I will endeavour in these letters to give some details of the present
moral and political condition of France.
Twelve years of unceasing revolution have changed the face of a country
highly favoured by nature. Amidst the dilapidations of civil discord,
and the ravages of foreign armies, France has become doubly formidable
to Europe, and after the bloodshed, the misery, and the upheaval of
the Revolution, the nation has resumed all the habits of her ancient
system, and seeks internal repose in the arms of a military despotism.
We embarked at Dover, on board the _Venus_ for Calais.
Before the war, the price of the passage was half a guinea, on the
signature of the preliminaries of peace six guineas was the price
demanded; but this is now reduced to one guinea and a half for each
person, with five shillings to the mate, and seven to the steward. The
sailors also expect to be remembered. For taking a carriage on board
the fee is two guineas.
At Dover and Calais passports are examined with the greatest attention.
My passport was signed by the King, and countersigned by Lord Pelham,
Secretary of State. At Dover all that was required was that it
should be properly verified at the Custom House, where it was again
countersigned by the controller.
At Calais the ceremony was much more scrupulous and imposing.
Unfortunately, at the time of our arrival the tide was ebbing, and
we were forced to wait outside the harbour until the tide flowed. We
did not enter until three in the morning, having been at sea fourteen
hours!
When we anchored, an officer came on board to inspect our passport.
He informed us that it was impossible to enter the town until the
gates were opened at eight o’clock in the morning, but that there was
a little “cabaret,” to which strangers were permitted to visit for
refreshment.
I gave the officer a letter of recommendation addressed to the
Commissary-General Mengoud, requesting him, on behalf of the lady who
was with me, to deliver it immediately, not doubting that it would
facilitate us the disagreeable necessity of sitting up all night in the
public cabin of the packet.
The officer declared he dared not disturb Monsieur Mengoud at night.
We remained until seven o’clock in the morning, in this uncomfortable
situation, when exhaustion compelled us to leave the vessel and repair
to the “cabaret.”
We were then conducted to a little pig-stye beside the gates of the
town, where we underwent a pleasant ceremony called “La visite de la
personne.”
Four of the passengers could only be admitted at a time. Two officers
of the Customs passed their hands over the ladies’ dresses, and
contented themselves with asking the gentlemen whether they had any
contraband goods about them. After this we were allowed to enter the
“cabaret,” a filthy hovel, full of fishermen, drinking beer and gin.
Here we were regaled with coffee and bread, so disgustingly bad that
we could not touch either, and for which each person was charged three
English shillings.
I could not help observing to my hostess, that I did not doubt but that
when I next visited France, I should have the honour of waiting upon
her husband as Mayor of Calais, for she was certain of soon amassing a
vast fortune.
There were nine of us in company, and she cleared twenty-seven
shillings in a moment.
[Sidenote: ARRIVAL AT CALAIS]
I conversed with one of the fishermen sitting in the room. He stated
that in no part of France had the peace of England caused more joy
than at Calais, which had suffered extremely by the war, where the
inhabitants were in a most deplorable condition; the young and the
middle-aged, to avoid being famished, had no other resource than to
join the armies, which chiefly subsisted upon the plunder of foreign
countries, for they had no alternative between famine and conquest.
These opinions were fully supported by a young man who joined in the
conversation, who said that only dire necessity forced him to become a
soldier.
He had served with reluctance in all the campaigns against the English,
and was now a captain of Grenadiers. The French army, he said, took no
interest in the events occurring in Paris, nor in the Revolution, their
common principle being to obey their officers and plunder for bread.
The language of every general was the same, “Behind you is nothing but
want and misery, before you glory and plenty.”
They fought for glory and plenty, but never liberty, which he
acknowledged no Frenchman could either understand or enjoy.
I remarked upon the inconvenience to which travellers were exposed by
the port regulations. He replied: “It is no fault of our municipality,
they are men of worth. It is the will of the First Consul and must be
obeyed.” I inquired whether a “douceur” would not produce admittance
into the town. He answered no sum of money could purchase disobedience
to an order of the Consul, for the Argus he had planted in it was the
terror of the whole department, and nothing escaped the prying eyes of
his spies and informers.
About nine o’clock the officer returned with the welcome
news--“Monsieur Mengoud would be happy to receive us.” We were then all
conducted to the town-hall, where we answered to our names, then we
were permitted to go to our respective inns, after a solemn charge to
hold ourselves in readiness to present our passports.
After refreshing myself at the “Lion d’Argent” (one of the best hotels
in France, and where an Englishman is sure to meet with attention and
civility) I proceeded to the house of the Commissary-General, a man
who, fulfilling the orders of the executive directors, had introduced
French troops and ignited the flames of civil discord in unhappy
Switzerland.
Such an interview could not be grateful to one of my habits of
thinking, the more so that amidst the cloud-capped mountains and
retired valleys of that once free, independent and prosperous country,
I had passed the happiest hours of my life.
The secretary announced my name. A voice of thunder roared, “Show him
in!”
I entered. Monsieur Mengoud desired me to be seated; the door was shut,
and we were left alone altogether.
He was a man of vast stature, and immense calibre, with a round
countenance, not unlike in appearance to our Henry VIII., large rolling
eyes, and bristly black hair.
The room was hung with carbines, horse pistols, daggers and a
pike--proper symbols of his trade.
I mentioned that as I had a lady with me, I had taken the liberty of
asking the officer to present my letter of introduction at an early
hour, hoping, from the known politeness of the French, she might have
experienced the indulgence always conceded to her sex.
MENGOUD. The orders of the Government make no distinction of sex.
MYSELF. I am aware a law is general, but I flattered myself
there might be some discretionary power in the person entrusted
with its execution.
MENGOUD. There is no power vested in any hands but those of the
Government of France.
MYSELF. I recollect an instance of the same kind which occurred
while I was in the garrison at Douvi, a fortified town.
MENGOUD. Examples drawn from the ancient Tyranny cannot apply to
the Republic.
MYSELF. Will this regulation continue?
MENGOUD. It is all the same to me.
MYSELF. Shall I experience any difficulties on my route to Paris?
MENGOUD. None.
MYSELF. When may I depart?
MENGOUD. Now, if you choose.
Here he called his secretary, ordered him to bring up my passport,
which he instantly signed, and after having desired me to proceed to
the Municipality for countersignment, with a profound bow gave me leave
to depart.
As soon as I had despatched my business at the Municipality I returned
to the “Lion d’Argent,” and found I had another ceremony to go through
at the Custom House, our portmanteaux had not been visited. Accordingly
I hastened thither, and after a most rigid search had been made, and I
had chastised one of the officers for strutting about wearing my cocked
hat for the amusement of his fellows, my things were removed to the inn.
While our property was being repacked, and the horses sent for, I paid
a visit to a respectable merchant I had known some years before, and
who had survived the havoc of the Revolution.
The information I received from him will form the subject of my next
letter.