Nothing more powerfully excites the attention of a stranger on his first

arrival, than the number and wretchedness of the poor at Arras. In all

places poverty claims compulsion, but here compassion is accompanied by

horror--one dares not contemplate the object one commiserates, and

charity relieves with an averted eye. Perhaps with Him, who regards

equally the forlorn beggar stretched on the threshold, consumed by filth

and disease, and the blooming beauty who avoids while she succours him,

the offering of humanity scarcely expiates the involuntary disgust; yet

such is the weakness of our nature, that there exists a degree of misery

against which one's senses are not proof, and benevolence itself revolts

at the appearance of the poor of Arras.--These are not the cold and

fastidious reflections of an unfeeling mind--they are not made without

pain: nor have I often felt the want of riches and consequence so much as

in my incapacity to promote some means of permanent and substantial

remedy for the evils I have been describing. I have frequently enquired

the cause of this singular misery, but can only learn that it always has

been so. I fear it is, that the poor are without energy, and the rich

without generosity. The decay of manufactures since the last century

must have reduced many families to indigence. These have been able to

subsist on the refuse of luxury, but, too supine for exertion, they have

sought for nothing more; while the great, discharging their consciences

with the superfluity of what administered to their pride, fostered the

evil, instead of endeavouring to remedy it. But the benevolence of the

French is not often active, nor extensive; it is more frequently a

religious duty than a sentiment. They content themselves with affording

a mere existence to wretchedness; and are almost strangers to those

enlightened and generous efforts which act beyond the moment, and seek

not only to relieve poverty, but to banish it. Thus, through the frigid

and indolent charity of the rich, the misery which was at first

accidental is perpetuated, beggary and idleness become habitual, and are

transmitted, like more fortunate inheritances, from one generation to

another.--This is not a mere conjecture--I have listened to the histories

of many of these unhappy outcasts, who were more than thirty years old,

and they have all told me, they were born in the state in which I beheld

them, and that they did not remember to have heard that their parents

were in any other. The National Assembly profess to effectuate an entire

regeneration of the country, and to eradicate all evils, moral, physical,

and political. I heartily wish the numerous and miserable poor, with

which Arras abounds, may become one of the first objects of reform; and

that a nation which boasts itself the most polished, the most powerful,

and the most philosophic in the world, may not offer to the view so many

objects shocking to humanity.

The citadel of Arras is very strong, and, as I am told, the chef d'oeuvre

of Vauban; but placed with so little judgement, that the military call it

_la belle inutile_ [the useless beauty]. It is now uninhabited, and

wears an appearance of desolation--the commandant and all the officers of

the ancient government having been forced to abandon it; their houses

also are much damaged, and the gardens entirely destroyed.--I never heard

that this popular commotion had any other motive than the general war of

the new doctrines on the old.

I am sorry to see that most of the volunteers who go to join the army are

either old men or boys, tempted by extraordinary pay and scarcity of

employ. A cobler who has been used to rear canary-birds for Mad. de

____, brought us this morning all the birds he was possessed of, and told

us he was going to-morrow to the frontiers. We asked him why, at his

age, he should think of joining the army. He said, he had already

served, and that there were a few months unexpired of the time that would

entitle him to his pension.--"Yes; but in the mean while you may get

killed; and then of what service will your claim to a pension be?"--

_"N'ayez pas peur, Madame--Je me menagerai bien--on ne se bat pas pour ces

gueux la comme pour son Roi."_*

* "No fear of that, Madam--I'll take good care of myself: a man does

not fight for such beggarly rascals as these as he would for his

King."

M. de ____ is just returned from the camp of Maulde, where he has been to

see his son. He says, there is great disorder and want of discipline,

and that by some means or other the common soldiers abound more in money,

and game higher, than their officers. There are two young women,

inhabitants of the town of St. Amand, who go constantly out on all

skirmishing parties, exercise daily with the men, and have killed several

of the enemy. They are both pretty--one only sixteen, the other a year

or two older. Mr. de ____ saw them as they were just returning from a

reconnoitring party. Perhaps I ought to have been ashamed after this

recital to decline an invitation from Mr. de R___'s son to dine with him

at the camp; but I cannot but feel that I am an extreme coward, and that

I should eat with no appetite in sight of an Austrian army. The very

idea of these modern Camillas terrifies me--their creation seems an error

of nature.*

* Their name was Fernig; they were natives of St. Amand, and of no

remarkable origin. They followed Dumouriez into Flanders, where

they signalized themselves greatly, and became Aides-de-Camp to that

General. At the time of his defection, one of them was shot by a

soldier, whose regiment she was endeavouring to gain over. Their

house having been razed by the Austrians at the beginning of the

war, was rebuilt at the expence of the nation; but, upon their

participation in Dumouriez' treachery, a second decree of the

Assembly again levelled it with the ground.

Our host, whose politeness is indefatigable, accompanied us a few days

ago to St. Eloy, a large and magnificent abbey, about six miles from

Arras. It is built on a terrace, which commands the surrounding country

as far as Douay; and I think I counted an hundred and fifty steps from

the house to the bottom of the garden, which is on a level with the road.

The cloisters are paved with marble, and the church neat and beautiful

beyond description. The iron work of the choir imitates flowers and

foliage with so much taste and delicacy, that (but for the colour) one

would rather suppose it to be soil, than any durable material.--The monks

still remain, and although the decree has passed for their suppression,

they cannot suppose it will take place. They are mostly old men, and,

though I am no friend to these institutions, they were so polite and

hospitable that I could not help wishing they were permitted, according

to the design of the first Assembly, to die in their habitations--

especially as the situation of St. Eloy renders the building useless for

any other purpose.--A friend of Mr. de ____ has a charming country-house

near the abbey, which he has been obliged to deny himself the enjoyment

of, during the greatest part of the summer; for whenever the family

return to Arras, their persons and their carriage are searched at the

gate, as strictly as though they were smugglers just arrived from the

coast, under the pretence that they may assist the religious of St. Eloy

in securing some of their property, previous to the final seizure.

