will be valid ; I keep a copy of 
 it in my pocket. Make the best use you can of 
 it as well as that of my mother, communicating it 
 to the proper persons when the time comes. 
 God has sustained and will sustain me ; I have 
 the strongest faith in Him. Farewell, my dear 
 friend ; I shall feel grateful to you even in 
 Heaven. Be sure of this. Farewell, Alexis, 
 Alfred, Euphemie. Love God all your lives ; 
 cling to Him always. Pray for your father and 
 live for his happiness. Remember your mother, 
 and that her dearest wish for you was that you 
 should be the children of God. I give you all 
 my last blessing. I hope to find you again in 
 the bosom of your Father. I shall not forget 
 our friends, and I hope they will not forget me. 
 
 The note enclosed is for Louis. [So she
 
 146 Prison Life 
 
 called her husband.] Put it with the one you 
 already have 
 
 (Signed) L. Noailles. 
 
 Louise Noailles to her Husband. 
 
 You will find a letter from me, my husband, 
 written at different times and very disconnect- 
 edly. I should have liked to rewrite it, and to 
 add many things ; but that is impossible now. 
 I can therefore only renev/ the assurance of 
 the love which you already know I bear to you, 
 and which I shall bear with me to my grave. 
 You know what terrible circumstances surround 
 me, and you will be glad to learn that God has 
 cared for me ; that he has sustained my strength 
 and my courage ; that the hope of gaining, by 
 the sacrifice of my life, the eternal welfare of 
 you and my children will continue to encourage 
 me through the moments most terrible to the 
 flesh. May it please God that this thought may 
 decide you to live for eternity, and to strive in 
 unison with me. I confide to you my dear 
 children, who have been the comfort of my life, 
 and will be, I hope, the comfort of yours. I am 
 sure you will seek- to strengthen in them the 
 principles I have inculcated ; they are the only
 
 During the French Revolution. 147 
 
 source of true happiness and the only means of 
 obtaining it. I have now, my husband, one last 
 request to make, — one which I am sure you will 
 think superfluous when you know what it is. I 
 implore you with my last breath never to sepa- 
 rate my dear children from Monsieur Grelet, in 
 whose charge I have left them. I charge my 
 dear Alexis to tell you all we owe to him. 
 There are no kind cares and attentions which he 
 has not shown me, particularly since I have 
 been in prison. He has been both father and 
 mother to these poor children ; he has sacrificed 
 himself for them and for me under the most try- 
 ing circumstances with a tenderness and courage 
 for which we can never be sufficiently grateful. 
 The only comfort I can have is to know that my 
 children are in his charge. You will not disturb 
 this arrangement, my husband ; and I am sure 
 you will have a sacred regard for this wish of 
 mine. I do not know what will become of my 
 poor Euphemie, but I declare to you that for a 
 thousand reasons I desire that the citizeness 
 Thibaut should no longer have the care of her. 
 My husband, I bid you a last farewell. 
 May we be once more reunited in Eternity.
 
 148 Prison Life 
 
 From the Same to Alexis, her eldest Son, 
 the 2jth Messidor. 
 
 I charge you, my dear child, to give your 
 father a detailed account of the obligations we 
 are under to the citizen Grelet. 1 rely upon 
 your heart to make him understand all he has 
 been to you and to me. Do not forget to say 
 that he wished to share his purse with us, and 
 that we have lived entirely at his expense. 
 
 I send you, my dear children, my tenderest 
 love and kisses. . . . 
 
 The Same to Monsieur Grelet. 
 
 It was not my fault, my dear child [thus she 
 was accustomed to address Monsieur Grelet], 
 that you waited yesterday so long and in vain ; 
 I am very sorry for it, and also for all the trouble 
 that this mother and children cause you. Re- 
 member that you are the only and blessed com- 
 fort that I have in this world. I have not heard 
 from you since the little message you sent as 
 you were going out from breakfast at Citizeness 
 Raymond's till yesterday at half past eleven. 
 It was then too late for my answer to go out. 
 I have told you the condition of my linen. I am
 
 During the French Revolution. 149 
 
 in great need of some ; get some for me from 
 my confidential servant. 
 
 I highly approve of your lodgings ; shall I 
 tell my sister-in-law^ that I insist upon your re- 
 maining with your brothers ? The letter which 
 you have seems to me more persuasive than 
 anything I could say. 
 
 Farewell, my dear children ; I love you all 
 four more tenderly than ever. 
 
 I am well as usual. 
 
 (Signed) L. Noailles. 
 
 Last Letter from Madame de Noaittes to 
 Monsieur Gretet. 
 
 I have received, my dear child, all that you 
 sent me ; I thank you a thousand times, and shall 
 never cease to repeat, as the poor do, ' God re- 
 ward you.' This is and ever will be the cry of 
 my heart, from above as well as from here below. 
 I am ashamed of having said yesterday ' this ' 
 mother and children. The expression troubles 
 me ; I should have said as usual, and I do say 
 now with all my heart, /oar mother and your 
 brothers, whom you have specially under your 
 care, because you are the eldest. But for you, 
 my dear child, what would have become of them ?
 
 ISO Prison Life 
 
 Farewell, dear, dear children ; I send you my 
 tenderest love and kisses. 
 
 (Signed) Louise Noailles. 
 
 Extract from the last Will and Testament 
 OF Anne - Jeanne - Catherine - Dominique - 
 Adrienne-Louise-Pauline Noailles, Wife 
 
 OF THE former ViCOMTE DE NoaILLES. 
 
 In the name of the Father, of the Son, and 
 of the Holy Ghost : 
 
 I commend my soul to God ; I die in the 
 religion of the Roman Catholic Apostolic 
 Church, in which by the mercy of God I was 
 born, and have always lived. My love for this 
 holy religion has grown with my growth ; I 
 trust that it will be my support when I come to 
 die, as it has been my strength and comfort 
 during every moment of my life. I believe 
 firmly all that it has pleased God to reveal to us, 
 and all that the Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman 
 Church teaches. 
 
 I hope in its promises ; I put my whole trust 
 in the merits of Jesus. 
 
 I request Monsieur de Noailles, my hus- 
 band, to undertake the execution of my will ; I 
 am glad to give him in this last act of my life a
 
 During the French Revolution. 151 
 
 fresh proof of my confidence, and of a love 
 which has made me so happy. I therefore 
 place in his hands all the interests I have of 
 every kind whatever. 
 
 I hope he will regard them as his own, and 
 that when he is occupied with the details he 
 will recall her who felt so truly happy in being 
 united to him and all she suffered for her love. 
 I beg him to accept the little bust of Adrien, 
 and the two portraits of our children. I bless 
 these dear children with my latest breath. I 
 implore them for the sake of the love I bear 
 them to draw near to God with all their hearts, 
 to strive to obey His laws. I assure them, by 
 my own experience, that only thus will they be 
 able to taste pure and lasting happiness amid 
 all the changes of this life. I beg them to re- 
 member that the desire for their real happiness 
 has been the continual object of my thoughts 
 and prayers, and that I shall never cease to im- 
 plore God for it if he mercifully receives me. 
 I leave them all the portraits of their father. I 
 charge them to reverence and love him all the 
 days of their lives, and to bring to his remem- 
 brance, by their great tenderness, her who gave 
 them birth. I beg them to remember that it is 
 to them I confide the care of his happiness ; and 
 I charge them to perform my duty toward him.
 
 152 Prison Life 
 
 I commend myself to the prayers of my rel- 
 atives and friends, and rely upon them to have 
 prayers said to God for the repose of my soul. 
 
 I request the executor of my will (who shall 
 be Monsieur de Grammont in default of my 
 husband) to give to my mother and sisters what- 
 ever they may wish of the things which belonged 
 to me. 
 
 I give my mother a renewed assurance of 
 my most tender and filial affection. I owe her 
 a great share of the happiness of my life, and es- 
 pecially shall I owe her my eternal happiness if 
 God in his mercy receives me. 
 
 I request Madame de la Fayette, in the 
 name of the affection we bear each other, not to 
 give way to grief, but to bear up for the sake of 
 her husband and children. Her real happiness, 
 her interests, and the interests of all who are 
 dear to her will always be mine ; and I shall 
 bear them with me forever. I implore her and 
 also my two other sisters to remember that this 
 union which has been the delight and comfort 
 of our lives is not broken up, that we are 
 parted only for a little while, and that we shall 
 be reunited, I hope, for eternity. [Here follow 
 bequests.] I assure my father once more of 
 the true and tender love I have for him ; I beg 
 him to remember me, and to believe that as I
 
 During the French Revolution, 153 
 
 prayed earnestly and unceasingly for his happi- 
 ness in this world, so will it be one of my dear- 
 est duties to implore the Father for him in 
 another. 
 
 Written at Paris, this 5th of April, 1794. 
 
 (Signed) Louise Noailles. 
 
 Codicil of the ^Ih Venddmiaire, Year II. 
 of the Republic. 
 
 In the name of the Father, of the Son, and 
 of the Holy Ghost : 
 
 Receive, O Lord, the sacrifice of my life ; I 
 give my spirit into thy hands. Help me, O my 
 God I Leave me not when my strength fails. 
 
 I have always lived, and hope by the grace 
 of God to die, in the Roman Catholic Apos- 
 tolic religion. 
 
 I forgive all my enemies (if I have any) from 
 the bottom of my heart ; I pray that God may 
 grant them his fullest pardon. 
 
 I request that payment may be made, etc. 
 
 Written at Paris, and 
 
 (Signed) Louise Noailles. 
 
 I learned on leaving the prison that there was 
 a certain lady named Lavet who had been at the 
 Conciergerie at the same time as Mesdames de
 
 154 Prison Life 
 
 Noailles and d'Ayen. I hastened to go to see 
 her and ask for an account of their short and 
 terrible residence in that prison, which she gave 
 me as follows : — 
 
 Mesdames de Noailles and d'Ayen arrived 
 at the Conciergerie on the 21st of July, 1793, 
 excessively fatigued by their removal from the 
 Luxembourg, which had been made in very rough 
 wagons. They were suffering for want of food, 
 which it was impossible to procure for them, as 
 it was nine o'clock at night, and the rules of the 
 prison did not permit anything to be brought in 
 after nightfall. We could only give them some 
 gooseberry water to quench their thirst. They 
 were put into a dungeon where there were three 
 other women, one of whom knew Madame de 
 la Fayette by reputation. She took a kind in- 
 terest in her neighbours, and undertook to help 
 them to procure beds ; but the turnkeys having 
 discovered that they had not so much as forty- 
 five francs, — which sum they exacted for furnish- 
 ing them, — absolutely refused to supply them. 
 They had been robbed of everything at the Lux- 
 embourg ; the Vicomtesse de Noailles pos- 
 sessed only fifty sous. Madame Lavet, touched 
 by the situation of this unfortunate family, gave 
 her bed to Madame la Marechale de Noailles, 
 obtained one for Madame d'Ayen, and proposed
 
 During the French Revolution. 155 
 
 to her daughter that she should lie down on a 
 cot. She would not do so, however, saying 
 that she had now too little time to live to make 
 it worth while to take the trouble. Madame 
 d'Ayen spent a greater part of the night trying 
 to persuade her to do so, but could not succeed. 
 The angelic woman borrowed a book of devo- 
 tions and a light, by means of which she read 
 and prayed to God constantly. She stopped 
 only long enough to wait upon her grandmother, 
 who slept at intervals for several hours. Every 
 time she awakened the grandmother read over 
 her indictment, saying to herself: ' No, it is not 
 possible that I am to die on account of a con- 
 spiracy of which I know nothing ; I will plead 
 my cause before ihe judges so that they shall 
 not be able to condemn me.' She thought of 
 her dress^ feared it was rumpled, arranged her 
 bonnet, and would not believe it possible that 
 the next day could be the last of her life. 
 Madame d'Ayen had fears, but no conviction 
 of the imminent danger which threatened her. 
 She dozed for a while. She was greatly wor- 
 ried, wishing to send her watch — the only thing 
 she had left — to her children. She urged her 
 companions to take charge of it ; but they did 
 not dare to do so. The Vicomtesse de Noailles 
 made the same request with regard to an empty
 
 156 Prison Life 
 
 portfolio, a portrait, and some hair ; but she re- 
 ceived the same reply, that such commissions 
 would compromise them all. She made Madame 
 Lavet promise to tell Monsieur Grelet that she 
 should die in peace and perfect resignation, but 
 that she longed from the bottom of her heart to 
 see him and her children. Some one in that 
 sorrowful room uttered the name of her dear 
 sister, Madame de la Fayette ; she forbade 
 them to speak of her lest it should compromise 
 her. Madame de Noailles, the younger, of 
 whom I have just spoken, did not even think of 
 sleeping; her eyes were wide open, contem- 
 plating that Heaven which she was so soon to 
 enter. Her face showed the serenity of her soul. 
 Thoughts of eternity sustained her courage. 
 Such calmness was never seen in that terrible 
 place. She forgot herself entirely in caring for 
 her mother and grandmother. 
 
