THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY PROCEED TO BUSINESS. OPPOSITION OF THE NOBLES,
BISHOPS, AND COURT. A SEANCE ROYALE PROCLAIMED, AND THE HALL OF THE
ASSEMBLY SURROUNDED BY SOLDIERS. THE MEMBERS ADJOURN TO THE TENNIS
COURT, AND VOW NEVER TO SEPARATE TILL A CONSTITUTION SHOULD BE
COMPLETED. THE MAJORITY OF THE CLERGY AND TWO OF THE NOBLES JOIN THE
COMMONS. SEANCE ROYALE. THE KING’S SPEECH. SPIRITED BEHAVIOUR OF THE
ASSEMBLY. SPEECH OF MIRABEAU. PERSONS OF THE DEPUTIES DECLARED
INVIOLABLE. MINORITY OF THE NOBLES JOIN THE COMMONS. AT THE REQUEST OF
THE KING, THE MINORITY OF THE CLERGY DO THE SAME,—AND ARE AT LENGTH
FOLLOWED BY THE MAJORITY OF THE NOBLES—CHARACTER OF THE QUEEN OF
FRANCE,—OF THE KING,—AND OF THE NOBLES. LECTURES ON LIBERTY AT THE
PALAIS ROYAL. PARIS SURROUNDED BY TROOPS. SPIRIT OF LIBERTY INFUSED INTO
THE SOLDIERS. ELEVEN OF THE FRENCH GUARDS IMPRISONED BECAUSE THEY WOULD
NOT FIRE ON THE POPULACE, AND LIBERATED BY THE PEOPLE. REMONSTRANCE OF
THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. THE KING PROPOSES TO REMOVE THE ASSEMBLY TO
NOYON, OR SOISSONS. NECKER DISMISSED. CITY MILITIA PROPOSED. THE
POPULACE ATTACKED IN THE GARDEN OF THE THUILLERIES BY THE PRINCE OF
LAMBESC. NOCTURNAL ORGIES AT VERSAILLES.
The third-estate, having constituted themselves a national assembly, now
proceeded to business, with calm prudence, taking into consideration the
urgent necessities of the state. Closely also attending to their
instructions, they first pronounced, that all taxes not enacted by the
consent of the representatives of the people were illegal; and
afterwards gave a temporary sanction to the present levies, to avoid
dissolving one government before they had framed another. They then
turned their attention to the object next in importance, and declared,
that, as soon as, in concert with his majesty, they should be able to
fix the principles of national regeneration, they would employ
themselves to examine and liquidate the national debt; mean time the
creditors of the state were declared to be under the safe-guard of the
honour of the french nation. These decrees concluded with a resolve,
that the assembly, now become active, should dedicate it’s first moments
to inquire into the cause of the scarcity that afflicted the kingdom;
and to search for a remedy the most prompt and effectual.
The nobles, bishops, and, in fact, the whole court, now seriously began
to rally all their forces; convinced that it was become necessary, to
oppose their united strength against the commons, to prevent their
carrying every thing before them.
The chamber of the clergy had been engaged for several days, in
discussing the question, where they should verify their powers. A number
of them, during this discussion, appear to have advanced, feeling their
way; for when they now came to divide, the majority decided to join the
national assembly.
Alarmed by the prospect of this junction, one of the members of the
chamber, which almost arrogated to itself the prerogative of
legislation, that of the nobles, proposed an address to the king,
beseeching him to dissolve the states-general; whilst the cause of the
people was there vigorously supported by a minority, feeble as to
numbers, but powerful in argument, animated by the popularity, which
their bold declaration could not fail to produce during the reign of
enthusiasm.
This was a moment pregnant with great events. The court still trusted to
subterfuge, and, holding the representatives of the people in
superlative contempt, affected in some degree to yield to the prayer of
the nation; though signifying, that the king was the only fountain of
justice, and that he would grant every thing which his faithful subjects
could reasonably demand. A trick as palpable as the design was flagrant;
for at the instant they were pretending to see some reason in their
requisitions, they were guarding against their obtaining the only thing
that could secure their rights, an equal representation; holding for
this purpose mischievous councils, composed of characters most obnoxious
in the eyes of the people. In these meetings it was resolved, to amuse
the commons, until the army could be assembled; and then, in case of
obstinacy, they would draw on themselves the consequence. Accordingly
the 20th of june, the day on which the majority of the clergy was to
join the commons, the herald proclaimed a _séance royale_; and a
detachment of guards surrounded the hall of the national assembly, to
take care (such was the shallow pretext) that it should be properly
prepared for the reception of the king. The deputies came to the door at
the usual hour; but only the president (Baillie) and the secretaries
were permitted to enter to take away their papers; and they saw, that
the benches were already removed, and that all the entrances were
guarded by a great number of soldiers.
Courage is seldom relaxed by persecution; and the firm and spirited
proceedings of the assembly on this day, gave the decided blow to the
stratagems of the court. During the first tumult of surprise, it is
true, some of the deputies talked of going immediately to Marly, to
invite the king to come among them, and in a truly paternal manner to
unite his power with their’s to promote the public good; and thus by an
energetic appeal to his heart and understanding, to convince him that
they spoke the language of truth and reason. But others, more
experienced in ministerial wiles, calmly advised to adjourn the sittings
to the neighbouring tennis-court. For they knew, that the hearts of
courtiers are fortified with icy prejudices; and that, though a moment
of sympathy, a flow of life-blood, may thaw them at the instant, it is
only to render them more hard, when the glow of genial heat is passed.
Assembled at the tennis-court, they encouraged each other; and one mind
actuating the whole body, in the presence of an applauding crowd, they
joined hands solemnly, and took God to witness, that they would not
separate, till a constitution should be completed. The benedictions that
dropped from every tongue, and sparkled in tears of joy from every eye,
giving fresh vigour to the heroism which excited them, produced an
overflow of sensibility that kindled into a blaze of patriotism every
social feeling. The dungeons of despotism and the bayonets sharpened for
massacre, were then equally disregarded even by the most fearful; till,
in one of those instants of disinterested forgetfulness of private
pursuits, all devoted themselves to the promotion of public happiness,
promising to resist, to the last extremity, all the efforts of such an
inveterate tyranny. The absent deputies were sent for; and one, who
happened to be sick, had himself carried to unite his feeble voice with
the general cry. The very soldiers also, disobeying their officers, came
to be willing centinels at the entrance of the sanctuary of liberty,
eagerly imbibing the sentiments, which they afterwards spread through
their garrisons.
