Dear Brother,
The fears of a timid mind uſually magnify expected evil, and anticipated ſuffering often diminiſhes the effect of an apprehended blow; yet my imagination had ſuggeſted leſs than I have experienced, nor do I find that a preparatory ſtate of anxiety has rendered affliction more ſupportable. The laſt month of my life has been a compendium of miſery; and my recollection, which on every other ſubject ſeems to fail me, is, on this, but too faithful, and will enable me to relate events which will intereſt you not only as they perſonally concern me, but as they preſent a picture of the barbarity and deſpotiſm to which this whole country iſ ſubject, and to which many thouſands beſides myſelf were at the ſame inſtant victims.
A few evenings after I concluded my laſt, the firing of cannon and ringing the great bell announced the arrival of Dumont (ſtill Repreſentative en miſſion in our department). The town was immediately in alarm, all the gates were ſhut, and the avenues leading to the ramparts guarded by dragoons. Our houſe being in a diſtant and unfrequented ſtreet, before we could learn the cauſe of all thiſ confuſion, a party of the national guard, with a municipal officer at their head, arrived, to eſcort Mad. de ___ and myſelf to a church, where the Repreſentant was then examining the priſoners brought before him. Almoſt as much aſtoniſhed as terrified, we endeavoured to procure ſome information of our conductors, as to what was to be the reſult of thiſ meaſure; but they knew nothing, and it was eaſy to perceive they thought the office they were executing an unpleaſant one. The ſtreets we paſſed were crouded with people, whoſe ſilent conſternation and diſmayed countenances increaſed our forebodings, and depreſſed the little courage we had yet preſerved. The church at our arrival was nearly empty, and Dumont preparing to depart, when the municipal officer introduced us to him. As ſoon as he learned that Mad. de ____ was the ſiſter of an emigrant, and myſelf a native of England, he told us we were to paſs the night in a church appointed for the purpoſe, and that on the morrow we ſhould be conveyed to Arras. For a moment all my faculties became ſuſpended, and it was only by an effort almoſt convulſive that I was able to aſk how long it was probable we ſhould be deprived of our liberty. He ſaid he did not know—"but that the raiſing of the ſiege of Dunkirk, and the loſs of ſix thouſand troops which the French had taken priſoners, would doubtleſs produce an inſurrection in England, par conſequent a peace, and our releaſe from captivity!"
You may be aſſured I felt no deſire of freedom on ſuch terms, and ſhould have heard this ignorant and malicious ſuggeſtion only with contempt, had not the implication it conveyed that our detention would not terminate but with the war overwhelmed every other idea. Mad. de ____ then petitioned that we might, on account of our health, (for we were both really unwell,) be permitted to go home for the night, accompanied by guards if it were thought neceſſary. But the Repreſentant waſ inexorable, and in a brutal and deſpotic tone ordered us away.—When we reached the church, which was to be our priſon till morning, we found about an hundred and fifty people, chiefly old men, women, and children, diſperſed in melancholy groupes, lamenting their ſituation, and imparting their fears to each other. The gloom of the building was increaſed by the darkneſs of the night; and the noiſe of the guard, may of whom were intoxicated, the odour of tobacco, and the heat of the place, rendered our ſituation almoſt inſupportable. We ſoon diſcovered ſeveral of our acquaintance, but this aſſociation in diſtreſs was far from conſolatory, and we paſſed the time in wandering about together, and conſulting upon what would be of moſt uſe to us in our confinement. We had, indeed, little to hope for from the morrow, yet the hours dragged on heavily, and I know not if ever I beheld the return of light with more pleaſure. I was not without apprehenſion for our perſonal ſafety. I recollected the maſſacres in churches at Paris, and the frequent propoſitions that had been made to exterminate the gentry and clergy. Mad. de ____ has ſince confeſſed, that ſhe had the ſame ideas.
Morning at length came, and our ſervants were permitted to enter with breakfaſt. They appeared ſorrowful and terror-ſtricken, but offered with great willingneſs to accompany us whitherſoever we ſhould be ſent. After a melancholy ſort of diſcuſſion, it was decided that we ſhould take our femmes de chambres, and that the others ſhould remain for the ſafety of the houſe, and to ſend us what we might have occaſion for. This ſettled, they returned with ſuch directions as we were able to give them, (God knows, not very coherent ones,) to prepare for our journey: and as our orders, however confuſed, were not very voluminous, they were ſoon executed, and before noon every thing was in readineſs for our departure. The people employed by our companions were equally diligent, and we might very well have ſet out by one o'clock, had our caſe been at all conſidered; but, I know not why, inſtead of ſo providing that we might reach our deſtination in the courſe of the day, it ſeemed to have been purpoſely contrived that we ſhould be all night on the road, though we had already paſſed one night without reſt, and were exhauſted by watching and fatigue.
In this uncertain and unpleaſant ſtate we waited till near ſix o'clock; a number of ſmall covered waggons were then brought, accompanied by a detachment of dragoons, who were to be our eſcort. Some time elapſed, aſ you may ſuppoſe, before we could be all ſettled in the carriages and ſuch a cavalcade put in motion; but the concourſe of people that filled the ſtreets, the appearance of the troops, and the tumult occaſioned by ſo many horſes and carriages, overpowered my ſpirits, and I remember little of what paſſed till I found we were on the road to Arras. Mad. de ____'ſ maid now informed us, that Dumont had arrived the evening before in extreme ill humour, ſummoned the municipality in haſte, enquired how many people they had arreſted, and what denunciations they had yet to make. The whole body corporate trembled, they had arreſted no one, and, ſtill worſe, they had no one to accuſe; and could only alledge in their behalf, that the town was in the utmoſt tranquillity, and the people were ſo well diſpoſed, that all violence was unneceſſary. The Repreſentant became furious, vociferated tout groſſierement a la Francaiſe, [In the vulgar French manner.] that he knew there were five thouſand ariſtocrates in Peronne, and that if he had not at leaſt five hundred brought him before morning, he would declare the town in a ſtate of rebellion.
Alarmed by this menace, they began to arreſt with all poſſible ſpeed, and were more ſolicitous to procure their number than to make diſcriminations. Their diligence, however, was inadequate to appeaſe the choleric legiſlator, and the Mayor, municipal officers, and all the adminiſtrators of the diſtrict, were in the morning ſent to the Caſtle, whence they are to be conveyed, with ſome of their own priſoners, to Amiens.
Beſides this intelligence, we learned that before our ſervants had finiſhed packing up our trunks, ſome Commiſſioners of the ſection arrived to put the ſeals on every thing belonging to us, and it was not without much altercation that they conſented to our being furniſhed with neceſſarieſ—that they had not only ſealed up all the houſe, but had placed guards there, each of whom Mad. de ____ is to pay, at the rate of two ſhillings a day.
