Revolutions, like every thing elſe in France, are a mode, and the Convention already commemorate four ſince 1789: that of July 1789, which rendered the monarchical power nugatory; that of Auguſt the 10th, 1792, which ſubverted it; the expulſion of the Briſſotins, in May 1793; and the death of Robeſpierre, in July 1794.
The people, accuſtomed, from their earlieſt knowledge, to reſpect the perſon and authority of the King, felt that the events of the two firſt epochs, which diſgraced the one and annihilated the other, were violent and important revolutions; and, as language which expreſſes the public ſentiment is readily adopted, it ſoon became uſual to ſpeak of theſe events as the revolutions of July and Auguſt.
The thirty-firſt of May has always been viewed in a very different light, for it was not eaſy to make the people at large comprehend how the ſucceſſion of Robeſpierre and Danton to Briſſot and Roland could be conſidered as a revolution, more eſpecially as it appeared evident that the principles of one party actuated the government of the other. Every town had its many-headed monſter to repreſent the defeat of the Foederaliſts, and its mountain to proclaim the triumph of their enemieſ the Mountaineers; but theſe political hieroglyphics were little underſtood, and the merits of the factions they alluded to little diſtinguiſhed—ſo that the revolution of the thirty-firſt of May waſ rather a party aera, than a popular one.
The fall of Robeſpierre would have made as little impreſſion as that of the Girondiſts, if ſome melioration of the revolutionary ſyſtem had not ſucceeded it; and it is in fact only ſince the public voice, and the intereſt of the Convention, have occaſioned a change approaching to reform, that the death of Robeſpierre is really conſidered as a benefit.
But what was in itſelf no more than a warfare of factions, may now, if eſtimated by its conſequences, be pronounced a revolution of infinite importance. The Jacobins, whom their declining power only rendered more inſolent and daring, have at length obliged the Convention to take decided meaſures againſt them, and they are now ſubject to ſuch regulations as muſt effectually diminiſh their influence, and, in the end, diſſolve their whole combination. They can no longer correſpond aſ ſocieties, and the miſchievous union which conſtituted their chief force, can ſcarcely be ſupported for any time under the preſent reſtrictions.*
* "All affiliations, aggregations, and foederations, as well aſ correſpondences carried on collectively between ſocieties, under whatever denomination they may exiſt, are henceforth prohibited, aſ being ſubverſive of government, and contrary to the unity of the republic. "Thoſe perſons who ſign as preſidents or ſecretaries, petitions or addreſſes in a collective form, ſhall be arreſted and confined aſ ſuſpicious, &c. &c.—Whoever offends in any ſhape againſt the preſent law, will incur the ſame penalty." The whole of the decree is in the ſame ſpirit. The immediate and avowed pretext for this meaſure was, that the popular ſocieties, who have of late only ſent petitions diſagreeable to the Convention, did not expreſs the ſenſe of the people. Yet the depoſition of the King, and the eſtabliſhment of the republic, had no other ſanction than the adherence of theſe clubs, who are now allowed not to be the nation, and whoſe very exiſtence as then conſtituted is declared to be ſubverſive of government.
It is not improbable, that the Convention, by ſuffering the clubs ſtill to exiſt, after reducing them to nullity, may hope to preſerve the inſtitution as a future reſource againſt the people, while it repreſſeſ their immediate efforts againſt itſelf. The Briſſotins would have attempted a ſimilar policy, but they had nothing to oppoſe to the Jacobins, except their perſonal influence. Briſſot and Roland took part with the clubs, as they approved the maſſacres of Auguſt and September, juſt as far as it anſwered their purpoſe; and when they were abandoned by the one, and the other were found to incur an unprofitable odium, they acted the part which Tallien and Freron act now under the ſame circumſtances, and would willingly have promoted the deſtruction of a power which had become inimical to them.*—
* Briſſot and Roland were more pernicious as Jacobins than the moſt furious of their ſucceſſors. If they did not in perſon excite the people to the commiſſion of crimes, they corrupted them, and made them fit inſtruments for the crimes of others. Briſſot might affect to condemn the maſſacres of September in the groſs, but he is known to have enquired with eager impatience, and in a tone which implied he had reaſons for expecting it, whether De Morande, an enemy he wiſhed to be releaſed from, was among the murdered.
—Their imitators, without poſſeſſing more honeſty, either political or moral, are more fortunate; and not only Tallien and Freron, who ſince their expulſion from the Jacobins have become their moſt active enemies, are now in a manner popular, but even the whole Convention is much leſſ deteſted than it was before.
It is the ſingular felicity of the Aſſembly to derive a ſort of popularity from the very exceſſes it has occaſioned or ſanctioned, and which, it was natural to ſuppoſe, would have conſigned it for ever to vengeance or obloquy; but the paſt ſufferings of the people have taught them to be moderate in their expectations; and the name of their repreſentation has been ſo connected with tyranny of every ſort, that it appears an extraordinary forbearance when the uſual operations of guillotines and mandates of arreſt are ſuſpended.
Thus, though the Convention have not in effect repaired a thouſandth part of their own acts of injuſtice, or done any good except from neceſſity, they are overwhelmed with applauding addreſſes, and affectionate injunctions not to quit their poſt. What is ſtill more wonderful, many of theſe are ſincere; and Tallien, Freron, Legendre, &c. with all their revolutionary enormities on their heads, are now the heroes of the reviving ariſtocrats.
Situated as things are at preſent, there is much ſound policy in flattering the Convention into a proper uſe of their power, rather than making a convulſive effort to deprive them of it. The Jacobins would doubtleſs avail themſelves of ſuch a movement; and this is ſo much apprehended, that it has given riſe to a general though tacit agreement to foment the diviſions between the Legiſlature and the Clubs, and to ſupport the firſt, at leaſt until it ſhall have deſtroyed the latter.
The late decrees, which obſtruct the intercourſe and affiliation of popular ſocieties, may be regarded as an event not only beneficial to this country, but to the world in general; becauſe it is confeſſed, that theſe combinations, by means of which the French monarchy was ſubverted, and the King brought to the ſcaffold, are only reconcileable with a barbarous and anarchical government.
The Convention are now much occupied on two affairs, which call forth all their "natural propenſities," and afford a farther confirmation of thiſ fact—that their feelings and principles are always inſtinctively at war with juſtice, however they may find it expedient to affect a regard for it—C'eſt la chatte metamorphoſee en femme [The cat turned into a woman.]—
"En vain de ſon train ordinaire" "On la veut deſaccoutumer, "Quelque choſe qu'on puiſſe faire "On ne fauroit la reformer." La Fontaine.