This indignity offered to the third-estate could not fail to excite new
sensations of disgust at Paris; and give a fresh spring to the animation
of the people at large. Yet, this spirited behaviour of the commons
excited only supercilious contempt at court. For the gay circles there
were so far sunk in fastidious delicacy, and squeamish respect for
polished manners, that they could not even discover magnanimity in the
conduit of a peasant, or a shopkeeper; much less grandeur in an assembly
regardless of ceremonials. And not to be deficient themselves in these
respects, the _séance royale_ was put off another day, in order that the
galleries, which had been erected for the accommodation of spectators by
the national assembly, might be removed.
This was another injudicious step on the part of the cabinet; because it
afforded time for the clergy to unite with the commons, who were in
search of a place sufficiently capacious to contain such a body. At
length, collected in a church, the clergy, with several bishops at their
head, and two nobles of Dauphine, joined them; and the place, seeming to
reflect a sanctity on their union, tended to consolidate, under a nobler
concave, the resolution taken in the tennis-court.
The following day, the _séance royale_ really took place, with all the
exteriour splendour usually exhibited at these shows; which hitherto
could scarcely be termed empty, because they produced the desired
effect. But the public, having their attention turned to other things,
now viewed with contempt, what had formerly inspired almost idolatrous
respect. The deputies of the third-estate were again ordered to enter by
a separate door, and even left a considerable time standing exposed to a
heavy shower. The people, who were totally excluded, formed themselves
into groups, making indignant comments on the repeated affronts offered
to their representatives, whole minds likewise recoiled at the idle
attempt to impress them with an opinion of their insignificancy; when
the very pains taken to do it proclaimed their growing importance in the
state.
The object of the king’s speech, on this occasion, was to annul the
whole proceedings of the national assembly, and to hold out certain
benefits, as lures to submission, which the king meant to grant to the
people; as if, observes Mirabeau, ‘the rights of the people, were the
favours of the king.’ A declaration of his sovereign will and pleasure
was then read, in which, making an insidious attempt to withdraw from
the assembly the confidence of the public, he declared, that, is they
abandoned him, he would provide for the happiness of his people, without
their assistance, knowing the purport of the instructions given to the
deputies. The first article of the king’s benevolent _intentions_, was
to grant to the states-general the power of furnishing supplies;
carefully specifying, however, that it was to consist of the three
orders, who were to vote according to the ancient mode. Some other
salutary plans of reform were also brought forward; but always with
artful modifications, that would enable the old abuses to keep a sure
footing. For example, the taxes were to be levied equally; yet a
cautious respect for property sanctioned almost every other feudal
privilege; and the absolute abolition of _lettres de cachet_,[9] though
his majesty wished to secure personal freedom, was hinted at as
incompatible with public safety, and the preservation of the honour of
private families. The liberty of the press was allowed to be necessary;
but the states-general were requested to point out a mode of rendering
it compatible with the respect due to religion, to morality, and to the
honour of the citizens. The tenour of all the rest of the articles was
the same; commencing with a plan of reform, and concluding with the
_ifs_ and _buts_, that were to render it void.—Then, winding round to
the grand object of the meeting, the king terminated his discourse, with
saying, forgetful that this was not the period to imagine himself
reigning at Constantinople, ‘I _command_ you to separate immediately,
and to attend, each of you, to-morrow, at the chamber appropriated for
your order, there to resume your sittings; and I have commanded, in
consequence, the grand master of the ceremonies to order the halls to be
prepared.’
The majority of the nobles, and the minority of the clergy, obeyed this
peremptory order, and obsequiously followed the king, like the trained
horses of his court. The members of the national assembly, however,
remained sitting, preserving a silence, more menacing and terrible, than
the _I will_, or _I command_, of the cabinet; when the grand master of
the ceremonies entered, and addressing himself to the president,
reminded him, in the king’s name, of the order given to separate
immediately. The president answered, ‘that the assembly was not
constituted to receive orders from any person;’ but Mirabeau, who
thought this reply too tame, started up, and addressing the messenger,
said: ‘yes; we have heard the intentions which the king has been induced
to utter; and you cannot be his organ in this assembly.—You, who have
neither seat, nor right to speak, ought not to remind us of his
discourse. However, to avoid all equivocation or delay, I declare to
you, that if you are charged to make us go from hence, you should demand
orders to employ force; for only the bayonet can oblige us to quit our
places.’ It is difficult to conceive the ardour inspired by this prompt
eloquence. It’s fire flew from breast to breast, whilst a whisper ran
round, that what Mirabeau had just uttered, gave a finishing stroke to
the revolution.
A warm debate ensued; and the assembly declaring their adherence to
their former decrees, the abbé Sieyes said, in his dry, cogent manner:
‘gentlemen, you are to day what you were yesterday.’ A motion was then
made, by Mirabeau, who suggested, as a prudent precaution against the
measures of a desperate cabal, that the person of each deputy should be
pronounced inviolable; and, after a slight discussion, it was carried
unanimously.
From this moment we may consider the nation and court at open war. The
court had at their command the whole military force of the empire,
amounting, at least, to 200,000 men. The people, on the contrary, had
only their bare arms, invigorated, it is true, by the new-born love of
freedom, to oppose to the various weapons of tyranny. But the army,
partaking of the common misery, were not deaf to the complaints or
arguments of their fellow citizens: and they were particularly led to
consider them with complacency, because a just apprehension, or prudent
foresight, had induced many of the popular assemblies, to insert a
clause in their instructions, recommending, that the pay of the soldiers
should be augmented. Thus recognized as fellow citizens, this class of
men, whom it had been the policy of the despots of Europe to keep at a
distance from the other inhabitants, making them a distinct class, to
oppress and corrupt the rest, began to feel an interest in the common
cause. But the court, who either could not, or would not, combine these
important facts, rashly precipitated themselves into the very quicksand,
into which they were vainly endeavouring to drive the commons.
As Necker had not attended in his place, at the _séance royale_, it gave
colour to the rumour, which had for some time prevailed, that he
purposed to retire from the ministry: so that, when the king returned,
he was followed by an immense crowd, who could not conceal their
discontent. Under the influence also of the same fear, a number of the
deputies hastened to Necker, to entreat him not to resign. And the
consternation increasing, the queen, who has ever been the first to
desert her own plans, when there appeared a shadow of personal danger,
sent for him; and, the better to cover the project of the cabinet,
prevailed on him not to quit his post. The object of the cabinet he
either had not the penetration to discover; or he had not sufficient
magnanimity to resign a place, that gratified equally his pride and his
avarice. This measure tended to tranquillize the minds of the people,
though it was undermining their cause; for trusting to the integrity of
this minister, who promised, ‘to live or die with them,’ they did not
perceive, that he wanted the energy of soul necessary to enable him to
act up to the principles he professed. However, the cause of liberty, as
circumstances have proved, did not depend on the talents of one or two
men.—It was the fiat of the nation; and the machinations of the tyrants
of Europe have not yet been able to overturn it; though false patriots
have led them, in their ardour for reform, to the commission of actions
the most cruel and unjust. Every thing was effected by natural causes;
and we shall find, is we take a cursory view of the progress of
knowledge, that it’s advance towards simple principles is invariably in
a ratio, which must speedily change the tangled system of european
politics.
