When we reached it I found him grown grey, however, with suffering and
persecution. He received me with unfeigned pleasure, few Englishmen
had hitherto passed, and the sight of a countryman rejoiced his heart.
He told me that during the time of Terror, Dounne,[1] the Conventional
Deputy, took up his quarters in his hotel, and fared sumptuously upon
the fat of the land. In a very short time this representative of the
people contrived to absorb a vast quantity of wine, particularly port,
for which he had a great relish, and for none of this did he ever pay
one farthing.
One day after dinner he sent for Parker and inquired whether he had
any more port. The latter replied that unfortunately his stock was
exhausted. At this the Citizen Deputy expressed great regret. Two
hours later, he ordered, in consequence, poor Parker into arrest, and
sent him to a prison in Paris, without permitting him to make any
arrangements respecting his family concerns, or even to take leave of
his family.
He remained eighteen months in jail, cut off from his friends and
relations, while his house and property were completely at the mercy of
the Jacobins.
[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO AMIENS]
He has now returned to try his fortune once more at Boulogne, and I
sincerely hope English travellers will encourage a countryman, who is
highly deserving of their patronage.
I traversed after dinner several streets of the town. I found a great
number of private houses, convents and monasteries utterly demolished
and reduced to piles of ruins, giving the town the appearance of having
experienced a long and severe siege. I thought (for I forgot for a
moment the enlightened age of Reason) that all this devastation was the
result of the late bombardment of Lord Nelson. But I was in error. Only
one bomb fell into the town, and did no mischief.
The ruins everywhere visible were formerly the habitations of suspected
persons and religious and charitable foundations destroyed by the
Jacobins, when they overthrew what they were pleased to call prejudice
and superstition. Some of these buildings were remarkably handsome,
and it might have been supposed could have served for the use of the
public, but when the waters of bitterness overflow, destruction is
general and indiscriminate.
During the bombardment of the town, the French naval officers, among
whom was Jerome Bonaparte, brother of the First Consul, messed every
day at Parker’s. In contradistinction to the Deputy of the Convention,
they conducted themselves with the greatest liberality to this
Englishman during their residence.
Jerome put up at Parker’s by the express desire of his elder brother.
The inhabitants and the French officers scouted the idea of a
French invasion of England, and wondered that the bravest and most
distinguished admiral of the British Fleet should have been sent to
oppose an inconsiderable flotilla moored in Boulogne waters.
“Your countrymen,” they said, “are very brave, but you are a mercantile
nation, and merchants are always nervous. This town, as well as Calais
and Dunkerque were, before the war, filled by English refugees, persons
who sought shelter from the pursuit of their creditors.”
Considering the extraordinary severity of the English law of debtor
and creditor, I cannot avoid looking upon these with some slight
approbation, as affording to the unfortunate and improvident the means
of becoming careful and honest! and more advantageous resorts for the
debtor than the wood of America among rattlesnakes and savages.
So far, since the Peace, few persons of this description have arrived
at Boulogne, though many are expected.
To give any account of the present state of commerce here is quite out
of my power. I doubt if the town can be said to possess any. Formerly
the fishing was prosperous, and much shipbuilding was undertaken and
a smart smuggler’s trade carried on with the seaports on the opposite
side of the water.
It had been my intention to have slept at Montreuil-sur-Mer, a distance
of four posts or about twenty-three miles from Boulogne, but my
companion was so exhausted that we settled to pass the night at Samur,
the nearest post town. Although we were obliged to lodge at a miserable
inn, nothing could exceed the kind attention of the people who owned
it, they had but milk and coffee to give us, which were but slender
supports for persons just recovered from sea-sickness, and seven hours
had elapsed since dinner. However, as we had provided ourselves at
Calais with a fowl and two bottles of burgundy we were thus enabled to
make an excellent supper; the milk and coffee I poured into a bowl and
gave with a big French roll to a miserable creature at the gate. The
manner in which they were received and devoured absolutely confounded
me, for I had never seen the like in old France.
[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO AMIENS]
The next day we proceeded to Cormont, about five miles and a half,
where we changed horses, and from thence to Montreuil, situated on a
steep mountain and formerly a strong fortress.
Before the Revolution there was here an English convent, and a number
of English families, but the convent has been demolished, and the town
altogether abandoned by our people.