The Deputies who were impriſoned as accomplices of the Girondiſts, and on other different pretexts, have petitioned either to be brought to trial or releaſed; and the abominable conduct of Carrier at Nantes is ſo fully ſubſtantiated, that the whole country is impatient to have ſome ſtepſ taken towards bringing him to puniſhment: yet the Convention are averſe from both theſe meaſureſ—they procraſtinate and elude the demand of their ſeventy-two colleagues, who were arreſted without a ſpecific charge; while they almoſt protect Carrier, and declare, that in caſeſ which tend to deprive a Repreſentative of his liberty, it is better to reflect thirty times than once. This is curious doctrine with men who have ſent ſo many people arbitrarily to the ſcaffold, and who now detain ſeventy-two Deputies in confinement, they know not why.
The aſhes of Rouſſeau have recently been depoſited with the ſame ceremonies, and in the ſame place, as thoſe of Marat. We ſhould feel for ſuch a degradation of genius, had not the talents of Rouſſeau been frequently miſapplied; and it is their miſapplication which has levelled him to an aſſociation with Marat. Rouſſeau might be really a fanatic, and, though eccentric, honeſt; yet his power of adorning impracticable ſyſtems, it muſt be acknowledged, has been more miſchievous to ſociety than a thouſand ſuch groſs impoſtors as Marat.
I have learned ſince my return from the Providence, the death of Madame Elizabeth. I was ill when it happened, and my friends took ſome pains to conceal an event which they knew would affect me. In tracing the motiveſ of the government for this horrid action, it may perhaps be ſufficiently accounted for in the known piety and virtues of this Princeſs; but reaſons of another kind have been ſuggeſted to me, and which, in all likelihood, contributed to haſten it. She was the only perſon of the royal family of an age competent for political tranſactions who had not emigrated, and her character extorted reſpect even from her enemies. [The Prince of Conti was too inſignificant to be an object of jealouſy in thiſ way.] She muſt therefore, of courſe, ſince the death of the Queen, have been an object of jealouſy to all parties. Robeſpierre might fear that ſhe would be led to conſent to ſome arrangement with a rival faction for placing the King on the throne—the Convention were under ſimilar apprehenſions with regard to him; ſo that the fate of this illuſtriouſ ſufferer was probably gratifying to every part of the republicans.
I find, on reading her trial, (if ſo it may be called,) a repetition of one of the principal charges againſt the Queen—that of trampling on the national colours at Verſailles, during an entertainment given to ſome newly-arrived troops. Yet I have been aſſured by two gentlemen, perfectly informed on the ſubject, and who were totally unacquainted with each other, that this circumſtance, which has been ſo uſefully enlarged upon, is falſe,* and that the whole calumny originated in the jealouſy of a part of the national guard who had not been invited.
* This infamous calumny (originally fabricated by Lecointre the linen draper, then an officer of the National Guard, now a member of the council of 500) was amply confuted by M. Mounier, who waſ Preſident of the States-General at the time, in a publication intitled "Expoſe de ma Conduite," which appeared ſoon after the event—in the autumn of 1789.—Editor.
But this, as well as the taking of the Baſtille, and other revolutionary falſehoods, will, I truſt, be elucidated. The people are now undeceived only by their calamitieſ—the time may come, when it will be ſafe to produce their conviction by truth. Heroes of the fourteenth of July, and patriots of the tenth of Auguſt, how will ye ſhrink from it!—Yours, &c.
Every poſt now brings me letters from England; but I perceive, by the ſuppreſſed congratulations of my friends, that, though they rejoice to find I am ſtill alive, they are far from thinking me in a ſtate of ſecurity. You, my dear Brother, muſt more particularly have lamented the tedious confinement I have endured, and the inconveniencies to which I have been ſubjected; I am, however, perſuaded that you would not wiſh me to have been exempt from a perſecution in which all the natives of England, who are not a diſgrace to their country, as well as ſome that are ſo, have ſhared. Such an exemption would now be deemed a reproach; for, though it muſt be confeſſed that few of us have been voluntary ſufferers, we ſtill claim the honour of martyrdom, and are not very tolerant towards thoſe who, expoſed by their ſituation, may be ſuppoſed to have owed their protection to their principles.
There are, indeed, many known revolutioniſts and republicans, who, from party diſputes, perſonal jealouſies, or from being compriſed in ſome general meaſure, have undergone a ſhort impriſonment; and theſe men now wiſh to be confounded with their companions who are of a different deſcription. But ſuch perſons are carefully diſtinguiſhed;* and the ariſtocrats have, in their turn, a catalogue of ſuſpicious people—that is, of people ſuſpected of not having been ſuſpicious.
* Mr. Thomas Paine, for inſtance, notwithſtanding his ſufferings, iſ ſtill thought more worthy of a ſeat in the Convention or the Jacobins, than of an apartment in the Luxembourg.—Indeed I have generally remarked, that the French of all parties hold an Engliſh republican in peculiar abhorrence.
It is now the faſhion to talk of a ſojourn in a maiſon d'arret with triumph; and the more decent people, who from prudence or fear had been forced to ſeek refuge in the Jacobin clubs, are now ſolicitous to proclaim their real motives. The red cap no longer "rears its hideouſ front" by day, but is modeſtly converted into a night-cap; and the bearer of a diplome de Jacobin, inſtead of ſwinging along, to the annoyance of all the paſſengers he meets, paces ſoberly with a diminiſhed height, and an air not unlike what in England we call ſneaking. The bonnet rouge begins likewiſe to be effaced from flags at the doors; and, as though this emblem of liberty were a very bad neighbour to property, itſ relegation ſeems to encourage the re-appearance of ſilver forks and ſpoons, which are gradually drawn forth from their hiding-places, and reſume their ſtations at table. The Jacobins repreſent themſelves aſ being under the moſt cruel oppreſſion, declare that the members of the Convention are ariſtocrats and royaliſts, and lament bitterly, that, inſtead of fiſh-women, or female patriots of republican external, the galleries are filled with auditors in flounces and anti-civic top-knots, femmes a fontanges.
Theſe imputations and grievances of the Jacobins are not altogether without foundation. People in general are ſtrongly impreſſed with an idea that the Aſſembly are veering towards royaliſm; and it is equally true, that the ſpeeches of Tallien and Freron are occaſionally heard and applauded by fair elegantes, who, two years ago, would have recoiled at the name of either. It is not that their former deeds are forgotten, but the French are grown wiſe by ſuffering; and it is politic, when bad men act well, whatever the motive, to give them credit for it, as nothing iſ ſo likely to make them perſevere, as the hope that their reputation iſ yet retrievable. On this principle the ariſtocrats are the eulogiſts of Tallien, while the Jacobins remind him hourly of the maſſacres of the prieſts, and his official conduct as Secretary to the municipality or Paris.*
* Tallien was Seecretary to the Commune of Paris in 1792, and on the thirty-firſt of Auguſt he appeared at the bar of the Legiſlative Aſſembly with an addreſs, in which he told them "he had cauſed the refractory prieſts to be arreſted and confined, and that in a few days the Land of Liberty ſhould be freed of them."—The maſſacres of the priſons began two days after!
