CHAPTER VII.

Writings of Virginie La Fayette—Her Account of the Approach of the Revolution—Her Narrative of her Father’s Part in the Terrible Tragedy—Her Mother’s Anxieties—Dangers of the La Fayette Family—Arrest of Madame La Fayette—Her Heroic Courage—News of the Imprisonment of General La Fayette—Letter of Madame La Fayette to M. Roland—Madame La Fayette released on Parole—Her Letter to the King of Prussia—M. Roland secures Madame La Fayette’s Release from Parole—Madame La Fayette rearrested—Brave Conduct of her Daughter Anastasie—Madame La Fayette imprisoned at Brioude—Her Kind Attentions to her Fellow-prisoners—Her Jailer bribed to allow the Visits of her Children—The Arrest of Madame La Fayette’s Sister, Mother, and Grandmother—Madame La Fayette removed to Paris—Ineffectual Efforts in her Behalf—The Mother, Sister, and Grandmother of Madame La Fayette perish upon the Scaffold—Madame La Fayette’s Pathetic Description of their Dreadful Doom.

“Why, headstrong liberty is lash’d with woe,There’s nothing situate under heaven’s eye,But hath his bound in earth, in sea, in sky.”—Shakespeare.

“Why, headstrong liberty is lash’d with woe,

There’s nothing situate under heaven’s eye,

But hath his bound in earth, in sea, in sky.”

—Shakespeare.

LEAVING La Fayette for a time in his gloomy prison at Olmütz, we will turn once again to the writings of Virginie La Fayette (Madame de Lasteyrie) for the home picture of La Fayette’s history during the memorable French Revolution. She says:—

