Prison Journals During the French Revolution

Suddenly a party of forty prisoners were set at liberty in accordance with a command from their communes, under a law which granted the communes this right. There was general rejoicing among those who departed, and sweet hope for those who remained; but it was seen that by this means the prisons would be emptied, and the law was repealed. I was glad to take leave of two good Sisters of Charity from Noyon, thinking of all they would do for the poor whom they cared for so tenderly; but scarcely had a few prisoners been set at liberty when a larger number came to replace them. The districts of Beauvais, Noyon, Senlis, and Compiègne were most zealous in gathering recruits. We never had any vacancies. One day I met an old nun whom I did not know, bent with age and infirmities, who seemed to be suffering terrible pain in the side of her face. One of her companions told me that as she was getting into the wagon which brought her to Chantilly she made the sign of the cross; and one of the soldiers of the escort was so indignant that he gave her a frightful blow on her cheek which broke several of her teeth. How horrible! I took great pleasure in visiting these holy virgins, who were inconsolable at being compelled to leave their retreats where peace and innocence reigned. In order to console them for this, they were lodged so close to the coarsest men in the house that they constantly heard things said which made them very unhappy. They endured their strange and terrible situation with perfect resignation, and never failed to read their office as though they were in their convent.

My companions in misfortune differed very much; there were some who, in the hope of obtaining their liberty, undertook the rôle of informer. Several of them tried to sound me; they were not rewarded for their trouble. When they told me tales I would not listen, but immediately changed the conversation.

One thing which astonishes me as I look back is how little I suffered from ennui during my captivity. My thoughts were confined within a very narrow sphere. They dwelt upon my regret at being separated from those I loved and upon the needs of my daily life. The want of exercise, which is absolutely necessary to me from habits contracted in my childhood, gave me too great fulness of blood. I had violent rushes of blood to the head, and also rheumatism. Once on awakening I felt so stunned that I called the hospital nurse, who lodged near me. She thought I was dying, and went for help. This condition, which was really dangerous, was relieved by vomiting. I fell asleep; and when I woke I found myself surrounded by kind people, to whom I acknowledged my gratitude, and then burst into tears. They did not know what to make of it. I excused myself, and explained to them that once several years before I had had a similar attack, when I was surrounded by friends and relatives, and now I was terribly alone. I regained my composure, and then went out into the air.

The weak condition to which I was reduced made me unable to restrain the feelings and emotions which these sad memories aroused, though generally I have an aversion to speaking of what grieves me. The health officer of the prison was sent for; he was a violent revolutionist, small, very dark, uneducated, and dressed in a carmagnole, the uniform of the sans-culottes. Being difficult to bleed, I dared not have him bleed me, although I was in great need of it. He put leeches on my neck, which eased the pains in my head.

Very disturbing news reached us from Paris, and those were the only tidings which could come to us. It was reported that we were to be interrogated by means of blanks, which must be filled up. I had a great dread of this kind of torture on account of my love of truth, which might compromise both myself and others. Heaven did not allow them to realize this base project.

One of the prisoners died from the mistaken treatment of that imbecile surgeon, who, without asking him if he had hernia, gave him an emetic, which caused his death in twenty-four hours.

The treatment of the sick was terrible; no medicine was given them, no one was appointed to nurse them, and even the prisoners were forbidden to show them any attention. I once saw five cases of putrid fever in one room. A respectable girl from Crépy, who stayed in the apartment, was obliged to spend every night waiting on the patients. A good schoolmaster, who also was in the room, helped her as well as he could. I have seen him since, with great pleasure, and I entertain a real esteem for him.

Madame de Boursonne, who had recovered from her illness, and from the visit of the revolutionists, heard that Monsieur d'Ecquevilly, her father, was dying at Amiens. One may imagine her great desire to go to him and hear his last words; but an insurmountable barrier was placed between us and those dear to us. She could only hope to hear frequently from him, being very near him; but our keeper, Perdrix, refused even this, and kept all letters addressed to her. After a fortnight of terrible suspense had passed, he sent for her to come to him; this was for the purpose of reading to her, in the presence of every one, the letter announcing the death of her father, without even allowing her to have it, which at least would have given her the consolation of learning the details. Poor Madame de Boursonne was in a terrible state. I did everything in my power for her, and took her back to her own room.

