The domeſtic politics of France are replete with novelties: the Convention is at war with the Jacobinſ—and the people, even to the moſt decided ariſtocrats, have become partizans of the Convention.—My laſt letters have explained the origin of theſe phaenomena, and I will now add a few words on their progreſs.
You have ſeen that, at the fall of Robeſpierre, the revolutionary government had reached the very ſummit of deſpotiſm, and that the Convention found themſelves under the neceſſity of appearing to be directed by a new impulſe, or of acknowledging their participation in the crimes they affected to deplore.—In conſequence, almoſt without the direct repeal of any law, (except ſome which affected their own ſecurity,) a more moderate ſyſtem has been gradually adopted, or, to ſpeak more correctly, the revolutionary one is ſuffered to relax. The Jacobins behold theſe popular meaſures with extreme jealouſy, as a meanſ which may in time render the legiſlature independent of them; and it iſ certainly not the leaſt of their diſcontents, that, after all their labours in the common cauſe, they find themſelves excluded both from power and emoluments. Accuſtomed to carry every thing by violence, and more ferocious than politic, they have, by inſiſting on the reincarceration of ſuſpected people, attached a numerous party to the Convention, which is thus warned that its own ſafety depends on repreſſing the influence of clubs, which not only loudly demand that the priſons may be again filled, but frequently debate on the project of tranſporting all the "enemies of the republic" together.
The liberty of the preſs, alſo, is a theme of diſcord not leſs important than the emancipation of ariſtocrats. The Jacobins are decidedly adverſe to it; and it is a ſort of revolutionary ſoleciſm, that thoſe who boaſt of having been the original deſtroyers of deſpotiſm, are now the advocates of arbitrary impriſonment, and reſtraints on the freedom of the preſs. The Convention itſelf is divided on the latter ſubject; and, after a revolution of five years, founded on the doctrine of the rightſ of man, it has become matter of diſpute—whether ſo principal an article of them ought really to exiſt or not. They ſeem, indeed, willing to allow it, provided reſtrictions can be deviſed which may prevent calumny from reaching their own perſons; but as that cannot eaſily be atchieved, they not only contend againſt the liberty of the preſs in practice, but have hitherto refuſed to ſanction it by decree, even as a principle.
It is perhaps reluctantly that the Convention oppoſes theſe powerful and extended combinations which have ſo long been its ſupport, and it may dread the conſequences of being left without the means of overawing or influencing the people; but the example of the Briſſotins, who, by attempting to profit by the ſervices of the Jacobins, without ſubmitting to their domination, fell a ſacrifice, has warned their ſurvivors of the danger of employing ſuch inſtruments. It is evident that the clubs will not act ſubordinately, and that they muſt either be ſubdued to inſignificance, or regain their authority entirely; and as neither the people nor Convention are diſpoſed to acquieſce in the latter, they are politicly joining their efforts to accelerate the former.
Yet, notwithſtanding theſe reciprocal cajoleries, the return of juſtice is ſlow and mutable; an inſtinctive or habitual preference of evil appears at times to direct the Convention, even in oppoſition to their own intereſts. They have as yet done little towards repairing the calamities of which they are the authors; and we welcome the little they have done, not for its intrinſic value, but as we do the firſt ſpring flowerſ—which, though of no great ſweetneſs or beauty, we conſider aſ pledges that the ſtorms of winter are over, and that a milder ſeaſon iſ approaching.—It is true, the revolutionary Committees are diminiſhed in number, the priſons are diſencumbered, and a man is not liable to be arreſted becauſe a Jacobin ſuſpects his features: yet there is a wide difference between ſuch toleration and freedom and ſecurity; and it is a circumſtance not favourable to thoſe who look beyond the moment, that the tyrannical laws which authorized all the late enormities are ſtill unrepealed. The Revolutionary Tribunal continues to ſentence people to death, on pretexts as frivolous as thoſe which were employed in the time of Robeſpierre; they have only the advantage of being tried more formally, and of forfeiting their lives upon proof, inſtead of without it, for actions that a ſtrictly adminiſtered juſtice would not puniſh by a month's impriſonment.*
* For inſtance, a young monk, for writing fanatic letters, and ſigning reſolutions in favour of foederaliſm—a hoſier, for facilitating the return of an emigrant—a man of ninety, for ſpeaking againſt the revolution, and diſcrediting the aſſignatſ—a contractor, for embezzling forage—people of various deſcriptions, for obſtructing the recruitment, or inſulting the tree of liberty. Theſe, and many ſimilar condemnations, will be found in the proceedings of the Revolutionary Tribunal, long after the death of Robeſpierre, and when juſtice and humanity were ſaid to be reſtored.
A ceremony has lately taken place, the object of which was to depoſit the aſhes of Marat in the Pantheon, and to diſlodge the buſt of Mirabeau— who, notwithſtanding two years notice to quit this manſion of immortality, ſtill remained there. The aſhes of Marat being eſcorted to the Convention by a detachment of Jacobins, and the Preſident having properly deſcanted on the virtues which once animated the ſaid aſhes, they were conveyed to the place deſtined for their reception; and the excommunicated Mirabeau being delivered over to the ſecular arm of a beadle, theſe remains of the divine Marat were placed among the reſt of the republican deities. To have obliged the Convention in a body to attend and conſecrate the crimes of this monſter, though it could not degrade them, was a momentary triumph for the Jacobins, nor could the royaliſts behold without ſatiſfaction the ſame men deploring the death of Marat, who, a month before, had celebrated the fall of Louis the Sixteenth! To have been ſo deplored, and ſo celebrated, are, methinks, the very extremes of infamy and glory.
I muſt explain to you, that the Jacobins have lately been compoſed of two partieſ—the avowed adherents of Collot, Billaud, &c. and the concealed remains of thoſe attached to Robeſpierre; but party has now given way to principle, a circumſtance not uſual; and the whole club of Paris, with ſeveral of the affiliated ones, join in cenſuring the innovating tendencies of the Convention.—It is curious to read the debates of the parent ſociety, which paſs in afflicting details of the perſecutionſ experienced by the patriots on the parts of the moderates and ariſtocrats, who, they aſſert, are become ſo daring as even to call in queſtion the purity of the immortal Marat. You will ſuppoſe, of courſe, that this cruel perſecution is nothing more than an interdiction to perſecute others; and their notions of patriotiſm and moderation may be conceived by their having juſt expelled Tallien and Freron as moderates.*
* Freron endeavoured, on this occaſion, to diſculpate himſelf from the charge of "moderantiſme," by alledging he had oppoſed Lecointre's denunciation of Barrere, &c.—and certainly one who piques himſelf on being the pupil of the divine Marat, was worthy of remaining in the fraternity from which he was now expelled.—Freron is a veteran journaliſt of the revolution, of better talents, though not of better fame, than the generality of his contemporaries: or, rather, his early efforts in exciting the people to rebellion entitle him to a preeminence of infamy.
