Part 12

The cries continued; the heavens grew darker and the rain more violent. We reached the street crossing just in front of the Faubourg St. Antoine. I went forward, looked around, and said to myself, this is the best place to afford them what they so much desire. The cart was going more slowly; I stopped and turned toward them. I made a sign to Madame de Noailles which she entirely understood: 'Mamma, Monsieur Carrichon is about to give us absolution.' Immediately they bent their heads with an air of repentance, contrition, tenderness, hope, and piety.

I raised my hand, and, though with covered head, pronounced the entire formula of absolution, and the words which follow it, very distinctly, and with the deepest earnestness. They joined in this more perfectly than ever. I can never forget the holy picture, worthy of the pencil of Raphael, of that moment when, for them, all was balm and consolation.

Immediately the storm relaxed and the rain diminished. It was as if they had come only to insure the success of what my friends and I had so ardently desired. I blessed God for it, and they did the same. Their appearance showed contentment, security, and cheerfulness.

As we advanced into the Faubourg the eager crowds fell back upon the two sides of the street. They insulted the first ladies, especially the Maréchale; nothing was said to the other two. Sometimes I preceded and sometimes I accompanied the wagons. After passing the Abbey de St. Antoine I met a young man whom I had formerly known; he was a priest whom I had some reason to suspect, and his presence annoyed me. I was afraid of being recognized, but happily I was not; he turned aside, and I did not see him again.

Finally, we arrived at the fatal spot; what went on within me cannot be described. What a moment! What a separation, what grief for the husbands, the children, the sisters, the relatives and friends who should survive them in this vale of tears! 'I see them,' I thought, 'still full of health; they would have been so useful to their families, and in a moment I shall see them no more. How heart-rending it is! But what a great comfort to us to see them so resigned!'

The scaffold appears; the carts come to a stop; the guards surround them; I shudder. A more numerous circle of spectators now is about us; most of them laugh, and are amused at this heart-breaking spectacle. Imagine how terrible a situation it was for me, to be in the midst of such a crowd with my mind agitated by thoughts so different.

While the executioner and his two attendants were assisting the ladies who were in the first cart to descend, Madame de Noailles's eyes wandered around in search of me. At last she saw me. And now there was a repetition of that first ravishing view I had of her. Her expressive eyes, so sweet, so animated, so heavenly, glanced first up to heaven and then down to earth, and finally were fixed so intently upon me that it might have caused me to be remarked if my neighbours had been more attentive. I pulled my hat down over my eyes, but not so as to prevent my seeing her. I seemed to hear her say, 'Our sacrifice is made. We leave our dear ones; but God in his mercy calls us. Our faith is firm. We shall not forget them when we are in his presence. We give you our thanks, and send our tenderest farewells to them. Jesus Christ, who died for us, is our strength. We die in his arms. Farewell! God grant we may all meet again in heaven. Farewell!'

It is impossible to give any idea of her saintly, earnest gestures; there was about her an eloquence so touching that those around me said, 'Ah, see that young woman! How resigned she is! See how she raises her eyes to heaven! See how she is praying! But what good will that do her?' Then on reflection: 'Oh, those wicked parsons!' Having said their last farewells they all descended from the wagon.

I was no longer conscious of anything, being at once heart-broken, grieved, and yet comforted. How I thanked God that I had not delayed giving them absolution till this moment! If I had waited till just as they were mounting the scaffold we could not have been so united in the presence of God to ask and receive this great blessing as we had been in the other place; and that also was the most undisturbed moment of the whole route.

I leave the spot where I had been standing. I pass round to the opposite side while the others are getting out of the wagon. I find myself in front of the wooden stairway by which they were to mount the scaffold, and against which a tall, rather fat old man with white hair and a kindly face was leaning. He looked like a farmer. Near him was a very resigned-looking woman whom I did not know; next came the Maréchale de Noailles, just opposite me, dressed in black taffeta. She had not yet laid aside mourning for the Maréchal. She was seated on a block of wood or stone which happened to be there, her large eyes fixed. I did not forget to pray for her as I had done for so many others, and especially for the Maréchal and Maréchale de Mouchy. All the others were ranged in two lines on the side facing the Faubourg St. Antoine.