One day as I was sitting alone in my chamber some officers of our guard came in with Monsieur Lambert, the Commissioner of War. The dread of something frightful was the first thing that flashed across my mind; but I was mistaken in my fear. This Monsieur Lambert, to whom I had rendered services under the old régime, had expressed a desire to see the place and my little cell. I made no sign of recognition because of the fear I had always had since the Revolution of compromising those who wished me well. When the officers were going out he let them pass before him, and said to me that if I had need of his services and wished to send off any letters he would take charge of them, and would be delighted to do me any kindness. I cannot tell how touched I was by this proposition, which, however, I was unwilling to accept. During the Reign of Terror the slightest kindness offered to persons of our rank was so dangerous that I still feel grateful to him for his good will.

Perdrix did not spoil us. Several of us asked him for a copy of our entry in the jail-book; this seemed a small favour, but we could not obtain it. The clerk of the commune of Chantilly came quite frequently to the château, in order to give certificates of residence. He showed a sort of interest in the prisoners. Whenever they were not harshly treated it was on account of the natural amiability of individuals. Monsieur Wallon, of Beauvais, having confidence in the clerk, commissioned him to procure some money for him; he accepted the commission graciously, and disappeared. I never should have imagined it necessary to have one's residence in a prison certified. It seemed to me that to make a list of those who were there would have been sufficient; but it turned out very well for me that I took the precaution I thought superfluous, as I was inscribed upon the list of émigrés during my imprisonment.

I was not pleased at the reception given a fat curate from Noyon who had apostatized, and had denounced and caused to be imprisoned a good many of our fellow-prisoners. He was hooted at from the head of any stairway he attempted to ascend; and the crowd pushed him back, and used syringes upon him. I was very sorry to see a man so lost to principle among us; but I should have preferred not to see any unfortunate being insulted. Any one is unfortunate who has lost his liberty; and those who are wicked are the most to be pitied under such circumstances. I was sorry also for those who, instead of thinking of more serious things, fed themselves with vain hopes concerning the future, and the possibility of shaking off their fetters.

I grew accustomed to living at Chantilly, and my companions in misfortune treated me with great kindness. Madame de Séguier and Mademoiselle le Caron de Troupure, now Madame Flomond, both amiable and excellent women, were a great comfort to me. I tried to help those who needed courage. The Coincy family, who lodged near me, were good company. I had great consolation from a religious point of view. A venerable priest undertook to confess me, and even to give me the communion. He had had the courage to bring a large supply of consecrated wafers, and had kept them in spite of the danger he ran should the fact have been discovered.

I was quite content with my fate, since I was compelled to endure a hard one. I could not have asked to be in a better prison; Providence had placed me there, and six months sojourn had accustomed me to it.

Toward the end of March, 1794, I received a letter from my mother, full of kindness, but which grieved me very much. She told me that she had thought it astonishing that I made no application to the government commissioners who came to Chantilly, to be allowed to join her. This intimation seemed to be an order and a command of Providence which altered my destiny. I immediately inquired when Citizen Martin, who inspected our house, was to come. I presented him a petition, asking to be sent to the Luxembourg by the first train destined for Paris. He assented, and then occupied himself in getting ready a most atrocious party, composed of young girls who were torn from the arms of their mothers without knowing for what they were destined.

Many persons believed, and it was really talked of, that the intentions of the Terrorists was to marry them to sans-culottes. To this party were added some priests, women, laymen, etc. The unhappy mothers were in despair. I was a witness of the scene with Madame de Pons (formerly Vicomtesse) at Perdrix's apartments. She fell on her knees before him and before Martin; she said everything to them that the desperation of such a moment could suggest, using the most touching expressions; they would listen to nothing. She fell fainting at their feet. After she recovered her consciousness, she implored to be permitted at least to follow her daughter; they refused her.

