Prison Journals During the French Revolution

On the 18th of June I witnessed a heart-rending scene. I was in Madame de Pon's apartment, 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 Pon's daughter told me that her father had been transferred 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 indictment; 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 directly 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 returned to Madame de Pons's room, and from the change in my countenance she perceived that something had happened. I said nothing, but began playing chess again, in order to gain time to prepare her for it. The state of affairs between 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 affection 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 Monsieur 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 was being concealed from her, by the embarrassment 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 remembered 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 Monterrey, and fifty others had been condemned to death as conspirators against Robespierre, and were to be executed at the Grève, wearing red shirts, though these by law were required 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 régime, 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 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 earnestly 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 questioned me; I made no reply, but threw my arms around her and burst into tears.

Another calamity befell us, the small-pox broke out. Madame des Réaux, 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. Fortunately 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 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 was difficult 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 kindness 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 infirmity for persons who hoped by that means to escape close imprisonment; it was only necessary for him to sign what I had written. One day when I was feeling very badly, I said to myself, 'It would be so sweet to die in my bed.' What a terrible condition it is when one rejoices over an illness which may bring death!

I omitted to relate a very ridiculous incident. The day before the Feast of the Supreme Being4 all the prisoners were sent down into 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; several 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 Pentecost, 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 sitting 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 them. They went away, and I was much relieved 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 irritated, 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 Condé'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 convenience 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 necessary. My new lodging possessed one advantage 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 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 Revolutionary 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 denunciations 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 constantly arriving from the different Departments. One came containing eighty peasant women from the Vivarais, who wore very singular costumes. 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 belonging to the tribunal which was called by our wags Fouquier's shop. Some ladies from Normandy 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 dangerous 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 consolation, 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 allowed 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 Maréchale de Noailles, her grandmother, who were lodging with her, she could not do very much for my parents. Consequently they were left entirely alone, my father then eighty and my mother sixty.5 Their forlorn 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 compelled 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 lettres de passe. (A decree had compelled all nobles who were not imprisoned in Paris to go away several 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 conditions, among them six nuns of the Visitation, – one of whom was Madame de Croï, sister of 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 Sérent were also of the party. The whole company were searched in the strictest manner. At last, at seven o'clock in the evening, 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 creatures. 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 delicious. Bread and wine were usually all that was 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 the sound of carriages, – a not uncommon thing, as I slept lightly. A melancholy curiosity, inspired 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 belong to the convoy from Neuilly prepare to depart.' 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 remember 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 witnessed it: it is that constantly one could hear the prisoners playing on different instruments, 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 courtyard and was destined, it was said, for that purpose. 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 Grenelle, 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 evening; 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 two others with her. My first conversation was a last farewell, for she was executed with them the next day. The pretext of conspiracies began 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 possible sorrow, but each day brought others. I could never have endured my situation with fortitude had I not resigned myself entirely to the will of God. The charity which we were so frequently called upon to exercise helped to distract 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 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 remember 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 before us, we could provide for the next day what was needful to preserve our lives. While we were in the refectory we were informed 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 beside himself, fearing lest this accident should compromise him, and never thought of doing anything for the unfortunate creature. I implored 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 building 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 irritated 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 Luxembourg. 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 myself, and afterward our neighbours rendered 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 husbands 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 suspicion of the calamity with which I was threatened immediately flashed across my mind. I talked of it the whole evening to Madame de la Fayette and other persons. Their terrified expression confirmed my suspicions. I said to them, with extreme emotion: 'You are hiding from me to-day what I shall learn to-morrow. I know what you 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, swallowing 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 before I went to walk in the courtyard. My neighbours showed me every attention. From that time the thought of death was always before me, – everything recalled 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 lost 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 myself; I repeated them so frequently that I knew them by heart. I felt sorry to end my life without spiritual aid. This was all the sadder since there were two hundred priests in our house; but they were 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 perfect 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 statue of Liberty, which had tumbled down; I do not know the crime of the third. They were in a terrible state all night. Their sobbing 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 grew more calm, appeared before the tribunal, and were acquitted. This was for the purpose of making it appear that the decisions were rendered with some sort of equity.

These pretended conspiracies multiplied in a frightful manner. After that of the Luxembourg, one was invented at St. Lazare, and another at Bicêtre. The victims collected at the last mentioned prison, as a dépôt, 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 Conciergerie. 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 old régime, we should have gone a long way to avoid meeting a criminal 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 émigrés, was in the party from Bicêtre; 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 possible, 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.