As ſoon as a Repreſentative is convicted of harbouring an opinion unfavourable to pillage or murder, he is immediately declared an ariſtocrat; or, if the Convention happen for a moment to be influenced by reaſon or juſtice, the hopes and fears of both parties are awakened by ſuſpicions that the members are converts to royaliſm.—For my own part, I believe they are and will be juſt what their perſonal ſecurity and perſonal intereſt may ſuggeſt, though it is but a ſorry ſort of panegyric on republican ethics to conclude, that every one who manifeſts the leaſt ſymptom of probity or decency, muſt of courſe be a royaliſt or an ariſtocrat.
Notwithſtanding the harmony which appears to ſubſiſt between the Convention and the people, the former is much leſs popular in detail than in the groſs. Almoſt every member who has been on miſſion, is accuſed of dilapidations and cruelties ſo heinous, that, if they had not been committed by Repreſentans du Peuple, the criminal courts would find no difficulty in deciding upon them.—But as theft or murder does not deprive a member of his privileges, complaints of this nature are only cognizable by the Aſſembly, which, being yet in its firſt days of regeneration, is rather ſcrupulous of defending ſuch amuſements overtly. Alarmed, however, at the number, and averſe from the precedent of theſe denunciations, it has now paſſed a variety of decrees, which are termed a guarantee of the national repreſentation, and which in fact guarantee it ſo effectually, that a Deputy may do any thing in future with impunity, provided it does not affect his colleagues. There are now ſo many forms, reports, and examinations, that ſeveral months may be employed before the perſon of a delinquent, however notorious his guilt, can be ſecured. The exiſtence of a fellow-creature ſhould, doubtleſs, be attacked with caution; for, though he may have forfeited his claims on our eſteem, and even our pity, religion has preſerved him others, of which he ſhould not be deprived.—But when we recollect that all theſe merciful ceremonieſ are in favour of a Carrier or a Le Bon, and that the King, Madame Elizabeth, and thouſands of innocent people, were hurried to execution, without being allowed the conſolations of piety or affection, which only a mockery of juſtice might have afforded them; when, even now, prieſtſ are guillotined for celebrating maſſes in private, and thoughtleſs people for ſpeaking diſreſpectfully of the Convention—the heart is at variance with religion and principle, and we regret that mercy is to be the excluſive portion of thoſe who were never acceſſible to its dictates.*
* The denunciation being firſt preſented to the Aſſembly, they are to decide whether it ſhall be received. If they determine in the affirmative, it is ſent to the three Committees of Legiſlation, Public Welfare, and General Safety, to report whether there may be room for farther examination. In that caſe, a commiſſion of twenty-one members is appointed to receive the proofs of the accuſer, and the defence of the accuſed. Theſe Commiſſioners, after as long a delay as they may think fit to interpoſe, make known their opinion; and if it be againſt the accuſed, the Convention proceed to determine finally whether the matter ſhall be referred to the ordinary tribunal. All this time the culprit is at large, or, at worſt, and merely for the form, careleſſly guarded at his own dwelling.
I would not "pick bad from bad," but it irks one's ſpirit to ſee theſe miſcreants making "aſſurance doubly ſure," and providing for their own ſafety with ſuch ſolicitude, after ſacrificing, without remorſe, whatever was moſt intereſting or reſpectable in the country.—Yours, &c.
Since my own liberation, I have been inceſſantly employed in endeavouring to procure the return of my friends to Amiens; who, though releaſed from priſon ſome time, could not obtain paſſports to quit Arras. After numerous difficulties and vexations, we have at length ſucceeded, and I am now here to accompany them home.
I found Mr. and Mrs. D____ much altered by the hardſhips they have undergone: Mrs. D____, in particular, has been confined ſome months in a noiſome priſon called the Providence, originally intended as a houſe of correction, and in which, though built to contain an hundred and fifty perſons, were crouded near five hundred females, chiefly ladies of Arraſ and the environs.—The ſuperintendance of this miſerable place waſ entruſted to a couple of vulgar and vicious women, who, having diſtinguiſhed themſelves as patriots from the beginning of the revolution, were now rewarded by Le Bon with an office as profitable as it was congenial to their natures.
I know not whether it is to be imputed to the national character, or to that of the French republicans only, but the cruelties which have been committed are uſually ſo mixed with licentiouſneſs, as to preclude deſcription. I have already noticed the conduct of Le Bon, and it muſt ſuffice to ſay, his agents were worthy of him, and that the female priſoners ſuffered every thing which brutality, rapaciouſneſs, and indecency, could inflict. Mr. D____ was, in the mean time, tranſferred from priſon to priſon—the diſtreſs of ſeparation was augmented by their mutual apprehenſions and pecuniary embarraſſmentſ—and I much fear, the health and ſpirits of both are irretrievably injured.
I regret my impatience in coming here, rather than waiting the arrival of my friends at home; for the changes I obſerve, and the recollections they give birth to, oppreſs my heart, and render the place hateful to me.—All the families I knew are diminiſhed by executions, and their property iſ confiſcated—thoſe whom I left in elegant hotels are now in obſcure lodgings, ſubſiſting upon the ſuperfluities of better dayſ—and the ſorrows of the widows and orphans are increaſed by penury; while the Convention, which affects to condemn the crimes of Le Bon, is profiting by the ſpoils of his victims.
I am the more deeply impreſſed by theſe circumſtances, becauſe, when I was here in 1792, ſeveral who have thus fallen, though they had nothing to reproach themſelves with, were yet ſo much intimidated as to propoſe emigrating; and I then was of opinion, that ſuch a ſtep would be impolitic and unneceſſary. I hope and believe this opinion did not influence them, but I lament having given it, for the event has proved that a great part of the emigrants are juſtifiable. It always appeared to me ſo ſerious and great an evil to abandon one's country, that when I have ſeen it done with indifference or levity, I may perhaps have ſometimes tranſferred to the meaſure itſelf a ſentiment of diſapprobation, excited originally by the manner of its adoption. When I ſaw people expatiate with calmneſs, and heard them ſpeak of it as a meanſ of diſtinguiſhing themſelves, I did not ſufficiently allow for the tendency of the French to make the beſt of every thing, or the influence of vanity on men who allow it to make part of the national characteriſtic: and ſurely, if ever vanity were laudable, that of marking a deteſtation for revolutionary principles, and an attachment to loyalty and religion, may juſtly be conſidered ſo. Many whom I then accuſed of being too lightly affected by the proſpect of exile, might be animated by the hope of perſonally contributing to the eſtabliſhment of peace and order, and reſcuing their country from the banditti who were oppreſſing it; and it is not ſurpriſing that ſuch objects ſhould dazzle the imagination and deceive the judgment in the choice of meaſures by which they were to be obtained.
The number of emigrants from faſhion or caprice is probably not great; and whom ſhall we now dare to include under this deſcription, when the humble artizan, the laborious peaſant, and the village prieſt, have enſanguined the ſcaffold deſtined for the prince or the prelate?—But if the emigrants be juſtifiable, the refugees are yet more ſo.
