Our abode becomes daily more crouded; and I obſerve, that the greater part of thoſe now arreſted are farmers. This appears ſtrange enough, when we conſider how much the revolutionary perſecution has hitherto ſpared this claſs of people; and you will naturally enquire why it has at length reached them.
It has been often obſerved, that the two extremes of ſociety are nearly the ſame in all countries; the great reſemble each other from education, the little from nature. Compariſons, therefore, of morals and mannerſ ſhould be drawn from the intervening claſſes; yet from this compariſon alſo I believe we muſt exclude farmers, who are every where the ſame, and who ſeem always more marked by profeſſional ſimilitude than national diſtinction.
The French farmer exhibits the ſame acuteneſs in all that regards his own intereſt, and the ſame ſtupidity on moſt other occaſions, as the mere Engliſh one; and the ſame objects which enlarge the underſtanding and dilate the heart of other people, ſeem to have a contrary effect on both. They contemplate the objects of nature as the ſtock-jobber does the viciſſitudes of the public funds: "the dews of heaven," and the enlivening orb by which they are diſpelled, are to the farmer only objects of avaricious ſpeculation; and the ſcarcity, which is partially profitable, is but too often more welcome than a general abundance.—They conſider nothing beyond the limits of their own farms, except for the purpoſe of making envious compariſons with thoſe of their neighbours; and being fed and clothed almoſt without intermediate commerce, they have little neceſſity for communication, and are nearly as iſolated a part of ſociety as ſailors themſelves.
The French revolutioniſts have not been unobſerving of theſe circumſtances, nor ſcrupulous of profiting by them: they knew they might have diſcuſſed for ever their metaphyſical definitions of the rights of man, without reaching the comprehenſion, or exciting the intereſt, of the country people; but that if they would not underſtand the propagation of the rights of man, they would very eaſily comprehend an abolition of the rights of their landlords. Accordingly, the firſt principle of liberty they were taught from the new code was, that they had a right to aſſemble in arms, to force the ſurrender of title-deeds; and their firſt revolutionary notions of equality and property ſeem to have been manifeſted by the burning of chateaux, and refuſing to pay their rents. They were permitted to intimidate their landlords, in order to force them to emigration, and either to ſell their eſtates at a low price, or leave them to the mercy of the tenants.
At a time when the neceſſities of the ſtate had been great enough to be made the pretext of a dreadful revolution, they were not only almoſt exempt from contributing to its relief, but were enriched by the common diſtreſs; and while the reſt of their countrymen beheld with unavailing regret their property gradually replaced by ſcraps of paper, the peaſantſ became inſolent and daring by impunity, refuſed to ſell but for ſpecie, and were daily amaſſing wealth. It is not therefore to be wondered at, that they were partial to the new order of things. The priſons might have overflowed or been thinned by the miſeries of thoſe with whom they had been crowded—the Revolutionary Tribunal might have ſacrificed half France, and theſe ſelfiſh citizens, I fear, would have beheld it tranquilly, had not the requiſition forced their labourers to the army, and the "maximum" lowered the price of their corn. The exigency of the war, and an internal ſcarcity, having rendered theſe meaſures neceſſary, and it being found impoſſible to perſuade the farmers into a peaceful compliance with them, the government has had recourſe to its uſual ſummary mode of expoſtulation—a priſon or the Guillotine.*
* The avarice of the farmers was doubtleſs to be condemned, but the cruel deſpotiſm of the government almoſt weakened our ſenſe of rectitude; for by confounding error with guilt, and guilt with innocence, they habituated us to indiſcriminate pity, and obliged uſ to tranſfer our hatred of a crime to thoſe who in puniſhing it, obſerved neither mercy nor juſtice. A farmer was guillotined, becauſe ſome blades of corn appeared growing in one of his ponds; from which circumſtance it was inferred, he had thrown in a large quantity, in order to promote a ſcarcity—though it waſ ſubſtantially proved on his trial, that at the preceding harveſt the grain of an adjoining field had been got in during a high wind, and that in all probability ſome ſcattered ears which reached the water had produced what was deemed ſufficient teſtimony to convict him.— Another underwent the ſame puniſhment for purſuing his uſual courſe of tillage, and ſowing part of his ground with lucerne, inſtead of employing the whole for wheat; and every where theſe people became the objects of perſecution, both in their perſons and property. "Almoſt all our conſiderable farmers have been thrown into priſon; the conſequence is, that their capital is eat up, their ſtock gone to ruin, and our lands have loſt the almoſt incalculable effect of their induſtry. In La Vendee ſix million acres of land lie uncultivated, and five hundred thouſand oxen have been turned aſtray, without ſhelter and without an owner." Speech of Dubois Crance, Sept. 22, 1794.
—Amazed to find themſelves the objects of a tyranny they had hitherto contributed to ſupport, and ſharing the miſfortune of their Lords and Clergy, theſe ignorant and miſtaken people wander up and down with a vacant ſort of ruefulneſs, which ſeems to beſpeak that they are far from comprehending or being ſatiſfied with this new ſpecimen of republicaniſm.—It has been a fatality attending the French through the whole revolution, that the different claſſes have too readily facilitated the ſacrifice of each other; and the Nobility, the Clergy, the Merchant, and the Farmer, have the mortification of experiencing, that their ſelfiſh and illiberal policy has anſwered no purpoſe but to involve all in one common ruin.
Angelique has contrived to-day to negotiate the ſale of ſome bracelets, which a lady, with whom I was acquainted previous to our detention, haſ very obligingly given almoſt half their value for, though not without many injunctions to ſecreſy, and as many implied panegyrics on her benevolence, in riſking the odium of affording aſſiſtance to a foreigner. We are, I aſſure you, under the neceſſity of being oeconomiſts, where the moſt abundant wealth could not render us externally comfortable: and the little we procure, by a clandeſtine diſpoſal of my unneceſſary trinkets, is conſiderably diminiſhed,* by arbitrary impoſitions of the guard and the poor,** and a voluntary tax from the miſery that ſurrounds us.
* I am aware of Mr. Burke's pleaſantry on the expreſſion of very little, being greatly diminiſhed; but my exchequer at this time waſ as well calculated to prove the infinite diviſibility of matter, aſ that of the Welch principality. ** The guards of the republican Baſtilles were paid by the priſonerſ they contained; and, in many places, the tax for this purpoſe waſ levied with indecent rigour. It might indeed be ſuppoſed, that people already in priſon could have little to apprehend from an inability or unwillingneſs to ſubmit to ſuch an impoſition; yet thoſe who refuſed were menaced with a dungeon; and I was informed, from undoubted authority, of two inſtances of the ſort among the Engliſh—the one a young woman, the other a perſon with a large family of children, who were on the point of ſuffering thiſ treatment, but that the humanity of ſome of their companionſ interfered and paid the ſum exacted of them. The tax for ſupporting the impriſoned poor was more willingly complied with, though not leſs iniquitous in its principle; numbers of inoffenſive and induſtrious people were taken from their homes on account of their religion, or other frivolous pretexts, and not having the wherewithal to maintain themſelves in confinement, inſtead of being kept by the republic, were ſupported by their fellow-priſoners, in conſequence of a decree to that purpoſe. Families who inherited nothing from their noble anceſtors but their names, were dragged from obſcurity only to become objects of perſecution; and one in particular, conſiſting of nine perſons, who lived in extreme indigence, but were notwithſtanding of the proſcribed claſs; the ſons were brought wounded from the army and lodged with the father, mother, and five younger children in a priſon, where they had ſcarcely food to ſupport, or clothing to cover them. I take this opportunity of doing juſtice to the Comte d'Artois, whoſe youthful errors did not extinguiſh his benevolence—the unfortunate people in queſtion having enjoyed a penſion from him until the revolution deprived them of it.