“The Revolution had for a long time back been gradually approaching. The States-General were convoked and met in the month of May, 1789. After the 14th of July father was elected commander-in-chief of theNational Guard of Paris. His whole existence was bound up with the events of that period. You may imagine the cruel anxiety in which my mother passed the three first years of the Revolution. She was free from all prejudice; besides, she had long shared my father’s principles, which would in any case have been her own; she approved, she admired his conduct; she was the partner of all his views, and was supported in the midst of her moral sufferings by the thought that he was working to obtain the triumph of right. The first misfortunes of the Revolution filled her soul with such bitterness that she was insensible to the natural feelings ofamour-propre, which my father’s conduct would otherwise have called forth. Her only satisfaction was to see him often sacrifice his popularity to oppose any disorderly or arbitrary act. She had adopted liberal opinions, and professed them openly, but she possessed that feminine tact, the shades of which it would be impossible to delineate, and was thereby prevented from being what was then called afemme de parti. Her disposition led her not to fear the censure of certaincoteries, but she shuddered when she thought of the incalculable consequences of the events which were taking place, and she was incessantly praying for the mercy of God, whilst she fulfilled all the requirements of her arduous life.“She accepted the requests, which were made to her by each of the sixty districts of Paris, to collect subscriptions at the blessing of their banners and at other patriotic ceremonies. My father kept open house. She did the honors in a manner which charmed her numerous guests; but what she suffered in the depths of her heart can only be understood by those who have heard her talk of those times.“She beheld my father at the head of a revolution,the issue of which it was impossible to foresee. Each calamity, each disturbance, was looked upon by her without the slightest illusion as to the success of her own cause. She was, however, supported by my father’s principles, and so convinced of the good it was in his power to do, and of the evil it was in his power to avert, that she bore with incredible fortitude the continual perils to which he was exposed. Never, has she often told us, did she see him leave the house during that period without thinking that she was bidding him adieu for the last time. Although no one could be more terrified than she was when those whom she loved were in danger, still, during that time she was superior to her usual self, devoted in common with my father to the hope of preventing crime.“The various events of the Revolution, the dangers incurred by my father, the manner in which he supported every principle of justice and of liberty against all parties, form the history of my mother’s anxieties and consolations during two years and a half. You have read in the history of the Revolution that considerable uproar was raised on the Monday of Passion Week, 1791, to prevent the king from going to Saint Cloud, where he wished to receive the sacrament from the hands of priests who had not taken the oath to support the constitution. The king did not put this plan into execution, notwithstanding the endeavors of my father, who entreated Louis XVI. to persist in his intention, which he undertook to have executed. The king refused.“My father, displeased with the National Guard, who had but feebly supported him in presence of the populace, and with the king’s weakness, which rendered it impossible to retrieve the faults committed on that day, thought fit to resign the command of the National Guardof Paris, and to avoid all entreaties, he quitted his own house. My mother remained at home, transported with joy at the resolution he had taken, and was charged by him to receive in his stead the municipality and the sixty battalions who came to implore him to resume his command. She replied to each individual in the words which my father himself would have dictated, carefully marking by her demeanor the distinction she made between the most respectablechefs de bataillon, and those who, like Santerre, had necessitated by their misconduct my father’s resignation, and who that day all united in taking the same step and repeating the same protestations. My mother, perplexed as she was in performing so difficult a task, was overjoyed at the thought that my father had returned to private life. This satisfaction lasted four days. Having thus marked his displeasure at disorders which he had not been able to prevent, my father yielded to the general entreaties. He resumed his command, and my mother her trials and anxieties.“On the 21st of June of the same year, 1791, the king left Paris secretly, but was soon brought back from Varennes, where he had been arrested. In no other circumstance of my father’s life did my mother so much admire him as in the one which I am now relating. She beheld him, on the one hand, relinquishing all his republican tendencies to join in the wish of the majority; on the other hand, amidst the difficulties in which he was placed by his position, taking every responsibility, bearing all censure so as to insure the safety of the royal family, and spare them, as much as was in his power, every painful detail. My mother hastened to the Tuileries so soon as the queen began to receive, and before the constitution had been accepted. She found herself therethe only woman connected with thepatrioteparty, for she believed as my father did, that politics at such a moment ought not to rule personal intercourse.RETURN OF THE ROYAL FAMILY TO PARIS.“The Jacobins raised on the 17th of July a considerable outbreak. Thebrigandscommenced by murdering two men. Martial law was proclaimed. It is difficult to form an idea of my mother’s mortal anguish while my father was in the Champ de Mars, exposed to the rage of an infuriated multitude, which dispersed crying out that my mother must be put to death and her head carried to meet him. I remember the fearful cries we heard, I remember the alarm of everybody in the house, and above all my mother’s joy at the thought that thebrigandswho were coming to attack her were no longer surrounding my father in the Champ de Mars. While embracing us with tears of joy, she took every necessary precaution against the approaching danger with the greatest calmness, and above all with the greatest relief of mind. The guard had been doubled, and was drawn up before the house, but thebrigandswere very near entering my mother’s apartment by the garden looking upon the Place du Palais-Bourbon, and were already climbing the low wall which protected us, when a body of cavalry passed on the Place and dispersed them.“The“Theconstitution having been accepted by the king, the Constituent Assembly ended its sittings, and was replaced by the Legislative Assembly. My father gave up the command of the National Guard, and set out for Auvergne with my mother in the beginning of October. The journey was long, for they were often obliged to stop in order to acknowledge the marks of sympathy they received on the way. We followed in another carriage, and my brother joined us shortly afterwards.“This interval of repose was of short duration. Myfather was appointed to the command of one of the three armies which were formed at that time. He left Chavaniac in December, 1791. This departure, the expectation of an approaching war, the dread of fresh disturbances, all contributed to renew my mother’s distress: those who might have shared her feelings had left her. My grandmother, and, soon after, my aunt de Noailles were obliged to return to Paris. She bade them a farewell which she was far from supposing was to be the last.“War was declared in the month of March, 1792. It began by several skirmishes with my father’s army, in one of which M. de Gouvion, who had been major-general of the National Guard, was killed. My mother was filled with terror and harassed by fearful forebodings. The disturbances at home added to her dismay.“My father’s letter to the Legislative Assembly, written from the camp of Maubenge, on June 16, 1792, against the Jacobins, and his appearance at the bar to support it, mingled with these anxieties the satisfaction she was accustomed to find in all his actions. But one can well understand how much she must have suffered at such a distance, on seeing him exposed to so many and such various dangers. He invited her to go and join him; but in those times of public commotion she feared that if she accepted his proposal, he might be accused of wishing to put his family in safety: she was also afraid of impeding his movements, which depended on so many uncertain events. After having thought it over several days, she decided upon sacrificing herself and remaining at Chavaniac.“Shortly after the noble resolution my mother had taken of remaining at Chavaniac, she received intelligence of the insurrection of the 10th of August. Sheheard almost at the same time that my grandfather, the Duc d’Ayen, who had been defending the king at the Tuileries, and my uncle, M. de Grammont, who had been sought for amongst the dead, had both escaped the dangers of that dreadful day. The newspapers gave details of my father’s resistance at Sédan. But it was soon evident that all was useless, and nothing could be compared to the anguish of my mother’s heart during the days which followed. The public papers were full of sanguinary decrees which were submitted to everywhere except in the district under my father’s command. A price was set on his head, promises were made at the bar of the Assembly to bring him back, dead or alive. At length, on the 24th of August, she received a letter from her sister, Madame de Noailles, telling her that my father was out of France. My mother’s joy was equal to her despair on the preceding days.“We were in daily expectation of the house being pillaged. My mother provided for everything, burnt or concealed her papers; then, in consequence of the alarming intelligence she received, she resolved to place her children in safety. A priestassermenté[1]came to offer her a place of refuge amidst the mountains. M. Frestel took my brother there during the night. The same evening she sent us to Langeac, a small town about two leagues from Chavaniac, and thus having made every arrangement, she calmly awaited coming events. She remained with my aunt, whom it would have been impossible to persuade to leave the place.1.Prêtre assermenté, one who accepted the Constitution.“Nevertheless, some days afterwards, calmer feelings having prevailed around her, my mother thought it might be useful for her to go to Brioude, the chief townof the district. There she received from many people proofs of the most lively interest; but she refused the marks of sympathy proffered by severalaristocratesladies, declaring she would take as an insult any token of esteem which could not be shared with my father, and which would tend to separate her cause from his.“By a decree of the ‘district,’ the seals were affixed on the house. My mother herself had caused this measure to be taken, so as to command respect from thebrigands, who were every day expected. The wordémigréwas not inscribed in the official report, and the respect shown by the two commissaries led her to hope that she had nothing to dread, at least on the part of the administration. She therefore yielded to the earnest entreaties of her daughters, and allowed them to return to Chavaniac. We found her in possession of two letters from my father, written after his departure from France. These letters cheered her greatly. Although she flattered herself that he would soon be released, she was nevertheless much agitated by the news of his arrest.“On the 10th of September, 1792, at eight o’clock in the morning, the house was invested by a party of armed men. A commissary presented my mother with an order from the Committee of Public Safety, giving directions for her to be sent to Paris with her children. This order was enclosed in a letter from M. Roland, charging him with the execution of this decree. At that very moment my sister entered the room. She had managed to escape from our governess so as to take away all means of hiding her and separating her from my mother.“My mother did not show the least alarm. She wished to put herself as soon as possible under the protection of those authorities who could give her effectual aid. She had the horses harnessed immediately, andwhile the preparations for departure were being made, her writing-desk was opened, and my father’s letters seized.“‘You will see in them, sir,’ said my mother to the commissary, ‘that if there had been tribunals in France, M. de La Fayette would have submitted to them, certain as he was that not an action of his life could criminate him in the eyes of real patriots.’“‘Nowadays, madam,’ he answered, ‘public opinion is the only tribunal.’“During that time the soldiers were exploring the house. One of them, on seeing the old family pictures, said to the housekeeper, who was nearly blind from old age:—“‘Who are these? some grandaristocrates, no doubt?’“‘Good people who are no more,’ she answered. ‘If they were still alive, things would not be going on as badly as they are now.’“The soldiers contented themselves with running their bayonets through several pictures. My mother slipped away to give orders for my concealment. Then, with my sister, who would not leave her for a minute, and my aunt, then seventy-three years of age, they departed, followed by their servants, who hoped to make themselves useful by mixing with the soldiers.“The journey was most trying. They spent the night at Fix. The next morning, on arriving at Le Puy, my mother requested to be immediately conducted to the ‘Département.’ ‘I respect orders coming from the administration,’ she said to the commissary, ‘as much as I detest those coming from elsewhere.’“The entrance into the town was perilous; a few days previously a prisoner had been massacred on his way through the suburbs. My mother said to my sister,‘If your father knew you were here, how anxious he would be; but at the same time what pleasure your conduct would give him.’“The prisoners arrived without injury, although several stones were thrown into the carriage. They alighted at the ‘Département,’ the members of which had been immediately convoked. As soon as the sitting began, my mother said that she placed herself with confidence under the protection of the ‘Département,’ because in it she beheld the authority of the people, which she always respected wherever it could be found.“‘You receive, Messieurs,’ she added, ‘your orders from M. Roland or from whomsoever you please. As for me, I only choose to receive them from you, and I give myself up as your prisoner.’“She then requested my father’s letters should be copied before they were sent to Paris, observing that falsehoods were often brought before the Assembly; she asked leave to read these letters aloud. Some one having expressed the fear that doing so might be painful to her. ‘On the contrary,’ she replied, ‘I find support and comfort in the feelings they contain.’ She was listened to at first with interest, then with deep emotion.“After having read the letters and looked over the copies, she begged not to leave the house of the ‘Département’ as long as she remained at Le Puy. She exposed the injustice of her detention, how useless and perilous a journey to Paris would be, and concluded by saying that if they persisted in keeping her as a hostage, she would be much obliged to the ‘Département,’ were she allowed to make Chavaniac her prison, and in that case she offered her parole not to leave it. It was decided in the next sitting that the ‘Département’ should present herrequest to the minister. While awaiting the reply, the prisoners were to inhabit the building belonging to the administration.“While in prison, my mother received touching marks of sympathy. She was often watched by friendly National Guards, who would ask to be employed on that duty in order to prevent its being entrusted to evil-disposed keepers. She sometimes received accounts of my brother, who still remained in the same place of refuge; and of me, for she had thought fit to have me also concealed at a few leagues from Chavaniac.