A RESIDENCE IN FRANCE.

May 10, 1792.

I am every day more confirmed in the opinion I communicated to you on my

arrival, that the first ardour of the revolution is abated.--The bridal

days are indeed past, and I think I perceive something like indifference

approaching. Perhaps the French themselves are not sensible of this

change; but I who have been absent two years, and have made as it were a

sudden transition from enthusiasm to coldness, without passing through

the intermediate gradations, am forcibly struck with it. When I was here

in 1790, parties could be scarcely said to exist--the popular triumph was

too complete and too recent for intolerance and persecution, and the

Noblesse and Clergy either submitted in silence, or appeared to rejoice

in their own defeat. In fact, it was the confusion of a decisive

conquest--the victors and the vanquished were mingled together; and the

one had not leisure to exercise cruelty, nor the other to meditate

revenge. Politics had not yet divided society; nor the weakness and

pride of the great, with the malice and insolence of the little, thinned

the public places. The politics of the women went no farther than a few

couplets in praise of liberty, and the patriotism of the men was confined

to an habit de garde nationale, the device of a button, or a nocturnal

revel, which they called mounting guard.--Money was yet plenty, at least

silver, (for the gold had already begun to disappear,) commerce in its

usual train, and, in short, to one who observes no deeper than myself,

every thing seemed gay and flourishing--the people were persuaded they

were happier; and, amidst such an appearance of content, one must have

been a cold politician to have examined too strictly into the future.

But all this, my good brother, is in a great measure subsided; and the

disparity is so evident, that I almost imagine myself one of the seven

sleepers--and, like them too, the coin I offer is become rare, and

regarded more as medals than money. The playful distinctions of

Aristocrate and Democrate are degenerated into the opprobium and

bitterness of Party--political dissensions pervade and chill the common

intercourse of life--the people are become gross and arbitrary, and the

higher classes (from a pride which those who consider the frailty of

human nature will allow for) desert the public amusements, where they

cannot appear but at the risk of being the marked objects of insult.--The

politics of the women are no longer innoxious--their political principles

form the leading trait of their characters; and as you know we are often

apt to supply by zeal what we want in power, the ladies are far from

being the most tolerant partizans on either side.--The national uniform,

which contributed so much to the success of the revolution, and

stimulated the patriotism of the young men, is become general; and the

task of mounting guard, to which it subjects the wearer, is now a serious

and troublesome duty.--To finish my observations, and my contrast, no

Specie whatever is to be seen; and the people, if they still idolize

their new form of government, do it at present with great sobriety--the

Vive la nation! seems now rather the effect of habit than of feeling; and

one seldom hears any thing like the spontaneous and enthusiastic sounds I

formerly remarked.

I have not yet been here long enough to discover the causes of this

change; perhaps they may lie too deep for such an observer as myself: but

if (as the causes of important effects sometimes do) they lie on the

surface, they will be less liable to escape me, than an observer of more

pretentions. Whatever my remarks are, I will not fail to communicate

them--the employment will at least be agreeable to me, though the result

should not be satisfactory to you; and as I shall never venture on any

reflection, without relating the occurrence that gave rise to it, your

own judgement will enable you to correct the errors of mine.

I was present yesterday at a funeral service, performed in honour of

General Dillon. This kind of service is common in Catholic countries,

and consists in erecting a cenotaph, ornamented with numerous lights,

flowers, crosses, &c. The church is hung with black, and the mass is

performed the same as if the body were present. On account of General

Dillon's profession, the mass yesterday was a military one. It must

always, I imagine, sound strange to the ears of a Protestant, to hear

nothing but theatrical music on these occasions, and indeed I could never

reconcile myself to it; for if we allow any effect to music at all, the

train of thought which should inspire us with respect for the dead, and

reflections on mortality, is not likely to be produced by the strains in

which Dido bewails Eneas, or in which Armida assails the virtue of

Rinaldo.--I fear, that in general the air of an opera reminds the belle

of the Theatre where she heard it--and, by a natural transition, of the

beau who attended her, and the dress of herself and her neighbours. I

confess, this was nearly my own case yesterday, on hearing an air from

"Sargines;" and had not the funeral oration reminded me, I should have

forgotten the unfortunate event we were celebrating, and which, for some

days before, when undistracted by this pious ceremony, I had dwelt on

with pity and horror.*--

* At the first skirmish between the French and Austrians near Lisle,

a general panic seized the former, and they retreated in disorder to

Lisle, crying _"Sauve qui peut, & nous fomnes (sic) trahis."_--"Let

every one shift for himself--we are betrayed." The General, after

in vain endeavouring to rally them, was massacred at his return on

the great square.--My pen faulters, and refuses to describe the

barbarities committed on the lifeless hero. Let it suffice, perhaps

more than suffice, to say, that his mutilated remains were thrown on

a fire, which these savages danced round, with yells expressive of

their execrable festivity. A young Englishman, who was so

unfortunate as to be near the spot, was compelled to join in this

outrage to humanity.--The same day a gentleman, the intimate friend

of our acquaintance, Mad. _____, was walking (unconscious what had

happened) without the gate which leads to Douay, and was met by the

flying ruffians on their return; immediately on seeing him they

shouted, _"Voila encore un Aristocrate!"_ and massacred him on the

spot.

--Independent of any regret for the fate of Dillon, who is said to have

been a brave and good officer, I am sorry that the first event of this

war should be marked by cruelty and licentiousness.--Military discipline

has been much relaxed since the revolution, and from the length of time

since the French have been engaged in a land war, many of the troops must

be without that kind of courage which is the effect of habit. The

danger, therefore, of suffering them to alledge that they are betrayed,

whenever they do not choose to fight, and to excuse their own cowardice

by ascribing treachery to their leaders, is incalculable.--Above all,

every infraction of the laws in a country just supposing itself become

free, cannot be too severely repressed. The National Assembly have done

all that humanity could suggest--they have ordered the punishment of the

assassins, and have pensioned and adopted the General's children. The

orator expatiated both on the horror of the act and its consequences, as

I should have thought, with some ingenuity, had I not been assured by a

brother orator that the whole was "execrable." But I frequently remark,

that though a Frenchman may suppose the merit of his countrymen to be

collectively superior to that of the whole world, he seldom allows any

individual of them to have so large a portion as himself.--Adieu: I have

already written enough to convince you I have neither acquired the

Gallomania, nor forgotten my friends in England; and I conclude with a

wish _a propos_ to my subject--that they may long enjoy the rational

liberty they possess and so well deserve.--Yours.

May, 1792.

You, my dear _____, who live in a land of pounds, shillings, and pence,

can scarcely form an idea of our embarrassments through the want of them.

'Tis true, these are petty evils; but when you consider that they happen

every day, and every hour, and that, if they are not very serious, they

are very frequent, you will rejoice in the splendour of your national

credit, which procures you all the accommodation of paper currency,

without diminishing the circulation of specie. Our only currency here

consists of assignats of 5 livres, 50, 100, 200, and upwards: therefore

in making purchases, you must accommodate your wants to the value of your

assignat, or you must owe the shopkeeper, or the shopkeeper must owe you;

and, in short, as an old woman assured me to-day, "C'est de quoi faire

perdre la tete," and, if it lasted long, it would be the death of her.

Within these few days, however, the municipalities have attempted to

remedy the inconvenience, by creating small paper of five, ten, fifteen,

and twenty sols, which they give in exchange for assignats of five

livres; but the number they are allowed to issue is limited, and the

demand for them so great, that the accommodation is inadequate to the

difficulty of procuring it. On the days on which this paper (which is

called billets de confiance) is issued, the Hotel de Ville is besieged by

a host of women collected from all parts of the district--Peasants, small

shopkeepers, fervant maids, and though last, not least formidable--

fishwomen. They usually take their stand two or three hours before the

time of delivery, and the interval is employed in discussing the news,

and execrating paper money. But when once the door is opened, a scene

takes place which bids defiance to language, and calls for the pencil of

a Hogarth. Babel was, I dare say, comparatively to this, a place of

retreat and silence. Clamours, revilings, contentions, tearing of hair,

and breaking of heads, generally conclude the business; and, after the

loss of half a day's time, some part of their clothes, and the expence of

a few bruises, the combatants retire with small bills to the value of

five, or perhaps ten livres, as the whole resource to carry on their

little commerce for the ensuing week. I doubt not but the paper may have

had some share in alienating the minds of the people from the revolution.

Whenever I want to purchase any thing, the vender usually answers my

question by another, and with a rueful kind of tone inquires, "En papier,

madame?"--and the bargain concludes with a melancholy reflection on the

hardness of the times.

