Your American friend paſſed through here yeſterday, and delivered me the two parcels. As marks of your attention, they were very acceptable; but on any other account, I aſſure you, I ſhould have preferred a preſent of a few pecks of wheat to all your fineries.
I have been uſed to conclude, when I ſaw ſuch ſtrange and unaccountable abſurdities given in the French papers as extracts from the debates in either of your Houſes of Parliament, that they were probably fabricated here to ſerve the deſigns of the reigning factions: yet I perceive, by ſome old papers which came with the muſlins, that there are really members ſo ill-informed or ſo unprincipled, as to uſe the language attributed to them, and who aſſert that the French are attached to their government, and call France "a land of republicans."
When it is ſaid that a people are republicans, we muſt ſuppoſe they are either partial to republicaniſm as a ſyſtem, or that they prefer it in practice. A little retroſpection, perhaps, will determine both theſe points better than the eloquence of your orators.
A few men, of philoſophic or reſtleſs minds, have, in various ages and countries, endeavoured to enlighten or diſturb the world by examinationſ and diſputes on forms of government; yet the beſt heads and the beſt hearts have remained divided on the ſubject, and I never heard that any writer was able to produce more than a partial conviction, even in the moſt limited circle. Whence, then, did it happen in France, where information was avowedly confined, and where ſuch diſcuſſions could not have been general, that the people became ſuddenly inſpired with thiſ political ſagacity, which made them in one day the judges and converts of a ſyſtem they could ſcarcely have known before, even by name?—At the depoſition of the King, the French, (ſpeaking at large,) had aſ perſpicuous a notion of republics, as they may be ſuppoſed to have of mathematics, and would have underſtood Euclid's Elements as well as the Social Contract. Yet an aſſemblage of the worſt and moſt daring men from every faction, elected amidſt maſſacres and proſcription, the moment they are collected together, declare, on the propoſal of Collot d'Herbois, a profligate ſtrolling player, that France ſhall be a republic.—Admitting that the French were deſirous of altering their form of government, I believe no one will venture to ſay ſuch an inclination was ever manifeſted, or that the Convention were elected in a manner to render them competent to ſuch a deciſion. They were not the choice of the people, but chiefly emiſſaries impoſed on the departments by the Jacobinſ and the municipality of Paris; and let thoſe who are not acquainted with the means by which the elections were obtained, examine the compoſition of the Aſſembly itſelf, and then decide whether any people being free could have ſelected ſuch men as Petion, Tallien, Robeſpierre, Briſſot, Carrier, Taillefer, &c. &c. from the whole nation to be their Repreſentatives.—There muſt, in all large aſſociations, be a mixture of good and bad; but when it is incontrovertible that the principal memberſ of the Convention are monſters, who, we hope, are not to be paralleled— that the reſt are inferior rather in talents than wickedneſs, or cowardſ and ideots, who have ſupported and applauded crimes they only wanted opportunity to commit—it is not poſſible to conceive, that any people in the world could make a ſimilar choice. Yet if the French were abſolutely unbiaſſed, and of their own free will made this collection, who would, after ſuch an example, be the advocates of general ſuffrage and popular repreſentation?—But, I repeat, the people were not free. They were not, indeed, influenced by bribeſ—they were intimidated by the horrors of the moment; and along with the regulations for the new elections, were every where circulated details of the aſſaſſinations of Auguſt and September.*
* The influence of the municipality of Paris on the new elections iſ well known. The following letter will ſhow what inſtruments were employed, and the deſcription of Repreſentatives likely to be choſen under ſuch auſpices. "Circular letter, written by the Committee of Inſpection of the municipality of Paris to all the departments of the republic, dated the third of September, the ſecond day of the maſſacres: "The municipality of Paris is impatient to inform their brethren of the departments, that a part of the ferocious conſpirators detained in the priſons have been put to death by the people: an act of juſtice which appeared to them indiſpenſable, to reſtrain by terror thoſe legions of traitors whom they muſt have left behind when they departed for the army. There is no doubt but the whole nation, after ſuch multiplied treaſons, will haſten to adopt the ſame ſalutary meaſure!"—Signed by the Commune of Paris and the Miniſter of Juſtice. Who, after this mandate, would venture to oppoſe a member recommended by the Commune of Paris?
—The French, then, neither choſe the republican form of government, nor the men who adopted it; and are, therefore, not republicans on principle.—Let us now conſider whether, not being republicans on principle, experience may have rendered them ſuch.
The firſt effects of the new ſyſtem were an univerſal conſternation, the diſappearance of all the ſpecie, an extravagant riſe in the price of proviſions, and many indications of ſcarcity. The ſcandalous quarrels of the legiſlature ſhocked the national vanity, by making France the ridicule of all Europe, until ridicule was ſuppreſſed by deteſtation at the ſubſequent murder of the King. This was followed by the efforts of one faction to ſtrengthen itſelf againſt another, by means of a general war—the leaders of the former preſuming, that they alone were capable of conducting it.
To the miſeries of war were added revolutionary tribunals, revolutionary armies and committees, forced loans, requiſitions, maximums, and every ſpecies of tyranny and iniquity man could deviſe or ſuffer; or, to uſe the expreſſion of Rewbell, [One of the Directory in 1796.] "France was in mourning and deſolation; all her families plunged in deſpair; her whole ſurface covered with Baſtilles, and the republican government become ſo odious, that the moſt wretched ſlave, bending beneath the weight of hiſ chains, would have refuſed to live under it!"
Such were the means by which France was converted into a land of republicans, and ſuch the government to which your patriots aſſert the French people were attached: yet ſo little was this attachment appreciated here, that the mere inſtitutions for watching and ſuppreſſing diſaffection amount, by the confeſſion of Cambon, the financier, to twenty-four millions ſix hundred and thirty-one thouſand pounds ſterling a year!