Our male companions are for the moſt part tranſferred to other priſons, and among the number are two young Engliſhmen, with whom I uſed ſometimeſ to converſe in French, without acknowledging our compatriotiſm. They have told me, that when the decree for arreſting the Engliſh was received at Amiens, they happened to be on a viſit, a few miles from the town; and having notice that a party of horſe were on the road to take them, willing to gain time at leaſt, they eſcaped by another route, and got home. The republican conſtables, for I can call the military employed in the interior by no better appellation, finding their prey had taken flight, adopted the impartial juſtice of the men of Charles Town,* and carried off the old couple (both above ſeventy) at whoſe houſe they had been.
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* "But they maturely having weigh'd
"They had no more but him o'th'trade, "Reſolved to ſpare him, yet to do "The Indian Hoghan-Moghan too "Impartial juſtice—in his ſtead did "Hang an old weaver that was bed-rid." |
The good man, who was probably not verſed in the etiquette of the revolution, conceived nothing of the matter, and when at the end of their journey they were depoſited at the Bicetre, his head was ſo totally deranged, that he imagined himſelf ſtill in his own houſe, and continued for ſome days addreſſing all the priſoners as though they were hiſ gueſtſ—at one moment congratulating them on their arrival, the next apologizing for want of room and accommodation.—The evaſion of the young men, as you will conclude, availed them nothing, except a delay of their captivity for a few hours.
A report has circulated amongſt us to-day, that all who are not detained on ſpecific charges are ſoon to be liberated. This is eagerly believed by the new-comers, and thoſe who are not the "pale converts of experience." I am myſelf ſo far from crediting it, that I dread leſt it ſhould be the harbinger of ſome new evil, for I know not whether it be from the effect of chance, or a refinement in atrocity, but I have generally found every meaſure which tended to make our ſituation more miſerable preceded by theſe flattering rumours.
You would ſmile to ſee with what anxious credulity intelligence of thiſ ſort is propagated: we ſtop each other on the ſtairs and liſten while our palled dinner, juſt arrived from the traiteur, is cooling; and the bucket of the draw-well hangs ſuſpended while a hiſtory is finiſhed, of which the relator knows as little as the hearer, and which, after all, proveſ to have originated in ſome ambiguous phraſe of our keeper, uttered in a good-humoured paroxyſm while receiving a douceur.
We occaſionally loſe ſome of our aſſociates, who, having obtained their diſcharge, depart a la Francaiſe, forget their ſuffering, and praiſe the clemency of Dumont, and the virtue of the Convention; while thoſe who remain ſtill unconverted amuſe themſelves in conjecturing the channel through which ſuch favours were ſolicited, and alleging reaſons why ſuch preferences were partial and unjuſt.
Dumont viſits us, as uſual, receives an hundred or two of petitions, which he does not deign to read, and reſerves his indulgence for thoſe who have the means of aſſailing him through the ſmiles of a favourite miſtreſs, or propitiating him by more ſubſtantial advantages.—Many of the emigrantſ' wives have procured their liberty by being divorced, and in this there is nothing blameable, for I imagine the greater number conſider it only as a temporary expedient, indifferent in itſelf, and which they are juſtified in having recourſe to for the protection of their perſons and property. But theſe domeſtic alienations are not confined to thoſe who once moved in the higher orders of ſociety—the monthly regiſters announce almoſt as many divorces as marriages, and the facility of ſeparation has rendered the one little more than a licentiouſ compact, which the other is conſidered as a means of diſſolving. The effect of the revolution has in this, as in many other caſes, been to make the little emulate the vices of the great, and to introduce a more groſs and deſtructive policy among the people at large, than exiſted in the narrow circle of courtiers, imitators of the Regent, or Louis the fifteenth. Immorality, now conſecrated as a principle, is far more pernicious than when, though practiſed, it was condemned, and, though ſuffered, not ſanctioned.
You muſt forgive me if I ennuye you a little ſententiouſly—I was more partial to the lower ranks of life in France, than to thoſe who were deemed their ſuperiors; and I cannot help beholding with indignant regret the laſt aſylums of national morals thus invaded by the general corruption.—I believe no one will diſpute that the revolution haſ rendered the people more vicious; and, without conſidering the matter either in a moral or religious point of view, it is impoſſible to aſſert that they are not leſs happy. How many times, when I was at liberty, have I heard the old wiſh for an acceſſion of years, or envy thoſe yet too young to be ſenſible of "the miſeries of a revolution!"—Were the vanity of the ſelf-ſufficient philoſopher ſuſceptible of remorſe, would he not, when he beholds this country, lament his preſumption, in ſuppoſing he had a right to cancel the wiſdom of paſt ages; or that the happineſs of mankind might be promoted by the deſtruction of their morals, and the depravation of their ſocial affections?—Yours, &c.
For ſome years previous to the revolution, there were ſeveral points in which the French aſcribed to themſelves a ſuperiority not very diſtant from perfection. Amongſt theſe were philoſophy, politeneſs, the refinements of ſociety, and, above all, the art of living.—I have ſometimes, as you know, been inclined to diſpute theſe claims; yet, if it be true that in our ſublunary career perfection is not ſtationary, and that, having reached the apex of the pyramid on one ſide, we muſt neceſſarily deſcend on the other, I might, on this ground, allow ſuch pretenſions to be more reaſonable than I then thought them. Whatever progreſs might have been attained in theſe reſpects, or however near our neighbours might have approached to one extreme, it is but too certain they are now rapidly declining to the other. This boaſted philoſophy iſ become a horrid compound of all that is offenſive to Heaven, and diſgraceful to man—this politeneſs, a ferocious incivility—and thiſ ſocial elegance and excluſive ſcience in the enjoyment of life, are now reduced to ſuſpicious intercourſe, and the want of common neceſſaries.
If the national vanity only were wounded, perhaps I might ſmile, though I hope I ſhould not triumph; but when I ſee ſo much miſery accompany ſo profound a degradation, my heart does not accord with my language, if I ſeem to do either one or the other.
I ſhould ineffectually attempt to deſcribe the circumſtances and ſituation which have given riſe to theſe reflections. Imagine to yourſelf whatever tyranny can inflict, or human nature ſubmit to— whatever can be the reſult of unreſtrained wickedneſs and unreſiſting deſpair—all that can ſcourge or diſgrace a people—and you may form ſome idea of the actual ſtate of this country: but do not ſearch your bookſ for compariſons, or expect to find in the proſcriptions and extravagancies of former periods any examples by which to judge the preſent.—Tiberius and Nero are on the road to oblivion, and the ſubjectſ of the Lama may boaſt comparative pretenſions to rank as a free and enlightened nation.