We have had our guard withdrawn for ſome days; and I am juſt now returned from Peronne, where we had been in order to ſee the ſeals taken off the papers, &c. which I left there laſt year. I am much ſtruck with the alteration obſervable in people's countenances. Every perſon I meet ſeems to have contracted a ſort of revolutionary aſpect: many walk with their heads down, and with half-ſhut eyes meaſure the whole length of a ſtreet, as though they were ſtill intent on avoiding greetings from the ſuſpicious; ſome look grave and ſorrow-worn; ſome apprehenſive, as if in hourly expectation of a mandat d'arret; and others abſolutely ferocious, from a habit of affecting the barbarity of the times.
Their language is nearly as much changed as their appearance—the revolutionary jargon is univerſal, and the moſt diſtinguiſhed ariſtocratſ converſe in the ſtyle of Barrere's reports. The common people are not leſs proficients in this faſhionable dialect, than their ſuperiors; and, as far as I can judge, are become ſo from ſimilar motives. While I waſ waiting this morning at a ſhop-door, I liſtened to a beggar who waſ cheapening a ſlice of pumpkin, and on ſome diſagreement about the price, the beggar told the old revendeuſe [Market-woman.] that ſhe waſ "gangrenee d'ariſtocratie." ["Eat up with ariſtocracy."] "Je vous en defie," ["I defy you."] retorted the pumpkin-merchant; but turning pale as ſhe ſpoke, "Mon civiſme eſt a toute epreuve, mais prenez donc ta citrouille," ["My civiſm is unqueſtionable; but here take your pumpkin."] take it then." "Ah, te voila bonne republicaine, ["Ah! Now I ſee you are a good republican."] ſays the beggar, carrying off her bargain; while the old woman muttered, "Oui, oui, l'on a beau etre republicaine tandiſ qu'on n'a pas de pain a manger." ["Yes, in troth, it's a fine thing to be a republican, and have no bread to eat."]
I hear little of the poſitive merits of the convention, but the hope iſ general that they will ſoon ſuppreſs the Jacobin clubs; yet their attackſ continue ſo cold and cautious, that their intentions are at leaſt doubtful: they know the voice of the nation at large would be in favour of ſuch a meaſure, and they might, if ſincere, act more deciſively, without riſk to themſelves.—The truth is, they would willingly proſcribe the perſons of the Jacobins, while they cling to their principles, and ſtill heſitate whether they ſhall confide in a people whoſe reſentment they have ſo much deſerved, and have ſo much reaſon to dread. Conſciouſ guilt appears to ſhackle all their proceedings, and though the puniſhment of ſome ſubordinate agents cannot, in the preſent ſtate of things, be diſpenſed with, yet the Aſſembly unveil the regiſter of their crimes very reluctantly, as if each member expected to ſee his own name inſcribed on it. Thus, even delinquents, who would otherwiſe be ſacrificed voluntarily to public juſtice, are in a manner protected by delays and chicane, becauſe an inveſtigation might implicate the Convention as the example and authoriſer of their enormities.—Fouquier Tinville devoted a thouſand innocent people to death in leſs time than it has already taken to bring him to a trial, where he will benefit by all thoſe judicial forms which he has ſo often refuſed to others. This man, who is much the ſubject of converſation at preſent, was Public Accuſer to the Revolutionary Tribunal—an office which, at beſt, in this inſtance, only ſerved to give an air of regularity to aſſaſſination: but, by a ſort of genius in turpitude, he contrived to render it odious beyond its original perverſion, in giving to the moſt elaborate and revolting cruelties a turn of ſpontaneous pleaſantry, or legal procedure.—The priſoners were inſulted with ſarcaſms, intimidated by threats, and ſtill oftener ſilenced by arbitrary declarations, that they were not entitled to ſpeak; and thoſe who were taken to the ſcaffold, after no other ceremony than calling over their names, had leſs reaſon to complain, than if they had previouſly been expoſed to the barbarities of ſuch trials.—Yet thiſ wretch might, for a time at leaſt, have eſcaped puniſhment, had he not, in defending himſelf, criminated the remains of the Committee, whom it was intended to ſcreen. When he appeared at the bar of the Convention, every word he uttered ſeemed to fill its members with alarm, and he waſ ordered away before he could finiſh his declaration. It muſt be acknowledged, that, however he may be condemned by juſtice and humanity, nothing could legally attach to him: he was only the agent of the Convention, and the utmoſt horrors of the Tribunal were not merely ſanctioned, but enjoined by ſpecific decrees.
I have been told by a gentleman who was at ſchool with Fouquier, and haſ had frequent occaſions of obſerving him at different periods ſince, that he always appeared to him to be a man of mild manners, and by no meanſ likely to become the inſtrument of theſe atrocities; but a ſtrong addiction to gaming having involved him in embarraſſments, he was induced to accept the office of Public Accuſer to the Tribunal, and waſ progreſſively led on from adminiſtering to the iniquity of his employers, to find a gratification in it himſelf.
I have often thought, that the habit of watching with ſelfiſh avidity for thoſe turns of fortune which enrich one individual by the miſery of another, muſt imperceptibly tend to harden the heart. How can the gameſter, accuſtomed both to ſuffer and inflict ruin with indifference, preſerve that benevolent frame of mind, which, in the ordinary and leſſ cenſurable purſuits of common life, is but too prone to become impaired, and to leave humanity more a duty than a feeling?
The conduct of Fouquier Tinville has led me to ſome reflections on a ſubject which I know the French conſider as matter of triumph, and as a peculiar advantage which their national character enjoys over the Engliſh—I mean that ſmoothneſs of manner and guardedneſs of expreſſion which they call "aimable," and which they have the faculty of attaining and preſerving diſtinctly from a correſpondent temper of the mind. It accompanies them through the moſt irritating viciſſitudes, and enableſ them to deceive, even without deceit: for though this ſuavity iſ habitual, of courſe frequently undeſigning, the ſtranger is nevertheleſſ thrown off his guard by it, and tempted to place confidence, or expect ſervices, which a leſs conciliating deportment would not have been ſuggeſted. A Frenchman may be an unkind huſband, a ſevere parent, or an arrogant maſter, yet never contract his features, or aſperate his voice, and for this reaſon is, in the national ſenſe, "un homme bien doux." Hiſ heart may become corrupt, his principles immoral, and his diſpoſition ferociouſ—yet he ſhall ſtill retain his equability of tone and complacent phraſeology, and be "un homme bien aimable."
The revolution has tended much to develope this peculiarity of the French character, and has, by various examples in public life, confirmed the opinions I had formed from previous obſervation. Fouquier Tinville, as I have already noticed, was a man of gentle exterior.—Couthon, the execrable aſſociate of Robeſpierre, was mildneſs itſelf—Robeſpierre'ſ harangues are in a ſtyle of diſtinguiſhed ſenſibility—and even Carrier, the deſtroyer of thirty thouſand Nantais, is atteſted by hiſ fellow-ſtudents to have been of an amiable diſpoſition. I know a man of moſt inſinuating addreſs, who has been the means of conducting his own brother to the Guillotine; and another nearly as prepoſſeſſing, who, without loſing his courteous demeanor, was, during the late revolutionary exceſſes, the intimate of an executioner.