The _séance royale_ produced so little effect, that the assembly, as if
their sittings had never been interrupted, met the next day at the old
hall; and the day after, the minority of the nobles, which consisted of
forty-seven members, came to incorporate themselves with the commons.
All of these, and particularly the duke of Orleans, who led them,
acquired by this popular conduct, the love and confidence of the nation.
How far they merited it, deceiving the public, or themselves, their
future conduct will best explain.
The interesting events, in fact, which almost daily occurred, at the
commencement of the revolution, fired the fancies of men of different
descriptions; till, forgetting every selfish consideration, the rich and
poor saw through the same focus. But, when the former had time to cool,
and felt more forcibly than the latter the inconveniences of anarchy,
they returned with fresh vigour to their old ground; embracing, with
redoubled ardour, the prejudices which passion, not conviction, had
chased from the field, during the heat of action. This was a strong
reinforcement for the staunch aristocrats; because these were mostly
good, but short-sighted people, who really wished, that justice might be
established, as the foundation of the new government, though they
flinched when their present ease was disturbed; and it was necessary to
give more than good wishes.
This minority of nobles must certainly be allowed to have acted more
prudently than their peers; and several of them, the most respectable
men of that class, both in talents and morals, were probably actuated by
half comprehended principles. The great body of the nobles,
nevertheless, and the minority of the clergy, continued to meet in
different chambers, where their idle deliberations marked their decayed
influence. For, shrinking into nothing, their present struggles to
regain their power were as fruitless, as their former efforts had been
presumptuous. Yet the jealousies and contumely of the nobility continued
to agitate the commons; who, animated by a consciousness of the justice
of their cause, and feeling, that they possessed the confidence of the
public, determined to proceed with the objects of their meeting, without
the concurrence of the first order; proving to them, when it was too
late to preserve their factitious distinctions, that their power and
authority were at an end. In vain were they told, that they were acting
contrary to their true interest, and risking the salvation of their
privileges. In vain did one of the most moderate of the deputies[10]
remonstrate with them, on what, most probably, would be the consequence
of their obstinacy. No argument could move them; and, blind to the
danger with which they were threatened, they persisted to attend their
councils, without any determinate rule of action. It is true, the duke
of Luxembourg declared, in a private committee held by the king, the
26th of june, that ‘the division of the orders would controul the
exorbitant claims of the people, and preserve those of the monarch;
united,’ added he, ‘they know no master, divided, they are your
subjects:’ and he concluded, with emphatically saying, that ‘it would
save the independence of the crown, and stamp with nullity the
proceedings of the national assembly.’ These were manly, though not
patriotic sentiments; and if the court had rallied round them, and
defended them to the last extremity, they would at any rate have
prevented their disgrace, by avoiding the crooked path of treachery. But
abandoning all dignity of conduct, they trusted to the art of
manœuvring, which defeated by the people, they were left entirely at
their mercy.
With respect to the improvement of society, since the destruction of the
roman empire, England seems to have led the way, rendering certain
obstinate prejudices almost null, by a gradual change of opinion. This
observation, which facts will support, may be brought forward, to prove,
that just sentiments gain footing only in proportion as the
understanding is enlarged by cultivation, and freedom of thought,
instead of being cramped by the dread of bastilles and inquisitions. In
Italy and France, for example, where the mind dared to exercise itself
only to form the taste, the nobility were, in the strictest sense of the
word, a cast, keeping aloof from the people; whilst in England they
intermingled with the commercial men, whose equal or superiour fortunes
made the nobles overlook their inequality of birth: thus giving the
first blow to the ignorant pride that retarded the formation of just
opinions respecting true dignity of character. This monied interest,
from which political improvement first emanates, was not yet formed in
France; and the ridiculous pride of her nobles, which led them to
believe, that the purity of their families would be sullied, if they
agreed to act in the same sphere with the people, was a prevailing
motive, that prevented their junction with the commons. But the more
licentious part of the clergy, who followed with a truer scent their own
interest, thought it expedient to espouse, in time, the cause of the
power, from whence their influence derived its greatest force; and from
which alone they could hope for support. This schism proved, as it
promised, dangerous to the views of the court.
The desertion of the clergy rendered the mobility outrageous, and
hastened the crisis when the important contest was to be brought to an
issue.—Then it was that the king perceived how contemptible his
undecided conduct had been, and exclaiming, it is said confidently,
‘that he remained _ALONE_ in the midst of the nation, occupied with the
establishment of concord.’ Vain words! and this affectation was
particularly reprehensible, because he had already given orders for the
assembling of the foreign troops: the object of which was to establish
concord with the point of the bayonet.
This total want of character caused him to be flattered by all parties,
and trusted by none. Insignificancy had distinguished his manners in his
own court. Actions without energy, and professions without sincerity,
exhibiting a conduct destitute of steadiness, made the cabinet concert
all their measures regardless of his opinion, leaving to the queen the
task of persuading him to adopt them. The evil did not rest even here;
for the different parties following separate views, the flexibility of
his temper led him to sanction things the most at variance, and most
dangerous to his future honour and safety. For it appears obvious, that
whatever party had prevailed, he could only be considered as an
instrument; which, becoming useless when the object should be achieved,
would be treated with disrespect. Periods of revolution drawing into
action the worst as well as the best of men; and as audacity, in
general, triumphs over modest merit, when the political horizon is
ruffled by tempest; it amounted to a moral certainty, that the line of
conduct pursued by the king would lead to his disgrace and ruin.
Seeing, however, that the people were unanimous in their approbation of
the conduct of their representatives, and watchful to discover the
designs of their enemies; it could not but occur to the cabinet, that
the only way to lull attention to sleep, was to affect to submit to
necessity. Besides, fearing, if they continued to resort to their
different chambers, that their plot would take wind before all the
agents were assembled, a fresh instance of dissimulation evinced, that
their depravity equalled their stupidity. For the king was now prevailed
on to write to the presidents of the nobility, and the minority of the
clergy, requesting them, to represent to those two orders the necessity
of uniting with the third, to proceed to the discussion of his
proposals, made at the _séance royale_.