The frantic ebullitions of the revolutionary government are now as it were ſubſided, and inſtead of appearing the temporary reſources of "deſpotiſm in diſtreſs," [Burke.] have aſſumed the form of a permanent and regular ſyſtem. The agitation occaſioned by ſo many unexampled ſcenes is ſucceeded by an habitual terror, and this depreſſing ſentiment has ſo pervaded all ranks, that it would be difficult to find an individual, however obſcure or inoffenſive, who deems his property, or even his exiſtence, ſecure only for a moment. The ſound of a bell or a knocker at the cloſe of the evening is the ſignal of diſmay. The inhabitants of the houſe regard each other with looks of fearful interrogation—all the precautions hitherto taken appear inſufficient— every one recollects ſomething yet to be ſecreted—a prayer-book, an unburied ſilver ſpoon, or a few aſſignats "a face royale," are haſtily ſcrambled together, and if the viſit prove nothing more than an amicable domiciliary one, in ſearch of arms and corn, it forms matter of congratulation for a week after. Yet ſuch is the ſubmiſſion of the people to a government they abhor, that it is ſcarcely thought requiſite now to arreſt any perſon formally: thoſe whom it is intended to ſecure often receive nothing more than a written mandate* to betake themſelveſ to a certain priſon, and ſuch unpleaſant rendezvous are attended with more punctuality than the moſt ceremonious viſit, or the moſt gallant aſſignation.
* Theſe reſcripts were uſually couched in the following terms:— "Citizen, you are deſired to betake yourſelf immediately to ———, (naming the priſon,) under pain of being conveyed there by an armed force in caſe of delay."
—A few neceſſaries are haſtily packed together, the adieus are made, and, after a walk to their priſon, they lay their beds down in the corner allotted, juſt as if it were a thing of courſe.
It was a general obſervation with travellers, that the roads in France were ſolitary, and had rather the deſerted appearance of the route of a caravan, than of the communications between different parts of a rich and populous kingdom. This, however, is no longer true, and, as far as I can learn, they are now ſufficiently crowded—not, indeed, by curiouſ itinerants, parties of pleaſure, or commercial induſtry, but by Deputieſ of the Convention,* agents of ſubſiſtence,** committee men, Jacobin miſſionaries,*** troops poſting from places where inſurrection is juſt quelled to where it has juſt begun, beſides the great and never-failing ſource of activity, that of conveying ſuſpected people from their homeſ to priſon, and from one priſon to another.—
* Every department was infeſted by one, two, or more of theſe ſtrolling Deputies; and, it muſt be confeſſed, the conſtant tendency of the people to revolt in many places afforded them ſufficient employment. Sometimes they acted as legiſlators, making laws on the ſpot—ſometimes, both as judges and conſtableſ—or, if occaſion required, they amuſed themſelves in aſſiſting the executioner.—The migrations of obſcure men, armed with unlimited powers, and whoſe perſons were unknown, was a ſtrong temptation to impoſture, and in ſeveral places adventurers were detected aſſuming the character of Deputies, for various purpoſes of fraud and depredation.—The following inſtance may appear ludicrous, but I ſhall be excuſed mentioning it, as it is a fact on record, and conveys an idea of what the people ſuppoſed a Deputy might do, conſiſtent with the "dignity" of his executive functions. An itinerant of this ſort, whoſe object ſeems to have been no more than to procure a daily maintenance, arriving hungry in a village, entered the firſt farm-houſe that preſented itſelf, and immediately put a pig in requiſition, ordered it to be killed, and ſome ſauſageſ to be made, with all ſpeed. In the meanwhile our mock-legiſlator, who ſeems to have acted his part perfectly well, talked of liberty, l'amour de la Patrie, of Pitt and the coaleſced tyrants, of arreſting ſuſpicious people and rewarding patriots; ſo that the whole village thought themſelves highly fortunate in the preſence of a Deputy who did no worſe than harangue and put their pork in requiſiton.—Unfortunately, however, before the repaſt of ſauſageſ could be prepared, a hue and cry reached the place, that thiſ gracious Repreſentant was an impoſtor! He was bereft of hiſ dignities, conveyed to priſon, and afterwards tried by the Tribunal Revolutionnaire at Paris; but his Counſel, by inſiſting on the mildneſs with which he had "borne his faculties," contrived to get his puniſhment mitigated to a ſhort impriſonment.—Another ſuffered death on a ſomewhat ſimilar account; or, as the ſentence expreſſed it, for degrading the character of a National Repreſentative.—Juſt Heaven! for degrading the character of a National Repreſentative!!! —and this too after the return of Carrier from Nantes, and the publication of Collot d'Herboiſ' maſſacres at Lyonſ! **The agents employed by government in the purchaſe of ſubſiſtence amounted, by official confeſſion, to ten thouſand. In all partſ they were to be ſeen, rivalling each other, and creating ſcarcity and famine, by requiſitions and exactions, which they did not convert to the profit of the republic, but to their own.—Theſe privileged locuſts, beſides what they ſeized upon, occaſioned a total ſtagnation of commerce, by laying embargoes on what they did not want; ſo that it frequently occurred that an unfortunate tradeſman might have half the articles in his ſhop under requiſition for a month together, and ſometimes under different requiſitionſ from deputies, commiſſaries of war, and agents of ſubſiſtence, all at once; nor could any thing be diſpoſed of till ſuch claims were ſatiſfied or relinquiſhed. *** Jacobin miſſionaries were ſent from Paris, and other great towns, to keep up the ſpirits of the people, to explain the benefitſ of the revolution, (which, indeed, were not very apparent,) and to maintain the connection between the provincial and metropolitan ſocieties.—I remember the Deputies on miſſion at Perpignan writing to the Club at Paris for a reinforcement of civic apoſtles, "pour evangeliſer les habitans et les mettre dans la voie de ſalut"—("to convert the inhabitants, and put them in the road to ſalvation").
—Theſe movements are almoſt entirely confined to the official travellerſ of the republic; for, beſides the ſcarcity of horſes, the increaſe of expence, and the diminution of means, few people are willing to incur the ſuſpicion or hazard* attendant on quitting their homes, and every poſſible obſtacle is thrown in the way of a too general intercourſe between the inhabitants of large towns.
* There were moments when an application for a paſſport was certain of being followed by a mandat d'arret—(a writ of arreſt). The applicant was examined minutely as to the buſineſs he was going upon, the perſons he was to tranſact it with, and whether the journey was to be performed on horſeback or in a carriage, and any ſigns of impatience or diſtaſte at thoſe democratic ceremonies were ſufficient to conſtitute "un homme ſuſpect"—("a ſuſpiciouſ perſon"), or at leaſt one "ſoupconne d'etre ſuſpect," that is, a man ſuſpected of being ſuſpicious. In either caſe it was uſually deemed expedient to prevent the diſſemination of his ſuppoſed principles, by laying an embargo on his perſon.—I knew a man under perſecution ſix months together, for having gone from one department to another to ſee his family.
The committee of Public Welfare is making rapid advances to an abſolute concentration of the ſupreme power, and the convention, while they are the inſtruments of oppreſſing the whole country, are themſelves become inſignificant, and, perhaps, leſs ſecure than thoſe over whom they tyrannize. They ceaſe to debate, or even to ſpeak; but if a member of the Committee aſcends the tribune, they overwhelm him with applauſeſ before they know what he has to ſay, and then paſs all the decreeſ preſented to them more implicitly than the moſt obſequious Parliament ever enregiſtered an arrete of the Court; happy if, by way of compenſation, they attract a ſmile from Barrere, or eſcape the ominouſ glances of Robeſpierre.*
* When a member of the committee looked inauſpiciouſly at a ſubordinate accomplice, the latter ſcarce ventured to approach hiſ home for ſome time.—Legendre, who has ſince boaſted ſo continually about his courage, is ſaid to have kept his bed, and Bourdon de l'Oiſe, to have loſt his ſenſes for a conſiderable time, from frights, the conſequence of ſuch menaces.