*It would be too voluminous to enumerate all the contraſts of manners and character exhibited during the French revolution—The philoſophic Condorcet, purſuing with malignancy his patron, the Duc de la Rochefoucault, and heſitating with atrocious mildneſs on the ſentence of the King—The maſſacres of the priſons connived at by the gentle Petion—Collot d'Herbois diſpatching, by one diſcharge of cannon, three hundred people together, "to ſpare his ſenſibility" the talk of executions in detail—And St. Juſt, the deviſer of a thouſand enormities, when he left the Committee, after his laſt interview, with the project of ſending them all to the Guillotine, telling them, in a tone of tender reproach, like a lover of romance, "Vous avez fletri mon coeur, je vais l'ouvrir a la Convention."— Madame Roland, in ſpite of the tenderneſs of her ſex, could coldly reaſon on the expediency of a civil war, which ſhe acknowledged might become neceſſary to eſtabliſh the republic. Let thoſe who diſapprove this cenſure of a female, whom it is a ſort of mode to lament, recollect that Madame Roland was the victim of a celebrity ſhe had acquired in aſſiſting the efforts of faction to dethrone the King—that her literary bureau was dedicated to the purpoſe of exaſperating the people againſt him—and that ſhe was conſiderably inſtrumental to the events which occaſioned his death. If her talents and accompliſhments make her an object of regret, it was to the unnatural miſapplication of thoſe talents and accompliſhments in the ſervice of party, that ſhe owed her fate. Her own opinion was, that thouſands might juſtifiably be devoted to the eſtabliſhment of a favourite ſyſtem; or, to ſpeak truly, to the aggrandiſement of thoſe who were its partizans. The ſame ſelfiſh principle actuated an oppoſite faction, and ſhe became the ſacrifice.—"Oh even-handed juſtice!"
I do not pretend to decide whether the Engliſh are virtually more gentle in their nature than the French; but I am perſuaded this douceur, on which the latter pride themſelves, affords no proof of the contrary. An Engliſhman is ſeldom out of humour, without proclaiming it to all the world; and the moſt forcible motives of intereſt, or expediency, cannot always prevail on him to aſſume a more engaging external than that which delineates his feelings.
If he has a matter to refuſe, he uſually begins by fortifying himſelf with a little ruggedneſs of manner, by way of prefacing a denial he might otherwiſe not have reſolution to perſevere in. "The hows and whens of life" corrugate his features, and diſharmonize his periods; contradiction ſours, and paſſion ruffles him—and, in ſhort, an Engliſhman diſpleaſed, from whatever cauſe, is neither "un homme bien doux," nor "un homme bien aimable;" but ſuch as nature has made him, ſubject to infirmities and ſorrows, and unable to diſguiſe the one, or appear indifferent to the other. Our country, like every other, has doubtleſs produced too many examples of human depravity; but I ſcarcely recollect any, where a ferocious diſpoſition was not accompanied by correſponding mannerſ—or where men, who would plunder or maſſacre, affected to retain at the ſame time habits of ſoftneſs, and a conciliating phyſiognomy.
We are, I think, on the whole, authorized to conclude, that, in determining the claims to national ſuperiority, the boaſted and unvarying controul which the French exerciſe over their features and accents, iſ not a merit; nor thoſe indications of what paſſes within, to which the Engliſh are ſubject, an imperfection. If the French ſometimes ſupply their want of kindneſs, or render diſappointment leſs acute at the moment, by a ſterile complacency, the Engliſh harſhneſs is often only the alloy to an efficient benevolence, and a ſympathizing mind. In France they have no humouriſts who ſeem impelled by their nature to do good, in ſpite of their temperament—nor have we in England many people who are cold and unfeeling, yet ſyſtematically aimable: but I muſt ſtill perſiſt in not thinking it a defect that we are too impetuous, or perhaps too ingenuous, to unite contradictions.
There is a cauſe, that doubtleſs has its effects in repreſenting the Engliſh diſadvantageouſly, and which I have never heard properly allowed for. The liberty of the preſs, and the great intereſt taken by all rankſ of people in public affairs, have occaſioned a more numerous circulation of periodical prints of every kind in England, than in any other country in Europe. Now, as it is impoſſible to fill them conſtantly with politics, and as the taſte of different readers muſt be conſulted, every barbarous adventure, ſuicide, murder, robbery, domeſtic fracas, aſſaults, and batteries of the lower orders, with the duels and divorces of the higher, are all chronicled in various publications, diſſeminated over Europe, and convey an idea that we are a very miſerable, ferocious, and diſſolute nation. The foreign gazettes being chiefly appropriated to public affairs, ſeldom record either the vices, the crimes, or miſfortunes of individuals; ſo that they are thereby at leaſt prevented from fixing an unfavourable judgement on the national character.
Mercier obſerves, that the number of ſuicides committed in Paris waſ ſuppoſed to exceed greatly that of ſimilar diſaſters in London; and that murders in France were always accompanied by circumſtances of peculiar horror, though policy and cuſtom had rendered the publication of ſuch events leſs general than with us.—Our divorces, at which the Gallic purity of manners uſed to be ſo much ſcandalized, are, no doubt, to be regretted; but that ſuch ſeparations were not then allowed, or deſired in France, may perhaps be attributed, at leaſt as juſtly, to the complaiſance of huſbands, as to the diſcretion of wives, or the national morality.*
* At preſent, in the monthly ſtatement, the number of divorces in France, is often nearly equal to that of the marriages.
I ſhould reproach myſelf if I could feel impartial when I contemplate the Engliſh character; yet I certainly endeavour to write as though I were ſo. If I have erred, it has been rather in allowing too much to received opinions on the ſubject of this country, than in ſuffering my affectionſ to make me unjuſt; for though I am far from affecting the faſhion of the day, which cenſures all prejudices as illiberal, except thoſe in diſfavour of our own country, yet I am warranted, I hope, in ſaying, that however partial I may appear to England, I have not been ſo at the expence of truth.—Yours, &c.
The ſufferings of individuals have often been the means of deſtroying or reforming the moſt powerful tyrannies; reaſon has been convinced by argument, and paſſion appealed to by declamation in vain—when ſome unvarniſhed tale, or ſimple expoſure of facts, has at once rouzed the feelings, and conquered the ſupineneſs of an oppreſſed people.
The revolutionary government, in ſpite of the clamorous and weekly ſwearings of the Convention to perpetuate it, has received a check from an event of this nature, which I truſt it will never recover.—By an order of the Revolutionary Committee of Nantes, in November 1793, all priſoners accuſed of political crimes were to be tranſferred to Paris, where the tribunal being more immediately under the direction of government, there would be no chance of their acquittal. In conſequence of this order, an hundred and thirty-two inhabitants of Nantes, arreſted on the uſual pretexts of foederaliſm, or as ſuſpected, or being Muſcadins, were, ſome months after, conducted to Paris. Forty of the number died through the hardſhips and ill treatment they encountered on the way, the reſt remained in priſon until after the death of Robeſpierre.