The decrees relative to the priests have likewise occasioned much

dissension; and it seems to me impolitic thus to have made religion the

standard of party. The high mass, which is celebrated by a priest who

has taken the oaths, is frequented by a numerous, but, it must be

confessed, an ill-drest and ill-scented congregation; while the low mass,

which is later, and which is allowed the nonjuring clergy, has a gayer

audience, but is much less crouded.--By the way, I believe many who

formerly did not much disturb themselves about religious tenets, have

become rigid Papists since an adherence to the holy see has become a

criterion of political opinion. But if these separatists are bigoted and

obstinate, the conventionalists on their side are ignorant and

intolerant.

I enquired my way to-day to the Rue de l'Hopital. The woman I spoke to

asked me, in a menacing tone, what I wanted there. I replied, which was

true, that I merely wanted to pass through the street as my nearest way

home; upon which she lowered her voice, and conducted me very civilly.--I

mentioned the circumstance on my return, and found that the nuns of the

hospital had their mass performed by a priest who had not taken the

oaths, and that those who were suspected of going to attend it were

insulted, and sometimes ill treated. A poor woman, some little time ago,

who conceived perhaps that her salvation might depend on exercising her

religion in the way she had been accustomed to, persisted in going, and

was used by the populace with such a mixture of barbarity and indecency,

that her life was despaired of. Yet this is the age and the country of

Philosophers.--Perhaps you will begin to think Swift's sages, who only

amused themselves with endeavouring to propagate sheep without wool, not

so contemptible. I am almost convinced myself, that when a man once

piques himself on being a philosopher, if he does no mischief you ought

to be satisfied with him.

We passed last Sunday with Mr. de ____'s tenants in the country. Nothing

can equal the avidity of these people for news. We sat down after dinner

under some trees in the village, and Mr. de _____ began reading the

Gazette to the farmers who were about us. In a few minutes every thing

that could hear (for I leave understanding the pedantry of a French

newspaper out of the question) were his auditors. A party at quoits in

one field, and a dancing party in another, quitted their amusements, and

listened with undivided attention. I believe in general the farmers are

the people most contented with the revolution, and indeed they have

reason to be so; for at present they refuse to sell their corn unless for

money, while they pay their rent in assignats; and farms being for the

most part on leases, the objections of the landlord to this kind of

payment are of no avail. Great encouragement is likewise held out to

them to purchase national property, which I am informed they do to an

extent that may for some time be injurious to agriculture; for in their

eagerness to acquire land, the deprive themselves of cultivating it.

They do not, like our crusading ancestors, "sell the pasture to buy the

horse," but the horse to buy the pasture; so that we may expect to see in

many places large farms in the hands of those who are obliged to neglect

them.

A great change has happened within the last year, with regard to landed

property--so much has been sold, that many farmers have had the

opportunity of becoming proprietors. The rage of emigration, which the

approach of war, pride, timidity, and vanity are daily increasing, has

occasioned many of the Noblesse to sell their estates, which, with those

of the Crown and the Clergy, form a large mass of property, thrown as it

were into general circulation. This may in future be beneficial to the

country, but the present generation will perhaps have to purchase (and

not cheaply) advantages they cannot enjoy. A philanthropist may not

think of this with regret; and yet I know not why one race is preferable

to another, or why an evil should be endured by those who exist now, in

order that those who succeed may be free from it.--I would willingly

plant a million of acorns, that another age might be supplied with oaks;

but I confess, I do not think it quite so pleasant for us to want bread,

in order that our descendants may have a superfluity.

I am half ashamed of these selfish arguments; but really I have been led

to them through mere apprehension of what I fear the people may have yet

to endure, in consequence of the revolution.

I have frequently observed how little taste the French have for the

country, and I believe all my companions, except Mr. de _____, who took

(as one always does) an interest in surveying his property, were heartily

ennuyes with our little excursion.--Mad. De _____, on her arrival, took

her post by the farmer's fire-side, and was out of humour the whole day,

inasmuch as our fare was homely, and there was nothing but rustics to see

or be seen by. That a plain dinner should be a serious affair, you may

not wonder; but the last cause of distress, perhaps you will not conclude

quite so natural at her years. All that can be said about it is, that

she is a French woman, who rouges, and wears lilac ribbons, at

seventy-four. I hope, in my zeal to obey you, my reflections will not

be too voluminous.--For the present I will be warned by my conscience,

and add only, that I am, Yours.

June 10, 1792.

You observe, with some surprize, that I make no mention of the Jacobins--

the fact is, that until now I have heard very little about them. Your

English partizans of the revolution have, by publishing their

correspondence with these societies, attributed a consequence to them

infinitely beyond what they have had pretensions to:--a prophet, it is

said, is not honoured in his own country--I am sure a Jacobin is not.

In provincial towns these clubs are generally composed of a few of the

lowest tradesmen, who have so disinterested a patriotism, as to bestow

more attention on the state than on their own shops; and as a man may be

an excellent patriot without the aristocratic talents of reading and

writing, they usually provide a secretary or president, who can supply

these deficiencies--a country attorney, a _Pere de l'oratoire,_ or a

disbanded capuchin, is in most places the candidate for this office.

The clubs often assemble only to read the newspapers; but where they

are sufficiently in force, they make motions for "fetes," censure the

municipalities, and endeavour to influence the elections of the members

who compose them.--That of Paris is supposed to consist of about six

thousand members; but I am told their number and influence are daily

increasing, and that the National Assembly is more subservient to them

than it is willing to acknowledge--yet, I believe, the people at large

are equally adverse to the Jacobins, who are said to entertain the

chimerical project of forming a republic, and to the Aristocrates, who

wish to restore the ancient government. The party in opposition to both

these, who are called the Feuillans,* have the real voice of the people

with them, and knowing this, they employ less art than their opponents,

have no point of union, and perhaps may finally be undermined by

intrigue, or even subdued by violence.

*They derive this appellation, as the Jacobins do theirs, from the

convent at which they hold their meetings.

You seem not to comprehend why I include vanity among the causes of

emigration, and yet I assure you it has had no small share in many of

them. The gentry of the provinces, by thus imitating the higher

noblesse, imagine they have formed a kind of a common cause, which may

hereafter tend to equalize the difference of ranks, and associate them

with those they have been accustomed to look up to as their superiors.

It is a kind of ton among the women, particularly to talk of their

emigrated relations, with an accent more expressive of pride than regret,

and which seems to lay claim to distinction rather than pity.

I must now leave you to contemplate the boasted misfortunes of these

belles, that I may join the card party which forms their alleviation.--

Adieu.

June 24, 1792.

You have doubtless learned from the public papers the late outrage of the

Jacobins, in order to force the King to consent to the formation of an

army at Paris, and to sign the decree for banishing the nonjuring Clergy.

The newspapers will describe to you the procession of the Sans-Culottes,

the indecency of their banners, and the disorders which were the result--

but it is impossible for either them or me to convey an idea of the

general indignation excited by these atrocities. Every well-meaning

person is grieved for the present, and apprehensive for the future:

and I am not without hope, that this open avowal of the designs of the

Jacobins, will unite the Constitutionalists and Aristocrates, and that

they will join their efforts in defence of the Crown, as the only means

of saving both from being overwhelmed by a faction, who are now become

too daring to be despised. Many of the municipalities and departments

are preparing to address they King, on the fortitude he displayed in this

hour of insult and peril.--I know not why, but the people have been

taught to entertain a mean opinion of his personal courage; and the late

violence will at least have the good effect of undeceiving them. It is

certain, that he behaved on this occasion with the utmost coolness; and

the Garde Nationale, whose hand he placed on his heart, attested that it

had no unusual palpitation.

That the King should be unwilling to sanction the raising an army under

the immediate auspice of the avowed enemies of himself, and of the

constitution he has sworn to protect, cannot be much wondered at; and

those who know the Catholic religion, and consider that this Prince is

devout, and that he has reason to suspect the fidelity of all who

approach him, will wonder still less that he refuses to banish a class of

men, whose influence is extensive, and whose interest it is to preserve

their attachment to him.