“At this time public affairs were most inauspicious. All honest officials took favorable opportunities for resigning, and were replaced by Jacobins. We learnt that my father, instead of being set free, had been delivered up by the coalition to the king of Prussia, and was on his way to Spandau. The impression produced on my mother by this news was dreadful. She was in despair at having given her parole to stay at Chavaniac; for notwithstanding the impossibility of leaving France, she could not bear the thoughts of pledging her word to give up seeking every means of rejoining my father.“M. Roland’s answer came at the end of September. He allowed my mother to return to Chavaniac, a prisoner on parole, under the responsibility of the ‘administration.’ My mother thus received the permission she had asked for at the precise moment when she was struck with dismay by the situation my father was in, and by the dangers he was running now at the hands of foreign powers, as lately at those of the revolutionists at home.“The ‘Département’ decided that thecommunewould each day supply six men to guard my mother, who went to the assembly-room immediately on hearing of this resolution.“‘I here declare, gentlemen,’ she said, ‘that I will not give the parole I offered if guards are to be placed at my door.“‘Choose between these two securities. I cannot be offended by your not trusting me, for my husband has given still better proofs of his patriotism than I have of my honesty; but you will allow me to believe in my own integrity, and not to add bayonets to my parole.’“It was decided that no guard should be set, and that the municipality would every fortnight report my mother’s presence at Chavaniac. My mother, on learning that M. Roland had expressed his disapprobation of the massacres of September, and that he alone could free her from theengagementengagementshe had contracted decided, notwithstanding her reluctance, on writing to him the following letter:—“‘Sir: I can only attribute to a kind feeling the change you have brought about in my situation. You have spared me the dangers of a too perilous journey, and consented that my place of retirement should be my prison. But any prison whatever has become insupportable to me since I learnt that my husband has been transferred from town to town by the enemies of France, who were conducting him to Spandau. However repugnant to my feelings it may be to owe anything to men who have shown themselves the enemies and accusers of him whom I revere and love as I ought to do, it is in all the frankness of my heart that I vow eternal gratitude to whoever will enable me to join my husband, by taking all responsibility from the ‘administration,’ and by giving me back my parole, if in the event of France becoming more free it were possible to travel without danger.“‘It is on my knees, if necessary, that I implore this favor; imagine by that the state I am in.“‘Noailles La Fayette.’“M. Roland thus answered:—“‘I have put, madam, your touching request under the eyes of the committee. I must nevertheless observe that it would seem to me imprudent for a person bearing your name to travel through France, on account of the unpleasant impression which is at the present moment attached to it. But circumstances may alter. I advise you to wait, and I shall be the first to seize a favorable opportunity.’“My mother answered him immediately as follows:—“‘I return you thanks, sir, for the ray of hope with which you have brightened my heart, so long unaccustomed to that feeling. Nothing can add to what I owe to my parole and to theadministrateurswho rely upon it. No degree of misfortune could ever make me think of breaking my word, but your letter renders that duty a little more supportable, and I already begin to feel something of that gratitude I promised you if, delivered through your hands, I were restored to the object of my affections, and to the happiness of offering him some consolation.“‘Noailles La Fayette.’“Three months had elapsed since we had heard anything about my father. The public papers had announced his transfer to Wessel instead of Spandau: since then they had been silent. My mother wrote an unsealed letter to the Duke of Brunswick, entreating the generalissimo of the allied troops to send her some news of her husband through the French army.“She also wrote thus to the king of Prussia:—“‘Sir: Your Majesty’s well-known integrity admits of M. de La Fayette’s wife addressing herself to you without forgetting what she owes to her husband’s character. I have always hoped, sir, that Your Majesty would respect virtue wherever it was to be found, and thereby give to Europe a glorious example. It is now five long, dreadful months since I last heard anything of M. de La Fayette, so I cannot plead his cause. But it seems to me that both his enemies and myself speak eloquently in his favor: they by their crimes, I by the violence of my despair. They prove his virtue, and how much he is feared by the wicked; I show how worthy he is of being loved. They make it a necessity for Your Majesty’s glory not to have an object of persecution in common with them. Shall I myself be fortunate enough to give you the occasion of restoring me to life by delivering him?“‘Allow me, sir, to indulge in that hope as in the one of soon owing to you this deep debt of gratitude.“‘Noailles La Fayette.’“In December M. Roland obtained from the committee the repeal of the order for my mother’s arrest. She was still under the surveillance to which theci-devantnobles were subjected, and could not leave the department without express permission. But she was disengaged from her promise, and she was not discouraged. Pecuniary interests also detained my mother in France, not on her own account nor on that of her children, but because she looked upon it as a sacred duty before leaving the country to see the rights of my father’s creditors acknowledged.“The events of the 31st of May, which assured the triumph of the terrorist party, brought no alteration atfirst in our situation, but took from us all hopes for the future.“Towards the middle of June my mother received, through the minister of the United States, two letters from my father, written from the dungeon of Magdebourg. The anxiety they occasioned with respect to my father’s health marred the joy we felt in receiving them....“At that period of the Revolution, manyémigrés’wives thought it necessary, for the preservation of their children’s fortune and for their personal safety, to obtain a divorce. My mother esteemed and even respected the virtue of several persons who thought themselves obliged to take this step. But as for herself, the scruples of her conscience would not have allowed her to save her life by feigning an act contrary to Christian law, even when no one could be deceived. However, another motive influenced her, though this one would have sufficed. Her love for my father made her find pleasure in all that was a remembrance of him. Whilst many pious and tender wives sought for safety in a pretended divorce, never did she address a request to any administration whatever, or present a petition, without feeling satisfaction in beginning everything she wrote by these words: ‘La Femme La Fayette.’“On the 21st ofBrumaire[Nov. 12] my mother received the intelligence that she was to be arrested on the following day. She kept this news from us till the next morning. The hours passed away in cruel expectation. M. Granchier, commissary of the Revolutionary Committee, arrived at the château in the evening of the same day, with a detachment of the National Guard of Paulhaguet. We all collected in my mother’s room, where the order of the Committee for her arrest was readaloud. She presented the certificate of civism given her by thecommune. M. Granchier answered that it was too old, and that it was of no use, not having been countersigned by the Committee.“‘Citoyen,’ my sister then asked, ‘are daughters prevented from following their mother?’“‘Yes, mademoiselle,’ answered the commissary.“She insisted, adding that, being sixteen, she was included in the law. He seemed moved, but changed the subject. My mother kept up everybody’s courage. She tried to persuade us that the separation would not be a long one.“The jail at Brioude was already full. The newly arrived prisoners were, nevertheless, crammed into it. My mother found herself in the midst of all the ladies of the nobility, with whom she had had no intercourse since the Revolution. At first they were impertinent, but they soon shared in the admiration my mother inspired in all those who approached her. The society of the prison was divided intocoteries, which cordially hated each other; but for my mother every one professed attachment.“My mother soon became aware that she could do nothing for her deliverance, and that, to escape greater misfortunes, her best plan was to avoid attracting attention. One day she ventured to suggest the necessity of giving more air to a sick woman confined in a small room with eleven other people. This brought down on her a volley of abuse impossible to describe. My mother was happy to find place in a room which served as a passageway, and where threebourgeoisesof Brioude were already established. By these persons she was received in a very touching manner.“The news my mother received at that time fromParis caused her most painful agitation. My grandmother and my aunt de Noailles were put under arrest in their own house, at the Hôtel de Noailles. We had occasional opportunities of communicating with my mother. We used to send her clean linen every week. The list was sewn on the parcel, and each time we wrote on the back of the page, which nobody ever thought of unsewing. She would answer us in the same way. But this mode of correspondence was not safe enough to be employed in giving any other details than those concerning our health.“The innkeeper’s daughter, a child of thirteen, sometimes managed, when carrying the prisoners’ dinner, to approach my mother. Blows, abuse of language, all was indifferent to that courageous girl, so that she could succeed in beholding my mother, and in letting us know that she was in good health.“In the course of January [1794] we found out that it was not impossible to bribe the jailer and to gain admission into the prison. M. Frestel (my brother’s tutor) undertook the negotiation, which was not without danger. He succeeded. It was settled that he would take one of us every fortnight to Brioude. My sister was the first to go. She started on horseback in the night, remained the whole of the following day with the goodaubergiste, who was devoted to us, and spent the night with my mother. But when daylight came, they were obliged to tear themselves from each other. My sister brought back joy in the midst of us with the details of this happy meeting. We had, each in our turn, the same satisfaction.“My mother’s health bore up as well as her fortitude. She was the comfort of those who surrounded her, ever seeking to be of service to her companions. Thinkingshe might be useful to some infirm women, she proposed to them to have their meals with her. She contrived to persuade them that they were contributing to the common expense, when nearly all the cost fell upon herself. She also cooked for them. The prison life was most wearisome. The room in which she slept with five or six people was only separated by a screen from the public passage.“My mother soon became plunged in the deepest affliction. She learned that my grandmother, my aunt, and the Maréchale de Noailles, my grandfather’s mother, had been transferred to the Luxembourg.“Towards the end of May the order to convey my mother to the prison of La Force, in Paris, reached Brioude. You may fancy our despair when we received our mother’s letter. The messenger had been delayed, and it was to be feared that she was no longer at Brioude. M. Frestel set off immediately. He was bearer of all the small jewelry possessed by the members of the household, who had given them to be sold in order to avoid my mother being conveyed in a cart from brigade to brigade.“On arriving at Brioude, M. Frestel obtained a delay of twenty-four hours. We soon joined him at the prison. We found my mother in a room by herself, but fetters were placed near the pallet upon which she had thrown herself to seek a little repose. The violence of my sister’s despair was fearful to witness. Owing to M. Frestel’s entreaties, she obtained leave from my mother to follow her, and to accompany him in order to implore the aid of the American minister. She remained only a short time at the prison, and left us to go to Le Puy for the purpose of obtaining a permit to travel out of the department. She was to join my mother on the way.“My brother and I remained in the horrible room inwhich my mother was confined. We all three offered up our prayers to God. At twelve o’clock M. Gissaguer entered the room and said it was time to depart. My mother gave her last instructions to George and to myself, and made us promise to seek and to seize upon every means of joining my father. She grieved at seeing us undergo so young such cruel misfortunes.“My sister passed that day at Le Puy. In spite of innumerable obstacles she succeeded in seeing thecitoyenGuyardin. She conjured him to have an inquiry made with respect to my mother’s conduct and to forward it to Paris. He did not move, remained seated at his bureau, and continued writing, while she was addressing him in the most urgent manner. He refused to read a letter from my mother handed to him by Anastasie, saying that he could not trouble himself about a prisoner who was summoned to Paris, and adding most vulgar jokes to his refusal. My unfortunate sister left the room in a most violent state of despair and indignation. The cruel Guyardin did not grant her the necessary permission to travel out of the department and to follow my mother’s carriage, and my poor sister, in despair, was obliged to let M. Frestel set off without her.“My mother arrived in Paris on the 19th ofPrairial, three days before the decree of the 22d, which organizedune terreur dans la Terreur. At that time no less than sixty people were daily falling victims of the Revolutionary Tribunal. All seemed to forebode approaching death to my mother. You may fancy the anguish of mind in which we spent the two months which followed my mother’s departure for Paris. We were daily expecting to hear of the greatest misfortune which could befall us. Towards that time the château of Chavaniac and the furniture were sold.“The peasants of thecommunebrought us with hearty good will all that was necessary for our subsistence. Every day it was reported that my aunt and my sister were to be sent to the prison of Brioude, whilst my brother and myself were to be taken to the hospital. As for my mother, the life she was leading at La Petite Force was dreadful. At the end of a fortnight my mother was transferred to Le Plesis. This building, formerly a college where my father had been educated, had been turned into a prison.“Since the law of the 22d ofPrairial, the Revolutionary Tribunal sent each day sixty persons to the scaffold. One of the buildings of Le Plesis served as a depot to the Conciergerie, so every morning twenty prisoners could be seen departing for the guillotine. ‘The thought of soon being one of the victims,’ my mother wrote, ‘makes one endure such a sight with more firmness.’ Twice she fancied that she was being called to take her place amongst the victims.“My mother passed forty days at La Force and Le Plesis, expecting death at every moment. In the midst of the tumult caused by the revolution of the 10thThermidor, it was for a moment believed that fresh massacres would take place in the prisons; but soon afterward the news of Robespierre’s death reached the captives, and it became known to them that the executions of the Revolutionary Tribunal had ceased. My mother’s first thought was to send to the Luxembourg. The jailer’s answer revealed to her the fearful truth. My grandmother, with my aunt de Noailles and the Maréchale de Noailles had been sent to the scaffold on the 4thThermidor: the three generations perished together. How can I give you an idea of my mother’s despair? ‘Return thanks to God,’ she wrote to us later, ‘for having preserved my strength, my life, my reason; do not regret that you were far fromme. God kept me from revolting against Him, but for a long time I could not have borne the slightest appearance of human comfort.’”