To ſuppoſe, then, that the French are devoted to a ſyſtem which haſ ſerved as a pretext for ſo many crimes, and has been the cauſe of ſo many calamities, is to conclude them a nation of philoſophers, who are able to endure, yet incapable of reaſoning; and who ſuffer evils of every kind in defence of a principle with which they can be little acquainted, and which, in practice, they have known only by the deſtruction it haſ occaſioned.
You may, perhaps, have been perſuaded, that the people ſubmit patiently now, for the ſake of an advantage in perſpective; but it is not in the diſpoſition of unenlightened men (and the maſs of a people muſt neceſſarily be ſo) to give up the preſent for the future. The individual may ſometimes atchieve this painful conqueſt over himſelf, and ſubmit to evil, on a calculation of future retribution, but the multitude will ever prefer the good moſt immediately attainable, if not under the influence of that terror which ſuperſedes every other conſideration. Recollect, then, the counſel of the firſt hiſtorian of our age, and "ſuſpend your belief of whatever deviates from the laws of nature and the character of man;" and when you are told the French are attached to a government which oppreſſes them, or to principles of which they are ignorant, ſuppoſe their adoption of the one, and their ſubmiſſion to the other, are the reſult of fear, and that thoſe who make theſe aſſertions to the contrary, are either intereſted or miſinformed.
Excuſe me if I have devoted a few pages to a ſubject which with you iſ obſolete. I am indignant at the peruſal of ſuch falſehoods; and though I feel for the humiliation of great talents, I feel ſtill more for the diſgrace ſuch an abuſe of them brings on our country.
It is not inappoſite to mention a circumſtance which happened to a friend of Mr. D____'s, ſome little time ſince, at Paris. He was paſſing through France, in his way from Italy, at the time of the general arreſt, and waſ detained there till the other day. As ſoon as he was releaſed from priſon, he applied in perſon to a member of the Convention, to learn when he might hope to return to England. The Deputy replied, "Ma ſoi je n'en ſais rien [Faith I can't tell you.]—If your Meſſieurs (naming ſome members in the oppoſition) had ſucceeded in promoting a revolution, you would not have been in your cage ſo long—mais pour le coup il faut attendre." [But now you muſt have patience.] It is not probable the members he named could have ſuch deſigns, but Dumont once held the ſame language to me; and it is mortifying to hear theſe miſcreants ſuppoſe, that factious or ambitious men, becauſe they chance to poſſeſs talents, can make revolutions in England as they have done in France.
In the papers which gave riſe to theſe reflections, I obſerve that ſome of your manufacturing towns are diſcontented, and attribute the ſtagnation of their commerce to the war; but it is not unlikely, that the ſtagnation and failures complained of might have taken place, though the war had not happened.—When I came here in 1792, every ſhop and warehouſe were over-ſtocked with Engliſh goods. I could purchaſe any article of our manufacture at nearly the retail price of London; and ſome I ſent for from Paris, in the beginning of 1793, notwithſtanding the reports of war, were very little advanced. Soon after the concluſion of the commercial treaty, every thing Engliſh became faſhionable; and ſo many people had ſpeculated in conſequence, that ſimilar ſpeculations took place in England. But France was glutted before the war; and all ſpeculationſ entered into on a preſumption of a demand equal to that of the firſt years of the treaty, muſt have failed in a certain degree, though the two countries had remained at peace.—Even after a two years ceſſation of direct intercourſe, Britiſh manufactures are every where to be procured, which is a ſufficient proof that either the country was previouſly over ſupplied, or that they are ſtill imported through neutral or indirect channels. Both theſe ſuppoſitions preclude the likelihood that the war has ſo great a ſhare in relaxing the activity of your commerce, as iſ pretended.
But whatever may be the effect of the war, there is no proſpect of peace, until the efforts of England, or the total ruin of the French finances,* ſhall open the way for it.
* By a report of Cambon's at this time, it appears the expences of France in 1792 were eighteen millions ſterling—in 1793, near ninety millionſ—and, in the ſpring of 1794, twelve and a half millions per month!—The church bells, we learn from the ſame authority, coſt in coinage, and the purchaſe of copper to mix with the metal, five or ſix millions of livres more than they produced as money. The church plate, which was brought to the bar of the Convention with ſuch eclat, and repreſented as an inexhauſtible reſource, amounted to ſcarcely a million ſterling: for as the offering was every where involuntary, and promoted by its agents for the purpoſes of pillage, part was ſecreted, a ſtill greater part ſtolen, and, as the conveyance to Paris was a ſort of job, the expences often exceeded the worth—a patine, a cenſor, and a ſmall chalice, were ſent to the Convention, perhaps an hundred leagues, by a couple of Jacobin Commiſſioners in a coach and four, with a military eſcort. Thus, the prejudices of the people were outraged, and their property waſted, without any benefit, even to thoſe who ſuggeſted the meaſure.
—The Convention, indeed, have partly relinquiſhed their project of deſtroying all the Kings of the earth, and forcing all the people to be free. But, though their ſchemes of reformation have failed, they ſtill adhere to thoſe of extirpation; and the moſt moderate members talk occaſionally of "vile iſlanders," and "ſailing up the Thames."*—
* The Jacobins and the Moderates, who could agree in nothing elſe, were here perfectly in uniſon; ſo that on the ſame day we ſee the uſual invectives of Barrere ſucceeded by menaces equally ridiculouſ from Pelet and Tallien— "La ſeule choſe dont nous devons nous occuper eſt d'ecraſer ce gouvernement infame."