Having ſo far deſcribed the ſituation of public affairs, I proceed aſ uſual, and for which I have the example of Pope, who never quits a ſubject without introducing himſelf, to ſome notice of my own. It is not only bad in itſelf, but worſe in perſpective than ever: yet I learn not to murmur, and derive patience from the certainty, that almoſt every part of France is more oppreſſed and wretched than we are.—Yours, etc.
The individual ſufferings of the French may perhaps yet admit of increaſe; but their humiliation as a people can go no farther; and if it were not certain that the acts of the government are congenial to itſ principles, one might ſuppoſe this tyranny rather a moral experiment on the extent of human endurance, than a political ſyſtem.
Either the vanity or cowardice of Robeſpierre is continually ſuggeſting to him plots for his aſſaſſination; and on pretexts, at once abſurd and atrocious, a whole family, with near ſeventy other innocent people aſ accomplices, have been ſentenced to death by a formal decree of the convention.
One might be inclined to pity a people obliged to ſuppreſs their indignation on ſuch an event, but the mind revolts when addreſſes are preſented from all quarters to congratulate this monſter's pretended eſcape, and to ſolicit a farther ſacrifice of victims to his revenge.— The aſſaſſins of Henry the Fourth had all the benefit of the laws, and ſuffered only after a legal condemnation; yet the unfortunate Cecilia Renaud, though evidently in a ſtate of mental derangement, was hurried to the ſcaffold without a hearing, for the vague utterance of a truth, to which every heart in France, not loſt to humanity, muſt aſſent. Brooding over the miſeries of her country, till her imagination became heated and diſordered, this young woman ſeems to have conceived ſome hopeleſs plan of redreſs from expoſtulation with Robeſpierre, whom ſhe regarded as a principal in all the evils ſhe deplored. The difficulty of obtaining an audience of him irritated her to make ſome compariſon between an hereditary ſovereign and a republican deſpot; and ſhe avowed, that, in deſiring to ſee Robeſpierre, ſhe was actuated only by a curioſity to "contemplate the features of a tyrant."—On being examined by the Committee, ſhe ſtill perſiſted that her deſign was "ſeulement pour voir comment etoit fait un tyrant;" and no inſtrument nor poſſible means of deſtruction was found upon her to juſtify a charge of any thing more than the wild and enthuſiaſtic attachment to royaliſm, which ſhe did not attempt to diſguiſe. The influence of a feminine propenſity, which often ſurvives even the wreck of reaſon and beauty, had induced her to dreſſ with peculiar neatneſs, when ſhe went in ſearch of Robeſpierre; and, from the complexion of the times, ſuppoſing it very probable a viſit of thiſ nature might end in impriſonment and death, ſhe had alſo provided herſelf with a change of clothes to wear in her laſt moments.
Such an attention in a beautiful girl of eighteen was not very unnatural; yet the mean and cruel wretches who were her judges, had the littleneſſ to endeavour at mortifying, by diveſting her of her ornaments, and covering her with the moſt loathſome rags. But a mind tortured to madneſs by the ſufferings of her country, was not likely to be ſhaken by ſuch puerile malice; and, when interrogated under this diſguiſe, ſhe ſtill preſerved the ſame firmneſs, mingled with contempt, which ſhe had diſplayed when firſt apprehended. No accuſation, nor even implication, of any perſon could be drawn from her, and her only confeſſion was that of a paſſionate loyalty: yet an univerſal conſpiracy was nevertheleſſ decreed by the Convention to exiſt, and Miſs Renaud, with ſixty-nine others,* were ſentenced to the guillotine, without farther trial than merely calling over their names.
* It is worthy of remark, that the ſixty-nine people executed aſ accomplices of Miſs Renaud, except her father, mother, and aunt, were totally unconnected with her, or with each other, and had been collected from different priſons, between which no communication could have ſubſiſted.
—They were conducted to the ſcaffold in a ſort of red frocks, intended, as was alleged, to mark them as aſſaſſinſ—but, in reality, to prevent the crowd from diſtinguiſhing or receiving any impreſſion from the number of young and intereſting females who were compriſed in this dreadful ſlaughter.—They met death with a courage which ſeemed almoſt to diſappoint the malice of their tyrants, who, in an original exceſs of barbarity, are ſaid to have lamented that their power of inflicting could not reach thoſe mental faculties which enabled their victims to ſuffer with fortitude.*
* Fouquier Tinville, public accuſer of the Revolutionary Tribunal, enraged at the courage with which his victims ſubmitted to their fate, had formed the deſign of having them bled previous to their execution; hoping by this means to weaken their ſpirits, and that they might, by a puſillanimous behaviour in their laſt moments, appear leſs intereſting to the people.
Such are the horrors now common to almoſt every part of France: the priſons are daily thinned by the ravages of the executioner, and again repeopled by inhabitants deſtined to the fate of their predeceſſors. A gloomy reſerve, and a ſort of uncertain foreboding, have taken poſſeſſion of every body—no one ventures to communicate his thoughts, even to hiſ neareſt friend—relations avoid each other—and the whole ſocial ſyſtem ſeems on the point of being diſſolved. Thoſe who have yet preſerved their freedom take the longeſt circuit, rather than paſs a republican Baſtille; or, if obliged by neceſſity to approach one, it is with downcaſt or averted looks, which beſpeak their dread of incurring the ſuſpicion of humanity.