I entered into a political dialogue with two very respectable persons
whom I found at the inn, and asked them what was their opinion of the
Peace and their present Government. They expressed themselves content
with both. They observed that no man who had witnessed such scenes as
they had done could avoid rejoicing at an event which promised repose
to France.
The blood which had been spilt within and without their country had
sickened the French people with the very name of war. Then followed
the old and trite remark, that if England and France could join in a
cordial union they might _command the whole world_ and retain it
in a state of permanent peace. In their opinion the Peace was in favour
of England, and when I enumerated the names of the different colonies
we had restored to France they laughed at me and said, “You have taken
away our commerce, and what have we taken from you?”
They expressed themselves satisfied with the present Government, and
avowed that any Government which maintained order was preferable to
a state of anarchy. They assured me that they had witnessed scenes
which could not be described. They said, “We lived in times when no
man could trust his neighbour, much less speak his thoughts. A brother
could not confide in a brother.” Then I observed, “You have doubtless
had the guillotine permanent in your town?” “No, sir, it has never
been erected here, but many of our fellow townsmen were imprisoned
and executed at Arras.” “By Joseph Le Bon?” “The same.” “What induced
your people to destroy the Convent?” “With many fear of death,
with others because it was the fashion.” While we were engaged in
conversation, a person brought in a hare and a leveret, for which our
hostess paid ten sous. On my observing that provisions must, to judge
from this price, be extremely cheap in France, it was quickly proved
to me that any articles of necessity were inordinately dear; bread
I found was a halfpenny a pound dearer than in England. Our horses
being now harnessed, or rather corded, we took our leave, but we had
literally to penetrate through a column of beggars before we mounted
the carriage. They were mostly boys between fourteen and seventeen
years of age, and their number was three-and-twenty. I requested the
person with whom I had been conversing to explain why at eleven o’clock
in the morning these lads were not at work. He answered that they
had no work, and were in an utter state of indigence, their parents
not having the means of providing them with subsistence. On which I
observed that they might find ample occupation in the pursuits of
agriculture and husbandry, and asked if it was not highly injurious to
the community to suffer their boys not to be brought up to a trade.
He then whispered that while the Noblesse resided in the country, and
the Monasteries existed, vast numbers found employment, and those
who were out of a place were assisted by a charity of the religious
orders, but that since their destruction, the land had devolved in
other hands, and often to proprietors who were in Paris and never lived
on their estate. “It is evident,” said I, “that these poor people are
punished for their folly.” A fact he fully admitted. He mentioned that
the parents of these children were the persons now employed in the
business of agriculture, and that as for trades all those who were not
requisitioned for the armies were only too glad for the sake of bread
to serve different tradesmen and perform the duties formerly fulfilled
by boys, but, he added, “all in good time. These lads will be in the
next conscription, and then they will be provided for.” I thanked him
for his description, and after distributing a little money among these
children, I resumed my journey, pondering on the reversed order of
social life.
[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO AMIENS]
The Revolution, which was brought about ostensibly for the benefit of
the lower classes of society, has sunk them to a degree of degradation
and misfortune to which they never were reduced under the ancient
monarchy. They have been disinherited, stripped and deprived of every
resource for existence, except defeats of arms and the fleeting spoil
of vanquished nations. In the sententious language of Montesquieu,
“With an hundred thousand arms they have overthrown everything, while
with an hundred thousand feet they have crawled like insects.” This
reversion of social order must destroy sentiments of moral obligation.
Boys of fifteen beg for charity while their fathers and mothers toil in
the field! Full-grown men are engaged in avocations peculiar to youth.
A life of habitual indolence is encouraged in those who should be
toiling for those who gave them birth. From this they will shortly be
transplanted to the armies, without having been taught one occupation
by which they might obtain a livelihood when the period of service has
expired.
What is to be expected of such young men on their return as citizens?
They will be a dead stock on the community--a load on their friends, an
incumbrance to themselves, they who have been taught no other trade but
to handle a firelock, to parade and plunder--will merely be the terror
of peaceful citizens, and the Government will find the only mode of
disposing of them to send them back to the army.
Thus an immense permanent military establishment will result, and
will consist of an army which is the reservoir of the indolent and
profligate, who must be supported by the speculations of the merchant
and the labours of the farmer. This is in itself far more pernicious
than the _corvées_, the abolishment of which was one of the pleas
for the extirpation of the aristocracy.