Diſcours de Pelet, 14 Nov. "The deſtruction of that infamous government is the only thing that ought to engage our attention." Pelet's Speech, 14 Nov. 1794. "Aujourdhui que la France peut en ſe debarraſſant d'une partie de ſes ennemis reporter la gloire de ſes armes ſur les bordes de la Tamiſe, et ecraſer le gouvernement Anglais." Diſcours de Tallien. "France, having now the opportunity of leſſening the number of her enemies, may carry the glory of her arms to the banks of the Thames, and cruſh the Engliſh government." Tallien's Speech. "Que le gouvernement prenne des meſures ſages pour faire une paix honorable avec quelques uns de nos ennemis, et a l'aide deſ vaiſſeaux Hollandais et Eſpagnols, portons nous enſuite avec vigueur ſur les bordes de la Tamiſe, et detruiſons la nouvelle Carthage." Diſcours de Tallien, 14 Nov. "Let the government but adopt wiſe meaſures for making an honorable peace with a part of our enemies, and with the aid of the Dutch and Spaniſh navies, let us repair to the banks of the Thames, and deſtroy the modern Carthage." Tallien's Speech, 14 Nov. 1794.
No one is here ignorant of the ſource of Tallien's predilection for Spain, and we may ſuppoſe the intrigue at this time far advanced. Probably the charms of his wife (the daughter of Mons. Cabarrus, a French ſpeculator, formerly much encouraged by the Spaniſh government, afterwards diſgraced and impriſoned, but now liberated) might not be the only means employed to procure his converſion.
—Tallien, Clauzel, and thoſe who have newly aſſumed the character of rational and decent people, ſtill uſe the low and atrocious language of Briſſot, on the day he made his declaration of war; and perhaps hope, by exciting a national ſpirit of vengeance againſt Great Britain, to ſecure their lives and their pay, when they ſhall have been forced to make peace on the Continent: for, be certain, the motives of theſe men are never to be ſought for in any great political object, but merely in expedients to preſerve their perſons and their plunder.
Thoſe who judge of the Convention by their daily harangues, and the juſtice, virtue, or talents which they aſcribe to themſelves, muſt believe them to be greatly regenerated: yet ſuch is the dearth both of abilities and of worth of any kind, that Andre Dumont has been ſucceſſively Preſident of the Aſſembly, Member of the Committee of General Safety, and is now in that of Public Welfare.—Adieu.
The ſeventy-three Deputies who have been ſo long confined are now liberated, and have reſumed their ſeats. Jealouſy and fear for ſome time rendered the Convention averſe from the adoption of this meaſure; but the public opinion was ſo determined in favour of it, that farther reſiſtance might not have been prudent. The ſatiſfaction created by this event iſ general, though the ſame ſentiment is the reſult of various concluſions, which, however, all tend to one object—the re-eſtabliſhment of monarchy.
The idea moſt prevalent is, that theſe deputies, when arreſted, were royaliſts.*
* This opinion prevailed in many places where the proſcribed deputies took refuge. "The Normans (ſays Louvet) deceived by the imputations in the newſpapers, aſſiſted us, under the idea that we were royaliſts: but abandoned us when they found themſelveſ miſtaken." In the ſame manner, on the appearance of theſe Deputieſ in other departments, armies were collecting very faſt, but diſperſed when they perceived theſe men were actuated only by perſonal fear or perſonal ambition, and that no one talked of reſtoring the monarchy.
—By ſome it is thought, perſecution may have converted them; but the reflecting part of the nation look on the greater number as adherents of the Girondiſts, whom the fortunate violence of Robeſpierre excluded from participating in many of the paſt crimes of their colleagues, and who have, in that alone, a reaſon for not becoming accomplices in thoſe which may be attempted in future.
It is aſtoniſhing to ſee with what facility people daily take on truſt things which they have it in their power to aſcertain. The ſeventy-three owe a great part of the intereſt they have excited to a perſuaſion of their having voted either for a mild ſentence on the King, or an appeal to the nation: yet this is ſo far from being true, that many of them were unfavourable to him on every queſtion. But ſuppoſing it to have been otherwiſe, their merit is in reality little enhanced: they all voted him guilty, without examining whether he was ſo or not; and in affecting mercy while they refuſed juſtice, they only aimed at conciliating their preſent views with their future ſafety.
The whole claim of this party, who are now the Moderates of the Convention, is reducible to their having oppoſed the commiſſion of crimeſ which were intended to ſerve their adverſaries, rather than themſelves. To effect the dethronement of the King, and the deſtruction of thoſe obnoxious to them, they approved of popular inſurrections; but expected that the people whom they had rendered proficients in cruelty, ſhould become gentle and obedient when urged to reſiſt their own authority; yet they now come forth as victims of their patriotiſm, and call the heads of the faction who are fallen—martyrs to liberty! But if they are victims, it is to their folly or wickedneſs in becoming members of ſuch an aſſembly; and if their chiefs were martyrs, it was to the principles they inculcated.
The trial of the Briſſotins was juſtice, compared with that of the King. If the former were condemned without proof, their partizans ſhould remember, that the revolutionary jury pretended to be influenced by the ſame moral evidence they had themſelves urged as the ground on which they condemned the King; and if the people beheld with applauſe or indifference the execution of their once-popular idols, they only put in practice the barbarous leſſons which thoſe idols had taught them;—they were forbidden to lament the fate of their Sovereign, and they rejoiced in that of Briſſot and his confederates.—Theſe men, then, only found the juſt retribution of their own guilt; and though it may be politic to forget that their ſurvivors were alſo their accomplices, they are not objects of eſteem—and the contemporary popularity, which a long ſecluſion has obtained for them, will vaniſh, if their future conduct ſhould be directed by their original principles.*
* Louvet's pamphlet had not at this time appeared, and the ſubſequent events proved, that the intereſt taken in theſe Deputieſ was founded on a ſuppoſition they had changed their principles; for before the cloſe of the Convention they were as much objects of hatred and contempt as their colleagues.