 At six o'clock in the morning, in order to 
 distract their minds, we undertook to give them 
 some breakfast. Mesdames de Boufflers brought 
 them some chocolate. They remained with 
 them a few moments and then bade them a 
 final farewell. 
 
 Nine o'clock struck ; the bailiffs came, and 
 found their victims surrounded by the weeping 
 friends who had known them onlv twelve hours.
 
 During the French Revolution. 157 
 
 The mother made some arrangements in case 
 they should be acquitted. The daughter, who 
 never once doubted the fate which awaited her, 
 thanked Madame Lavet in her sweet, gracious 
 way, expressed her gratitude for all her kindness, 
 and then said : ^ 1 read good fortune in your 
 face ; you will not be beheaded/ 
 
 This IS all that I have been able to learn from 
 Madame Lavet in reference to that terrible 
 scene. 
 
 (Signed) Noailles, 
 
 Duchesse de Duras.
 
 MADAME LATOUR'S MEMOIR. 
 
 Containing an Account of the Life in the 
 Prison of the Luxembourg, where she 
 WAS imprisoned during the Years 1793 
 AND 1794, in Company with Madame la 
 Marechale Duchesse de Mouchy. 
 
 nPHE last two years, during which I shared 
 •*^ the misfortunes of Monsieur and Madame 
 de Mouchy, have abounded in such precious 
 moments to me that in order to preserve the 
 remembrance of them (not for myself, — to me 
 they are ever present, — but for those near to 
 me), I relate as an eye-witness the sad circum- 
 stances under which they manifested the nobility 
 of their souls, and the beautiful spirit in which 
 they endured their captivity, 
 
 I trust I may be pardoned for speaking of 
 myself frequently when I am talking about 
 them, and for saying ' we ' when I ought to say 
 Monsieur and Madame la Marechale ; but I 
 may say that their interests had become mine, 
 that my existence, on account of my attachment
 
 i6o Prison Life 
 
 to them, depended so much upon theirs, that 
 everything I thought and felt was in common 
 with them. I was very careful in this matter ; 
 for they treated me with such distinction that it 
 often embarrassed me. They thought, these 
 honoured friends (may I be pardoned for ex- 
 pressing myself thus), that they were under 
 obligations to me ; but they were mistaken. I 
 was never more proud of anything than of 
 waiting upon them in prison. Let no one praise 
 me for it ; I do not deserve praise. 
 
 Madame de Duras has given in her memoirs 
 an account of the life her honoured parents led 
 at Mouchy. I cannot express the despair in 
 which they were left when she was taken away 
 from them ; they refused to take any nourish- 
 ment. I spent the whole night beside Madame de 
 Mouchy, who did nothing but weep and moan 
 over the loss of her dear daughter, so she always 
 called her. Ten days after her departure a body 
 of about sixty armed men arrived, with some 
 of the municipal authorities and the Commis- 
 sioners of the Committee of General Security, 
 furnished with an order to search everywhere 
 for a quantity of arms which were said to be 
 concealed in the chateau, and to arrest any one 
 who should be suspected. They found only 
 one pistol, but seized some title-deeds which
 
 During the French Revolution. i6i 
 
 the fiodiste ^ was arranging for the purpose of 
 carrying them to the prescribed place of deposit. 
 The commissioners were in a rage, and had him 
 put in prison. They treated his wife, who was 
 in a delicate condition, in the most inhuman 
 manner, and took away their badges from the 
 municipal officers, who they declared were in 
 collusion with him. They threatened the whole 
 village, and said they were sorry they had not 
 brought a guillotine and cut off the head of 
 every citizen. They ransacked and almost 
 pulled down some portions of the chateau. The 
 commissioners demanded to see some lead 
 coffins which were supposed to be in the vault 
 of the chapel. After much searching they found 
 three of these. This capture did not satisfy 
 them ; they thought that money had been con- 
 cealed in the coffins, but they were mistaken in 
 their suspicion. They compelled the municipal 
 authorities, though not in accordance with their 
 duties, to assist in the search. The latter were 
 almost frightened to death. 
 
 The consternation in the village was so great 
 that no one dared move out of one's house. The 
 
 1 The /tvt/isU' [steward] was named Carbonnier. He 
 as well as his wife gave proof of the sincerest attachment 
 and fidelity to Monsieur and Madame de Mouchy. He 
 was imprisoned for a whole year in the Anglaises and the 
 Grande Force. 
 
 II
 
 1 62 Prison Life 
 
 night was even more terrible. The peasants who 
 composed our guard became intoxicated with 
 the wine they found in the cellar, and fired 
 their guns off under the windows of the houses ; 
 we thought our last hour had come. At last, 
 after three days of searching, the chief commis- 
 sioner affixed the seals, seized all the silver, — 
 alleging as a pretext for doing so the fact that 
 some of the dishes had on them armorial bear- 
 ings, — drew up a proces-perbal, and allowed us 
 to pack up only in the presence of the jailers, so 
 that they might see what we carried away with 
 us. They restored the badges to the municipal 
 officers, and concluded to carry the /(/oi/s/^ away 
 with them. His wife was left on account of 
 her condition. We were so miserable during 
 the whole of the three days we passed under 
 the conduct of this troop, that, incredible as it 
 may seem, we were anxious to reach the prison 
 to which we were destined. Picture a court- 
 yard filled with the wagons in which we were 
 to be taken away, two large carts loaded with 
 title-deeds, coffins, a clock, some old pictures, 
 trunks, and other things ; the remains of the 
 dead scattered about ; pieces of wood, loose 
 papers, and other rubbish ; the ragged country 
 guardsmen with frightened faces, and one can 
 have some idea of the condition of Mouchy at
 
 During the French Revolution. 163 
 
 the moment of our departure with the chief 
 commissioner, who made us halt at St. Brice 
 long enough for him to make inquiries about a 
 few persons in the vicinity, after which he 
 returned to his carriage content with his dis- 
 coveries. We talked a good deal as we 
 went along, and found out that they were 
 going to take Monsieur and Madame de 
 Mouchy to stay for the night at their own 
 house, pretending that it would be impossible 
 to procure even absolute necessities for them 
 at La Force at so late an hour. We reached 
 the Hotel Mouchy at two o'clock in the 
 morning. 
 
 The commissioner left them there two days, 
 during which time applications were made to 
 the Committee of General Security, who ordered 
 a suspension of the affixing of seals in the house. 
 Janon, the commissioner of the section of 
 Crenelle who was charged with this duty, ob- 
 served that it was not worth while doing it be- 
 cause there were no proper signatures. He was 
 requested to delay until the signatures could be 
 obtained. Unfortunately the members of the 
 committee had gone to dinner, and would not 
 reassemble till the evening ; then our commis- 
 sioner (a man named Braut) would listen to no 
 further entreaties, and declared that he had
 
 164 Prison Life 
 
 done wrong not to execute his orders sooner. 
 He affixed the seals, and we started off in a 
 hack at ten o'clock at night. The coachman 
 lost his way, and took us to the Rue St. Victor, 
 where there was a house of detention. It was 
 almost one o'clock when we reached La Grande 
 Force ; the prison for men was separate from 
 that for women. 
 
 When it was proposed to leave Monsieur de 
 Mouchy at the former and take us to La Petite 
 Force, I thought Madame de Mouchy would 
 die on the spot ; and when it was necessary for 
 her to separate from her husband, it was only 
 by force that she could be torn from him and 
 led away to a room where nineteen women 
 were sleeping on hard beds of sacking. When 
 she was brought to the door, the turnkeys, 
 cross at being wakened from their sleep, hesi- 
 tated about receiving her ; but the clerk ordered 
 them to do so. She wept the whole night long. 
 She took it into her head that no arrangement 
 had been made about my not being arrested, 
 and that consequently I could not be allowed 
 to remain. I told her that the commissioner 
 had obtained an order from the Committee of 
 General Security on the subject. He brought 
 it to me at once. I was delighted at this 
 piece of good fortune, which greatly comforted
 
 During the French Revolution. 165 
 
 Madame de Mouchy, who told me that it helped 
 her to bear her misfortunes. Our lodgings 
 were changed, and we took possession of the 
 new ones. We found in them the widow of the 
 mayor of Cassel, whose husband had been guil- 
 lotined eight days before. She was in despair. 
 I saw her pass whole nights on her knees upon 
 her bed, weeping and praying alternately. The 
 apartment was at the top of the house in the 
 quarter appropriated to the women of the town, 
 who kept up, though in prison, a frightful noise 
 from about five o'clock in the evening through 
 the whole night. They came to see Madame 
 de Mouchy to assure her of their innocence, 
 and to ask her to pay to them her garnish- 
 money. In the morning she received a message 
 from Monsieur de Mouchy, who proposed to 
 her to go with him to the prison of the Luxem- 
 bourg. She replied that ' since her separation 
 from him she had never ceased to declare that 
 she would give everything she had in the world 
 to be able to be with him, even though she slept 
 on a bed of straw.' 
 
 Some objections were made to this arrange- 
 ment, but they were overcome. When I in- 
 formed Madame la Marechale that all was 
 settled, she embraced me, and said, ' You could 
 tell me of nothing which could make me so
 
 1 66 Prison Life 
 
 happy as this. Go at once and tell the minis- 
 tering angel who enables me to rejoin Monsieur 
 de Mouchy that I shall never forget the happi- 
 ness he has procured for me.' 
 
 Commissioner Braut, who had been very 
 severe to us at Mouchy, had become more 
 lenient. It was he who had obtained our trans- 
 fer to the Luxembourg. We went to La Grande 
 Force for Monsieur de Mouchy. Never was 
 there such an affecting reunion ; even the 
 turnkeys were touched by the sight, and so was 
 Commissioner Braut. 
 
 We went almost joyfully to the Luxembourg. 
 (Great God, how little one can tell what one 
 may be glad to do.) Our conductor left us in 
 the keeper's room. We remained there from 
 five o'clock till nine. A terrible scene took 
 place in that apartment ; the famous Henriot, 
 general of the Parisian army, came with his 
 flute to look for a patriot who had been un- 
 justly incarcerated at Caen, and afterward 
 brought to Paris. He had taken a great deal 
 of wine at a great dinner, where the guests 
 made terrible jokes about the aristocrats, say- 
 ing, with coarse laughter, ' Yes, we must have 
 twenty thousand of those creatures' heads.' We 
 had to wait until they were gone before we 
 could know where we were to be lodged. The
 
 During the French Revolution. 167 
 
 room assigned us was one formerly occupied 
 by Brissot de Varville. The window was still 
 walled up. Madame de Mouchy's bed was 
 set directly over the place where formerly stood 
 the bed of her mother (Madame d'Arpajon 
 had an apartment at the Luxembourg, being 
 maid-of-honour to the Queen of Spain, Madame 
 d'Orleans), who was lodging there at the time 
 of Madame de Mouchy's birth. She frequently 
 told us of having been born in the Luxembourg, 
 of having been married there, and would add, 
 ' and do you not think it strange that I should 
 be imprisoned here ? ' 
 
 Although I did not really believe in the fate 
 which actually threatened her, this speech made 
 me shiver inwardly. The day after our arrival 
 was spent entirely in getting ourselves settled 
 to the best advantage in the small space allotted 
 to us. 
 
 The day after, the commissioner Betremieux 
 came to take Monsieur and Madame de Mouchy 
 to their house, so as to break the seals in their 
 presence. They had the pleasure of meeting 
 there Mesdames de Poix andde Noailles. All 
 passed off very well ; nothing of a suspicious 
 character was found. The procts-verbal was 
 properly made out, and we had some hopes^that 
 they would be allowed to remain in their own
 
 1 68 Prison Life 
 
 house ; but we returned that evening to the 
 Luxembourg. 
 
 There were fifty-three persons there who were 
 well known to them, as they came from the 
 section about the fountain of Crenelle. An order 
 was sent to transfer the women to the An- 
 glaises ; those of them who were married 
 obtained permission to remain. 
 