To foreign nations the possession by France of such an immense force
ready to burst upon them at a single word of command must be an object
of terror and alarm. And in self-defence they too must maintain
powerful armies in the centre of Europe, in the midst of a profound and
general peace.
If an estimate is made of the many hundred thousand hands thus
withdrawn from the pursuits of agriculture, manufactures, and commerce,
some idea may be formed of the loss which huge standing armies cause to
the community at large.
Such arguments are, however, vain while the vast military establishment
of France is upheld.
Necessity compels every nation in Europe to provide for its own
security. The military force of France is justly pleaded as a reason
for maintaining a strong standing army in our island. How much more
reason have continental nations to adopt a similar precaution, for they
do not possess our advantage of being separated from France by a ditch?
A man who proposed the reduction of the English army at the present
time would be esteemed a madman. The continental powers are only
pursuing a system forced upon them by imperious necessity.
Nevertheless, much is to be hoped from the versatile and ingenious
character of the French people. A Frenchman can turn himself to
occupations which would never enter the brain of an Englishman or
German, and it is a common adage that if a Frenchman be turned adrift
and penniless on the wide world he will thrive and prosper.
If the situation of the nations on the continent be contrasted with
that of our happy country, we shall perceive that Great Britain enjoys
a decided advantage. All our soldiers and most of our sailors, before
their entrance into the Navy or Army, have been previously educated
to some industrial pursuit. Hence after a long war they rejoice in
returning to their former pursuits, and the country has nothing to
apprehend from them. They resume their former relations to society, and
every species of trade and manufacture is open to them.
The present Government should seriously reflect upon these undoubted
facts if the First Consul is sincerely desirous of peace.
These reflections have led me out of my road to Nampont (a post and a
half from Montreuil). Here we changed horses and proceeded to Bernay,
where we again changed.
[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO AMIENS]
The weather was favourable and we hastened on, hoping to reach Amiens
before dark. Nouviou was our next stage, whence we traversed a flat and
unpleasant tract of country to Abbeville.
We passed a pretty château surrounded by trees. It belonged to a
Monsieur de St. Quentin, who, having emigrated, found himself deprived
of his property, which was purchased for a trifling sum from the
Republican Government by a merchant of Abbeville.
Since the proscription of emigrants has been removed by the First
Consul, Monsieur de St. Quentin has returned to France. He now resides
at a little village, formerly belonging to him, within sight of the
mansion which was once his. None of his property has been restored to
him, and no allowance so far granted by the State, he therefore lives
in a forlorn state of poverty. Our postillion had lived twelve years
with M. de St. Quentin in the capacity of a gardener. He pointed to a
young plantation and said, sadly, “All those trees were planted by me.”
Love of country must be a predominant passion in the mind of a man who
after twelve years’ exile is content to reside in it in penury, and
endure the mortification of being constantly within view of his former
property. We dined at Reichord’s hotel, were well entertained, and the
charges reasonable. But our meal was rendered uncomfortable on account
of the crowd of beggars who were looking through the window and craving
charity. As fast as one crowd was dismissed another advanced upon their
heels. A gentleman who was there declared he counted over a hundred
persons. The city of Abbeville is old and wretchedly built, many of the
houses being made of wood there is a gloomy aspect in every part of it.
Before the Revolution it was celebrated for its damasks, and the vast
establishment of Vau Robois, established by Louis XIV., gave employment
to over 4000 persons; but this industry perished in the Revolution.
Before the war the population of Abbeville was computed at 22,000, it
is now reduced to less than 18,000 souls.
Ally-le-haut Clocher was our next stopping-place--the only circumstance
worthy of notice there was a red cap on the top of the church steeple,
a mark of Jacobinism; during the nine miles traversed between Abbeville
and this place we never remarked one cheerful prospect or one well
cultivated lot of ground. At Flixecourt stood a tree of Liberty, the
first we had noticed since our arrival in France. From this place we
proceeded to Picquigny, where we again changed horses and thence to
Amiens, a stage of nine miles. It was late when we arrived, and to our
misfortune (as you will learn later) I mistook the house to which I
had been recommended. By the light of the lantern I read _Pollet_
instead of _La Poste_, and in consequence drove to Madame Pollet’s
inn, “Le Lion d’Or.”
