Every attempt to obtain paſſports has been fruitleſs, and, with that ſort of diſcontented reſignation which is the effect of neceſſity, I now look upon myſelf as fixed here till the peace. I left Mr. and Mrs. D____ yeſterday morning, the diſappointment operating upon them in full force. The former takes longer walks than uſual, breaks out in philippicſ againſt tyrannies of all kinds, and ſwears ten times a day that the French are the moſt noiſy people upon earth—the latter is vexed, and, for that reaſon, fancies ſhe is ill, and calculates, with great ingenuity, all the hazard and inconvenience we may be liable to by remaining here. I hope, on my return, to find them more reconciled.
At Villars de Bretonne, on my road hither, ſome people told me, with great gaiety, that the Engliſh had made a deſcent on the coaſt of Picardy. Such a report (for I did not ſuppoſe it poſſible) during the laſt war would have made me tremble, but I heard this without alarm, having, in no inſtance, ſeen the people take that kind of intereſt in public events which formerly made a reſidence in France unpleaſant to an individual of an hoſtile nation. It is not that they are become more liberal, or better informed—no change of this kind has been diſcovered even by the warmeſt advocates of the revolution; but they are more indifferent, and thoſe who are not decidedly the enemies of the preſent government, for the moſt part concern themſelves as little about the events of the war, as though it were carried on in the South Sea.
I fear I ſhould riſk an imputation on my veracity, were I to deſcribe the extreme ignorance and inattention of the French with reſpect to public men and meaſures. They draw no concluſions from the paſt, form no conjectures for the future, and, after exclaiming "Il ne peut pas durer comme cela," they, with a reſignation which is certainly neither piouſ nor philoſophic, leave the reſt to the agency of Providence.—Even thoſe who are more informed ſo bewilder themſelves in the politics of Greece and Rome, that they do not perceive how little theſe are applicable to their own country. Indeed, it ſhould ſeem that no modern age or people is worthy the knowledge of a Frenchman.—I have often remarked, in the courſe of our correſpondence, how little they are acquainted with what regards England or the Engliſh; and ſcarcely a day paſſes that I have not occaſion to make the ſame obſervation.
My conductor hither, who is a friend of Mad. de T____, and eſteemed "bien inſtruit," was much ſurprized when I told him that the population and ſize of London exceeded that of Pariſ—that we had good fruit, and better vegetables than were to be found in many parts of France. I ſaw that he ſuſpected my veracity, and there is always on theſe occaſions ſuch a decided and impenetrable incredulity in a Frenchman as precludes all hopes of convincing him. He liſtens with a ſort of ſelf-ſufficient complacence which tells you he does not conſider your aſſertions as any thing more than the exaggerations of national vanity, but that hiſ politeneſs does not allow him to contradict you. I know nothing more diſguſtingly impertinent than his ignorance, which intrenches itſelf behind the forms of civility, and, affecting to decline controverſy, aſſumes the merit of forbearance and moderation: yet this muſt have been often obſerved by every one who has lived much in French ſociety: for the firſt emotion of a Frenchman, on hearing any thing which tends to place another country on an equality with France, is doubt—this doubt iſ inſtantly reinforced by vanity—and, in a few ſeconds, he is perfectly ſatiſfied that the thing is impoſſible.
One muſt be captious indeed to object to this, did it ariſe from that patriotic feeling ſo common in the Engliſh; but here it is all vanity, downright vanity: a Frenchman muſt have his country and his miſtreſſ admired, though he does not often care much for either one or the other. I have been in various parts of France in the moſt critical periods of the revolution—I have converſed with people of all parties and of all rankſ—and I aſſert, that I have never yet met but with one man who had a grain of real patriotiſm. If the Athenian law were adopted which doomed all to death who ſhould be indifferent to the public welfare in a time of danger, I fear there would be a woeful depopulation here, even among the loudeſt champions of democracy.
It is not thirty miles from Amiens to Peronne, yet a journey of thirty miles is not now to be undertaken inconſiderately; the horſes are ſo much worked, and ſo ill fed, that few perform ſuch a diſtance without reſt and management. If you wiſh to take others, and continue your route, you cannot, or if you wait while your own horſes are refreſhed, as a reward for your humanity you get ſtarved yourſelf. Bread being very ſcarce, no family can get more than ſufficient for its own conſumption, and thoſe who travel without firſt ſupplying themſelves, do it at the riſk of finding none on the road.
Peronne is chiefly remarkable in hiſtory for never having been taken, and for a tower where Louis XI. was confined for a ſhort time, after being outwitted in a manner ſomewhat ſurprizing for a Monarch who piqued himſelf on his talents for intrigue, by Charles le Temeraire, Duke of Burgundy. It modern reputation, ariſes from its election of the Abbe Maury for its repreſentative, and for entertaining political principleſ every way analogous to ſuch a choice.
I found the Marquiſe much altered in her perſon, and her health much impaired, by the frequent alarms and continual apprehenſions ſhe had been ſubject to at Paris. Fortunately ſhe has no imputation againſt her but her rank and fortune, for ſhe is utterly guiltleſs of all political opinions; ſo that I hope ſhe will be ſuffered to knit ſtockings, tend her birds and dogs, and read romances in peace.—Yours, &c. &c.
When the creation of aſſignats was firſt propoſed, much ingenuity waſ employed in conjecturing, and much eloquence diſplayed in expatiating upon, the various evils that might reſult from them; yet the genius of party, however uſually ſucceſſful in gloomy perſpective, did not at that time imagine half the inconvenience this meaſure was fraught with. It was eaſy, indeed, to foreſee, that an immenſe circulation of paper, like any other currency, muſt augment the price of every thing; but the exceſſive diſcredit of the aſſignats, operating acceſſarily to their quantity, has produced a train of collateral effects of greater magnitude than even thoſe that were originally apprehended. Within the laſt twelve months the whole country are become monopolizerſ—the deſire of realizing has ſo poſſeſſed all degrees of people, that there is ſcarcely an article of conſumption which is not bought up and ſecreted. One would really ſuppoſe that nothing was periſhable but the national credit—the nobleman, the merchant, the ſhopkeeper, all who have aſſignats, engage in theſe ſpeculations, and the neceſſities of our diſſipated heirs do not drive them to reſources for obtaining money more whimſical than the commerce now practiſed here to get rid of it. I know a beau who haſ converted his hypotheque [Mortgage.] on the national domains into train oil, and a General who has given theſe "airy nothingſ" the ſubſtance and form of hemp and leather!*
* In the late rage for monopolies in France, a perſon who had obſerved the vaſt daily conſumption of onions, garlic, and eſchalots, conceived the project of making the whole diſtrict of Amiens tributary for this indiſpenſible article. In conſequence, he attended ſeveral market-days, and purchaſed all that came in hiſ way. The country people finding a ready ſale for their onions, poured in from all quarters, and our projector found that, in proportion as he bought, the market became more profuſely ſupplied, and that the commodity he had hoped to monopolize was inexhauſtible.
