THE ARSENAL. SITE OF THE BASTILLE. FAUBOURG STE. ANTOINE.
THE DONJON DE VINCENNES. SHORT ACCOUNT OF
FRANÇOIS DE NEUFCHÂTEAU. THE TEMPLE
[Sidenote: THE ARSENAL]
My principal object in going beyond the Bois des Vincennes was to
examine the agricultural dispositions and the improved plough of
François de Neufchâteau,[1] who has obtained a considerable celebrity
in France for the great encouragement he, when Minister of the
Interior, afforded to husbandry.
In this excursion we were accompanied by two men of very different
political characters. Monsieur P----, an avowed Royalist, and Monsieur
Dumond,[1] a moderate Republican. The former is distinguished for
his dramatic writings and by a very ingenious mode he has invented
to enable foreigners to pronounce French correctly without the aid
of an instructor. Monsieur Dumond is what we should call a gentleman
farmer--and has a large establishment at Epluches, near Pontoise, where
he makes an annual exhibition of sheep reared upon his own estate.
He possesses excellent stock and great skill in this branch of rural
economy. We promised ourselves great pleasure from the political battle
I was determined they should wage, and the instructive conversation of
M. Dumond upon farming and agricultural subjects.
After traversing the city in an easterly direction we alighted at
the Arsenal. This place was gutted at the outbreak of the Revolution
to supply arms to the sovereign people. It has never since been
replenished.
There are, however, still some considerable quantity of arms in it,
but I observed nothing particularly deserving of notice. The Bastille,
so famous in the early history of the Revolution, from having been the
first fortress over which the triumphant banner of the people waved, is
now no more. But the gardens, the “fosse,” and part of the wall remain.
The site of the Bastille, which the French vainly flattered themselves
would become their Runnymede, is instead a lasting monument of their
unfitness to be free--for it is impossible to walk over these ruins
without despising a race of men who, in a paroxysm of jealousy, pulled
down an ancient fortress for the sake of liberty, and twelve years
later suffered their whole country to be converted into a vast prison
where free speech and a free press are not tolerated.
From the site of the Bastille we proceeded along the Faubourg St.
Antoine, now the cleanest and most unfrequented part of Paris. What
a melancholy silence now reigns in that place! Who would suppose
that this district of Paris was formerly the focus of intrigue
and its inhabitants the successive instruments of every ambitious
adventurer--of an Orleans, a Robespierre,[1] a Marat and a Babœuf?[1]
In the days of the Convention this was the arsenal of blood and murder,
here pikes were forged and poignards sharpened, and from hence an armed
banditti issued to execute the bloody mandate of demagogues. But now no
spirit-stirring drum is heard, no uplifted bleeding heads are carried
as standards by butchering battalions. Santerre himself scarce dare
show his face, and the whole Jacobin colony has been disarmed, and by
a little thing from Corsica, who, acting as lieutenant to Barras in
1794, commenced his military operations against the liberties of France
by a triumph over the fanatics of this Faubourg. The pikemen stand
in awe of the heroes of Lodi and Marengo, who surround the palace of
the usurper. Santerre, it is true, often murmurs vengeance, but the
Government either laugh at this consequential man of no consequence
or treat him with the most perfect contempt. He had an interview with
Bonaparte soon after the latter became First Consul and was received
with civility and attention, but the Consular Guard was not then
formed, and Santerre might still be useful. Bonaparte, who must have
heard that at the first fire of the Vendéans upon the Parisian Guard,
Santerre actually ran away, said: “I think, general, you made war in La
Vendée.” “Oui, général,” replied the brewer, “avec beaucoup d’éclat.”
The Corsican grinned a smile, and Santerre withdrew, and boasted after
the interview “that Bonaparte had treated him with proper consideration
and acknowledged his great services in La Vendée.”
[Sidenote: VINCENNES]
The famous donjon de Vincennes is situated close by the public road,
in the middle of a wood, and was in ancient times a royal castle,
where State prisoners were confined. Since the Revolution it has been
converted into a common jail--at present it is reserved entirely for
deserters and runaway conscripts. We found about 600 of these in
confinement. They were walking in the courtyard, and seemed extremely
sorrowful and dejected.