We were too large a body to travel faſt, and by the time we reached Bapaume (though only fifteen miles) it was after twelve; it rained dreadfully, the night was extremely dark, the roads were bad, and the horſes tired; ſo that the officer who conducted us thought it would be difficult to proceed before morning. We were therefore once more crouded into a church, in our wet clothes, (for the covering of the waggon waſ not thick enough to exclude the rain,) a few bundles of damp ſtraw were diſtributed, and we were then ſhut up to repoſe as well as we could. All my melancholy apprehenſions of the preceding night returned with accumulated force, eſpecially as we were now in a place where we were unknown, and were guarded by ſome of the newly-raiſed dragoons, of whom we all entertained very unfavourable ſuſpicions.
We did not, as you may well imagine, attempt to ſleep—a bed of wet ſtraw laid on the pavement of a church, filthy, as moſt French churches are, and the fear of being aſſaſſinated, reſiſted every effort of nature herſelf, and we were very glad when at the break of day we were ſummoned to continue our journey. About eleven we entered Arras: the ſtreets were filled by idle people, apprized of our arrival; but no one offered us any inſult, except ſome ſoldiers, (I believe, by their uniform, refugees from the Netherlands,) who cried, "a la Guillotine!—a la Guillotine!"
The place to which we were ordered had been the houſe of an emigrant, now converted into an houſe of detention, and which, though large, waſ exceſſively full. The keeper, on our being delivered to him, declared he had no room for us, and we remained with our baggage in the court-yard ſome hours before he had, by diſlodging and compreſſing the other inhabitants, contrived to place us. At laſt, when we were half dead with cold and fatigue, we were ſhown to our quarters. Thoſe allotted for my friend, myſelf, and our ſervants, was the corner of a garret without a cieling, cold enough in itſelf, but rendered much warmer than waſ deſirable by the effluvia of a ſcore of living bodies, who did not ſeem to think the unpleaſantneſs of their ſituation at all increaſed by dirt and offenſive ſmells. Weary as we were, it was impoſſible to attempt repoſing until a purification had been effected: we therefore ſet ourſelves to ſprinkling vinegar and burning perfumes; and it was curiouſ to obſerve that the people, (all gens comme il faut [People of faſhion.]) whom we found inhaling the atmoſphere of a Caffrarian hut, declared their nerves were incommoded by the eſſence of roſes and vinaigre des quatre voleurs.
As a part of the room was occupied by men, our next buſineſs was to ſeparate our corner by a curtain, which we had fortunately brought with our bedding; and this done, we ſpread our mattreſſes and lay down, while the ſervants were employed in getting us tea. As ſoon as we were a little refreſhed, and the room was quiet for the night, we made up our beds as well as we could, and endeavoured to ſleep. Mad. de ____ and the two maids ſoon forgot their cares; but, though worn out by fatigue, the agitation of my mind conquered the diſpoſition of my body. I ſeemed to have loſt the very faculty of ſleeping, and paſſed this night with almoſt as little repoſe as the two preceding ones. Before morning I diſcovered that remaining ſo long in damp clothes, and the other circumſtances of our journey, had given me cold, and that I had all the ſymptoms of a violent fever.
I leave you to conjecture, for it would be impoſſible to detail, all the miſery of illneſs in ſuch a ſituation; and I will only add, that by the care of Mad. de ____, whoſe health was happily leſs affected, and the attention of my maid, I was able to leave the room in about three weeks. —I muſt now ſecrete this for ſome days, but will hereafter reſume my little narrative, and explain how I have ventured to write ſo much even in the very neighbourhood of the Guillotine.—Adieu.
On the night I concluded my laſt, a report that Commiſſioners were to viſit the houſe on the morrow obliged me to diſpoſe of my papers beyond the poſſibility of their being found. The alarm is now over, and I proceed.—After ſomething more than three weeks indiſpoſition, I began to walk in the yard, and make acquaintance with our fellow-priſoners. Mad. de ____ had already diſcovered ſeveral that were known to her, and I now found, with much regret, that many of my Arras friends were here alſo. Having been arreſted ſome days before us, they were rather more conveniently lodged, and taking the wretchedneſs of our garret into conſideration, it was agreed that Mad. de ____ ſhould move to a room leſſ crouded than our own, and a dark cloſet that would juſt contain my mattreſſes was reſigned to me. It is indeed a very ſorry apartment, but as it promiſes me a refuge where I may ſometimes read or write in peace, I have taken poſſeſſion of it very thankfully. A lock on the door is not the leaſt of its recommendations, and by way of ſecuring myſelf againſt all ſurprize, I have contrived an additional faſtening by means of a large nail and the chain of a portmanteau—I have likewiſe, under pretext of keeping out the wind, papered over the cracks of the door, and provided myſelf with a ſand-bag, ſo that no one can perceive when I have a light later than uſual.—With theſe precautions, I can amuſe myſelf by putting on paper any little occurrences that I think worth preſerving, without much danger, and perhaps the details of a ſituation ſo new and ſo ſtrange may not be unintereſting to you.
We are now about three hundred in number of both ſexes, and of all ageſ and conditionſ—ci-devant nobleſſe, parents, wives, ſiſters, and other relations of emigrantſ—prieſts who have not taken the oaths, merchantſ and ſhopkeepers accuſed of monopoly, nuns, farmers that are ſaid to have concealed their corn, miſerable women, with ſcarcely clothes to cover them, for not going to the conſtitutional maſs, and many only becauſe they happened to be at an inn, or on a viſit from their own town, when a general arreſt took place of all who are what is called etrangers, that is to ſay, not foreigners only, but not inhabitants of the town where they are found.—There are, beſides, various deſcriptions of people ſent here on ſecret informations, and who do not themſelves know the preciſe reaſon of their confinement. I imagine we are ſubject to nearly the ſame rules as the common priſons: no one is permitted to enter or ſpeak to a "detenu" but at the gate, and in preſence of the guard; and all letters, parcels, baſkets, &c. are examined previous to their being either conveyed from hence or received. This, however, depends much on the political principles of thoſe who happen to be on guard: an ariſtocrate or a conſtitutionaliſt will read a letter with his eyes half ſhut, and inſpect bedding and trunks in a very ſummary way; while a thorough-paced republican ſpells every ſyllable of the longeſt epiſtle, and opens all the roaſted pigs or duck-pies before he allows their ingreſs.—None of the ſervants are ſuffered to go out, ſo that thoſe who have not friendſ in the town to procure them neceſſaries are obliged to depend entirely on the keeper, and, of courſe, pay extravagantly dear for every thing; but we are ſo much in the power of theſe people, that it is prudent to ſubmit to ſuch impoſitions without murmuring.