Goods purchaſed from ſuch motives are not as you may conceive ſold till the temptation of an exorbitant profit ſeduces the proprietor to riſk a momentary poſſeſſion of aſſignats, which are again diſpoſed of in a ſimilar way. Thus many neceſſaries of life are withdrawn from circulation, and when a real ſcarcity enſues, they are produced to the people, charged with all the accumulated gains of theſe intermediate barters.
This illiberal and pernicious commerce, which avarice and fear have for ſome time kept in great activity, has at length attracted the notice of the Convention, and very ſevere laws are now enacted againſt monopolieſ of all kinds. The holder of any quantity of merchandize beyond what he may be ſuppoſed to conſume is obliged to declare it to his municipality, and to expoſe the articles he deals in in writing over his door. Theſe clauſes, as well as every other part of the decree, ſeem very wiſe and equitable; but I doubt if the ſeverity of the puniſhment annexed to any tranſgreſſion of it will not operate ſo as to defeat the purpoſeſ intended to be produced. A falſe declaration is puniſhable by ſix yearſ impriſonment, and an abſolute non-compliance with death.—Blackſtone remarks, that it is the certainty, not the ſeverity, of puniſhment, which makes laws efficacious; and this muſt ever be the caſe amongſt an humane people.—An inordinate deſire of gain is not often conſidered by mankind as very criminal, and thoſe who would willingly ſubject it to itſ adequate puniſhment of fine and confiſcation, will heſitate to become the means of inflicting death on the offender, or of depriving him of hiſ liberty. The Poets have, from time immemorial, claimed a kind of excluſive juriſdiction over the ſin of avarice: but, unfortunately, mindſ once ſteeled by this vice are not often ſenſible to the attacks of ridicule; and I have never heard that any poet, from Plautus to Moliere, has reformed a ſingle miſer. I am not, therefore, ſorry that our legiſlature has encroached on this branch of the poetical prerogative, and only wiſh that the mild regimen of the Muſes had been ſucceeded by ſomething leſs rigid than the priſon or the guillotine. It is true, that, in the preſent inſtance, it is not the ordinary and habitual practice of avarice that has called forth the ſeverity of the laws, but a ſpecies ſo deſtructive and extenſive in its conſequences, that much may be ſaid in defence of any penalty ſhort of death; and ſuch is the general diſtruſt of the paper-money, that I really believe, had not ſome meaſure of the kind been adopted, no article ſuſceptible of monopoly would have been left for conſumption. There are, however, thoſe who retort on the government, and aſſert, that the origin of the evil is in the waſte and peculation of its agents, which alſo make the immenſe emiſſion of paper more neceſſary; and they are right in the fact, though not in their deduction, for as the evil does exiſt whatever may be the cauſe, it iſ certainly wiſe to endeavour to remedy it.
The poſition of Valenciennes, which is ſuppoſed to be on the eve of a ſurrender—the progreſs of the inſurgents in La Vendee—the diſcontentſ in the South—and the charge of treachery againſt ſo many of the Generals, and particularly Cuſtine—all together ſeem to have agitated the public extremely: yet it is rather the agitation of uncertainty than that occaſioned by any deep impreſſion of hope or fear. The people wiſh to be relieved from their preſent ſituation, yet are without any determinate views for the future; and, indeed, in this part of the country, where they have neither leaders nor union, it would be very difficult for them to take a more active part.
The party of the foederaliſts languiſh, merely becauſe it is nothing more than a party, and a party of which the heads excite neither intereſt nor eſteem. I conclude you learn from the papers all the more important events, and I confine myſelf, as uſual, to ſuch details as I think leſſ likely to reach you. The humanity of the Engliſh muſt often baniſh their political animoſities when they read what paſſes here; and thouſands of my countrymen muſt at this moment lament with me the ſituation to which France is reduced by projects in which common ſenſe can diſtinguiſh no medium between wickedneſs and folly.
All apparent attachment to royaliſm is now cautiouſly avoided, but the royaliſts do not diminiſh by perſecution, and the induſtry with which they propagate their opinions is nearly a match for all the force armee of the republicans.—It is not eaſy to print pamphlets or newſpapers, but there are certain ſhops which one would think were diſcovered by inſtinct, where are ſold a variety of myſterious emblems of royalty, ſuch as fans that have no viſible ornaments except landſcapes, &c. but when opened by the initiated, preſent tolerable likeneſſes of the Royal Family; ſnuff-boxes with ſecret lids, containing miniature buſts of the late King; and muſic ſo ingeniouſly printed, that what to the common eye offers only ſome popular air, when folded ſo as to join the heads and tails of the notes together, forms ſentences of very treaſonable import, and by no means flattering to the exiſting government—I have known theſe interdicted trifles purchaſed at extravagant prices by the beſt-reputed patriots, and by officers who in public breathe nothing but unconquerable democracy, and deteſtation of Kings. Yet, though theſe things are circulated with extreme caution, every body has ſomething of the ſort, and, as Charles Surface ſays, "for my part, I don't ſee who is out of the ſecret."
The belief in religious miracles is exploded, and it is only in political ones that the faith of the people is allowed to exerciſe itſelf.—We have lately ſeen exhibited at the fairs and markets a calf, produced into the world with the tri-coloured cockade on its head; and on the painted cloth that announces the phoenomenon is the portrait of this natural revolutioniſt, with a mayor and municipality in their official ſcarfs, addreſſing the four-footed patriot with great ceremony.
We ſet out early to-morrow-morning for Soiſſons, which is about twenty leagues from hence. Travelling is not very deſirable in the preſent circumſtances, but Mad. de F____ has ſome affairs to ſettle there which cannot well be entruſted to a third perſon. The times, however, have a very hoſtile appearance, and we intend, if poſſible, to be abſent but three days.—Yours.
"And you may go by Beauvais if you will, for which reaſon many go by Beauvais;" and the ſtranger who turns out of his road to go by Soiſſons, muſt uſe the ſame reaſoning, for the conſciouſneſs of having exerciſed his free agency will be all his reward for viſiting Soiſſons. This, by the way; for my journey hither not being one of curioſity, I have no right to complain; yet ſomehow or other, by aſſociating the idea of the famous Vaſe, the ancient reſidence of the firſt French Kings, and other circumſtances as little connected as theſe I ſuppoſe with modern hiſtory, I had ranked Soiſſons in my imagination as one of the places I ſhould ſee with intereſt. I find it, however, only a dull, decent-looking town, tolerably large, but not very populous. In the new diviſion of France it is the capital of the department De l'Aiſne, and is of courſe the ſeat of the adminiſtration.