These events have thrown a gloom over private societies; and public

amusements, as I observed in a former letter, are little frequented; so

that, on the whole, time passes heavily with a people who, generally

speaking, have few resources in themselves. Before the revolution,

France was at this season a scene of much gaiety. Every village had

alternately a sort of Fete, which nearly answers to our Wake--but with

this difference, that it was numerously attended by all ranks, and the

amusement was dancing, instead of wrestling and drinking. Several small

fields, or different parts of a large one, were provided with music,

distinguished by flags, and appropriated to the several classes of

dancers--one for the peasants, another for the bourgeois, and a third for

the higher orders. The young people danced beneath the ardour of a July

sun, while the old looked on and regaled themselves with beer, cyder, and

gingerbread. I was always much pleased with this village festivity: it

gratified my mind more than select and expensive amusements, because it

was general, and within the power of all who chose to partake of it; and

the little distinction of rank which was preserved, far from diminishing

the pleasure of any, added, I am certain, to the freedom of all. By

mixing with those only of her own class, the Paysanne* was spared the

temptation of envying the pink ribbons of the Bourgeoise, who in her turn

was not disturbed by an immediate rivalship with the sash and plumes of

the provincial belle. But this custom is now much on the decline. The

young women avoid occasions where an inebriated soldier may offer himself

as her partner in the dance, and her refusal be attended with insult to

herself, and danger to those who protect her; and as this licence is

nearly as offensive to the decent Bourgeoise as to the female of higher

condition, this sort of fete will most probably be entirely abandoned.

*The head-dress of the French _Paysanne_ is uniformly a small cap,

without ribbon or ornament of any kind, except in that part of

Normandy which is called the _Pays de Caux,_ where the Paysannes

wear a particular kind of head dress, ornamented with silver.

The people here all dance much better than those of the same rank in

England; but this national accomplishment is not instinctive: for though

few of the laborious class have been taught to read, there are scarcely

any so poor as not to bestow three livres for a quarter's instruction

from a dancing master; and with this three months' noviciate they become

qualified to dance through the rest of their lives.

The rage for emigration, and the approach of the Austrians, have

occasioned many restrictions on travelling, especially near the seacoast

of frontiers. No person can pass through a town without a passport from

the municipality he resides in, specifying his age, the place of his

birth, his destination, the height of his person, and the features of his

face. The Marquis de C____ entered the town yesterday, and at the gate

presented his passport as usual; the guard looked at the passport, and in

a high tone demanded his name, whence he came, and where he was going.

M. de C____ referred him to the passport, and suspecting the man could

not read, persisted in refusing to give a verbal account of himself, but

with much civility pressed the perusal of the passport; adding, that if

it was informal, Monsieur might write to the municipality that granted

it. The man, however, did not approve of the jest, and took the Marquis

before the municipality, who sentenced him to a month's imprisonment for

his pleasantry.

The French are becoming very grave, and a bon-mot will not now, as

formerly, save a man's life.--I do not remember to have seen in any

English print an anecdote on this subject, which at once marks the levity

of the Parisians, and the wit and presence of mind of the Abbe Maury.--At

the beginning of the revolution, when the people were very much incensed

against the Abbe, he was one day, on quitting the Assembly, surrounded by

an enraged mob, who seized on him, and were hurrying him away to

execution, amidst the universal cry of _a la lanterne! a la lanterne!_

The Abbe, with much coolness and good humour, turned to those nearest him,

_"Eh bien mes amis et quand je serois a la lanterne, en verriez vous plus

clair?"_ Those who held him were disarmed, the bon-mot flew through the

croud, and the Abbe escaped while they were applauding it.--I have

nothing to offer after this trait which is worthy of succeeding it, but

will add that I am always Yours.

July 24, 1792.

Our revolution aera has passed tranquilly in the provinces, and with less

turbulence at Paris than was expected. I consign to the Gazette-writers

those long descriptions that describe nothing, and leave the mind as

unsatisfied as the eye. I content myself with observing only, that the

ceremony here was gay, impressive, and animating. I indeed have often

remarked, that the works of nature are better described than those of

art. The scenes of nature, though varied, are uniform; while the

productions of art are subject to the caprices of whim, and the

vicissitudes of taste. A rock, a wood, or a valley, however the scenery

may be diversified, always conveys a perfect and distinct image to the

mind; but a temple, an altar, a palace, or a pavilion, requires a detail,

minute even to tediousness, and which, after all, gives but an imperfect

notion of the object. I have as often read descriptions of the Vatican,

as of the Bay of Naples; yet I recollect little of the former, while the

latter seems almost familiar to me.--Many are strongly impressed with the

scenery of Milton's Paradise, who have but confused ideas of the

splendour of Pandemonium. The descriptions, however, are equally minute,

and the poetry of both is beautiful.

But to return to this country, which is not absolutely a Paradise, and I

hope will not become a Pandemonium--the ceremony I have been alluding to,

though really interesting, is by no means to be considered as a proof

that the ardour for liberty increases: on the contrary, in proportion as

these fetes become more frequent, the enthusiasm which they excite seems

to diminish. "For ever mark, Lucilius, when Love begins to sicken and

decline, it useth an enforced ceremony." When there were no

foederations, the people were more united. The planting trees of liberty

seems to have damped the spirit of freedom; and since there has been a

decree for wearing the national colours, they are more the marks of

obedience than proofs of affection.--I cannot pretend to decide whether

the leaders of the people find their followers less warm than they were,

and think it necessary to stimulate them by these shows, or whether the

shows themselves, by too frequent repetition, have rendered the people

indifferent about the objects of them.--Perhaps both these suppositions

are true. The French are volatile and material; they are not very

capable of attachment to principles. External objects are requisite for

them, even in a slight degree; and the momentary enthusiasm that is

obtained by affecting their senses subsides with the conclusion of a

favourite air, or the end of a gaudy procession.

The Jacobin party are daily gaining ground; and since they have forced a

ministry of their own on the King, their triumph has become still more

insolent and decisive.--A storm is said to be hovering over us, which I

think of with dread, and cannot communicate with safety--"Heaven square

the trial of those who are implicated, to their proportioned strength!"--

Adieu.

August 4, 1792.

I must repeat to you, that I have no talent for description; and, having

seldom been able to profit by the descriptions of others, I am modest

enough not willingly to attempt one myself. But, as you observe, the

ceremony of a foederation, though familiar to me, is not so to my English

friends; I therefore obey your commands, though certain of not succeeding

so as to gratify your curiosity in the manner you too partially expect.

The temple where the ceremony was performed, was erected in an open

space, well chosen both for convenience and effect. In a large circle on

this spot, twelve posts, between fifty and sixty feet high, were placed

at equal distances, except one larger, opening in front by way of

entrance. On each alternate post were fastened ivy, laurel, &c. so as to

form a thick body which entirely hid the support. These greens were then

shorn (in the manner you see in old fashioned gardens) into the form of

Doric columns, of dimensions proportioned to their height. The

intervening posts were covered with white cloth, which was so

artificially folded, as exactly to resemble fluted pillars--from the

bases of which ascended spiral wreaths of flowers. The whole was

connected at top by a bold festoon of foliage, and the capital of each

column was surmounted by a vase of white lilies. In the middle of this

temple was placed an altar, hung round with lilies, and on it was deposed

the book of the constitution. The approach to the altar was by a large

flight of steps, covered with beautiful tapestry.

All this having been arranged and decorated, (a work of several days,)

the important aera was ushered in by the firing of cannon, ringing of

bells, and an appearance of bustle and hilarity not to be seen on any

other occasion. About ten, the members of the district, the

municipality, and the judges in their habits of ceremony, met at the

great church, and from thence proceeded to the altar of liberty. The

troops of the line, the Garde Nationale of the town, and of all the

surrounding communes, then arrived, with each their respective music and

colours, which (reserving one only of the latter to distinguish them in

the ranks) they planted round the altar. This done, they retired, and

forming a circle round the temple, left a large intermediate space free.

A mass was then celebrated with the most perfect order and decency, and

at the conclusion were read the rights of man and the constitution. The

troops, Garde Nationale, &c. were then addressed by their respective

officers, the oath to be faithful to the nation, the law, and the King,

was administered: every sword was drawn, and every hat waved in the air;

while all the bands of music joined in the favorite strain of ca ira.--

This was followed by crowning, with the civic wreaths hung round the

altar, a number of people, who during the year had been instrumental in

saving the lives of their fellow-citizens that had been endangered by

drowning or other accidents. This honorary reward was accompanied by a

pecuniary one, and a fraternal embrace from all the constituted bodies.

But this was not the gravest part of the ceremony. The magistrates,

however upright, were not all graceful, and the people, though they

understood the value of the money, did not that of the civic wreaths, or

the embraces; they therefore looked vacant enough during this part of the

business, and grinned most facetiously when they began to examine the

appearance of each other in their oaken crowns, and, I dare say, thought

the whole comical enough.--This is one trait of national pedantry.

Because the Romans awarded a civic wreath for an act of humanity, the

French have adopted the custom; and decorate thus a soldier or a sailor,

who never heard of the Romans in his life, except in extracts from the

New Testament at mass.

