The Terror was increasing, with its attendant crimes, and the victims were becoming more numerous. One day when we were speaking of this, and were exhorting each other to prepare to be among their number, I said to them with a sort of presentiment, 'If you go to the guillotine, and God gives me the strength, I will accompany you.' They took me at my word, adding with eagerness, 'Do you promise it?' I hesitated a moment. 'Yes,' I replied, 'and that you may be certain to recognize me I will wear a dark blue coat and a red waistcoat.'
After that they often reminded me of my promise. In the month of April, the week after Easter, I believe, they were conducted to the Luxembourg. I often received news of them through Monsieur Grelet, who with such delicate faithfulness rendered many services to them and to their children.
My promise was frequently recalled. On the 26th or 27th, a Thursday or a Friday, he came and begged me to render to the Maréchal de Mouchy and his wife the service which I had promised to them.
I went to the Palace and succeeded in making my way into the courtyard; I then had them under my eyes, and quite near me, for more than a quarter of an hour. Monsieur and Madame de Mouchy, whom I had seen at their house only once, and whom I knew better than they knew me, could not recognize me. By inspiration, and with the aid of God, I did what I could for them. The Maréchal's conduct was singularly edifying; he prayed aloud with great fervour. The evening before, on leaving the Luxembourg, he had said to those who regarded him with interest: 'At seventeen I went up to the assault for my king; at seventy-eight I go to the scaffold for my God; my friends, I am not unhappy.'
I avoid details which would lead me on to endless length. That day I believed it to be useless to attempt anything; and, indeed, I did not feel myself able to go and accompany them to the guillotine. I was much disturbed by this on account of the special promise made to their relatives, whom their death plunged into affliction. They were incarcerated in the same prison, and had done much to console the Maréchal de Mouchy and his wife.
How much might I say of all the many departures which preceded or followed that of the 22d of July!—departures, peaceful or wretched, according to the dispositions of those who departed. Terribly sad they were, even when the known character and all external signs denoted Christian resignation and a Christian death, but exceedingly distressing when the contrary was the case, and when the condemned appeared, as it were, to pass from a hell in this world to that of the other world.
On the 22d of July, which was Tuesday, I was at my house between eight and ten o'clock in the morning. I was just on the point of going out when I heard a knock on my door; I opened it and saw the children of the house of Noailles and their tutor. The children had the gayety natural to their age,—gayety which was to be changed to sadness by the losses they were about to undergo, and the fear of experiencing still others. They were going to walk.
The tutor, sad and melancholy, was pale and troubled. 'Let us go into your chamber,' said he, 'and leave the children in your study.' We went into the chamber; he cast himself into a chair. 'It is all over, my friend; the ladies are before the Revolutionary tribunal. I have come to summon you to keep your word. I am to take the children to Vincennes, and there see little Euphémie. In the park I will prepare the poor children for their terrible loss.'
Prepared as I was myself for this dreadful blow, I was overwhelmed. The frightful situation of the mothers, of the children, of their worthy tutor, this gayety to be followed by such depth of sorrow, the little sister, Euphémie, then about four years old,—all this arose before my imagination.
I recovered myself; and after some inquiries, replies, and other sad details, I said, 'I will now change my dress. What an errand! Pray to God that he may give me the strength to execute it.'