I observe, in walking the streets here, that the common people still

retain much of the Spanish cast of features: the women are remarkably

plain, and appear still more so by wearing faals. The faal is about two

ells of black silk or stuff, which is hung, without taste or form, on the

head, and is extremely unbecoming: but it is worn only by the lower

class, or by the aged and devotees.

I am a very voluminous correspondent, but if I tire you, it is a proper

punishment for your insincerity in desiring me to continue so. I have

heard of a governor of one of our West India islands who was universally

detested by its inhabitants, but who, on going to England, found no

difficulty in procuring addresses expressive of approbation and esteem.

The consequence was, he came back and continued governor for life.--Do

you make the application of my anecdote, and I shall persevere in

scribbling.--Every Yours.

Arras.

It is not fashionable at present to frequent any public place; but as we

are strangers, and of no party, we often pass our evenings at the

theatre. I am fond of it--not so much on account of the representation,

as of the opportunity which it affords for observing the dispositions of

the people, and the bias intended to be given them. The stage is now

become a kind of political school, where the people are taught hatred to

Kings, Nobility, and Clergy, according as the persecution of the moment

requires; and, I think, one may often judge from new pieces the meditated

sacrifice. A year ago, all the sad catalogue of human errors were

personified in Counts and Marquisses; they were not represented as

individuals whom wealth and power had made something too proud, and much

too luxurious, but as an order of monsters, whose existence,

independently of their characters, was a crime, and whose hereditary

possessions alone implied a guilt, not to be expiated but by the

forfeiture of them. This, you will say, was not very judicious; and that

by establishing a sort of incompatibility of virtue with titular

distinctions, the odium was transferred from the living to the dead--from

those who possessed these distinctions to those who instituted them.

But, unfortunately, the French were disposed to find their noblesse

culpable, and to reject every thing which tended to excuse or favour

them. The hauteur of the noblesse acted as a fatal equivalent to every

other crime; and many, who did not credit other imputations, rejoiced in

the humiliation of their pride. The people, the rich merchants, and even

the lesser gentry, all eagerly concurred in the destruction of an order

that had disdained or excluded them; and, perhaps, of all the innovations

which have taken place, the abolition of rank has excited the least

interest.

It is now less necessary to blacken the noblesse, and the compositions of

the day are directed against the Throne, the Clergy, and Monastic Orders.

All the tyrants of past ages are brought from the shelves of faction and

pedantry, and assimilated to the mild and circumscribed monarchs of

modern Europe. The doctrine of popular sovereignty is artfully

instilled, and the people are stimulated to exert a power which they must

implicitly delegate to those who have duped and misled them. The frenzy

of a mob is represented as the sublimest effort of patriotism; and

ambition and revenge, usurping the title of national justice, immolate

their victims with applause. The tendency of such pieces is too obvious;

and they may, perhaps, succeed in familiarizing the minds of the people

to events which, a few months ago, would have filled them with horror.

There are also numerous theatrical exhibitions, preparatory to the

removal of the nuns from their convents, and to the banishment of the

priests. Ancient prejudices are not yet obliterated, and I believe some

pains have been taken to justify these persecutions by calumny. The

history of our dissolution of the monasteries has been ransacked for

scandal, and the bigotry and biases of all countries are reduced into

abstracts, and exposed on the stage. The most implacable revenge, the

most refined malice, the extremes of avarice and cruelty, are wrought

into tragedies, and displayed as acting under the mask of religion and

the impunity of a cloister; while operas and farces, with ridicule still

more successful, exhibit convents as the abode of licentiousness,

intrigue, and superstition.

These efforts have been sufficiently successful--not from the merit of

the pieces, but from the novelty of the subject. The people in general

were strangers to the interior of convents: they beheld them with that

kind of respect which is usually produced in uninformed minds by mystery

and prohibition. Even the monastic habit was sacred from dramatic uses;

so that a representation of cloisters, monks, and nuns, their costumes

and manners, never fails to attract the multitude.--But the same cause

which renders them curious, makes them credulous. Those who have seen no

farther than the Grille, and those who have been educated in convents,

are equally unqualified to judge of the lives of the religious; and their

minds, having no internal conviction or knowledge of the truth, easily

become the converts of slander and falsehood.

I cannot help thinking, that there is something mean and cruel in this

procedure. If policy demand the sacrifice, it does not require that the

victims should be rendered odious; and if it be necessary to dispossess

them of their habitations, they ought not, at the moment they are thrown

upon the world, to be painted as monsters unworthy of its pity or

protection. It is the cowardice of the assassin, who murders before he

dares to rob.

This custom of making public amusements subservient to party, has, I

doubt not, much contributed to the destruction of all against whom it has

been employed; and theatrical calumny seems to be always the harbinger of

approaching ruin to its object; yet this is not the greatest evil which

may arise from these insidious politics--they are equally unfavourable

both to the morals and taste of the people; the first are injured beyond

calculation, and the latter corrupted beyond amendment. The orders of

society, which formerly inspired respect or veneration, are now debased

and exploded; and mankind, once taught to see nothing but vice and

hypocrisy in those whom they had been accustomed to regard as models of

virtue, are easily led to doubt the very existence of virtue itself: they

know not where to turn for either instruction or example; no prospect is

offered to them but the dreary and uncomfortable view of general

depravity; and the individual is no longer encouraged to struggle with

vicious propensities, when he concludes them irresistibly inherent in his

nature. Perhaps it was not possible to imagine principles at once so

seductive and ruinous as those now disseminated. How are the morals of

the people to resist a doctrine which teaches them that the rich only can

be criminal, and that poverty is a substitute for virtue--that wealth is

holden by the sufferance of those who do not possess it--and that he who

is the frequenter of a club, or the applauder of a party, is exempt from

the duties of his station, and has a right to insult and oppress his

fellow citizens? All the weaknesses of humanity are flattered and called

to the aid of this pernicious system of revolutionary ethics; and if

France yet continue in a state of civilization, it is because Providence

has not yet abandoned her to the influence of such a system.