But to return to our fete, of which I have only to add, that the

magistrates departed in the order they observed in coming, and the troops

and Garde Nationale filed off with their hats in the air, and with

universal acclamations, to the sound of ca ira.--Things of this kind are

not susceptible of description. The detail may be uninteresting, while

the general effect may have been impressive. The spirit of the scene I

have been endeavouring to recall seems to have evaporated under my pen;

yet to the spectator it was gay, elegant, and imposing. The day was

fine, a brilliant sun glittered on the banners, and a gentle breeze gave

them motion; while the satisfied countenances of the people added spirit

and animation to the whole.

I must remark to you, that devots, and determined aristocrates, ever

attend on these occasions. The piety of the one is shocked at a mass by

a priest who has taken the oaths, and the pride of the other is not yet

reconciled to confusion of ranks and popular festivities. I asked a

woman who brings us fruit every day, why she had not come on the

fourteenth as usual. She told me she did not come to the town, _"a cause

de la foederation"--"Vous etes aristocrate donc?"--"Ah, mon Dieu non--ce

n'est pas que je suis aristocrate, ou democrate, mais que je suis

Chretienne._*"

*"On account of the foederation."--"You are an aristocrate then, I

suppose?"--"Lord, no! It is not because I am an aristocrate, or a

democrate, but because I am a Christian."

This is an instance, among many others I could produce, that our

legislators have been wrong, in connecting any change of the national

religion with the revolution. I am every day convinced, that this and

the assignats are the great causes of the alienation visible in many who

were once the warmest patriots.--Adieu: do not envy us our fetes and

ceremonies, while you enjoy a constitution which requires no oath to make

you cherish it: and a national liberty, which is felt and valued without

the aid of extrinsic decoration.--Yours.

August 15.

The consternation and horror of which I have been partaker, will more

than apologize for my silence. It is impossible for any one, however

unconnected with the country, not to feel an interest in its present

calamities, and to regret them. I have little courage to write even now,

and you must pardon me if my letter should bear marks of the general

depression. All but the faction are grieved and indignant at the King's

deposition; but this grief is without energy, and this indignation

silent. The partizans of the old government, and the friends of the new,

are equally enraged; but they have no union, are suspicious of each

other, and are sinking under the stupor of despair, when they should be

preparing for revenge.--It would not be easy to describe our situation

during the last week. The ineffectual efforts of La Fayette, and the

violences occasioned by them, had prepared us for something still more

serious. On the ninth, we had a letter from one of the representatives

for this department, strongly expressive of his apprehensions for the

morrow, but promising to write if he survived it. The day, on which we

expected news, came, but no post, no papers, no diligence, nor any means

of information. The succeeding night we sat up, expecting letters by the

post: still, however, none arrived; and the courier only passed hastily

through, giving no detail, but that Paris was _a feu et a sang_.*

* All fire and slaughter.

At length, after passing two days and nights in this dreadful suspence,

we received certain intelligence which even exceeded our fears.--It is

needless to repeat the horrors that have been perpetrated. The accounts

must, ere now, have reached you. Our representative, as he seemed to

expect, was so ill treated as to be unable to write: he was one of those

who had voted the approval of La Fayette's conduct--all of whom were

either massacred, wounded, or intimidated; and, by this means, a majority

was procured to vote the deposition of the King. The party allow, by

their own accounts, eight thousand persons to have perished on this

occasion; but the number is supposed to be much more considerable. No

papers are published at present except those whose editors, being members

of the Assembly, and either agents or instigators of the massacres, are,

of course, interested in concealing or palliating them.---Mr. De _____

has just now taken up one of these atrocious journals, and exclaims, with

tears starting from his eyes, _"On a abattu la statue d'Henri quatre!*"_

*"They have destroyed the statue of Henry the Fourth."

The sacking of Rome by the Goths offers no picture equal to the

licentiousness and barbarity committed in a country which calls itself

the most enlightened in Europe.--But, instead of recording these horrors,

I will fill up my paper with the Choeur Bearnais.

_Choeur Bearnais.

"Un troubadour Bearnais,

"Le yeux inoudes de larmes,

"A ses montagnards

"Chantoit ce refrein source d'alarmes--

"Louis le fils d'Henri

"Est prisonnier dans Paris!

"Il a tremble pour les jours

"De sa compagne cherie

"Qui n'a troube de secours

"Que dans sa propre energie;

"Elle suit le fils d'Henri

"Dans les prisons de Paris.

"Quel crime ont ils donc commis

"Pour etre enchaines de meme?

"Du peuple ils sont les amis,

"Le peuple veut il qu'on l'aime,

"Quand il met le fils d'Henri

"Dans les prisons de Paris?

"Le Dauphin, ce fils cheri,

"Qui seul fait notre esperance,

"De pleurs sera donc nourri;

"Les Berceaux qu'on donne en France

"Aux enfans de notre Henri

"Sont les prisons de Paris.

"Il a vu couler le sang

"De ce garde fidele,

"Qui vient d'offrir en mourant

"Aux Francais un beau modele;

Mais Louis le fils d'Henri

"Est prisonnier dans Paris.

"Il n'est si triste appareil

"Qui du respect nous degage,

"Les feux ardens du Soleil

"Savent percer le nuage:

"Le prisonnier de Paris

"Est toujours le fils d'Henri.

"Francais, trop ingrats Francais

"Rendez le Roi a sa compagne;

"C'est le bien du Bearnais,

"C'est l'enfant de la Montagne:

"Le bonheur qu' avoit Henri

"Nous l'affarons a Louis.

"Chez vouz l'homme a de ses droits

"Recouvre le noble usage,

"Et vous opprimez vos rois,

"Ah! quel injuste partage!

"Le peuple est libre, et Louis

"Est prisonnier dans Paris.

"Au pied de ce monument

"Ou le bon Henri respire

"Pourquoi l'airain foudroyant?

"Ah l'on veut qu' Henri conspire

"Lui meme contre son fils

"Dans les prisons de Paris."_

It was published some time ago in a periodical work, (written with great

spirit and talents,) called "The Acts of the Apostles," and, I believe,

has not yet appeared in England. The situation of the King gives a

peculiar interest to these stanzas, which, merely as a poetical

composition, are very beautiful. I have often attempted to translate

them, but have always found it impossible to preserve the effect and

simplicity of the original. They are set to a little plaintive air, very

happily characteristic of the words.

Perhaps I shall not write to you again from hence, as we depart for

A_____ on Tuesday next. A change of scene will dissipate a little the

seriousness we have contracted during the late events. If I were

determined to indulge grief or melancholy, I would never remove from the

spot where I had formed the resolution. Man is a proud animal even when

oppressed by misfortune. He seeks for his tranquility in reason and

reflection; whereas, a post-chaise and four, or even a hard-trotting

horse, is worth all the philosophy in the world.--But, if, as I observed

before, a man be determined to resist consolation, he cannot do better

than stay at home, and reason and phosophize.

Adieu:--the situation of my friends in this country makes me think of

England with pleasure and respect; and I shall conclude with a very

homely couplet, which, after all the fashionable liberality of modern

travellers, contains a great deal of truth:

"Amongst mankind

"We ne'er shall find

"The worth we left at home."

Yours, &c.

August 22, 1792.

The hour is past, in which, if the King's friends had exerted themselves,

they might have procured a movement in his favour. The people were at

first amazed, then grieved; but the national philosophy already begins to

operate, and they will sink into indifference, till again awakened by

some new calamity. The leaders of the faction do not, however, entirely

depend either on the supineness of their adversaries, or the submission

of the people. Money is distributed amongst the idle and indigent, and

agents are nightly employed in the public houses to comment on

newspapers, written for the purpose to blacken the King and exalt the

patriotism of the party who have dethroned him. Much use has likewise

been made of the advances of the Prussians towards Champagne, and the

usual mummery of ceremony has not been wanting. Robespierre, in a burst

of extemporary energy, previously studied, has declared the country in

danger. The declaration has been echoed by all the departments, and

proclaimed to the people with much solemnity. We were not behind hand in

the ceremonial of the business, though, somehow, the effect was not so

serious and imposing as one could have wished on such an occasion. A

smart flag, with the words "Citizens, the country is in danger," was

prepared; the judges and the municipality were in their costume, the

troops and Garde Nationale under arms, and an orator, surrounded by his

cortege, harangued in the principal parts of the town on the text of the

banner which waved before him.

