Originally published in Terrific Register (Sherwood, Jones, and Co.; 1825).
The Countess de Villeneuve de La Florêt is the widow of a nobleman, who, when travelling in France in 1793, was, upon suspicion of an intent to emigrate, dragged from the side of his wife in their carriage, and nailed, or rather crucified on the wall of a barn in a village near Colleure. This act of barbarity was committed in the middle of the day, and a company of citizen-soldiers and soldier-citizens amused themselves during eight hours by firing at him as a target, before death made him insensible of their atrocities.
These republican ruffians, consisting of eighty volunteers, were headed by general Duhem, who regulated the order of his men's firing. The count's legs, thighs, stomach, feet, neck, and right side of the breast, were the parts at which they might take their aim. To make his agonies so much the more lingering, ten men only were permitted to fire during each hour, and at a distance of eighty steps. When they observed that nobleman had expired, his corpse was cut down, and a large fire kindled in the market-place, upon which it was roasted. When ready to be served up, all the young women of the place were put in requisition to assist at a fraternal banquet and, horrid to relate, they were all, under pain of death, obliged by Duhem, who did the honours of the table, to give their opinion of the flavour of the flesh of a roasted aristocrat!
When this patriotic feast was over, a fraternal dance began, and four of the twenty-two women, who from terror fell into fits, were only prevented from becoming victims of another republican auto de fé by the the liberality of some of their relations or friends, who entertained these French anthrophagi with several dozens of wine, which by inebriety relented their cruelty. As soon as the countess saw her husband seized and ill-treated, she fainted away, but was by the presence of mind and fidelity of her maid, carried into a neighbouring cottage, without obstruction from the banditti, who were busy in plundering the carnage, As soon as she had recovered her senses, a faithful guide was hired, who by bye-roads, after many dangers and fatigues, brought her at last safe back to Dijon, where she possessed a house.
Within a month after her return, she was, with her maid, arrested, as suspected, and shut up in a convent, transformed by the republicans into a gaol. During her confinement she was attacked by a brain fever, and continued deprived of her reason, or insensible, for ten months. By this disease her life was preserved, because the Committee of Public Safety had sent orders to transport her with other suspected persons to the Conciergerie prison at Paris, where the guillotine was waiting for her. When the members of the revolutionary committee at Dijon came to execute this order, they found her raving, and therefore judged it impossible to remove her.
After the death of Robespierre, the national seal was taken off, and her maid was permitted to bring the countess back to her house; where, after some months convalescence, she recovered her senses sufficiently to be intrusted with the administration of her property that yet remained unsold. During her imprisonment, and after the murder of her husband, both their names had been put upon the list of emigrants; and seven-eighths of their possessions had, after being confiscated in the name of the nation, been disposed of by public auction as national estates.
This is one of the many examples of revolutionary justice. Numbers of families and persons, during 1793 and 1794, who had never left France, or been abroad in their lives, were classed among emigrants, or proscribed as such, or ruined while they were detained in the republican prisons as suspected, with the revolutionary axe dally suspended over their heads.
The countess was in 1801 as collected as at any period of her life. She transacted business, corresponded with her friends, and conversed in company both reasonably and agreeably, except when any question was discussed concerning the revolution and its horrors, which she considered merely as a dreadful dream of her own. She believed Louis XVI. still reigning upon the throne of his ancestors; her own husband sent on a confidential mission by this prince; and six of her relatives, who had perished during the revolution, concealing themselves only to tease her. Bonaparte was, according to her opinion, an imaginary being, and all the changes she observed around her were supposed by her to be inventions or undertakings merely to delude her.
When she heard any body complain of the losses experienced by the revolution, which was frequently the case, she would exclaim, "Good God! how many persons my dream has made insane! how much do I repent of ever having related it."
A neice, who is her heiress, resided with her, attended and watched her. This young lady by the advice of her friends, had refused to take out an act of lunacy against her aunt, for fear that some national guardians would lay hold of the remainder of their property; and as the countess is sensible and reasonable in all other points but in speaking of the revolution, and as her anti revolutionary mania is very harmless, it would have been cruel to trouble her.
In the spring of 1801 the countess very unexpectedly determined to visit the former court at Versailles, and made her arrangements accordingly. She bespoke a new carriage, ordered new liveries for her servants, and new court-dresses for herself and her neice, who in vain endeavoured to dissuade her from this journey. After many consultations with her friends an expedient was adopted, which accomplished all their wishes. A returned emigrant dressed himself in the uniform of one of the king's former gardes du corps, with a white cockade fastened to his hat. Thus accoutred, he was introduced to the countess the evening before the day fixed for her departure. He informed her that he came on the part of the king, Louis XVI. who forbade her leaving Dijon without his majesty's orders.
The sight of him, and particularly of his white cockade, seemed highly to delight her. She asked him to sit down, declaring, at the same time, her readiness to obey the orders of her sovereign, concerning whom she inquired with all the anxiety of a loyal subject, fearful of having incurred his displeasure. Being assured that the order of the king was not an act of disgrace, but of tenderness for her welfare, commanded besides by political circumstances, until her husband had fulfilled his mission; she inquired whether he dared charge himself with a letter for her friend Count de Montmorin, the minister of the foreign department. Being answered in the affirmative, she sat down and wrote the following lines:
"It is not, my dear Count, that my friendship for you has decreased, but for fear of intruding upon your more precious time, that so long time has elapsed since you heard from me. I intended paying you a visit in person, but am compelled by the king's command to remain where I am till my husband's return. As he must correspond with you, tell him how cruel it is not to send me a single line during so many years, when he must be well acquainted with my discretion. How happy would it have made me to salute the royal family after all what the mad people encompassing me have been raving about them!
"Is not Madame Royal soon to be married? and is no princess yet chosen as a consort for the Dauphin, who will soon be of the same age as his royal parent when he married our amiable queen? Have you heard at court of a man called Bonaparte, and what has he done to turn the brains of so many persons in this town? I am frequently inclined to think that if he exists, he must be a conjuror. Embrace your worthy countess," &c.
The nobleman to whom the letter was addressed had been massacred on the second September, 1792, and his lady was guillotined in May, 1794. Of the royal personages mentioned, the king and queen had perished on the scaffold, and the dauphin had been poisoned in the Temple. Madame Royale was indeed alive, but she lived in exile, and had been married since 1799. What fortunate folly!
After this visit of a pretended garde du corps of her imaginary king, the Countess used to exclaim more frequently: "Oh! how many persons my dream has made insane! how I repent of ever having related it."
Note: Text reformatted for legibility.