The clergy immediately acquiesced; but the nobility continued to oppose
a junction so humiliating, till the court invented a pretext of honour
to save the credit of their mock dignity, by declaring, that the life of
the king would be in imminent danger, should the nobles continue to
resist the desire of the nation. Pretending to believe this report, for
the secret of the cabinet was buzzed amongst them, and appearing to wish
to bury all rivalry in royalty, they attended at the common hall, the
27th. Yet even there, the first step they took was to enter a protest,
in order to guard against this concession being made a precedent.
A general joy succeeded the terrour which had been engendered in the
minds of the people by their contumelious perverseness; and the
parisians, cherishing the most sanguine expectations, reckoned, that an
unity of exertions would secure to them a redress of grievances.
It is perhaps unnecessary to dwell, for a moment, on the insensibility
of the court, and the credulity of the people; as they seem the only
clues, that will lead us to a precise discrimination of the causes,
which completely annihilated all confidence in the ministers, who have
succeeded the directors of those infamous measures, that swept away the
whole party; measures which involved thousands of innocent people in the
same ruin, and have produced a clamour against the proceedings of the
nation, that has obscured the glory of her labours. It is painful to
follow, through all their windings, the crimes and follies produced by
want of sagacity, and just principles of action. For instance, the
_séance royale_ was held on the 23d, when the king, not deigning to
advise, commanded the deputies to repair to their different chambers;
and only four days after he implored the nobility and clergy to wave
every consideration, and accede to the wish of the people. Acting in
this contradictory manner, it is clear, that the cabal thought only of
rendering sure the decided blow, which was to level with the dust the
power, that extorted such humiliating concessions.
But the people, easy of belief, and glad to be light-hearted again, no
sooner heard that an union of the orders had taken place, by the desire
of the king, than they hurried from all quarters, with good-humoured
confidence, called for the king and queen, and testified, in their
presence, the grateful joy this acquiescence had inspired. How different
was this frankness of the people, from the close hypocritical conduct of
the cabal!
The courtly, dignified politeness of the queen, with all those
complacent graces which dance round flattered beauty, whose every charm
is drawn forth by the consciousness of pleasing, promised all that a
sanguine fancy had pourtrayed of future happiness and peace. From her
fascinating smiles, indeed, was caught the careless hope, that,
expanding the heart, makes the animal spirits vibrate, in every nerve,
with pleasure:—yet, she smiled but to deceive; or, if she felt some
touches of sympathy, it was only the unison of the moment.
It is certain, that education, and the atmosphere of manners in which a
character is formed, change the natural laws of humanity; otherwise it
would be unaccountable, how the human heart can be so dead to the tender
emotions of benevolence, which most forcibly teach us, that real or
lasting felicity flows only from a love of virtue, and the practice of
sincerity.
The unfortunate queen of France, beside the advantages of birth and
station, possessed a very fine person; and her lovely face, sparkling
with vivacity, hid the want of intelligence. Her complexion was
dazzlingly clear; and, when she was pleased, her manners were
bewitching; for she happily mingled the most insinuating voluptuous
softness and affability, with an air of grandeur, bordering on pride,
that rendered the contrast more striking. Independence also, of whatever
kind, always gives a degree of dignity to the mien; so that monarchs and
nobles, with most ignoble souls, from believing themselves superiour to
others, have actually acquired a look of superiority.
But her opening faculties were poisoned in the bud; for before she came
to Paris, she had already been prepared, by a corrupt, supple abbé, for
the part she was to play; and, young as she was, became so firmly
attached to the aggrandizement of her house, that, though plunged deep
in pleasure, she never omitted sending immense sums to her brother, on
every occasion. The person of the king, in itself very disgusting, was
rendered more so by gluttony, and a total disregard of delicacy, and
even decency in his apartments: and, when jealous of the queen, for whom
he had a kind of devouring passion, he treated her with great brutality,
till she acquired sufficient finesse to subjugate him. Is it then
surprizing, that a very desirable woman, with a sanguine constitution,
should shrink abhorrent from his embraces; or that an empty mind should
be employed only to vary the pleasures, which emasculated her circean
court? And, added to this, the histories of the Julias and Messalinas of
antiquity, convincingly prove, that there is no end to the vagaries of
the imagination, when power is unlimited, and reputation set at
defiance.
Lost then in the most luxurious pleasures, or managing court intrigues,
the queen became a profound dissembler; and her heart hardened by
sensual enjoyments to such a degree, that when her family and favourites
stood on the brink of ruin, her little portion of mind was employed only
to preserve herself from danger. As a proof of the justness of this
assertion, it is only necessary to observe, that, in the general wreck,
not a scrap of her writing has been found to criminate her; neither has
she suffered a word to escape her to exasperate the people, even when
burning with rage, and contempt. The effect that adversity may have on
her choked understanding time will show[11]; but during her prosperity,
the moments of languor, that glide into the interstices of enjoyment,
were passed in the most childish manner; without the appearance of any
vigour of mind, to palliate the wanderings of the imagination.—Still she
was a woman of uncommon address; and though her conversation was
insipid, her compliments were so artfully adapted to flatter the person
she wished to please or dupe, and so eloquent is the beauty of a queen,
in the eyes even of superiour men, that she seldom failed to carry her
point when she endeavoured to gain an ascendancy over the mind of an
individual. Over that of the king she acquired unbounded sway, when,
managing the disgust she had for his person, she made him pay a kingly
price for her favours. A court is the best school in the world for
actors; it was very natural then for her to become a complete actress,
and an adept in all the arts of coquetry that debauch the mind, whilst
they render the person alluring.
Had the hapless Louis possessed any decision of character, to support
his glimmering sense of right, he would from this period have chosen a
line of conduct, that might have saved his life by regulating his future
politics. For this returning affection of the people alone was
sufficient to prove to him, that it was not easy to eradicate their love
for royalty; because, whilst they were contending for their rights with
the nobility, they were happy to receive them as acts of beneficence
from the king. But the education of the heir apparent of a crown must
necessarily destroy the common sagacity and feelings of a man; and the
education of this monarch, like that of Louis XV, only tended to make
him a sensual bigot.
Priests have, in general, contrived to become the preceptors of kings;
the more surely to support the church, by leaning it against the throne.
Besides; kings, who without having their understandings enlarged, are
set above attending to the forms of morality, which sometimes produce
it’s spirit, are always particularly fond of those religious systems,
which, like a sponge, wipe out the crimes that haunt the terrified
imagination of unsound minds.