The evidence produced on their trial, which lately took place, haſ revealed but too circumſtantially all the horrors of the revolutionary ſyſtem. Deſtruction in every form, moſt ſhocking to morals or humanity, has depopulated the countries of the Loire; and republican Pizarro's and Almagro's ſeem to have rivalled each other in the invention and perpetration of crimes.
When the priſons of Nantes overflowed, many hundreds of their miſerable inhabitants had been conducted by night, and chained together, to the river ſide; where, being firſt ſtripped of their clothes, they were crouded into veſſels with falſe bottoms, conſtructed for the purpoſe, and ſunk.*—
* Though the horror excited by ſuch atrocious details muſt be ſerviceable to humanity, I am conſtrained by decency to ſpare the reader a part of them. Let the imagination, however repugnant, pauſe for a moment over theſe ſceneſ—Five, eight hundred people of different ſexes, ages, and conditions, are taken from their priſons, in the dreary months of December and January, and conducted, during the ſilence of the night, to the banks of the Loire. The agents of the Republic there deſpoil them of their clothes, and force them, ſhivering and defenceleſs, to enter the machines prepared for their deſtruction—they are chained down, to prevent their eſcape by ſwimming, and then the bottom is detached for the upper part, and ſunk.—On ſome occaſions the miſerable victims contrived to looſe themſelves, and clinging to the boards near them, ſhrieked in the agonies of deſpair and death, "O ſave uſ! it is not even now too late: in mercy ſave uſ!" But they appealed to wretches to whom mercy was a ſtranger; and, being cut away from their hold by ſtrokeſ of the ſabre, periſhed with their companions. That nothing might be wanting to theſe outrages againſt nature, they were eſcribed aſ jeſts, and called "Noyades, water parties," and "civic baptiſmſ"! Carrier, a Deputy of the Convention, uſed to dine and make partieſ of pleaſure, accompanied by muſic and every ſpecies of groſs luxury, on board the barges appropriated to theſe execrable purpoſes.
—At one time, ſix hundred children appear to have been deſtroyed in thiſ manner;—young people of different ſexes were tied in pairs and thrown into the river;—thouſands were ſhot in the high roads and in the fields; and vaſt numbers were guillotined, without a trial!*
* Six young women, (the Meſdemoiſelles la Meterie,) in particular, ſiſters, and all under four-and-twenty, were ordered to the Guillotine together: the youngeſt died inſtantly of fear, the reſt were executed ſucceſſively.—A child eleven years old, who had previouſly told the executioner, with affecting ſimplicity, that he hoped he would not hurt him much, received three ſtrokes of the Guillotine before his head was ſevered from his body.
—Two thouſand died, in leſs than two months, of a peſtilence, occaſioned by this carnage: the air became infected, and the waters of the Loire empoiſoned, by dead bodies; and thoſe whom tyranny yet ſpared, periſhed by the elements which nature intended for their ſupport.*
* Vaſt ſums were exacted from the Nantais for purifying the air, and taking precautions againſt epidemical diſorders.
But I will not dwell on horrors, which, if not already known to all Europe, I ſhould be unequal to deſcribe: ſuffice it to ſay, that whatever could diſgrace or afflict mankind, whatever could add diſguſt to deteſtation, and render cruelty, if poſſible, leſs odious than the circumſtances by which it was accompanied, has been exhibited in thiſ unfortunate city.—Both the accuſed and their witneſſes were at firſt timid through apprehenſion, but by degrees the monſtrous myſteries of the government were laid open, and it appeared, beyond denial or palliation, that theſe enormities were either deviſed, aſſiſted, or connived at, by Deputies of the Convention, celebrated for their ardent republicaniſm and revolutionary zeal.—The danger of confiding unlimited power to ſuch men as compoſed the majority of the Aſſembly, was now diſplayed in a manner that penetrated the dulleſt imagination, and the coldeſt heart; and it was found, that, armed with decrees, aided by revolutionary committees, revolutionary troops, and revolutionary vehicles of deſtruction,* miſſionaries ſelected by choice from the whole repreſentation, had, in the city of Nantes alone, and under the maſk of enthuſiaſtic patriotiſm, ſacrificed thirty thouſand people!
* A company was formed of all the ruffians that could be collected together. They were ſtyled the Company of Marat, and were ſpecially empowered to arreſt whomſoever they choſe, and to enter houſes by night or day—in fine, to proſcribe and pillage at their pleaſure.
Facts like theſe require no comment. The nation may be intimidated, and habits of obedience, or deſpair of redreſs, prolong its ſubmiſſion; but it can no longer be deceived: and patriotiſm, revolutionary liberty, and philoſophy, are for ever aſſociated with the drowning machines of Carrier, and the precepts and calculations of a Herault de Sechelles,* or a Lequinio.**—
* Herault de Sechelles was diſtinguiſhed by birth, talents, and fortune, above moſt of his colleagues in the Convention; yet we find him in correſpondence with Carrier, applauding his enormities, and adviſing him how to continue them with effect.—Herault was of a noble family, and had been a preſident in the Parliament of Paris. He was one of Robeſpierre's Committee of Public Welfare, and being in ſome way implicated in a charge of treachery brought againſt Simon, another Deputy, was guillotined at the ſame time with Danton. ** Lequinio is a philoſopher by profeſſion, who has endeavoured to enlighten his countrymen by a publication entitled "Les Prejugeſ Detruits," and ſince by proving it advantageous to make no priſonerſ of war.
—The ninety Nantais, againſt whom there exiſted no ſerious charge, and who had already ſuffered more than death, were acquitted. Yet, though the people were gratified by this verdict, and the general indignation appeaſed by an immediate arreſt of thoſe who had been moſt notoriouſly active in theſe dreadful operations, a deep and ſalutary impreſſion remains, and we may hope it will be found impracticable either to renew the ſame ſcenes, or for the Convention to ſhelter (as they ſeemed diſpoſed to do) the principal criminals, who are members of their own body. Yet, how are theſe delinquents to be brought to condemnation? They all acted under competent authority, and their diſpatches to the Convention, which ſufficiently indicated their proceedings, were alwayſ ſanctioned by circulation, and applauded, according to the exceſs of their flagitiouſneſs.
It is worthy of remark, that Nantes, the principal theatre of theſe perſecutions and murders, had been early diſtinguiſhed by the attachment of its inhabitants to the revolution; inſomuch, that, at the memorable epoch when the ſhort-ſighted policy of the Court excluded the Conſtituent Aſſembly from their Hall at Verſailles, and they took refuge in the Jeu de Paume, with a reſolution fatal to their country, never to ſeparate until they had obtained their purpoſes, an expreſs was ſent to Nantes, aſ the place they ſhould make choice of, if any violence obliged them to quit the neighbourhood of Paris.