I forgot to say that a moment before Madame de Pons came to see Perdrix the latter had sent for her daughter, and in the presence of Martin and two gendarmes said to her,

'What is your name?'

'Pons.'

'Yes, but give your Christian names.'

'You should speak to my mother; I will go for her.'

'No, no; I ask you for your names.'

'There they are. May I know what use you have for them?'

'You will leave here with other prisoners to-morrow, to go to another prison.'

'Without mamma! O God! What will be my fate?'

'Go, or I will have you carried out.'

Madame de Pons wrote several letters to Martin, asking only for a delay; she offered all her property to the Republic; and the only answer she received was, 'Your daughter must go!'

I busied myself in arranging my trunks and packing them for the Luxembourg, so as to have with me only what was strictly necessary. On the 3d of April, 1794, we were told to hold ourselves in readiness to leave the next day or the day following, as the carriages were expected. My travelling companions were in despair at leaving their parents, but I delighted at going to see mine once more; every one said pleasant things to me. I received many testimonials of interest and regret from the prisoners. There were some from whom I was grieved to part, and a secret presentiment (though generally I do not believe in them) seemed to warn me that the reunion with my parents would never be effected. The days of the 3d and 4th were passed in leave-taking. I did not know that the train was to start early on the 5th, the anniversary of the birth of my son. I was summoned at ten o'clock in the morning. I found the wagons almost full; consequently I had a wretched seat next a vile woman who boasted of being a friend of Robespierre, and told us that she would receive on the way some marks of public interest. She sat almost half on top of me; and to add to our suffering, the straw which is usually put in the bottom of the carts for calves, was left out. When we left, the courtyard was filled with our companions in misery, who were mourning and sighing over our fate. They concealed their tears, fearing to let them be seen.

Our procession stopped as it passed out of the gate, in order to have the roll-call, lest some prisoner should have escaped; we were as accustomed to it as the soldiers were. We were surrounded by the National Guard, and remained an hour under the windows of the château, in sight of mothers disconsolate at the removal of their daughters, and who, with their hands raised to heaven, were giving them their blessings. That sad sight is still distinctly before me. How many of those who gave those blessings and of those who looked on were sacrificed on the scaffold! I should like to be able to depict and describe fully all that terrible and touching scene, but I cannot. As for me I was terribly overcome, but I struggled to hide it.

The train was put in command of a printer's apprentice from Beauvais, who went ahead of us. The first cart was filled with young girls, the second with women, and three others with men. The vehicles were surrounded by musketeers. We started at eleven o'clock in the morning, in very bad weather. A terribly cold wind was blowing, and there were no covers to our wagons.

At the entrances of towns and villages our escort was gathered together, and we entered with dignity, drums beating.

In some places, particularly at Creil-sur-Oise, gestures indicating the cutting off of the head were made to us. In a village called La Mortaye a dozen persons suddenly appeared, who came to see my heavy neighbour, and whispered to her that she would not be much longer in prison.

When we reached Mesnil-Aubry we were made to get out at an inn, – that is, the women and young girls at one, and the men at another. It was Saturday. I obtained the favour of an omelette. Immediately after dinner it was demanded of us that we should pay on the spot the expenses of our removal; I refused to do this, saying truly that I had no money. Mademoiselle de Pons obeyed, and gave a hundred and ninety-two francs. The women whose husbands were in the train asked permission to go to see them while the horses were resting, but could not obtain it. The notorious Martin, of whom I have already had occasion to speak several times, came to inspect us, and placed himself at the head of our train when it started off. He was in a gilded berline, drawn by post horses, and seated in front was a small clerk, about twelve years old. I said to myself, 'Unfortunate child, what an education this Terrorism is!' Along the way he reviewed us as though he were a superior officer, going from end to end of our melancholy column, to see if it was coming up in order. Sometimes our horses began to trot, and we were terribly jolted. As we were approaching Paris, my side, which was pressed against the wagon, with nothing between, began to hurt me very much. My love of books, and the fear of being without them, had caused me to fill two pairs of pockets with them, and they thumped against me. If we had been obliged to go any farther I should have been compelled to change my position, but I could not make up my mind to ask any favour of the friend of Robespierre.