Some of theſe Deputies were the hirelings of the Duke of Orleans, and moſt of them are individuals of no better reputation than the reſt of the Aſſembly. Lanjuinais has the merit of having acted with great courage in defence of himſelf and his party on the thirty-firſt of May 1792; but the following anecdote, recited by Gregoire* in the Convention a few days ago will ſufficiently explain both his character and Gregoire's, who are now, however, looked up to as royaliſts, and as men comparatively honeſt.
* Gregoire is one of the conſtitutional Clergy, and, from the habit of comparing bad with worſe, is more eſteemed than many of hiſ colleagues; yet, in his report on the progreſs of Vandaliſm, he expreſſes himſelf with ſanguinary indecency—"They have torn (ſayſ he) the prints which repreſented the execution of Charles the firſt, becauſe there were coats of arms on them. Ah, would to god we could behold, engraved in the ſame manner, the heads of all Kings, done from nature! We might then reconcile ourſelves to ſeeing a ridiculous embelliſhment of heraldry accompany them."
—"When I firſt arrived at Verſailles, (ſays Gregoire,) as member of the Conſtituent Aſſembly, (in 1789,) I met with Lanjuinais, and we took an oath in concert to dethrone the King and aboliſh Nobility." Now, thiſ was before the alledged provocations of the King and Nobility—before the conſtitution was framed—before the flight of the royal family to Varenneſ—and before the war. But almoſt daily confeſſions of this ſort eſcape, which at once juſtify the King, and eſtabliſh the infamy of the revolutioniſts.
Theſe are circumſtances not to be forgotten, did not the ſad ſcience of diſcriminating the ſhades of wickedneſs, in which (as I have before noticed) the French have been rendered ſuch adepts, oblige them at preſent to fix their hopeſ—not according to the degree of merit, but by that of guilt. They are reduced to diſtinguiſh between thoſe who ſanction murders, and thoſe who perpetrated them—between the ſacrificer of one thouſand victims, and that of ten—between thoſe who aſſaſſinate, and thoſe who only reward the aſſaſſin.*
* Tallien is ſuppoſed, as agent of the municipality of paris, to have paid a million and a half of livres to the Septembriſers or aſſaſſins of the priſonſ! I know not whether the ſum was in aſſignats or ſpecie.—If in the former, it was, according to the exchange then, about two and thirty thouſand pounds ſterling: but if eſtimated in proportion to what might be purchaſed with it, near fifty thouſand. Tallien has never denied the payment of the money— we may, therefore, conclude the charge to be true.
—Before the revolution, they would not have known how to ſelect, where all were objects of abhorrence; but now the moſt ignorant are caſuiſts in the gradations of turpitude, and prefer Tallien to Le Bon, and the Abbe Sieyes to Barrere.
The crimes of Carrier have been terminated, not puniſhed, by death. He met his fate with a courage which, when the effect of innocence, iſ glorious to the ſufferer, and conſoling to humanity; but a career like his, ſo ended, was only the confirmation of a brutal and ferocious mind.*
* When Carrier was arreſted, he attempted to ſhoot himſelf, and, on being prevented by the Gens-d'armes, he told them there were memberſ of the Convention who would not forgive their having prevented hiſ purpoſe—implying, that they apprehended the diſcoveries he might make on his trial. While he was dreſſing himſelf, (for they took him in bed,) he added, "Les Sceleratſ! (Meaning his more particular accomplices, who, he was told, had voted againſt him,) they deſerved that I ſhould be as daſtardly as themſelves." He reſted his defence entirely on the decrees of the Convention.
—Of thirty who were tried with him as his agents, and convicted of aſſiſting at the drownings, ſhootings, &c. two only were executed, the reſt were acquitted; becauſe, though the facts were proved, the moral latitude of the Revolutionary Jury* did not find the guilt of the intention—that is, the culprits were indiſputably the murderers of ſeveral thouſand people, but, according to the words of the verdict, they did not act with a counter-revolutionary intention.
* An Engliſh reader may be deceived by the name of Jury. The Revolutionary Jury was not only inſtituted, but even appointed by the Convention.—The following is a literal tranſlation of ſome of the verdicts given on this occaſion: "That O'Sulivan is author and accomplice of ſeveral noyadeſ (drownings) and unheard-of cruelties towards the victims delivered to the waves. "That Lefevre is proved to have ordered and cauſed to be executed a noyade of men, women, and children, and to have committed variouſ arbitrary acts. "That General Heron is proved to have aſſaſſinated children, and worn publicly in his hat the ear of a man he had murdered. That he alſo killed two children who were peaceably watching ſheep. "That Bachelier is author and accomplice of the operations at Nantes, in ſigning arbitrary mandates of arreſt, impoſing vexatiouſ taxes, and taking for himſelf plate, &c. found at the houſes of citizens arreſted on ſuſpicion. "That Joly is guilty, &c. in executing the arbitrary orders of the Revolutionary Committee, of tying together the victims deſtined to be drowned or ſhot." There are thirty-one articles conceived nearly in the ſame terms, and which conclude thuſ—"All convicted as above, but not having acted with criminal or counter-revolutionary intentions, the Tribunal acquits and ſets them at liberty." All France was indignant at thoſe verdicts, and the people of Pariſ were ſo enraged, that the Convention ordered the acquitted culpritſ to be arreſted again, perhaps rather for protection than puniſhment. They were ſent from Paris, and I never heard the reſult; but I have ſeen the name of General Heron as being at large.