But it was not only by its principles that Nantes had ſignalized itſelf; at every period of the war, it had contributed largely both in men and money, and its riches and commerce ſtill rendered it one of the moſt important towns of the republic.—What has been its reward?—Barbarouſ envoys from the Convention, ſent expreſſly to level the ariſtocracy of wealth, to cruſh its mercantile ſpirit, and decimate its inhabitants.*—
* When Nantes was reduced almoſt to a ſtate of famine by the deſtruction of commerce, and the ſupplies drawn for the maintenance of the armies, Commiſſioners were ſent to Paris, to ſolicit a ſupply of proviſions. They applied to Carrier, as being beſt acquainted with their diſtreſs, and were anſwered in this language:—"Demandez, pour Nanteſ! je ſolliciterai qu'on porte le fer et la flamme danſ cette abominable ville. Vous etes tous des coquins, des contre- revolutionnaires, des brigands, des ſcelerats, je ferai nommer une commiſſion par la Convention Nationale.—J'irai moi meme a la tete de cette commiſſion.—Scelerats, je ſerai rouler les tetes danſ Nanteſ—je regenererai Nantes."—"Is it for Nantes that you petition? I'll exert my influence to have fire and ſword carried into that abominable city. You are all ſcoundrels, counter- revolutioniſts, thieves, miſcreants.—I'll have a commiſſion appointed by the Convention, and go myſelf at the head of it.— Villains, I'll ſet your heads a rolling about Nanteſ—I'll regenerate Nantes." Report of the Commiſſion of Twenty-one, on the conduct of Carrier.
—Terrible leſſon for thoſe diſcontented and miſtaken people, who, enriched by commerce, are not content with freedom and independence, but ſeek for viſionary benefits, by becoming the partizans of innovation, or the tools of faction!*
* The diſaſters of Nantes ought not to be loſt to the republicans of Birmingham, Mancheſter, and other great commercial towns, where "men fall out they know not why;" and where their increaſing wealth and proſperity are the beſt eulogiums on the conſtitution they attempt to undermine.
I have hitherto ſaid little of La Vendee; but the fate of Nantes is ſo nearly connected with it, that I ſhall make it the ſubject of my next letter.
It appears, that the greater part of the inhabitants of Poitou, Anjou, and the Southern diviſions of Brittany, now diſtinguiſhed by the general appellation of the people of La Vendee, (though they include thoſe of ſeveral other departments,) never either comprehended or adopted the principles of the French revolution. Many different cauſes contributed to increaſe their original averſion from the new ſyſtem, and to give their reſiſtance that conſiſtency, which has ſince become ſo formidable. A partiality for their ancient cuſtoms, an attachment to their Nobleſſe, and a deference for their Prieſts, are ſaid to characterize the brave and ſimple natives of La Vendee. Hence republican writers, with ſelf-complacent deciſion, always treat this war as the effect of ignorance, ſlavery, and ſuperſtition.
The modern reformiſt, who calls the labourer from the plough, and the artizan from the loom, to make them ſtateſmen or philoſophers, and who has invaded the abodes of contented induſtry with the rights of man, that our fields may be cultivated, and our garments wove, by metaphyſicians, will readily aſſent to this opinion.—Yet a more enlightened and liberal philoſophy may be tempted to examine how far the Vendeans have really merited the contempt and perſecution of which they have been the objects. By the confeſſion of the republicans themſelves, they are religious, hoſpitable, and frugal, humane and merciful towards their enemies, and eaſily perſuaded to whatever is juſt and reaſonable.
I do not pretend to combat the narrow prejudices of thoſe who ſuppoſe the worth or happineſs of mankind compatible but with one ſet of opinions; and who, confounding the adventitious with the eſſential, appreciate only book learning: but ſurely, qualities which imply a knowledge of what iſ due both to God and man, and information ſufficient to yield to what iſ right or rational, are not deſcriptive of barbarians; or at leaſt, we may ſay with Phyrrhus, "there is nothing barbarous in their diſcipline."*
*"The huſbandmen of this country are in general men of ſimple manners, naturally well inclined, or at leaſt not addicted to ſerious vices." Lequinio, Guerre de La Vendee. Dubois de Crance, ſpeaking of the inhabitants of La Vendee, ſays, "They are the moſt hoſpitable people I ever ſaw, and always diſpoſed to liſten to what is juſt and reaſonable, if proffered with mildneſſ and humanity." "This unpoliſhed people, whom, however, it is much leſs difficult to perſuade than to fight." Lequinio, G. de La V. "They affected towards our priſoners a deceitful humanity, neglecting no means to draw them over to their own party, and often ſending them back to us with only a ſimple prohibition to bear armſ againſt the King or religion." Report of Richard and Choudieu. The ignorant Vendeans then could give leſſons of policy and humanity, which the "enlightened" republicans were not capable of profiting by.
—Their adherence to their ancient inſtitutions, and attachment to their Gentry and Clergy, when the former were aboliſhed and the latter proſcribed, might warrant a preſumption that they were happy under the one, and kindly treated by the other: for though individuals may ſometimes perſevere in affections or habits from which they derive neither felicity nor advantage, whole bodies of men can ſcarcely be ſuppoſed eager to riſk their lives in defence of privileges that have oppreſſed them, or of a religion from which they draw no conſolation.
But whatever the cauſe, the new doctrines, both civil and religious, were received in La Vendee with a diſguſt, which was not only expreſſed by murmurs, but occaſionally by little revolts, by diſobedience to the conſtitutional authorities, and a rejection of the conſtitutional clergy.
Some time previous to the depoſition of the King, Commiſſioners were ſent to ſuppreſs theſe diſorders; and though I doubt not but all poſſible means were taken to conciliate, I can eaſily believe, that neither the King nor his Miniſters might be deſirous of ſubduing by force a people who erred only from piety or loyalty. What effect this ſyſtem of indulgence might have produced cannot now be decided; becauſe the ſubſequent overthrow of the monarchy, and the maſſacre or baniſhment of the prieſts, muſt have totally alienated their minds, and precluded all hope of reconcilement.—Diſaffection, therefore, continued to increaſe, and the Briſſotines are ſuſpected of having rather foſtered than repreſſed theſe inteſtine commotions,* for the ſame purpoſe which induced them to provoke the war with England, and to extend that of the Continent.
* Le Brun, one of the Briſſotin Miniſters, concealed the progreſs of this war for ſix months before he thought fit to report it to the Convention.
—It is impoſſible to aſſign a good motive to any act of this literary intriguer.
—Perhaps, while they determined to eſtabliſh their faction by "braving all Europe," they might think it equally politic to perplex and overawe Paris by a near and dangerous enemy, which would render their continuance in power neceſſary, or whom they might join, if expelled from it.*
* This laſt reaſon might afterwards have given way to their apprehenſions, and the Briſſotins have preferred the creation of new civil wars, to a confidence in the royaliſts. Theſe men, who condemned the King for a ſuppoſed intention of defending an authority tranſmitted to him through whole ages, and recently ſanctioned by the voice of the people, did not ſcruple to excite a civil war in defence of their ſix monthſ' ſovereignty over a republic, proclaimed by a ferocious comedian, and certainly without the aſſent of the nation. Had the ill-fated Monarch dared thus to trifle with the lives of his ſubjects, he might have ſaved France and himſelf from ruin.