I looked around for the ladies; I could only see the mother. Her attitude was that of devotion,--simple, noble, and resigned. Entirely occupied with the sacrifice she was about to offer to God through the merits of the Saviour, his divine son, her eyes were closed; she showed no anxiety, not even as much as when formerly she had had the privilege of approaching the sacred table. I shall never forget the impression she made upon me then. I often picture her to myself in that attitude. God grant that I may profit by it.

The Maréchale de Noailles was the third to mount the altar of sacrifice. It was necessary to cut away the upper part of the neck of her dress so as to expose her throat. I felt as if I could not stand and see it all; yet I wished to drink the cup to the dregs and keep my word, if only God would grant me strength to keep my senses in the face of such a terrible sight.

Six ladies passed on after her. Madame d'Ayen was the tenth. She seemed to me to look pleased that she was to die before her daughter did, and the daughter glad to die after her mother. When she mounted the scaffold the chief executioner pulled off her bonnet. As it was fastened on by a pin which he did not take out, the pain caused by having her hair dragged out with it was evident in her countenance.

The mother's life was ended. How I grieved to see that young lady, looking in her white dress even younger than she really was, sweet and gentle as a little lamb, led to the slaughter. I felt as though I were present at the martyrdom of one of those holy young virgins represented in the pictures of the great masters.

The same thing which occurred in her mother's case happened in hers,--the same oversight as to the pin, the same pain, the same calm, the same death! How the red blood flowed down from her head and her throat!

'Now she is happy!' I cried to myself as I saw her body thrown into the horrible coffin.

May the all-powerful and all-merciful God grant to their family every blessing they may desire, and that I ask for my own, and bring us all together with those who have gone before into that abode where there is no more Revolution, into that country which shall have, as Saint Augustine says,--

'Truth for its King, Charity for its Law, And Eternity for its Duration'.

Footnote 14:

This friend whom Father Carrichon met was Father Brun, Priest of the Oratory, jointly with whom I had charge, at Juilly, of the Hall of the _Minimes_ (the youngest pupils of the College), among whom were Messieurs Alexis and Alfred de Noailles. I had informed Monsieur Brun on the same day as Monsieur Carrichon (July 22, 1794) of our anxieties and our desires for Mesdames de Noailles. These two friends met in the Rue de Faubourg St. Antoine, accompanied the victims, gave them their blessing, and did not withdraw until after the completion of the final sacrifice.--_Note by Monsieur Grelet_.

LETTER FROM MADAME LA DUCHESSE DE DURAS, Née NOAILLES, TO MONSIEUR GRELET.

Be of good courage and He shall strengthen your heart, all ye that hope in the Lord.--Ps. xxxi. 24.

How much you need to apply these sacred words to yourself in the trying situation in which Providence has placed you! We have already tested your courage in a most wonderful way; it will not fail you, because it rests on the law of God, and in him alone you have put your trust. What would the father and mother of these unfortunate children feel if you should abandon them? But what am I saying? They will deserve the continuation of your tender cares on account of their sweetness and perfect obedience. I love to believe that they will inherit some of the virtues of the angel whom we mourn. That lovely mother opened her pure heart to you; you should inculcate in her children all that she valued, all that she felt. She regarded you as their brother, and treated you as such. It is as a sister, and also one who shared her confidence, that I am now speaking to you; for I am not sure of having an opportunity of telling you with my lips all I think. If Heaven spares my life it will be a precious moment to me (who could imagine one more so?) when I find myself once more with you and them, talking together of our dear lost ones, and encouraging one another to profit by their admirable examples. We will say to them, 'Be Christians and you will be faithful to every duty; study human sciences, because they will help you to be useful to humanity; but above all, and before everything else, be good.'

I think it is necessary that they should know perfectly well how to calculate, etc.

I have given up everything; I have ceased to think of anything earthly, and keep my mind fixed upon heaven. I must close. I am, perhaps, speaking to you for the last time. I know not what Providence has in store for me; but whatever it may be I shall never cease to remember the debt I owe you, which can only be equalled by my confidence in you.

EXTRACT FROM THE 'MÉMORIAL EUROPÉEN,' APRIL 24, 1809.

Near the old village of Picpus, now a part of the Faubourg St. Antoine, under the walls of the garden which belonged to the canoness of St. Augustine, in a bit of ground not more than thirty feet in length, repose thirteen hundred and fifteen victims beheaded at the Barrière du Throne between the 26th Prairial and the 9th Thermidor in the second year of the Republic.