We left Peronne early, and, being ſo fortunate as to encounter no accidental delays, we arrived within a league of Soiſſons early in the afternoon. Mad. de F____, recollecting an acquaintance who has a chateau not far out of our road, determined to ſtop an hour or two; for, as ſhe ſaid, her friend was ſo "fond of the country," ſhe ſhould be ſure to find him there. We did, indeed, find this Monſieur, who is ſo "fond of the country," at home, extremely well powdered, dreſſed in a ſtriped ſilk coat, and engaged with a card party, on a warm afternoon on the third of Auguſt.—The chateau was ſituated as a French chateau uſually is, ſo aſ to be benefited by all the noiſes and odours of the village—built with a large ſingle front, and a number of windows ſo judiciouſly placed, that it muſt be impoſſible either to be cool in ſummer or warm in winter.
We walked out after taking ſome coffee, and I learned that this lover of the country did not keep a ſingle acre of land in his own hands, but that the part immediately contiguous to the houſe was cultivated for a certain ſhare of the profit by a farmer who lives in a miſerable looking place adjoining, and where I ſaw the operations of the dairy-maid carried on amidſt pigs, ducks, and turkeys, who ſeemed to have eſtabliſhed a very familiar acceſs.
Previous to our arrival at Soiſſons, the Marquiſe (who, though ſhe doeſ not conſider me as an ariſtocrate, knows I am by no means a republican,) begged me to be cautious in expreſſing my ſentiments, as the Comte de ____, where we were going, had embraced the principles of the revolution very warmly, and had been much blamed by his family on this account. Mad. de F____ added, that ſhe had not ſeen him for above a year, but that ſhe believed him ſtill to be "extremement patriote."
We reached Mons. de ____'s juſt as the family were ſet down to a very moderate ſupper, and I obſerved that their plate had been replaced by pewter. After the firſt ſalutations were over, it was ſoon viſible that the political notions of the count were much changed. He is a ſenſible reflecting man, and ſeems really to wiſh the good of his country. He thinks, with many others, that all the good effects which might have been obtained by the revolution will be loſt through the contempt and hatred which the republican government has drawn upon it.
Mons. de ____ has two ſons who have diſtinguiſhed themſelves very honourably in the army, and he has himſelf made great pecuniary ſacrifices; but this has not ſecured him from numerous domiciliary viſitſ and vexations of all kinds. The whole family are at intervals a little penſive, and Mons. de ____ told us, at a moment when the ladies were abſent, that the taking of Valenciennes had occaſioned a violent fermentation at Paris, and that he had ſerious apprehenſions for thoſe who have the miſfortune to be diſtinguiſhed by their rank, or obnoxiouſ from their ſuppoſed principleſ—that he himſelf, and all who were preſumed to have an attachment to the conſtitution of eighty-nine, were much more feared, and of courſe more ſuſpected, than the original ariſtocrateſ—and "enfin" that he had made up his mind a la Francaiſe to the worſt that could happen.
I have juſt run over the papers of the day, and I perceive that the debates of the Convention are filled with invectives againſt the Engliſh. A letter has been very opportunely found on the ramparts of Liſle, which is intended to perſuade the people that the Britiſh government haſ diſtributed money and phoſphoric matches in every town in France—the one to provoke inſurrection, the other to ſet fire to the corn.* You will conclude this letter to be a fabrication, and it is imagined and executed with ſo little ingenuity, that I doubt whether it will impoſe on the moſt ignorant of the people for a moment.
* "The National Convention, in the name of violated humanity, denounces to all the world, and to the people of England in particular, the baſe, perfidious, and wicked conduct of the Britiſh government, which does not heſitate to employ fire, poiſon, aſſaſſination, and every other crime, to procure the triumph of tyranny, and the deſtruction of the rights of man." (Decree, 1ſt Auguſt, 1793.)
The Queen has been tranſferred to the Conciergerie, or common priſon, and a decree is paſſed for trying her; but perhaps at this moment (whatever may be the reſult hereafter) they only hope her ſituation may operate aſ a check upon the enemy; at leaſt I have heard it doubted by many whether they intend to proceed ſeriouſly on this trial ſo long threatened.— Perhaps I may have before noticed to you that the convention never ſeemed capable of any thing great or uniform, and that all their proceedingſ took a tinge from that frivolity and meanneſs which I am almoſt tempted to believe inherent in the French character. They have juſt now, amidſt a long ſtring of decrees, the objects of which are of the firſt conſequence, inſerted one for the deſtruction of all the royal tombſ before the tenth of Auguſt, and another for reducing the expences of the King's children, particularly their food, to bare neceſſaries. Had our Engliſh revolutioniſts thus employed themſelves, they might have expelled the ſculptured Monarchs from the Abbey, and waged a very ſucceſſful war on the admirers of Gothic antiquity; but neither the Stuarts, nor the Catholic religion, would have had much to fear from them.
We have been wandering about the town all day, and I have not remarked that the ſucceſſes of the enemy have occaſioned any regret. When I waſ in France three years ago, you may recollect that my letters uſually contained ſome relation of our embarraſſment and delays, owing to the fear and ignorance of the people. At one place they apprehended the introduction of foreign troopſ—at another, that the Comte d'Artois waſ to burn all the corn. In ſhort, the whole country teemed with plots and counterplots, every one of which was more abſurd and inexplicable than thoſe of Oates, with his whole tribe of Jeſuits. At preſent, when a powerful army is invading the frontiers, and people have not in many places bread to eat, they ſeem to be very little ſolicitous about the former, and as little diſpoſed to blame the ariſtocrates for the latter.
It is really extraordinary, after all the pains that have been taken to excite hatred and reſentment againſt the Engliſh, that I have not heard of a ſingle inſtance of their having been inſulted or moleſted. Whatever inconveniencies they may have been ſubjected to, were acts of the government, not of the people; and perhaps this is the firſt war between the two nations in which the reverſe has not been the caſe.
I accompanied Mad. de ____ this afternoon to the houſe of a rich merchant, where ſhe had buſineſs, and who, ſhe told me, had been a furious patriot, but his ardour is now conſiderably abated. He had juſt returned from the department, [Here uſed for the place where the public buſineſs is tranſacted.] where his affairs had led him; and he aſſureſ us, that in general the agents of the republic were more inacceſſible, more inſolent, corrupt, and ignorant, than any employed under the old government. He demurred to paying Mad. de ____ a ſum of money all in aſſignats a face;* and this famous patriot would readily have given me an hundred livres for a pound ſterling.
* Aſſignats a face—that is, with the King's effigy; at this time greatly preferred to thoſe iſſued after his death.