 The keeper told me, as I had been told at La 
 Petite Force, that he could not allow me to re- 
 main in the house without the permission of the 
 committee. I told him that I had had that for 
 La Force ; he explained to me, very truly, that 
 this could not be used at the Luxembourg. He 
 advised me to send in a petition to be allowed 
 to stay, and promised me to say nothing if I re- 
 ceived no answer. I sent the petition, received 
 no reply, and he said nothing about me. We 
 had been ten days in that room when the com- 
 missioner Marinot (quite a well-known man) 
 entered with one of his agents. I had just 
 seen Monsieur Betremieux, and had made him 
 promise faithfully to come to see Madame de 
 Mouchy. We were pressing around him to in- 
 quire of him whether there was any hope of 
 being liberated. Marinot said to him, angrily, 
 ' What are you doing here ? You are up to 
 some mischief I Get out I ' I began to tremble
 
 During the French Revolution. 169 
 
 Vv^ith fright, fearing lest I had compromised 
 Monsieur Betremieux. This terrible man con- 
 tinued in the same tone : ' Why are there only 
 three persons in this room ? Five must be 
 put here ; ' and he made a figure five with 
 charcoal on the fireplace. Madame de Mouchy 
 said to him : ' Citizen, you do not think w^hat 
 you are saying ; five persons cannot stay here.' 
 ' Ah ! why not ? ' M do not wish any one here 
 but my husband.' ' I will give you some old 
 men.' ' I will not have it so ; give me, rather, 
 another room.' ' I will see ; there is another 
 higher up.' He came back in half an hour, and 
 said as he opened the door, ' I have found a 
 very pretty room with a fine corridor, where 
 you can take exercise.' I went up to see it, 
 and also the ' fine corridor,' which was full of 
 big rafters, against which one would strike one's 
 head. This room had been used as an office by 
 Monsieur de la Marliere. The place where the 
 stove had been was newly plastered over, and 
 the walls were all blackened. One cannot 
 imagine a dirtier place ; it took me all day and 
 more to make it clean. A stove was put up in 
 this room ; but the fire could not be lighted in 
 it when the wind was from the south. 
 
 A description of this room and its furniture 
 will not be out of place. On one side of the
 
 I/O Prison Life 
 
 doorway, to the right, was my bed of sacking, 
 set lengthwise ; I got into it at the foot. Mon- 
 sieur de Mouchy's bed was next to mine, and 
 Madame's was placed transversely. Under the 
 roof was a table and some of our dresses ; on 
 the other side of the grated window we put the 
 wood, two arm-chairs, two ordinary chairs, 
 another little table on which were other articles' 
 of wearing apparel. There were some plank 
 shelves to hold our dishes ; and one corner in the 
 corridor was reserved, to be used as a ward- 
 robe. My bed was a pantry during the day, a 
 seat in the evening ; and Monsieur de Mouchy's 
 bed was used in the same manner. We spent 
 five months in that terrible place, where the 
 most needy creature on the estates of Monsieur 
 and Madame la Marechale would not have been 
 willing to live. Their virtues sustained them in 
 a wonderful degree ; they were an example and 
 comfort to all who saw them. Their sweetness 
 and goodness were unfailing. 
 
 I have often seen persons come to the house 
 in despair, and utterly overwhelmed at finding 
 themselves in such a place. Messieurs de 
 Nicolai and de Laborde were so overcome that 
 they could not speak. My venerable friends 
 comforted them, cheered them, and induced them 
 to come to them for encouragement and strength.
 
 During the French Revolution, 171 
 
 When the administrators arrived^ with their caps 
 pulled down over their eyes, to ask, ' Have you 
 no petitions to send in?' ' No, citizen ; only if 
 you could have my daughter, who is at Chan- 
 tilly, transferred to this place, I should be ex- 
 tremely glad.' One of them said, ' Yes ; that 
 ought to be done on account of their age.' 
 However, no steps were taken in that direction 
 till the arrival of Danton, Lacroix, and others. 
 
 On the 4th of December, 1793. Commis- 
 sioner Betremieux came to take Monsieur and 
 Madame de Mouchy to Mouchy, to be present 
 at the opening of the seals ; they remained there 
 three days, and breathed a little fresh air. Dur- 
 ing this time they tried, without success, to be 
 allowed to visit their house in the company of 
 keepers ; nor could they obtain leave to see 
 their daughter at Chantilly as they were on their 
 way back to Paris. The commissioner finally 
 took them to their own house, where they spent 
 the day with their daughters-in-law. They were 
 compelled to return to the Luxembourg in the 
 evening. This parting was even more trying 
 than the former ones ; the few servants who had 
 remained about the house hid their faces and 
 wept. 
 
 We returned to the same way of living. Our 
 days were passed in the following manner :
 
 172 Prison Life 
 
 Monsieur de Mouchy rose first, at an early 
 hour, lighted his candle, said his prayers, and 
 took a little coffee ; then Madame de Mouchy 
 rose and took her breakfast. As soon as she 
 was dressed I went to wait upon Madame 
 d'Hautefort, with whom they used to live ; and 
 then I returned and made my toilet. After 
 this, they went out of the room so as to give 
 me time to put it in order. At this hour 
 they always went to see Madame la Duchesse 
 d'Orleans, and they always came away filled 
 with admiration for her angelic conduct. They 
 never exhausted their praises of her, — an evi- 
 dence of their own goodness. They returned 
 to their own apartment about half-past twelve 
 o'clock ; at one, dinner was sent them from their 
 own house. They never partook of this meal 
 without speaking of Madame de Duras, longing 
 for her, and grieving that they could not share it 
 with her, knowing she had such miserable fare. 
 Then some visitors would come in ; after that 
 Monsieur and Madame de Mouchy would go 
 out to dine with a neighbour, and after their 
 return would play piquet together. Monsieur 
 de Mouchy then walked about the house. 
 About five o'clock company assembled. The 
 guests were sometimes too numerous for the 
 size of our apartment, and also for my peace of
 
 During the French Revolution. 173 
 
 mind, as I knew there were many spies about 
 us. The person who was my greatest source of 
 anxiety was the Prince of Hesse, who lodged 
 near us, and invariably walked up and down 
 continually in front of our door whenever we 
 had several of our friends together. He was 
 even seen with his ear against the door, trying 
 to hear what we were saying. He informed 
 against one of the keepers, who proved the 
 charge to be false, and had him transferred to 
 another prison, to my great delight. At eight 
 o'clock every one left, and we had supper. 
 Whenever we received any newspapers, they 
 usually arrived at this hour. Toward the last I 
 tried to find out in advance whether the names 
 of the victims contained in them were of the 
 persons whom Monsieur and Madame de Mou- 
 chy most dreaded to see in the list of the con- 
 demned ; if so, I suppressed them until the 
 next day. At ten o'clock we were all in bed. 
 
 A great change took place in Monsieur and 
 Madame de Mouchy. He was naturally ex- 
 tremely vivacious and she very quiet ; now he 
 became calm and she exceedingly restless, es- 
 pecially so when on certain days she did not 
 receive the usual communications which her 
 daughter took such trouble to send, and when all 
 sorts of unreliable news was brought by persons
 
 1/4 Prison Life 
 
 entering the prison. The nobles, particularly, 
 were always sanguine. I have seen them make 
 out plans of campaigns which would bring Co- 
 bourg to Paris, and even to the very doors of 
 their prison, to conduct them in triumph to their 
 own homes. These unfortunate persons lulled 
 themselves with the false hopes lying so far in 
 the distance and never perceived the precipices 
 that were yawning beneath their feet. 
 
 During the period when we were allowed to 
 go to the courtyard and speak to our friends 
 through a grated window, each one would re- 
 turn and say, ' I have seen my wife (or my 
 daughter, or my servant), who could not ex- 
 plain herself fully, but assured me by a pres- 
 sure of the hand that all was going well.' If 
 a person of any distinction was seen in the 
 garden making the least possible signal of any 
 kind it was sufficient to arouse hope. I cer- 
 tainly did not share the hopefulness enjoyed by 
 most of the prisoners ; indeed, it frightened 
 me. I undertook at times to convince them 
 that they were too sanguine ; but I afterward 
 reproached myself for taking the liberty to do 
 so, for delusion was a necessity to them. Some 
 persons deluded themselves so completely that 
 they even found that there were some reasons 
 why their friends and acquaintances should be
 
 During the French Revolution. 175 
 
 condemned, but were confident that they should 
 be exempt. Monsieur and Madame de Mouchy 
 were not of this sort ; on the contrary, they 
 considered their situation a very critical one. 
 One thing was done which alarmed us all ; pop- 
 ular commissions were sent out by the Com- 
 mittee of General Security, containing questions 
 to be answered by the prisoners. These ques- 
 tions were extremely captious. I think I can 
 remember them exactly, and also Monsieur de 
 Mouchy's answers. 
 
 By Order of the Committee of General Security ^ 
 the Prisoners will answer truly and as briefly 
 as possible the following questions : — 
 
 QUESTIONS. ANSWERS. 
 
 Vour name ? Noailles Mouchy. 
 
 Your age ? In my seventy-ninth year. 
 
 Where did yoii live before In Paris, on the Rue de 
 
 and after the Revolution b^- I'Universite, and since the 
 gan, and since tJien ? 9th of September at Mouchy 
 
 with my wife and my 
 daughter. 
 Are you a maj-ried man ? I have been married fifty- 
 
 If so, how long since you two years to Anne Claude 
 were married ? Louise d'Arpajon. 
 
 The number of your chil- Three children : one daugh- 
 dren, their age, and their ter forty-nine years old, 
 whereabouts'? married to the former Due 
 
 de Duras, and now a pris- 
 oner at Chantilly; Phillippe
 
 76 
 
 Prison Life 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 Your profession before and 
 since the Revolution ? 
 
 Value of your property be- 
 fore aiid si) ice the Revolu- 
 tion ? 
 
 With whom have you asso- 
 ciated before and since the 
 Revolution ? 
 
 Have yo7i not signed reso- 
 lutions derogatory to liberty ? 
 
 What have you done for the 
 Revolution ? 
 
 ANSWERS. 
 
 de Poix, forty years, wha 
 left France to save his life, 
 as a price was set on his 
 head ; Louis Noailles, aged 
 thirty-seven, left France with 
 all the pass-ports required at 
 the time, and is now in 
 North America. 
 
 I have been a soldier from 
 my youth ; and I have risen 
 to the rank of Marshal of 
 France. 
 
 My income before the 
 Revolution was more than a 
 hundred thousand livres ; for 
 two years one of my es- 
 tates in Languedoc has been 
 under sequestration under 
 pretext that I had emigrated 
 (though this was proved not 
 to be so), by order of the 
 Committee of General Secu- 
 rity. The subsidies and the 
 forced loan, under which I 
 have just been obliged to 
 relinquish a considerable 
 sum, render it impossible for 
 me to furnish any correct 
 valuation. 
 
 With, my relatives both 
 before and since. 
 
 I have never signed any 
 resolutions. 
 
 All that was required of 
 me.
 
 During the French Revolution. 177 
 
 Madame de Mouchy added : — 
 
 ' Having been united to my husband for fifty- 
 two years I have entertained no opinions differ- 
 ering from his.' 
 
 [Then followed their signatures.] 
 
 We had great difficulty in persuading Mon- 
 sieur de Mouchy to agree to answer the aforesaid 
 questions ; at first he positively refused, declar- 
 ing that he. would never do anything so revolt- 
 ing. I consulted different members of his 
 family and some of his companions in misfor- 
 tune, who said that it was impossible for him to 
 escape answering the questions, and that the 
 answers given, and which I have just written 
 down, w^ere quite sufficient. There were al- 
 ways, they said, some etceteras. Certain persons 
 of whom I have spoken, who were always too 
 sanguine, thought that the interrogatories would 
 hasten the acts of liberation ; but, on the con- 
 trary, we were not left long in peace, and the 
 harsh treatment increased. Then the conspir- 
 acy entered into by Vincent Savart and Grand- 
 mont (which I believe was the only real one) 
 broke out. We were then forbidden to walk 
 in the courtyard or to receive newspapers ; and 
 we were extremely restricted in every respect. 
 After a while we were again allowed to have the 
 newspapers, but never again to walk except in 
 12
 
 178 Prison Life 
 
 the galleries, where it was impossible to take a 
 step without running into one another. So 
 many persons were brought in that every place 
 was full, although many were sent off to the 
 tribunal every day. 
 
 Danton, Lacroix^ Camille Desmoulins^ etc. 
 arrived. There was a knocking at our door at 
 six o'clock, and we were told to prepare to move 
 our quarters. The turnkey said to me ' Hurry ! 
 some fine people are coming and we need this 
 room as a place of close confinement.' I asked 
 him where the room was which was to be given 
 us ; he did not know, but the jailer who followed 
 conducted me to it. It was, Monsieur and 
 Madame de Mouchy thought, sufficiently large 
 to accommodate their daughter, if she could be 
 brought to the Luxembourg. There was a fire- 
 place in it which gave me infinite satisfaction 
 whenever I saw Monsieur de Mouchy warming 
 himself in front of it ; for he had been freezing 
 for five months, as we had only one little stove, 
 which gave him the headache w^henever the fire 
 was lighted in it. 
 