When men gratify their ambition by means ſo ſanguinary and atrocious aſ thoſe reſorted to by the Briſſotines, we are authorized in concluding they will not be more ſcrupulous in the uſe or preſervation of power, than they were in attaining it; and we can have no doubt but that the fomenting or ſuppreſſing the progreſs of civil diſcord, was, with them, a mere queſtion of expediency.
The decree which took place in March, 1793, for raiſing three hundred thouſand men in the departments, changed the partial inſurrections of La Vendee to an open and connected rebellion; and every where the young people refuſed going, and joined in preference the ſtandard of revolt. In the beginning of the ſummer, the brigandſ* (as they were called) grew ſo numerous, that the government, now in the hands of Robeſpierre and hiſ party, began to take ſerious meaſures to combat them.
* Robberſ—banditti—The name was firſt given, probably, to the inſurgents of La Vendee, in order to inſinuate a belief that the diſorders were but of a ſlight and predatory nature.
—One body of troops were diſpatched after another, who were all ſucceſſively defeated, and every where fled before the royaliſts.
It is not unuſual in political concerns to attribute to deep-laid planſ and abſtruſe combinations, effects which are the natural reſult of private paſſions and iſolated intereſts. Robeſpierre is ſaid to have promoted both the deſtruction of the republican armies and thoſe of La Vendee, in order to reduce the national population. That he was capable of imagining ſuch a project is probable—yet we need not, in tracing the conduct of the war, look farther than to the character of the agents who were, almoſt neceſſarily, employed in it. Nearly every officer qualified for the command of an army, had either emigrated, or was on ſervice at the frontiers; and the taſk of reducing by violence a people who reſiſted only becauſe they deemed themſelves injured, and who, even in the eſtimation of the republicans, could only be miſtaken, was naturally avoided by all men who were not mere adventurers. It might likewiſe be the policy of the government to prefer the ſervices of thoſe, who, having neither reputation nor property, would be more dependent, and whom, whether they became dangerous by their ſucceſſes or defeats, it would be eaſy to ſacrifice.
Either, then, from neceſſity or choice, the republican armies in La Vendee were conducted by diſſolute and rapacious wretches, at all timeſ more eager to pillage than fight, and who were engaged in ſecuring their plunder, when they ſhould have been in purſuit of the enemy. On every occaſion they ſeemed to retreat, that their ill ſucceſs might afford them a pretext for declaring that the next town or village was confederated with the inſurgents, and for delivering it up, in conſequence, to murder and rapine. Such of the ſoldiers as could fill their pocket-books with aſſignats, left their leſs ſucceſſful companions, and retired as invalidſ to the hoſpitals: the battalions of Paris (and particularly "the conquerors of the Baſtille") had ſuch ardour for pillage, that every perſon poſſeſſed of property was, in their ſenſe, an ariſtocrat, whom it was lawful to deſpoil.*
* "Le pillage a ete porte a ſon comble—les militaires au lieu de ſonger a ce qu'ils avoient a faire, n'ont penſe qu'a remplir leurſ ſacs, et a voir ſe perpetuer une guerre auſſi avantageuſe a leur interet—beaucoup de ſimples ſoldats ont acquis cinquante mille francs et plus; on en a vu couverts de bijoux, et faiſant dans touſ les genres des depenſes d'une produgaloite, monſtreuſe." Lequinio, Guerre de la Vendee. "The moſt unbridled pillage prevailed—officers, inſtead of attending to their duty, thought only of filling their portmanteaus, and of the means to perpetuate a war they found ſo profitable.—Many private ſoldiers made fifty thouſand livres, and they have been ſeen loaded with trinkets, and exerciſing the moſt abominable prodigalities of every kind." Lequinio, War of La Vendee. "The conquerors of the Baſtille had unluckily a moſt unbridled ardour for pillage—one would have ſuppoſed they had come for the expreſs purpoſe of plunder, rather than fighting. The ſtage coacheſ for Paris were entirely loaded with their booty." Report of Benaben, Commiſſioner of the Department of Maine and Loire.
—The carriages of the army were entirely appropriated to the conveyance of their booty; till, at laſt, the adminiſtrators of ſome departmentſ were under the neceſſity of forbidding ſuch incumbrances: but the officers, with whom reſtrictions of this ſort were unavailing, put all the horſes and waggons of the country in requiſition for ſimilar purpoſes, while they relaxed themſelves from the ſerious buſineſs of the war, (which indeed was nearly confined to burning, plundering, and maſſacring the defenceleſs inhabitants,) by a numerous retinue of miſtreſſes and muſicians.
It is not ſurprizing that generals and troops of this deſcription were conſtantly defeated; and their reiterated diſaſters might probably have firſt ſuggeſted the idea of totally exterminating a people it was found ſo difficult to ſubdue, and ſo impracticable to conciliate.—On the firſt of October 1793, Barrere, after inveighing againſt the exceſſive population of La Vendee, which he termed "frightful," propoſed to the Convention to proclaim by a decree, that the war of La Vendee "ſhould be terminated" by the twentieth of the ſame month. The Convention, with barbarous folly, obeyed; and the enlightened Pariſians, accuſtomed to think with contempt on the ignorance of the Vendeans, believed that a war, which had baffled the efforts of government for ſo many months, waſ to end on a preciſe day—which Barrere had fixed with as much aſſurance as though he had only been ordering a fete.
But the Convention and the government underſtood this decree in a very different ſenſe from the good people of Paris. The war was, indeed, to be ended; not by the uſual mode of combating armies, but by a total extinction of all the inhabitants of the country, both innocent and guilty—and Merlin de Thionville, with other members, ſo perfectly comprehended this deteſtable project, that they already began to deviſe ſchemes for repeopling La Vendee, when its miſerable natives ſhould be deſtroyed.*
* It is for the credit of humanity to believe, that the decree waſ not underſtood according to its real intention; but the nation haſ to chooſe between the imputation of cruelty, ſtupidity, or ſlavery— for they either approved the ſenſe of the decree, believed what waſ not poſſible, or were obliged to put on an appearance of both, in ſpite of their ſenſes and their feelings. A proclamation, in conſequence, to the army, is more explicit—"All the brigands of La Vendee muſt be exterminated before the end of October."