We ſhall return to Peronne to-morrow, and I have availed myſelf of the hour between cards and ſupper, which is uſually employed by the French in undreſſing, to ſcribble my remarks. In ſome families, I ſuppoſe, ſupping in diſhabille is an arrangement of oeconomy, in others of eaſe; but I always think it has the air of preparation for a very ſolid meal; and, in effect, ſupping is not a mere ceremony with either ſex in this country.
I learnt in converſation with M. de ____, whoſe ſons were at Famars when the camp was forced, that the carnage was terrible, and that the loſs of the French on this occaſion amounted to ſeveral thouſands. You will be informed of this much more accurately in England, but you will ſcarcely imagine that no official account was ever publiſhed here, and that in general the people are ignorant of the circumſtance, and all the diſaſters attending it. In England, you have oppoſition papers that amply ſupply the omiſſions of the miniſterial gazettes, and often dwell with much complacence on the loſſes and defeats of their country; here none will venture to publiſh the leaſt event which they ſuppoſe the government wiſh to keep concealed. I am told, a leading feature of republican governments is to be extremely jealous of the liberty of the preſs, and that of France is, in this reſpect, truly republican.—Adieu.
I have often regretted, my dear brother, that my letters have for ſome time been rather intended to ſatiſfy your curioſity than your affection. At this moment I feel differently, and I rejoice that the inquietude and danger of my ſituation will, probably, not come to your knowledge till I ſhall be no longer ſubject to them. I have been for ſeveral days unwell, and yet my body, valetudinarian as I am at beſt, is now the better part of me; for my mind has been ſo deranged by ſuſpenſe and terror, that I expect to recover my health long before I ſhall be able to tranquillize my ſpirits.
On our return from Soiſſons I found, by the public prints, that a decree had paſſed for arreſting all natives of the countries with which France is at war, and who had not conſtantly reſided there ſince 1789.—Thiſ intelligence, as you will conceive, ſufficiently alarmed me, and I loſt no time in conſulting Mad. de ____'s friends on the ſubject, who were generally of opinion that the decree was merely a menace, and that it waſ too unjuſt to be put in execution. As ſome days elapſed and no ſtepſ were taken in conſequence, I began to think they were right, and my ſpirits were ſomewhat revived; when one evening, as I was preparing to go to bed, my maid ſuddenly entered the room, and, before ſhe could give me any previous explanation, the apartment was filled with armed men. Aſ ſoon as I was collected enough to enquire the object of this unſeaſonable viſit, I learned that all this military apparel was to put the ſeals on my papers, and convey my perſon to the Hotel de Ville!—I knew it would be vain to remonſtrated, and therefore made an effort to recover my ſpirits and ſubmit. The buſineſs, however, was not yet terminated, my papers were to be ſealed—and though they were not very voluminous, the proceſs was more difficult than you would imagine, none of the company having been employed on affairs of the kind before. A debate enſued on the manner in which it ſhould be done, and, after a very tumultuouſ diſcuſſion, it was ſagaciouſly concluded to ſeal up the doors and windowſ of all the apartments appropriated to my uſe. They then diſcovered that they had no ſeal fit for the purpoſe, and a new conſultation was holden on the propriety of affixing a cypher which was offered them by one of the Garde Nationale.
This weighty matter being at length decided, the doors of my bedchamber, dreſſing-room, and of the apartments with which they communicated, were carefully faſtened up, though not without an obſervation on my part that I was only a gueſt at Mad. de ____'s, and that an order to ſeize my papers or perſon was not a mandate for rendering a part of her home uſeleſs. But there was no reaſoning with ignorance and a ſcore of bayonets, nor could I obtain permiſſion even to take ſome linen out of my drawers. On going down ſtairs, I found the court and avenues to the garden amply guarded, and with this numerous eſcort, and accompanied by Mad. de ____, I was conducted to the Hotel de Ville. I know not what reſiſtance they might expect from a ſingle female, but, to judge by their precautions, they muſt have deemed the adventure a very perilous one. When we arrived at the Hotel de Ville, it was near eleven o'clock: the hall was crouded, and a young man, in a dirty linen jacket and trowſerſ and dirty linen, with the air of a Poliſſon and the countenance of an aſſaſſin, was haranguing with great vehemence againſt the Engliſh, who, he aſſerted, were all agents of Pitt, (eſpecially the women,) and were to ſet fire to the corn, and corrupt the garriſons of the fortified towns.— The people liſtened to theſe terrible projects with a ſtupid ſort of ſurprize, and, for the moſt part, ſeemed either very careleſs or very incredulous. As ſoon as this inflammatory piece of eloquence waſ finiſhed, I was preſented to the ill-looking orator, who, I learned, waſ a repreſentant du peuple. It was very eaſy to perceive that my ſpiritſ were quite overpowered, and that I could with difficulty ſupport myſelf; but this did not prevent the repreſentant du peuple from treating me with that inconſiderable brutality which is commonly the effect of a ſudden acceſſion of power on narrow and vulgar minds. After a variety of impertinent queſtions, menaces of a priſon for myſelf, and exclamationſ of hatred and vengeance againſt my country, on producing ſome friends of Mad. de ____, who were to be anſwerable for me, I was releaſed, and returned home more dead than alive.
You muſt not infer, from what I have related, that I was particularly diſtinguiſhed on this occaſion, for though I have no acquaintance with the Engliſh here, I underſtand they had all been treated much in the ſame manner.—As ſoon as the repreſentant had left the town, by dint of ſolicitation we prevailed on the municipality to take the ſeal off the rooms, and content themſelves with ſelecting and ſecuring my papers, which was done yeſterday by a commiſſion, formally appointed for the purpoſe. I know not the quality of the good citizens to whom thiſ important charge was entruſted, but I concluded from their coſtume that they had been more uſefully employed the preceding part of the day at the anvil and laſt. It is certain, however, they had undertaken a buſineſſ greatly beyond their powers. They indeed turned over all my trunks and drawers, and dived to the bottom of water-jugs and flower-jars with great zeal, but neglected to ſearch a large portfolio that lay on the table, probably from not knowing the uſe of it; and my ſervant conveyed away ſome letters, while I amuſed them with the ſight of a blue-bottle fly through a microſcope. They were at firſt much puzzled to know whether books and muſic were included under the article of papers, and were very deſirous of burning a hiſtory of France, becauſe they diſcovered, by the title-plate, that it was "about Kings;" but the moſt difficult part of this momentous tranſaction was taking an account of it in writing. However, as only one of the company could write, there was no diſputing as to the ſcribe, though there was much about the manner of execution. I did not ſee the compoſition, but I could hear that it ſtated "comme quoi," they had found the ſeals unbroken, "comme quoi," they had taken them off, and divers "as howſ" of the ſame kind. The whole being concluded, and my papers depoſited in a box, I was at length freed from my gueſts, and left in poſſeſſion of my apartments.