I ſay little of my own feelings; they are not of a nature to be relieved by pathetic expreſſions: "I am e'en ſick at heart." For ſome time I have ſtruggled both againſt my own evils, and the ſhare I take in the general calamity, but my mortal part gives way, and I can no longer reſiſt the deſpondency which at times depreſſes me, and which indeed, more than the danger attending it, has occaſioned my abandoning my pen for the laſt month.—Several circumſtances have occurred within theſe few days, to add to the uneaſineſs of our ſituation, and my own apprehenſions. Le Bon,* whoſe cruelties at Arras ſeem to have endeared him to his colleagues in the Convention, has had his powers extended to this department, and Andre Dumont is recalled; ſo that we are hourly menaced with the preſence of a monſter, compared to whom our own repreſentative is amiable.—
* I have already noticed the cruel and ferocious temper of Le Bon, and the maſſacres of his tribunals are already well known. I will only add ſome circumſtances which not only may be conſidered aſ characteriſtic of this tyrant, but of the timeſ—and I fear I may add of the people, who ſuffered and even applauded them. They are ſelected from many others not ſuſceptible of being deſcribed in language fit for an Engliſh reader. As he was one day enjoying his cuſtomary amuſement of ſuperintending an execution, where ſeveral had already ſuffered, one of the victimſ having, from a very natural emotion, averted his eyes while he placed his body in the poſture required, the executioner perceived it, and going to the ſack which contained the heads of thoſe juſt ſacrificed, took one out, and with the moſt horrible imprecationſ obliged the unhappy wretch to kiſs it: yet Le Bon not only permitted, but ſanctioned this, by dining daily with the hangman. He was afterwards reproached with this familiarity in the Convention, but defended himſelf by ſaying, "A ſimilar act of Lequinio's was inſerted by your orders in the bulletin with 'honourable mention;' and your decrees have invariably conſecrated the principles on which I acted." They all felt for a moment the dominion of conſcience, and were ſilent.—On another occaſion he ſuſpended an execution, while the ſavages he kept in pay threw dirt on the priſoners, and even got on the ſcaffold and inſulted them previous to their ſuffering. When any of his colleagues paſſed through Arras, he always propoſed their joining with him in a "partie de Guillotine," and the executions were perpetrated on a ſmall ſquare at Arras, rather than the great one, that he, his wife, and relations might more commodiouſly enjoy the ſpectacle from the balcony of the theatre, where they took their coffee, attended by a band of muſic, which played while this human butchery laſted. The following circumſtance, though ſomething leſs horrid, yet ſufficiently ſo to excite the indignation of feeling people, happened to ſome friends of my own.—They had been brought with many others from a diſtant town in open carts to Arras, and, worn out with fatigue, were going to be depoſited in the priſon to which they were deſtined. At the moment of their arrival ſeveral perſons were on the point of being executed. Le Bon, preſiding as uſual at the ſpectacle, obſerved the cavalcade paſſing, and ordered it to ſtop, that the priſoners might likewiſe be witneſſes. He was, of courſe, obeyed; and my terrified friends and their companions were obliged not only to appear attentive to the ſcene before them, but to join in the cry of "Vive la Republique!" at the ſevering of each head.— One of them, a young lady, did not recover the ſhock ſhe received for months. The Convention, the Committees, all France, were well acquainted with the conduct of Le Bon. He himſelf began to fear he might have exceeded the limits of his commiſſion; and, upon communicating ſome ſcruples of this kind to his employers, received the following letters, which, though they do not exculpate him, certainly render the Committee of Public Welfare more criminal than himſelf. "Citizen, "The Committee of Public Welfare approve the meaſures you have adopted, at the ſame time that they judge the warrant you ſolicit unneceſſary—ſuch meaſures being not only allowable, but enjoined by the very nature of your miſſion. No conſideration ought to ſtand in the way of your revolutionary progreſſ—give free ſcope therefore to your energy; the powers you are inveſted with are unlimited, and whatever you may deem conducive to the public good, you are free, you are even called upon by duty, to carry into execution without delay.—We here tranſmit you an order of the Committee, by which your powers are extended to the neighbouring departments. Armed with ſuch means, and with your energy, you will go on to confound the enemies of the republic, with the very ſchemes they have projected for its deſtruction. "Carnot. "Barrere. "R. Lindet."
Extract from another letter, ſigned Billaud Varenne, Carnot, Barrere. "There is no commutation for offences againſt a republic. Death alone can expiate them!—Purſue the traitors with fire and ſword, and continue to march with courage in the revolutionary track you have deſcribed."
—Merciful Heaven! are there yet poſitive diſtinctions betwixt bad and worſe that we thus regret a Dumont, and deem ourſelves fortunate in being at the mercy of a tyrant who is only brutal and profligate? But ſo it is; and Dumont himſelf, fearful that he has not exerciſed his miſſion with ſufficient ſeverity, has ordered every kind of indulgence to ceaſe, the priſons to be more ſtrictly guarded, and, if poſſible, more crowded; and he is now gone to Paris, trembling leſt he ſhould be accuſed of juſtice or moderation!
The pretended plots for aſſaſſinating Robeſpierre are, as uſual, attributed to Mr. Pitt; and a decree has juſt paſſed, that no quarter ſhall be given to Engliſh priſoners. I know not what ſuch inhuman politics tend to, but my contempt, and the conſcious pride of national ſuperiority; certain, that when Providence ſees fit to vindicate itſelf, by beſtowing victory on our countrymen, the moſt welcome
"Laurels that adorn their browſ "Will be from living, not dead boughs."
The recollection of England, and its generous inhabitants, has animated me with pleaſure; yet I muſt for the preſent quit this agreeable contemplation, to take precautions which remind me that I am ſeparated from both, and in a land of deſpotiſm and miſery!
—Yours affectionately.
The immorality of Hebert, and the baſe compliances of the Convention, for ſome months turned the churches into "temples of reaſon."—The ambition, perhaps the vanity, of Robeſpierre, has now permitted them to be dedicated to the "Supreme Being," and the people, under ſuch auſpices, are to be conducted from atheiſm to deiſm. Deſirous of diſtinguiſhing his preſidency, and of exhibiting himſelf in a conſpicuous and intereſting light, Robeſpierre, on the laſt decade, appeared as the hero of a ceremony which we are told is to reſtore morals, deſtroy all the miſchiefs introduced by the abolition of religion, and finally to defeat the machinations of Mr. Pitt. A gay and ſplendid feſtival has been exhibited at Paris, and imitated in the provinces: flags of the republican colours, branches of trees, and wreaths of flowers, were ordered to be ſuſpended from the houſeſ—every countenance was to wear the preſcribed ſmile, and the whole country, forgetting the preſſure of ſorrow and famine, was to rejoice. A ſort of monſter was prepared, which, by ſome unaccountable ingenuity, at once repreſented Atheiſm and the Engliſh, Cobourg and the Auſtrianſ—in ſhort, all the enemies of the Convention.—This external phantom, being burned with proper form, diſcovered a ſtatue, which was underſtood to be that of Liberty, and the inauguration of this divinity, with placing the buſts of Chalier* and Marat in the temple of the Supreme Being, by way of attendant ſaints, concluded the ceremony.—
* Chalier had been ſent from the municipality of Paris after the dethronement of the King, to revolutionize the people of Lyons, and to excite a maſſacre. In conſequence, the firſt days of September preſented the ſame ſcenes at Lyons as were preſented in the capital. For near a year he continued to ſcourge this unfortunate city, by urging the lower claſſes of people to murder and pillage; till, at the inſurrection which took place in the ſpring of 1793, he waſ arreſted by the inſurgents, tried, and ſentenced to the guillotine. —The Convention, however, whoſe calendar of ſaints is aſ extraordinary as their criminal code, choſe to beatify Chalier, while they executed Maleſherbes; and, accordingly, decreed him a lodging in the Pantheon, penſioning his miſtreſs, and ſet up hiſ buſt in their own Hall as an aſſociate for Brutus, whom, by the way, one ſhould not have expected to find in ſuch company.
The good citizens of the republic, not to be behind hand with their repreſentatives, placed Chalier in the cathedrals, in their public-houſes, on fans and ſnuff-boxeſ—in ſhort, wherever they thought his appearance would proclaim their patriotiſm.—I can only exclaim aſ Poultier, a deputy, did, on a ſimilar occaſion—"Francais, Francais, ſerez vous toujours Francais?"—(Frenchmen, Frenchmen, will you never ceaſe to be Frenchmen?)
—But the mandates for ſuch celebrations reach not the heart: flowerſ were gathered, and flags planted, with the ſcrupulous exactitude of fear;* yet all was cold and heavy, and a diſcerning government muſt have read in this anxious and literal obedience the indication of terror and hatred.
* I have more than once had occaſion to remark the ſingularity of popular feſtivities ſolemnized on the part of the people with no other intention but that of exact obedience to the edicts of government. This is ſo generally underſtood, that Richard, a deputy on miſſion at Lyons, writes to the Convention, as a circumſtance extraordinary, and worthy of remark, that, at the repeal of a decree which was to have razed their city to the ground, a rejoicing took place, "dirigee et executee par le peuple, les autoriteſ conſtitutees n'ayant fait en quelque ſorte qu'y aſſiſter,"— (directed and executed by the people, the conſtituted authoritieſ having merely aſſiſted at the ceremony).