Taste is, I repeat it, as little a gainer by the revolution as morals.

The pieces which were best calculated to form and refine the minds of the

people, all abound with maxims of loyalty, with respect for religion, and

the subordinations of civil society. These are all prohibited; and are

replaced by fustian declamations, tending to promote anarchy and discord

--by vulgar and immoral farces, and insidious and flattering panegyrics

on the vices of low life. No drama can succeed that is not supported by

the faction; and this support is to be procured only by vilifying the

Throne, the Clergy, and Noblesse. This is a succedaneum for literary

merit, and those who disapprove are menaced into silence; while the

multitude, who do not judge but imitate, applaud with their leaders--and

thus all their ideas become vitiated, and imbibe the corruption of their

favourite amusement.

I have dwelt on this subject longer than I intended; but as I would not

be supposed prejudiced nor precipitate in my assertions, I will, by the

first occasion, send you some of the most popular farces and tragedies:

you may then decide yourself upon the tendency; and, by comparing the

dispositions of the French before, and within, the last two years, you

may also determine whether or not my conclusions are warranted by fact.

Adieu.--Yours.

Arras.

Our countrymen who visit France for the first time--their imaginations

filled with the epithets which the vanity of one nation has appropriated,

and the indulgence of the other sanctioned--are astonished to find this

"land of elegance," this refined people, extremely inferior to the

English in all the arts that minister to the comfort and accommodation of

life. They are surprized to feel themselves starved by the intrusion of

all the winds of heaven, or smothered by volumes of smoke--that no lock

will either open or shut--that the drawers are all immoveable--and that

neither chairs nor tables can be preserved in equilibrium. In vain do

they inquire for a thousand conveniences which to them seem

indispensible; they are not to be procured, or even their use is unknown:

till at length, after a residence in a score of houses, in all of which

they observe the same deficiencies, they begin to grow sceptical, to

doubt the pretended superiority of France, and, perhaps for the first

time, do justice to their own unassuming country. It must however, be

confessed, that if the chimnies smoke, they are usually surrounded by

marble--that the unstable chair is often covered with silk--and that if a

room be cold, it is plentifully decked with gilding, pictures, and

glasses.--In short, a French house is generally more showy than

convenient, and seldom conveys that idea of domestic comfort which

constitutes the luxury of an Englishman.

I observe, that the most prevailing ornaments here are family portraits:

almost every dwelling, even among the lower kind of tradesmen, is peopled

with these ensigns of vanity; and the painters employed on these

occasions, however deficient in other requisites of their art, seem to

have an unfortunate knack at preserving likenesses. Heads powdered even

whiter than the originals, laced waistcoats, enormous lappets, and

countenances all ingeniously disposed so as to smile at each other,

encumber the wainscot, and distress the unlucky visitor, who is obliged

to bear testimony to the resemblance. When one sees whole rooms filled

with these figures, one cannot help reflecting on the goodness of

Providence, which thus distributes self-love, in proportion as it denies

those gifts that excite the admiration of others.

You must not understand what I have said on the furniture of French

houses as applying to those of the nobility or people of extraordinary

fortunes, because they are enabled to add the conveniences of other

countries to the luxuries of their own. Yet even these, in my opinion,

have not the uniform elegance of an English habitation: there is always

some disparity between the workmanship and the materials--some mixture of

splendour and clumsiness, and a want of what the painters call keeping;

but the houses of the gentry, the lesser noblesse, and merchants, are,

for the most part, as I have described---abounding in silk, marble,

glasses, and pictures; but ill finished, dirty, and deficient in articles

of real use.--I should, however, notice, that genteel people are cleaner

here than in the interior parts of the kingdom. The floors are in

general of oak, or sometimes of brick; but they are always rubbed bright,

and have not that filthy appearance which so often disgusts one in French

houses.

The heads of the lower classes of people are much disturbed by these new

principles of universal equality. We enquired of a man we saw near a

coach this morning if it was hired. "Monsieur--(quoth he--then checking

himself suddenly,)--no, I forgot, I ought not to say Monsieur, for they

tell me I am equal to any body in the world: yet, after all, I know not

well if this may be true; and as I have drunk out all I am worth, I

believe I had better go home and begin work again to-morrow." This new

disciple of equality had, indeed, all the appearance of having sacrificed

to the success of the cause, and was then recovering from a dream of

greatness which he told us had lasted two days.

Since the day of taking the new oath we have met many equally elevated,

though less civil. Some are undoubtedly paid, but others will distress

their families for weeks by this celebration of their new discoveries,

and must, after all, like our intoxicated philosopher, be obliged to

return "to work again to-morrow."

I must now bid you adieu--and, in doing so, naturally turn my thoughts to

that country where the rights of the people consist not of sterile and

metaphysic declarations, but of real defence and protection. May they

for ever remain uninterrupted by the devastating chimeras of their

neighbours; and if they seek reform, may it be moderate and permanent,

acceded to reason, and not extorted by violence!--Yours, &c.

September 2, 1792.

We were so much alarmed at the theatre on Thursday, that I believe we

shall not venture again to amuse ourselves at the risk of a similar

occurrence. About the middle of the piece, a violent outcry began from

all parts of the house, and seemed to be directed against our box; and I

perceived Madame Duchene, the Presidente of the Jacobins, heading the

legions of Paradise with peculiar animation. You may imagine we were not

a little terrified. I anxiously examined the dress of myself and my

companions, and observing nothing that could offend the affected

simplicity of the times, prepared to quit the house. A friendly voice,

however, exerting itself above the clamour, informed us that the

offensive objects were a cloak and a shawl which hung over the front of

the box.--You will scarcely suppose such grossness possible among a

civilized people; but the fact is, our friends are of the proscribed

class, and we were insulted because in their society.--I have before

noticed, that the guards which were stationed in the theatre before the

revolution are now removed, and a municipal officer, made conspicuous by

his scarf, is placed in the middle front box, and, in case of any tumult,

is empowered to call in the military to his assistance.