I did not, during my illneſs, read the papers, and have to-day been amuſing myſelf with a large packet. General Houchard, I find, iſ arreſted, for not having, as they ſay he might have done, driven all the Engliſh army into the ſea, after raiſing the ſiege of Dunkirk; yet a few weeks ago their utmoſt hopes ſcarcely amounted to the relief of the town: but their fears having ſubſided, they have now leiſure to be jealous; and I know no ſituation ſo little to be envied under the preſent government as that of a ſucceſſful General.—Among all their important avocations, the Convention have found time to paſs a decree for obliging women to wear the national cockade, under pain of impriſonment; and the municipality of the ſuperb Paris have ordered that the King's family ſhall, in future, uſe pewter ſpoons and eat brown bread!
I begin to be very uneaſy about Mr. and Mrs. D____. I have written ſeveral times, and ſtill receive no anſwer. I fear they are in a confinement more ſevere than my own, or that our letters miſcarry. A ſervant of Mad. de ____'s was here this morning, and no letters had come to Peronne, unleſs, as my friend endeavours to perſuade me, the man would not venture to give them in preſence of the guard, who par excellence happened to be a furious Jacobin.—We had the mortification of hearing that a very elegant carriage of Mad. de ____'s has been put in requiſition, and taken to convey a tinman and two farriers who were going to Paris on a miſſion—that two of her farmer's beſt horſes had been killed by hard work in taking proviſions to the army, and that they are now cutting down the young wood on her eſtate to make pikes.—The ſealſ are ſtill on our effects, and the guard remains in poſſeſſion, which haſ put us to the expence of buying a variety of articles we could not well diſpenſe with: for, on examining the baggage after our arrival, we found it very much diminſhed; and this has happened to almoſt all the people who have been arreſted. Our ſuſpicions naturally fall on the dragoons, and it is not very ſurprizing that they ſhould attempt to ſteal from thoſe whom they are certain would not dare to make any complaint.
Many of our fellow-priſoners are embarraſſed by their ſervants having quitted them.—One Collot d'Herbois, a member of the Commite de Salut Public, has propoſed to the Convention to collect all the gentry, prieſts, and ſuſpected people, into different buildings, which ſhould be previouſly mined for the purpoſe, and, on the leaſt appearance of inſurrection, to blow them up all together.—You may perhaps conclude, that ſuch a project was received with horror, and the adviſer of it treated as a monſter. Our humane legiſlature, however, very coolly ſent it to the committee to be diſcuſſed, without any regard to the terror and apprehenſion which the bare idea of a ſimilar propoſal muſt inſpire in thoſe who are the deſtined victims. I cannot myſelf believe that thiſ abominable ſcheme is intended for execution, but it has nevertheleſſ created much alarm in timid minds, and has occaſioned in part the defection of the ſervants I have juſt mentioned. Thoſe who were ſufficiently attached to their maſters and miſtreſſes to endure the confinement and privations of a Maiſon d'Arret, tremble at the thoughtſ of being involved in the common ruin of a gunpowder exploſion; and the men ſeem to have leſs courage than the women, at leaſt more of the latter have conſented to remain here.—It was atrocious to publiſh ſuch a conception, though nothing perhaps was intended by it, as it may deprive many people of faithful attendants at a time when they are moſt neceſſary.
We have a tribunal revolutionnaire here, with its uſual attendant the Guillotine, and executions are now become very frequent. I know not who are the ſufferers, and avoid enquiring through fear of hearing the name of ſome acquaintance. As far as I can learn, the trials are but too ſummary, and little other evidence is required than the fortune, rank, and connections of the accuſed. The Deputy who is Commiſſioner for thiſ department is one Le Bon, formerly a prieſt—and, I underſtand, of an immoral and ſanguinary character, and that it is he who chiefly directſ the verdicts of the juries according to his perſonal hatred or hiſ perſonal intereſt.—We have lately had a very melancholy inſtance of the terror created by this tribunal, as well as of the notions that prevail of its juſtice. A gentleman of Calais, who had an employ under the government, was accuſed of ſome irregularity in his accounts, and, in conſequence, put under arreſt. The affair became ſerious, and he waſ ordered to priſon, as a preliminary to his trial. When the officerſ entered his apartment to take him, regarding the judicial procedure as a mere form, and concluding it was determined to ſacrifice him, he in a frenzy of deſpair ſeized the dogs in the chimney, threw them at the people, and, while they eſcaped to call for aſſiſtance, deſtroyed himſelf by cutting his arteries.—It has appeared, ſince the death of thiſ unfortunate man, that the charge againſt him was groundleſs, and that he only wanted time to arrange his papers, in order to exonerate himſelf entirely.
We are diſturbed almoſt nightly by the arrival of freſh priſoners, and my firſt queſtion of a morning is always "N'eſt il pas du monde entre la nuit?"—Angelique's uſual reply is a groan, and "Ah, mon Dieu, oui;" "Une dixaine de pretres;" or, "Une trentaine de nobles:" ["Did not ſome people arrive in the night?"]—"Yes, God help uſ—half a ſcore prieſts, or twenty or thirty gentry." And I obſerve the depth of the groan is nearly in proportion to the quality of the perſon ſhe commiſerates. Thus, a groan for a Comte, a Marquiſe, or a Prieſt, is much more audible than one for a ſimple gentlewoman or a merchant; and the arrival of a Biſhop (eſpecially if not one of the conſtitutional clergy) is announced in a more ſorrowful key than either.
While I was walking in the yard this morning, I was accoſted by a female whom I immediately recollected to be Victoire, a very pretty couturiere, [Sempſtreſs.] who uſed to work for me when I was at Panthemont, and who made your laſt holland ſhirts. I was not a little ſurprized to ſee her in ſuch a ſituation, and took her aſide to enquire her hiſtory. I found that her mother was dead, and that her brother having ſet up a little ſhop at St. Omer, had engaged her to go and live with him. Being under five-and-twenty, the laſt requiſition obliged him to depart for the army, and leave her to carry on the buſineſs alone. Three weeks after, ſhe was arreſted at midnight, put into a cart, and brought hither. She had no time to take any precautions, and their little commerce, which was in haberdaſhery, as well as ſome work ſhe had in hand, is abandoned to the mercy of the people that arreſted her. She has reaſon to ſuppoſe that her crime conſiſts in not having frequented the conſtitutional maſs; and that her accuſer is a member of one of the town committees, who, ſince her brother's abſence, has perſecuted her with diſhonourable propoſals, and, having been repulſed, has taken thiſ method of revenging himſelf. Her conjecture is moſt probably right, as, ſince her impriſonment, this man has been endeavouring to make a ſort of barter with her for her releaſe.