 On the )th of April, 1794, about a fortnight 
 after we had been established in our new lodg- 
 ings, a convoy arrived from Chantilly. Mon- 
 sieur Randon de la Tour, who was of the party, 
 came very early in the morning to tell our dis-
 
 During the French Revolution. 179 
 
 tinguished old couple that Madame de Duras 
 was in Paris, and had positively received orders 
 to come to the Luxembourg during the day. 
 They were perfectly delighted. But the whole 
 day passed and she did not come ; and we learned 
 that she was at the Plessis. We hoped that she 
 was there only temporarily ; as she still did not 
 come we sent the most urgent petitions to the 
 administrators for her transfer. Hopes were 
 held out to us, but Providence had decreed other- 
 wise ; and if our prayers had been answered, 
 she would not now be living. After a while 
 however we began to hope again. One day 
 a man named Vernet said to me in a mysterious 
 tone, ' There is some one of your acquaintance 
 below whom the citizen Mouchy will be glad 
 to see.' I said, ' Surely it must be the citizeness 
 Duras.' (He knew that her father had asked 
 to have her sent here as he had himself carried 
 two messages to the Committee of General 
 Security.) Vernet replied, ' I cannot say ; there 
 are several persons.' I ran to repeat the con- 
 versation to Monsieur and Madame de Mouchy, 
 who did not doubt it was their daughter with 
 other ladies whose husbands were in the Lux- 
 embourg and who had petitioned to be allowed 
 to join them. We arranged the room so as to 
 be able to put a bed in for her : and to our as-
 
 i8o Prison Life 
 
 tonishment, after waiting a whole hour, Madame 
 la Marechale de Noailles, Madame la Duchesse 
 d'Ayen, and Madame la Vicomtesse de Noailles 
 entered. Monsieur de Mouchy was entirely 
 upset by this. He had a very bad cold, and his 
 fever rose immediately. He greatly dreaded 
 the imprudence of his sister-in-law, who was 
 very light-headed. He said that nothing could 
 be more disagreeable to him than to have her so 
 near him. These ladies told how, after having 
 been tossed about from prison to prison^ they 
 had with much difficulty obtained permis- 
 sion to be sent to the Luxembourg that they 
 might be near him. They were lodged above 
 us in an entresol. The apartment was soon 
 prepared. The furniture was very scanty, and I 
 undertook to arrange it ; I never saw worse 
 beds. These ladies, like most of those who 
 were condemned in advance, entered the prison 
 feeling quite sure of being soon restored to 
 liberty. As usual, only fifty francs had been left 
 to each of them by the turnkeys ; they were ad- 
 vised to provide themselves with a little more cash. 
 Madame la Marechale had twelve hundred francs 
 and the Vicomtesse, her granddaughter, had two 
 hundred francs. They were told that this would 
 be enough for their expenses for a month. This 
 money did not last them very long as it was all
 
 During the French Revolution. i8i 
 
 taken a short time after in the well remembered 
 general search. The following is a detailed 
 account of the manner in which our search was 
 conducted. In the morning, as I opened the 
 shutters of my room, I saw an armed guard in 
 the courtyard, — an unusual circumstance. I 
 went out into the corridor to get some wood 
 which was piled up there, and found four mus- 
 keteers at our door-way with the jailer, who 
 said, ' Go back into your room, citizeness.' I 
 said, '■ I am not going out ; I am going to get 
 some wood.' ' Go back, I tell you.' I obeyed 
 trembling and fearing that something was about 
 to happen to Monsieur and Madame la Mare- 
 chale. I went up to Madame la Marechale's 
 bed and said to her as quietly as possible, ' I 
 don't know what is going on, but there are 
 guards in the court and in the corridor, and the 
 jailer would not allow me to get any wood.' 
 She answered, ' I thought I heard them. My 
 God ! what can it be ? ' I went back to the 
 window and saw that there were musketeers 
 also on the pavilion opposite, which somewhat 
 reassured me. I concluded that it was a gen- 
 eral arrangement for the whole house. Two 
 sentinels had been posted at our door, and I 
 tried to have some talk with them. One good- 
 natured fellow to whom I furtively gave a glass
 
 1 82 Prison Life 
 
 of wine said to me in a low voice : ' We do not 
 know why we are here. Orders were sent to 
 the section of the Observatory for us to rise at 
 three o'clock this morning ; we were led here, 
 and ordered not to speak to any one nor to 
 allow any one at all to come out of the apart- 
 ments.' We did not learn very much from that 
 interview. I made ten attempts to go up to 
 see Mesdames de Noailles, but was always pre- 
 vented. Nothing was allowed to enter the 
 house ; dinner was not brought in till five 
 o'clock in the evening. We questioned the 
 turnkeys, but they said that they knew nothing. 
 We were obliged to go to bed without finding 
 out anything about what was going on. The 
 sentinels remained at our doors all night, or 
 rather for four days, as we were among the last 
 who were searched ; and we had no communica- 
 tion with our neighbours till the second day, 
 when one of them knocked gently at an unused 
 door which opened into our apartment and told 
 us that a very strict search was going on, that 
 money, scissors, knives, etc. were being taken. 
 We made the disclosure to Monsieur and Ma- 
 dame de Boisgelin in the same way. A man 
 who waited upon them had gone out the day 
 before to get some water and had not returned. 
 At last I obtained permission to go to see
 
 During the French Revolution. 183 
 
 Mesdames de Noailles ; the distinguished vi- 
 comtesse had made the beds, washed the dishes, 
 and in spite of all was in fine spirits. She joked 
 about her labours, which were quite extensive, 
 and the more so since the deafness of the three 
 ladies caused them frequently to misunderstand 
 one another. At night she tied one end of a 
 string to her arm and the other to her grand- 
 mother's bed so that the latter might^waken her if 
 she needed her during the night. She dressed 
 her, attended to an abscess she had, and also to 
 one of her mother's. She had scarcely time to 
 breathe, and her zeal stood her instead of natu- 
 ral strength. I had, as I have said, obtained 
 permission to go and wait upon her. I had 
 plenty to do, for I rendered the same services 
 to Monsieur and Madame de Boisgelin. 
 
 Our turn to be searched came at last on the 
 fourth day, at eleven o'clock in the morning. 
 The sentinels had been withdrawn the day be- 
 fore, at ten o'clock at night. Monsieur de Ba- 
 quencourt, who lodged in our quarter, took 
 advantage of the first opportunity to come and 
 tell us that the search was terrible, that a pris- 
 oner had assured him that he had been entirely 
 stripped, that he had at first concealed his 
 assignats, but had afterward shown them as he 
 preferred to give up everything rather than to
 
 1 84 Prison Life 
 
 get into trouble. The idea of being stripped 
 and searched worried us very much ; but there 
 was no getting out of it. 
 
 All took place as he foretold ; the municipal 
 authorities and the guards made the search. 
 When they came to the assignais I said, ' Citi- 
 zens, are you not going to count them ? ' One 
 of them answered scornfully, ' We need not 
 count them in order to conquer the enemies of 
 the Republic' ' I am sure of that,' I replied ; 
 ' for they could not be conquered with paper.' 
 Madame de Mouchy made a sign to me to be 
 silent. Eight or ten days after, the committee 
 ordered the account of each prisoner to be made 
 out over again. This was done in the keeper's 
 apartment. Then we went back to the same 
 old life. We tried to get accustomed to doing 
 without scissors and knives, but it was very in- 
 convenient ; and what was still more disagree- 
 able, the turnkeys, who formerly could receive 
 money for small services rendered, were forbid- 
 den to do so any longer, and this made them 
 very cross. The establishment of a public table 
 was also spoken of, which greatly distressed 
 Madame de Mouchy. Soon after this a com- 
 mission was appointed to examine the prisoners ; 
 a good many of them were anxious for it. The 
 day it was announced loud cries of * Vive la
 
 During the French Revolution. 185 
 
 Republique ! ' were heard in the galleries. It 
 did not take place, however, till two months 
 afterward. One day about that time I was 
 sitting at work when some one called for me. I 
 found at the door the jailer (no longer the good 
 Benoit) with two turnkeys, who asked me : 
 ' What are you doing here ? ' 
 
 ' I have been here for six months with the 
 Citizen Mouchy and his wife.' 
 
 ' Very well ; but what are you doing here ? ' 
 ' I do whatever I can for them.' 
 ' Where is your entry in the jail-book ? ' 
 ' I have none ; I came here voluntarily.' 
 
 * You were not arrested, then ? ' 
 ^No.' 
 
 ' Are you their confidential friend ? ' 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 * What is your name ? ' 
 
 I gave my signature. I asked him why he 
 asked me all these questions. ' You are not 
 going to send me away ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no ! Benoit's papers are not properly 
 drawn up, and I am taking a census of all 
 who are in the house.' 
 
 Madame de Mouchy was very much agi- 
 tated during this examination. She was reas- 
 sured when she learned that it was only a 
 census ; but I was not. I endeavoured not to
 
 1 86 Prison Life 
 
 show to her the anxiety I felt and which was 
 only too well founded. 
 
 One morning, about a month after this, the 
 same jailer came into Madame la Mar^chale's 
 room and said to her : ' I have come to inform 
 you that you must send away your confidential 
 attendant within twenty-four hours ; I have just 
 received the order/ She replied, ' Citizen, I 
 cannot do without her ; I am very infirm, and so 
 is my husband/ I asked him if I could stay if 
 I became a prisoner. ' I do not know.' I 
 begged him to send us the first prison-director 
 who came to the place. He agreed to do so. 
 I sent for Vernet, that he might speak for me. 
 Madame de Mouchy was so good as to implore 
 him so earnestly to do me this service that I 
 could not help shedding tears ; she offered to 
 give him all the jewels and assignats she had 
 left. He would not accept anything ; but prom- 
 ised to do all we asked, and did nothing. I 
 gave him a petition I had written to the Com- 
 mittee of Police, in which I requested most 
 earnestly to be enrolled as a prisoner. I repre- 
 sented to them the infirm condition of Monsieur 
 and Madame de Mouchy, how impossible it was 
 for them to be left alone, how long I had been 
 with them, and added that I thought it a Re- 
 publican virtue to assist suffering humanity. At
 
 During the French Revolution. 187 
 
 the same time I asked the jailer to allow me to 
 wait for an answer; and I begged Vernet to 
 bring the administrator to us, which he did on 
 the following day. 
 
 It was Vitrich, who has since died, with his 
 friend Robespierre. He said to me, 'We have 
 read your petition. You are very good to wait 
 upon these old people ; but I have nothing to 
 do with that. The order is from the Committee 
 of General Security, and you must go. You have 
 only to make a similar petition to them, and 
 surely you will receive their permission to re- 
 turn.' I begged him with tears, for I was des- 
 perate, for permission to remain till the next 
 day ; and he granted it. 
 
 I cannot express the horrors of our situation 
 after this cruel sentence. Dear, venerable old 
 couple, how much they suffered ! This separa- 
 tion seemed only to presage one more terrible 
 still. We wept all night long. I was almost deter- 
 mined to remain, no matter what happened to me. 
 For three whole days my daughter never left the 
 door in her anxiety to hear from the turnkeys 
 what I had concluded to do. She was terribly 
 frightened about me. A prisoner, whom I did not 
 know, influenced me to a decision ; he stopped 
 me and said, 'Citizeness, I have learned that 
 you are hesitating about leaving here ; I think
 
 1 88 Prison Life 
 
 I ought to tell you that you are doing wrong. 
 This evening you will be entered in the jail-book, 
 and perhaps sent to-morrow to another prison ; 
 the greater attachment you manifest for Madame 
 de Mouchy the more you will be suspected. 
 Believe me, you had better submit. A more 
 favourable moment will surely come, and you 
 can then rejoin her ; above all conceal your 
 tears, for you are watched.' I thanked him, 
 and informed Monsieur and Madame de Mou- 
 chy of his advice. They then urged me to go. We 
 consulted together as to what I was to do in 
 order to be allowed to return. Hoping to cer- 
 tainly do so, I left all my belongings. Messieurs 
 d'Henin and de Boisgelin assured me that the 
 separation would not be long, and that as soon 
 as I should see the committee I could ask that 
 Madame de Duras might be sent to join her 
 parents ; and they would surely grant my 
 request. 
 