—Even the priſons were inſultingly decorated with the mockery of colours, which, we are told, are the emblems of freedom; and thoſe whoſe relations have expired on the ſcaffold, or who are pining in dungeons for having heard a maſs, were obliged to liſten with apparent admiration to a diſcourſe on the charms of religious liberty.—The people, who, for the moſt part, took little intereſt in the reſt of this pantomime, and inſenſible of the national diſgrace it implied, beheld with ſtupid ſatiſfaction* the inſcription on the temple of reaſon replaced by a legend, ſignifying that, in this age of ſcience and information, the French find it neceſſary to declare their acknowledgment of a God, and their belief in the immortality of the ſoul.
* Much has been ſaid of the partial ignorance of the unfortunate inhabitants of La Vendee, and divers republican ſcribblers attribute their attachment to religion and monarchy to that cauſe: yet at Havre, a ſea-port, where, from commercial communication, I ſhould ſuppoſe the people as informed and civilized as in any other part of France, the ears of piety and decency were aſſailed, during the celebration above-mentioned, by the acclamations of, "Vive le Pere Eternel!"—"Vive l'etre Supreme!"—(I entreat that I may not be ſuſpected of levity when I tranſlate this; in Engliſh it would be "God Almighty for ever! The Supreme Being for ever!")
—At Avignon the public underſtanding ſeems to have been equally enlightened, if we may judge from the report of a Paris miſſionary, who writes in theſe terms:—"The celebration in honour of the Supreme Being was performed here yeſterday with all poſſible pomp: all our country-folks were preſent, and unſpeakably content that there was ſtill a God—What a fine decree (cried they all) is thiſ!"
My laſt letter was a record of the moſt odious barbaritieſ—to-day I am deſcribing a feſtival. At one period I have to remark the deſtruction of the ſaintſ—at another the adoration of Marat. One half of the newſpaper is filled with a liſt of names of the guillotined, and the other with that of places of amuſement; and every thing now more than ever markſ that deteſtable aſſociation of cruelty and levity, of impiety and abſurdity, which has uniformly characterized the French revolution. It is become a crime to feel, and a mode to affect a brutality incapable of feeling—the perſecution of Chriſtianity has made atheiſm a boaſt, and the danger of reſpecting traditional virtues has hurried the weak and timid into the apotheoſis of the moſt abominable vices. Conſcious that they are no longer animated by enthuſiaſm,* the Pariſians hope to imitate it by ſavage fury or ferocious mirth—their patriotiſm is ſignalized only by their zeal to deſtroy, and their attachment to their government only by applauding its cruelties.—If Robeſpierre, St. Juſt, Collot d'Herbois, and the Convention as their inſtruments, deſolate and maſſacre half France, we may lament, but we can ſcarcely wonder at it. How ſhould a ſet of baſe and needy adventurers refrain from an abuſe of power more unlimited than that of the moſt deſpotic monarch; or how diſtinguiſh the general abhorrence, amid addreſſes of adulation, which Louis the Fourteenth would have bluſhed to appropriate?*
* Louis the Fourteenth, aguerri (ſteeled) as he was by ſixty yearſ of adulation and proſperity, had yet modeſty ſufficient to reject a "doſe of incenſe which he thought too ſtrong." (See D'Alembert'ſ Apology for Clermont Tonnerre.) Republicaniſm, it ſhould ſeem, haſ not diminiſhed the national compliaſance for men in power, thought it has leſſened the modeſty of thoſe who exerciſe it.—If Louis the Fourteenth repreſſed the zeal of the academicians, the Convention publiſh, without ſcruple, addreſſes more hyperbolical than the praiſes that monarch refuſed.—Letters are addreſſed to Robeſpierre under the appellation of the Meſſiah, ſent by the almighty for the reform of all thingſ! He is the apoſtle of one, and the tutelar deity of another. He is by turns the repreſentative of the virtueſ individually, and a compendium of them altogether: and this monſter, whoſe features are the counterpart of his ſoul, find republican paraſites who congratulate themſelves on reſembling him.
The bulletins of the Convention announce, that the whole republic is in a ſort of revolutionary tranſport at the eſcape of Robeſpierre and hiſ colleague, Collot d'Herbois, from aſſaſſination; and that we may not ſuppoſe the legiſlators at large deficient in ſenſibility, we learn alſo that they not only ſhed their grateful tears on this affecting occaſion, but have ſettled a penſion on the man who was inſtrumental in reſcuing the benign Collot.
The members of the Committee are not, however, the excluſive objects of public adoration—the whole Convention are at times incenſed in a ſtyle truly oriental; and if this be ſometimes done with more zeal than judgment, it does not appear to be leſs acceptable on that account. A petition from an incarcerated poet aſſimilates the mountain of the Jacobins to that of Parnaſſuſ—a ſtate-creditor importunes for a ſmall payment from the Gods of Olympuſ—and congratulations on the abolition of Chriſtianity are offered to the legiſlators of Mount Sinai! Every inſtance of baſeneſs calls forth an eulogium on their magnanimity. A ſcore of orators harangue them daily on their courage, while they are over-awed by deſpots as mean as themſelves and whom they continue to reinſtal at the ſtated period with clamorous approbation. They proſcribe, devaſtate, burn, and maſſacre—and permit themſelves to be addreſſed by the title of "Fathers of their Country!"
All this would be inexplicable, if we did not contemplate in the French a nation where every faculty is abſorbed by a terror which involves a thouſand contradictions. The rich now ſeek protection by becoming members of clubs,* and are happy if, after various mortifications, they are finally admitted by the mob who compoſe them; while families, that heretofore piqued themſelves on a voluminous and illuſtrious genealogy,** eagerly endeavour to prove they have no claim to either.
* Le diplome de Jacobin etait une eſpece d'amulette, dont leſ inities etaient jaloux, et qui frappoit de preſtiges ceux qui ne l'etaient paſ—"The Jacobin diploma was a kind of amulet, which the initiated were jealous of preſerving, and which ſtruck as it were with witchcraft, thoſe who were not of the number." Rapport de Courtois ſur les Papiers de Robeſpierre. ** Beſides thoſe who, being really noble, were anxious to procure certificates of ſans-cullotiſm, many who had aſſumed ſuch honourſ without pretenſions now relinquiſhed them, except indeed ſome few, whoſe vanity even ſurmounted their fears. But an expreſs law included all theſe ſeceders in the general proſcription; alledging, with a candour not uſual, that thoſe who aſſumed rank were, in fact, more criminal than ſuch as were guilty of being born to it. —Places and employments, which are in moſt countries the objects of intrigue and ambition, are here refuſed or relinquiſhed with ſuch perfect ſincerity, that a decree became requiſite to oblige every one, under pain of durance, to preſerve the ſtation to which his ill ſtars, miſtaken politics, or affectation of patriotiſm, had called him. Were it not for this law, ſuch is the dreadful reſponſibility and danger attending offices under the government, that even low and ignorant people, who have got poſſeſſion of them merely for ſupport, would prefer their original poverty to emoluments which are perpetually liable to the commutation of the guillotine.—Some members of a neighbouring diſtrict told me to-day, when I aſked them if they came to releaſe any of our fellow-priſoners, that ſo far from it, they had not only brought more, but were not certain twelve hours together of not being brought themſelves.