I am really concerned for this poor creature, who is at preſent a very good girl, but if ſhe remain here ſhe will not only be deprived of her means of living, but perhaps her morals may be irremediably corrupted. She is now lodged in a room with ten or dozen men, and the houſe is ſo crouded that I doubt whether I have intereſt enough to procure her a more decent apartment.
What can this ſtrange policy tend to, that thus expoſes to ruin and want a girl of one-and-twenty—not for any open violation of the law, but merely for her religious opinions; and this, too, in a country which profeſſes toleration as the baſis of its government?
My friend, Mad. de ____ ſ'ennui terribly; ſhe is not incapable of amuſing herſelf, but is here deprived of the means. We have no corner we can call our own to ſit in, and no retreat when we wiſh to be out of a croud except my cloſet, where we can only ſee by candle-light. Beſides, ſhe regrets her employments, and projects for the winter. She had begun painting a St. Thereſa, and tranſlating an Italian romance, and had nearly completed the education of a dozen canary birds, who would in a month's time have accompanied the harp ſo delightfully, as to overpower the ſound of the inſtrument. I believe if we had a few more ſquare inches of room, ſhe would be tempted, if not to bring the whole chorus, at leaſt to conſole herſelf with two particular favourites, diſtinguiſhed by curious topknots, and rings about their necks.
With all theſe feminine propenſities, ſhe is very amiable, and her caſe is indeed ſingularly cruel and unjuſt.—Left, at an early age, under the care of her brother, ſhe was placed by him at Panthemont (where I firſt became acquainted with her) with an intention of having her perſuaded to take the veil; but finding her averſe from a cloiſter, ſhe remained as a penſioner only, till a very advantageous marriage with the Marquis de ____, who was old enough to be her father, procured her releaſe. About two years ago he died, and left her a very conſiderable fortune, which the revolution has reduced to nearly one-third of its former value. The Comte de ____, her brother, was one of the original patriots, and embraced with great warmth the cauſe of the people; but having very narrowly eſcaped the maſſacres of September, 1792, he immediately after emigrated.
Thus, my poor friend, immured by her brother till the age of twenty-two in a convent, then ſacrificed three years to a huſband of a diſagreeable temper and unſuitable age, is now deprived of the firſt liberty ſhe ever enjoyed, and is made anſwerable for the conduct of a man over whom ſhe has no ſort of influence. It is not, therefore, extraordinary that ſhe cannot reconcile herſelf to her preſent ſituation, and I am really often more concerned on her account than my own. Cut off from her uſual reſources, ſhe has no amuſement but wandering about the houſe; and if her other cauſes of uneaſineſs be not augmented, they are at leaſt rendered more intolerable by her inability to fill up her time.—This does not ariſe from a deficiency of underſtanding, but from never having been accuſtomed to think. Her mind reſembles a body that is weak, not by nature, but from want of exerciſe; and the number of years ſhe has paſſed in a convent has given her that mixture of childiſhneſs and romance, which, my making frivolities neceſſary, renders the mind incapable of exertion or ſelf-ſupport.
The unfortunate Queen, after a trial of ſome days, during which ſhe ſeemſ to have behaved with great dignity and fortitude, is no longer ſenſible of the regrets of her friends or the malice of her enemies. It iſ ſingular, that I have not yet heard her death mentioned in the priſon —every one looks grave and affects ſilence. I believe her death has not occaſioned an effect ſo univerſal as that of the King, and whatever people's opinions may be, they are afraid of expreſſing them: for it iſ ſaid, though I know not with what truth, that we are ſurrounded by ſpies, and ſeveral who have the appearance of being priſoners like ourſelveſ have been pointed out to me as the objects of this ſuſpicion.
I do not pretend to undertake the defence of the Queen's imputed faultſ— yet I think there are ſome at leaſt which one may be very fairly permitted to doubt. Compaſſion ſhould not make me an advocate for guilt —but I may, without ſacrificing morals to pity, venture to obſerve, that the many ſcandalous hiſtories circulated to her prejudice took their riſe at the birth of the Dauphin,* which formed ſo inſurmountable a bar to the views of the Duke of Orleans.—
* Nearly at the ſame time, and on the ſame occaſion, there were literary partizans of the Duke of Orleans, who endeavoured to perſuade the people that the man with the iron maſk, who had ſo long excited curioſity and eluded conjecture, was the real ſon of Louiſ XIII.—and Louis XIV. in conſequence, ſuppoſititious, and only the illegitimate offſpring of Cardinal Mazarin and Anne of Auſtria—that the ſpirit of ambition and intrigue which characterized thiſ Miniſter had ſuggeſted this ſubſtitution to the lawful heir, and that the fears of the Queen and confuſion of the times had obliged her to acquieſce: "Cette opinion ridicule, et dont les dates connues de l'hiſtoire demontrent l'abſurdite, avoit eu des partiſans en France—elle tendoit a avilir la maiſon regnante, et a perſuader au peuple que le trone n'appartient pas aux deſcendans de Louis XIV. prince furtivement ſutſtitue, mais a la poſterite du ſecond fils de Louiſ XIII. qui eſt la tige de la branche d'Orleans, et qui eſt reconnue comme deſcendant legitimement, et ſans objection, du Roi Louiſ XIII." —Nouvelles Conſiderations ſur la Maſque de Fer, Memoirs de Richelieu. "This ridiculous opinion, the abſurdity of which is demonſtrated by hiſtorical dates, had not been without its partizans in France.—It tended to degrade the reigning family, and to make the people believe that the throne did not of right belong to the deſcendantſ of Louis XIV. (a prince ſurreptitiouſly intruded) but to the poſterity of the ſecond ſon of Louis XIII. from whom is derived the branch of Orleans, and who was, without diſpute, the legitimate and unobjectionable offſpring of Louis XIII." —New Conſiderations on the Iron Maſk.—Memoirs of the Duc de Richelieu.
The author of the above Memoirs adds, that after the taking of the Baſtille, new attempts were made to propagate this opinion, and that he himſelf had refuted it to many people, by producing original letters and papers, ſufficiently demonſtrative of its abſurdity.