“She accepted the requests, which were made to her by each of the sixty districts of Paris, to collect subscriptions at the blessing of their banners and at other patriotic ceremonies. My father kept open house. She did the honors in a manner which charmed her numerous guests; but what she suffered in the depths of her heart can only be understood by those who have heard her talk of those times.

“She beheld my father at the head of a revolution,the issue of which it was impossible to foresee. Each calamity, each disturbance, was looked upon by her without the slightest illusion as to the success of her own cause. She was, however, supported by my father’s principles, and so convinced of the good it was in his power to do, and of the evil it was in his power to avert, that she bore with incredible fortitude the continual perils to which he was exposed. Never, has she often told us, did she see him leave the house during that period without thinking that she was bidding him adieu for the last time. Although no one could be more terrified than she was when those whom she loved were in danger, still, during that time she was superior to her usual self, devoted in common with my father to the hope of preventing crime.

“The various events of the Revolution, the dangers incurred by my father, the manner in which he supported every principle of justice and of liberty against all parties, form the history of my mother’s anxieties and consolations during two years and a half. You have read in the history of the Revolution that considerable uproar was raised on the Monday of Passion Week, 1791, to prevent the king from going to Saint Cloud, where he wished to receive the sacrament from the hands of priests who had not taken the oath to support the constitution. The king did not put this plan into execution, notwithstanding the endeavors of my father, who entreated Louis XVI. to persist in his intention, which he undertook to have executed. The king refused.