 When the fatal moment arrived I felt that it 
 would be utterly impossible for me to say to 
 Monsieur and Madame de Mouchy, ' I am 
 going to leave you now ; ' so I said that I was 
 going to see some of the prisoners to ask for 
 messages from them. They all sympathized with 
 my sorrow. Madame la Vicomtesse de Noailles, 
 the younger, threw her arms around me, and
 
 During the French Revolution. 189 
 
 burst into tears. I tore myself from her, and 
 hid behind a door, to try and recover myself. 
 As I passed along the galleries all the prisoners 
 congratulated me ; for my part I wished they 
 were all in my place. When I reached the door 
 I thought I should faint ; I wanted to go in to 
 see the keeper, but the turnkey who had the 
 key prevented me. ' Take care !' said he to me, 
 ' there is a clerk in his office who is vexed with 
 you ; go on.' I cannot express all the different 
 feelings which assailed me on getting into the 
 street ; my despair at leaving Monsieur and 
 Madame de Mouchy, my reunion with my 
 daughter, the open air which I had not breathed 
 for seven months, — all bewildered me. One 
 thing is certain, I could not tell what streets I 
 passed through on my way to the Hotel Mou- 
 chy. Instead of seeming delighted to see my 
 daughter, I replied to all she said only with tears. 
 The first thing I did was to beg Monsieur 
 Noel to send my petition to the committee as 
 soon as possible, which he did. He received 
 no reply. It was impossible to gain an inter- 
 view. I did not knov/ to whom to apply. 
 Madame de Poix was at the Hotel Mouchy 
 under guard. She had been imprisoned only 
 twenty-four hours on account of her weakness. 
 She asked me many questions concerning her
 
 1 90 Prison Life 
 
 distinguished parents, wept much with me, and 
 still hoped that I might be able to return to 
 them. I had an opportunity to see the depu- 
 ties from my district, who had just saved my 
 brother from the guillotine. I thought they 
 would be willing to render me a service also. 1 
 implored them in vain, however, and received 
 from them only mockery of my attachment, and 
 the most positive refusal. At last, repulsed in 
 every direction, nothing was left but to have 
 myself arrested. This was my plan ; I thought of 
 it unceasingly. The only thing that prevented 
 me was the almost complete certainty of being 
 sent to some other prison than the Luxembourg. 
 The tidings I received from day to day were 
 more and more distressing. Monsieur de Mou- 
 chy wrote me: ' Come back to us ; Madame de 
 Mouchy has been so grieved at your absence 
 that her abscess has dried up, — a thing which 
 never happened before.' Another time he said, 
 * We cannot get accustomed to your absence, 
 nor to doing without you. The two or three per- 
 sons who wait upon us, no matter how willing 
 they may be, cannot accomplish in the whole 
 day what our dear Latour used to do in two 
 hours, and without difficulty.' 
 
 All this went to my heart. * I wrote to them 
 every day, and gave them more hope of my re-
 
 During the French Revolution. 191 
 
 turning to them than I entertained myself. I 
 went frequently to carry them provisions, as 
 well as to learn how they were from the turn- 
 keys, who were on good terms with me. I 
 also went into the garden, where I had the 
 sad consolation of seeing them at the window. 
 The prisoners knew me so well that as soon as 
 they saw me they would hasten to tell my 
 friends. Their sad and downcast faces broke my 
 heart. I dared not make the least sign to them as 
 I was constantly watched. The last day that I 
 went there with my daughter a man followed us 
 persistently, and drove us away. My daughter 
 was sure then that we were going to be arrested. 
 It was the last time that I ever saw Madame de 
 Mouchy. Two days after, Monsieur de Mou- 
 chy sent me word that she had had a severe attack 
 of indigestion, accompanied by violent vomit- 
 ing, all through the night ; that they needed 
 me more than ever.' He told me to send him 
 a bottle of mineral water for her to take as a 
 purgative. The day she took it. Monsieur le 
 Marechal wrote me at four o'clock in the 
 afternoon that the purgative had not agreed 
 with her at all, that Madame la Marechale could 
 not retain any nourishment, and requested me 
 to send her an injection immediately. I was 
 extremely anxious. It was too late for me to
 
 192 Prison Life 
 
 be able to speak to any one, as all the doors 
 were closed at five o'clock. I determined to 
 go to see the turnkey early the next morning, 
 and find out whether I might be allowed to wait 
 upon her ; but it was then too late. Everything 
 was useless ; the end of all their troubles was 
 approaching. 
 
 Just as I was getting into my bed there was a 
 loud knocking at my door. I trembled as I 
 opened it. I was surprised to see Monsieur 
 Noel, who looked frightened, and said, ' A mes- 
 senger was sent to the Luxembourg this evening 
 to inquire whether Monsieur and Madame de 
 Mouchy were there, and I cannot imagine what 
 it means.' I cried, ^ It is well known that they 
 are in that house, and such inquiries are super- 
 fluous, — unless/ I added, seeing that his agita- 
 tion was increasing, ' Madame la Marechale, 
 being ill, has asked for me again, and some 
 prison-director has been to inquire into her con- 
 dition.' ' I hope it may be so, I will learn to- 
 morrow morning early what it is all about, and 
 will come and tell you.' We spent the night in 
 the greatest excitement, and I rose very early. 
 I went to Monsieur Noel's house at seven 
 o'clock, but he had already gone out. He came 
 to my house crying, or rather screaming, ' It is 
 true,' said he ; ' all is over ! They are at the
 
 During the French Revolution. 193 
 
 Conciergerie.' Nothing else that I have ever 
 suffered in my life can be compared to what I 
 felt at that moment. However, I did not alto- 
 gether lose my self-control ; enough was left 
 me to see that poor Monsieur Noel was entirely 
 beside himself. He beat his head so violently 
 against the wall that I really feared he would 
 crush it. After the first moments of his despair 
 had passed, he said, ' I will go out again ; I will 
 go to the Conciergerie ; I must see them ! ' ' And 
 I will go too,' I cried. ' No, no,' he answered. 
 ' Is Madame de Duras there ? ' 'I have not 
 been able to learn.' 
 
 He returned about nine o'clock in the morn- 
 ing. ' Well,' said I, ' have you heard anything ? 
 Is there no hope?' 'No, no,' was all his 
 answer. ' And Madame de Duras r ' ' She is 
 not there.' He asked me to go and tell the sad 
 news to Madame de Poix. I should have been 
 glad to be spared this, for I scarcely had the 
 strength to do it ; but he went out again, and I 
 was obliged to go also. She was in absolute des- 
 pair. Monsieur Noel advised me to go away 
 from the house, lest I should be sent for as a 
 witness. I would not do so. I did not know 
 where to go ; I preferred, I said, to die with 
 them rather than after them. At last I v/as per- 
 suadedto go to the house of one of my friends. 
 13
 
 194 Prison Life 
 
 Before going, however, I charged them to 
 take some dinner to the Conciergerie. It was 
 possible that these precious victims might re- 
 main there several days. They sent it back with 
 their thanks, but untouched. 
 
 At five o'clock in the evening I left my 
 friend's house, being no longer able to resist 
 the desire to hear what was going on ; I met 
 my daughter coming to see me. Her agitated 
 countenance confirmed my fears. I met Mon- 
 sieur Noel ; he said not a word to me as he 
 passed me, nor I to him. We did not even dare 
 to look at each other. I went the next day 
 again to see Madame de Poix, whose whole 
 appearance was utterly changed. She had lost 
 not only her distinguished parents but Madame 
 de Biron, her intimate friend from childhood. 
 She asked me kindly what I was going to do. 
 ' Nothing,' I answered, ' but await my fate 
 here.' I thought that, not having been able to 
 share that of Monsieur and Madame de Mou- 
 chy, I might be allowed to follow that of 
 Madame de Duras, believing that none of us 
 would escape death. Madame de Noailles 
 wrote me three or four days after our loss a 
 note which I am inconsolable at having burned, 
 but I was compelled to do so. It contained such 
 a touching description of how Monsieur and
 
 During the French Revolution, 195 
 
 Madame de Mouchy remembered me in their 
 last moments, and expressions of Madame de 
 Mouchy's sympathy in my sorrow in spite of 
 all her own suffering, that it caused me, for the 
 first time, to give way to tears. Until then I 
 had been like a stone. 
 
 Within ten days after the death of my hon- 
 oured master and mistress, I was called upon to 
 mourn for all those of their acquaintance at the 
 Luxembourg who had shown me much kindness, 
 among them Mesdames d'Hautefort, Madame 
 de Noailles, and others. Twenty days later we 
 sent some linen to Madame de Duras, which 
 was not received ; this frightened us on her 
 account, for we feared she was no longer there. 
 And finally I became terrified on my own ac- 
 count. I had the greatest possible horror of 
 death. I feared I never should have sufficient 
 resignation to endure the last twenty-four hours ; 
 but I hoped that my courage would not fail me 
 in my last moments if I could be with those 
 from whom I could receive consolation. The 
 preparations for execution made me cold with 
 fright. I felt that the courage which would 
 have enabled me to bear anything in company 
 with Monsieur and Madame de Mouchy had 
 abandoned me. On the other hand it was 
 strange that I should have such a terror of death,
 
 196 Prison Life 
 
 being otherwise perfectly indifferent concerning 
 my fate. My relatives and friends pitied me. 
 not only on account of the loss I had just sus- 
 tained, but on account of my financial poskion, 
 knowing that I had no means at all. I answered 
 that this did not concern me in the least. My 
 mind continually reverted to what Monsieur de 
 Mouchy had said to me one day : he thanked 
 me for a small service I had rendered him, and 
 added, ' God will reward you, my dear child, for 
 all the trouble you have taken for me. I am 
 sure you will never want for anything.' 
 
 I was obliged, in spite of all my indifference 
 to fate, to ask to have back again the furniture 
 of my room, for which I had to pay four hundred 
 francs, with a guarantee from Monsieur Noel. 
 We left that house after having drunk the cup of 
 sorrow to the dregs, having seen it all stripped 
 of furniture and thrown into utter disorder. 
 The commissioners received from our hands 
 everything belonging to Monsieur de Mouchy 
 and Madame la Marechale, treating the things 
 in the most insulting and indecent manner. 
 
 Robespierre was beheaded. Madame de 
 Duras was liberated the i6th of October, 1794. 
 But, oh, how changed she was I It was dread- 
 ful to see her. She seemed, as she said herself, 
 like one risen from the dead. In spite of her
 
 During the French Revolution. 197 
 
 trials it was evident that her courage had not 
 failed. Her first thought, and also that of Ma- 
 dame de Poix, on being once more in the en- 
 joym^ent of liberty, was to see that I had means 
 of support, and to find out all ways of rendering 
 me assistance.
 
 EVENTS OF THE 21st OF JULY, 1794. 
 
 Monsieur Grelet's Account. 
 
 TT was the 21st of July, 1794 (2d Thermidor, 
 -*- year II.) ; I was on my way to the Luxem- 
 bourg at half past seven o'clock in the evening, 
 to carry to Madame de Noailles a bundle con- 
 taining some wearing apparel. When I reached 
 the lower end of the Rue de Tournon, I saw in 
 front of the door of that prison a great mob of 
 men and women, which made me feel very anx- 
 ious. I deposited my bundle in a shop on that 
 street where a young woman stayed who was the 
 friend of Madame la Duchesse d'Ayen's waiting- 
 woman, and went on toward the prison. 
 
 When I came among the crowd I had no dif- 
 ficulty in discovering what was going on, par- 
 ticularly when I saw a great open wagon with 
 benches fastened alone: the sides. I knew at 
 once that it was there to receive the prisoners 
 who were to be transferred to the Conciergerie 
 to be beheaded the next day ; this thought 
 made me shiver. I had a presentiment that the
 
 200 Prison Life 
 
 ladies in whom I was interested would be among 
 the victims. I was anxious to see the prisoners 
 taken away, and approached the door as nearly 
 as I possibly could. A turnkey came out, and 
 perceiving me said, * Go away ; they are 
 coming.' 
 
 I did not go away. I thought it would be 
 the last time I should ever see those ladies, and 
 this sad thought rooted me to the spot. The 
 turnkey went in again. A little while after the 
 door opened and the prisoners appeared, pre- 
 ceded by two gendarmes. Madame la Vicom- 
 tesse de Noailles was the first of the ladies to 
 come out. She passed very near me, took my 
 hand and pressed it affectionately. The gen- 
 darme who walked beside her assisted her to 
 get into the wagon. Madame d'Ayen and Ma- 
 dame la Marechale got in immediately after her. 
 One of the gendarmes had seen Madame de 
 Noailles give me her hand. Then five or six 
 other ladies got in and as many men as it would 
 hold. I moved away and tried to conceal my- 
 self in the crowd. Madame de Noailles still 
 saw me, however, for the wagon had not yet 
 started. As it would not hold all the prisoners, 
 about fifteen of them followed on foot, escorted 
 by gendarmes. While all the preparations for 
 this transfer were being made, Madame de
 
 During the French Revolution. 201 
 
 Noailles, who again recognized me, clasped her 
 hands, made me a sign to pray and that she was 
 praying. A moment afterward she lifted her 
 head, and pointing with one finger to heaven 
 she gave me her blessing. The crowd won- 
 dered to whom her gestures were addressed ; 
 and I gazed as others did, trying to act just as 
 though they were not addressed to me. Ma- 
 dame de Noailles apprised her mother that I 
 was near the wagon. Madame d'Ayen bowed 
 and kissed her hand to me several times. I 
 could not take any notice of this ; such gestures 
 alone would have been more than sufficient to 
 compromise me. 
 