It is impoſſible to account for this treatment of the Engliſh by any mode of reaſoning that does not exclude both juſtice and policy; and viewing it only as a ſymptom of that deſperate wickedneſs which commits evil, not as a means, but an end, I am extremely alarmed for our ſituation. At this moment the whole of French politics ſeems to center in an endeavour to render the Engliſh odious both as a nation and as individuals. The Convention, the clubs, and the ſtreets of Paris, reſound with low abuſe of this tendency; and a motion was made in the former, by one Garnier, to procure the aſſaſſination of Mr. Pitt. Couthon, a member of the Comite de Salut Publique, has propoſed and carried a decree to declare him the enemy of mankind; and the citizens of Paris are ſtunned by the hawkers of Mr. Pitt's plots with the Queen to "ſtarve all France," and "maſſacre all the patriots."—Amidſt ſo many effortſ* to provoke the deſtruction of the Engliſh, it is wonderful, when we conſider the ſanguinary character which the French people have lately evinced, that we are yet ſafe, and it is in effect only to be accounted for by their diſinclination to take any part in the animoſities of their government.
* When our repreſentative appeared at Abbeville with an intention of arreſting the Engliſh and other foreigners, the people, to whom theſe miſſionaries with unlimited powers were yet new, took the alarm, and became very apprehenſive that he was come likewiſe to diſarm their Garde Nationale. The ſtreets were crouded, the town houſe was beſet, and Citizen Dumout found it neceſſary to quiet the town's people by the following proclamation. One part of hiſ purpoſe, that of inſuring his perſonal ſafety, was anſwered by it; but that of exciting the people againſt the Engliſh, failed— inſomuch, that I was told even the loweſt claſſes, ſo far from giving credit to the malignant calumnies propagated againſt the Engliſh, openly regretted their arreſtation. "Citizens, "On my arrival amongſt you, I little thought that malevolence would be ſo far ſucceſſful as to alarm you on the motives of my viſit. Could the ariſtocrates, then, flatter themſelves with the hope of making you believe I had the intention of diſarming you? Be deaf, I beſeech you, to ſo abſurd a calumny, and ſeize on thoſe who propagate it. I came here to fraternize with you, and to aſſiſt you in getting rid of thoſe malcontents and foreigners, who are ſtriving to deſtroy the republic by the moſt infernal manoeuvres.—An horrible plot has been conceived. Our harveſts are to be fired by means of phoſphoric matches, and all the patriots aſſaſſinated. Women, prieſts, and foreigners, are the inſtruments employed by the coaleſced deſpots, and by England above all, to accompliſh theſe criminal deſigns.—A law of the firſt of this month orders the arreſt of all foreigners born in the countries with which the republic is at war, and not ſettled in France before the month of July, 1789. In execution of this law I have required domiciliary viſits to be made. I have urged the preſervation of the public tranquillity. I have therefore done my duty, and only what all good citizens muſt approve."
I have juſt received a few lines from Mrs. D____, written in French, and put in the poſt without ſealing. I perceive, by the contents, though ſhe enters into no details, that circumſtances ſimilar to thoſe I have deſcribed have likewiſe taken place at Amiens. In addition to my other anxieties, I have the proſpect of a long ſeparation from my friends; for though I am not in confinement, I cannot, while the decree which arreſted me remains in force, quit the town of Peronne. I have not often looked forward with ſo little hope, or ſo little certainty, and though a firſt-rate philoſopher might make up his mind to a particular event, yet to be prepared for any thing, and all things, is a more difficult matter.
The hiſtories of Greece and Rome have long conſtituted the grand reſources of French eloquence, and it is not till within a few days that an orator has diſcovered all this good learning to be of no uſe—not, aſ you might imagine, becauſe the moral character and political ſituation of the French differ from thoſe of the Greeks and Romans, but becauſe they are ſuperior to all the people who ever exiſted, and ought to be cited aſ models, inſtead of deſcending to become copyiſts. "Therefore, continueſ this Jacobin ſage, (whoſe name is Henriot, and who is highly popular,) let us burn all the libraries and all the antiquities, and have no guide but ourſelveſ—let us cut off the heads of all the Deputies who have not voted according to our principles, baniſh or impriſon all the gentry and the clergy, and guillotine the Queen and General Cuſtine!"
Theſe are the uſual ſubjects of diſcuſſion at the clubs, and the Convention itſelf is not much more decent. I tremble when I recollect that I am in a country where a member of the legiſlature propoſes rewardſ for aſſaſſination, and the leader of a ſociety, that pretends to inform and inſtruct the people, argues in favour of burning all the books. The French are on the eve of exhibiting the ſingular ſpectacle of a nation enlightened by ſcience, accuſtomed to the benefit of laws and the enjoyment of arts, ſuddenly becoming barbarous by ſyſtem, and ſinking into ignorance from choice.—When the Goths ſhared the moſt curiouſ antiques by weight, were they not more civilized than the Pariſian of 1793, who diſturbs the aſhes of Henry the Fourth, or deſtroys the monument of Turenne, by a decree?—I have myſelf been forced to an act very much in the ſpirit of the times, but I could not, without riſking my own ſafety, do otherwiſe; and I ſat up late laſt night for the purpoſe of burning Burke, which I had brought with me, but had fortunately ſo well concealed, that it eſcaped the late inquiſition. I indeed made thiſ ſacrifice to prudence with great unwillingneſſ—every day, by confirming Mr. Burke's aſſertions, or fulfilling his predictions, had ſo increaſed my reverence for the work, that I regarded it as a kind of political oracle. I did not, however, deſtroy it without an apologetic apoſtrophe to the author's benevolence, which I am ſure would ſuffer, were he to be the occaſion, though involuntarily, of conducting a female to a priſon or the Guillotine.
"How chances mock, and changes fill the cup of alteration up with diverſ liquors."—On the ſame hearth, and in a mingled flame, was conſumed the very conſtitution of 1789, on which Mr. Burke's book was a cenſure, and which would now expoſe me to equal danger were it to be found in my poſſeſſion. In collecting the aſhes of theſe two compoſitions, the tendency of which is ſo different, (for ſuch is the complexion of the moment, that I would not have even the ſervant ſuſpect I had been burning a quantity of papers,) I could not but moralize on the mutability of popular opinion. Mr. Burke's Gallic adverſaries are now moſt of them proſcribed and anathematized more than himſelf. Perhaps another year may ſee his buſt erected on the piedeſtal which now ſupports that of Brutuſ or Le Pelletier.