The Convention were certainly deſirous that the atrocities of theſe men (all zealous republicans) ſhould be forgotten; for, independently of the diſgrace which their trial has brought on the cauſe, the ſacrifice of ſuch agents might create a dangerous timidity in future, and deprive the government of valuable partizans, who would fear to be the inſtruments of crimes for which, after ſuch a precedent, they might become reſponſible. But the evil, which was unavoidable, has been palliated by the tenderneſſ or gratitude of a jury choſen by the Convention, who, by ſacrificing two only of this maſs of monſters, and protecting the reſt, hope to conſecrate the uſeful principle of indulgence for every act, whatever itſ enormity, which has been the conſequence of zeal or obedience to the government.
It is among the dreadful ſingularities of the revolution, that the greateſt crimes which have been committed were all in ſtrict obſervance of the laws. Hence the Convention are perpetually embarraſſed by intereſt or ſhame, when it becomes neceſſary to puniſh them. We have only to compare the conduct of Carrier, le Bon, Maignet, &c. with the decrees under which they acted, to be convinced that their chief guilt lies in having been capable of obeying: and the convention, coldly iſſuing forth their reſcripts of extermination and conflagration, will not, in the opinion of the moraliſt, be favorably diſtinguiſhed from thoſe who carried theſe mandates into execution.
I am now at a village a few miles from Amiens, where, upon giving ſecurity in the uſual form, we have been permitted to come for a few dayſ on a viſit to ſome relations of my friend Mad. de ____. On our arrival, we found the lady of the houſe in a nankeen pierrot, knitting grey thread ſtockings for herſelf, and the gentleman in a thick woollen jacket and pantaloons, at work in the fields, and really labouring as hard as hiſ men.—They hope, by thus taking up the occupation and aſſuming the appearance of farmers, to eſcape farther perſecution; and this policy may be available to thoſe who have little to loſe: but property is now a more dangerous diſtinction than birth, and whoever poſſeſſes it, will alwayſ be conſidered as the enemies of the republic, and treated accordingly.
We have been ſo much confined the laſt twelve months, that we were glad to ride yeſterday in ſpite of the cold; and our hoſts having procured aſſes for the females of the party, accompanied us themſelves on foot.— During our ramble, we entered into converſation with two old men and a boy, who were at work in an open field near the road. They told us, they had not ſtrength to labour, becauſe they had not their uſual quantity of bread—that their good lady, whoſe chateau we ſaw at a diſtance, had been guillotined, or elſe they ſhould have wanted for nothing—"Et ſte pauvre Javotte la n'auroit pas travaille quant elle eſt qualſiment prete a mourir." ["And our poor Javotte there would not have had to work when ſhe is almoſt in her grave."]—"Mon dieu," (ſays one of the old men, who had not yet ſpoke,) "Je donnerais bien ma portion de ſa terre pour la ravoir notre bonne dame." ["God knows, I would willingly give up my ſhare of her eſtate to have our good lady amongſt us again."]—"Ah pour ca oui," (returned the other,) "mais j'crois que nous n'aurons ni l'une l'autre, voila ſte maudite nation qui ſ'empare de tout." ["Ah truly, but I fancy we ſhall have neither one nor the other, for this curſed nation gets hold of every thing."]
While they were going on in this ſtyle, a berline and four cabriolets, with three-coloured flags at the windows, and a whole troop of national guard, paſſed along the road. "Vive la Republique!"—"Vive la Nation!" cried our peaſants, in an inſtant; and as ſoon as the cavalcade was out of ſight, "Voyez ſte gueuſaille la, quel train, c'eſt vraiment quelque depute de la Convention—ces brigands la, ils ne manquent de rien, ilſ vivent comme des rois, et nous autres nous ſommes cent ſois pluſ miſerables que jamais." ["See there what a figure they make, thoſe beggarly fellowſ—it's ſome deputy of the convention I take it. The thieves want for nothing, they live like ſo many kings, and we are all a hundred times worſe off than ever."]—"Tais toi, tais tois," ["Be quiet, I tell you."] (ſays the old man, who ſeemed the leaſt garrulous of the two.)—"Ne crains rien, ["Never fear."] (replied the firſt,) c'eſt de braves gens; theſe ladies and gentlemen I'm ſure are good people; they have not the look of patriots."—And with this compliment to ourſelves, and the externals of patriotiſm, we took our leave of them.
I found, however, by this little converſation, that ſome of the peaſantſ ſtill believe they are to have the lands of the gentry divided amongſt them, according to a decree for that purpoſe. The lady, whom they lamented, and whoſe eſtate they expected to ſhare, was the Marquiſe de B____, who had really left the country before the revolution, and had gone to drink ſome of the German mineral waters, but not returning within the time afterwards preſcribed, was declared an emigrant. By means of a friend, ſhe got an application made to Chabot, (then in high popularity,) who for an hundred thouſand livres procured a paſſport from the Executive Council to enter France. Upon the faith of this ſhe ventured to return, and was in conſequence, notwithſtanding her paſſport, executed as an emigrant.
Mrs. D____, who is not yet well enough for ſuch an expedition, and is, beſides, unaccuſtomed to our montures, remained at home. We found ſhe had been much alarmed during our abſence, every houſe in the village having been ſearched, by order of the diſtrict, for corn, and two of the horſes taken to the next poſt to convey the retinue of the Deputy we had ſeen in the morning. Every thing, however, was tranquil on our arrival, and rejoicing it was no worſe, though Mons. ____ ſeemed to be under great apprehenſion for his horſes, we ſat down to what in France is called a late dinner.