We have this morning been visiting two objects, which exhibit this

country in very different points of view--as the seat of wealth, and the

abode of poverty. The first is the abbey of St. Vaast, a most superb

pile, now inhabited by monks of various orders, but who are preparing to

quit it, in obedience to the late decrees. Nothing impresses one with a

stronger idea of the influence of the Clergy, than these splendid

edifices. We see them reared amidst the solitude of deserts, and in the

gaiety and misery of cities; and while they cheer the one and embellish

the other, they exhibit, in both, monuments of indefatigable labour and

immense wealth.--The facade of St. Vaast is simple and striking, and the

cloisters and every other part of the building are extremely handsome.

The library is supposed to be the finest in France, except the King's,

but is now under the seal of the nation. A young monk, who was our

Cicerone, told us he was sorry it was not in his power to show it. _"Et

nous, Monsieur, nous sommes faches aussi."_--["And we are not less sorry

than yourself, Sir."]

Thus, with the aid of significant looks, and gestures of disapprobation,

an exchange of sentiments took place, without a single expression of

treasonable import: both parties understood perfectly well, that in

regretting that the library was inaccessible, each included all the

circumstances which attended it.--A new church was building in a style

worthy of the convent--I think, near four hundred feet long; but it was

discontinued at the suppression of the religious orders, and will now, of

course, never be finished.

From this abode of learned case and pious indolence Mr. de ____ conducted

us to the Mont de Piete, a national institution for lending money to the

poor on pledges, (at a moderate interest,) which, if not redeemed within

a year, are sold by auction, and the overplus, if there remain any, after

deducting the interest, is given to the owner of the pledge. Thousands

of small packets are deposited here, which, to the eye of affluence,

might seem the very refuse of beggary itself.--I could not reflect

without an heart-ache, on the distress of the individual, thus driven to

relinquish his last covering, braving cold to satisfy hunger, and

accumulating wretchedness by momentary relief. I saw, in a lower room,

groupes of unfortunate beings, depriving themselves of different parts of

their apparel, and watching with solicitude the arbitrary valuations;

others exchanging some article of necessity for one of a still greater--

some in a state of intoxication, uttering execrations of despair; and all

exhibiting a picture of human nature depraved and miserable.--While I was

viewing this scene, I recalled the magnificent building we had just left,

and my first emotions were those of regret and censure. When we only

feel, and have not leisure to reflect, we are indignant that vast sums

should be expended on sumptuous edifices, and that the poor should live

in vice and want; yet the erection of St. Vaast must have maintained

great numbers of industrious hands; and perhaps the revenues of the abbey

may not, under its new possessors, be so well employed. When the

offerings and the tributes to religion are the support of the industrious

poor, it is their best appropriation; and he who gives labour for a day,

is a more useful benefactor than he who maintains in idleness for two.

--I could not help wishing that the poor might no longer be tempted by

the facility of a resource, which perhaps, in most instances, only

increases their distress.--It is an injudicious expedient to palliate an

evil, which great national works, and the encouragement of industry and

manufactures, might eradicate.*

* In times of public commotion people frequently send their valuable

effects to the Mont de Piete, not only as being secure by its

strength, but as it is respected by the people, who are interested

in its preservation.

--With these reflections I concluded mental peace with the monks of St.

Vaast, and would, had it depended upon me, have readily comprized the

finishing their great church in the treaty.

The Primary Assemblies have already taken place in this department. We

happened to enter a church while the young Robespierre was haranguing to

an audience, very little respectable either in numbers or appearance.

They were, however, sufficiently unanimous, and made up in noisy applause

what they wanted in other respects. If the electors and elected of other

departments be of the same complexion with those of Arras, the new

Assembly will not, in any respect, be preferable to the old one. I have

reproached many of the people of this place, who, from their education

and property, have a right to take an interest in the public affairs,

with thus suffering themselves to be represented by the most desperate

and worthless individuals of the town. Their defence is, that they are

insulted and overpowered if they attend the popular meetings, and by

electing _"les gueux et les scelerats pour deputes,"_* they send them to

Paris, and secure their own local tranquillity.

* The scrubs and scoundrels for deputies.

--The first of these assertions is but too true, yet I cannot but think

the second a very dangerous experiment. They remove these turbulent and

needy adventurers from the direction of a club to that of government, and

procure a partial relief by contributing to the general ruin.

Paris is said to be in extreme fermentation, and we are in some anxiety

for our friend M. P____, who was to go there from Montmorency last week.

I shall not close my letter till I have heard from him.

September 4.

I resume my pen after a sleepless night, and with an oppression of mind

not to be described. Paris is the scene of proscription and massacres.

The prisoners, the clergy, the noblesse, all that are supposed inimical

to public faction, or the objects of private revenge, are sacrificed

without mercy. We are here in the utmost terror and consternation--we

know not the end nor the extent of these horrors, and every one is

anxious for himself or his friends. Our society consists mostly of

females, and we do not venture out, but hover together like the fowls of

heaven, when warned by a vague yet instinctive dread of the approaching

storm. We tremble at the sound of voices in the street, and cry, with

the agitation of Macbeth, "there's knocking at the gate." I do not

indeed envy, but I most sincerely regret, the peace and safety of

England.--I have no courage to add more, but will enclose a hasty

translation of the letter we received from M. P____, by last night's

post. Humanity cannot comment upon it without shuddering.--Ever Yours,

&c.

"Rue St. Honore, Sept. 2, 1792.