The train stopped about eight o'clock in the evening at St. Denis. Martin left us. The officer of the guard separated the men from the women, in order to take the former to the Luxembourg. It began to rain, and continued until we reached Paris. Our conductors did not know the streets. We implored them to tell us where we were going; their reply was that they knew nothing about it. After driving us around until eleven o'clock in the darkness, they came to the gates of the Madelonnettes. We had great difficulty in making the porter hear, and he said that no women were received in that house, that Ste. Pélagie, which was set apart for them, was quite full, but that we would find room in the Plessis, an old college of the University, Rue St. Jacques, next to that of Louis-le-Grand. Our guards, who were but human, were overcome with fatigue, and impatient to put us down in some prison or other. I saw that we were taking the way to the Conciergerie; then frightful thoughts rushed over me, and also a suspicion that our end was near at hand if we were to be confined there. But we passed by without stopping, and I felt more tranquil the remainder of the way.

The gate of the Collège du Plessis was the end of our journey. Our conductor knocked there a long time without attracting any notice; perhaps no one heard, or perhaps the porter did not wish to be aroused. It was one o'clock. At last in the darkness the gates were opened; we did not know where we were. I feared lest the cart in which the young girls were had been separated from the train. I perceived it as we were entering the courtyard, and had a sad satisfaction in seeing them again even in so wretched a place. We passed under an archway and stopped. Our guards were kind enough to assist us to descend from our rude vehicles; we should scarcely have had strength to do so without their help, weary and bruised as we were from our fourteen hours' journey.

The first object to attract my attention was a man dressed in a sort of dressing-gown, who said he was the porter. He had an enormous bunch of keys hanging from his belt, and carried a lantern, by the light of which I saw gratings, enormous bars of iron, heaps of stone and other materials, – in short, the general appearance of a prison which was being enlarged. We were taken through several gratings, and were immediately surrounded by drunken jailers, – great heavily built men, half naked, with their sleeves rolled up, and red caps on their heads, and whose speech was suited to their costumes. I trembled at the sight of these creatures, who seemed to wish to be familiar with our young girls. I immediately proposed to the ladies who came with me that we should each take one of them under our care, so as to protect them against this vulgar herd. They agreed to my proposition. Mademoiselle de Pons, who has since married Monsieur de Tourzel, fell to my charge. I warned her not to get behind me, but to hold on to my dress, and not leave me for a moment. One of the jailers, who was a regular Goliath, began to read the list of those who composed our train, and could scarcely decipher it. Detention in the gate-house being impossible, he conducted us to a large hall where there was not a single pane of glass in the windows, and only wooden benches to sit on. We were suffering terribly from thirst; the worst of the jailers, named Baptiste, brought us a bucket of water, which we hailed with intense delight. A moment after he brought another for other purposes. The visit of this man, Baptiste, was accompanied by speeches such as we had never before heard, and which filled me with horror, particularly on account of our young friends. About two o'clock in the morning our keeper appeared; he had been absent when we arrived. His name was Haly; his face was pale and livid. He smiled as he saw the young girls, and said to them, 'My children, you have not yet been entered in the jail-book. I keep you here only for humanity's sake. This house is at the disposal of the public accuser, Fouquier-Tinville, and is only destined for the anti-revolutionists; you do not seem to be such. To-morrow your report will be made out, and I will inform you of your destination.'