—He might hope, by popularity, to ſuperſede the children of the Count d'Artois, who was hated; but an immediate heir to the Crown could be removed only by throwing ſuſpicions on his legitimacy. Theſe pretenſions, it is true, were ſo abſurd, and even incredible, that had they been urged at the time, no inference in the Queen's favour would have been admitted from them; but as the exiſtence of ſuch projects, however abſurd and iniquitous, has ſince been demonſtrated, one may now, with great appearance of reaſon, allow them ſome weight in her juſtification.
The affair of the necklace was of infinite diſſervice to the Queen'ſ reputation; yet it is remarkable, that the moſt furious of the Jacobinſ are ſilent on this head as far as it regarded her, and always mention the Cardinal de Rohan in terms that ſuppoſe him to be the culpable party: but, "whatever her faults, her woes deſerve compaſſion;" and perhaps the moraliſt, who is not too ſevere, may find ſome excuſe for a Princeſs, who, at the age of ſixteen, poſſibly without one real friend or diſintereſted adviſer, became the unreſtrained idol of the moſt licentious Court in Europe. Even her enemies do not pretend that her fate was ſo much a merited puniſhment as a political meaſure: they alledge, that while her life was yet ſpared, the valour of their troopſ was checked by the poſſibility of negotiation; and that being no more, neither the people nor armies expecting any thing but execration or revenge, they will be more ready to proceed to the moſt deſperate extremities.—This you will think a barbarous ſort of policy, and conſidering it as national, it appears no leſs abſurd than barbarous; but for the Convention, whoſe views perhaps extend little farther than to ſaving their heads, peculating, and receiving their eighteen livres a day, ſuch meaſures, and ſuch a principle of action, are neither unwiſe nor unaccountable: "for the wiſdom of civilized nations is not their wiſdom, nor the ways of civilized people their ways."*—
* I have been informed, by a gentleman who ſaw the Queen paſs in her way to execution, that the ſhort white bed gown and the cap which ſhe wore were diſcoloured by ſmoke, and that her whole appearance ſeemed to have been intended, if poſſible, to degrade her in the eyes of the multitude. The benevolent mind will recollect with pleaſure, that even the Queen's enemies allow her a fortitude and energy of character which muſt have counteracted this paltry malice, and rendered it incapable of producing any emotion but contempt. On her firſt being removed to the Conciergerie, ſhe applied for ſome neceſſaries; but the humane municipality of Paris refuſed them, under pretext that the demand was contrary to the ſyſtem of la ſainte elagite—"holy equality."
—It was reported that the Queen was offered her life, and the liberty to retire to St. Cloud, her favourite reſidence, if ſhe would engage the enemy to raiſe the ſiege of Maubeuge and withdraw; but that ſhe refuſed to interfere.
For ſome days previous to the battle by which Maubeuge was relieved, we had very gloomy apprehenſions, and had the French army been unſucceſſful and forced to fall back, it is not improbable but the lives of thoſe detained in the Maiſon d'Arret [Houſe of detention.] might have been ſacrificed under pretext of appeaſing the people, and to give ſome credit to the ſuſpicions ſo induſtriouſly inculcated that all their defeats are occaſioned by internal enemies. My firſt care, as ſoon as I was able to go down ſtairs, was to examine if the houſe offered any means of eſcape in caſe of danger, and I believe, if we could preſerve our recollection, it might be practicable; but I can ſo little depend on my ſtrength and ſpirits, ſhould ſuch a neceſſity occur, that perhaps the conſolation of knowing I have a reſource is the only benefit I ſhould ever derive from it.
I have this day made a diſcovery of a very unpleaſant nature, which Mad. de ____ had hitherto cautiouſly concealed from me. All the Engliſh, and other foreigners placed under ſimilar circumſtances, are now, without exception, arreſted, and the confiſcation of their property is decreed. It is uncertain if the law is to extend to wearing apparel, but I find that on this ground the Committee of Peronne perſiſt in refuſing to take the ſeals off my effects, or to permit my being ſupplied with any neceſſaries whatſoever. In other places they have put two, four, and, I am told, even to the number of ſix guards, in houſes belonging to the Engliſh; and theſe guards, excluſive of being paid each two ſhillings per day, burn the wood, regale on the wine, and pillage in detail all they can find, while the unfortunate owner is ſtarving in a Maiſon d'Arret, and cannot obtain permiſſion to withdraw a ſingle article for his own uſe.—The plea for this paltry meaſure is, that, according to the report of a deſerter eſcaped from Toulon, Lord Hood has hanged one Beauvais, a member of the Convention. I have no doubt but the report is falſe, and, moſt likely, fabricated by the Comite de Salut Public, in order to palliate an act of injuſtice previouſly meditated.
It is needleſs to expatiate on the atrocity of making individuals, living here under the faith of the nation, reſponſible for the events of the war, and it is whiſpered that even the people are a little aſhamed of it; yet the government are not ſatiſfied with making us accountable for what really does happen, but they attribute acts of cruelty to our countrymen, in order to excuſe thoſe they commit themſelves, and retaliate imagined injuries by ſubſtantial vengeance.—Legendre, a member of the Convention, has propoſed, with a moſt benevolent ingenuity, that the manes of the aforeſaid Beauvais ſhould be appeaſed by exhibiting Mr. Luttrell in an iron cage for a convenient time, and then hanging him.
A gentleman from Amiens, lately arreſted while happening to be here on buſineſs, informs me, that Mr. Luttrell is now in the common gaol of that place, lodged with three other perſons in a miſerable apartment, ſo ſmall, that there is not room to paſs between their beds. I underſtand he was adviſed to petition Dumont for his removal to a Maiſon d'Arret, where he would have more external convenience; but he rejected thiſ counſel, no doubt from a diſdain which did him honour, and preferred to ſuffer all that the mean malice of theſe wretches would inflict, rather than aſk any accommodation as a favour.—The diſtinguiſhing Mr. Luttrell from any other Engliſh gentleman is as much a proof of ignorance as of baſeneſs; but in this, as in every thing elſe, the preſent French government is ſtill more wicked than abſurd, and our ridicule iſ ſuppreſſed by our deteſtation.
Mad. de ____'s _homme d'affaireſ_ [Agent] has been here to-day, but no news from Amiens. I know not what to conjecture. My patience is almoſt exhauſted, and my ſpirits are fatigued. Were I not juſt now relieved by a diſtant proſpect of ſome change for the better, my ſituation would be inſupportable.—"Oh world! oh world! but that thy ſtrange mutations make us wait thee, life would not yield to age." We ſhould die before our time, even of moral diſeaſes, unaided by phyſical ones; but the uncertainty of human events, which is the "worm i'the bud" of happineſs, is to the miſerable a cheering and conſolatory reflection. Thus have I dragged on for ſome weeks, poſtponing, as it were, my exiſtence, without any reſource, ſave the homely philoſophy of "nous verrons demain." ["We ſhall ſee to-morrow."]