"In a moment like this, I should be easily excused a breach of promise in

not writing; yet when I recollect the apprehension which the kindness of

my amiable friends will feel on my account, I determine, even amidst the

danger and desolation that surround me, to relieve them.--Would to Heaven

I had nothing more alarming to communicate than my own situation! I may

indeed suffer by accident; but thousands of wretched victims are at this

moment marked for sacrifice, and are massacred with an execrable

imitation of rule and order: a ferocious and cruel multitude, headed by

chosen assassins, are attacking the prisons, forcing the houses of the

noblesse and priests, and, after a horrid mockery of judicial

condemnation, execute them on the spot. The tocsin is rung, alarm guns

are fired, the streets resound with fearful shrieks, and an undefinable

sensation of terror seizes on one's heart. I feel that I have committed

an imprudence in venturing to Paris; but the barriers are now shut, and I

must abide the event. I know not to what these proscriptions tend, or if

all who are not their advocates are to be their victims; but an

ungovernable rage animates the people: many of them have papers in their

hands that seem to direct them to their objects, to whom they hurry in

crouds with an eager and savage fury.--I have just been obliged to quit

my pen. A cart had stopped near my lodgings, and my ears were assailed

by the groans of anguish, and the shouts of frantic exultation.

Uncertain whether to descend or remain, I, after a moment's deliberation,

concluded it would be better to have shown myself than to have appeared

to avoid it, in case the people should enter the house, and therefore

went down with the best show of courage I could assume.--I will draw a

veil over the scene that presented itself--nature revolts, and my fair

friends would shudder at the detail. Suffice it to say, that I saw cars,

loaded with the dead and dying, and driven by their yet ensanguined

murderers; one of whom, in a tone of exultation, cried, 'Here is a

glorious day for France!' I endeavoured to assent, though with a

faultering voice, and, as soon as they were passed escaped to my room.

You may imagine I shall not easily recover the shock I received.--At this

moment they say, the enemy are retreating from Verdun. At any other time

this would have been desirable, but at present one knows not what to wish

for. Most probably, the report is only spread with the humane hope of

appeasing the mob. They have already twice attacked the Temple; and I

tremble lest this asylum of fallen majesty should ere morning, be

violated.

"Adieu--I know not if the courier will be permitted to depart; but, as I

believe the streets are not more unsafe than the houses, I shall make an

attempt to send this. I will write again in a few days. If to-morrow

should prove calm, I shall be engaged in enquiring after the fate of my

friends.--I beg my respects to Mons. And Mad. de ____; and entreat you

all to be as tranquil as such circumstances will permit.--You may be

certain of hearing any news that can give you pleasure immediately. I

have the honour to be," &c. &c.

Arras, September, 1792.

You will in future, I believe, find me but a dull correspondent. The

natural timidity of my disposition, added to the dread which a native of

England has of any violation of domestic security, renders me unfit for

the scenes I am engaged in. I am become stupid and melancholy, and my

letters will partake of the oppression of my mind.

At Paris, the massacres at the prisons are now over, but those in the

streets and in private houses still continue. Scarcely a post arrives

that does not inform M. de ____ of some friend or acquaintance being

sacrificed. Heaven knows where this is to end!

We had, for two days, notice that, pursuant to a decree of the Assembly,

commissioners were expected here at night, and that the tocsin would be

rung for every body to deliver up their arms. We did not dare go to bed

on either of these nights, but merely lay down in our robes de chambre,

without attempting to sleep. This dreaded business is, however, past.

Parties of the Jacobins paraded the streets yesterday morning, and

disarmed all they thought proper. I observed they had lists in their

hands, and only went to such houses as have an external appearance of

property. Mr. de ____, who has been in the service thirty years,

delivered his arms to a boy, who behaved to him with the utmost

insolence, whilst we sat trembling and almost senseless with fear the

whole time they remained in the house; and could I give you an idea of

their appearance, you would think my terror very justifiable. It is,

indeed, strange and alarming, that all who have property should be

deprived of the means of defending either that or their lives, at a

moment when Paris is giving an example of tumult and assassination to

every other part of the kingdom. Knowing no good reason for such

procedure, it is very natural to suspect a bad one.--I think, on many

accounts, we are more exposed here than at ____, and as soon as we can

procure horses we shall depart.--The following is the translation of our

last letter from Mr. P____.

"I promised my kind friends to write as soon as I should have any thing

satisfactory to communicate: but, alas! I have no hope of being the

harbinger of any thing but circumstances of a very different tendency.

I can only give you details of the horrors I have already generally

described. Carnage has not yet ceased; and is only become more cool and

more discriminating. All the mild characteristics annihilated; and a

frantic cruelty, which is dignified with the name of patriotism, has

usurped ever faculty, and banished both reason and mercy.

"Mons. ____, whom I have hitherto known by reputation, as an upright, and

even humane man, had a brother shut up, with a number of other priests,

at the Carmes; and, by his situation and connections, he has such

influence as might, if exerted, have preserved the latter. The

unfortunate brother knowing this, found means, while hourly expecting his

fate, to convey a note to Mr. ____, begging he would immediately release,

and procure him an asylum. The messenger returned with an answer, that

Mons. ____ had no relations in the enemies of his country!

"A few hours after, the massacres at the Carmes took place.--One Panis,*

who is in the Comite de Surveillance, had, a few days previous to these

dreadful events, become, I know not on what occasion, the depositary of a

large sum of money belonging to a gentleman of his section.

* Panis has since figured on various occasions. He is a member of

the Convention, and was openly accused of having been an accomplice

in the robbery of the Garde Meuble.

"A secret and frivolous denunciation was made the pretext for throwing

the owner of the money into prison, where he remained till September,

when his friends, recollecting his danger, flew to the Committee and

applied for his discharge. Unfortunately, the only member of the

Committee present was Panis. He promised to take measures for an

immediate release.--Perhaps he kept his word, but the release was cruel

and final--the prison was attacked, and the victim heard of no more.--You

will not be surprized at such occurrences when I tell you that G____,*

whom you must remember to have heard of as a Jacobin at ____, is

President of the Committee above mentioned--yes, an assassin is now the

protector of the public safety, and the commune of Paris the patron of a

criminal who has merited the gibbet.