Before I close this letter I will make a few observations on the
general face of the country and the state of agriculture. The soil is
good, but cultivation is deplorable.
There are scarcely any enclosures, trees have been ruthlessly cut down,
and the hills completely stripped of timber. I saw neither cattle nor
sheep pasturing.
[Sidenote: DESCRIPTION OF AMIENS]
Nothing can exceed the wretchedness of the implements of husbandry
employed but the wretched appearance of the persons using them. Women
at the plough and young girls driving a team give but an indifferent
idea of the progress of agriculture under the Republic. There are no
farmhouses dispersed over the fields. The farmers reside together in
remote villages, a circumstance calculated to retard the business of
cultivation. The interiors of the houses are filthy, the farmyards
in the utmost disorder, and the miserable condition of the cattle
sufficiently bespeaks the poverty of their owner. Meat of all kinds is
poor and unnutritious, but the poultry is excellent. The wine is sour
and worse than vinegar and water, and even in the great inns where I
paid a high price for so-called burgundy and bordeaux, I never drank
one glass of even _tolerable wine_ (Chantilly excepted) between
Calais and the capital.
Between Montreuil and Flixecourt we were greatly diverted at the sight
of two women ploughing with three asses, although this confirms the
opinion upon which I have always insisted, but not ludicrously, that
if we in England made more use of asses in husbandry advantage might
be derived to the community and a saving to the farmer. If instead of
harassing and ill-treating these useful animals we gave them a little
more consequence in the society of brutes and raised them from the
condition of slaves to servants, they would possess more spirit and
energy and be more tractable.
The asses at the plough looked plump and sleek and performed their work
apparently as well as horses. After having seen a goat at the plough
I think no one should be surprised that I plead the cause of the poor
ass, besides I acknowledge myself to be the friend of asses.
V
DESCRIPTION OF AMIENS, AND HAPPY RELEASE
FROM THE “LION D’OR”
At the time we arrived at the inn, the people of the town were just
leaving the theatre, which overflowed on account of a new piece having
been represented that night. A Frenchman would rather be called a knave
than be accused of a want of _goût_. Hence the theatres are always
crowded at the representation of a new piece (whatever may be the
celebrity of the author, or even if he enjoy no celebrity at all).
In England, at a first representation, the house is seldom half filled,
except by friends of the author, who is either bowing to the manager or
quaking in the green room, waiting for the sentence of the critics in
the pit.
In France, every man fancies himself a born critic, and makes a point
of attending the theatre to form part of the general tribunal.
The author generally stations himself in the most distinguished part of
the theatre, where, with all the assurance of certain success, he bows
to the pit, gallery, and the ladies. If the piece succeeds he carries
himself high, and confesses that his countrymen are the only men of
taste in the world. But should the play unhappily be damned (a not
unfrequent circumstance) his deportment changes, he clenches his fists,
gives a horrible and ghastly smile, and swears the audience are a gang
of _f-- canaille, scélérats, bandits_, and to crown all, “_Des
gens de mauvais goût_.” When he has reached this climax of epithets
he rushes furiously from the theatre.
It happened that on the night of our arrival at Amiens a very good
piece had been presented to the public. But my inclinations (a proof of
_mauvais goût_) were directed to a good supper.
In order to give a proper notion of the dexterity of Madame Pollet,
hostess of the “Lion d’Or,” I must describe our mode of living in her
house.
We were shown into a large room, containing four chairs, a small round
table, and a chest of drawers. In a corner stood a dome bedstead,
prettily hung with blue silk curtains, the bed covered by a blue silk
counterpane. It is a nasty custom in France to eat and drink in one’s
bedroom at an inn. I ordered supper for two persons.
In a quarter of an hour the following dishes were served in succession.
A jowl of salmon (the largest and fattest I ever saw), two of the
finest soles I ever beheld, a partridge, a pigeon, a hashed hare,
a fowl, bouillie beef, spinach, and other vegetables--a bottle of
Picardy beer, a bottle of champagne, and one bottle of Volnay wine. The
unceasing procession of viands surpassed the scene at Barataria.