It has been the policy of the court of France, to throw an odium on the
understanding of the king, when it was lavishing praises on the goodness
of his heart. Now it is certain, that he possessed a considerable
portion of sense, and discernment; though he wanted that firmness of
mind, which constitutes character; or, in more precise words, the power
of acting according to the dictates of a man’s own reason. He was a
tolerable scholar; had sufficient patience to learn the english
language; and was an ingenious mechanic. It is also well known, that in
the council, when he followed only the light of his own reason, he often
fixed on the most sage measures, which he was afterwards persuaded to
abandon. But death seems to be the sport of kings, and, like the roman
tyrant, whose solitary amusement was transfixing flies, this man, whose
milkiness of heart has been perpetually contrasted with the pretended
watriness of his head, was extremely fond of seeing those grimaces, made
by tortured animals, which rouse to pleasure sluggish, gross sensations.
The queen, however, prevailed on him not to attempt to amuse her, or
raise a forced laugh, in a polite circle, by throwing a cat down the
chimney, or shooting an harmless ass. Taught also to dissemble, from his
cradle, he daily practised the despicable shifts of duplicity; though
led by his indolence to take, rather than to give the tone to his
domineering parasites.
The french nobility, perhaps, the most corrupt and ignorant set of men
in the world, except in those objects of taste, which consist in giving
variety to amusement, had never lived under the controul of any law, but
the authority of the king; and having only to dread the Bastille for a
little time, should they commit any enormity, could not patiently brook
the restraints, the better government of the whole society required.
Haughtily then disregarding the suggestions of humanity, and even
prudence, they determined to subvert every thing, sooner than resign
their privileges; and this tenacity will not appear astonishing, if we
call to mind, that they considered the people as beasts of burden, and
trod them under foot with the mud. This is not a figure of rhetoric; but
a melancholy truth! For it is notorious, that, in the narrow streets of
Paris, where there are no footways to secure the walkers from danger,
they were frequently killed, without slackening, by the least emotion of
fellow-feeling, the gallop of the thoughtless being, whose manhood was
buried in a factitious character.
I shall not now recapitulate the feudal tyrannies, which the progress of
civilization has rendered nugatory; it is sufficient to observe, that,
as neither the life nor property of the citizens was secured by equal
laws, both were often wantonly sported with by those who could do it
with impunity. Arbitrary decrees have too often assumed the sacred
majesty of law; and when men live in continual fear, and know not what
they have to apprehend, they always become cunning and pusillanimous.
Thus the abject manners, produced by despotism of any species, seem to
justify them, in the eyes of those who only judge of things from their
present appearance. This leads, likewise, to an observation, that partly
accounts for the want of industry and cleanliness in France; for people
are very apt to sport away their time, when they cannot look forward,
with some degree of certainty, to the consolidation of a plan of future
ease.
Every precaution was taken to divide the nation, and prevent any ties of
affection, such as ought always to unite man with man, in all the
relationships of life, from bringing the two ranks together with any
thing like equality to consolidate them. If, for instance, the son of a
nobleman happened so far to forget his rank, as to marry a woman of low
birth; what misery have not those unfortunate creatures
endured!—confined in prisons, or hunted out of the common nest, as
contagious intruders. And if we remember also, that, while treated with
contempt, only a twentieth part of the profit of his labour fell to the
share of the husbandman, we shall cease to inquire, why the nobles
opposed innovations, that must necessarily have overturned the fabric of
despotism.
The inveterate pride of the nobles, the rapacity of the clergy, and the
prodigality of the court, were, in short, the secret springs of the
plot, now almost ripe, aimed at the embryo of freedom through the heart
of the national assembly. But Paris, that city which contains so many
different characters—that vortex, which draws every vice into it’s
centre—that repository of all the materials of voluptuous
degeneracy—that den of spies and assassins—contained likewise a number
of enlightened men, and was able to raise a very formidable force, to
defend it’s opinions.
The cabinet saw it’s rising spirit with suspicion; and, resorting to
their old wiles, produced a scarcity of bread, hoping that, when the
people should be disheartened, the approaching army under Broglio would
bring the whole affair to a speedy issue. But circumstances seemed
favourable to the people; for the electors of Paris, after they had
chosen their deputies, the election having been protracted very late,
continued to meet at the _Hôtel-de-Ville_, to prepare the instructions,
which they had not time to digest before the assembling of the
states-general.
At this juncture also, a spacious square, equally devoted to business
and pleasure, called the _Palais Royal_, became the rendezvous of the
citizens. There the most spirited gave lectures, whilst more modest men
read the popular papers and pamphlets, on the benefits of liberty, and
the crying oppressions of absolute governments. This was the centre of
information; and the whole city flocking thither, to talk or to listen,
returned home warmed with the love of freedom, and determined to oppose,
at the risk of life, the power that should still labour to enslave
them—and when life is put on the cast, do not men generally gain that
for which they strive with those, who, wanting their enthusiasm, set
more value on the stake?
The turbulence of the metropolis, produced in great measure by the
continual arrival of foreign troops, furnished, nevertheless, a
plausible pretext for blockading it; and thirty-five thousand men, at
least, mostly consisting of hussars and mercenary troops, were drawn
from the frontiers, and collected round Versailles. Camps were traced
out for still more; and the posts, that commanded the roads leading to
Paris, were filled with soldiers. The courtiers, then unable to repress
their joy, vaunted, that the national assembly would soon be dissolved,
and the rebellious deputies silenced by imprisonment, or death. And
should even the french soldiers abandon them, among whom there were some
symptoms of revolt, the court depended on the foreign troops, to strike
terrour into the very heart of Paris and Versailles. The gathering army
was already a very formidable force; but the spirit of enthusiasm, and a
keen sense of injuries, rendered more sharp by insults, had such an
effect on the people, that, instead of being intimidated, they coolly
began to prepare for defence.
All had heard, or were now informed, of the efforts made by the
americans to maintain their liberty.—All had heard of the glorious
firmness of a handful of raw bostonian militia, who, on Bunker’s-hill,
resisted the british disciplined troops, crimsoning the plains of
Charles-town with the blood of the flower of their enemy’s army. This
lesson for tyrants had resounded through the kingdom; and it ought to
have taught them, that men determined to be free are always superiour to
mercenary battalions even of veterans.