* G____ was afterwards elected (doubtless by a recommendation of the

Jacobins) Deputy for the department of Finisterre, to which he was

sent Commissioner by the Convention. On account of some

unwarrantable proceedings, and of some words that escaped him, which

gave rise to a suspicion that he was privy to the robbery of the

Garde Meuble, he was arrested by the municipality of Quimper

Corentin, of which place he is a native. The Jacobins applied for

his discharge, and for the punishment of the municipality; but the

Convention, who at that time rarely took any decisive measures,

ordered G____ to be liberated, but evaded the other part of the

petition which tended to revenge him. The affair of the Garde

Meuble, was, however, again brought forward; but, most probably,

many of the members had reasons for not discussing too nearly the

accusation against G____; and those who were not interested in

suppressing it, were too weak or too timid to pursue it farther.

"--I know not if we are yet arrived at the climax of woe and iniquity,

but Brissot, Condorcet, Rolland, &c. and all those whose principles you

have reprobated as violent and dangerous, will now form the moderate side

of the Assembly. Perhaps even those who are now the party most dreaded,

may one day give place to yet more desperate leaders, and become in their

turn our best alternative. What will then be the situation of France?

Who can reflect without trembling at the prospect?--It is not yet safe to

walk the streets decently dressed; and I have been obliged to supply

myself with trowsers, a jacket, coloured neckcloths, and coarse linen,

which I take care to soil before I venture out.

"The Agrarian law is now the moral of Paris, and I had nearly lost my

life yesterday by tearing a placard written in support of it. I did it

imprudently, not supposing I was observed; and had not some people, known

as Jacobins, come up and interfered in my behalf, the consequence might

have been fatal.--It would be difficult, and even impossible, to attempt

a description of the manners of the people of Paris at this moment: the

licentiousness common to great cities is decency compared with what

prevails in this; it has features of a peculiar and striking description,

and the general expression is that of a monstrous union of opposite

vices. Alternately dissolute and cruel, gay and vindictive, the Parisian

vaunts amidst debauchery the triumph of assassination, and enlivens his

midnight orgies by recounting the sufferings of the massacred

aristocrates: women, whose profession it is to please, assume the _bonnet

rouge_ [red cap], and affect, as a means of seduction, an intrepid and

ferocious courage.--I cannot yet learn if Mons. S____'s sister be alive;

her situation about the Queen makes it too doubtful; but endeavour to

give him hope--many may have escaped whose fears still detain them in

concealment. People of the first rank now inhabit garrets and cellars,

and those who appear are disguised beyond recollection; so that I do not

despair of the safety of some, who are now thought to have perished.--

I am, as you may suppose, in haste to leave this place, and I hope to

return to Montmorency tomorrow; but every body is soliciting passports.

The Hotel de Ville is besieged, and I have already attended two days

without success.--I beg my respectful homage to Monsieur and Madame de

____; and I have the honour to be, with esteem, the affectionate servant

of my friends in general.

"L____."

You will read M. L____'s letter with all the grief and indignation we

have already felt, and I will make no comment on it, but to give you a

slight sketch of the history of Guermeur, whom he mentions as being

President of the Committee of Surveillance.--In the absence of a man,

whom he called his friend, he seduced his wife, and eloped with her: the

husband overtook them, and fell in the dispute which insued; when

Guermeur, to avoid being taken by the officers of justice, abandoned his

companion to her fate, and escaped alone. After a variety of adventures,

he at length enlisted himself as a grenadier in the regiment of Dillon.

With much assurance, and talents cultivated above the situation in which

he appeared, he became popular amongst his fellow-soldiers, and the

military impunity, which is one effect of the revolution, cast a veil

over his former guilt, or rather indeed enabled him to defy the

punishment annexed to it. When the regiment was quartered at ____, he

frequented and harangued at the Jacobin club, perverted the minds of the

soldiers by seditious addresses, till at length he was deemed qualified

to quit the character of a subordinate incendiary, and figure amongst the

assassins at Paris. He had hitherto, I believe, acted without pay, for

he was deeply in debt, and without money or clothes; but a few days

previous to the tenth of August, a leader of the Jacobins supplied him

with both, paid his debts, procured his discharge, and sent him to Paris.

What intermediate gradations he may have passed through, I know not; but

it is not difficult to imagine the services that have advanced him to his

present situation.--It would be unsafe to risk this letter by the post,

and I close it hastily to avail myself of a present conveyance.--I

remain, Yours, &c.

Arras, September 14, 1792.

The camp of Maulde is broken up, and we deferred our journey, that we

might pass a day at Douay with M. de ____'s son. The road within some

miles of that place is covered with corn and forage, the immediate

environs are begun to be inundated, and every thing wears the appearance

of impending hostility. The town is so full of troops, that without the

interest of our military friends we should scarcely have procured a

lodging. All was bustle and confusion, the enemy are very near, and the

French are preparing to form a camp under the walls. Amidst all this, we

found it difficult to satisfy our curiosity in viewing the churches and

pictures: some of the former are shut, and the latter concealed; we

therefore contented ourselves with seeing the principal ones.

The town-house is a very handsome building, where the Parliament was

holden previous to the revolution, and where all the business of the

department of the North is now transacted.--In the council-chamber, which

is very elegantly carved, was also a picture of the present King. They

were, at the very moment of our entrance, in the act of displacing it.

We asked the reason, and were told it was to be cut in pieces, and

portions sent to the different popular societies.--I know not if our

features betrayed the indignation we feared to express, but the man who

seemed to have directed this disposal of the portrait, told us we were

not English if we saw it with regret. I was not much delighted with such

a compliment to our country, and was glad to escape without farther

comment.

The manners of the people seem every where much changed, and are becoming

gross and inhuman. While we were walking on the ramparts, I happened to

have occasion to take down an address, and with the paper and pencil in

my hand turned out of the direct path to observe a chapel on one side of

it. In a moment I was alarmed by the cries of my companions, and beheld

the musquet of the centinel pointed at me, and M. de ____ expostulating

with him. I am not certain if he supposed I was taking a plan of the

fortifications, and meant really more than a threat; but I was

sufficiently frightened, and shall not again approach a town wall with

pencils and paper.