We were not permitted to enter the Gothic tower, which is the finest
part of The building; but if we may form an estimate of the interior by
the exterior, the state prisoners formerly lodged there must have drawn
out a wretched existence--yet here were confined the great Condé and
the celebrated Mirabeau.
The attraction of this fortress is its antiquity. Draw-bridges,
battlements, covered galleries and fosses display the ancient mode
of defence. Some companies of infantry and a troop of horse are in
barracks within the walls. After having sufficiently gratified our
curiosity we continued our route, and the name of Mirabeau being
mentioned I thought a favourable opportunity had arrived for us to
enjoy our French companions.
The project succeeded, and the Revolution was furiously discussed
from the time of Mirabeau to the present hour. I asked M. Dumond (the
Republican) what was now the pay to the different ranks of general?
M. P---- (the Royalist) answered before his friend had time to reply:
“Nothing, we allow them to thrive and take what they please.” This
unexpected answer produced a good laugh, in which M. Dumond joined.
Some days after, happening to be in company with a celebrated general,
as honest as it is possible for a modern French general to be, I
asked him whether it was true that the Republican generals received
no salary from the State, but were at liberty to take what they
pleased, he answered: “You have been misinformed. The French generals
are _well_ paid; but as they are fond of good living and their
expenses are great, they naturally make some provision for themselves
out of the contributions of conquered countries.” This reply fully
confirmed M. P----’s assertion.
At the extremity of the Bois de Vincennes in a hollow stands the
Château of Monsieur François. All the country hereabouts is in a fine
state of cultivation, the fruits exquisite, and the wine from the
vineyards is highly esteemed in Paris.
Monsieur François de Neufchâteau’s house is of moderate size, the
gardens large and well disposed. The barns and other out-houses make a
respectable appearance, but I perceive none of the animals essential to
husbandry or a thrifty farmyard. Most of the ground we went over had
been sown. I perceived, however, no grass or meadow land. The French
are an age behind us in this branch of agriculture. All the arable
land was well cleared and showed care and attention had been bestowed
upon it. But I saw no yards, either near or distant to the house, for
raising poultry or pigs, &c., which constitute no small proportion of
the wealth of a well-managed farm.
After we had sufficiently viewed the general distribution of the
grounds, we examined the improved drill plough, to inspect which had
been the principal object of our journey. But I discovered not a single
property in it which is not already known to the English agriculturist.
[Sidenote: FRANÇOIS DE NEUFCHÂTEAU]
Perhaps I am wrong in thus entering into the particulars of a farm
which, though in a very satisfactory state, promises to be much better
when the owner’s attention can be spared upon it. The house has not
long been in the possession of its present proprietor. There are only
two bedrooms furnished and not one sitting-room, though there is an
excellent library, containing many beautiful editions of the most
celebrated works.
The gallery upon the first floor contains some interesting plans
and drawings of canals and other public works of France, conceived,
executed or repaired when M. de Neufchâteau was Minister of the
Interior.
Monsieur Nicholas François, for that is his real and only proper name,
was born at the village of Neufchâteau, where he married a woman like
himself of humble parentage, and endeavoured to live by writing poetry
and scribbling nonsensical verses.
He is the first instance in the history of nations of a poet who
exchanged his tattered garments for the mantle of a chief magistrate.
M. François being cast upon the surface of the revolutionary cauldron,
contributed his humble mite in the holy work of human regeneration,
under a variety of Protean shapes, sometimes as a punster in the public
journals, at other times by striking off a few _calembours_ and
diatribes and then by some fine-spun antitheses, and next by fulsome
adulations heaped on the great scoundrels who have successively
disturbed the peace of France and of mankind. M. François contrived
to at length receive the reward of his indefatigable labours, in the
appointment to the very arduous and important functions of Minister of
the Interior to the French Revolution.