All this was very well; but, unfortunately, in order to distinguish the

orator amidst the croud, it was determined he should harangue on

horseback. Now here arose a difficulty which all the ardour of

patriotism was not able to surmount. The French are in general but

indifferent equestrians; and it so happened that, in our municipality,

those who could speak could not ride, and those who could ride could not

speak. At length, however, after much debating, it was determined that

arms should yield to the gown, or rather, the horse to the orator--with

this precaution, that the monture should be properly secured, by an

attendant to hold the bridle. Under this safeguard, the rhetorician

issued forth, and the first part of the speech was performed without

accident; but when, by way of relieving the declaimer, the whole military

band began to flourish ca ira, the horse, even more patriotic than his

rider, curvetted and twisted with so much animation, that however the

spectators might be delighted, the orator was far from participating in

their satisfaction. After all this, the speech was to be finished, and

the silence of the music did not immediately tranquillize the animal.

The orator's eye wandered from the paper that contained his speech, with

wistful glances toward the mane; the fervor of his indignation against

the Austrians was frequently calmed by the involuntary strikings he was

obliged to submit to; and at the very crisis of the emphatic declaration,

he seemed much less occupied by his country's danger than his own. The

people, who were highly amused, I dare say, conceived the whole ceremony

to be a rejoicing, and at every repetition that the country was in

danger, joined with great glee in the chorus of _ca ira_.*

*The oration consisted of several parts, each ending with a kind of

burden of _"Citoyens, la patri est en danger;"_ and the arrangers of

the ceremony had not selected appropriate music: so that the band,

who had been accustomed to play nothing else on public occasions,

struck up _ca ira_ at every declaration that the country was in

danger!

Many of the spectators, I believe, had for some time been convinced of

the danger that threatened the country, and did not suppose it much

increased by the events of the war; others were pleased with a show,

without troubling themselves about the occasion of it; and the mass,

except when rouzed to attention by their favourite air, or the

exhibitions of the equestrian orator, looked on with vacant stupidity.

--This tremendous flag is now suspended from a window of the Hotel de

Ville, where it is to remain until the inscription it wears shall no

longer be true; and I heartily wish, the distresses of the country may

not be more durable than the texture on which they are proclaimed.

Our journey is fixed for to-morrow, and all the morning has been passed

in attendance for our passports.--This affair is not so quickly

dispatched as you may imagine. The French are, indeed, said to be a very

lively people, but we mistake their volubility for vivacity; for in their

public offices, their shops, and in any transaction of business, no

people on earth can be more tedious--they are slow, irregular, and

loquacious; and a retail English Quaker, with all his formalities, would

dispose of half his stock in less time than you can purchase a three sols

stamp from a brisk French Commis. You may therefore conceive, that this

official portraiture of so many females was a work of time, and not very

pleasant to the originals. The delicacy of an Englishman may be shocked

at the idea of examining and registering a lady's features one after

another, like the articles of a bill of lading; but the cold and

systematic gallantry of a Frenchman is not so scrupulous.--The officer,

however, who is employed for this purpose here, is civil, and I suspected

the infinity of my nose, and the acuteness of Mad. de ____'s chin, might

have disconcerted him; but he extricated himself very decently. My nose

is enrolled in the order of aquilines, and the old lady's chin pared off

to a _"menton un peu pointu."_--[A longish chin.]

The carriages are ordered for seven to-morrow. Recollect, that seven

females, with all their appointments, are to occupy them, and then

calculate the hour I shall begin increasing my distance from England and

my friends. I shall not do it without regret; yet perhaps you will be

less inclined to pity me than the unfortunate wights who are to escort

us. A journey of an hundred miles, with French horses, French carriages,

French harness, and such an unreasonable female charge, is, I confess, in

great humility, not to be ventured on without a most determined

patience.--I shall write to you on our arrival at Arras; and am, till

then, at all times, and in all places, Yours.

Hesdin.

We arrived here last night, notwithstanding the difficulties of our first

setting out, in tolerable time; but I have gained so little in point of

repose, that I might as well have continued my journey. We are lodged at

an inn which, though large and the best in the town, is so disgustingly

filthy, that I could not determine to undress myself, and am now up and

scribbling, till my companions shall be ready. Our embarkation will, I

foresee, be a work of time and labour; for my friend, Mad. de ____,

besides the usual attendants on a French woman, a femme de chambre and a

lap-dog, travels with several cages of canary-birds, some pots of curious

exotics, and a favourite cat; all of which must be disposed of so as to

produce no interstine commotions during the journey. Now if you consider

the nature of these fellow-travellers, you will allow it not so easy a

matter as may at first be supposed, especially as their fair mistress

will not allow any of them to be placed in any other carriage than her

own.--A fray happened yesterday between the cat and the dog, during which

the birds were overset, and the plants broken. Poor M. de ____, with a

sort of rueful good nature, separated the combatants, restored order, and

was obliged to purchase peace by charging himself with the care of the

aggressor.

I should not have dwelt so long on these trifling occurrences, but that

they are characteristic. In England, this passion for animals is chiefly

confined to old maids, but here it is general. Almost every woman,

however numerous her family, has a nursery of birds, an angola, and two

or three lap-dogs, who share her cares with her husband and children.

The dogs have all romantic names, and are enquired after with so much

solicitude when they do not make one in a visit, that it was some time

before I discovered that Nina and Rosine were not the young ladies of the

family. I do not remember to have seen any husband, however master of

his house in other respects, daring enough to displace a favourite

animal, even though it occupied the only vacant fauteuil.

The entrance into Artois from Picardy, though confounded by the new

division, is sufficiently marked by a higher cultivation, and a more

fertile soil. The whole country we have passed is agreeable, but

uniform; the roads are good, and planted on each side with trees, mostly

elms, except here and there some rows of poplar or apple. The land is

all open, and sown in divisions of corn, carrots, potatoes, tobacco, and

poppies of which last they make a coarse kind of oil for the use of

painters. The country is entirely flat, and the view every where bounded

by woods interspersed with villages, whose little spires peeping through

the trees have a very pleasing effect.

The people of Artois are said to be highly superstitious, and we have

already passed a number of small chapels and crosses, erected by the road

side, and surrounded by tufts of trees. These are the inventions of a

mistaken piety; yet they are not entirely without their use, and I cannot

help regarding them with more complacence than a rigid Protestant might

think allowable. The weary traveller here finds shelter from a mid-day

sun, and solaces his mind while he reposes his body. The glittering

equipage rolls by--he recalls the painful steps he has past, anticipates

those which yet remain, and perhaps is tempted to repine; but when he

turns his eye on the cross of Him who has promised a recompence to the

sufferers of this world, he checks the sigh of envy, forgets the luxury

which excited it, and pursues his way with resignation. The Protestant

religion proscribes, and the character of the English renders

unnecessary, these sensible objects of devotion; but I have always been

of opinion, that the levity of the French in general would make them

incapable of persevering in a form of worship equally abstracted and

rational. The Spaniards, and even the Italians, might abolish their

crosses and images, and yet preserve their Christianity; but if the

French ceased to be bigots, they would become atheists.

This is a small fortified town, though not of strength to offer any

resistance to artillery. Its proximity to the frontier, and the dread of

the Austrians, make the inhabitants very patriotic. We were surrounded

by a great croud of people on our arrival, who had some suspicion that we

were emigrating; however, as soon as our passports were examined and

declared legal, they retired very peaceably.

The approach of the enemy keeps up the spirit of the people, and,

notwithstanding their dissatisfaction at the late events, they have not

yet felt the change of their government sufficiently to desire the

invasion of an Austrian army.--Every village, every cottage, hailed us

with the cry of Vive la nation! The cabaret invites you to drink beer a

la nation, and offers you lodging a la nation--the chandler's shop sells

you snuff and hair powder a la nation--and there are even patriotic

barbers whose signs inform you, that you may be shaved and have your

teeth drawn a la nation! These are acts of patriotism one cannot

reasonably object to; but the frequent and tedious examination of one's

passports by people who can't read, is not quite so inoffensive, and I

sometimes lose my patience. A very vigilant _Garde Nationale_ yesterday,

after spelling my passport over for ten minutes, objected that it was not

a good one. I maintained that it was; and feeling a momentary importance

at the recollection of my country, added, in an assuring tone, _"Et

d'ailleurs je suis Anglaise et par consequent libre d'aller ou bon me

semble._*" The man stared, but admitted my argument, and we passed on.

*"Besides, I am a native of England, and, consequently, have a right

to go where I please."