M. de ____ is one of the only six officers of his regiment who have not

emigrated. With an indignation heated by the works of modern

philosophers into an enthusiastic love of republican governments, and

irritated by the contempt and opposition he has met with from those of

this own class who entertain different principles, he is now become

almost a fanatic. What at first was only a political opinion is now a

religious tenet; and the moderate sectary has acquired the obstinacy of a

martyr, and, perhaps, the spirit of persecution. At the beginning of the

revolution, the necessity of deciding, a youthful ardour for liberty, and

the desire of preserving his fortune, probably determined him to become a

patriot; and pride and resentment have given stability to notions which

might otherwise have fluctuated with circumstances, or yielded to time.

This is but too general the case: the friends of rational reform, and the

supporters of the ancient monarchy, have too deeply offended each other

for pardon or confidence; and the country perhaps will be sacrificed by

the mutual desertions of those most concerned in its preservation.

Actuated only by selfishness and revenge, each party willingly consents

to the ruin of its opponents. The Clergy, already divided among

themselves, are abandoned by the Noblesse--the Noblesse are persecuted by

the commercial interest--and, in short, the only union is amongst the

Jacobins; that is, amongst a few weak persons who are deceived, and a

banditti who betray and profit by their "patriotism."

I was led to these reflections by my conversation with Mr. de L____ and

his companions. I believe they do not approve of the present extremes,

yet they expressed themselves with the utmost virulence against the

aristocrates, and would hear neither of reconcilement nor palliation. On

the other hand, these dispositions were not altogether unprovoked--the

young men had been persecuted by their relations, and banished the

society of their acquaintance; and their political opinions had acted as

an universal proscription. There were even some against whom the doors

of the parental habitation were shut.--These party violences are

terrible; and I was happy to perceive that the reciprocal claims of duty

and affection were not diminished by them, either in M. de ____, or his

son. He, however, at first refused to come to A____, because he

suspected the patriotism of our society. I pleaded, as an inducement,

the beauty of Mad. G____, but he told me she was an aristocrate. It was

at length, however, determined, that he should dine with us last Sunday,

and that all visitors should be excluded. He was prevented coming by

being ordered out with a party the day we left him; and he has written to

us in high spirits, to say, that, besides fulfilling his object, he had

returned with fifty prisoners.

We had a very narrow escape in coming home--the Hulans were at the

village of ____, an hour after we passed through it, and treated the poor

inhabitants, as they usually do, with great inhumanity.--Nothing has

alienated the minds of the people so much as the cruelties of these

troops--they plunder and ill treat all they encounter; and their avarice

is even less insatiable than their barbarity. How hard is it, that the

ambition of the Chiefs, and the wickedness of faction, should thus fall

upon the innocent cottager, who perhaps is equally a stranger to the

names of the one, and the principles of the other!

The public papers will now inform you, that the French are at liberty to

obtain a divorce on almost any pretext, or even on no pretext at all,

except what many may think a very good one--mutual agreement. A lady of

our acquaintance here is become a republican in consequence of the

decree, and probably will very soon avail herself of it; but this

conduct, I conceive, will not be very general.

Much has been said of the gallantry of the French ladies, and not

entirely without reason; yet, though sometimes inconstant wives, they

are, for the most part, faithful friends--they sacrifice the husband

without forsaking him, and their common interest is always promoted with

as much zeal as the most inviolable attachment could inspire. Mad. de

C____, whom we often meet in company, is the wife of an emigrant, and is

said not to be absolutely disconsolate at his absence; yet she is

indefatigable in her efforts to supply him with money: she even risks her

safety by her solicitude, and has just now prevailed on her favourite

admirer to hasten his departure for the frontiers, in order to convey a

sum she has with much difficulty been raising. Such instances are, I

believe, not very rare; and as a Frenchman usually prefers his interest

to every thing else, and is not quite so unaccommodating as an

Englishman, an amicable arrangement takes place, and one seldom hears of

a separation.

The inhabitants of Arras, with all their patriotism, are extremely averse

from the assignats; and it is with great reluctance that they consent to

receive them at two-thirds of their nominal value. This discredit of the

paper money has been now two months at a stand, and its rise or fall will

be determined by the success of the campaign.--I bid you adieu for the

last time from hence. We have already exceeded the proposed length of

our visit, and shall set out for St. Omer to-morrow.--Yours.

St. Omer, September, 1792.

I am confined to my room by a slight indisposition, and, instead of

accompanying my friends, have taken up my pen to inform you that we are

thus far safe on our journey.--Do not, because you are surrounded by a

protecting element, smile at the idea of travelling forty or fifty miles

in safety. The light troops of the Austrian army penetrate so far, that

none of the roads on the frontier are entirely free from danger. My

female companions were alarmed the whole day--the young for their

baggage, and the old for themselves.

The country between this and Arras has the appearance of a garden

cultivated for the common use of its inhabitants, and has all the

fertility and beauty of which a flat surface is susceptible. Bethune and

Aire I should suppose strongly fortified. I did not fail, in passing

through the former, to recollect with veneration the faithful minister of

Henry the Fourth. The misfortunes of the descendant of Henry, whom

Sully* loved, and the state of the kingdom he so much cherished, made a

stronger impression on me than usual, and I mingled with the tribute of

respect a sentiment of indignation.

* Maximilien de Bethune, Duc de Sully.

What perverse and malignant influence can have excited the people either

to incur or to suffer their present situation? Were we not well

acquainted with the arts of factions, the activity of bad men, and the

effect of their union, I should be almost tempted to believe this change

in the French supernatural. Less than three years ago, the name of Henri

Quatre was not uttered without enthusiasm. The piece that transmitted

the slightest anecdotes of his life was certain of success--the air that

celebrated him was listened to with delight--and the decorations of

beauty, when associated with the idea of this gallant Monarch, became

more irresistible.*

* At this time it was the prevailing fashion to call any new

inventions of female dress after his name, and to decorate the

ornamental parts of furniture with his resemblance.