By Emigrants, I mean all who, without being immediately in danger, left their country through apprehenſion of the future—from attachment to the perſons of the Princes, or to join companions in the army whom they might deem it a diſgrace to abandon.—Thoſe whom I think may with truth be ſtyled Refugees, are the Nobility and Prieſts who fled when the people, irritated by the literary terroriſts of the day, the Briſſots, Rolands, Camille Deſmoulins, &c. were burning their chateaux and proſcribing their perſons, and in whom expatriation cannot properly be deemed the effect of choice. Theſe, wherever they have ſought an aſylum, are entitled to our reſpect and ſympathy.
Yet, I repeat, we are not authorized to diſcriminate. There is no reaſoning coldly on the ſubject. The moſt cautious prudence, the moſt liberal ſacrifices, and the meaneſt condeſcenſions, have not inſured the lives and fortunes of thoſe who ventured to remain; and I know not that the abſent require any other apology than the deſolation of the country they have quitted. Had my friends who have been ſlaughtered by Le Bon'ſ tribunal perſiſted in endeavouring to eſcape, they might have lived, and their families, though deſpoiled by the rapacity of the government, have been comparatively happy.*
* The firſt horrors of the revolution are well known, and I have ſeen no accounts which exaggerate them. The niece of a lady of my acquaintance, a young woman only ſeventeen, eſcaped from her country-houſe (whilſt already in flames) with her infant at her breaſt, and literally without clothes to cover her. In this ſtate ſhe wandered a whole night, and when ſhe at length reached a place where ſhe procured aſſiſtance, was ſo exhauſted that her life was in danger.—Another lady, whom I knew, was wounded in the arm by ſome peaſants aſſembled to force from her the writings of her huſband'ſ eſtates. Even after this they ſtill remained in France, ſubmitted with cheerfulneſs to all the demands of patriotic gifts, forced loans, requiſitions and impoſitions of every kind; yet her huſband was nevertheleſs guillotined, and the whole of their immenſe property confiſcated.
Retroſpections, like theſe, obliterate many of my former notions on the ſubject of the Emigrants; and if I yet condemn emigration, it is only aſ a general meaſure, impolitic, and inadequate to the purpoſes for which it was undertaken. But errors of judgment, in circumſtances ſo unprecedented, cannot be cenſured conſiſtently with candour, through we may venture to mark them as a diſcouragement to imitation; for if any nation ſhould yet be menaced by the revolutionary ſcourge, let it beware of ſeeking external redreſs by a temporary abandonment of its intereſtſ to the madneſs of ſyſtemiſts, or the rapine of needy adventurers. We muſt, we ought to, lament the fate of the many gallant men who have fallen, and the calamities of thoſe who ſurvive; but what in them haſ been a miſtaken policy, will become guilt in thoſe who, on a ſimilar occaſion, ſhall not be warned by their example. I am concerned when I hear theſe unhappy fugitives are any where objects of ſuſpicion or perſecution, as it is not likely that thoſe who really emigrated from principle can merit ſuch treatment: and I doubt not, that moſt of the inſtances of treachery or miſconduct aſcribed to the Emigrants originated in republican emiſſaries, who have aſſumed that character for the double purpoſe of diſcrediting it, and of exerciſing their trade as ſpies.
The common people here, who were retained by Le Bon for ſeveral months to attend and applaud his executions, are ſtill diſſolute and ferocious, and openly regret the loſs of their pay, and the diſuſe of the guillotine.
—I came to Arras in mourning, which I have worn ſince the receipt of your firſt letter, but was informed by the lady with whom my friendſ lodge, that I muſt not attempt to walk the ſtreets in black, for that it was cuſtomary to inſult thoſe who did ſo, on a ſuppoſition that they were related to ſome perſons who had been executed; I therefore borrowed a white undreſs, and ſtole out by night to viſit my unfortunate acquaintance, as I found it was alſo dangerous to be ſeen entering houſeſ known to contain the remains of thoſe families which had been diſmembered by Le Bon's cruelties.
We return to Amiens to-morrow, though you muſt not imagine ſo formidable a perſon as myſelf is permitted to wander about the republic without due precaution; and I had much difficulty in being allowed to come, even attended by a guard, who has put me to a conſiderable expence; but the man is civil, and as he has buſineſs of his own to tranſact in the town, he is no embarraſſment to me.
The Conſtituent Aſſembly, the Legiſlative Aſſembly, and the National Convention, all ſeem to have acted from a perſuaſion, that their ſole duty as revolutioniſts was compriſed in the deſtruction of whatever exiſted under the monarchy. If an inſtitution were diſcovered to have the ſlighteſt defect in principle, or to have degenerated a little in practice, their firſt ſtep was to aboliſh it entirely, and leave the replacing it for the preſent to chance, and for the future to their ſucceſſors. In return for the many new words which they have introduced into the French language, they have expunged that of reform; and the havock and devaſtation, which a Mahometan conqueror might have performed as ſucceſſfully, are as yet the only effects of philoſophy and republicaniſm.
This ſyſtem of ignorance and violence ſeems to have perſecuted with peculiar hoſtility all the ancient eſtabliſhments for education; and the ſame plan of ſuppreſſing daily what they have neither leiſure nor abilities to ſupply, which I remarked to you two years ago, has directed the Convention ever ſince. It is true, the interval has produced much diſſertation, and engendered many projects; but thoſe who were ſo unanimous in rejecting, were extremely diſcordant in adopting, and their own diſputes and indeciſion might have convinced them of their preſumption in condemning what they now found it ſo difficult to excel. Some decided in favour of public ſchools, after the example of Sparta— this was objected to by others, becauſe, ſaid they, if you have public ſchools you muſt have edifices, and governors, and profeſſors, who will, to a certainty, be ariſtocrats, or become ſo; and, in ſhort, this will only be a revival of the colleges of the old government—A third party propoſed private ſeminaries, or that people might be at liberty to educate their children in the way they thought beſt; but this, it waſ declared, would have a ſtill greater tendency to ariſtocracy; for the rich, being better able to pay than the poor, would engroſs all the learning to themſelves. The Jacobins were of opinion, that there ſhould be no ſchools, either public or private, but that the children ſhould merely be taken to hear the debates of the Clubs, where they would acquire all the knowledge neceſſary for republicans; and a few ſpirits of a yet ſublimer caſt were adverſe both to ſchools or clubs, and recommended, that the riſing generation ſhould "ſtudy the great book of Nature alone." It is, however, at length concluded, that there ſhall be a certain number of public eſtabliſhments, and that people ſhall even be allowed to have their children inſtructed at home, under the inſpection of the conſtituted authorities, who are to prevent the inſtillation of ariſtocratic principles.*
* We may judge of the competency of many of theſe people to be official cenſors of education by the following ſpecimens from a report of Gregoire's. Since the rage for deſtruction has a little ſubſided, circular letters have been ſent to the adminiſtrators of the departments, diſtricts, &c. enquiring what antiquities, or other objects of curioſity, remain in their neighbourhood.—"From one, (ſays Gregoire,) we are informed, that they are poſſeſſed of nothing in this way except four vaſes, which, as they have been told, are of porphyry. From a ſecond we learn, that, not having either forge or manufactory in the neighbourhood, no monument of the arts is to be found there: and a third announces, that the completion of itſ library cataloges has been retarded, becauſe the perſon employed at them ne fait pas la diplomatique!"—("does not underſtand the ſcience of diplomacy.")