“My father, displeased with the National Guard, who had but feebly supported him in presence of the populace, and with the king’s weakness, which rendered it impossible to retrieve the faults committed on that day, thought fit to resign the command of the National Guardof Paris, and to avoid all entreaties, he quitted his own house. My mother remained at home, transported with joy at the resolution he had taken, and was charged by him to receive in his stead the municipality and the sixty battalions who came to implore him to resume his command. She replied to each individual in the words which my father himself would have dictated, carefully marking by her demeanor the distinction she made between the most respectablechefs de bataillon, and those who, like Santerre, had necessitated by their misconduct my father’s resignation, and who that day all united in taking the same step and repeating the same protestations. My mother, perplexed as she was in performing so difficult a task, was overjoyed at the thought that my father had returned to private life. This satisfaction lasted four days. Having thus marked his displeasure at disorders which he had not been able to prevent, my father yielded to the general entreaties. He resumed his command, and my mother her trials and anxieties.

“On the 21st of June of the same year, 1791, the king left Paris secretly, but was soon brought back from Varennes, where he had been arrested. In no other circumstance of my father’s life did my mother so much admire him as in the one which I am now relating. She beheld him, on the one hand, relinquishing all his republican tendencies to join in the wish of the majority; on the other hand, amidst the difficulties in which he was placed by his position, taking every responsibility, bearing all censure so as to insure the safety of the royal family, and spare them, as much as was in his power, every painful detail. My mother hastened to the Tuileries so soon as the queen began to receive, and before the constitution had been accepted. She found herself therethe only woman connected with thepatrioteparty, for she believed as my father did, that politics at such a moment ought not to rule personal intercourse.

RETURN OF THE ROYAL FAMILY TO PARIS.

“The Jacobins raised on the 17th of July a considerable outbreak. Thebrigandscommenced by murdering two men. Martial law was proclaimed. It is difficult to form an idea of my mother’s mortal anguish while my father was in the Champ de Mars, exposed to the rage of an infuriated multitude, which dispersed crying out that my mother must be put to death and her head carried to meet him. I remember the fearful cries we heard, I remember the alarm of everybody in the house, and above all my mother’s joy at the thought that thebrigandswho were coming to attack her were no longer surrounding my father in the Champ de Mars. While embracing us with tears of joy, she took every necessary precaution against the approaching danger with the greatest calmness, and above all with the greatest relief of mind. The guard had been doubled, and was drawn up before the house, but thebrigandswere very near entering my mother’s apartment by the garden looking upon the Place du Palais-Bourbon, and were already climbing the low wall which protected us, when a body of cavalry passed on the Place and dispersed them.

“The“Theconstitution having been accepted by the king, the Constituent Assembly ended its sittings, and was replaced by the Legislative Assembly. My father gave up the command of the National Guard, and set out for Auvergne with my mother in the beginning of October. The journey was long, for they were often obliged to stop in order to acknowledge the marks of sympathy they received on the way. We followed in another carriage, and my brother joined us shortly afterwards.

“This interval of repose was of short duration. Myfather was appointed to the command of one of the three armies which were formed at that time. He left Chavaniac in December, 1791. This departure, the expectation of an approaching war, the dread of fresh disturbances, all contributed to renew my mother’s distress: those who might have shared her feelings had left her. My grandmother, and, soon after, my aunt de Noailles were obliged to return to Paris. She bade them a farewell which she was far from supposing was to be the last.

“War was declared in the month of March, 1792. It began by several skirmishes with my father’s army, in one of which M. de Gouvion, who had been major-general of the National Guard, was killed. My mother was filled with terror and harassed by fearful forebodings. The disturbances at home added to her dismay.

“My father’s letter to the Legislative Assembly, written from the camp of Maubenge, on June 16, 1792, against the Jacobins, and his appearance at the bar to support it, mingled with these anxieties the satisfaction she was accustomed to find in all his actions. But one can well understand how much she must have suffered at such a distance, on seeing him exposed to so many and such various dangers. He invited her to go and join him; but in those times of public commotion she feared that if she accepted his proposal, he might be accused of wishing to put his family in safety: she was also afraid of impeding his movements, which depended on so many uncertain events. After having thought it over several days, she decided upon sacrificing herself and remaining at Chavaniac.

“Shortly after the noble resolution my mother had taken of remaining at Chavaniac, she received intelligence of the insurrection of the 10th of August. Sheheard almost at the same time that my grandfather, the Duc d’Ayen, who had been defending the king at the Tuileries, and my uncle, M. de Grammont, who had been sought for amongst the dead, had both escaped the dangers of that dreadful day. The newspapers gave details of my father’s resistance at Sédan. But it was soon evident that all was useless, and nothing could be compared to the anguish of my mother’s heart during the days which followed. The public papers were full of sanguinary decrees which were submitted to everywhere except in the district under my father’s command. A price was set on his head, promises were made at the bar of the Assembly to bring him back, dead or alive. At length, on the 24th of August, she received a letter from her sister, Madame de Noailles, telling her that my father was out of France. My mother’s joy was equal to her despair on the preceding days.

“We were in daily expectation of the house being pillaged. My mother provided for everything, burnt or concealed her papers; then, in consequence of the alarming intelligence she received, she resolved to place her children in safety. A priestassermenté[1]came to offer her a place of refuge amidst the mountains. M. Frestel took my brother there during the night. The same evening she sent us to Langeac, a small town about two leagues from Chavaniac, and thus having made every arrangement, she calmly awaited coming events. She remained with my aunt, whom it would have been impossible to persuade to leave the place.

1.Prêtre assermenté, one who accepted the Constitution.

“Nevertheless, some days afterwards, calmer feelings having prevailed around her, my mother thought it might be useful for her to go to Brioude, the chief townof the district. There she received from many people proofs of the most lively interest; but she refused the marks of sympathy proffered by severalaristocratesladies, declaring she would take as an insult any token of esteem which could not be shared with my father, and which would tend to separate her cause from his.

“By a decree of the ‘district,’ the seals were affixed on the house. My mother herself had caused this measure to be taken, so as to command respect from thebrigands, who were every day expected. The wordémigréwas not inscribed in the official report, and the respect shown by the two commissaries led her to hope that she had nothing to dread, at least on the part of the administration. She therefore yielded to the earnest entreaties of her daughters, and allowed them to return to Chavaniac. We found her in possession of two letters from my father, written after his departure from France. These letters cheered her greatly. Although she flattered herself that he would soon be released, she was nevertheless much agitated by the news of his arrest.

“On the 10th of September, 1792, at eight o’clock in the morning, the house was invested by a party of armed men. A commissary presented my mother with an order from the Committee of Public Safety, giving directions for her to be sent to Paris with her children. This order was enclosed in a letter from M. Roland, charging him with the execution of this decree. At that very moment my sister entered the room. She had managed to escape from our governess so as to take away all means of hiding her and separating her from my mother.

“My mother did not show the least alarm. She wished to put herself as soon as possible under the protection of those authorities who could give her effectual aid. She had the horses harnessed immediately, andwhile the preparations for departure were being made, her writing-desk was opened, and my father’s letters seized.

“‘You will see in them, sir,’ said my mother to the commissary, ‘that if there had been tribunals in France, M. de La Fayette would have submitted to them, certain as he was that not an action of his life could criminate him in the eyes of real patriots.’

“‘Nowadays, madam,’ he answered, ‘public opinion is the only tribunal.’

“During that time the soldiers were exploring the house. One of them, on seeing the old family pictures, said to the housekeeper, who was nearly blind from old age:—

“‘Who are these? some grandaristocrates, no doubt?’

