One more sacrifice remained for me to make,—the saddest of all: it was, never to see my son again. I can never express what I felt then, or what an effort it cost me to be resigned to it. I believed that God would pardon me; and I was in as peaceful a state of mind as could be expected under such cruel circumstances. I resolved that when I should be called before the tribunal I would make no answer to the questions of the iniquitous judges, but after hearing my sentence read, I would say, 'You are condemning an innocent person; as a Christian I forgive you, but the God of vengeance will judge you.'
I grieved to think that I was not to die for the faith. Ah! how delightful, when one finds one's last hour approaching, to be able to be sure of possessing a crown of glory and dwelling in that country of which Saint Augustine says that 'Truth is the King, Charity the Law, and the Duration, Eternity.' The idea that I was to die only because of the ineradicable stain of aristocracy displeased me inexpressibly.
On the 8th Thermidor, July 27th, 1794, we perceived toward evening an extreme degree of the usual terrible watchfulness. The prisoners were not allowed to go into the courtyard; the gratings were closed. One would have been anxious under any circumstances; but when one is daily expecting one's fate, one has no other fear. I had still, however, a great dread of being killed by piecemeal, as was done on the 2d of September, with pikes, bayonets, and such infernal weapons. I slept as usual; and the next day, the 9th Thermidor, the sound of cannon was heard. The keeper and jailer were in a state of great excitement; their eyes looked haggard and their faces downcast. We knew nothing of what was passing, but we presumed it must be something frightful. That evening their countenances seemed more human, and there was a rumour of the death of Robespierre.
The next day, the 10th, the inhabitants of houses adjoining the Plessis made from their windows signs of satisfaction. Our keepers appeared more serene. We heard cries of joy and clapping of hands in the courtyard; a man named Lafond, who had been in close confinement for five months, and of whose very existence we had been ignorant, had been set at liberty. This was the dawn of less terrible days for us. We believed for the first time that we might possibly be released from our tomb. On the 11th, Madame Rovère's waiting-woman was set at liberty. The moment a prisoner approached the grating, cries of 'Liberty' resounded through the prison; and this word sounded very sweet to our ears. I could not imagine what was going on outside. We learned that the famous Terrorists continued to take the lead in the Convention, that the terrible Collot d'Herbois, who had had us imprisoned, was one of the number, which made me think that people of our class in society would still be imprisoned. The thought of death never left me nor my companions. Madame de Pons was very anxious to leave the Plessis; she obtained permission to go to a private hospital. (The private hospitals were the prisons where prisoners were best lodged and fed.) It was proposed that I should send in the same petition; but I refused to do so for two reasons: first, because I did not wish to act contrary to the will of Providence, which had placed me in the Plessis; and second, because it was very expensive living in the private hospitals.
The men were now allowed to walk in the courtyard with the women; I was disgusted at this. One can easily imagine the unpleasantness of such a mingling of hussars, spies, women and girls of the street. I advised the good nuns not to appear. It was a horrid sight for any decent person, still more for a holy Carmelite. I lent my chamber to these good women that they might say their prayers in peace. One of them told me she could not endure the language of the vulgar creatures who were lodged with her; I told her her only resource was to stop her ears, since she could not alter their conversation. Another went quite out of her mind because she was not set free. One of her companions came for me to quiet her. I went to her and undertook to treat her as though she were ill, persuaded her to take something to drink, and comforted her with the hope of liberty, and after a while she became calm. It was terrible to see her.
As the number of persons who were set at liberty increased every day, we began to hope for escape from our bars, which up to this time we had expected to see open only for us to pass to the scaffold. The women of the lower classes were favoured first; and six months elapsed before any one dared say a word for one of the nobility. I felt real gratification when I saw Monsieur Legendre, the registrar of Mouchy, go out. Every time I had seen him, I had said to myself, 'He is one of the victims of our family; 'and I had felt quite heart-sick on account of it.
Our seclusion was so strict that when I met two men (the men were never allowed to enter the building appropriated to the women) on my corridor it astonished me greatly. They seemed curious, and asked questions. I inquired about these new people, and was told that they were attached to the Committee of General Security, and had considerable influence there. One of them asked me if I belonged to the nobility; I replied that I did. One of my companions reproved me for this, considering it an imprudence. I told her that I never kept back the truth, and besides it would be perfectly useless to do so. These men returned for several days following; they showed a desire to gain the confidence of the prisoners in order to interfere in their affairs. Those who were set at liberty were now frequently of a higher class. Among them were priests, soldiers, and land owners. We had very miserable recruits in their places,—some Terrorists, and a legion of spies. The judges of the Revolutionary tribunal came again to the clerk of our prison to inquire for accused prisoners, who were given permission to go and confer with their defending counsel. As for us, being only suspected, we had no right to do so; but we pretended to have, so as to hear something from those who were dear to us. The first person who came to see me was Madame de la Motte; and the first who succeeded in sending me a letter at this still most dangerous period was the Vicomtesse de Durfort. She offered me her aid and money. I shall never forget this great kindness. Madame de Grimaldi, her mother's sister, who was with us the day she set out for the tribunal, saw Mademoiselle de Pons as she was getting into Fouquier's wagon; she pressed her hand as she bade her good-by, and said, 'I am content; my troubles will soon be over.'
Monsieur Noël inquired for me at the clerk's office; and I was very glad to be able to show my gratitude to him for the proofs of affection he had shown my parents. He proposed to make application for me to be set at liberty. I refused to allow him to do so, urging as my objection that I had read in one of the newspapers a denunciation against Lecointre, of Versailles, issued by the Convention on account of his having secured the release of Madame d'Adhémar from La Bourbe (the convent of Port-Royal, on the Rue de la Bourbe, had been converted into a prison under the appropriate name of Port-Libre), which made me fear to compromise those who took an interest in me and our class generally; and I determined to wait patiently a while longer. Next, the entire convoy from Neuilly was set at liberty amid the cheers of the prisoners. The nobles were not excluded from this measure,—a fact which made me really believe, for the first time, that I should not remain forever in the Plessis; and I wrote to Monsieur Noël that he might bear me in mind. He had sent me tidings of all the members of my family except my son, of whom I could learn nothing; the children of my unfortunate sister-in-law came to see me.[[8]] Others were present; and I could not utter a single word, so great was my emotion. I embraced them and then retired to my chamber, completely overwhelmed by the heart-rending memories awakened by their presence.
There was now great excitement among the prisoners. When one has no hope, there is nothing to do but to be resigned; but we had laid aside the thought of approaching death and had conceived the idea of being released from captivity.
One day as I was sitting in my old room with the fireplace, which had been vacated, and the possession of which once more was a real pleasure to me, I saw a man come in from outside who was named Fortin; he told me he was a lawyer frequently employed by Monsieur Legendre, a deputy from Paris, and member of the Committee of General Security, and that he could be of service to me. He asked me a great many questions, and inspired me with confidence; he came to see me for several successive days, and asked me for my papers. I showed him proofs that I had never emigrated; that I had not gone outside of the Departments of Paris and the Oise, from which I had certificates of civism and residence; that I was imprisoned only as a noble, and that there was not the slightest accusation against me. I afterward entered into correspondence with him.