 At last, after half an hour spent in prepara- 
 tion, the wagon started and went down the 
 Rue de Conde. I followed it as far as the 
 Conciergerie. About midway this street, in a 
 part of it which is very narrow, I could almost 
 touch at the same time both the houses at the 
 side and the wagon. Madame de Noailles, who 
 never lost sight of me, gave me her blessing 
 three times, — one for each of her children. I 
 continued to follow the wagon as I would have 
 followed the funeral procession of persons whose 
 death was to plunge so many families into such 
 terrible grief. 
 
 As I was crossing the Pont Neuf, the wagon
 
 202 Prison Life 
 
 being not far off and just turning round the 
 Quai des Lunettes, a gendarme called out be- 
 hind me, ' I arrest you ; I know you/ I did 
 not give him a chance to arrest me but ran 
 along the Quai des Lunettes. The gendarme 
 followed me ; I ran down the Rue de Harlay, 
 which crosses the Island of the Palace. The 
 gendarme was far behind me crying, ' Stop him !' 
 It was eight o'clock, — just the hour when 
 the workmen were leaving their shops. They 
 thought I was a prisoner escaping ; several tried 
 to stop me, but I kept them off with my cane. 
 On reaching the Quai des Orfevres I fell, and 
 w^as seized by two workmen ; the gendarme over- 
 took me, and I made no further effort to escape. 
 A man came up who said he was a justice of the 
 peace, and inquired of the gendarme why he had 
 arrested me. The gendarme replied that I was 
 intriguing with the prisoners. I thought it use- 
 less to attempt to defend myself. As the gen- 
 darme was taking me to the prefecture of police, 
 I saw some distance off Madame de Noailles 
 and the other prisoners going into the prison of 
 the Conciergerie. 
 
 I w^as put into a dungeon where there was a 
 small window, which admitted only a few rays 
 of light. I took advantage of this to destroy 
 some papers which would have been sufficient to
 
 During lh3 French Revolution, 203 
 
 compromise me. Fortunately I preserved my 
 carte de siireU^ which I had only had a few days. 
 I had just torn up and destroyed the papers, 
 part of which I swallowed, when the door 
 opened and showed me a jailer, who ordered me 
 in menacing tones to follow him. After having 
 led me through some dark corridors he shut me 
 in a very small dungeon, secured by an iron 
 door, through which no light could penetrate. 
 This dungeon was circular in form and extremely 
 small. There was a stone bench against the wall. 
 As I entered I had seen by the light of the lamp 
 carried by the jailer something on the floor 
 which sparkled. When the dungeon door was 
 closed on me I was in total darkness. I felt 
 around to find out what had occasioned the 
 flashes of light to which I have referred. I 
 found that they proceeded from some bits of 
 glass which were on the edge of a very small 
 opening made in the wall. I seated myself on 
 the stone bench and began to reflect on my sit- 
 uation, on that of Mesdames de Noailles, whom 
 I had just seen for the last time, and on that 
 of their poor children, who were waiting for 
 me before going to their evening meal. Then 
 I realized all the horrors of my situation. And 
 when I thought of all that was to take place the 
 next day, I fell on my knees and prayed to God
 
 204 Prison Life 
 
 with all the fervour of which I was capable. I 
 implored him to accept the sacrifice of my 
 life in expiation of my sins ; for I expected to 
 perish the next day. But what would become 
 of those three children ? What terrible grief it 
 would be to their mother and grandmother to 
 see me condemned with them ! ' My Gad,' I 
 prayed, ' have mercy on the children, have mercy 
 on their mothers, and have mercy on me P 
 
 I was utterly overcome by these sad reflections 
 when the door opened with a loud noise. I 
 rose suddenly, not knowing what might be going 
 to happen. There was the jailer again, with 
 his lantern, and an officer of the gendarmerie 
 was with him. ' Have you your carte ) ' said 
 the latter to me. I answered that I had. ' Give 
 it to me.' 'Will you allow me,' said I, as I 
 handed it to him, ' to tell you what took place, 
 and why I am here .^ ' ' Yes, you may tell me.' 
 I related in a few words how I had happened 
 by chance to be in front of the prison of the 
 Luxembourg when the prisoners who were to be 
 taken to the Conciergerie came out ; that one 
 of them, as she passed very near me, recognized 
 me and pressed my hand, but that she did not 
 speak a single word to me, nor did I to her ; and 
 that this was all that passed. After listening 
 to me attentively he went away, and took my
 
 During the French Revolution. 205 
 
 carle with him ; but he had me put into more 
 comfortable quarters. 
 
 My anxiety increased when I saw that he had 
 carried off my carte, for it contained my address ; 
 and I was sure that they would go immediately 
 to the Hotel Noailles-Mouchy, on the Rue 
 de rUniversit^, where my pupils Alfred and 
 Alexis were. ' They will search all over the 
 Hotel,' said I to myself. ' They will find the 
 whole of my correspondence with Madame de 
 Noailles during her imprisonment ; and as there 
 are many things in those letters which are cov- 
 ertly expressed, they will be sure to find in 
 them all sorts of intrigues relative to the con- 
 spiracy of the Luxembourg, about which the 
 Republicans and Revolutionary judges are al- 
 ready making so much noise.' It is true that I 
 had taken great care to conceal this corres- 
 pondence. I had confided to Alexis the secret 
 of the place where I had locked it up, and had 
 charged him to put it out of sight if he should 
 see the commissioners or any strangers coming 
 to the Hotel. We occupied the apartment of 
 their father^ the Vicomte de Noailles, the win- 
 dows of which looked out into the street, in 
 front of the main entrance. Though this thought 
 somewhat reassured me, my anxiety continued, 
 and the more so as the officer did not return, and
 
 2o6 Prison Life 
 
 it was now very late. I no longer doubted that 
 he had been to pay a visit to the Hotel Mou- 
 chy. ' But even if he should find nothing/ said I 
 to myself, ' can any one ever escape who has 
 once fallen into their hands ? ' 
 
 Such was the state of my anxiety when the 
 officer returned and said these few words which 
 I shall never forget. ' Here is yom carle. Now 
 go ; and another time do not come so near.' I 
 did not wait for him to say anything more. I 
 took my carte^ my cane, and the other things 
 which had not been left with me were returned, 
 and I was free 1 
 
 I experienced a feeling of delight at being 
 liberated contrary to my expectation ; but this 
 sweet content was only momentary. I thought 
 of Mesdames de Noailles, whom I had left as it 
 were in the ante-chamber of death. I could 
 think of nothing else ; at least they would not 
 suffer the pain of seeing me share their fate on 
 the morrow, and of thinking that their children 
 were left without any one to care for them. 
 ' Religion will come to their aid,' I thought ; ' but 
 what a struggle they will have to go through.' I 
 gave thanks to God, and implored him to come 
 to their help in this moment so full of horror to 
 human creatures ; and still praying as I went, 
 I reached the Hotel Mouchy. It was eleven
 
 During the French Revolution. 207 
 
 o'clock. The children had not gone to bed ; 
 they were waiting for me. They asked me a 
 great many questions, and told me that they had 
 been very much frightened when I did not re- 
 turn. I told them that I had had a great many 
 things to attend to which had caused me most 
 unwillingly to delay ; that I had been very much 
 occupied ; that I could not tell them then all 
 that had happened to me because it was too 
 late, but that I would tell them all about it the 
 next day. We then said our prayers together 
 and went to bed. ' At least,' said I to myself, 
 ' they shall pass this night in peace ; the next 
 will be cruel and bitter enough.' 
 
 The next day (the 22d of July), while the 
 children were still asleep, I went very early to 
 the Rue des Sts. Peres, to see P^re Brun, to 
 tell him that the Mesdames de Noailles were at 
 the Conciergerie to be tried, and would very 
 probably be condemned to death that very day, 
 and to beg him to keep the promise he had made 
 me, which was to try to meet them as they 
 passed from the prison to the extreme end of 
 the Faubourg St. Antoine, as this was the only 
 consolation they could now have in this world. 
 He promised me he would not fail to be there. 
 Whenever he could, this good priest exercised 
 this act of charity toward the victims. He would
 
 2o8 Prison Lift 
 
 accompany them, praying as he went, to the 
 foot of the scaffold, and there give them the last 
 absolution. After the deed was done he would 
 return to his house, still praying, but with an 
 aching heart. 
 
 Father Brun was a father of the Oratory. 
 We had lived together at Juilly, where we had 
 charge of the Pensioners called Miniines, be- 
 cause they were the youngest and the smallest. 
 He was for a short time the curate of the 
 parish of Juilly. Madame la Vicomtesse de 
 Noailles, whose children, Alexis and Alfred, 
 were in our hall, had corresponded v/ith him for 
 almost a year. She had great confidence in 
 him, and he deserved it on account of his piety 
 and his tender care of her children. 
 
 I returned to the Hotel Mouchy. It was 
 almost six o'clock. I awakened the children, 
 and told them that we were going to see their 
 sister Euphemie at St. Mande, which pleased 
 them very much. They never suspected the 
 terrible tidings I had to tell them till we came 
 to the end of our walk.^ 
 
 1 A copy of this account was sent, May 21, 1S50, to 
 Madame la Marquise de Verac by Monsieur Gerin, Mon- 
 sieur Grelet's testamentary executor, and was declared by 
 him to agree in every respect with the original from the 
 hand of Monsieur Grelet.
 
 NARRATIVE OF AN EYE-WITNESS OF 
 THE AFFAIR OF JULY 22, 1794. 
 
 (M. Carrichon, Priest.) 
 
 A/TADAME LA MARECHALE DE NO- 
 ^^^ AILLES, her daughter-in-law, the Du- 
 chesse d'Ayen, and her granddaughter, the 
 Vicomtesse de Noailles, were detained in their 
 Hotel from the month of September, 1795, 
 until April, 1794. I knew the first by sight, 
 and was better acquainted with the other two, 
 whom I was accustomed to visit once a week. 
 
 The Terror was increasing, with its attendant 
 crimes, and the victims were becoming more 
 numerous. One day when we were speaking 
 of this, and were exhorting each other to prepare 
 to be among their number, I said to them with 
 a sort of presentiment, ' If you go to the guillo- 
 tine, and God gives me the strength, I will accom- 
 pany you.' They took me at my word, adding 
 with eagerness, ^ Do you promise it ? ' I hesi- 
 tated a moment. ' Yes,' I replied, 'and that 
 you may be certain to recognize me I will wear 
 a dark blue coat and a red waistcoat. 
 14
 
 210 Prison Life 
 
 After that they often reminded me of my 
 promise. In the month of April, the week after 
 Easter, I believe, they were conducted to the 
 Luxembourg. I often received news of them 
 through Monsieur Grelet, who with such deli- 
 cate faithfulness rendered many services to 
 them and to their children. 
 
 My promise was frequently recalled. On the 
 26th or 27th, a Thursday or a Friday, he came 
 and begged me to render to the Marechal de 
 Mouchy and his wife the service which I had 
 promised to them. 
 
 1 went to the Palace and succeeded in making 
 my way into the courtyard ; I then had them 
 under my eyes, and quite near me, for more than 
 a quarter of an hour. Monsieur and Madame 
 de Mouchy, whom I had seen at their house 
 only once, and whom I knew better than they 
 knew me, could not recognize me. By inspira- 
 tion, and with the aid of God, I did what I could 
 for them. The MarechaFs conduct was singu- 
 larly edifying ; he prayed aloud with great fer- 
 vour. The evening before, on leaving the 
 Luxembourg, he had said to those who regarded 
 him with interest : ' At seventeen I went up to 
 the assault for my king; at seventy-eight I go 
 to the scaffold for my God ; my friends, I am 
 not unhappy.'
 
 Durhiff the French Revolution. 211 
 
 "e> 
 
 I avoid details which would lead me on to 
 endless length. That day I believed it to be 
 useless to attempt anything ; and, indeed, I did 
 not feel myself able to go and accompany them 
 to the guillotine. I was much disturbed by this 
 on account of the special promise made to their 
 relatives, whom their death plunged into afflic- 
 tion. They were incarcerated in the same pri- 
 son, and had done much to console the Marechal 
 de Mouchy and his wife. 
 