“‘Good people who are no more,’ she answered. ‘If they were still alive, things would not be going on as badly as they are now.’

“The soldiers contented themselves with running their bayonets through several pictures. My mother slipped away to give orders for my concealment. Then, with my sister, who would not leave her for a minute, and my aunt, then seventy-three years of age, they departed, followed by their servants, who hoped to make themselves useful by mixing with the soldiers.

“The journey was most trying. They spent the night at Fix. The next morning, on arriving at Le Puy, my mother requested to be immediately conducted to the ‘Département.’ ‘I respect orders coming from the administration,’ she said to the commissary, ‘as much as I detest those coming from elsewhere.’

“The entrance into the town was perilous; a few days previously a prisoner had been massacred on his way through the suburbs. My mother said to my sister,‘If your father knew you were here, how anxious he would be; but at the same time what pleasure your conduct would give him.’

“The prisoners arrived without injury, although several stones were thrown into the carriage. They alighted at the ‘Département,’ the members of which had been immediately convoked. As soon as the sitting began, my mother said that she placed herself with confidence under the protection of the ‘Département,’ because in it she beheld the authority of the people, which she always respected wherever it could be found.

“‘You receive, Messieurs,’ she added, ‘your orders from M. Roland or from whomsoever you please. As for me, I only choose to receive them from you, and I give myself up as your prisoner.’

“She then requested my father’s letters should be copied before they were sent to Paris, observing that falsehoods were often brought before the Assembly; she asked leave to read these letters aloud. Some one having expressed the fear that doing so might be painful to her. ‘On the contrary,’ she replied, ‘I find support and comfort in the feelings they contain.’ She was listened to at first with interest, then with deep emotion.

“After having read the letters and looked over the copies, she begged not to leave the house of the ‘Département’ as long as she remained at Le Puy. She exposed the injustice of her detention, how useless and perilous a journey to Paris would be, and concluded by saying that if they persisted in keeping her as a hostage, she would be much obliged to the ‘Département,’ were she allowed to make Chavaniac her prison, and in that case she offered her parole not to leave it. It was decided in the next sitting that the ‘Département’ should present herrequest to the minister. While awaiting the reply, the prisoners were to inhabit the building belonging to the administration.

“While in prison, my mother received touching marks of sympathy. She was often watched by friendly National Guards, who would ask to be employed on that duty in order to prevent its being entrusted to evil-disposed keepers. She sometimes received accounts of my brother, who still remained in the same place of refuge; and of me, for she had thought fit to have me also concealed at a few leagues from Chavaniac.

“At this time public affairs were most inauspicious. All honest officials took favorable opportunities for resigning, and were replaced by Jacobins. We learnt that my father, instead of being set free, had been delivered up by the coalition to the king of Prussia, and was on his way to Spandau. The impression produced on my mother by this news was dreadful. She was in despair at having given her parole to stay at Chavaniac; for notwithstanding the impossibility of leaving France, she could not bear the thoughts of pledging her word to give up seeking every means of rejoining my father.

“M. Roland’s answer came at the end of September. He allowed my mother to return to Chavaniac, a prisoner on parole, under the responsibility of the ‘administration.’ My mother thus received the permission she had asked for at the precise moment when she was struck with dismay by the situation my father was in, and by the dangers he was running now at the hands of foreign powers, as lately at those of the revolutionists at home.

“The ‘Département’ decided that thecommunewould each day supply six men to guard my mother, who went to the assembly-room immediately on hearing of this resolution.

“‘I here declare, gentlemen,’ she said, ‘that I will not give the parole I offered if guards are to be placed at my door.

“‘Choose between these two securities. I cannot be offended by your not trusting me, for my husband has given still better proofs of his patriotism than I have of my honesty; but you will allow me to believe in my own integrity, and not to add bayonets to my parole.’

“It was decided that no guard should be set, and that the municipality would every fortnight report my mother’s presence at Chavaniac. My mother, on learning that M. Roland had expressed his disapprobation of the massacres of September, and that he alone could free her from theengagementengagementshe had contracted decided, notwithstanding her reluctance, on writing to him the following letter:—

“‘Sir: I can only attribute to a kind feeling the change you have brought about in my situation. You have spared me the dangers of a too perilous journey, and consented that my place of retirement should be my prison. But any prison whatever has become insupportable to me since I learnt that my husband has been transferred from town to town by the enemies of France, who were conducting him to Spandau. However repugnant to my feelings it may be to owe anything to men who have shown themselves the enemies and accusers of him whom I revere and love as I ought to do, it is in all the frankness of my heart that I vow eternal gratitude to whoever will enable me to join my husband, by taking all responsibility from the ‘administration,’ and by giving me back my parole, if in the event of France becoming more free it were possible to travel without danger.

“‘It is on my knees, if necessary, that I implore this favor; imagine by that the state I am in.

“‘Noailles La Fayette.’

“M. Roland thus answered:—

“‘I have put, madam, your touching request under the eyes of the committee. I must nevertheless observe that it would seem to me imprudent for a person bearing your name to travel through France, on account of the unpleasant impression which is at the present moment attached to it. But circumstances may alter. I advise you to wait, and I shall be the first to seize a favorable opportunity.’

“My mother answered him immediately as follows:—

“‘I return you thanks, sir, for the ray of hope with which you have brightened my heart, so long unaccustomed to that feeling. Nothing can add to what I owe to my parole and to theadministrateurswho rely upon it. No degree of misfortune could ever make me think of breaking my word, but your letter renders that duty a little more supportable, and I already begin to feel something of that gratitude I promised you if, delivered through your hands, I were restored to the object of my affections, and to the happiness of offering him some consolation.

“‘Noailles La Fayette.’

“Three months had elapsed since we had heard anything about my father. The public papers had announced his transfer to Wessel instead of Spandau: since then they had been silent. My mother wrote an unsealed letter to the Duke of Brunswick, entreating the generalissimo of the allied troops to send her some news of her husband through the French army.

“She also wrote thus to the king of Prussia:—

“‘Sir: Your Majesty’s well-known integrity admits of M. de La Fayette’s wife addressing herself to you without forgetting what she owes to her husband’s character. I have always hoped, sir, that Your Majesty would respect virtue wherever it was to be found, and thereby give to Europe a glorious example. It is now five long, dreadful months since I last heard anything of M. de La Fayette, so I cannot plead his cause. But it seems to me that both his enemies and myself speak eloquently in his favor: they by their crimes, I by the violence of my despair. They prove his virtue, and how much he is feared by the wicked; I show how worthy he is of being loved. They make it a necessity for Your Majesty’s glory not to have an object of persecution in common with them. Shall I myself be fortunate enough to give you the occasion of restoring me to life by delivering him?

“‘Allow me, sir, to indulge in that hope as in the one of soon owing to you this deep debt of gratitude.

“‘Noailles La Fayette.’

“In December M. Roland obtained from the committee the repeal of the order for my mother’s arrest. She was still under the surveillance to which theci-devantnobles were subjected, and could not leave the department without express permission. But she was disengaged from her promise, and she was not discouraged. Pecuniary interests also detained my mother in France, not on her own account nor on that of her children, but because she looked upon it as a sacred duty before leaving the country to see the rights of my father’s creditors acknowledged.

“The events of the 31st of May, which assured the triumph of the terrorist party, brought no alteration atfirst in our situation, but took from us all hopes for the future.