The letters I have written to you ſince the communication waſ interrupted, with ſome other papers that I am ſolicitous to preſerve, I have hitherto always carried about me, and I know not if any danger, merely probable, will induce me to part with them. You will not, I think, ſuſpect me of attaching any conſequence to my ſcribblings from vanity; and if I run ſome perſonal riſk in keeping them, it is becauſe the ſituation of this country is ſo ſingular, and the events which occur almoſt daily ſo important, that the remarks of any one who is unlucky enough to be a ſpectator, may intereſt, without the advantage of literary talents.—Yours.
I have been out to-day for the firſt time ſince the arreſt of the Engliſh, and, though I have few acquaintances here, my adventure at the Hotel de Ville has gained me a ſort of popularity. I was ſaluted by many people I did not know, and overwhelmed with expreſſions of regret for what had happened, or congratulations on my having eſcaped ſo well.
The French are not commonly very much alive to the ſufferings of others, and it is ſome mortification to my vanity that I cannot, but at the expence of a reproaching conſcience, aſcribe the civilities I have experienced on this occaſion to my perſonal merit. It would doubtleſſ have been highly flattering to me to relate the tender and general intereſt I had excited even among this cold-hearted people, who ſcarcely feel for themſelves: but the truth is, they are diſpoſed to take the part of any one whom they think perſecuted by their government; and their repreſentative, Dumont, is ſo much deſpiſed in his private character, and deteſted in his public one, that it ſuffices to have been ill treated by him, to enſure one a conſiderable portion of the public good will.
This diſpoſition is not a little conſolatory, at a time when the whole rage of an oligarchical tyranny, though impotent againſt the Engliſh as a nation, meanly exhauſts itſelf on the few helpleſs individuals within itſ power. Embarraſſments accumulate and if Mr. Pitt's agents did not moſt obligingly write letters, and theſe letters happen to be intercepted juſt when they are moſt neceſſary, the Comite de Salut Publique would be at a loſs how to account for them.
Aſſignats have fallen into a diſcredit beyond example, an hundred and thirty livres having been given for one Louis-d'or; and, as if this were not the natural reſult of circumſtances like the preſent, a correſpondence between two Engliſhmen informs us, that it is the work of Mr. Pitt, who, with an unparalleled ingenuity, has contrived to ſend couriers to every town in France, to concert meaſures with the bankerſ for this purpoſe. But if we may believe Barrere, one of the members of the Committee, this atrocious policy of Mr. Pitt will not be unrevenged, for another intercepted letter contains aſſurances that an hundred thouſand men have taken up arms in England, and are preparing to march againſt the iniquitous metropolis that gives this obnoxious Miniſter ſhelter.
My ſituation is ſtill the ſame—I have no hope of returning to Amiens, and have juſt reaſon to be apprehenſive for my tranquillity here. I had a long converſation this morning with two people whom Dumont has left here to keep the town in order during his abſence. The ſubject was to prevail on them to give me a permiſſion to leave Peronne, but I could not ſucceed. They were not, I believe, indiſpoſed to gratify me, but were afraid of involving themſelves. One of them expreſſed much partiality for the Engliſh, but was very vehement in his diſapprobation of their form of government, which he ſaid was "deteſtable." My cowardice did not permit me to argue much in its behalf, (for I look upon theſe people aſ more dangerous than the ſpies of the old police,) and I only ventured to obſerve, with great diffidence, that though the Engliſh government waſ monarchical, yet the power of the Crown was very much limited; and that as the chief ſubjects of our complaints at preſent were not our inſtitutions, but certain practical errors, they might be remedied without any violent or radical changes; and that our nobility were neither numerous nor privileged, and by no means obnoxious to the majority of the people.—"Ah, vous avez donc de la nobleſſe bleſſe en Angleterre, ce ſont peut-etre les milords," ["What, you have nobility in England then? The milords, I ſuppoſe."] exclaimed our republican, and it operated on my whole ſyſtem of defence like my uncle Toby's ſmoke-jack, for there was certainly no diſcuſſing the Engliſh conſtitution with a political critic, who I found was ignorant even of the exiſtence of a third branch of it; yet this reformer of governments and abhorrer of Kings has power delegated to him more extenſive than thoſe of an Engliſh Sovereign, though I doubt if he can write his own language; and his moral reputation is ſtill leſs in his favour than his ignorance—for, previouſ to the revolution, he was known only as a kind of ſwindler, and has more than once been nearly convicted of forgery.—This is, however, the deſcription of people now chiefly employed, for no honeſt man would accept of ſuch commiſſions, nor perform the ſervices annexed to them.
Bread continues very ſcarce, and the populace of Paris are, as uſual, very turbulent; ſo that the neighbouring departments are deprived of their ſubſiſtence to ſatiſfy the wants of a metropolis that has no claim to an exemption from the general diſtreſs, but that which ariſes from the fears of the Convention. As far as I have opportunity of learning or obſerving, this part of France is in that ſtate of tranquillity which iſ not the effect of content but ſupineneſs; the people do not love their government, but they ſubmit to it, and their utmoſt exertions amount only to a little occaſional obſtinacy, which a few dragoons always reduce to compliance. We are ſometimes alarmed by reports that parties of the enemy are approaching the town, when the gates are ſhut, and the great bell is toll'd; but I do not perceive that the people are violently apprehenſive about the matter. Their fears are, I believe, for the moſt part, rather perſonal than political—they do not dread ſubmiſſion to the Auſtrians, but military licentiouſneſs.
I have been reading this afternoon Lord Orrery's definition of the male Ceciſbeo, and it reminds me that I have not yet noticed to you a very important claſs of females in France, who may not improperly be denominated female Ceciſbeos. Under the old ſyſtem, when the rank of a woman of faſhion had enabled her to preſerve a degree of reputation and influence, in ſpite of the gallantries of her youth and the decline of her charms, ſhe adopted the equivocal character I here allude to, and, relinquiſhing the adorations claimed by beauty, and the reſpect due to age, charitably devoted herſelf to the inſtruction and advancement of ſome young man of perſonal qualifications and uncertain fortune. She preſented him to the world, panegyrized him into faſhion, and inſured hiſ conſequence with one ſet of females, by hinting his ſucceſſes with another. By her exertions he was promoted in the army or diſtinguiſhed at the levee, and a career begun under ſuch auſpices often terminated in a brilliant eſtabliſhment.—In the leſs elevated circle, a female Ceciſbeo is uſually of a certain age, of an active diſpoſition, and great volubility, and her functions are more numerous and leſs dignified. Here the grand objects are not to beſiege Miniſters, nor give a "ton" to the protege at a faſhionable ruelle, but to obtain for him the ſolid advantages of what ſhe calls "un bon parti." [A good match.] To thiſ end ſhe frequents the houſes of widows and heireſſes, vaunts the docility of his temper, and the greatneſs of his expectations, enlarges on the ſolitude of widowhood, or the dependence and inſignificance of a ſpinſter; and theſe prefatory encomiums uſually end in the concerted introduction of the Platonic "ami."