Widows, orphans, and mothers left comfortless, and without support, swallowed their tears in secret, and dared not even ask for their dead the right of burial. In times like those, tears had ceased to be innocent, and the tomb to be a refuge. These unhappy creatures contented themselves with commending the remains of their loved ones to Him whose eye is ever upon the living and the dead; but they knew not whose hand buried them, nor even the spot of earth where they were laid.

But a Sister as brave as she was tender, Madame Amélie-Zéphirine de Salm-Kirbourg, Princess of Hohenzollern, sister of Frédérick, Prince of Salm, gained from her great grief a strength which others seemed to lose. She had, I may say, watched over the last moments of her brother's life, had seen the blow which ended his days, the wagon which bore away his remains, the earth which received them. She bought the spot of ground, scarcely sufficient to cover the victims who had just been buried there; she had it enclosed by a wall, and she protected it from profanation, hoping that pious sorrow would some day consecrate these new catacombs. This prayer of fraternal piety has been heard; it has been fulfilled by two sisters, Mesdames de la Fayette and de Montagu, worthy imitators of such an example, for they were themselves worthy of setting it. They both belonged to one of those patrician families which had remained sound in the midst of an age despoiled of virtue, like an obelisk in the midst of a desert; both were daughters, granddaughters, sisters, and were related to and nearly connected with several victims beheaded at the Barrière du Throne. One of them, whose days were fewer than her good works, died last year, leaving in the world, in which she has lived only to be wife and mother, a void difficult to fill; the other, with a broken heart, a worn-out body, and her fortune all lost, still finds comfort for the sorrowful, solace for the suffering, and help for the poor. These two noble and pious women began by purchasing a portion of the ground belonging to the nuns; and upon the ruins of the cells they have caused to be built a modest oratory. The innocence of the former occupants must help to make effectual the prayers to be offered there. The august symbol of our redemption has now been placed above this funeral enclosure; a priest has been sent there by the Grand Vicars of Paris; an annual service has been appointed there; and the blood of a Divine Victim has been offered upon this altar for the repose of the souls of all these distinguished dead.

This was doubtless sufficient for the dignity and consolation of all these Christian spirits, but not to satisfy the tender pity of their families and friends. The chapel and the cemetery were separated from each other by the garden of the nuns. It was resolved to unite them by purchasing this valuable bit of ground, which contains more than four _arpents_. A subscription was started. A circular was drawn up by a man noted for talent and integrity,[15] who for thirty years has declared himself the defender of all those whose misfortunes were most noble and touching. Generous emotion responded to the appeal of eloquent sensibility, and subscriptions were soon obtained to the amount of forty thousand francs. By the side of the proudest and most cherished names of France one cannot see without emotion the unknown names and small donations of several faithful servants who brought their humble offerings to lay at the feet of their old masters and at the base of the new altar. The whole of the piece of ground was at last purchased; and for two years and a half the same enclosure has surrounded the victims and the oratory of the dead. The ashes of the fathers have become the property of the children; the children will transmit it to their descendants. This monument will remain as a sorrowful reparation for the past and an impressive lesson to the future.

Here every day the holy sacrifice is offered up for all the victims of the Revolution; here are celebrated every year for those buried in this spot two solemn services,--one on Low Sunday week and the other on the day corresponding to the 9th Thermidor; here on last Monday, the 11th of this month, a congregation gathered to celebrate the anniversary. After the service at the chapel, which was remarkable only for the number and emotion of those present, the attendants went in procession, according to custom, into the Champ des Martyrs.

In the middle there is a bit of rising ground shaded by cypress and poplar trees, whose tall waving branches remind us of the vanity of our earthly hopes, and point to where they should be fixed; while a cross surmounting a pyramid, whose base is planted upon all these vanished sources of happiness, seems to call all the descendants of the victims to its outstretched arms. The funeral memorial service began, and the faithful, on their knees, alternately repeated the melancholy stanzas of the psalm which mourns and hopes.

Footnote 15:

Monsieur Lally-Tollendal.

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Transcriber's note:

1. Unusual or inconsistent spellings in English were retained.

Afterward Fulness Gayety Wagoner.

1a. In all French Names, Titles, Place-names the spelling and accentation of French words were retained.

2. Footnotes were consecutively numbered through the entire volume.