“Towards the middle of June my mother received, through the minister of the United States, two letters from my father, written from the dungeon of Magdebourg. The anxiety they occasioned with respect to my father’s health marred the joy we felt in receiving them....

“At that period of the Revolution, manyémigrés’wives thought it necessary, for the preservation of their children’s fortune and for their personal safety, to obtain a divorce. My mother esteemed and even respected the virtue of several persons who thought themselves obliged to take this step. But as for herself, the scruples of her conscience would not have allowed her to save her life by feigning an act contrary to Christian law, even when no one could be deceived. However, another motive influenced her, though this one would have sufficed. Her love for my father made her find pleasure in all that was a remembrance of him. Whilst many pious and tender wives sought for safety in a pretended divorce, never did she address a request to any administration whatever, or present a petition, without feeling satisfaction in beginning everything she wrote by these words: ‘La Femme La Fayette.’

“On the 21st ofBrumaire[Nov. 12] my mother received the intelligence that she was to be arrested on the following day. She kept this news from us till the next morning. The hours passed away in cruel expectation. M. Granchier, commissary of the Revolutionary Committee, arrived at the château in the evening of the same day, with a detachment of the National Guard of Paulhaguet. We all collected in my mother’s room, where the order of the Committee for her arrest was readaloud. She presented the certificate of civism given her by thecommune. M. Granchier answered that it was too old, and that it was of no use, not having been countersigned by the Committee.

“‘Citoyen,’ my sister then asked, ‘are daughters prevented from following their mother?’

“‘Yes, mademoiselle,’ answered the commissary.

“She insisted, adding that, being sixteen, she was included in the law. He seemed moved, but changed the subject. My mother kept up everybody’s courage. She tried to persuade us that the separation would not be a long one.

“The jail at Brioude was already full. The newly arrived prisoners were, nevertheless, crammed into it. My mother found herself in the midst of all the ladies of the nobility, with whom she had had no intercourse since the Revolution. At first they were impertinent, but they soon shared in the admiration my mother inspired in all those who approached her. The society of the prison was divided intocoteries, which cordially hated each other; but for my mother every one professed attachment.

“My mother soon became aware that she could do nothing for her deliverance, and that, to escape greater misfortunes, her best plan was to avoid attracting attention. One day she ventured to suggest the necessity of giving more air to a sick woman confined in a small room with eleven other people. This brought down on her a volley of abuse impossible to describe. My mother was happy to find place in a room which served as a passageway, and where threebourgeoisesof Brioude were already established. By these persons she was received in a very touching manner.

“The news my mother received at that time fromParis caused her most painful agitation. My grandmother and my aunt de Noailles were put under arrest in their own house, at the Hôtel de Noailles. We had occasional opportunities of communicating with my mother. We used to send her clean linen every week. The list was sewn on the parcel, and each time we wrote on the back of the page, which nobody ever thought of unsewing. She would answer us in the same way. But this mode of correspondence was not safe enough to be employed in giving any other details than those concerning our health.

“The innkeeper’s daughter, a child of thirteen, sometimes managed, when carrying the prisoners’ dinner, to approach my mother. Blows, abuse of language, all was indifferent to that courageous girl, so that she could succeed in beholding my mother, and in letting us know that she was in good health.

“In the course of January [1794] we found out that it was not impossible to bribe the jailer and to gain admission into the prison. M. Frestel (my brother’s tutor) undertook the negotiation, which was not without danger. He succeeded. It was settled that he would take one of us every fortnight to Brioude. My sister was the first to go. She started on horseback in the night, remained the whole of the following day with the goodaubergiste, who was devoted to us, and spent the night with my mother. But when daylight came, they were obliged to tear themselves from each other. My sister brought back joy in the midst of us with the details of this happy meeting. We had, each in our turn, the same satisfaction.

“My mother’s health bore up as well as her fortitude. She was the comfort of those who surrounded her, ever seeking to be of service to her companions. Thinkingshe might be useful to some infirm women, she proposed to them to have their meals with her. She contrived to persuade them that they were contributing to the common expense, when nearly all the cost fell upon herself. She also cooked for them. The prison life was most wearisome. The room in which she slept with five or six people was only separated by a screen from the public passage.

“My mother soon became plunged in the deepest affliction. She learned that my grandmother, my aunt, and the Maréchale de Noailles, my grandfather’s mother, had been transferred to the Luxembourg.

“Towards the end of May the order to convey my mother to the prison of La Force, in Paris, reached Brioude. You may fancy our despair when we received our mother’s letter. The messenger had been delayed, and it was to be feared that she was no longer at Brioude. M. Frestel set off immediately. He was bearer of all the small jewelry possessed by the members of the household, who had given them to be sold in order to avoid my mother being conveyed in a cart from brigade to brigade.

“On arriving at Brioude, M. Frestel obtained a delay of twenty-four hours. We soon joined him at the prison. We found my mother in a room by herself, but fetters were placed near the pallet upon which she had thrown herself to seek a little repose. The violence of my sister’s despair was fearful to witness. Owing to M. Frestel’s entreaties, she obtained leave from my mother to follow her, and to accompany him in order to implore the aid of the American minister. She remained only a short time at the prison, and left us to go to Le Puy for the purpose of obtaining a permit to travel out of the department. She was to join my mother on the way.

“My brother and I remained in the horrible room inwhich my mother was confined. We all three offered up our prayers to God. At twelve o’clock M. Gissaguer entered the room and said it was time to depart. My mother gave her last instructions to George and to myself, and made us promise to seek and to seize upon every means of joining my father. She grieved at seeing us undergo so young such cruel misfortunes.

“My sister passed that day at Le Puy. In spite of innumerable obstacles she succeeded in seeing thecitoyenGuyardin. She conjured him to have an inquiry made with respect to my mother’s conduct and to forward it to Paris. He did not move, remained seated at his bureau, and continued writing, while she was addressing him in the most urgent manner. He refused to read a letter from my mother handed to him by Anastasie, saying that he could not trouble himself about a prisoner who was summoned to Paris, and adding most vulgar jokes to his refusal. My unfortunate sister left the room in a most violent state of despair and indignation. The cruel Guyardin did not grant her the necessary permission to travel out of the department and to follow my mother’s carriage, and my poor sister, in despair, was obliged to let M. Frestel set off without her.

“My mother arrived in Paris on the 19th ofPrairial, three days before the decree of the 22d, which organizedune terreur dans la Terreur. At that time no less than sixty people were daily falling victims of the Revolutionary Tribunal. All seemed to forebode approaching death to my mother. You may fancy the anguish of mind in which we spent the two months which followed my mother’s departure for Paris. We were daily expecting to hear of the greatest misfortune which could befall us. Towards that time the château of Chavaniac and the furniture were sold.

“The peasants of thecommunebrought us with hearty good will all that was necessary for our subsistence. Every day it was reported that my aunt and my sister were to be sent to the prison of Brioude, whilst my brother and myself were to be taken to the hospital. As for my mother, the life she was leading at La Petite Force was dreadful. At the end of a fortnight my mother was transferred to Le Plesis. This building, formerly a college where my father had been educated, had been turned into a prison.