From this time, the repreſentatives on miſſion, commiſſaries of war, officers, ſoldiers, and agents of every kind, vied with each other in the moſt abominable outrages. Carrier ſuperintended the fuſillades and noyades at Nantes, while Lequinio diſpatched with his own hands a part of the priſoners taken at La Fontenay, and projected the deſtruction of the reſt.—After the evacuation of Mans by the inſurgents, women were brought by twenties and thirties, and ſhot before the houſe where the deputieſ Tureau and Bourbotte had taken up their reſidence; and it appears to have been conſidered as a compliment to theſe republican Molochs, to ſurround their habitation with mountains of the dead. A compliment of the like nature was paid to the repreſentative Prieur de la Marne,* by a volunteer, who having learned that his own brother was taken amongſt the enemy, requeſted, by way of recommending himſelf to notice, a formal permiſſion to be his executioner.—The Roman ſtoiciſm of Prieur accepted the implied homage, and granted the requeſt!!
* This repreſentative, who was alſo a member of the Committee of Public Welfare, was not only the Brutus, but the Antony of La Vendee; for we learn from the report of Benaben, that his ſtern virtues were accompanied, through the whole of his miſſion in thiſ afflicted country, by a cortege of thirty ſtrolling fiddlerſ!
Fourteen hundred priſoners, who had ſurrendered at Savenay, among whom were many women and children, were ſhot, by order of the deputy Francaſtel, who, together with Hentz, Richard, Choudieu, Carpentier, and others of their colleagues, ſet an example of rapine and cruelty, but too zealouſly imitated by their ſubordinate agents. In ſome places, the inhabitants, without diſtinction of age or ſex, were put indiſcriminately to the ſword; in others, they were forced to carry the pillage collected from their own dwellings, which, after being thus ſtripped, were conſigned to the flames.*
* "This conflagration accompliſhed, they had no ſooner arrived in the midſt of our army, than the volunteers, in imitation of their commanders, ſeized what little they had preſerved, and maſſacred them.—But this is not all: a whole municipality, in their ſcarfs of office, were ſacrificed; and at a little village, inhabited by about fifty good patriots, who had been uniform in their reſiſtance of the inſurgents, news is brought that their brother ſoldiers are coming to aſſiſt them, and to revenge the wrongs they have ſuffered. A friendly repaſt is provided, the military arrive, embrace their ill-fated hoſts, and devour what they have provided; which is no ſooner done, than they drive all theſe poor people into the churchyard, and ſtab them one after another." Report of Faure, Vice-Preſident of a Military Commiſſion at Fontenay.
—The heads of the priſoners ſerved occaſionally as marks for the officers to ſhoot at for trifling wagers, and the ſoldiers, who imitated theſe heinous examples, uſed to conduct whole hundreds to the place of execution, ſinging "allons enfans de la patrie."*
* Woe to thoſe who were unable to walk, for, under pretext that carriages could not be found to convey them, they were ſhot without heſitation!—Benaben.
The inſurgents had loſt Cholet, Chatillon, Mortagne, &c. Yet, far from being vanquiſhed by the day appointed, they had croſſed the Loire in great force, and, having traverſed Brittany, were preparing to make an attack on Granville. But this did not prevent Barrere from announcing to the convention, that La Vendee was no more, and the galleries echoed with applauſes, when they were told that the highways were impaſſable, from the numbers of the dead, and that a conſiderable part of France was one vaſt cemetery. This intelligence alſo tranquillized the paternal ſolicitude of the legiſlature, and, for many months, while the ſyſtem of depopulation was purſued with the moſt barbarous fury, it was not permiſſible even to ſuſpect that the war was yet unextinguiſhed.
It is only ſince the trial of the Nantais, that the ſtate of La Vendee has again become a ſubject of diſcuſſion: truth has now forced its way, and we learn, that, whatever may be the ſtrength of theſe unhappy people, their minds, embittered by ſuffering, and animated by revenge, are ſtill leſs than ever diſpoſed to ſubmit to the republican government. The deſign of total extirpation, once ſo much inſiſted on, is at preſent ſaid to be relinquiſhed, and a plan of inſtruction and converſion is to be ſubſtituted for bayonets and conflagrations. The revolted countries are to be enlightened by the doctrines of liberty, fanaticiſm is to be expoſed, and a love of the republic to ſucceed the prejudices in favour of Kings and Nobles.—To promote theſe objects, is, undoubtedly, the real intereſt of the Convention; but a moraliſt, who obſerves through another medium, may compare with regret and indignation the inſtructors with the people they are to illumine, and the advantages of philoſophy over ignorance.
Lequinio, one of the moſt determined reformers of the barbariſm of La Vendee, propoſes two methods: the firſt is, a general maſſacre of all the nativeſ—and the only objection it ſeems ſuſceptible of in his opinion is, their numbers; but as he thinks on this account it may be attended with difficulty, he is for eſtabliſhing a ſort of perpetual miſſion of Repreſentatives, who, by the influence of good living and a company of fiddlers and ſingers, are to reſtore the whole country to peace.*—
*"The only difficulty that preſents itſelf is, to determine whether recourſe ſhall be had to the alternative of indulgence, or if it will not be more advantageous to perſiſt in the plan of total deſtruction. "If the people that ſtill remain were not more than thirty or forty thouſand, the ſhorteſt way would doubtleſs be, to cut all their throats (egorger), agreeably to my firſt opinion; but the population is immenſe, amounting ſtill to four hundred thouſand ſouls.—If there were no hope of ſucceeding by any other methods, certainly it were better to kill all (egorger), even were there five hundred thouſand. "But what are we to underſtand by meaſures of rigour? Is there no diſtinction to be made between rigorous and barbarous meaſures? The utmoſt ſeverity is juſtified on the plea of the general good, but nothing can juſtify barbarity. If the welfare of France neceſſitated the ſacrifice of the four hundred thouſand inhabitantſ of La Vendee, and the countries in rebellion adjoining, they ought to be ſacrificed: but, even in this caſe, there would be no excuſe for thoſe atrocities which revolt nature, which are an outrage to ſocial order, and repugnant equally to feeling (ſentiment) and reaſon; and in cutting off ſo many entire generations for the good of the country, we ought not to ſuffer the uſe of barbarous means in a ſingle inſtance. "Now the moſt effectual way to arrive at this end (converting the people), would be by joyous and fraternal miſſions, frank and familiar harangues, civic repaſts, and, above all, dancing. "I could wiſh, too, that during their circuits in theſe countries, the Repreſentatives were always attended by muſicians. The expence would be trifling, compared with the good effect; if, as I am ſtrongly perſuaded, we could thus ſucceed in giving a turn to the public mind, and cloſe the bleeding arteries of theſe fertile and unhappy provinces." Lequinio, Guerre de La Vendee. And this people, who were either to have their throats cut, or be republicanized by means of ſinging, dancing, and revolutionary Panſ and Silenuſ's, already beheld their property devaſtated by pillage or conflagration, and were in danger of a peſtilence from the unburied bodies of their families.—Let the reader, who has ſeen Lequinio's pamphlet, compare his account of the ſufferings of the Vendeans, and his project for conciliating them. They convey a ſtrong idea of the levity of the national character; but, in thiſ inſtance, I muſt ſuppoſe, that nature would be ſuperior to local influence; and I doubt if Lequinio's jocund philoſophy will ever ſucceed in attaching the Vendeans to the republic.