The difficulty as to the mode in which children were to be taught being got over, another remained, not leſs liable to diſpute—which was, the choice of what they were to learn. Almoſt every member had a favourite article—-muſic, phyſic, prophylactics, geography, geometry, aſtronomy, arithmetic, natural hiſtory, and botany, were all pronounced to be requiſites in an eleemoſynary ſyſtem of education, ſpecified to be chiefly intended for the country people; but as this debate regarded only the primary ſchools for children in their earlieſt years, and as one man for a ſtipend of twelve hundred livres a year, was to do it all, a compromiſe became neceſſary, and it has been agreed for the preſent, that infants of ſix years ſhall be taught only reading, writing, gymnaſtics, geometry, geography, natural philoſophy, and hiſtory of all free nations, and that of all the tyrants, the rights of man, and the patriotic ſongs. —Yet, after theſe years of conſideration, and days of debate, the Aſſembly has done no more than a pariſh-clerk, or an old woman with a primer, and "a twig whilom of ſmall regard to ſee," would do better without its interference.
The ſtudents of a more advanced age are ſtill to be diſpoſed of, and the taſk of deviſing an inſtitution will not be eaſy; becauſe, perhaps a Collot d'Herbois or a Duhem is not ſatiſfied with the ſyſtem which perfectioned the genius of Monteſquieu or Deſcartes. Change, not improvement, is the object—whatever bears a reſemblance to the paſt muſt be proſcribed; and while other people ſtudy to ſimplify modes of inſtruction, the French legiſlature is intent on rendering them aſ difficult and complex as poſſible; and at the moment they decree that the whole country ſhall become learned, they make it an unfathomable ſcience to teach urchins of half a dozen years old their letters.
Foreigners, indeed, who judge only from the public prints, may ſuppoſe the French far advanced towards becoming the moſt erudite nation in Europe: unfortunately, all theſe ſchools, primary, and ſecondary, and centrical, and divergent, and normal,* exiſt as yet but in the repertories of the Convention, and perhaps may not add "a local habitation" to their names, till the preſent race** ſhall be unfit to reap the benefit of them.
* Les Ecoles Normaleſ were ſchools where maſters were to be inſtructed in the art of teaching. Certain deputies objected to them, as being of feudal inſtitution, ſuppoſing that Normale had ſome reference to Normandy. ** This was a miſtake, for the French ſeem to have adopted the maxim, "that man is never too old to learn;" and, accordingly, at the opening of the Normal ſchools, the celebrated Bougainville, now eighty years of age, became a pupil. This Normal project was, however, ſoon relinquiſhed—for by that fatality which has hitherto attended all the republican inſtitutions, it was found to have become a mere nurſery for ariſtocrats.
But this revolutionary barbariſm, not content with ſtopping the progreſſ of the riſing generation, has ravaged without mercy the monuments of departed genius, and perſecuted with ſenſeleſs deſpotiſm thoſe who were capable of replacing them. Pictures have been defaced, ſtatueſ mutilated, and libraries burnt, becauſe they reminded the people of their Kings or their religion; while artiſts, and men of ſcience or literature, were waſting their valuable hours in priſon, or expiring on the ſcaffold.—The moral and gentle Florian died of vexation. A life of abſtraction and utility could not ſave the celebrated chymiſt, Lavoiſier, from the Guillotine. La Harpe languiſhed in confinement, probably, that he might not eclipſe Chenier, who writes tragedies himſelf; and every author that refuſed to degrade his talents by the adulation of tyranny has been proſcribed and perſecuted. Paliſſot,* at ſixty years old, waſ deſtined to expiate in a priſon a ſatire upon Rouſſeau, written when he was only twenty, and eſcaped, not by the interpoſition of juſtice, but by the efficacity of a bon mot.
* Paliſſot was author of "The Philoſophers," a comedy, written thirty years ago, to ridicule Rouſſeau. He wrote to the municipality, acknowledged his own error, and the merits of Rouſſeau; yet, ſays he, if Rouſſeau were a god, you ought not to ſacrifice human victims to him.—The expreſſion, which in French iſ well tuned, pleaſed the municipality, and Paliſſot, I believe, waſ not afterwards moleſted.
—A ſimilar fate would have been awarded Dorat, [Author of "Les Malheurſ de l'Inconſtance," and other novels.] for ſtyling himſelf Chevalier in the title-pages of his novels, had he not commuted his puniſhment for baſe eulogiums on the Convention, and with the ſame pen, which has been the delight of the French boudoir, celebrated Carrier's murders on the Loire under the appellation of "baptemes civiques." Every province in France, we are informed by the eloquent pedantry of Gregoire, exhibitſ traces of theſe modern Huns, which, though now excluſively attributed to the agents of Robeſpierre and Mr. Pitt,* it is very certain were authorized by the decrees of the Convention, and executed under the ſanction of Deputies on miſſion, or their ſubordinates.
* "Soyez ſur que ces deſtructions ſe ſont pour la plupart a l'inſtigation de nos ennemiſ—quel triomphe pour l'Anglais ſi il eul pu ecraſer notre commerce par l'aneantiſſement des arts dont la culture enrichit le ſien."—"Reſt aſſured that theſe demolitionſ were, for the moſt part, effected at the inſtigation of our enemieſ —what a triumph would it have been for the Engliſh, if they had ſucceeded in cruſhing our commerce by the annihilation of the arts, the culture of which enriched their own."
—If the principal monuments of art be yet preſerved to gratify the national taſte or vanity, it is owing to the courage and devotion of individuals, who obeyed with a protecting dilatorineſs the deſtructive mandates of government.