Every one tried to speak to him. I had my turn, and told him that as I had never been denounced I was only to be classed among the suspected; that I ought not to be kept in his prison; and that I had left Chantilly in order to be transferred to the Luxembourg. I implored him to have me sent there. Several persons told him he had no right to keep us; he paid no attention to what they said, and had the mattresses, which had been brought in the wagons, brought in. I had not taken the precaution to bring one, and consequently passed the night seated on a small wooden bench, occupied in trying to conceal the small amount of paper money I had with me. I did not sleep a moment; neither did my companions. As the day dawned I saw with delight that our young girls were sleeping sweetly and peacefully. I said to myself, 'At their age one has had neither the experience of misfortune nor the anxiety born of foresight.' The thought of seeing my parents during the day cheered my sad heart. It was extremely cold. Baptiste came in, accompanied by several of his comrades, who regarded us with a ferocious sort of pleasure, judging that we were good recruits for their house, and that they would have a good share of our purses. One of them, a former lackey of Madame de Narbonne, recognized me, and behaved very properly toward me. A gendarme, whose name I never learned, came up to me and whispered in my ear, 'Hide your money and your jewels. They will leave you only fifty francs in paper money, and will take away your knives and your scissors.' I thanked him, and he retired. Although the great mental agony we endured caused us to pay but little heed to our physical needs, we nevertheless became extremely hungry. We had taken nothing to eat since the day before, and had endured excessive physical and mental fatigue. We petitioned our jailers for food, and after keeping us waiting two hours they brought us some coffee and chocolate. I breakfasted with the pleasant feeling of alleviating suffering for a moment at least. Martin came in afterward to get a cloak which had been lent to Madame de Vassy; he looked at us sternly. Several went up to him to ask something of him, among them the young girls, who were extremely anxious to let their mothers know what had become of them. They gave him some notes for this purpose, but these never reached their destination.

I implored the said Martin (I may speak of him in this way under the circumstances) to send me to the Luxembourg; he gave me some hope, but I regarded it as slender. His visit was soon over. Up to this time the National Guard of Chantilly had remained with us; it was now replaced by jailers who never left us. A new face appeared; it was an inspector named Grandpré, who had quite a pleasing countenance. Being astonished at seeing us in this prison, and a little touched by our forlorn situation, he promised to endeavour to have us transferred to a house for suspected persons, and me in particular to the Luxembourg. Haly, our keeper, now came in, and said that our fate had been decided, – that we were entered on the jail-book as agitators and as refractory to discipline at the house at Chantilly. A cry of surprise and grief arose, but our keeper was deaf to all complaints. My companions deserved such terms as little as I did; and I declare that after my conduct there, submitting as I did to all the wishes of the commissioners, meddling with nothing, complaining of nothing, being taken to Paris at my own request, I was more completely astonished than I can express. The false accusations were certainly the least of my woes, – innocence easily consoles itself; but to see myself deprived of the delight of rejoining my parents made my heart ache, and all the more because I was very sure that they would fully share my sorrow.

We were obliged to resign ourselves to remaining under the immediate rule of Fouquier-Tinville, shut up with those directly accused, and consequently treated more severely than the suspected. We remained fifteen hours in that hall, into which we had been thrown rather than conducted. If we went out for necessary purposes we were escorted by two musketeers; most of us preferred to suffer rather than take such a promenade. The day wore away; we saw a movement among our jailers. Following the example of one of my pious companions, I had got into a corner of the hall to recite my mass and office. It was Passion Sunday; following the example of our divine Master we forgave insult, and tried to imitate his patience.

We were given to understand that we could write and receive letters, a pleasure of which we had been deprived at Chantilly. Mademoiselle de Pons received one letter, which gave us some little hope. Toward evening a rumour spread that we were to be searched and put in lodgings. We sought new means of concealing our watches and our paper money. The keeper ordered us to appear before him two by two to be registered; he then informed us that it was the custom of the house to turn over to him all scissors, knives, forks, and watches, because such things could be used to file away the bars. Afterward he demanded all our jewels and money with the exception of fifty francs in assignats. He had the politeness not to search us, saying that he would dispense with that out of respect for us. I gave up to him all he required, except a few assignats and a small and very ugly brass clock, which was precious to me because it had sounded in my hearing the last hours of the lives of my dear friends Mesdames de Chaulnes and de Mailly. The keeper would not leave it with me, in spite of the sorrow I assured him I felt in giving it up, alleging the same reason that he gave when he demanded the watches. When this agreeable operation was over we were told to follow the jailers. They made us mount to the very top of the building, passing through a grating on each floor, fastened by enormous bolts and guarded by four men. We had to go through these two at a time.