But beſides theſe principal and important cares, a female Ceciſbeo of the middle rank has various ſubordinate oneſ—ſuch as buying linen, chooſing the colour of a coat, or the pattern of a waiſtcoat, with all the minutiae of the favourite's dreſs, in which ſhe is always conſulted at leaſt, if ſhe has not the whole direction.
It is not only in the firſt or intermediate claſſes that theſe uſeful females abound, they are equally common in more humble ſituations, and only differ in their employments, not in their principles. A woman in France, whatever be her condition, cannot be perſuaded to reſign her influence with her youth; and the bourgeoiſe who has no pretenſions to court favour or the diſpoſal of wealthy heireſſes, attaches her eleve by knitting him ſtockings, forcing him with bons morceaux till he has an indigeſtion, and frequent regales of coffee and liqueur.
You muſt not conclude from all this that there is any gallantry implied, or any ſcandal excited—the return for all theſe ſervices is only a little flattery, a philoſophic endurance of the card-table, and ſome ſkill in the diſorders of lap-dogs. I know there are in England, as well as in France, many notable females of a certain age, who delight in what they call managing, and who are zealous in promoting, matches among the young people of their acquaintance; but for one that you meet with in England there are fifty here.
I doubt much if, upon the whole, the morals of the Engliſh women are not ſuperior to thoſe of the French; but however the queſtion may be decided as to morals, I believe their ſuperiority in decency of manners iſ indiſputable—and this ſuperiority is, perhaps, more conſpicuous in women of a certain age, than in the younger part of the ſex. We have a ſort of national regard for propriety, which deters a female from lingering on the confines of gallantry, when age has warned her to withdraw; and an old woman that ſhould take a paſſionate and excluſive intereſt about a young man not related to her, would become at leaſt an object of ridicule, if not of cenſure:—yet in France nothing is more common; every old woman appropriates ſome youthful dangler, and, what is extraordinary, his attentions are not diſtinguiſhable from thoſe he would pay to a younger object.—I ſhould remark, however, as ſome apology for theſe juvenile gallants, that there are very few of what we call Tabbies in France; that is, females of ſevere principles and contracted features, in whoſe apparel every pin has its deſtination with mathematical exactneſs, who are the very watch-towers of a neighbourhood, and who give the alarm on the firſt appearance of incipient frailty. Here, antique dowagers and faded ſpinſters are all gay, laughing, rouged, and indulgent—ſo that 'bating the ſubtraction of teeth and addition of wrinkles, the diſparity between one ſcore and four is not ſo great:
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"Gay rainbow ſilks their mellow charms enfold, Nought of theſe beauties but themſelves is old." |
I know if I venture to add a word in defence of Tabbyhood, I ſhall be engaged in a war with yourſelf and all our young acquaintance; yet in this age, which ſo liberally "ſoftens, and blends, and weakens, and diluteſ" away all diſtinctions, I own I am not without ſome partiality for ſtrong lines of demarcation; and, perhaps, when fifty retrogradeſ into fifteen, it makes a worſe confuſion in ſociety than the toe of the peaſant treading on the heel of the courtier.—But, adieu: I am not gay, though I trifle. I have learnt ſomething by my reſidence in France, and can be, as you ſee, frivolous under circumſtances that ought to make me grave.—Yours.
The political horizon of France threatens nothing but tempeſts. If we are ſtill tranquil here, it is only becauſe the ſtorm is retarded, and, far from deeming ourſelves ſecure from its violence, we ſuffer in apprehenſion almoſt as much as at other places is ſuffered in reality. An hundred and fifty people have been arreſted at Amiens in one night, and numbers of the gentry in the neighbouring towns have ſhared the ſame fate. This meaſure, which I underſtand is general throughout the republic, has occaſioned great alarms, and is beheld by the maſs of the people themſelves with regret. In ſome towns, the Bourgeois have petitions to the Repreſentatives on miſſion in behalf of their gentry thus impriſoned: but, far from ſucceeding, all who have ſigned ſuch petitions are menaced and intimidated, and the terror is ſo much increaſed, that I doubt if even this ſlight effort will be repeated any where.
The levee en maſſe, or riſing in a body, which has been for ſome time decreed, has not yet taken place. There are very few, I believe, that comprehend it, and fewer who are diſpoſed to comply. Many conſultationſ have been holden, many plans propoſed; but as the reſult of all theſe conſultations and plans is to ſend a certain number to the frontiers, the ſuffrages have never been unanimous except in giving their negative.— Like Falſtaff's troops, every one has ſome good cauſe of exemption; and if you were to attend a meeting where this affair is diſcuſſed, you would conclude the French to be more phyſically miſerable than any people on the glove. Youths, in apparent good health, have internal diſorders, or concealed infirmitieſ—ſome are near-ſighted—others epileptic—one iſ nervous, and cannot preſent a muſquet—another is rheumatic, and cannot carry it. In ſhort, according to their account, they are a collection of the lame, the halt, and the blind, and fitter to ſend to the hoſpital, than to take the field. But, in ſpite of all theſe diſorders and incapacities, a conſiderable levy muſt be made, and the dragoons will, I dare ſay, operate very wonderful cures.
The ſurrender of Dunkirk to the Engliſh is regarded as inevitable. I am not politician enough to foreſee the conſequences of ſuch an event, but the hopes and anxieties of all parties ſeem directed thither, as if the fate of the war depended on it. As for my own wiſhes on the ſubject, they are not national, and if I ſecretly invoke the God of Armies for the ſucceſs of my countrymen, it is becauſe I think all that tends to deſtroy the preſent French government may be beneficial to mankind. Indeed, the ſucceſſes of war can at no time gratify a thinking mind farther than aſ they tend to the eſtabliſhment of peace.
After ſeveral days of a mockery which was called a trial, though the witneſſes were afraid to appear, or the Counſel to plead in his favour, Cuſtine has ſuffered at the Guillotine. I can be no judge of hiſ military conduct, and Heaven alone can judge of his intentions. None of the charges were, however, ſubſtantiated, and many of them were abſurd or frivolous. Moſt likely, he has been ſacrificed to a cabal, and hiſ deſtruction makes a part of that ſyſtem of policy, which, by agitating the minds of the people with ſuſpicions of univerſal treaſon and unfathomable plots, leaves them no reſource but implicit ſubmiſſion to their popular leaders.