The popular leaders had also taken the surest means to ingratiate
themselves with the soldiery, by mixing with them, and continually
insinuating, that citizens ought not to allow the base ministers of
power, to treat them like passive instruments of mischief. Besides, it
was natural to expect, that the military, the most idle body of men in
the kingdom, should attend to the topics of the day, and profit by the
discussions, that disseminated new political principles. And such an
influence had the arguments in favour of liberty on their minds, that,
so early as the 23d of june, during a slight riot, two companies of the
grenadiers refused to fire on the people, whom they were sent to
disperse. But these symptoms of refractoriness roused the resentment of
the court, instead of putting it on it’s guard: consequently several
were sent to prison, and the troops were confined to their barracks;
yet, regardless of these orders, they came in crowds to the _Palais
Royal_, a day or two after, eager to unite their voices with the general
shout, _vive la nation_, which spoke the present sentiments of the
people. The regiments of french, also, that now arrived, to be stationed
with the foreign troops round Paris, were conducted to this hot-bed of
patriotism; and, meeting with the most cordial reception, they listened
with interest to the lively representations of the enormities committed
by their old government, and of the meanness of those men, who could
live on the bread earned by butchering their fellow citizens.
Whilst these opinions were taking root, the people heard, that eleven of
the french guards, confined in the abbey, because they would not obey
the order to fire on the populace, were to be transferred to the
_Bicetre_, the most ignominious of all the prisons. The contest now
commenced; for the people hastened to deliver them, and, forcing their
way, emancipated their friends; and even the hussars, who were called
out to quell the disturbance, laid down their arms. Yet, attentive to
justice, they sent back to confinement a soldier, who had been
previously committed by the police, for some other misdemeanour.
Exasperated as they were, the people, not yet become lawless, guarded
the men they had rescued; whilst they sent a deputation to the national
assembly, to intercede with the king in their behalf. This spirited, yet
prudent, behaviour produced the desired effect; and the assembly named a
certain number of the deputies, who with scrupulous decorum were to
demand this grace of the king: and he accordingly granted their pardon,
laying a cautious stress on it’s being the first request made by the
assembly. But it was still questionable, whether this extorted act of
lenity were not done, like the other actions of the court, only to blind
the preparations that were making, to humble effectually the soldiery,
the metropolis, and the assembly.
During this period of general suspicion, the presence of such a
considerable force, as now was encamped on every side of the capital,
particularly alarmed the electors, who held their deliberations very
constantly to watch over the public peace; and, in order to avert the
threatening storm, they proposed raising the city militia. Yet, before
they determined, they sent to apprise the national assembly of their
intention; wishing the king to be informed, that, if an armed force were
necessary to secure the public tranquillity, the citizens themselves
were the most proper persons to be entrusted with the commission.
The unsettled state of Paris, now suffering from a scarcity of bread,
furnished, however, a plausible pretext for the augmentation of the
troops, which increased the calamity. ‘When it is with the greatest
difficulty,’ says one of the electors, ‘that we can procure provision
for the inhabitants, was it necessary to increase the famine and our
fears, by calling together a number of soldiers, who were dispersed
through all the provinces? These troops,’ he adds, ‘were destined to
guard the frontiers, whilst the representatives of the nation are
deliberating on the formation of a constitution. But this constitution,
desired by the king, and demanded by all the provinces of France, has to
cope with dangerous interiour enemies.’
The national assembly, likewise, could not but perceive, that more
soldiers were stationed near them, than would have been sufficient to
repel a foreign invasion; and Mirabeau, with his usual fervour, animated
them to action, by a lively picture of their situation. ‘Thirty-five
thousand men,’ he observed, ‘are now distributed between Paris and
Versailles; and twenty thousand more are expected. Trains of artillery
follow them; and places are already marked out for batteries. They have
made sure of all the communications.—All our entrances are intercepted;
our roads, our bridges, and our public walks, are changed into military
posts. The notorious events, the secret orders, and precipitate
counter-orders—in short, preparations for war, strike every eye, and
fill with indignation every heart. Gentlemen, if the question were only
the insulted dignity of the assembly, it would demand the attention of
the king himself; for should he not take care, that we be treated with
decency, since we are deputies of the nation from which his glory
emanates, which alone constitutes the splendour of the throne?—Yes; of
that nation, who will render the person of the king honourable in
proportion as he respects himself? Since his wish is to command free
men, it is time to banish the old odious forms, those insulting
proceedings, which too easily persuade the courtiers, who surround the
prince, that royal majesty consists in the abasing relation of master
and slave; that a legitimate and beloved king ought on all occasions to
show himself with the aspect of an irritated tyrant; or, of those
usurpers condemned by their melancholy fate, to mistake the tender and
flattering sentiments of confidence.—And who will dare to say, that
circumstances have rendered necessary these menacing measures? On the
contrary, I am going to demonstrate, that they are equally useless and
dangerous, considered either with respect to good order, the quieting of
the public, or the safety of the throne: and, far from appearing the
fruit of a sincere attachment to the person of the monarch, they can
only gratify private passions, and cover perfidious designs. Undoubtedly
I do not know every pretext, every artifice of the enemies of
reformation, since I cannot divine with what plausible reason they have
coloured the pretended want of troops, at a moment, when not only their
inutility, but their danger strikes every mind.
‘With what eye will the people, harassed by so many calamities, see this
swarm of idle soldiers come to dispute with them their morsel of bread?
The contrast of the plenty enjoyed by one, with the indigence of the
other; of the security of the soldiers, to whom the manna falls, without
it’s being necessary for them to think of to-morrow, with the anguish of
the people, who obtain nothing but by hard labour and painful sweat; is
sufficient to make every heart sink with despondency. Added to this,
gentlemen, the presence of the troops heats the imagination of the
populace; and, by continually presenting new fears, excites an universal
effervescence, till the citizens are at their very fire-sides a prey to
every kind of terrour. The people, roused and agitated, form tumultuous
assemblies; and, giving way to their impetuosity, precipitate themselves
into danger—for fear neither calculates nor reasons!’ He concluded with
moving an address to the king, representing, that the people were
extremely alarmed by the assembling of such a number of troops, and the
preparations made to form camps during this season of scarcity; and to
remonstrate respecting the conduct of those, who sought to destroy the
confidence that ought to subsist between the king and the
representatives of the people—a confidence, which alone can enable them
to fulfil their functions, and establish the reform expected from their
zeal by a suffering nation.
This speech produced the desired effect; and the motion being carried,
Mirabeau was requested to prepare an address for their consideration.
The purport of the address was an abridgement of the above speech;
respectful; nay, even affectionate; but spirited and noble.