“Since the law of the 22d ofPrairial, the Revolutionary Tribunal sent each day sixty persons to the scaffold. One of the buildings of Le Plesis served as a depot to the Conciergerie, so every morning twenty prisoners could be seen departing for the guillotine. ‘The thought of soon being one of the victims,’ my mother wrote, ‘makes one endure such a sight with more firmness.’ Twice she fancied that she was being called to take her place amongst the victims.

“My mother passed forty days at La Force and Le Plesis, expecting death at every moment. In the midst of the tumult caused by the revolution of the 10thThermidor, it was for a moment believed that fresh massacres would take place in the prisons; but soon afterward the news of Robespierre’s death reached the captives, and it became known to them that the executions of the Revolutionary Tribunal had ceased. My mother’s first thought was to send to the Luxembourg. The jailer’s answer revealed to her the fearful truth. My grandmother, with my aunt de Noailles and the Maréchale de Noailles had been sent to the scaffold on the 4thThermidor: the three generations perished together. How can I give you an idea of my mother’s despair? ‘Return thanks to God,’ she wrote to us later, ‘for having preserved my strength, my life, my reason; do not regret that you were far fromme. God kept me from revolting against Him, but for a long time I could not have borne the slightest appearance of human comfort.’”

BEFORE THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL.

Madame La Fayette in her “Life of the Duchesse d’Ayen” gives the following interesting though painful particulars regarding the execution of her mother, grandmother, and sister:—

“My mother and my sister were put under arrest in the first days of October, but allowed to remain well guarded at the Hôtel de Noailles. A month later I myself was taken as a prisoner to Brioude, and it became still more difficult to correspond.

“Persecutions went on increasing. One day thedetenushad to answer questions on their actions and on their thoughts. My mother and my sister were prepared, and answered those who questioned them with their usual tact and straightforwardness. The inventory of all that was in their possession was drawn up. My mother, fearing she might be made to swear that she had concealed nothing, had hung to her side, in the shape of a watch chain, all the diamonds which were left her. They were not taken; she sold them that same day to a jeweller, who gave her immediately the money she required to pay the small debts which were owing, but she never received the full amount of what was due her, the jeweller having been beheaded on the following day.

“Nothing in the world was now left them, save some few trifles of my sister’s, which were sold, and what belonged to M. Grellet (tutor to my sister’s children), who had given them all he possessed. This extreme poverty and all its consequences are hardly worth mentioning in the midst of so many other and greater trials. Each day brought some new misfortune or some fresh disaster. My father not being able to obtain satisfactorycertificates of residence, was obliged to leave his family and return to Switzerland, where he had been living for some time for his health. My father’s men of business had all been arrested. It was soon the turn of the members of ‘Parlement,’ and M. de Saron, my mother’s brother-in-law, was executed on Easter Sunday, 1794.

“For some time past even women had not been spared. Yet my mother and my sister were far from thinking that their personal safety was threatened; their hearts were, however, prepared, and they had asked M. Carrichon if he would have the courage to accompany them to the foot of the scaffold.

“At last, in the month of May, they were ordered to quit the Hôtel de Noailles; and, after having been led through Paris from prison door to prison door, they were at last conducted with the Maréchale de Noailles (my father’s mother) to the Luxembourg. On arriving there my mother’s courage did not fail her, and she was much calmer than she had been for a long time past.

“The care my grandmother required occupied them incessantly. Notwithstanding all the misfortunes which were falling on her at once, my mother forgot none of those who were dear to her. It was M. Grellet who broke to her the news of my arrival in the prisons of Paris; she cruelly felt this fresh misfortune, and succeeded in sending me prudent advice.

“At last, after having seen falling around her nearly all the victims who had been heaped into the same prison, as well as those who were dearest to her, she was summoned with her mother-in-law and daughter to the Conciergerie, that is to say, to death. They arrived at the Conciergerie worn out with fatigue. M. Grellet had repaired to a café next to the gate, and succeeded in exchanging a few words with my sister.

“Deprived of everything, they had barely sufficient money to obtain a glass of currant water. The persons who shared their cell prepared a single miserable bed for the three prisoners. My mother was dejected, and could not yet believe that so great a crime was possible. She stretched herself on the pallet, and entreated my sister to lie down by her side.

“Madame de Noailles refused to lie down, saying that she had too short a time to live for it to be worth while to take that trouble. Her mother passed part of the night in trying to persuade her to do so. ‘Think,’ she said, ‘of what we shall have to go through to-morrow.’

“‘Ah, mamma!’ my sister answered, ‘what need have we to rest on the eve of eternity?’

“She asked for a prayer-book and a light, by which she was enabled to read. She prayed during the whole night. She interrupted herself occasionally to attend to her grandmother, who slept for several hours at different intervals, and who, each time she woke, would read over and over again heracte d’accusation, repeating to herself:—

“‘No; I cannot be condemned for a conspiracy which I have never heard of; I shall defend my cause before the judges in such a manner that they will be obliged to acquit me.’ She thought of her dress, and feared that it might be tumbled; she settled her cap, and could not believe that, for her, that day was to be the last.

“The next morning, my mother, somewhat rested, saw more clearly the doom which awaited her, showed great courage, spoke tenderly of her grandchildren, and begged of the prisoners who were present to take charge of her watch for them. ‘It is the last thing I can send them,’ she said. She took some chocolate with the Madames de Boufflers (relations of M. de La Fayette), and was afterwardssummoned to the horrible tribunal. I have been told that my sister, whilst dressing my mother, seemed still to find happiness in attending upon her. She was heard to say, ‘Courage, mamma, it is only one hour more!’

“My sister, the Vicomtesse de Noailles, entreated the prisoners to send to her children an empty pocket-book, a portrait, and some hair. But she was told that such a mission would endanger the persons who occupied the room. The name of her sister, Madame de La Fayette, was pronounced in that fearful abode. She imposed silence for fear of putting me in danger. She made no attempt to seek repose. Her eyes remained opened to contemplate that heaven into which she was about to enter. Her face reflected the serenity of her soul. The idea of immortality supported her courage. Never was so much calm witnessed in such a place. But she would forget everything to be of use to her mother and grandmother.

“Nine o’clock struck. TheHuissierscarried off their victims; tears were shed by those who had only known them for twelve hours. The mothers made some arrangements for the event of an acquittal. But my sister, who did not doubt of the doom which awaited them, thanked Madame Lavet (one of their fellow-prisoners), with that charming manner which was in her a gift of nature, expressed all her gratitude for her kind attentions, and added, ‘Votre figure est heureuse; vous ne périrez pas.’

“M. Grellet, who the day before had been confined in a cell for three hours on account of the interest he had evinced for the prisoners, having been released as by a miracle, repaired to M. Carrichon. This good priest, as well as M. Brun, obtained from Heaven strength enough to follow the prisoners on the way from the Conciergerieto the scaffold; there my sister recognized M. Carrichon, and, with a presence of mind sublime at such a moment, she pointed him out to my mother, who appeared agitated, but who collected all her courage, and received fresh strength by the grace of absolution. From that moment till the last, her thoughts were no longer on earthly things; and during the three-quarters of an hour she had to wait at the foot of the scaffold, she did not cease to pray with fervor and resignation. MM. Brun and Carrichon remained till all was over. I feel that the thought of following in footsteps so dear would have taken from the horror of so awful an end.

“Je renonce à rien exprimer, parce que ce que je sens est inexprimable.”

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