At ſome places, orangeries were ſold by the foot for fire-wood, becauſe, as it was alledged, that republicans had more occaſion for apples and potatoes than oranges.—At Mouſſeaux, the ſeals were put on the hot-houſes, and all the plants nearly deſtroyed. Valuable remains of ſculpture were condemned for a creſt, a fleur de lys, or a coronet attached to them; and the deities of the Heathen mythology were made war upon by the ignorance of the republican executioners, who could not diſtinguiſh them from emblems of feodality.*
* At Anet, a bronze ſtag, placed as a fountain in a large piece of water, was on the point of being demoliſhed, becauſe ſtags are beaſts of chace, and hunting is a feodal privilege, and ſtags of courſe emblems of feodality.—It was with ſome difficulty preſerved by an amateur, who inſiſted, that ſtags of bronze were not included in the decree.—By a decree of the Convention, which I have formerly mentioned, all emblems of royalty or feodality were to be demoliſhed by a particular day; and as the law made no diſtinction, it could not be expected that municipalities, &c. often ignorant or timid, ſhould either venture or deſire to ſpare what in the eyes of the connoiſſeur might be precious. "At St. Dennis, (ſays the virtuoſo Gregoire,) where the National Club juſtly ſtruck at the tyrants even in their tombs, that of Turenne ought to have been ſpared; yet ſtrokes of the ſword are ſtill viſible on it."—He likewiſe complains, that at the Botanic Garden the buſt of Linnaeus had been deſtroyed, on a preſumption of its being that of Charles the Ninth; and if it had been that of Charles the Ninth, it is not eaſy to diſcern how the cauſe of liberty was ſerved by its mutilation.—The artiſt or moraliſt contemplates with equal profit or curioſity the features of Pliny or Commodus; and Hiſtory and Science will appreciate Linnaeus and Charles the Ninth, without regarding whether their reſemblanceſ occupy a palace, or are ſcattered in fragments by republican ignorance.—Long after the death of Robeſpierre, the people of Amiens humbly petitioned the Convention, that their cathedral, perhaps the moſt beautiful Gothic edifice in Europe, might be preſerved; and to avoid giving offence by the mention of churches or cathedrals, they called it a Baſilique.—But it is unneceſſary to adduce any farther proof, that the ſpirit of what is now called Vandaliſm originated in the Convention. Every one in France muſt recollect, that, when diſpatches from all corners announced theſe ravages, they were heard with as much applauſe, as though they had related ſo many victories gained over the enemy.
—Quantities of curious medals have been melted down for the trifling value of the metal; and at Abbeville, a ſilver St. George, of uncommon workmanſhip, and which Mr. Garrick is ſaid to have deſired to purchaſe at a very high price, was condemned to the crucible—
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"——Sur tant de treſorſ
"Antiques monumens reſpectes juſqu'alors, "Par la deſtruction ſignalant leur puiſſance, "Las barbares etendirent leur ſtupide vengeance." "La Religion," Racine. |
Yet the people in office who operated theſe miſchiefs were all appointed by the delegates of the Aſſembly; for the firſt towns of the republic were not truſted even with the choice of a conſtable. Inſtead, therefore, of feeling either ſurpriſe or regret at this devaſtation, we ought rather to rejoice that it has extended no farther; for ſuch agents, armed with ſuch decrees, might have reduced France to the primitive ſtate of ancient Gaul. Several valuable paintings are ſaid to have been conveyed to England, and it will be curious if the barbariſm of France in the eighteenth century ſhould reſtore to us what we, with a fanaticiſm and ignorance at leaſt more prudent than theirs, ſold them in the ſeventeenth. The zealots of the Bareboneſ' Parliament are, however, more reſpectable than the atheiſtical Vandals of the Convention; and, beſideſ the benefit of our example, the interval of a century and an half, with the boaſt of a philoſophy and a degree of illumination exceeding that of any other people, have rendered the errors of the French at once more unpardonable and more ridiculous; for, in aſſimilating their paſt preſentations to their preſent conduct and ſituation, we do not alwayſ find it poſſible to regret without a mixture of contempt.
The ſelfiſh policy of the Convention in affecting to reſpect and preſerve the Jacobin ſocieties, while it deprived them of all power, and help up the individuals who compoſed them to abhorrence, could neither ſatiſfy nor deceive men verſed in revolutionary expedients, and more accuſtomed to dictate laws than to ſubmit to them.*
* The Jacobins were at this time headed by Billaud Varenne, Collot, Thuriot, &c.—veterans, who were not likely to be deceived by temporizing.
Supported by all the force of government, and intrinſically formidable by their union, the Clubs had long exiſted in defiance of public reprobation, and for ſome time they had braved not only the people, but the government itſelf. The inſtant they were diſabled from correſponding and communicating in that privileged ſort of way which rendered them ſo conſpicuous, they felt their weakneſs; and their deſultory and unconnected efforts to regain their influence only ſerved to complete itſ annihilation. While they pretended obedience to the regulations to which the Convention had ſubjected them, they intrigued to promote a revolt, and were ſtrenuouſly exerting themſelves to gain partizans among the idle and diſſolute, who, having ſubſiſted for months as members of revolutionary committees, and in other revolutionary offices, were naturally averſe from a more moderate government. The numbers of theſe were far from inconſiderable: and, when it is recollected that thiſ deſcription of people only had been allowed to retain their arms, while all who had any thing to defend were deprived of them, we cannot wonder if the Jacobins entertained hopes of ſucceſs.
The Convention, aware of theſe attempts, now employed againſt its ancient accomplices the ſame arts that had proved ſo fatal to all thoſe whom it had conſidered as its enemies. A correſpondence was "opportunely" intercepted between the Jacobins and the Emigrants in Switzerland, while emiſſaries inſinuated themſelves into the Clubs, for the purpoſe of exciting deſperate motions; or, diſperſed in public places, contrived, by aſſuming the Jacobin coſtume, to throw on the faction the odium of thoſe ſeditious exclamations which they were employed to vociferate.
There is little doubt that the deſigns of the Jacobins were nearly ſuch as have been imputed to them. They had, however, become more politic than to act thus openly, without being prepared to repel their enemies, or to ſupport their friends; and there is every appearance that the Swiſſ plots, and the inſurrections of the Palais Egalite, were the devices of the government, to give a pretext for ſhutting up the Club altogether, and to avert the real dangers with which it was menaced, by ſpreading an alarm of fictitious ones. A few idle people aſſembled (probably on purpoſe) about the Palais Egalite, and the place where the Jacobins held their meetings, and the exclamation of "Down with the Convention!" ſerved as the ſignal for hoſtilities. The ariſtocrats joined the partizans of the Convention, the Jacobins were attacked in their hall, and an affray enſued, in which ſeveral perſons on each ſide were wounded. Both partieſ accuſed each other of being the aggreſſor, and a report of the buſineſſ was made to the Aſſembly; but the Aſſembly had already decided—and, on the ninth of November, while the Jacobins were endeavouring to raiſe the ſtorm by a recapitulation of the rights of man, a decree was paſſed, prohibiting their debates, and ordering the national ſeal to be put on their doors and papers. The ſociety were not in force to make reſiſtance, and the decree was carried into execution as quietly aſ though it had been levelled againſt the hotel of ſome devoted ariſtocrat.