My room door is half open, and gives me a prospect into that of Mad. de

L____, which is on the opposite side of the passage. She has not yet put

on her cap, but her grey hair is profusely powdered; and, with no other

garments than a short under petticoat and a corset, she stands for the

edification of all who pass, putting on her rouge with a stick and a

bundle of cotton tied to the end of it.--All travellers agree in

describing great indelicacy to the French women; yet I have seen no

accounts which exaggerate it, and scarce any that have not been more

favourable than a strict adherence to truth might justify. This

inattractive part of the female national character is not confined to the

lower or middling classes of life; and an English woman is as likely to

be put to the blush in the boudoir of a Marquise, as in the shop of the

Grisette, which serves also for her dressing-room.

If I am not too idle, or too much amused, you will soon be informed of my

arrival at Arras; but though I should neglect to write, be persuaded I

shall never cease to be, with affection and esteem, Yours, &c.

Arras, August, 1792.

The appearance of Arras is not busy in proportion to its population,

because its population is not equal to its extent; and as it is a large,

without being a commercial, town, it rather offers a view of the tranquil

enjoyment of wealth, than of the bustle and activity by which it is

procured. The streets are mostly narrow and ill paved, and the shops

look heavy and mean; but the hotels, which chiefly occupy the low town,

are large and numerous. What is called la Petite Place, is really very

large, and small only in comparison with the great one, which, I believe,

is the largest in France. It is, indeed, an immense quadrangle--the

houses are in the Spanish form, and it has an arcade all round it. The

Spaniards, by whom it was built, forgot, probably, that this kind of

shelter would not be so desirable here as in their own climate. The

manufacture of tapestry, which a single line of Shakespeare has

immortalized, and associated with the mirthful image of his fat Knight,

has fallen into decay. The manufacturers of linen and woollen are but

inconsiderable; and one, which existed till lately, of a very durable

porcelain, is totally neglected. The principal article of commerce is

lace, which is made here in great quantities. The people of all ages,

from five years old to seventy, are employed in this delicate fabrick.

In fine weather you will see whole streets lined with females, each with

her cushion on her lap. The people of Arras are uncommonly dirty, and

the lacemakers do not in this matter differ from their fellow-citizens;

yet at the door of a house, which, but for the surrounding ones, you

would suppose the common receptacle of all the filth in the vicinage, is

often seated a female artizan, whose fingers are forming a point of

unblemished whiteness. It is inconceivable how fast the bobbins move

under their hands; and they seem to bestow so little attention on their

work, that it looks more like the amusement of idleness than an effort of

industry. I am no judge of the arguments of philosophers and politicians

for and against the use of luxury in a state; but if it be allowable at

all, much may be said in favour of this pleasing article of it. Children

may be taught to make it at a very early age, and they can work at home

under the inspection of their parents, which is certainly preferable to

crouding them together in manufactories, where their health is injured,

and their morals are corrupted.

By requiring no more implements than about five shillings will purchase,

a lacemaker is not dependent on the shopkeeper, nor the head of a

manufactory. All who choose to work have it in their own power, and can

dispose of the produce of their labour, without being at the mercy of an

avaricious employer; for though a tolerable good workwoman can gain a

decent livelihood by selling to the shops, yet the profit of the retailer

is so great, that if he rejected a piece of lace, or refused to give a

reasonable price for it, a certain sale would be found with the

individual consumer: and it is a proof of the independence of this

employ, that no one will at present dispose of their work for paper, and

it still continues to be paid for in money. Another argument in favour

of encouraging lace-making is, that it cannot be usurped by men: you may

have men-milliners, men-mantuamakers, and even ladies' valets, but you

cannot well fashion the clumsy and inflexible fingers of man to

lace-making. We import great quantities of lace from this country, yet

I imagine we might, by attention, be enabled to supply other countries,

instead of purchasing abroad ourselves. The art of spinning is daily

improving in England; and if thread sufficiently fine can be

manufactured, there is no reason why we should not equal our neighbours

in the beauty of this article. The hands of English women are more

delicate than those of the French; and our climate is much the same as

that of Brussels, Arras, Lisle, &c. where the finest lace is made.

The population of Arras is estimated at about twenty-five thousand souls,

though many people tell me it is greater. It has, however, been lately

much thinned by emigration, suppression of convents, and the decline of

trade, occasioned by the absence of so many rich inhabitants.--The

Jacobins are here become very formidable: they have taken possession of a

church for their meetings, and, from being the ridicule, are become the

terror of all moderate people.

Yesterday was appointed for taking the new oath of liberty and equality.

I did not see the ceremony, as the town was in much confusion, and it was

deemed unsafe to be from home. I understand it was attended only by the

very refuse of the people, and that, as a gallanterie analogue, the

President of the department gave his arm to Madame Duchene, who sells

apples in a cellar, and is Presidente of the Jacobin club. It is,

however, reported to-day, that she is in disgrace with the society for

her condescension; and her parading the town with a man of forty thousand

livres a year is thought to be too great a compliment to the aristocracy

of riches; so that Mons. Le President's political gallantry has availed

him nothing. He has debased and made himself the ridicule of the

Aristocrates and Constitutionalists, without paying his court, as he

intended, to the popular faction. I would always wish it to happen so to

those who offer up incense to the mob. As human beings, as one's fellow

creatures, the poor and uninformed have a claim to our affection and

benevolence, but when they become legislators, they are absurd and

contemptible tyrants.--_A propos_--we were obliged to acknowledge this new

sovereignty by illuminating the house on the occasion; and this was not

ordered by nocturnal vociferation as in England, but by a regular command

from an officer deputed for that purpose.

I am concerned to see the people accustomed to take a number of

incompatible oaths with indifference: it neither will nor can come to any

good; and I am ready to exclaim with Juliet--"Swear not at all." Or, if

ye must swear, quarrel not with the Pope, that your consciences may at

least be relieved by dispensations and indulgences.

To-morrow we go to Lisle, notwithstanding the report that it has already

been summoned to surrender. You will scarcely suppose it possible, yet

we find it difficult to learn the certainty of this, at the distance of

only thirty miles: but communication is much less frequent and easy here

than in England. I am not one of those "unfortunate women who delight in

war;" and, perhaps, the sight of this place, so famous for its

fortifications, will not be very amusing to me, nor furnish much matter

of communication for my friends; but I shall write, if it be only to

assure you that I am not made prize of by the Austrians. Yours, &c.

Lisle, August, 1792.

You restless islanders, who are continually racking imagination to

perfect the art of moving from one place to another, and who can drop

asleep in a carriage and wake at an hundred mile distance, have no notion

of all the difficulties of a day's journey here. In the first place, all

the horses of private persons have been taken for the use of the army,

and those for hire are constantly employed in going to the camp--hence,

there is a difficulty in procuring horses. Then a French carriage is

never in order, and in France a job is not to be done just when you want

it--so that there is often a difficulty in finding vehicles. Then there

is the difficulty of passports, and the difficulty of gates, if you want

to depart early. Then the difficulties of patching harness on the road,

and, above all, the inflexible _sang froid_ of drivers. All these things

considered, you will not wonder that we came here a day after we

intended, and arrived at night, when we ought to have arrived at noon.

--The carriage wanted a trifling repair, and we could get neither

passports nor horses. The horses were gone to the army--the municipality

to the club--and the blacksmith was employed at the barracks in making a

patriotic harangue to the soldiers.--But we at length surmounted all

these obstacles, and reached this place last night.

The road between Arras and Lisle is equally rich with that we before

passed, but is much more diversified. The plain of Lens is not such a

scene of fertility, that one forgets it has once been that of war and

carnage. We endeavoured to learn in the town whereabouts the column was

erected that commemmorates that famous battle, [1648.] but no one seemed

to know any thing of the matter. One who, we flattered ourselves, looked

more intelligent than the rest, and whom we supposed might be an

attorney, upon being asked for this spot,--(where, added Mr. de ____, by

way of assisting his memory, _"le Prince de Conde s'est battu si bien,"_)

--replied, _"Pour la bataille je n'en sais rien, mais pour le Prince de

Conde il y a deja quelque tems qu'il est emigre--on le dit a Coblentz."_*

After this we thought it in vain to make any farther enquiry, and

continued our walk about the town.

*"Where the Prince of Conde fought so gallantly."--"As to the battle

I know nothing about the matter; but for the Prince of Conde he

emigrated some time since--they say he is at Coblentz."

Mr. P____, who, according to French custom, had not breakfasted, took a

fancy to stop at a baker's shop and buy a roll. The man bestowed so much

more civility on us than our two sols were worth, that I observed, on

quitting the shop, I was sure he must be an Aristocrate. Mr. P____, who

is a warm Constitutionalist, disputed the justice of my inference, and we

agreed to return, and learn the baker's political principles. After

asking for more rolls, we accosted him with the usual phrase, "Et vous,

Monsieur, vous etes bon patriote?"--_"Ah, mon Dieu, oui,_ (replied he,)

_il faut bien l'etre a present."_*

*"And you, Sir, are without doubt, a good patriot?"--"Oh Lord, Sir,

yes; one's obliged to be so, now-a-days."