The death of Cuſtine ſeems rather to have ſtimulated than appeaſed the barbarity of the Pariſian mob. At every defeat of their armies they call for executions, and ſeveral of thoſe on whom the lot has fallen to march againſt the enemy have ſtipulated, at the tribune of the Jacobins, for the heads they exact as a condition of their departure,* or as the reward for their labours. The laurel has no attraction for heroes like theſe, who inveſt themſelves with the baneful yew and inauſpicious cypreſs, and go to the field of honour with the dagger of the aſſaſſin yet enſanguined.
* Many inſiſted they would not depart until after the death of the Queen—ſome claimed the death of one General, ſome that of another, and all, the lives or baniſhment of the gentry and clergy.
"Fair ſteeds, gay ſhields, bright arms," [Spencer.] the fancy-created deity, the wreath of fame, and all that poets have imagined to decorate the horrors of war, are not neceſſary to tempt the groſs barbarity of the Pariſian: he ſeeks not glory, but carnage—his incentive is the groans of defenceleſs victimſ—he inliſts under the ſtandard of the Guillotine, and acknowledges the executioner for his tutelary Mars.
In remarking the difficulties that have occurred in carrying into execution the levee en maſſe, I neglected to inform you that the prime mover of all theſe machinations is your omnipotent Mr. Pitt—it is he who has fomented the perverſeneſs of the towns, and alarmed the timidity of the villageſ—he has perſuaded ſome that it is not pleaſant to leave their ſhops and families, and inſinuated into the minds of others that death or wounds are not very deſirable—he has, in fine, ſo effectually achieved his purpoſe, that the Convention iſſues decree after decree, the members harangue to little purpoſe, and the few recruits already levied, like thoſe raiſed in the ſpring, go from many places ſtrongly eſcorted to the army.—I wiſh I had more peaceful and more agreeable ſubjects for your amuſement, but they do not preſent themſelves, and "you muſt blame the times, not me." I would wiſh to tell you that the legiſlature iſ honeſt, that the Jacobins are humane, and the people patriots; but you know I have no talent for fiction, and if I had, my ſituation is not favourable to any effort of fancy.—Yours.
The ſucceſſes of the enemy on all ſides, the rebellion at Lyons and Marſeilles, with the increaſing force of the inſurgents in La Vendee, have revived our eagerneſs for news, and if the indifference of the French character exempt them from more patriotic ſenſations, it does not baniſh curioſity; yet an eventful criſis, which in England would draw people together, here keeps them apart. When an important piece of intelligence arrives, our provincial politicians ſhut themſelves up with their gazettes, ſhun ſociety, and endeavour to avoid giving an opinion until they are certain of the ſtrength of a party, or the ſucceſs of an attempt. In the preſent ſtate of public affairs, you may therefore conceive we have very little communication—we expreſs our ſentimentſ more by looks and geſtures than words, and Lavater (admitting his ſyſtem) would be of more uſe to a ſtranger than Boyer or Chambaud. If the Engliſh take Dunkirk, perhaps we may be a little more ſocial and more decided.
Mad. de ____ has a moſt extenſive acquaintance, and, as we are ſituated on one of the roads from Paris to the northern army, notwithſtanding the cautious policy of the moment, we are tolerably well informed of what paſſes in moſt parts of France; and I cannot but be aſtoniſhed, when I combine all I hear, that the government is able to ſuſtain itſelf. Want, diſcord, and rebellion, aſſail it within—defeats and loſſes from without. Perhaps the ſolution of this political problem can only be found in the ſelfiſhneſs of the French character, and the want of connection between the different departments. Thus one part of the country is ſubdued by means of another: the inhabitants of the South take up arms in defence of their freedom and their commerce, while thoſe of the North refuſe to countenance or aſſiſt them, and wait in ſelfiſh tranquillity till the ſame oppreſſion is extended to themſelves. The majority of the people have no point of union nor mode of communication, while the Jacobins, whoſe numbers are comparatively inſignificant, are ſtrong, by means of their general correſpondence, their common center at Paris, and the excluſive direction of all the public prints. But, whatever are the cauſes, it is certain that the government is at once powerful and deteſted—almoſt without apparent ſupport, yet difficult to overthrow; and the ſubmiſſion of Rome to a dotard and a boy can no longer excite the wonder of any one who reflects on what paſſes in France.
After various decrees to effect the levee en maſſe, the Convention have diſcovered that this ſublime and undefined project was not calculated for the preſent exhauſted ſtate of martial ardour. They therefore no longer preſume on any movement of enthuſiaſm, but have made a poſitive and ſpecific requiſition of all the male inhabitants of France between eighteen and twenty-five years of age. This, as might be expected, haſ been more effectual, becauſe it intereſts thoſe that are exempt to force the compliance of thoſe who are not. Our young men here were like children with a medicine—they propoſed firſt one form of taking thiſ military potion, then another, and finding them all equally unpalatable, would not, but for a little ſalutary force, have decided at all.
A new law has been paſſed for arreſting all the Engliſh who cannot produce two witneſſes of their civiſme, and thoſe whoſe conduct is thuſ guaranteed are to receive tickets of hoſpitality, which they are to wear as a protection. This decree has not yet been carried into effect at Peronne, nor am I much diſturbed about it. Few of our countrymen will find the matter very difficult to arrange, and I believe they have all a better protection in the diſpoſition of the people towards them, than any that can be aſſured them by decrees of the Convention.
Sept. 11. The news of Lord Hood's taking poſſeſſion of Toulon, which the government affected to diſcredit for ſome days, is now aſcertained; and the Convention, in a paroxiſm of rage, at once cowardly and unprincipled, has decreed that all the Engliſh not reſident in France before 1789, ſhall be impriſoned as hoſtages, and be anſwerable with their lives for the conduct of their countrymen and of the Touloneſe towards Bayle and Beauvais, two Deputies, ſaid to be detained in the town at the time of its ſurrender. My firſt emotions of terror and indignation have ſubſided, and I have, by packing up my clothes, diſpoſing of my papers, and providing myſelf with money, prepared for the worſt. My friends, indeed, perſuade me, (as on a former occaſion,) that the decree is too atrocious to be put in execution; but my apprehenſions are founded on a principle not likely to deceive me—namely, that thoſe who have poſſeſſed themſelves of the French government are capable of any thing. I live in conſtant fear, watching all day and liſtening all night, and never go to bed but with the expectation of being awakened, nor riſe without a preſentiment of miſfortune.—I have not ſpirits nor compoſure to write, and ſhall diſcontinue my letters until I am relieved from ſuſpenſe, if nor from uneaſineſs. I riſk much by preſerving theſe papers, and, perhaps, may never be able to add to them; but whatever I may be reſerved for, while I have a hope they may reach you they ſhall not be deſtroyed. —I bid you adieu in a ſtate of mind which the circumſtances I am under will deſcribe better than words.—Yours.