 How much might I ~say of all the many de- 
 partures which preceded or followed that of the 
 22d of July! — departures, peaceful or wretched, 
 according to the dispositions of those who de- 
 parted. Terribly sad they were, even when the 
 known character and all external signs denoted 
 Christian resignation and a Christian death, 
 but exceedingly distressing when the contrary 
 was the case, and when the condemned ap- 
 peared, as it were, to pass from a hell in this 
 world to that of the other world. 
 
 On the 22d of July, which was Tuesday, I 
 was at my house between eight and ten o'clock 
 in the morning. I was just on the point of 
 going out when I heard a knock on my door ; 
 I opened it and saw the children of the house 
 of Noailles and their tutor. The children had 
 the gayety natural to their age, — gayety which
 
 212 Prison Life 
 
 was to be changed to sadness by the losses they 
 were about to undergo, and the fear of expe- 
 riencing still others. They were going to 
 walk. 
 
 The tutor, sad and melancholy, was pale and 
 troubled. ' Let us go into your chamber,' said 
 he, ' and leave the children in your study.' We 
 went into the chamber ; he cast himself into a 
 chair. ^ It is all over, my friend ; the ladies are 
 before the Revolutionary tribunal. I have come 
 to summon you to keep your word, I am to 
 take the children to Vincennes, and there see 
 little Euphemie. In the park I will prepare the 
 poor children for their terrible loss.' 
 
 Prepared as I was myself for this dreadful 
 blow, I was overwhelmed. The frightful situa- 
 tion of the mothers, of the children, of their 
 worthy tutor, this gayety to be followed by such 
 depth of sorrow, the little sister, Euphemie, 
 then about four years old, — all this arose before 
 my imagination. 
 
 I recovered myself; and after some inquiries, 
 replies, and other sad details, I said, ' I will 
 now change my dress. What an errand ! Pray 
 to God that he may give me the strength to 
 execute it.' 
 
 We arose and went out into the study, where 
 we found the children amusing themselves inno-
 
 During the French Revolution. 213 
 
 cently, gay and contented as could be. The 
 sight of them, the thought of their ignorance, 
 and of what they were about to learn, the inter- 
 view with their sister which would follow, and 
 that which we had just gone through, made the 
 contrast more striking, and afflicted the heart. 
 
 Left alone after their departure, I felt myself 
 overwhelmed and wearied. ' My God,' I cried, 
 ' have pity upon them and upon me 1 ' I changed 
 my clothes and went upon certain errands, car- 
 rying in my heart a crushing weight. 
 
 I went to the palace between one o'clock 
 and two, and tried to enter ; it was impossible. 
 I got some news from one who was coming out 
 of the Court. I still doubted the reality of 
 what he told me. The illusion of hope was 
 finally destroyed by what he went on to say, 
 and I could no longer have any doubts. 
 
 I renewed my walk. It took me to the Fau- 
 bourg St. Antoine, and with what thoughts, 
 what inward agitation, what secret fear, all 
 joined to a violent headache ! 
 
 I consulted a person in whom I had confi- 
 dence. She encouraged me in the name of 
 God. I took a little coffee at her house, and 
 felt my head improved. I returned to the 
 palace with slow steps, pensive and irresolute, 
 dreading to reach the fatal spot, and hoping
 
 214 Prison Life 
 
 that I might not find those who summoned 
 me there. 
 
 I arrived before five o'clock. Nothing indi- 
 cated the departure of the prisoners. I went 
 sadly up the steps of the Sainte-Chapelle ; I 
 walked in and around the great hall, I sat down, 
 I rose again, I spoke to no one. I concealed 
 within me the sorrow which was preying upon 
 me. From time to time I cast a sad glance 
 toward the courtyard, to see if any preparations 
 for the procession were being made. 
 
 My continual thought was, ' In two hours, in 
 one hour, they will be no more.' I cannot ex- 
 press how this idea, which has afflicted me all 
 my life in the too frequent and distressing occa- 
 sions in which it has been recalled, afflicted 
 me at that time. With so dreadful a cause of 
 waiting, never did hour appear to me at once 
 so long and so short as that which I passed 
 from five o'clock to six, by reason of the various 
 thoughts which agitated me, and which rapidly 
 drove my mind from the illusions of a vain hope 
 to fears unhappily only too real. 
 
 Finally, by the noise which came to my ears, 
 I judged that the prison doors were about to be 
 opened. I went down and took a position near 
 the gate, as for a fortnight it had no longer been 
 possible to obtain entrance into the courtyard.
 
 During the French Revolution. 215 
 
 The first cart was filled and came toward 
 where I stood. It contained eight ladies who 
 seemed in a very edifying frame of mind ; they 
 were unknown to me. The ninth and last, to 
 whom I was very near, was the Marechale de 
 Noailles. The absence of her daughter-in-law 
 and granddaughter gave me one last faint ray 
 of hope. But alas ! they immediately entered 
 the second cart. Madame de Noailles was 
 dressed in white, which she had not ceased 
 wearing since the death of her father-in-law and 
 mother-in-law, the Marechal de Mouchyandhis 
 wife. She appeared about twenty-four years 
 old at the most. Madame d'Ayen, a lady of 
 forty years, was in a striped ddshabilU of blue 
 and white. I saw them, though at a little dis- 
 tance. Six men also got into the fatal car and 
 took their places near them. I remarked that 
 the first two took their stand at a little distance 
 from the others, showing them by this respectful 
 attention that they desired to leave them more 
 free. From this I drew good auguries. 
 
 Scarcely had they taken their places when the 
 daughter exhibited toward the mother an eager 
 and tender interest, which was remarked by all 
 the bystanders. I heard them saying near me, 
 ' Do you see how agitated that young lady is, 
 and how she talks to the other one ? '
 
 2i6 Prison Life 
 
 I saw that they were looking for me. I 
 seemed to hear all that they said. ' Mamma, 
 he is not there.' 
 
 ' Look again.' 
 
 ' Nothing escapes me, I assure you, Mamma ; 
 he is not there.' 
 
 They forgot that I had sent word to them of 
 the impossibility of getting into the courtyard. 
 
 The first cart stood near me at least a quarter 
 of an hour. It came forward first. The second 
 was about to pass, and I stood ready. It passed, 
 and the ladies did not see me. I went back into 
 the palace, made a long circuit, and placed myself 
 in a conspicuous position at the entrance of the 
 Pont au Change. Madame de Noailles looked 
 around on every side, but passed by without see- 
 ing me. I followed them along the bridge, sepa- 
 rated from the crowd, and yet quite near them. 
 Madame de Noailles, though constantly looking 
 for me, did not perceive me. 
 
 Distress was painted upon the face of Ma- 
 dame d'Ayen ; her daughter redoubled her 
 watchfulness but without success. I was 
 tempted to give up. I had done what I 
 could, I said to myself, and everywhere else the 
 crowd would be still greater. It was of no use, 
 and I was tired. I was about to go away, when 
 the sky was covered over, thunder was heard in
 
 During the French Revolution. 217 
 
 the distance, and I resolved to make another 
 trial. 
 
 By roundabout ways I arrived before the 
 carts did in the Rue St. Antoine beyond the 
 Rue de Fourcy, almost opposite the too famous 
 prison of La Force. Then a violent wind arose. 
 The storm burst ; flashes of lightning and peals 
 of thunder succeeded each other rapidly. The 
 rain began, and soon fell in torrents. I with- 
 drew to the doorway of a shop which I still 
 vividly remember, and which I never since then 
 see without emotion. In an instant the street 
 was cleared ; there were no more people, save 
 at the doors, in the shops, and at the windows. 
 There was more order in the marching. The 
 horsemen and musketeers advanced more 
 quickly, and the carts also. They reached the 
 little St. Antoine, and I was still undecided. 
 The first cart passed before me. A rapid and 
 almost involuntary movement brought me from 
 the shop door and to the second cart ; and there 
 I was alone, quite near the ladies. Madame 
 de Noailles, smiling, seemed to say to me, 
 ' Here you are at last ; ah, how comforted 
 we are 1 We have sought for you eagerly. 
 Mamma, here he is.' Madame d'Ayen revived. 
 All my irresolution ceased ; I felt myself 
 inspired by the grace of God with extraor-
 
 2i8 Prison Life 
 
 dinary courage. Though wet through with 
 perspiration and rain I took no thought of it, 
 but continued to walk near them. Upon the 
 steps of the College St. Louis I perceived a 
 friend, full of respect and attachment for them, 
 endeavouring to render them the same service 
 as that which I was offering them.^ His face 
 and attitude showed all that he felt upon seeing 
 them. I struck my hand upon his shoulder 
 with inexpressible emotion, and cried to him as 
 I passed by, • Good evening, my friend.' 
 
 At this point there is an open place, and sev- 
 eral streets enter into it. The storm was at its 
 height, and the wind had grown more violent. 
 The ladies in the first wagon were much dis- 
 turbed by it, especially the Marechale de No- 
 ailles ; her large cap was thrown back, and 
 showed her gray hair. They tottered upon 
 
 1 This friend whom Father Carrichon met was Father 
 Brun, Priest of the Oratory, jointly with whom I had 
 charge, at Juilly, of the Hall of the Minimes (the youngest 
 pupils of the College), among whom were Messieurs 
 Alexis and Alfred de Noailles. I had informed Monsieur 
 Brun on the same day as Monsieur Carrichon (July 22, 
 1794) of our anxieties and our desires for Mesdames de 
 Noailles. These two friends met in the Rue de Faubourg 
 St. Antoine, accompanied the victims, gave them their 
 blessing, and did not withdraw until after the completion 
 of the final sacrifice. — Note by Monsieur Grclet.
 
 During Ihe French Revolution. 219 
 
 their rough plank seats, their hands being tied 
 behind their backs. Immediately a crowd of 
 men, who were there in spite of the rain, recog- 
 nized her, paid attention only to her^ and by 
 their insulting cries increased the tortures which 
 she was supporting with patience. ' There she 
 is,' they cried, ' the Marechale who went in 
 such style, driving in her fine carriage, — there 
 she is in the cart, just like the others I ' 
 
 The cries continued ; the heavens grew darker 
 and the rain more violent. We reached the 
 street crossing just in front of the Fau- 
 bourg St. Antoine. I went forward, looked 
 around, and said to myself, this is the best place 
 to afford them what they so much desire. The 
 cart was going more slowly ; I stopped and 
 turned toward them. I made a sign to Madame 
 de Noailles which she entirely understood : 
 * Mamma, Monsieur Carrichon is about to 
 give us absolution.' Immediately they bent 
 their heads with an air of repentance, contrition, 
 tenderness, hope, and piety. 
 
 I raised my hand, and, though with covered 
 head, pronounced the entire formula of absolu- 
 tion, and the words which follow it, very dis- 
 tinctly, and with the deepest earnestness. They 
 joined in this more perfectly than ever. I can 
 never forget the holy picture, worthy of the
 
 220 Prison Life 
 
 pencil of Raphael, of that moment when, for 
 them, all was balm and consolation. 
 
 Immediately the storm relaxed and the rain 
 diminished. It was as if they had come only to 
 insure the success of what my friends and I 
 had so ardently desired. I blessed God for it, 
 and they did the same. Their appearance showed 
 contentment, security, and cheerfulness. 
 
 As we advanced into the Faubourg the eager 
 crowds fell back upon the two sides of the street. 
 They insulted the first ladies, especially the Mare- 
 chale ; nothing was said to the other two. Some- 
 times I preceded and sometimes I accompanied 
 the wagons. After passing the Abbey de St. An- 
 toine I met a young man whom I had formerly 
 known ; he was a priest whom I had some reason 
 to suspect, and his presence annoyed me. I was 
 afraid of being recognized, but happily I was 
 not ; he turned aside, and I did not see him 
 again. 
 
 Finally, we arrived at the fatal spot ; what 
 went on within me cannot be described. What 
 a moment ! What a separation, what grief for 
 the husbands, the children, the sisters, the rela- 
 tives and friends who should survive them in 
 this vale of tears ! ' I see them,' I thought, ' still 
 full of health ; they would have been so useful 
 to their families, and in a moment I shall see
 
 During the French Revolution. 221 
 
 them no more. How heart-rending it is I But 
 what a great comfort to us to see them so 
 resigned V 
 
 The scaffold appears ; the carts come to a stop ; 
 the guards surround them; I shudder. A more 
 numerous circle of spectators now is about us ; 
 most of them laugh, and are amused at this 
 heart-breaking spectacle. Imagine how ter- 
 rible a situation it was for me, to be in the midst 
 of such a crowd with my mind agitated by 
 thoughts so different. 
 