Our hoſt's brother, who left the army at the general excluſion of the Nobleſſe, and was in confinement at the Luxembourg until after the death of Robeſpierre, is a profeſſed wit, writes couplets to popular airs, and has dramatized one of Plutarch's Lives. While we were at the deſert, he amuſed us with ſome of his compoſitions in priſon, ſuch as an epigram on the Guillotine, half a dozen calembours on the bad fare at the Gamelle, [Meſs.] and an ode on the republican victory at Fleuruſ—the laſt written under the hourly expectation of being ſent off with the next fournee (batch) of pretended conſpirators, yet breathing the moſt ardent attachment to the convention, and terminated by a full ſounding line about tyrants and liberty.—This may appear ſtrange, but the Poets were, for the moſt part, in durance, and the Muſes muſt ſing, though in a cage: hope and fear too both inſpire preſcriptively, and freedom might be obtained or death averted by theſe effuſions of a devotion ſo profound aſ not to be alienated by the ſufferings of impriſonment, or the menace of deſtruction. Whole volumes of little jeux d'eſprit, written under theſe circumſtances, might be collected from the different priſons; and, I believe, it is only in France that ſuch a collection could have been furniſhed.*
* Many of theſe poetical trifles have been publiſhed—ſome written even the night before their authors were executed. There are ſeveral of great poetical merit, and, when conſidered relatively, are wonderful.—Among the various poets impriſoned, was one we ſhould ſcarcely have expected—Rouget Delille, author of the Marſeillois Hymn, who, while his muſe was rouzing the citizens from one end of the republic to the other to arm againſt tyrants, waſ himſelf languiſhing obſcurely a victim to the worſt of all tyrannies.
Mr. D____, though he writes and ſpeaks French admirably, does not love French verſes; and I found he could not depend on the government of hiſ features, while a French poet was reciting his own, but kept his eyeſ fixed on a dried apple, which he pared very curiouſly, and when that waſ atchieved, betook himſelf to breaking pralines, and extracting the almonds with equal application. We, however, complimented Monſieur'ſ poetry; and when we had taken our coffee, and the ſervants were entirely withdrawn, he read us ſome trifles more agreeable to our principles, if not to our taſte, and in which the Convention was treated with more ſincerity than complaiſance. It ſeems the poet's zeal for the republic had vaniſhed at his departure from the Luxembourg, and that his wrath againſt coaleſced deſpots, and his paſſion for liberty, had entirely evaporated. In the evening we played a party of reverſi with republican cards,* and heard the children ſing "Mourrons pour la Patrie."
* The four Kings are replaced by four Genii, the Queens by four ſorts of liberty, and the Knaves by four deſcriptions of equality.
—After theſe civic amuſements, we cloſed our chairs round the fire, conjecturing how long the republic might laſt, or whether we ſhould all paſs another twelve months in priſon, and, agreeing that both our fate and that of the republic were very precarious, adjourned to reſt.
While I was undreſſing, I obſerved Angelique looked extremely diſcontented, and on my enquiring what was the matter, ſhe anſwered, "C'eſt que je m'ennuie beaucoup ici," ["I am quite tired of thiſ place."] "Mademoiſelle," (for no ſtate or calling is here exempt from thiſ polite ſenſation.) "And why, pray?"—"Ah quelle triſte ſociete, tout le monde eſt d'un patriotiſme inſoutenable, la maiſon eſt remplie d'imageſ republicaines, des Marat, des Voltaire, des Pelletier, que ſais-moi? et voila juſqu'au garcon de l'ecurie qui me traite de citoyenne." ["Oh, they are a ſad ſet—every body is ſo inſufferably patriotic. The houſe is full from top to bottom of republican images, Marats, and Voltaires, and Pelletiers, and I don't know who—and I am called Citizen even by the ſtable boy."] I did not think it right to ſatiſfy her as to the real principles of our friends, and went to bed ruminating on the improvementſ which the revolution muſt have occaſioned in the art of diſſimulation. Terror has drilled people of the moſt oppoſite ſentiments into ſuch an uniformity of manner and expreſſion, that an ariſtocrat who is ruined and perſecuted by the government is not diſtinguiſhable from the Jacobin who has made his fortune under it.
In the morning Angelique's countenance was brightened, and I found ſhe had ſlept in the ſame room with Madame's femme de chambre, when an explanation of their political creeds had taken place, ſo that ſhe now aſſured me Mad. Auguſtine was "fort honnete dans le fond," [A very good girl at heart.] though ſhe was obliged to affect republicaniſm.—"All the world's a ſtage," ſays our great dramatic moraliſt. France is certainly ſo at preſent, and we are not only neceſſitated to act a part, but a ſorry one too; for we have no choice but to exhibit in farce, or ſuffer in tragedy.—Yours, &c.
I took the opportunity of my being here to go about four leagues farther to ſee an old convent acquaintance lately come to this part of the country, and whom I have not met ſince I was at Orleans in 1789.
The time has been when I ſhould have thought ſuch a hiſtory as thiſ lady's a romance, but tales of woe are now become familiar to us, and, if they create ſympathy, they no longer excite ſurprize, and we hear of them as the natural effects of the revolution.
Madame de St. E__m__d is the daughter of a gentleman whoſe fortune waſ inadequate both to his rank and manner of living, and he gladly embraced the offer of Monſieur de St. E__m__d to marry her at ſixteen, and to relinquiſh the fortune allotted her to her two younger ſiſters. Monſieur de St. E__m__d, being a diſſipated man, ſoon grew weary of any ſort of domeſtic life, and placing his wife with her father, in leſs than a year after their marriage departed for Italy.—Madame de St. E__m__d, thuſ left in a ſituation both delicate and dangerous for a young and pretty woman, became unfortunately attached to a gentleman who was her diſtant relation: yet, far from adopting the immoral principles not unjuſtly aſcribed to your country, ſhe conducted herſelf with a prudence and reſerve, which even in France made her an object of general reſpect. About three years after her huſband's departure the revolution took place, and not returning, he was of courſe put on the liſt of emigrants. In 1792, when the law paſſed which ſanctioned and facilitated divorces, her friends all earneſtly perſuaded her to avail herſelf of it, but ſhe could not be prevailed upon to conſider the ſtep as juſtifiable; for though Monſieur de St. E__m__d neglected her, he had, in other reſpects, treated her with generoſity and kindneſs. She, therefore, perſiſted in her refuſal, and her lover, in deſpair, joined the republican army.