The viſionary equality of metaphyſical impoſtors is become a ſubſtantial one—not conſtituted by abundance and freedom, but by want and oppreſſion. The diſparities of nature are not repaired, but its whole ſurface is levelled by a ſtorm. The rich are become poor, but the poor ſtill remain ſo; and both are conducted indiſcriminately to the ſcaffold. The priſons of the former government were "petty to the endſ" of this. Convents, colleges, palaces, and every building which could any how be adapted to ſuch a purpoſe, have been filled with people deemed ſuſpicious;* and a plan of deſtruction ſeems reſolved on, more certain and more execrable than even the general maſſacre of September 1792.
* Now multiplied to more than four hundred thouſand!—The priſons of Paris and the environs were ſuppoſed to contain twenty-ſeven thouſand. The public papers ſtated but about ſeven thouſand, becauſe they included the official returns of Paris only.
—Agents of the police are, under ſome pretended accuſation, ſent to the different priſons; and, from liſts previouſly furniſhed them, make daily information of plots and conſpiracies, which they alledge to be carrying on by the perſons confined. This charge and this evidence ſuffice: the priſoners are ſent to the tribunal, their names read over, and they are conveyed by cart's-full to the republican butchery. Many whom I have known, and been in habits of intimacy with, have periſhed in this manner; and the expectation of Le Bon,* with our numbers which make us of too much conſequence to be forgotten, all contribute to depreſs and alarm me.
* Le Bon had at this period ſent for liſts of the priſoners in the department of the Somme—which liſts are ſaid to have been ſince found, and many of the names in them marked for deſtruction.
—Even the levity of the French character yields to this terrible deſpotiſm, and nothing is obſerved but wearineſs, ſilence, and ſorrow:— "O triſte loiſir, poids affreux du tems." [St. Lambert.] The ſeaſon returns with the year, but not to uſ—the ſun ſhines, but to add to our miſeries that of inſupportable heat—and the viciſſitudes of nature only awaken our regret that we cannot enjoy them—
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"Now gentle gales o'er all the vallies play,
"Breathe on each flow'r, and bear their ſweets away." [Collins.] |
Yet what are freſh air and green fields to us, who are immured amidſt a thouſand ill ſcents, and have no proſpect but filth and ſtone walls? It is difficult to deſcribe how much the mind is depreſſed by this ſtate of paſſive ſuffering. In common evils, the neceſſity of action half relieves them, as a veſſel may reach her port by the agitation of a ſtorm; but this ſtagnant liſtleſs exiſtence is terrible.
Thoſe moſt to be envied here are the victims of their religious opinions. The nuns, who are more diſtreſſed than any of us,* employ themſelveſ patiently, and ſeem to look beyond this world; whilſt the once gay deiſt wanders about with a volume of philoſophy in his hand, unable to endure the preſent, and dreading ſtill more the future.
* Theſe poor women, deprived of the little which the rapacity of the Convention had left them, by it ſubordinate agents, were in want of every thing; and though in moſt priſons they were employed for the republican armies, they could ſcarcely procure more than bread and water. Yet this was not all: they were objects of the meaneſt and moſt cruel perſecution.—I knew one who was put in a dungeon, up to her waiſt in putrid water, for twelve hours altogether, without loſing her reſolution or ſerenity.
I have already written you a long letter, and bid you adieu with the reluctance which precedes an uncertain ſeparation. Uneaſineſs, ill health, and confinement, beſides the danger I am expoſed to, render my life at preſent more precarious than "the ordinary of nature's tenures." —God knows when I may addreſs you again!—My friend Mad. de ____ iſ returned from the hoſpital, and I yield to her fears by ceaſing to write, though I am nevertheleſs determined not to part with what I have hitherto preſerved; being convinced, that if evil be intended us, it will be aſ ſoon without a pretext as with one.—Adieu.
I have for ſome days contemplated the fall of Robeſpierre and hiſ adherents, only as one of thoſe diſpenſations of Providence, which were gradually to purſue all who had engaged in the French revolution. The late change of parties has, however, taken a turn I did not expect; and, contrary to what has hitherto occurred, there is a manifeſt diſpoſition in the people to avail themſelves of the weakneſs which is neceſſarily occaſioned by the contentions of their governors.
When the news of this extraordinary event firſt became public, it waſ ever where received with great gravity—I might ſay, coldneſs.—Not a comment was uttered, nor a glance of approbation ſeen. Things might be yet in equilibrium, and popular commotions are always uncertain. Prudence was, therefore, deemed, indiſpenſable; and, until the conteſt was finally decided, no one ventured to give an opinion; and many, to be certain of guarding againſt verbal indiſcretion, abſtained from all intercourſe whatever.
By degrees, the execution of Robeſpierre and above an hundred of hiſ partizans, convinced even the moſt timid; the murmurs of ſuppreſſed diſcontent began to be heard; and all thought they might now with ſafety relieve their fears and their ſufferings, by execrating the memory of the departed tyrants. The priſons, which had hitherto been avoided aſ endangering all who approached them, were ſoon viſited with leſſ apprehenſion; and friendſhip or affection, no longer exanimate by terror, ſolicited, though ſtill with trepidation, the releaſe of thoſe for whom they were intereſted. Some of our aſſociates have already left us in conſequence of ſuch interceſſions, and we all hope that the tide of opinion, now avowedly inimical to the deteſtable ſyſtem to which we are victims, will enforce a general liberation.—We are guarded but ſlightly; and I think I perceive in the behaviour of the Jacobin Commiſſarieſ ſomething of civility and reſpect not uſual.
Thus an event, which I beheld merely as the juſtice which one ſet of banditti were made the inſtruments of exerciſing upon another, may finally tend to introduce a more humane ſyſtem of government; or, at leaſt, ſuſpend proſcription and maſſacre, and give this haraſſed country a little repoſe.
I am in arrears with my epiſtolary chronicle, and the hope of ſo deſirable a change will now give me courage to reſume it from the concluſion of my laſt. To-morrow ſhall be dedicated to this purpoſe.— Yours.
My letters, previous to the time when I judged it neceſſary to deſiſt from writing, will have given you ſome faint ſketch of the ſituation of the country, and the ſufferings of its inhabitantſ—I ſay a faint ſketch, becauſe a thouſand horrors and iniquities, which are now daily diſcloſing, were then confined to the ſcenes where they were perpetrated; and we knew little more of them than what we collected from the reportſ of the Convention, where they excited a laugh as pleaſantries, or applauſe as acts of patriotiſm.
France had become one vaſt priſon, executions were daily multiplied, and a minute and comprehenſive oppreſſion ſeemed to have placed the lives, liberty, and fortune of all within the graſp of the ſingle Committee. Deſpair itſelf was ſubdued, and the people were gradually ſinking into a gloomy and ſtupid obedience.
* The words deſpotiſm and tyranny are ſufficiently expreſſive of the nature of the government to which they are applied; yet ſtill they are words rendered familiar to us only by hiſtory, and convey no preciſe idea, except that of a bad political ſyſtem. The condition of the French at this time, beſides its wretchedneſs, had ſomething ſo ſtrange, ſo original in it, that even thoſe who beheld it with attention muſt be content to wonder, without pretending to offer any deſcription as adequate.