At length our hopes and expectations are become leſs general, and if we do not obtain our liberty, we may be able at leaſt to procure a more eligible priſon. I confeſs, the ſource of our hopes, and the protector we have found, are not of a dignity to be uſhered to your notice by citations of blank verſe, or ſcraps of ſentiment; for though the top of the ladder is not quite ſo high, the firſt rounds are as low as that of Ben Bowling's.
Mad. de ____'s confidential ſervant, who came here to-day, has learned, by accident, that a man, who formerly worked with the Marquiſ's tailor, having (in conſequence, I ſuppoſe of a political vocation,) quitted the ſelling of old clothes, in which he had acquired ſome eminence, haſ become a leading patriot, and is one of Le Bon's, the Repreſentative's, privy counſellors. Fleury has renewed his acquaintance with this man, has conſulted him upon our ſituation, and obtained a promiſe that he will uſe his intereſt with Le Bon in our behalf. Under this ſplendid patronage, it is not unlikely but we may get an order to be tranſferred to Amiens, or, perhaps, procure our entire liberation. We have already written to Le Bon on the ſubject, and Fleury is to have a conference with our friend the tailor in a few days to learn the ſucceſs of hiſ mediation; ſo that, I truſt, the buſineſs will not be long in ſuſpenſe.
We have had a moſt indulgent guard to-day, who, by ſuffering the ſervant to enter a few paces within the gate, afforded us an opportunity of hearing this agreeable intelligence; as alſo, by way of epiſode, that boots being wanted for the cavalry, all the boots in the town were laſt night put in requiſition, and as Fleury was unluckily gone to bed before the ſearch was made at his inn, he found himſelf this morning very unceremoniouſly left bootleſs. He was once a famous patriot, and the oracle of Mad. de ____'s houſehold; but our confinement had already ſhaken his principles, and this ſeizure of his "ſuperb Engliſh bootſ" has, I believe, completed his defection.
I have diſcontinued my journal for three days to attend my friend, Mad. de ____, who has been ill. Uneaſineſs, and want of air and exerciſe, had brought on a little fever, which, by the uſual mode of treatment in thiſ country, has been conſiderably increaſed. Her diſorder did not indeed much alarm me, but I cannot ſay as much of her medical aſſiſtants, and it ſeems to me to be almoſt ſupernatural that ſhe has eſcaped the jeopardy of their preſcriptions. In my own illneſs I had truſted to nature, and my recollection of what had been ordered me on ſimilar occaſions; but for Mad. de ____ I was leſs confident, and deſirous of having better advice, begged a phyſician might be immediately ſent for. Had her diſorder been an apoplexy, ſhe muſt infallibly have died, for as no perſon, not even the faculty, can enter, without an order from the municipal Divan, half a day elapſed before this order could be procured. At length the phyſician and ſurgeon arrived, and I know not why the learned profeſſions ſhould impoſe on us more by one exterior than another; but I own, when I ſaw the phyſician appear in a white camblet coat, lined with roſe colour, and the ſurgeon with dirty linen, and a gold button and loop to his hat, I began to tremble for my friend. My feminine prejudices did not, however, in this inſtance, deceive me. After the uſual queſtions, the patient waſ declared in a fever, and condemned to cathartics, bleeding, and "bon bouillons;" that is to ſay, greaſy beef ſoup, in which there is never an oeconomy of onions.—When they were departed, I could not help expreſſing my ſurprize that people's lives ſhould be entruſted to ſuch hands, obſerving, at the ſame time, to the Baron de L____, (who is lodged in the ſame apartment with Mad. de ____,) that the French muſt never expect men, whoſe education fitted them for the profeſſion, would become phyſicians, while they continued to be paid at the rate of twenty-pence per viſit.— Yet, replied the Baron, if they make twenty viſits a day, they gain forty livreſ—"et c'eſt de quoi vivre." [It is a living.] It is undeniably de quoi vivre, but as long as a mere ſubſiſtence is the only proſpect of a phyſician, the French muſt be content to have their fevers cured by "draſtics, phlebotomy, and beef ſoup."
They tell me we have now more than five hundred detenus in this ſingle houſe. How ſo many have been wedged in I can ſcarcely conceive, but it ſeems our keeper has the art of calculating with great nicety the ſpace requiſite for a given number of bodies, and their being able to reſpire freely is not his affair. Thoſe who can afford it have their dinners, with all the appurtenances, brought from the inns or traiteurs; and the poor cook, ſleep, and eat, by ſcores, in the ſame room. I have perſuaded my friend to ſup as I do, upon tea; but our aſſociates, for the moſt part, finding it inconvenient to have ſuppers brought at night, and being unwilling to ſubmit to the ſame privations, regale themſelves with the remains of their dinner, re-cooked in their apartments, and thus go to ſleep, amidſt the fumes of perdrix a l'onion, oeufs a la tripe, [Partridge a l'onion—eggs a la tripe.] and all the produce of a French kitchen.
It is not, as you may imagine, the Bourgeois, and leſs diſtinguiſhed priſoners only, who indulge in theſe highly-ſeaſoned repaſts, at the expence of inhaling the ſavoury atmoſphere they leave behind them: the beaux and petites miſtreſſes, among the ci-devant, have not leſs exigent appetites, nor more delicate nerves; and the ragout is produced at night, in ſpite of the odours and diſorder that remain till the morrow.
I conclude, notwithſtanding your Engliſh prejudices, that there iſ nothing unwholeſome in filth, for if it were otherwiſe, I cannot account for our being alive. Five hundred bodies, in a ſtate of coacervation, without even a preference for cleanlineſs, "think of that Maſter Brook." All the forenoon the court is a receptacle for cabbage leaves, fiſh ſcales, leeks, &c. &c.—and as a French chambermaid uſually prefers the direct road to circumambulation, the refuſe of the kitchen is then waſhed away by plentiful inundations from the dreſſing-room—the paſſages are blockaded by foul plates, fragments, and bones; to which if you add the ſmell exhaling from hoarded apples and gruyere cheeſe, you may form ſome notion of the ſufferings of thoſe whoſe olfactory nerves are not robuſt. Yet this is not all—nearly every female in the houſe, except myſelf, iſ accompanied even here by her lap-dog, who ſleeps in her room, and, not unfrequently, on her bed; and theſe Leſbias and Lindamiras increaſe the inſalubrity of the air, and colonize one's ſtockings by ſending forth daily emigrations of fleas. For my own part, a few cloſe November dayſ will make me as captious and ſplenetic as Matthew Bramble himſelf. Nothing keeps me in tolerable good humour at preſent, but a clear froſty morning, or a high wind.