When the news of this event reached the departments, it occaſioned an univerſal rejoicing—not ſuch a rejoicing as is ordered for the ſucceſſeſ of the French arms, (which always ſeems to be a matter of great indifference,) but a chearfulneſs of heart and of countenance; and many perſons whom I do not remember to have ever ſeen in the leaſt degree moved by political events, appeared ſincerely delighted at thiſ—
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"And thoſe ſmile now, who never ſmil'd before,
"And thoſe who always ſmil'd, now ſmile the more." Parnell's Claudian. |
The armies might proceed to Vienna, pillage the Eſcurial, or ſubjugate all Europe, and I am convinced no emotion of pleaſure would be excited equal to that manifeſted at the downfall of the Jacobins of Paris.
Since this diſgrace of the parent ſociety, the Clubs in the departmentſ have, for the moſt part, diſſolved themſelves, or dwindled into peaceable aſſemblies to hear the news read, and applaud the convention.—The few Jacobin emblems which were yet remaining have totally diſappeared, and no veſtige of Jacobiniſm is left, but the graves of its victims, and the deſolation of the country.
The profligate, the turbulent, the idle, and needy, of various countrieſ in Europe, have been tempted by the ſucceſſes of the French Jacobins to endeavour to eſtabliſh ſimilar inſtitutions; but the ſame ſucceſſes have operated as a warning to people of a different deſcription, and the fall of theſe ſocieties has drawn two confeſſions from their original partizans, which ought never to be forgotten—namely, that they were formed for the purpoſe of ſubverting the monarchy, and that their exiſtence is incompatible with regular government of any kind.—"While the monarchy ſtill exiſted, (ſays the moſt philoſophic Lequinio, with whoſe ſcheme of reforming La Vendee you are already acquainted,) it waſ politic and neceſſary to encourage popular ſocieties, as the moſt efficacious means of operating its deſtruction; but now we have effected a revolution, and have only to conſolidate it by mild and philoſophic laws, theſe ſocieties are dangerous, becauſe they can produce only confuſion and diſorder."—This is alſo the language of Briſſot, who admires the Jacobins from their origin till the end of 1792, but after that period he admits they were only the inſtruments of faction, and deſtructive of all property and order.*
* The period of the Jacobin annals ſo much admired by Briſſot, compriſes the dethronement of the King, the maſſacres of the priſons, the baniſhment of the prieſts, &c. That which he reprobates begins preciſely at the period when the Jacobins diſputed the claims of himſelf and his party to the excluſive direction of the government.—See Briſſot's Addreſs to his Conſtituents.
—We learn therefore, not from the abuſes alone, but from the praiſeſ beſtowed on the Jacobins, how much ſuch combinations are to be dreaded. Their merit, it appears, conſiſted in the ſubverſion of the monarchical government, and their crime in ceaſing to be uſeful as agents of tyranny, the moment they ceaſed to be principals.
I am ſtill ſceptical as to the converſion of the Aſſembly, and little diſpoſed to expect good from it; yet whatever it may attempt in future, or however its real principles may take an aſcendant, this fortunate concurrence of perſonal intereſts, coalition of ariſtocrats and democrats, and political rivalry, have likewiſe ſecured France from a return of that exceſs of deſpotiſm which could have been exerciſed only by ſuch means. It is true, the ſpirit of the nation is ſo much depreſſed, that an effort to revive theſe Clubs might meet no reſiſtance; but the ridicule and opprobrium to which they have latterly been ſubject, and finally the manner of their being ſacrificed by that very Convention, of which they were the ſole creators and ſupport, will, I think, cool the zeal, and diminiſh the numbers of their partizans too much for them ever again to become formidable.
The conduct of Carrier has been examined according to the new forms, and he is now on his trial—though not till the delays of the Convention had given riſe to a general ſuſpicion that they intended either to exonerate or afford him an opportunity of eſcaping; and the people were at laſt ſo highly exaſperated, that ſix thouſand troops were added to the military force of Paris, and an inſurrection was ſeriouſly apprehended. Thiſ ſtimulated the diligence, or relaxed the indulgence, of the commiſſion appointed to make the report on Carrier's conduct; and it being decided that there was room for accuſation, the Aſſembly confirmed the deciſion, and he was ordered into cuſtody, to be tried along with the Revolutionary Committee of Nantes which had been the inſtrument of his crimes.
It is a circumſtance worth noting, that moſt of the Deputies who explained the motives on which they thought Carrier guilty, were ſilent on the ſubject of his drowning, ſhooting, and guillotining ſo many thouſands of innocent people, and only declared him guilty, as having been wanting in reſpect towards Trehouard, one of his colleagues, and of injuring the republican cauſe by his atrocities.
The fate of this monſter exhibits a practical expoſition of the enormouſ abſurdity of ſuch a government. He is himſelf tried for the exerciſe of a power declared to be unbounded when entruſted to him. The men tried with him as his accomplices were obliged by the laws to obey him; and the acts of which they are all accuſed were known, applauded, and held out for imitation, by the Convention, who now declare thoſe very acts to be criminal!—There is certainly no way of reconciling juſtice but by puniſhing both chiefs and ſubordinates, and the hour for this will yet come.—Adieu.
I do not yet venture to correſpond with my Paris friends by the poſt, but whenever the opportunity of private conveyance occurs, I receive long and circumſtantial letters, as well as packets, of all the publications moſt read, and the theatrical pieces moſt applauded. I have lately drudged through great numbers of theſe laſt, and beſtowed on them an attention they did not in themſelves deſerve, becauſe I conſidered it as one meanſ of judging both of the ſpirit of the government and the morals of the people.
The dramas produced at the beginning of the revolution were in general calculated to corrupt the national taſte and morals, and many of them were written with ſkill enough to anſwer the purpoſe for which they were intended; but thoſe that have appeared during the laſt two years, are ſo ſtupid and ſo depraved, that the circumſtance of their being tolerated even for a moment implies an extinction both of taſte and of morals.*
* "Dans l'eſpace d'un an ils ont failli detruire le produit de pluſieurs ſiecles de civilization."—("In the ſpace of a year they nearly deſtroyed the fruits of ſeveral ages of civilization.")
The principal cauſe of this is the deſpotiſm of the government in making the ſtage a mere political engine, and ſuffering the performance of ſuch pieces only as a man of honeſty or genius would not ſubmit to write.*
* The tragedy of Brutus was interdicted on account of theſe two lines:
|
"Arreter un romain ſur de ſimple ſoupcons,
"C'eſt agir en tyrans, nous qui les puniſſons." |
That of Mahomet for the following:
|
"Exterminez, grands dieux, de la terre ou nous ſommeſ "Quiconque avec plaiſir repand le ſang des hommes." |
It is to be remarked, that the laſt lines are only a ſimple axiom of humanity, and could not have been conſidered as implying a cenſure on any government except that of the French republic.