 While the executioner and his two attendants 
 were assisting the ladies who were in the first 
 cart to descend, Madame de Noailles's eyes 
 wandered around in search of me. At last she 
 saw me. And now there was a repetition** of 
 that first ravishing view I had of her. Her ex- 
 pressive eyes, so sweet, so animated, so heav- 
 enly^ glanced first up to heaven and then down 
 to earth, and finally were fixed so intently upon 
 me that it might have caused me to be remarked 
 if my neighbours had been more attentive. I 
 pulled my hat down over my eyes, but not so as 
 to prevent my seeing her. I seemed to hear her 
 say, ' Our sacrifice is made. We leave our dear 
 ones ; but God in his mercy calls us. Our faith 
 is firm. We shall not forget them when we are 
 in his presence. We give you our thanks, and
 
 222 Prison Life 
 
 send our tenderest farewells to them, Jesus 
 Christ, who died for us^ is our strength. We die 
 in his arms. Farewell ! God grant we may all 
 meet again in heaven. Farewell I ' 
 
 It is impossible to give any idea of her saintly, 
 earnest gestures ; there was about her an elo- 
 quence so touching that those around me said, 
 ' Ah, see that young woman ! How resigned she 
 is ! See how she raises her eyes to heaven 1 
 See how she is praying ! But what good will 
 that do her ? ' Then on reflection : ' Oh, those 
 wicked parsons 1 ' Having said their last fare- 
 wells they all descended from the wagon. 
 
 I was no longer conscious of anything, being 
 at once heart-broken, grieved, and yet com- 
 forted. How I thanked God that I had not 
 delayed giving them absolution till this moment ! 
 If I had waited till just as they were mounting 
 the scaffold we could not have been so united 
 in the presence of God to ask and receive this 
 great blessing as we had been in the other 
 place ; and that also was the most undisturbed 
 moment of the whole route. 
 
 I leave the spot where I had been standing. 
 I pass round to the opposite side while the others 
 are getting out of the wagon. I find myself in 
 front of the wooden stairway by which they 
 were to mount the scaffold, and against which
 
 During the French Revolution. 223 
 
 a tall, rather fat old man with white hair and a 
 kindly face was leaning. He looked like a 
 farmer. Near him was a very resigned-looking 
 woman whom I did not know ; next came the 
 Marechale de Noailles, just opposite me, 
 dressed in black taffeta. She had not yet laid 
 aside mourning for the Marechal. She was 
 seated on a block of wood or stone which hap- 
 pened to be there, her large eyes fixed. I did 
 not forget to pray for her as I had done for so 
 many others, and especially for the Marechal 
 and Marechale de Mouchy. All the others 
 were ranged in two lines on the side facing the 
 Faubourg St. Antoine. 
 
 I looked around for the ladies ; I could only 
 see the mother. Her attitude was that of devo- 
 tion, — simple, noble, and resigned. Entirely oc- 
 cupied with the sacrifice she was about to offer to 
 God through the merits of the Saviour, his divine 
 son, her eyes were closed ; she showed no anx- 
 iety, not even as much as when formerly she 
 had had the privilege of approaching the sacred 
 table. I shall never forget the impression she 
 made upon me then. I often picture her to 
 myself in that attitude. God grant that I may 
 profit by it. 
 
 The Marechale de Noailles was the third to 
 mount the altar of sacrifice. It was necessary
 
 224 Prison Life 
 
 to cut away the upper part of the neck of her 
 dress so as to expose her throat. I felt as if I 
 could not stand and see it all ; yet I wished to 
 drink the cup to the dregs and keep my word, if 
 only God would grant me strength to keep my 
 senses in the face of such a terrible sight. 
 
 Six ladies passed on after her. Madame 
 d'Ayen was the tenth. She seemed to me to 
 look pleased that she was to die before her 
 daughter did, and the daughter glad to die 
 after her mother. When she mounted the scaf- 
 fold the chief executioner pulled off her bonnet. 
 As it was fastened on by a pin which he did 
 not take out, the pain caused by having her 
 hair dragged out with it was evident in her 
 countenance. 
 
 The mother's life was ended. How I grieved 
 to see that young lady, looking in her white 
 dress even younger than she really was, sweet 
 and gentle as a little lamb, led to the slaughter. 
 I felt as though I were present at the martyr- 
 dom of one of those holy young virgins repre- 
 sented in the pictures of the great masters. 
 
 The same thing which occurred in her mother's 
 case happened in hers, — the same oversight as to 
 the pin, the same pain, the same calm, the same 
 death! How the red blood flowed down from 
 her head and her throat I
 
 During the French Revolution. 225 
 
 ' Now she is happy I ' I cried to myself as I 
 saw her body thrown into the horrible coffin. 
 
 May the all-powerful and all-merciful God 
 grant to their family every blessing they may 
 desire, and that I ask for my own, and bring us 
 all together with those who have gone before 
 into that abode where there is no more Revo- 
 lution, into that country which shall have, as 
 Saint Augustine says, — 
 
 'Truth for its King, 
 Charity for its law, 
 And Eternity for its duration.'
 
 LETTER FROM MADAME LA DUCH- 
 ESSE DE DURAS, NEE NOAILLES, 
 TO MONSIEUR GRELET. 
 
 Be of good courage and He shall strengthen your heart, 
 all ye that hope in the Lord. — Ps. xxxi. 24. 
 
 TTOW much you need to apply these sacred 
 •^^ words to yourself in the trying situation in 
 which Providence has placed you 1 We have 
 already tested your courage in a most wonderful 
 way ; it will not fail you, because it rests on the 
 law of God, and in him alone you have put your 
 trust. What would the father and mother of 
 these unfortunate children feel if you should 
 abandon them ? But what am I saying > They 
 will deserve the continuation of your tender 
 cares on account of their sweetness and perfect 
 obedience. I love to believe that they will in- 
 herit some of the virtues of the angel whom we 
 mourn. That lovely mother opened her pure 
 heart to you ; you should inculcate in her 
 children all that she valued, all that she felt. She 
 regarded you as their brother, and treated you 
 as such. It is as a sister, and also one who
 
 228 Prison Life. 
 
 shared her confidence^ that I am now speaking 
 to you ; for I am not sure of having an oppor- 
 tunity of telling you with my lips all I think. 
 If Heaven spares my life it will be a precious 
 moment to me (who could imagine one more 
 so }) when I find myself once more with you 
 and them, talking together of our dear lost ones, 
 and encouraging one another to profit by their 
 admirable examples. We will say to them, ' Be 
 Christians and you will be faithful to every duty ; 
 study human sciences, because they will help 
 you to be useful to humanity ; but above all, and 
 before everything else, be good.' 
 
 I think it is necessary that they should know 
 perfectly well how to calculate, etc. 
 
 I have given up everything ; I have ceased to 
 think of anything earthly, and keep my mind 
 fixed upon heaven. I must close. I am, per- 
 haps, speaking to you for the last time. I know 
 not what Providence has in store for me ; but 
 whatever it may be I shall never cease to re- 
 member the debt I owe you, which can only 
 be equalled by my confidence in you.
 
 EXTRACT FROM THE 'MEMORIAL 
 EUROPEEN,' APRIL 24, 1809. 
 
 IVTEAR the old village of Picpus, now a part 
 •*-^ of the Faubourg St. Antoine, under the 
 walls of the garden which belonged to the canon- 
 ess of St. Augustine, in a bit of ground not 
 more than thirty feet in length, repose thirteen 
 hundred and fifteen victims beheaded at the 
 Barriere du Throne between the 26th Prairial 
 and the 9th Thermidor in the second year of the 
 Republic. 
 
 Widows, orphans, and mothers left comfort- 
 less, and without support, swallowed their tears in 
 secret, and dared not even ask for their dead the 
 right of burial. In times like those, tears had 
 ceased to be innocent, and the tomb to be a 
 refuge. These unhappy creatures contented 
 them.selves with commending the remains of 
 their loved ones to Him whose eye is ever upon 
 the living and the dead ; but they knew not 
 whose hand buried them, nor even the spot of 
 earth where they were laid.
 
 230 Prison Life 
 
 But a Sister as brave as she was tender, Ma- 
 dame Amelie-Zephirine de Salm-Kirbourg, Prin- 
 cess of Hohenzollern, sister of Frederick, Prince 
 of Salm, gained from her great grief a strength 
 which others seemed to lose. She had, I may 
 say, watched over the last moments of her 
 brother's life, had seen the blow which ended 
 his days, the wagon which bore away his re- 
 mains, the earth which received them. She 
 bought the spot of ground, scarcely sufficient to 
 cover the victims who had just been buried 
 there ; she had it enclosed by a wall, and she 
 protected it from profanation, hoping that pious 
 sorrow would some day consecrate these new 
 catacombs. This prayer of fraternal piety has 
 been heard ; it has been fulfilled by two sisters, 
 Mesdames de la Fayette and de Montagu, 
 worthy imitators of such an example, for they 
 were themselves worthy of setting it. They 
 both belonged to one of those patrician families 
 which had remained sound in the midst of an 
 age despoiled of virtue, like an obelisk in the 
 midst of a desert ; both were daughters, grand- 
 daughters, sisters, and were related to and nearly 
 connected with several victims beheaded at the 
 Barriere du Throne. One of them, whose days 
 were fewer than her good works, died last year, 
 leaving in the world, in which she has lived only
 
 During the French Revolution, 231 
 
 to be wife and mother, a void difficult to fill ; 
 the other, with a broken heart, a worn-out 
 body, and her fortune all lost, still finds comfort 
 for the sorrowful, solace for the suffering, and 
 help for the poor. These two noble and pious 
 women began by purchasing a portion of the 
 ground belonging to the nuns ; and upon the 
 ruins of the cells they have caused to be built 
 a modest oratory. The innocence of the former 
 occupants must help to make effectual the 
 prayers to be offered there. The august sym- 
 bol of our redemption has now been placed 
 above this funeral enclosure ; a priest has been 
 sent there by the Grand Vicars of Paris ; an 
 annual service has been appointed there ; and 
 the blood of a Divine Victim has been offered 
 upon this altar for the repose of the souls of all 
 these distinguished dead. 
 
 This was doubtless sufficient for the dignity 
 and consolation of all these Christian spirits, but 
 not to satisfy the tender pity of their families and 
 friends. The chapel and the cemetery were sep- 
 arated from each other by the garden of the nuns. 
 It was resolved to unite them by purchasing 
 this valuable bit of ground, which contains more 
 than four arpenis. A subscription was started. 
 A circular was drawn up by a man noted for 
 talent and integrity,^ who for thirty years has 
 1 Monsieur Lally-Tollendal.
 
 232 Prison Life 
 
 declared himself the defender of all those whose 
 misfortunes were most noble and touching. 
 Generous emotion responded to the appeal of 
 eloquent sensibility, and subscriptions were 
 soon obtained to the amount of forty thousand 
 francs. By the side of the proudest and most 
 cherished names of France one cannot see with- 
 out emotion the unknown names and small do- 
 nations of several faithful servants who brought 
 their humble offerings to lay at the feet of their 
 old masters and at the base of the new altar. 
 The whole of the piece of ground was at last 
 purchased ; and for two years and a half the 
 same enclosure has surrounded the victims and 
 the oratory of the dead. The ashes of the 
 fathers have become the property of the chil- 
 dren ; the children will transmit it to their 
 descendants. This monument will remain as 
 a sorrowful reparation for the past and an im- 
 pressive lesson to the future. 
 
 Here every day the holy sacrifice is offered 
 up for all the victims of the Revolution ; here 
 are celebrated every year for those buried in 
 this spot two solemn services, — one on Low 
 Sunday week and the other on the day corre- 
 sponding to the 9th Thermidor ; here on last 
 Monday, the nth of this month, a congrega- 
 tion gathered to celebrate the anniversary. After
 
 During the French Revolution. 233 
 
 the service at the chapel, which was remarkable 
 only for the number and emotion of those pres- 
 ent, the attendants went in procession, accord- 
 ing to custom, into the Champ des Martyrs. 
 
 In the middle there is a bit of rising ground 
 shaded by cypress and poplar trees, whose tall 
 waving branches remind us of the vanity of our 
 earthly hopes, and point to where they should 
 be fixed ; while a cross surmounting a pyra- 
 mid, whose base is planted upon all these van- 
 ished sources of happiness, seems to call all the 
 descendants of the victims to its outstretched 
 arms. The funeral memorial service began, and 
 the faithful, on their knees, alternately repeated 
 the melancholy stanzas of the psalm which 
 mourns and hopes. 
 
 THE END.
 
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