No sooner had he begun to figure upon the revolutionary stage, over
which was inscribed _Liberty_, _Equality_, _Abolition of
Titles and Privileged Caste_, than he assumed the feudal name of
François de Neufchâteau, a name to which under the old _régime_ he
would have no more pretensions than the political adventurer who now
rules France would have to that of Bonaparte of Ajaccio.
Another instance of his philosophic mind was shown at the same time.
He discarded his virtuous wife, the humble companion of his adverse
fortunes, as unworthy to share in the splendour of his new situation,
and a handsome and elegant woman was introduced in her stead as
mistress of his mansion, and she still continues to fill in the midst
of plenty and opulence the place of a legitimate wife now driven to
want and wretchedness.
But these are trifles in Paris at the present day, and Monsieur
François de Neufchâteau passes for a mild, amiable and _virtuous_
man.
Of the administration of this man I shall have much to say in a future
letter, he certainly contributed towards the establishment of many
salutary institutions in the Republic, _i.e._, he revived such
of the old government as were contented to promote the happiness and
prosperity of France upon the return of a general peace.
I am the more astounded at this as from the conversation I had with him
and from the relations made to me by those most intimately acquainted
with him he appeared to be a man of weak, contemptible and superficial
character. Nevertheless we find him in a short time seated upon the
curule chair, and forming one of that junto of rapacious tyrants
who under the name of the Executive Directory, by their imbecility,
wickedness and crimes, prepared the way for the reign of the usurper
who stole like a coward from Egypt to complete the misery of France.
François, it appears, took no active part in the directorship, he
was merely an empurpled pageant, whose sole occupation was to sign
his name whenever ordered to do so by his more wily colleagues. At
length finding his situation irksome he profited by an offer from his
more ambitious partners and left the Government before the Government
left him. In consideration of a douceur of a million livres, £40,000
sterling, he connived at a sham ballot by which he voluntarily
blackballed himself from the further enjoyment of the executive
magistracy.
[Sidenote: VISIT TO THE TEMPLE]
His conduct was fortunate as well as prudent. For when the Corsican
made short work of the Directory, instead of being banished like
Barras[1] or discarded like la Reveillère[1] and Leproux, we find him
admitted into the new tyrant’s Senate and actively receiving at the
present time £2000 a year sterling during his life for registering
the edicts of his master. This annuity, together with his £40,000
indemnification money, and the little pickings he was able to secure
during his Ministry, enable him to live in better style than ever
before fell to the lot of a French rhymer, for he can now jingle cash
as well as the words of the great nation.
This visit to M. François brought on a second engagement between
ourselves and our two comrades, and we made an expedition the following
day to the Temple, where the unhappy Louis XVI. and his family had been
confined. The place is now greatly altered, indeed I should hardly have
recognised it. All the surrounding buildings have been pulled down and
a large opening formed which absolutely secludes it from all immediate
communication with the city. It is impossible to obtain admission into
this State prison--it is rigidly guarded within and without the walls.
Persons are daily conveyed there by a _lettre de cachet_ from the
Grand Inquisitor Fouché, without any preliminary examination and often
without the knowledge of their friends. This is the real history of
those sudden disappearances of a number of persons, which the French
journalists ascribe to robbers and assassins. A trial is never an
absolute necessity in this land of liberty to establish innocence or
guilt; hence the “Cayenne diligence” is always in readiness to take up
such passengers as are not _required_ to make a long stay in the
Temple, which is the _safest_ place of baiting between the Bureau
of the Minister of Police and Rochefort.
It is not until the wretched victims are upon the eve of embarking upon
the Salaminian vessel of state that they are permitted to disclose
their fate to their relations and to announce their destination to the
delectable regions of the most luxurious climate of Central America.
Even this indulgence is however frequently denied to the hapless
sufferers.
Yet the constant talk in France is of freedom and equality. It is
impossible to live here without imbibing daily fresh causes of
detestation and abhorrence of the laws and government of this unhappy
country; and I already contemplate with pleasure the moment when I
shall take an everlasting leave of France, a country which at one time
I almost loved as well as I do my own.