Mr. P____ admitted the man's tone of voice and countenance as good

evidence, and acknowledged I was right.--It is certain that the French

have taken it into their heads, that coarseness of manners is a necessary

consequence of liberty, and that there is a kind of leze nation in being

too civil; so that, in general, I think I can discover the principles of

shopkeepers, even without the indications of a melancholy mien at the

assignats, or lamentations on the times.

The new doctrine of primeval equality has already made some progress. At

a small inn at Carvin, where, upon the assurance that they had every

thing in the world, we stopped to dine, on my observing they had laid

more covers than were necessary, the woman answered, "Et les domestiques,

ne dinent ils pas?"--"And, pray, are the servants to have no dinner?"

We told her not with us, and the plates were taken away; but we heard her

muttering in the kitchen, that she believed we were aristocrates going to

emigrate. She might imagine also that we were difficult to satisfy, for

we found it impossible to dine, and left the house hungry,

notwithstanding there was "every thing in the world" in it.

On the road between Carvin and Lisle we saw Dumouriez, who is going to

take the command of the army, and has now been visiting the camp of

Maulde. He appears to be under the middle size, about fifty years of

age, with a brown complexion, dark eyes, and an animated countenance. He

was not originally distinguished either by birth or fortune, and has

arrived at his present situation by a concurrence of fortuitous

circumstances, by great and various talents, much address, and a spirit

of intrigue. He is now supported by the prevailing party; and, I

confess, I could not regard with much complacence a man, whom the

machinations of the Jacobins had forced into the ministry, and whose

hypocritical and affected resignation has contributed to deceive the

people, and ruin the King.

Lisle has all the air of a great town, and the mixture of commercial

industry and military occupation gives it a very gay and populous

appearance. The Lillois are highly patriotic, highly incensed against

the Austrians, and regard the approaching siege with more contempt than

apprehension. I asked the servant who was making my bed this morning,

how far the enemy was off. _"Une lieue et demie, ou deux lieues, a moins

qu'ils ne soient plus avances depuis hier,"_* repled she, with the utmost

indifference.--I own, I did not much approve of such a vicinage, and a

view of the fortifications (which did not make the less impression,

because I did not understand them,) was absolutely necessary to raise my

drooping courage.

*"A league and a half, or two leagues; unless, indeed, they have

advanced since yesterday."

This morning was dedicated to visiting the churches, citadel, and

Collisee (a place of amusement in the manner of our Vauxhall); but all

these things have been so often described by much abler pens, that I

cannot modestly pretend to add any thing on the subject.

In the evening we were at the theatre, which is large and handsome; and

the constant residence of a numerous garrison enables it to entertain a

very good set of performers:--their operas in particular are extremely

well got up. I saw Zemire et Azor given better than at Drury Lane.--In

the farce, which was called Le Francois a Londres, was introduced a

character they called that of an Englishman, (Jack Roastbeef,) who pays

his addresses to a nobleman's daughter, in a box coate, a large hat

slouched over his eyes, and an oaken trowel in his hand--in short, the

whole figure exactly resembling that of a watchman. His conversation is

gross and sarcastic, interlarded with oaths, or relieved by fits of

sullen taciturnity--such a lover as one may suppose, though rich, and the

choice of the lady's father, makes no impression; and the author has

flattered the national vanity by making the heroine give the preference

to a French marquis. Now there is no doubt but nine-tenths of the

audience thought this a good portraiture of the English character, and

enjoyed it with all the satisfaction of conscious superiority.--The

ignorance that prevails with regard to our manners and customs, among a

people so near us, is surprizing. It is true, that the noblesse who have

visited England with proper recommendations, and have been introduced to

the best society, do us justice: the men of letters also, who, from party

motives, extol every thing English, have done us perhaps more than

justice. But I speak of the French in general; not the lower classes

only, but the gentry of the provinces, and even those who in other

respects have pretensions to information. The fact is, living in England

is expensive: a Frenchman, whose income here supports him as a gentleman,

goes over and finds all his habits of oeconomy insufficient to keep him

from exceeding the limits he had prescribed to himself. His decent

lodging alone costs him a great part of his revenue, and obliges him to

be strictly parsimonious of the rest. This drives him to associate

chiefly with his own countrymen, to dine at obscure coffee-houses, and

pay his court to opera-dancers. He sees, indeed, our theatres, our

public walks, the outside of our palaces, and the inside of churches: but

this gives him no idea of the manners of the people in superior life, or

even of easy fortune. Thus he goes home, and asserts to his untravelled

countrymen, that our King and nobility are ill lodged, our churches mean,

and that the English are barbarians, who dine without soup, use no

napkin, and eat with their knives.--I have heard a gentleman of some

respectability here observe, that our usual dinner was an immense joint

of meat half drest, and a dish of vegetables scarcely drest at all.--Upon

questioning him, I discovered he had lodged in St. Martin's Lane, had

likewise boarded at a country attorney's of the lowest class, and dined

at an ordinary at Margate.

Some few weeks ago the Marquis de P____ set out from Paris in the

diligence, and accompanied by his servant, with a design of emigrating.

Their only fellow-traveller was an Englishman, whom they frequently

addressed, and endeavoured to enter into conversation with; but he either

remained silent, or gave them to understand he was entirely ignorant of

the language. Under this persuasion the Marquis and his valet freely

discussed their affairs, arranged their plan of emigration, and

expressed, with little ceremony, their political opinions.--At the end of

their journey they were denounced by their companion, and conducted to

prison. The magistrate who took the information mentioned the

circumstance when I happened to be present. Indignant at such an act in

an Englishman, I enquired his name. You will judge of my surprize, when

he assured me it was the English Ambassador. I observed to him, that it

was not common for our Ambassadors to travel in stage-coaches: this, he

said, he knew; but that having reason to suspect the Marquis, Monsieur

l'Ambassadeur had had the goodness to have him watched, and had taken

this journey on purpose to detect him. It was not without much

reasoning, and the evidence of a lady who had been in England long enough

to know the impossibility of such a thing, that I would justify Lord

G____ from this piece of complaisance to the Jacobins, and convince the

worthy magistrate he had been imposed upon: yet this man is the Professor

of Eloquence at a college, is the oracle of the Jacobin society; and may

perhaps become a member of the Convention. This seems so almost

incredibly absurd, that I should fear to repeat it, were it not known to

many besides myself; but I think I may venture to pronounce, from my own

observation, and that of others, whose judgement, and occasions of

exercising it, give weight to their opinions, that the generality of the

French who have read a little are mere pedants, nearly unacquainted with

modern nations, their commercial and political relation, their internal

laws, characters, or manners. Their studies are chiefly confined to

Rollin and Plutarch, the deistical works of Voltaire, and the visionary

politics of Jean Jaques. Hence they amuse their hearers with allusions

to Caesar and Lycurgus, the Rubicon, and Thermopylae. Hence they pretend

to be too enlightened for belief, and despise all governments not founded

on the Contrat Social, or the Profession de Foi.--They are an age removed

from the useful literature and general information of the middle classes

in their own country--they talk familiarly of Sparta and Lacedemon, and

have about the same idea of Russia as they have of Caffraria. Yours.

Lisle.

"Married to another, and that before those shoes were old with which she

followed my poor father to the grave."--There is scarcely any

circumstance, or situation, in which, if one's memory were good, one

should not be mentally quoting Shakespeare. I have just now been

whispering the above, as I passed the altar of liberty, which still

remains on the Grande Place. But "a month, a little month," ago, on this

altar the French swore to maintain the constitution, and to be faithful

to the law and the King; yet this constitution is no more, the laws are

violated, the King is dethroned, and the altar is now only a monument of

levity and perjury, which they have not feeling enough to remove.

The Austrians are daily expected to besiege this place, and they may

destroy, but they will not take it. I do not, as you may suppose,

venture to speak so decisively in a military point of view--I know as

little as possible of the excellencies of Vauban, or the adequacy of the

garrison; but I draw my inference from the spirit of enthusiasm which

prevails among the inhabitants of every class--every individual seems to

partake of it: the streets resound with patriotic acclamations, patriotic

songs, war, and defiance.--Nothing can be more animating than the

theatre. Every allusion to the Austrians, every song or sentence,

expressive of determined resistance, is followed by bursts of assent,

easily distinguishable not to be the effort of party, but the sentiment

of the people in general. There are, doubtless, here, as in all other

places, party dissensions; but the threatened siege seems at least to

have united all for their common defence: they know that a bomb makes no

distinction between Feuillans, Jacobins, or Aristocrates, and neither are

so anxious to destroy the other, when it is only to be done at such a

risk to themselves. I am even willing to hope that something better than

mere selfishness has a share in their uniting to preserve one of the

finest, and, in every sense, one of the most interesting, towns in

France.