[Sidenote: DESCRIPTION OF AMIENS]
My wife ate scarcely anything, but I was hungry and took courage. No
sooner had I despatched my quota of a dish when another followed, and
another and another.
I do believe it would have continued all night if nature, being
entirely exhausted, had not obliged me to cry mercy.
Having successfully begged for quarter and forbidden any dessert, I
retired for the night, having desired to see the Cathedral in the
morning. It must not be imagined that I attacked every dish as it
advanced--I made a hearty supper on a bit of salmon, part of a sole and
some hashed hare; the rest of the feast went down untouched.
In the morning we went to see the Cathedral--one of the finest
monuments of the piety of ancient days. It has escaped in some measure
the onslaughts of Revolutionaries, though its decorations have been
grievously mutilated. At the principal portal all the heads of the
saints have been struck off, and the sculptured groups representing
Scripture history have been so disfigured as to be rendered ridiculous.
The admirable marble statue of the weeping child has received
considerable injury, but the beautiful chapels on each side of the
choir are in an excellent state of preservation, as well as the marble
statues over the altars.
Nothing is missing from them but the gold and silver candlesticks
and the rich ornaments of the church; even the bones of the tutelary
saint have been unmolested, although the immense box of silver in
which they were deposited has been seized. The grand altar-piece of
the Cathedral, which spreads across the whole breadth of the church
and rises majestically towards the top, has outlived the fury which
threatened its destruction; a circumstance which must be ascribed
solely to the spirit and good sense of the citizens of Amiens. For
when the Revolutionary army from Paris had commenced a general sack of
the Cathedral and were demolishing its ornaments, the National Guard
of Amiens arrived with its drums beating; a pitched battle ensued in
the aisles, which did not finish till the _sans culottes_ were
driven out of the Cathedral; the citizens afterwards mounted guard over
the minster and saved it from the common ruin a ruffianly horde had
involved S. Denys and half of the finest churches in France.
Bishop Evrard began to build this edifice in the year 1220, during
the reign of Philip Augustus. Three architects superintended the
work--Robert de Luzarche, Thomas de Cormont, and Maître Renoult. In
three years the foundations were laid, a marvellously rapid work when
their solidity and extent are considered. The Cathedral is built on
irregular ground, and required very deep foundations.
Upon the death of Evrard, his successor, Godfroi d’Eu, continued the
building, and during the fourteen years he held the episcopal see piles
were raised and the Cathedral completed as far as the arched roof.
Arnold d’Amiens succeeded Godfroi, and he was followed by Gerard of
Couchy and Alexander of Neuilly; and under their successor, Bernard
of Abbeville, the work was completed in 1260, forty years after the
foundation stone was laid. This last ecclesiastic adorned the Cathedral
with an immense pointed window, which now ornaments the central part
of the choir. Beneath it may still be read the following inscription:
“_Bernardus Epis. me dedit anno MCCLIX._”
Nothing can now exceed the gloomy appearance of this church, shorn of
all its former decorations. When we entered there were not more than
six old women and a veteran soldier of artillery at their matins, all
shivering with cold and hunger. When we associated this circumstance
with the absence and former persecution of all ministers of religion,
it gave a chilly aspect to the whole scene and damped all those
emotions of the soul which arise from contemplating a vast edifice
formerly consecrated to piety.
[Sidenote: DESCRIPTION OF AMIENS]
On our return we viewed the ruins of a building, once the palace of
Henry IV., situated at the back of the “Lion d’Or.” It is surprising
that the Revolutionary army, in its rage for destruction, left this
vestige of royalty untouched. But the fury of the Jacobins seems to
have been directed principally against the sculptured heads of saints,
for none of the houses in the Close, formerly the Canons’ residences,
have been destroyed. They became national property, but they remain
until this day without a purchaser. I have been informed that it is the
intention of the First Consul to revive the discipline of the Cathedral
and restore these houses to the Chapter. A Bishop has been already
nominated; but as the Episcopal Palace has been destroyed, a proper
house will be provided for him at the expense of the Government.
When a person is travelling in the French Republic, if he arrives at
any town which has been a theatre of Revolutionary carnage, he will
have no difficulty in collecting anecdotes (should he desire it), some
pathetic, some ludicrous, and some horribly jocose, together with many
entertaining lies.