—Hence a croud of ſcribblers, without ſhame or talents, have become the excluſive directors of public amuſements, and, as far as the noiſe of a theatre conſtitutes ſucceſs, are perhaps more ſucceſſful than ever waſ Racine or Moliere. Immorality and dulneſs have an infallible reſource againſt public diſapprobation in the abuſe of monarchy and religion, or a niche for Mr. Pitt; and an indignant or impatient audience, loſing their other feelings in their fears, are glad to purchaſe the reputation of patriotiſm by applauding traſh they find it difficult to endure. The theatres ſwarm with ſpies, and to cenſure a revolutionary piece, however deteſtable even as a compoſition, is dangerous, and few have courage to be the critics of an author who is patronized by the ſuperintendants of the guillotine, or who may retaliate a comment on his poetry by the ſignificant proſe of a mandat d'arret.
Men of literature, therefore, have wiſely preferred the conſervation of their freedom to the vindication of their taſte, and have deemed it better to applaud at the Theatre de la Republique, than lodge at St. Lazare or Dupleſſis.—Thus political ſlavery has aſſiſted moral depravation: the writer who is the advocate of deſpotiſm, may be dull and licentious by privilege, and is alone exempt from the laws of Parnaſſuſ and of decency.—One Sylvan Marechal, author of a work he callſ philoſophie, has written a ſort of farce, which has been performed very generally, where all the Kings in Europe are brought together as ſo many monſters; and when the King of France is enquired after as not being among them, a Frenchman anſwers,—"Oh, he is not here—we have guillotined him—we have cut off his head according to law."—In one piece, the hero is a felon eſcaped from the galleys, and is repreſented as a patriot of the moſt ſublime principles; in another, he is the virtuous conductor of a gang of banditti; and the principal character in a third, is a ploughman turned deiſt and politician.
Yet, while theſe malevolent and mercenary ſcribblers are ranſacking paſt ages for the crimes of Kings or the abuſes of religion, and imputing to both many that never exiſted, they forget that neither their books nor their imagination are able to furniſh ſcenes of guilt and miſery equal to thoſe which have been preſented daily by republicans and philoſophers. What horror can their mock-tragedies excite in thoſe who have contemplated the Place de la Revolution? or who can ſmile at a farce in ridicule of monarchy, that beholds the Convention, and knows the characters of the men who compoſe it?—But in moſt of theſe wretched productions the abſurdity is luckily not leſs conſpicuous than the immoral intention: their Princes, their Prieſts, their Nobles, are all tyrannical, vicious, and miſerable; yet the common people, living under theſe ſame vicious tyrants, are deſcribed as models of virtue, hoſpitality, and happineſs. If, then, the auditors of ſuch edifying dramas were in the habit of reaſoning, they might very juſtly conclude, that the ignorance which republicaniſm is to baniſh is deſirable, and that the diffuſion of riches with which they have been flattered, will only increaſe their vices, and ſubtract from their felicity.
There are, however, ſome patriotic ſpirits, who, not inſenſible to thiſ degeneracy of the French theatre, and lamenting the evil, have lately exerciſed much ingenuity in developing the cauſe. They have at length diſcovered, that all the republican tragedies, flat farces, and heavy comedies, are attributable to Mr. Pitt, who has thought proper to corrupt the authors, with a view to deprave the public taſte. There is, certainly, no combating this charge; for as, according to the aſſertionſ of the Convention, Mr. Pitt has ſucceeded in bribing nearly every other deſcription of men in the republic, we may ſuppoſe the conſciences of ſuch ſcribblers not leſs flexible. Mr. Pitt, indeed, ſtands accuſed, ſometimes in conjunction with the Prince of Cobourg, and ſometimes on hiſ own account, of ſucceſſively corrupting the officers of the fleet and army, all the bankers and all the farmers, the prieſts who ſay maſſes, and the people who attend them, the chiefs of the ariſtocrats, and the leaders of the Jacobins. The bakers who refuſe to bake when they have no flour, and the populace who murmur when they have no bread, beſides the merchants and ſhopkeepers who prefer coin to aſſignats, are notoriouſly penſioned by him: and even a part of the Repreſentatives, and all the frail beauties, are ſaid to be enliſted in his ſervice.—Theſe multifarious charges will be found on the journals of the Aſſembly, and we muſt of courſe infer, that Mr. Pitt is the ableſt ſtateſman, or the French the moſt corrupt nation, exiſting.
But it is not only Barrere and his colleagues who ſuppoſe the whole country bribeable—the notion is common to the French in general; and vanity adding to the omnipotence of gold, whenever they ſpeak of a battle loſt, or a town taken, they conclude it impoſſible to have occurred but through the venal treachery of their officers.—The Engliſh, I have obſerved, always judge differently, and would not think the national honour ſuſtained by a ſuppoſition that their commanders were vulnerable only in the hand. If a general or an admiral happen to be unfortunate, it would be with the utmoſt reluctance that we ſhould think of attributing his miſchance to a cauſe ſo degrading; yet whoever has been uſed to French ſociety will acknowledge, that the firſt ſuggeſtion on ſuch events is "nos officiers ont ete gagnes," [Our officers were bought.] or "ſans la trahiſon ce ne ſeroit pas arrive." [This could not have happened without treachery.]—Pope's hyperbole of
"Juſt half the land would buy, and half be ſold,"
is more than applicable here; for if we may credit the French themſelves, the buyers are by no means ſo well proportioned to the ſellers.
As I have no new political intelligence to comment upon, I ſhall finiſh my letter with a domeſtic adventure of the morning.—Our houſe waſ yeſterday aſſigned as the quarters of ſome officers, who, with part of a regiment, were paſſing this way to join the Northern army. As they ſpent the evening out, we ſaw nothing of them, but finding one was a Colonel, and the other a Captain, though we knew what republican colonels and captains might be, we thought it civil, or rather neceſſary, to ſend them an invitation to breakfaſt. We therefore ordered ſome milk coffee early, (for Frenchmen ſeldom take tea,) and were all aſſembled before the uſual time to receive our military gueſts. As they did not, however, appear, we were ringing to enquire for them, when Mr. D____ entered from hiſ morning walk, and deſired us to be at eaſe on their account, for that in paſſing the kitchen, he had perceived the Captain fraternizing over ſome onions, bread, and beer, with our man; while the Colonel was in cloſe conference with the cook, and watching a pan of ſoup, which was warming for his breakfaſt. We have learned ſince, that theſe heroes were very willing to accept of any thing the ſervants offered them, but could not be prevailed upon to approach us; though, you are to underſtand, this waſ not occaſioned either by timidity or incivility, but by mere ignorance. —Mr. D____ ſays, the Marquiſe and I have not diveſted ourſelves of ariſtocratic aſſociations with our ideas of the military, and that our deſhabilles this morning were unuſually coquetiſh. Our projects of conqueſt were, however, all fruſtrated by the unlucky intervention of Bernardine's ſoupe aux choux, [Cabbage-ſoup.] and Euſtace's regale of cheeſe and onions.
"And with ſuch beaux 'tis vain to be a belle."
Yours, &c.