Lisle, Saturday.

We are just on our departure for Arras, where, I fear, we shall scarcely

arrive before the gates are shut. We have been detained here much beyond

our time, by a circumstance infinitely shocking, though, in fact, not

properly a subject of regret. One of the assassins of General Dillon was

this morning guillotined before the hotel where we are lodged.--I did

not, as you will conclude, see the operation; but the mere circumstance

of knowing the moment it was performed, and being so near it, has much

unhinged me. The man, however, deserved his fate, and such an example

was particularly necessary at this time, when we are without a

government, and the laws are relaxed. The mere privation of life is,

perhaps, more quickly effected by this instrument than by any other

means; but when we recollect that the preparation for, and apprehension

of, death, constitute its greatest terrors; that a human hand must give

motion to the Guillotine as well as to the axe; and that either accustoms

a people, already sanguinary, to the sight of blood, I think little is

gained by the invention. It was imagined by a Mons. Guillotin, a

physician of Paris, and member of the Constituent Assembly. The original

design seems not so much to spare pain to the criminal, as obloquy to the

executioner. I, however, perceive little difference between a man's

directing a Guillotine, or tying a rope; and I believe the people are of

the same opinion. They will never see any thing but a _bourreau_

[executioner] in the man whose province it is to execute the sentence of

the laws, whatever name he may be called by, or whatever instrument he

may make use of.--I have concluded this letter with a very unpleasant

subject, but my pen is guided by circumstances, and I do not invent, but

communicate.--Adieu. Yours, &c.

Arras, September 1, 1792.

Had I been accompanied by an antiquary this morning, his sensibility

would have been severely exercised; for even I, whose respect for

antiquity is not scientific, could not help lamenting the modern rage for

devastation which has seized the French. They are removing all "the

time-honoured figures" of the cathedral, and painting its massive

supporters in the style of a ball-room. The elaborate uncouthness of

ancient sculpture is not, indeed, very beautiful; yet I have often

fancied there was something more simply pathetic in the aukward effigy of

an hero kneeling amidst his trophies, or a regal pair with their

supplicating hands and surrounding offspring, than in the graceful

figures and poetic allegories of the modern artist. The humble intreaty

to the reader to "praye for the soule of the departed," is not very

elegant--yet it is better calculated to recall the wanderings of

morality, than the flattering epitaph, a Fame hovering in the air, or the

suspended wreath of the remunerating angel.--But I moralize in vain--the

rage of these new Goths is inexorable: they seem solicitous to destroy

every vestige of civilization, lest the people should remember they have

not always been barbarians.

After obtaining an order from the municipality, we went to see the

gardens and palace of the Bishop, who has emigrated. The garden has

nothing very remarkable, but is large and well laid out, according to the

old style. It forms a very agreeable walk, and, when the Bishop possest

it, was open for the enjoyment of the inhabitants, but it is now shut up

and in disorder. The house is plain, and substantially furnished, and

exhibits no appearance of unbecoming luxury. The whole is now the

property of the nation, and will soon be disposed of.--I could not help

feeling a sensation of melancholy as we walked over the apartments.

Every thing is marked in an inventory, just as left; and an air of

arrangement and residence leads one to reflect, that the owner did not

imagine at his departure he was quitting it perhaps for ever. I am not

partial to the original emigrants, yet much may be said for the Bishop of

Arras. He was pursued by ingratitude, and marked for persecution. The

Robespierres were young men whom he had taken from a mean state, had

educated, and patronized. The revolution gave them an opportunity of

displaying their talents, and their talents procured them popularity.

They became enemies to the clergy, because their patron was a Bishop; and

endeavoured to render their benefactor odious, because the world could

not forget, nor they forgive, how much they were indebted to him.--Vice

is not often passive; nor is there often a medium between gratitude for

benefits, and hatred to the author of them. A little mind is hurt by the

remembrance of obligation--begins by forgetting, and, not uncommonly,

ends by persecuting.

We dined and passed the afternoon from home to-day. After dinner our

hostess, as usual, proposed cards; and, as usual in French societies,

every one assented: we waited, however, some time, and no cards came--

till, at length, conversation-parties were formed, and they were no

longer thought of. I have since learned, from one of the young women of

the house, that the butler and two footmen had all betaken themselves to

clubs and Guinguettes,* and the cards, counters, &c. could not be

obtained.

* Small public houses in the vicinity of large towns, where the

common people go on Sundays and festivals to dance and make merry.

This is another evil arising from the circumstances of the times. All

people of property have begun to bury their money and plate, and as the

servants are often unavoidably privy to it, they are become idle and

impertinent--they make a kind of commutation of diligence for fidelity,

and imagine that the observance of the one exempts them from the

necessity of the other. The clubs are a constant receptacle for

idleness; and servants who think proper to frequent them do it with very

little ceremony, knowing that few whom they serve would be imprudent

enough to discharge them for their patriotism in attending a Jacobin

society. Even servants who are not converts to the new principle cannot

resist the temptation of abusing a little the power which they acquire

from a knowledge of family affairs. Perhaps the effect of the revolution

has not, on the whole, been favourable to the morals of the lower class

of people; but this shall be the subject of discussion at some future

period, when I shall have had farther opportunities of judging.

We yesterday visited the Oratoire, a seminary for education, which is now

suppressed. The building is immense, and admirably calculated for the

purpose, but is already in a state of dilapidation; so that, I fear, by

the time the legislature has determined what system of instruction shall

be substituted for that which has been abolished, the children (as the

French are fond of examples from the ancients) will take their lessons,

like the Greeks, in the open air; and, in the mean while, become expert

in lying and thieving, like the Spartans.

The Superior of the house is an immoderate revolutionist, speaks English

very well, and is a great admirer of our party writers. In his room I

observed a vast quantity of English books, and on his chimney stood what

he called a patriotic clock, the dial of which was placed between two

pyramids, on which were inscribed the names of republican authors, and on

the top of one was that of our countryman, Mr. Thomas Paine--whom, by the

way, I understand you intended to exhibit in a much more conspicuous and

less tranquil situation. I assure you, though you are ungrateful on your

side of the water, he is in high repute here--his works are translated--

all the Jacobins who can read quote, and all who can't, admire him; and

possibly, at the very moment you are sentencing him to an installment in

the pillory, we may be awarding him a triumph.--Perhaps we are both

right. He deserves the pillory, from you for having endeavoured to

destroy a good constitution--and the French may with equal reason grant

him a triumph, as their constitution is likely to be so bad, that even

Mr. Thomas Paine's writings may make it better!

Our house is situated within view of a very pleasant public walk, where I

am daily amused with a sight of the recruits at their exercise. This is

not quite so regular a business as the drill in the Park. The exercise

is often interrupted by disputes between the officer and his eleves--some

are for turning to the right, others to the left, and the matter is not

unfrequently adjusted by each going the way that seemeth best unto

himself. The author of the _"Actes des Apotres"_ [The Acts of the

Apostles] cites a Colonel who reprimanded one of his corps for walking

ill--_"Eh Dicentre,_ (replied the man,) _comment veux tu que je marche

bien quand tu as fait mes souliers trop etroits."_* but this is no longer

a pleasantry--such circumstances are very common. A Colonel may often be

tailor to his own regiment, and a Captain operated on the heads of his

whole company, in his civil capacity, before he commands them in his

military one.

*"And how the deuce can you expect me to march well, when you have

made my shoes too tight?"

The walks I have just mentioned have been extremely beautiful, but a

great part of the trees have been cut down, and the ornamental parts

destroyed, since the revolution--I know not why, as they were open to the

poor as well as the rich, and were a great embellishment to the low town.

You may think it strange that I should be continually dating some

destruction from the aera of the revolution--that I speak of every thing

demolished, and of nothing replaced. But it is not my fault--"If freedom

grows destructive, I must paint it:" though I should tell you, that in

many streets where convents have been sold, houses are building with the

materials on the same site.--This is, however, not a work of the nation,

but of individuals, who have made their purchases cheap, and are

hastening to change the form of their property, lest some new revolution

should deprive them of it.--Yours, &c.

Arras, September.