Yet this remonstrance, so well calculated to preserve the dignity of the
monarch, and appease the agitation of the public, produced no other
effect than a supercilious answer, that only tended to increase the want
of confidence, to which disgust gave a new edge. For, instead of
attending to the prayer of the nation, the king asserted, that the
tumultuous and scandalous scenes, which had passed at Paris, and at
Versailles, under his own eyes, and those of the national assembly, were
sufficient to induce him, one of whose principal duties it was to watch
over the public safety, to station troops round Paris.—Still, he
declared, that, far from intending to interrupt their freedom of debate,
he only wished to preserve them even from all apprehension of tumult and
violence. If, however, the necessary presence of the troops continue to
give umbrage, he was willing, at the request of the assembly, to
transfer the states-general to Noyon or Soissons; and to repair himself
to Compiégne, in order to maintain the requisite intercourse with the
assembly. This answer signified nothing; or, rather, it formally
announced, that the king would not send away the troops. Obvious as was
the meaning, and contemptible as was the dissimulation; yet, as it came
from the sovereign, the fountain of fortune and honours, some of the
supple hands of the deputies applauded.—But, Mirabeau was not to be
cajoled by such shallow fallacy. ‘Gentlemen,’ said he, impatiently, ‘the
goodness of the king’s heart is so well known, that we might tranquilly
confide in his virtue, did he always act from himself.—But, the
assurances of the king are no guarantee for the conduct of his
ministers, who have not ceased to mislead his good disposition.—And have
we yet to learn, that the habitual confidence of the french in their
king is less a virtue than a vice, if it extend to all parts of the
administration?
‘Who amongst us is ignorant, in fact, that it is our blind, giddy
inconsideration, which has led us from century to century, from fault to
fault, to the crisis that now afflicts us, and which ought at last to
open our eyes, if we have not resolved to be headstrong children and
slaves, till the end of time?
‘The reply of the king is a pointed refusal. The ministry would have it
regarded only as a simple form of assurance and goodness; and they have
affected to think, that we have made our demand, without attaching much
interest to it’s success, and only to appear to have made it. It is
necessary to undeceive the ministry—Certainly, my opinion is, not to
fail in the confidence and respect which we owe to the virtues of the
king; but I likewise advise, that we be no more inconsistent, timid, and
wavering in our measures.—Certainly, there is no need to deliberate on
the removal proposed; for, in short, notwithstanding the king’s answer,
we will not go to Noyon, nor to Soissons—We have not demanded this
permission; nor will we, because it is scarcely probable, that we should
ever desire to place ourselves between two or three bodies of troops;
those which invest Paris, and those which might fall upon us from
Flanders and Alsace. We have demanded the removal of the troops—that was
the object of our address!—We have not asked permission to flee before
them; but only that they should be sent from the capital. And it is not
for ourselves, that we have made this demand; for they know very well,
that it was suggested by a concern for the general interest, not by any
sentiment of fear. At this moment, the presence of the troops disturbs
the public order, and may produce the most melancholy events.—Our
removal, far from preventing, would, on the contrary, only aggravate the
evil. It is necessary, then, to restore peace, in spite of the friends
of disorder; it is necessary, to be consistent with ourselves; and to be
so, we have only to adhere to one line of conduct, which is to insist,
without relaxing, that the troops be sent away, as the only sure way to
obtain it.’
This speech, delivered on the 11th of july, produced no further decision
in the assembly, though it kept the attention of the members fixt to a
point.
But things were now drawing rapidly to a crisis; for this very day
Necker, who had been retained in place, only to hoodwink the people, was
dismissed, with an injunction not to mention his dismission; and to
leave the kingdom in twenty-four hours. These orders he servilely
obeyed; and, with all the promptitude of personal fear, said, without
the least emotion, to the nobleman, who brought the king’s commands, ‘we
shall meet this evening at the council;’ and continued to converse, in
his usual strain of smoothness, with the company at dinner. Miserable
weakness! This man, who professed himself the friend of the people, and
who had so lately promised ‘to live or die with them,’ had not, when,
brought to the test, sufficient magnanimity to warn them where danger
threatened.—For he must have known, that this dismission was the signal
of hostilities: yet, fleeing like a felon, he departed in disguise,
keeping the secret with all the caution of cowardice.[12]
The next day, the appointment of the new ministry, men particularly
obnoxious to the public, made it known to the people; who viewed with
melancholy horrour the awful horizon, where had long been gathering the
storm, now ready to burst on their devoted heads. The agitation of the
public mind, indeed, resembled a troubled sea; which, having been put in
motion by a raging tornado, gradually swells, until the whole element,
wave rolling on wave, exhibits one unbounded commotion. All eyes were
now opened, all saw the approaching blast; the hollow murmurs of which
had inspired a confused terrour for some time past.
It had been proposed on the 10th, at the _Hôtel-de-Ville_, as a
regulation of the _Garde-Bourgeoise_, that twelve hundred men should be
raised at a time, to be relieved every week; and the capital having been
divided, at the election, into sixty districts, only twenty would be
called out of each. And it was further resolved, that the districts
should rest embodied until the entire evacuation of the troops,
excepting those who formed the common compliment of the guards. The
following day it was decreed; an address was voted to the national
assembly, to request their mediation with the king, to sanction
immediately the city militia; and the sittings of the committee were
adjourned till monday, the 13th. But some of the electors, having heard
on sunday, that the populace were all repairing to the _Hôtel-de-Ville_,
hastened there about six o’clock in the evening, and found the hall
indeed crowded with people of all conditions. A thousand confused voices
demanded arms, and orders to found the _tocsin_.
At eight o’clock, the patrol guard was relieved, at the
_Hôtel-de-Ville_, and the multitude pressed on the soldiers to disarm
them; redoubling the cry for arms at the moment; and even threatened to
set fire to the hall. But, still observing some respect for
subordination, they demanded, a little imperiously, it is true, an
order, in virtue of which, the citizens might arm themselves to repulse
the danger that menaced the capital—and amidst these clamours, several
precipitate reports painted, in the most lively colours, this danger.