At the general arreſt of the Nobleſſe, Madame de St. E__m__d and her ſiſters were confined in the town where they reſided, but their father was ſent to Paris; and a letter from one of his female relations, who had emigrated, being found among his papers, he was executed without being able to ſee or write to his children. Madame de St. E__m__d's huſband had returned about the ſame time to France, in the diſguiſe of a poſt-boy, was diſcovered, and ſhared the ſame fate. Theſe events reached her love, ſtill at the army, but it was impoſſible for him to quit his poſt, and in a few days after, being mortally wounded, he died,* recommending Eugenie de St. E__m__d to the protection of his father.—
* This young man, who died gallantly fighting in the cauſe of the republic, was no republican: but this does not render the murder of his father, a deaf [There were people both deaf and dumb in the priſons as conſpirators.] and inoffenſive man, leſs abominable.—The caſe of General Moreau's father, though ſomewhat ſimilar, is yet more characteriſtic of the revolution. Mons. Moreau was perſuaded, by a man who had ſome intereſt in the buſineſs, to pay a debt which he owed an emigrant, to an individual, inſtead of paying it, as the law directed, to the uſe of the republic. The ſame man afterwardſ denounced him, and he was thrown into priſon. At nine o'clock on the night preceding his trial, his act of accuſation was brought him, and before he had time to ſketch out a few lines for hiſ defence, the light by which he wrote was taken away. In the morning he was tried, the man who had informed againſt him ſitting as one of his judges, and he was condemned and executed the very day on which his ſon took the Fort de l'Ecluſe!—Mons. Moreau had four ſons, beſides the General in the army, and two daughters, all left deſtitute by the confiſcation of his property.
—A brother officer, who engaged to execute this commiſſion, wrote immediately to the old man, to inform him of his loſs, and of his ſon'ſ laſt requeſt. It was too late, the father having been arreſted on ſuſpicion, and afterwards guillotined, with many other perſons, for a pretended conſpiracy in priſon, the very day on which his ſon had fallen in the performance of an act of uncommon bravery.
Were I writing from imagination, I ſhould add, that Madame de St. E__m__d had been unable to ſuſtain the ſhock of theſe repeated calamities, and that her life or underſtanding had been the ſacrifice. It were, indeed, happy for the ſufferer, if our days were always terminated when they became embittered, or that we loſt the ſenſe of ſorrow by its exceſs: but it is not ſo—we continue to exiſt when we have loſt the deſire of exiſtence, and to reaſon when feeling and reaſon conſtitute our torments. Madame de St. E__m__d then lives, but lives in affliction; and having collected the wreck of her perſonal property, which ſome friends had concealed, ſhe left the part of France ſhe formerly inhabited, and is now with an aunt in this neighbourhood, watching the decay of her eldeſt ſiſter, and educating the youngeſt.
Clementine was conſumptive when they were firſt arreſted, and vexation, with ill-treatment in the priſon, have ſo eſtabliſhed her diſorder, that ſhe is now paſt relief. She is yet ſcarcely eighteen, and one of the moſt lovely young women I ever ſaw. Grief and ſickneſs have ravaged her features; but they are ſtill ſo perfect, that fancy, aſſociating their paſt bloom with their preſent languor, ſupplies perhaps as much to the mind as is loſt by the eye. She ſuffers without complaining, and mournſ without oſtentation; and hears her father ſpoken of with ſuch ſolemn ſilent floods of tears, that ſhe looks like the original of Dryden'ſ beautiful portrait of the weeping Sigiſmunda.
The letter which condemned the father of theſe ladies, was not, it ſeems, written to himſelf, but to a brother, lately dead, whoſe executor he was, and of whoſe papers he thus became poſſeſſed. On this ground their friends engaged them to petition the Aſſembly for a reviſion of the ſentence, and the reſtoration of their property, which was in conſequence forfeited.
The daily profeſſions of the Convention, in favour of juſtice and humanity, and the return of the ſeventy-three impriſoned Deputies, had ſoothed theſe poor young women with the hopes of regaining their paternal inheritance, ſo iniquitouſly confiſcated. A petition was, therefore, forwarded to Paris about a fortnight ago; and the day before, the following decree was iſſued, which has ſilenced their claims for ever: "La Convention Nationale declare qu'elle n'admettra aucune demande en reviſion des jugemens criminels portant confiſcation de biens rendus et executes pendant la revolution."*
* "The National Convention hereby declares that it will admit no petitions for the reviſal of ſuch criminal ſentences, attended with confiſcation of property, as have been paſſed and executed ſince the revolution." Yet theſe revolutioniſts, who would hear nothing of repairing their own injuſtice, had occaſionally been annulling ſentences paſt half a century ago, and the more recent one of the Chevalier La Barre. But their own executions and confiſcations for an adherence to religion were to be held ſacred.—I ſhall be excuſed for introducing here a few words reſpecting the affair of La Barre, which has been a favourite topic with popular writers of a certain deſcription. The ſeverity of the puniſhment muſt, doubtleſs, be conſidered aſ diſgraceful to thoſe who adviſed as well as to thoſe who ſanctioned it: but we muſt not infer from hence that he merited no puniſhment at all; and perhaps degradation, ſome ſcandalous and public correction, with a few years ſolitary confinement, might have anſwered every purpoſe intended. La Barre was a young etourdi, under twenty, but of lively talents, which, unfortunately for him, had taken a very perverſe turn. The miſdemeanour commonly imputed to him and his aſſociates was, that they had mutilated a Chriſt which ſtood on the Pont-neuf at Abbeville: but La Barre had accuſtomed himſelf to take all opportunities of inſulting, with the moſt wanton malignity, theſe pious repreſentations, and eſpecially in the preſence of people, with whom his particular connections led him to aſſociate, and whoſe profeſſion could not allow them entirely to overlook ſuch affrontſ on what was deemed an appendage to the eſtabliſhed religion of the country. The people of Abbeville manifeſted their ſenſe of the buſineſs when d'Etalonde, La Barre's intimate friend, who had ſaved himſelf by flight, returned, after a long exile, under favour of the revolution. He was received in the neighbourhood with the moſt mortifying indifference. The decree of the Convention too, by which the memory of thiſ imprudent young man was re-eſtabliſhed, when promulgated, created about as much intereſt as any other law which did not immediately affect the property or awaken the apprehenſions of the hearers.