France still bleeds at every pore--she is a vast mourning family, clad
in sackcloth. It is impossible at this time for a contemplative mind to
be gay in France. At every footstep the merciless and sanguinary route
of fanatical barbarians disgust the sight and sicken humanity--on all
sides ruins obtrude themselves on the eye and compel the question, “For
what and for whom are all this havoc and desolation?”
It was in this city that that execrable villain, Joseph Le Bon met his
well-earned doom. He was executed among the curses and yells of that
very populace who a few weeks previously had received him with shouts
of approval and loaded him with caresses.
When he first reached Amiens a poor harmless priest fell under his
displeasure. Le Bon issued an order for the arrest of the ecclesiastic,
who sought refuge in the woods. This roused the fury of the vindictive
tyrant, who wrote instantly to the Committee of Public Safety,
declaring he had discovered a great conspiracy, and that an agent of
Pitt had fled to the woods, but he was about to adopt vigorous measures
to bring the criminal to justice.
The _générale_ was beaten, the tocsin sounded, and all armed
citizens were ordered to scour the woods and seize upon the agent
of Pitt. On the ensuing day the poor priest, exhausted with fatigue,
hunted like a wild beast and utterly famished, returned to the city
and surrendered himself to his tormentors. He was at once carried
before the Revolutionary Tribunal. He was asked his name, and had no
sooner replied than the jury, without hearing indictment or evidence,
pronounced him guilty, and he was sentenced to death. Being remanded to
the prison he spent the night in prayer. When the Gens d’armes arrived
the next morning to take him to the place of execution they found him
resigned and courageous. Fortified by his religious sentiments and
conscious innocence, he proclaimed that he preferred death to living
in a society in which every spark of justice was extinguished. The
time was come, he said, when good men should no longer desire to live,
and he would show his fellow-citizens in how calm a manner an innocent
man could die. He refused to get into the cart, and with a steady
step and cheerful countenance, surrounded by the Sbirri of Le Bon and
the miscreants who delight in bloodshed, he walked to the scaffold,
which he mounted with joy. But even in the moment of death the bloody
tyrant continued to torment him, he desired the execution to be delayed
until his women appeared at the window of an opposite house; and when
these unfeeling wretches, with a ferocity which disgraced their sex,
waved their handkerchiefs as a symptom of exultation, the fatal knife
was permitted to fall and the victim released from a world which was
unworthy of him.
[Sidenote: DESCRIPTION OF AMIENS]
I have described this melancholy event in order to contrast it with
Le Bon’s own behaviour at the place of execution. The night before he
suffered excruciating agonies of mind. At intervals he attempted to
destroy himself, but fear and hope withheld his hand. He was heard to
give loud shrieks, yells of rage, disappointment, terror and despair.
When he was brought out of the prison to be seated in the cart, the
shout that rent the air cannot be described--a person who was present
assured me that the howls of cannibals were nothing compared to it.
The populace spat upon him; they asked him, as it was a fine day why
he did not walk to the guillotine, as the priest had done a few weeks
previously, and die like a man? He was goaded with a thousand terrible
questions; and as the procession moved women and children danced in the
streets, clapping their hands, and reproaching him with a number of
bitter recollections.
Le Bon was convulsed with passion, and sometimes he cried; but when
he reached the scaffold he gave a horrible cry, which drew peals of
laughter from the spectators. He had to be lifted out of the cart, fear
had paralysed his strength; during the short period before the knife
descended a hundred mocking voices wished him _bon voyage_ and a
happy meeting with his friends in hell. Thus amidst curses did this
ferocious monster expire.
Amiens exhibits nothing new or interesting since the Revolution. The
shag and plush manufactories and the manufactory of woollen stuffs and
goats’ hair continue, but have suffered severely by the events of the
last ten years. Trade is still dull, but it is hoped it will soon be
rendered more brisk by the return of peace.
On our return to the “Lion d’Or” we were charged seven pounds eight
shillings sterling money of the Kingdom of Great Britain for a supper
in the Republic of France! I ordered horses, resolving never to set
foot again in a house where I had been so egregiously cheated. Just
before I stepped into the carriage Madame Pollet made her appearance
and exclaimed, “Êtes-vous content, monsieur?”
I promised to let my countrymen know what good cheer they might expect
at her house, not forgetting the reasonableness of her charges. I have
now fulfilled my promises.