—Camille Deſmouins, a republican reformer, nearly as ſanguinary, though not more liberal, thought the guillotine diſgraced by ſuch ignorant prey, and that it were better to hunt them down like wild beaſts; or, if made priſoners, to exchange them againſt the cattle of their country!—The eminently informed Herault de Sechelles was the patron and confidant of the exterminating reforms of Carrier; and Carnot, when the mode of reforming by noyades and fuſillades was debated at the Committee, pleaded the cauſe of Carrier, whom he deſcribes as a good, nay, an excellent patriot.—Merlin de Thionville, whoſe philoſophy is of a more martial caſt, was deſirous that the natives of La Vendee ſhould be completely annihilated, in order to furniſh in their territory and habitations a recompence for the armies.—Almoſt every member of the Convention haſ individually avowed principles, or committed acts, from which common turpitude would recoil, and, as a legiſlative body, their whole code haſ been one unvarying ſubverſion of morals and humanity. Such are the men who value themſelves on poſſeſſing all the advantages the Vendeans are pretended to be in want of.—We will now examine what diſciples they have produced, and the benefits which have been derived from their inſtructions.
Every part of France remarkable for an early proſelytiſm to the revolutionary doctrines has been the theatre of crimes unparalleled in the annals of human nature. Thoſe who have moſt boaſted their contempt for religious ſuperſtition have been degraded by an idolatry as groſs aſ any ever practiced on the Nile; and the moſt enthuſiaſtic republicanſ have, without daring to murmur, ſubmitted for two years ſucceſſively to a horde of cruel and immoral tyrants.—A pretended enfranchiſement from political and eccleſiaſtical ſlavery has been the ſignal of the loweſt debaſement, and the moſt cruel profligacy: the very Catechumens of freedom and philoſophy have, while yet in their firſt rudiments, diſtinguiſhed themſelves as proficients in the arts of oppreſſion and ſervility, of intolerance and licentiouſneſs.—Paris, the rendezvous of all the perſecuted patriots and philoſophers in Europe, the centre of the revolutionary ſyſtem, whoſe inhabitants were illumined by the firſt rayſ of modern republicaniſm, and who claim a ſort of property in the rightſ of man, as being the original inventors, may fairly be quoted as an example of the benefits that would accrue from a farther diſſemination of the new tenets.
Without reverting to the events of Auguſt and September, 1792, preſided by the founders of liberty, and executed by their too apt ſectaries, it is notorious that the legions of Paris, ſent to chaſtiſe the unenlightened Vendeans, were the moſt cruel and rapacious banditti that ever were let looſe to afflict the world. Yet, while they exerciſed thiſ ſavage oppreſſion in the countries near the Loire, their fellow-citizenſ on the banks of the Seine crouched at the frown of paltry tyrants, and were unreſiſtingly dragged to dungeons, or butchered by hundreds on the ſcaffold.—At Marſeilles, Lyons, Bourdeaux, Arras, wherever theſe baleful principles have made converts, they have made criminals and victims; and thoſe who have been moſt eager in imbibing or propagating them have, by a natural and juſt retribution, been the firſt ſacrificed. The new diſcoveries in politics have produced ſome in ethics not leſs novel, and until the adoption of revolutionary doctrines, the extent of human ſubmiſſion or human depravity was fortunately unknown.
In this ſource of guilt and miſery the people of La Vendee are now to be inſtructed—that people, who are acknowledged to be hoſpitable, humane, and laborious, and whoſe ideas of freedom may be better eſtimated by their reſiſtance to a deſpotiſm which the reſt of France has ſunk under, than by the jargon of pretended reformers.—I could wiſh, that not only the peaſants of La Vendee, but thoſe of all other countries, might for ever remain ſtrangers to ſuch pernicious knowledge. It is ſufficient for this uſeful claſs of men to be taught the ſimple precepts of religion and morality, and thoſe who would teach them more, are not their benefactors. Our age is, indeed, a literary age, and ſuch purſuits are both liberal and laudable in the rich and idle; but why ſhould volumes of politics or philoſophy be mutilated and frittered into pamphlets, to inſpire a diſguſt for labour, and a taſte for ſtudy or pleaſure, in thoſe to whom ſuch diſguſts or inclinations are fatal. The ſpirit of one author iſ extracted, and the beauties of another are ſelected, only to bewilder the underſtanding, and engroſs the time, of thoſe who might be more profitably employed.
I know I may be cenſured as illiberal; but I have, during my abode in this country, ſufficiently witneſſed the diſaſtrous effects of corrupting a people through their amuſements or curioſity, and of making men neglect their uſeful callings to become patriots and philoſophers.*—
*This right of directing public affairs, and neglecting their own, we may ſuppoſe eſſential to republicans of the lower orders, ſince we find the following ſentence of tranſportation in the regiſters of a popular commiſſion: "Bergeron, a dealer in ſkinſ—ſuſpected—having done nothing in favour of the revolution—extremely ſelfiſh (egoiſte,) and blaming the Sans-Culottes for neglecting their callings, that they may attend only to public concerns."—Signed by the members of the Commiſſion and the two Committees.
—"Il eſt dangereux d'apprendre au peuple a raiſonner: il ne faut paſ l'eclairer trop, parce qu'il n'eſt pas poſſible de l'eclairer aſſez." ["It is dangerous to teach the people to reaſon—they ſhould not be too much enlightened, becauſe it is not poſſible to enlighten them ſufficiently."]—When the enthuſiaſm of Rouſſeau's genius was thuſ uſefully ſubmitted to his good ſenſe and knowledge of mankind, he little expected every hamlet in France would be inundated with ſcraps of the contrat ſocial, and thouſands of inoffenſive peaſants maſſacred for not underſtanding the Profeſſion de Foi.
The arguments of miſtaken philanthropiſts or deſigning politicians may divert the order of things, but they cannot change our nature—they may create an univerſal taſte for literature, but they will never unite it with habits of induſtry; and until they prove how men are to live without labour, they have no right to baniſh the chearful vacuity which uſually accompanies it, by ſubſtituting reflections to make it irkſome, and propenſities with which it is incompatible.
The ſituation of France has amply demonſtrated the folly of attempting to make a whole people reaſoners and politicianſ—there ſeems to be no medium; and as it is impoſſible to make a nation of ſages, you let looſe a horde of ſavages: for the philoſophy which teaches a contempt for accuſtomed reſtraints, is not difficult to propagate; but that ſuperior kind, which enables men to ſupply them, by ſubduing the paſſions that render reſtraints neceſſary, is of ſlow progreſs, and never can be general.
I have made the war of La Vendee more a ſubject of reflection than narrative, and have purpoſely avoided military details, which would be not only unintereſting, but diſguſting. You would learn no more from theſe deſultory hoſtilities, than that the defeats of the republican armies were, if poſſible, more ſanguinary than their victories; that the royaliſts, who began the war with humanity, were at length irritated to repriſals; and that more than two hundred thouſand lives have already been ſacrificed in the conteſt, yet undecided.