Madame d'Ayen they dearly loved. The free unbroken intercourse which is natural to English homes was not in accordance with the rules of those stately Parisian families, but the first act of the day was to go and salute their mother; next, they were sure to meet her going to or returning from mass, when they were taking their morning walk; afterward, they all dined together at three, and then came the pleasant hours spent in her bedroom, while she instructed and amused them by turns in gentle maternal converse. They had other instructors I but she really formed their minds.
A bright worldly future opened before these young girls, with their good birth, high connections, and splendid fortune. Who would have dreamed of coming storms? But the pious mother did not wait for misfortune to teach them companionship with sorrow; they began when children to visit the suffering, and two poor people of the parish stood sponsors for Mdlle. de Maintenon at the baptismal font. She was born in 1766, and the parish church was St. Roch; opposite stood the family hotel, with its spacious gardens reaching up to the Tuileries.
After their marriages the sisters became brilliant stars in Parisian society, and the tenderest union ever reigned between them. The eldest, Madame de Noailles, was admired by every one for her sweetness and grace, being commonly called either "that angel," or the "heavenly viscountess." Even the family confessor, the saintly Abbé Edgworth, writing of her after her death to Madame de Montagu, says, "The fate of that angelic soul, which I knew so intimately on earth, can inspire no uneasiness. For my part, I acknowledge in all simplicity that she seems now to return me ten-fold all the good I formerly wished her. The mere remembrance of her strengthens me, and would keep me from loving earth, could it still offer any enjoyment."
The sisters vied with each other in love and veneration for their mother and Madame de Noailles especially had the happiness of being scarcely ever separated from her. The young wife, however, espoused with ardor her husband's political opinions; and he was much more liberal in his views than the Duchesse d'Ayen. Like many other nobles of the time, both about court and in the provinces, M. de Noailles hailed with enthusiasm the first dawn of the revolution, believing it would bring about a new era for France, a grand national reform. Madame d'Ayen, on the contrary, looked on events with some mistrust; her experience, her natural prudence and cautious character, made her more anxious, more inclined to circumspection.
Even after the Bastille had been taken, and when so many families began to emigrate, M. de Noailles, like his brother-in-law M. de la Fayette, continued to hope. The events of 1792, however, induced him to seek refuge in England. The Duc d'Ayen had taken refuge in Switzerland; but when he heard of the attack on the Tuileries in June, 1792, he flew to the aid of the king and the royal family, considering that though his post of captain of the royal guard had been abolished, the danger of Louis had created it anew. He was with that [{255}] small band of devoted adherents who would have defended the king on the fatal 10th of August—the last day of the real monarchy—when Louis' heart failed him, and he took refuge in the assembly. The Duc d'Ayen managed again to get away into Switzerland; the other members of his family, quitting their splendid hotel, hid themselves in a wretched dwelling of the nearest feubourg. Madame de Noailles was to have joined her husband in London, where they intended shortly to embark for America; but she lingered with her mother, first to assist her grandfather, the Marshal de Noailles, in his dying moments, and next to console his aged widow, now well-nigh reduced to second childhood. The result was captivity and death for all time. Madame de Noailles' virtue shone forth with lustre throughout these trying hours, and it is as a meek victim of the revolution that she especially deserves remembrance.
At first the three ladies were simply detained as "suspected" in their own hotel, during the winter of '93; but in April following they were transferred as prisoners to the Luxembourg. There they found in a room below them their relatives, the Maréchal de Mouchy and his wife, who had already suffered a detention of five months. Not far off was a cousin, the Duchesse d'Orléans, widow of Philippe Egalité, lately executed. These were sad recognitions, few or no prisoners being ever set at liberty, though many went through the mockery of a trial. Soon after Madame d'Ayen's arrival, M. and Madame de Mouchy were guillotined. From the first she and her daughter prepared for death. Both did all they could to alleviate the suffering around them. Madame d'Ayen gave up her bed to the Duchesse d'Orléans, who was very ill, and treated with even exceptional cruelty. Madame de Noailles shared her mother's attendance on this lady, and on several others. She made the beds for all their relatives, helped them to dress, and washed up the dishes; in short, waited upon the whole party as if she had been accustomed all her life to servile occupations. With true virtue, she even showed no repugnance at anything, but preserved throughout her usual sweet serenity of temper. Her consolation was to mount up twice a week to an upper story, under pretence of breathing the fresh air, but in reality to obtain a view from the window of her children in the garden beneath. She had contrived to keep up some correspondence outside, and they came at the stated hour, under the care of their tutor. Occasionally she managed to receive notes from him, or to send him one. An extract from the last she wrote, and when she felt an eternal separation impending, shows the strength of her piety:
"God sustains me, and will, I am convinced, to the end. Farewell! Be assured that my gratitude toward you will accompany me above. But for you, what would have been my children's fate? Farewell, Alexis, Alfred, Euphemia! Bear God in your hearts every day of your lives; attach yourselves steadfastly to him; pray for your father, and for his true happiness; remember your mother also, and that her sole desire has been for your eternal welfare. I hope to be re-united with you in the bosom of God, and in that hope give my last blessing to you all."
These words show a soul which could not be ill prepared for death. When hastily summoned one day to leave the Luxembourg for the Conciergerie, a certain road to execution, both Madame de Noailles and her mother were quite ready. Madame d'Ayen had the "Imitation" open at that beautiful chapter on the cross. Hastily writing on a scrap of paper—"Courage, my children, and pray"—she put it in as a mark, and begged the Duchesse d'Orléans, if her life were spared, to give it to them. This commission was faithfully executed, and the little book still exists, showing [{256}] traces of Madame d'Ayen's last tears as she named her daughters.
The poor old maréchale scarcely knew what was going on, but followed mechanically. The Conciergerie was crowded, and afforded small accommodation for new-comers. Madame de Noailles thought it useless to sleep that night. When her mother pressed her to lie down a little, she said, "Why seek repose on the brink of eternity?" Early next morning all three were astir, and persuaded each other to break their fast, for no dinner had been provided on the previous evening. Madame de Noailles insisted on dressing both her mother and grandmother, whispering, "Have good courage, mamma; there is only one hour more!"
But nearly the whole day passed in terrible expectation. Not till five in the afternoon came the open carts that were to carry forty condemned prisoners to the Barrière du Trône for execution. Long previous to detention, Madame de Noailles had secured, in case of danger, the services of a good priest—Père Carrichon, of the Oratory. News of their coming fate reached him, and, faithful to his promise, despite the personal risk, he arrived at the prison door in time. The first cart filled and passed out. It contained eight ladies, of whom the last was the old maréchale. In the second were Madame d'Ayen and her daughter; after whom six men took their places.