I thought, when I wrote the above, that the houſe was really ſo full aſ to be incapable of containing more; but I did not do juſtice to the talents of our keeper. The laſt two nights have brought us an addition of ſeveral waggon loads of nuns, farmers, ſhopkeepers, &c. from the neighbouring towns, which he has ſtill contrived to lodge, though much in the way that he would pack goods in bales. Should another convoy arrive, it is certain that we muſt ſleep perpendicularly, for even now, when the beds are all arranged and occupied for the night, no one can make a diagonal movement without diſturbing his neighbour.—This very ſociable manner of ſleeping is very far, I aſſure you, from promoting the harmony of the day; and I am frequently witneſs to the reproaches and recriminations occaſioned by nocturnal miſdemeanours. Sometimes the lap-dog of one dowager is accuſed of hoſtilities againſt that of another, and thereby producing a general chorus of the reſt—then a four-footed favourite ſtrays from the bed of his miſtreſs, and takeſ poſſeſſion of a General's uniform—and there are female ſomnambules, who alarm the modeſty of a pair of Biſhops, and ſuſpended officers, that, like Richard, warring in their dreams, cry "to arms," to the great annoyance of thoſe who are more inclined to ſleep in peace. But, I underſtand, the great diſturbers of the room where Mad. de ____ ſleepſ are two chanoines, whoſe noſes are ſo ſonorous and ſo untuneable as to produce a ſort of duet abſolutely incompatible with ſleep; and one of the company is often deputed to interrupt the ſerenade by manual application mais tout en badinant et avec politeſſe [But all in pleaſantry, and with politeneſs.] to the offending parties.
All this, my dear brother, is only ludicrous in the relation; yet for ſo many people to be thus huddled together without diſtinction of age, ſex, or condition, is truly miſerable.—Mad. De ____ is ſtill indiſpoſed, and while ſhe is thus ſuffocated by bad air, and diſtracted by the variouſ noiſes of the houſe, I ſee no proſpect of her recovery.
Arras is the common priſon of the department, and, beſides, there are a number of other houſes and convents in the town appropriated to the ſame uſe, and all equally full. God knows when theſe iniquities are to terminate! So far from having any hopes at preſent, the rage for arreſting ſeems, I think, rather to increaſe than ſubſide. It iſ ſuppoſed there are now more than three hundred thouſand people in France confined under the ſimple imputation of being what is called "genſ ſuſpect:" but as this generic term is new to you, I will, by way of explanation, particularize the ſeveral ſpecies as claſſed by the Convention, and then deſcribed by Chaumette, ſolicitor for the City of Paris;*—
* Decree concerning ſuſpected people: "Art. I. Immediately after the promulgation of the preſent decree, all ſuſpected perſons that are found on the territory of the republic, and who are ſtill at large, ſhall be put under arreſt. "II. Thoſe are deemed ſuſpicious, who by their connections, their converſation, or their writings, declare themſelves partizans of tyranny or foederation, and enemies to liberty—Thoſe who have not demonſtrated their means of living or the performance of their civic duties, in the manner preſcribed by the law of March laſt—Thoſe who, having been ſuſpended from public employments by the Convention or its Commiſſioners, are not reinſtated therein—Thoſe of the ci-devant nobleſſe, who have not invariably manifeſted their attachment to the revolution, and, in general, all the fathers, mothers, ſons, daughters, brothers, ſiſters, and agents of emigrantſ—All who have emigrated between the 1ſt of July, 1789, and 8th of April, 1792. "III. The execution of the decree is confided to the Committee of Inſpection. The individuals arreſted ſhall be taken to the houſeſ of confinement appointed for their reception. They are allowed to take with them ſuch only of their effects as are ſtrictly neceſſary, the guards ſet upon them ſhall be paid at their expence, and they ſhall be kept in confinement until the peace.—The Committees of Inſpection ſhall, without delay, tranſmit to the Committee of General Safety an account of the perſons arreſted, with the motiveſ of their arreſt. [If this were obſerved (which I doubt much) it waſ but a mockery, few perſons ever knew the preciſe reaſon of their confinement.]—The civil and criminal tribunals are empowered, when they deem it neceſſary, to detain and impriſon, as ſuſpected perſons, thoſe who being accuſed of crimes have nevertheleſs had no bill found againſt them, (lieu a accuſation,) or who have even been tried and acquitted."
Indications that may ſerve to diſtinguiſh ſuſpicious perſons, and thoſe to whom it will be proper to refuſe certificates of civiſm:
"I. Thoſe who in popular aſſemblies check the ardour of the people by artful ſpeeches, by violent exclamations or threats. "II. Thoſe who with more caution ſpeak in a myſterious way of the public miſfortunes, who appear to pity the lot of the people, and are ever ready to ſpread bad news with an affectation of concern. "III. Thoſe who adapt their conduct and language to the circumſtances of the moment—who, in order to be taken for republicans, put on a ſtudied auſterity of manners, and exclaim with vehemence againſt the moſt trifling error in a patriot, but mollify when the crimes of an Ariſtocrate or a Moderee are the ſubject of complaint. [Theſe trifling events were, being concerned in the maſſacres of September, 1792—public peculationſ—occaſional, and even habitual robbery, forgeries, &c. &c. &c.—The ſecond, fourth, fifth, ſixth, and ſeventh claſſes, were particularly numerous, inſomuch that I doubt whether they would not have included nineteen-twentieths of all the people in France who were honeſt or at all capable of reflection.] "IV. Thoſe who pity avaricious farmers and ſhopkeepers, againſt whom the laws have been neceſſarily directed. "V. Thoſe who with the words liberty, country, republic, &c. conſtantly in their mouths, hold intercourſe with ci-devant Nobles, Contre-revolutionnaires, Prieſts, Ariſtocrates, Feuillans, &c. and take an intereſt in their concerns. "VI. Thoſe who not having borne an active part in the revolution, endeavour to excuſe themſelves by urging the regular payment of their taxes, their patriotic gifts, and their ſervice in the Garde National by ſubſtitute or otherwiſe. "VII. Thoſe who received the republican conſtitution with coolneſs, or who intimated their pretended apprehenſions for its eſtabliſhment and duration. "VIII. Thoſe who, having done nothing againſt liberty, have done aſ little for it. "IX. Thoſe who do not frequent the aſſembly of their ſection, and offer, for excuſe, that they are no orators, or have no time to ſpare from their own buſineſs. "X. Thoſe who ſpeak with contempt of the conſtituted authorities, of the rigour of the laws, of the popular ſocieties, and the defenders of liberty. "XI. Thoſe who have ſigned anti-revolutionary petitions, or any time frequented unpatriotic clubs, or were known as partizans of La Fayette, and accomplices in the affair of the Champ de Mars."