One of the crowd said, that, no sooner had the news of the dismission of
Necker reached Paris, than the people hastened to a sculptor’s, and,
seizing the bulls of that minister, and of the duke of Orleans, they
were now actually carrying them through the streets:—Another informed
them, that the multitude had rushed into the different theatres, at the
hour of opening them, and required, that they should be instantly
shut;[13] and that in consequence all the spectators had been sent
away:—A third announced four cannons, placed at the entrance of the
_Champs Elysées_, with their cannoneers ready to light their matches,
which were to begin the combat; and that these four cannons were
supported by a regiment of cavalry, which, advancing under the command
of the prince de Lambesc to the place of Louis 15th, was stationed by
the bridge that leads to the Thuilleries. He added also, that a
_cavalier_ of this regiment, passing by a soldier of the french guards,
had fired his pistol at him; and, that the prince de Lambesc himself had
galloped into the garden, sabre in hand, followed by a detachment, who
put to flight the old men, women, and children, that were peaceably
taking their customary walk; nay, that he had actually killed, with his
own hand, an old man, who was escaping from the tumult. The reporter, it
is true, forgot to notice, that the populace had begun to pelt the
prince with the stones, that were lying ready, near the buildings which
were not finished. Startled, perhaps, by this resistance, and despising
the mob, that he expected, only by his presence, to have intimidated, in
a delirium, most probably, of terrour and astonishment, he wounded an
unarmed man, who fled before him. Be that as it may, this wanton outrage
excited the indignation necessary to fire every spirit.
The electors being still pressed for arms, and unable to furnish them,
at eleven o’clock decreed, that the districts should be immediately
convoked; and that they would repair to all the posts of armed citizens,
to beg them, in the name of their country, to avoid all species of
riot.—But this was not the moment to talk of peace, when all were making
ready for battle.—The tumult now became general. To arms! To arms!
re-echoed from all quarters—and the whole city was instantly in motion,
seeking for weapons of defence. Whilst the women and children rent the
air with shrieks and lamentations, the cannons were fired; and the
_tocsins_ of the different parish churches joined by degrees, to excite,
and continue, the universal alarm.
Still all their thoughts were turned on defensive measures. Many of the
citizens, by ransacking the warehouses of arms, and catching up spits
and pokers, appeared with weapons in their hands to second their
determinate countenances; and being joined by some of the french guards,
more completely accoutred, forced those foreign mercenaries, who had
first awakened their fury, to retreat, fleeing like the beasts of the
desert, before the bold and generous lion. Though victorious in this
midnight fray, because determined to conquer, still they had scarcely
any fire arms; and were as inexpert in the use of those they found, as
the inhabitants of capitals commonly are—But indignation made each of
them, so restless was their courage, seize something to defend himself
with: hammers, axes, shovels, pikes, all were sought for, and clenched
in hands nerved by heroism; yes, by true heroism, for personal safety
was disregarded in the common danger. Wives assisted to beat out pikes
for their husbands, and children ran about to pile up stones in
readiness for to-morrow. To increase the apprehensions of the night, one
of the barriers was set on fire; and a band of desperate robbers, taking
advantage of the confusion, began to pillage some houses. To arms! was
the cry of danger, and the watch-word of the city—for who could close
their eyes? Whilst the tocsin drowning the murmurs of rage, and
distress, made the confusion solemn.
Different sounds excited different emotions at Versailles; for there the
heart, beating high with exultation, gave way to the most intemperate
joy.—Already the courtiers imagined, that the whole mischief was
crushed, and that they had the assembly at their mercy.
Intoxicated by success, a little too soon reckoned on, the queen, the
count d’Artois, and their favourites, visited the haunt of the bribed
ruffians, who were lurking in ambush, ready to fall upon their prey;
encouraging them by an engaging affability of behaviour, and more
substantial marks of favour, to forget every consideration, but their
commands. And so flattered were they by the honied words, and coquetish
smiles of the queen, that they promised, as they drained the cup in her
honour, not to sheath their swords, till France was compelled to
obedience, and the national assembly dispersed. With savage ferocity
they danced to the sound of music attuned to slaughter, whilst plans of
death and devastation gave the zest to the orgies, that worked up their
animal spirits to the highest pitch. After this account, any reflections
on the baneful effects of power, or on the unrestrained indulgence of
pleasure, that could thus banish tenderness from the female bosom, and
harden the human heart, would be an insult to the reader’s sensibility.
How silent is now Versailles!—The solitary foot, that mounts the
sumptuous stair-case, rests on each landing-place, whilst the eye
traverses the void, almost expecting to see the strong images of fancy
burst into life.—The train of the Louises, like the posterity of the
Banquoes, pass in solemn sadness, pointing at the nothingness of
grandeur, fading away on the cold canvass, which covers the nakedness of
the spacious walls—whilst the gloominess of the atmosphere gives a
deeper shade to the gigantic figures, that seem to be sinking into the
embraces of death.
Warily entering the endless apartments, half shut up, the fleeting
shadow of the pensive wanderer, reflected in long glasses, that vainly
gleam in every direction, slacken the nerves, without appalling the
heart; though lascivious pictures, in which grace varnishes
voluptuousness, no longer seductive, strike continually home to the
bosom the melancholy moral, that anticipates the frozen lesson of
experience. The very air is chill, seeming to clog the breath; and the
wasting dampness of destruction appears to be stealing into the vast
pile, on every side.
The oppressed heart seeks for relief in the garden; but even there the
same images glide along the wide neglected walks—all is fearfully still;
and, if a little rill creeping through the gathering moss down the
cascade, over which it used to rush, bring to mind the description of
the grand water works, it is only to excite a languid smile at the
futile attempt to equal nature.
Lo! this was the palace of the great king!—the abode of
magnificence! Who has broken the charm?—Why does it now inspire only
pity?—Why;—because nature, smiling around, presents to the
imagination materials to build farms, and hospitable mansions,
where, without raising idle admiration, that gladness will reign,
which opens the heart to benevolence, and that industry, which
renders innocent pleasure sweet.
Weeping—scarcely conscious that I weep, O France! over the vestiges of
thy former oppression; which, separating man from man with a fence of
iron, sophisticated all, and made many completely wretched; I tremble,
lest I should meet some unfortunate being, fleeing from the despotism of
licentious freedom, hearing the snap of the _guillotine_ at his heels;
merely because he was once noble, or has afforded an asylum to those,
whose only crime is their name—and, if my pen almost bound with
eagerness to record the day, that levelled the Bastille with the dust,
making the towers of despair tremble to their base; the recollection,
that still the abbey is appropriated to hold the victims of revenge and
suspicion, palsies the hand that would fain do justice to the assault,
which tumbled into heaps of ruins walls that seemed to mock the
resistless force of time.—Down fell the temple of despotism;
but—despotism has not been buried in it’s ruins!—Unhappy country!—when
will thy children cease to tear thy bosom?—When will a change of
opinion, producing a change of morals, render thee truly free?—When will
truth give life to real magnanimity, and justice place equality on a
stable seat?—When will thy sons trust, because they deserve to be
trusted; and private virtue become the guarantee of patriotism? Ah!—when
will thy government become the most perfect, because thy citizens are
the most virtuous!