—The following extract from a ſpeech of Bailleul, a member of the Convention, exhibits a picture nearer the original than I have yet ſeen—
"La terreur dominait tous les eſprits, comprimait tous les couerſ— elle etait la force du gouvernement, et ce gouvernement etait tel, que les nombreux habitans d'un vaſte territoire ſemblaient avoir perdu les qualites qui diſtinguent l'homme de l'animal domeſtique: ils ſemblaient meme n'avoir de vie que ce que le gouvernement voulait bien leur en accorder.—Le moi humain n'exiſtoit plus; chaque individu n'etait qu'une machine, allant, venant, penſant ou ne penſant pas, felon que la tyrannie le preſſait ou l'animait." Diſcours de Bailleul, 19 March 1795. "The minds of all were ſubdued by terror, and every heart waſ compreſſed beneath its influence.—In this conſiſted the ſtrength of the government; and that government was ſuch, that the immenſe population of a vaſt territory, ſeemed to have loſt all the qualities which diſtinguiſh man from the animals attached to him.— They appeared to exhibit no ſigns of life but ſuch as their rulerſ condeſcended to permit—the very ſenſe of exiſtence ſeemed doubtful or extinct, and each individual was reduced to a mere machine, going or coming, thinking or not thinking, according as the impulſe of tyranny gave him force or animation." Speech of Bailleul, 19 March 1795.
On the twenty-ſecond of Prairial, (June 10,) a law, conſiſting of a variety of articles for the regulation of the Revolutionary Tribunal, waſ introduced to the convention by Couthon, a member of the government; and, as uſual adopted with very little previous diſcuſſion.—Though there waſ no clauſe of this act but ought to have given the alarm to humanity, "knocked at the heart, and bid it not be quiet;" yet the whole appeared perfectly unexceptionable to the Aſſembly in general: till, on farther examination, they found it contained an implied repeal of the law hitherto obſerved, according to which, no repreſentative could be arreſted without a preliminary decree for that purpoſe.—This diſcovery awakened their ſuſpicions, and the next day Bourdon de l'Oiſe, a man of unſteady principles, (even as a revolutioniſt,) was ſpirited up to demand an explicit renunciation of any power in the Committee to attack the legiſlative inviolability except in the accuſtomed forms.—The clauſeſ which elected a jury of murderers, that bereft all but guilt of hope, and offered no proſpect to innocence but death, were paſſed with no other comment than the uſual one of applauſe.*—
* The baſeneſs, cruelty, and cowardice of the Convention are neither to be denied, nor palliated. For ſeveral months they not only paſſed decrees of proſcription and murder which might reach every individual in France except themſelves, but they even ſacrificed numbers of their own body; and if, inſtead of propoſing an article affecting the whole Convention, the Committee had demanded the headſ of as many Deputies as they had occaſion for by name, I am perſuaded they would have met no reſiſtance.—This ſingle example of oppoſition only renders the convention ſtill more an object of abhorrence, becauſe it marks that they could ſubdue their puſillanimity when their own ſafety was menaced, and that their previous acquieſcence was voluntary.
—This, and this only, by involving their perſonal ſafety, excited their courage through their fears.—Merlin de Douay, originally a worthleſſ character, and become yet more ſo by way of obviating the imputation of bribery from the court, ſeconded Bourdon's motion, and the obnoxiouſ article was repealed inſtantaneouſly.
This firſt and only inſtance of oppoſition was highly diſpleaſing to the Committee, and, on the twenty-fourth, Robeſpierre, Barrere, Couthon, and Billaud, animadverted with ſuch ſeverity on the promoters of it, that the terrified Bourdon* declared, the repeal he had ſolicited was unneceſſary, and that he believed the Committee were deſtined to be the ſaviours of the country; while Merlin de Douay diſclaimed all ſhare in the buſineſſ— and, in fine, it was determined, that the law of the twenty-ſecond of Prairial ſhould remain as firſt preſented to the Convention, and that the qualification of the ſucceeding day was void.
* It was on this occaſion that the "intrepid" Bourdon kept his bed a whole month with fear.
So dangerous an infringement on the privileges of the repreſentative body, dwelt on minds inſenſible to every other conſideration; the principal members caballed ſecretly on the perils by which they were ſurrounded; and the ſullen concord which now marked their deliberations, was beheld by the Committee rather as the prelude to revolt, than the indication of continued obedience. In the mean while it was openly propoſed to concentrate ſtill more the functions of government. The circulation of newſpapers was inſinuated to be uſeleſs; and Robeſpierre gave ſome hints of ſuppreſſing all but one, which ſhould be under particular and official controul.*
* This intended reſtriction was unneceſſary; for the newſpapers were all, not indeed paid by government, but ſo much ſubject to the cenſure of the guillotine, that they had become, under an "unlimited freedom of the preſs," more cautious and inſipid than the gazetteſ of the proſcribed court. Poor Duplain, editor of the "Petit Courier," and ſubſequently of the "Echo," whom I remember one of the firſt partizans of the revolution, narrowly eſcaped the maſſacre of Auguſt 1792, and was afterwards guillotined for publiſhing the ſurrender of Landrecy three days before it was announced officially.
A rumour prevailed, that the refractory members who had excited the late rebellion were to be ſacrificed, a general purification of the Aſſembly to take place, and that the committee and a few ſelect adherents were to be inveſted with the whole national authority. Liſts of proſcription were ſaid to be made; and one of them was ſecretly communicated as having been found among the papers of a juryman of the Revolutionary Tribunal lately arreſted.—Theſe apprehenſions left the members implicated no alternative but to anticipate hoſtilities, or fall a ſacrifice; for they knew the inſtant of attack would be that of deſtruction, and that the people were too indifferent to take any part in the conteſt.
Things were in this ſtate, when two circumſtances of a very different nature aſſiſted in promoting the final exploſion, which ſo much aſtoniſhed, not only the reſt of Europe, but France itſelf.
It is rare that a number of men, however well meaning, perfectly agree in the exerciſe of power; and the combinations of the ſelfiſh and wicked muſt be peculiarly ſubject to diſcord and diſſolution. The Committee of Public Welfare, while it enſlaved the convention and the people, was torn by feuds, and undermined by the jealouſies of its members. Robeſpierre, Couthon, and St. Juſt, were oppoſed by Collot and Billaud Varennes; while Barrere endeavoured to deceive both parties; and Carnot, Lindet, the two Prieurs, and St. Andre, laboured in the cauſe of the common tyranny, in the hope of ſtill dividing it with the conquerors.
For ſome months this enmity was reſtrained, by the neceſſity of preſerving appearances, and conciliated, by a general agreement in the principles of adminiſtration, till Robeſpierre, relying on his ſuperior popularity, began to take an aſcendant, which alarmed ſuch of hiſ colleagues as were not his partiſans, both for their power and their ſafety. Animoſities daily increaſed, and their debates at length became ſo violent and noiſy, that it was found neceſſary to remove the buſineſſ of the Committee to an upper room, leſt people paſſing under the windowſ ſhould overhear theſe ſcandalous ſcenes. Every means were taken to keep theſe diſputes a profound ſecret—the revilings which accompanied their private conferences were turned into ſmooth panegyrics of each other when they aſcended the tribune, and their unanimity was a favourite theme in all their reports to the Convention.*
* So late as on the ſeventh of Thermidor, (25th July,) Barrere made a pompous eulogium on the virtues of Robeſpierre; and, in a long account of the ſtate of the country, he acknowledges "ſome little clouds hang over the political horizon, but they will ſoon be diſperſed, by the union which ſubſiſts in the Committees;—above all, by a more ſpeedy trial and execution of revolutionary criminals." It is difficult to imagine what new means of diſpatch this airy barbarian had contrived, for in the ſix weeks preceding this harangue, twelve hundred and fifty had been guillotined in Paris only.