Madame de St. E__m__d told me her whole fortune was now reduced to a few Louis, and about ſix or ſeven thouſand livres in diamonds; that ſhe waſ unwilling to burden her aunt, who was not rich, and intended to make ſome advantage of her muſical talents, which are indeed conſiderable. But I could not, without anguiſh, hear an elegant young woman, with a heart half broken, propoſe to get her living by teaching muſic.—I know not that I ever paſſed a more melancholy day. In the afternoon we walked up and down the path of the village church-yard. The church was ſhut up, the roof in part untiled, the windows were broken, and the wooden croſſeſ that religion or tenderneſs had erected to commemorate the dead, broken and ſcattered about. Two labourers, and a black-ſmith in his working garb, came while we were there, and threw a ſort of uncouth wooden coffin haſtily into a hole dug for the purpoſe, which they then covered and left without farther ceremony. Yet this was the body of a lady regretted by a large family, who were thus obliged to conquer both their affection and their prejudices, and inter her according to the republican mode.*
* The relations or friends of the dead were prohibited, under ſevere penalties, from following their remains to the grave.
I thought, while we traverſed the walk, and beheld this ſcene, that every thing about me bore the marks of the revolution. The melancholy objectſ I held on my arm, and the feeble ſteps of Clementine, whom we could ſcarcely ſupport, aided the impreſſion; and I fear that, for the moment, I queſtioned the juſtice of Heaven, in permitting ſuch a ſcourge to be let looſe upon its works.
I quitted Madame de St. E__m__d this morning with reluctance, for we ſhall not meet again till I am entirely at liberty. The village municipality where ſhe now reſides, are quiet and civil, and her miſfortunes make her fearful of attracting the notice of the people in authority of a large place, ſo that ſhe cannot venture to Amiens.—You muſt obſerve, that any perſon who has ſuffered is an object of particular ſuſpicion, and that to have had a father or a huſband executed, and to be reduced to beggary, are titles to farther perſecution.—The politics of the day are, it is true, ſomething leſs ferocious than they were: but confidence is not to be reſtored by an eſſay in the Orateur du Peuple,* or an equivocal harangue from the tribune; and I perceive every where, that thoſe who have been moſt injured, are moſt timid.
* "L'Orateur du Peuple," was a periodical paper publiſhed by Freron, many numbers of which were written with great ſpirit.— Freron was at this time ſuppoſed to have become a royaliſt, and hiſ paper, which was comparatively favourable to the ariſtocrats, waſ read with great eagerneſs. The following extract from the regiſters of one of the popular commiſſions will prove, that the fears of thoſe who had already ſuffered by the revolution were well founded: "A. Sourdeville, and A. N. E. Sourdeville, ſiſters of an emigrant Noble, daughters of a Count, ariſtocrats, and having had their father and brother guillotined. "M. J. Sourdeville, mother of an emigrant, an ariſtocrat, and her huſband and ſon having been guillotined. "Jean Marie Defille—very ſuſpiciouſ—a partizan of the Abbe Arnoud and La Fayette, has had a brother guillotined, and always ſhewn himſelf indifferent about the public welfare." The commiſſions declare that the above are condemned to baniſhment.
I did not reach this place till after the family had dined, and taking my ſoup and a diſh of coffee, have eſcaped, under pretext of the headache, to my own room. I left our poet far gone in a claſſical deſcription of a ſort of Roman dreſſes, the drawings of which he had ſeen exhibited at the Lyceum, as models of an intended national equipment for the French citizens of both ſexes; and my viſit to Madame de St. E__m__d had incapacitated me for diſcuſſing revolutionary draperies.
In England, this is the ſeaſon of feſtivity to the little, and beneficence in the great; but here, the ſterile genius of atheiſm haſ ſuppreſſed the ſounds of mirth, and cloſed the hands of charity—no ſeaſon is conſecrated either to the one or the other; and the once-varied year is but an uniform round of gloom and ſelfiſhneſs. The philoſopher may treat with contempt the notion of periodical benevolence, and aſſert that we ſhould not wait to be reminded by religion or the calendar, in order to contribute to the relief of our fellow creatures: yet there are people who are influenced by cuſtom and duty, that are not always awake to compaſſion; and indolence or avarice may yield a too ready obedience to prohibitions which favour both. The poor are certainly no gainers by the ſubſtitution of philoſophy for religion; and many of thoſe who are forbidden to celebrate Chriſtmas or Eaſter by a maſs, will forget to do it by a donation. For my own part, I think it an advantage that any period of the year is more particularly ſignalized by charity; and I rejoice when I hear of the annual gifts of meat or firing of ſuch, or ſuch a great perſonage—and I never enquire whether they might ſtill continue their munificence if Chriſtianity were aboliſhed.—Adieu.