—and it muſt be allowed by all who reſide in France at this moment, and are capable of obſerving the various forms under which hatred for the government ſhelters itſelf, that the latter is a chef d'oeuvre in itſ kind.
Now, excluſive of the above legal and moral indications of people to be ſuſpected, there are alſo outward and viſible ſigns which we are told from the tribune of the Convention, and the Jacobins, are not much leſſ infallible—ſuch as Gens a bas de ſoie rayes moucheteſ—a chapeau rond— habit carre—culotte pincee etroite—a bottes cireeſ—les muſcadinſ— Freloquetſ—Robinets, &c. [People that wear ſpotted or ſtriped ſilk ſtockingſ—round hatſ—ſmall coatſ—tight breecheſ—blacked bootſ— perfumeſ—coxcombſ—ſprigs of the law, &c.] The conſequence of making the cut of a man's coat, or the ſhape of his hat, a teſt of his political opinions, has been the tranſformation of the whole country into republicans, at leaſt as far as depends on the coſtume; and where, as iſ natural, there exiſts a conſciouſneſs of inveterate ariſtocracy, the external is more elaborately "a la Jacobin." The equipment, indeed, of a French patriot of the lateſt date is as ſingular as his manners, and in both he is highly diſtinguiſhable from the inhabitants of any other country: from thoſe of civilized nations, becauſe he is groſs and ferociouſ—from thoſe of barbarous ones, becauſe his groſſneſs is often affected, and his ferocity a matter of principle and preference.
A man who would not be reckoned ſuſpect now arrays himſelf in a jacket and trowſers (a Carmagnole) of ſtriped cotton or coarſe cloth, a neckcloth of gaudy cotton, wadded like a horſe-collar, and projecting conſiderably beyond his chin, a cap of red and blue cloth, embroidered in front and made much in the form of that worn by the Pierrot of a pantomime, with one, or ſometimes a pair, of ear-rings, about the ſize of a large curtain-ring! Finally, he crops his hair, and carefully encourages the growth of an enormous pair of whiſkers, which he does not fail to perfume with volumes of tobacco ſmoke. He, however, who iſ ambitious of ſtill greater eminence, diſdains theſe fopperies, and affects an appearance of filth and rags, which he dignifies with the appellation of ſtern republicaniſm and virtuous poverty; and thus, by means of a thread-bare coat out at elbows, wooden ſhoes, and a red woollen cap, the rich hope to ſecure their wealth, and the covetous and intriguing to acquire lucrative employment.—Rolland, I think, was the founder of theſe modern Franciſcans, and with this miſerable affectation he machinated the death of the King, and, during ſome months, procured for himſelf the excluſive direction of the government.
All theſe patriots by preſcription and ſyſtem have likewiſe a peculiar and appropriated dialect—they addreſs every one by the title of Citizen, thee and thou indiſtinctly, and talk of nothing but the agents of Pitt and Cobourg, the coaleſced tyrants, royal ogres, ſatellites of the deſpots, automaton ſlaves, and anthropophagi; and if they revert to their own proſperous ſtate, and this very happy country, it is, un peuple libre, en peuple heureux, and par excellence la terre de la liberte. ["A free people—a happy people—and, above all others, the land of liberty."]—It is to be obſerved, that thoſe with whom theſe pompouſ expreſſions are moſt familiar, are officers employed in the war-like ſervice of mutilating the wooden ſaints in churches, and arreſting old women whom they encounter without national cockades; or members of the municipalities, now reduced to execute the offices of conſtables, and whoſe chief functions are to hunt out ſuſpected people, or make domiciliary viſits in queſt of concealed eggs and butter. But, above all, this democratic oratory is uſed by tailors, ſhoemakers, &c.* of the Committees of Inſpection, to whom the Repreſentatives on miſſion have delegated their unlimited powers, who arreſt much on the principle of Jack Cade, and with whom it is a crime to read and write, or to appear decently dreſſed.
* For ſome months the departments were infeſted by people of thiſ deſcription—corrupt, ignorant, and inſolent. Their motives of arreſt were uſually the hope of plunder, or the deſire of diſtreſſing thoſe whom they had been uſed to look upon as their ſuperiors.—At Arras it ſufficed even to have diſobliged the wiveſ of theſe miſcreants to become the object of perſecution. In ſome places they arreſted with the moſt barbarous caprice, even without the ſhadow of a reaſon. At Heſden, a ſmall town in Artois, Dumont left the Mayor carte blanche, and in one night two hundred people were thrown into priſon. Every where theſe low and obſcure dominators reigned without controul, and ſo much were the people intimidated, that inſtead of daring to complain, they treated their new tyrants with the moſt ſervile adulation.—I have ſeen a ci-devant Comteſſe coquetting with all her might a Jacobin tailor, and the richeſt merchants of a town ſoliciting very humbly the good offices of a dealer in old clothes.
Theſe ridiculous accoutrements, and this magnificent phraſeology, are in themſelves very harmleſs; but the aſcendancy which ſuch a claſs of people are taking has become a ſubject of juſt alarm.—The whole adminiſtration of the country is now in the hands of uninformed and neceſſitouſ profligates, ſwindlers, men already condemned by the laws, and who, if the revolution had not given them "place and office," would have been at the galleys, or in priſon.*
* One of the adminiſtrators of the department de la Somme (which, however, was more decently compoſed than many others,) was, before the revolution, convicted of houſe-breaking, and another of forgery; and it has ſince been proved on various occaſions, particularly on the trial of the ninety-four Nantais, that the revolutionary Committees were, for the moſt part, compoſed of the very refuſe of ſociety—adventurers, thieves, and even aſſaſſins; and it would be difficult to imagine a crime that did not there find reward and protection.—In vain were the privileges of the nobility aboliſhed, and religion proſcribed. A new privileged order aroſe in the Jacobins, and guilt of every kind, without the ſemblance of penitence, found an aſylum in theſe Committees, and an inviolability more ſacred than that afforded by the demoliſhed altars.
To theſe may be added a few men of weak character, and unſteady principles, who remain in office becauſe they fear to reſign; with a few, and but very few, ignorant fanatics, who really imagine they are free becauſe they can moleſt and deſtroy with impunity all they have hitherto been taught to reſpect, and drink treble the quantity they did formerly.