Yet Henry the Fourth is now a tyrant--his pictures and statues are

destroyed, and his memory is execrated!--Those who have reduced the

French to this are, doubtless, base and designing intriguers; yet I

cannot acquit the people, who are thus wrought on, of unfeelingness and

levity.--England has had its revolutions; but the names of Henry the

Fifth and Elizabeth were still revered: and the regal monuments, which

still exist, after all the vicissitudes of our political principles,

attest the mildness of the English republicans.

The last days of our stay at Arras were embittered by the distress of our

neighbour and acquaintance, Madame de B____. She has lost two sons under

circumstances so affecting, that I think you will be interested in the

relation.--The two young men were in the army, and quartered at

Perpignan, at a time when some effort of counter-revolution was said to

be intended. One of them was arrested as being concerned, and the other

surrendered himself prisoner to accompany his brother.--When the High

Court at Orleans was instituted for trying state-prisoners, those of

Perpignan were ordered to be conducted there, and the two B____'s,

chained together, were taken with the rest. On their arrival at Orleans,

their gaoler had mislaid the key that unlocked their fetters, and, not

finding it immediately, the young men produced one, which answered the

purpose, and released themselves. The gaoler looked at them with

surprize, and asked why, with such a means in their power, they had not

escaped in the night, or on the road. They replied, because they were

not culpable, and had no reason for avoiding a trial that would manifest

their innocence. Their heroism was fatal. They were brought, by a

decree of the Convention, from Orleans to Versailles, (on their way to

Paris,) where they were met by the mob, and massacred.

Their unfortunate mother is yet ignorant of their fate; but we left her

in a state little preferable to that which will be the effect of

certainty. She saw the decree for transporting the prisoners from

Orleans, and all accounts of the result have been carefully concealed

from her; yet her anxious and enquiring looks at all who approach her,

indicate but too well her suspicion of the truth.--Mons. de ____'s

situation is indescribable. Informed of the death of his sons, he is yet

obliged to conceal his sufferings, and wear an appearance of tranquillity

in the presence of his wife. Sometimes he escapes, when unable to

contain his emotions any longer, and remains at M. de ____'s till he

recovers himself. He takes no notice of the subject of his grief, and we

respect it too much to attempt to console him. The last time I asked him

after Madame de ____, he told me her spirits were something better, and,

added he, in a voice almost suffocated, "She is amusing herself with

working neckcloths for her sons!"--When you reflect that the massacres at

Paris took place on the second and third of September, and that the

decree was passed to bring the prisoners from Orleans (where they were in

safety) on the tenth, I can say nothing that will add to the horror of

this transaction, or to your detestation of its cause. Sixty-two, mostly

people of high rank, fell victims to this barbarous policy: they were

brought in a fort of covered waggons, and were murdered in heaps without

being taken out.*

* Perhaps the reader will be pleased at a discovery, which it would

have been unsafe to mention when made, or in the course of this

correspondence. The two young men here alluded to arrived at

Versailles, chained together, with their fellow-prisoners.

Surprize, perhaps admiration, had diverted the gaoler's attention

from demanding the key that opened their padlock, and it was still

in their possession. On entering Versailles, and observing the

crowd preparing to attack them, they divested themselves of their

fetters, and of every other incumbrance. In a few moments their

carriages were surrounded, their companions at one end were already

murdered, and themselves slightly wounded; but the confusion

increasing, they darted amidst the croud, and were in a moment

undistinguishable. They were afterwards taken under the protection

of an humane magistrate, who concealed them for some time, and they

are now in perfect security. They were the only two of the whole

number that escaped.

September, 1792.

We passed a country so barren and uninteresting yesterday, that even a

professional traveller could not have made a single page of it. It was,

in every thing, a perfect contrast to the rich plains of Artois--

unfertile, neglected vallies and hills, miserable farms, still more

miserable cottages, and scarcely any appearance of population. The only

place where we could refresh the horses was a small house, over the door

of which was the pompous designation of Hotel d'Angleterre. I know not

if this be intended as a ridicule on our country, or as an attraction to

our countrymen, but I, however, found something besides the appellation

which reminded me of England, and which one does not often find in houses

of a better outside; for though the rooms were small, and only two in

number, they were very clean, and the hostess was neat and civil. The

Hotel d'Angleterre, indeed, was not luxuriously supplied, and the whole

of our repast was eggs and tea, which we had brought with us.--In the

next room to that we occupied were two prisoners chained, whom the

officers were conveying to Arras, for the purpose of better security.

The secret history of this business is worth relating, as it marks the

character of the moment, and the ascendancy which the Jacobins are daily

acquiring.

These men were apprehended as smugglers, under circumstances of peculiar

atrocity, and committed to the gaol at ____. A few days after, a young

girl, of bad character, who has much influence at the club, made a

motion, that the people, in a body, should demand the release of the

prisoners. The motion was carried, and the Hotel de Ville assailed by a

formidable troop of sailors, fish-women, &c.--The municipality refused to

comply, the Garde Nationale was called out, and, on the mob persisting,

fired over their heads, wounded a few, and the rest dispersed of

themselves.--Now you must understand, the latent motive of all this was

two thousand livres promised to one of the Jacobin leaders, if he

succeeded in procuring the men their liberty.--I do not advance this

merely on conjecture. The fact is well known to the municipality; and

the decent part of it would willingly have expelled this man, who is one

of their members, but that they found themselves too weak to engage in a

serious quarrel with the Jacobins.--One cannot reflect, without

apprehension, that any society should exist which can oppose the

execution of the laws with impunity, or that a people, who are little

sensible of realities, should be thus abused by names. They suffer, with

unfeeling patience, a thousand enormities--yet blindly risk their

liberties and lives to promote the designs of an adventurer, because he

harangues at a club, and calls himself a patriot.--I have just received

advice that my friends have left Lausanne, and are on their way to Paris.

Our first plan of passing the winter there will be imprudent, if not

impracticable, and we have concluded to take a house for the winter six

months at Amiens, Chantilly, or some place which has the reputation of

being quiet. I have already ordered enquiries to be made, and shall set

out with Mrs. ____ in a day or two for Amiens. I may, perhaps, not write

till our return; but shall not cease to be, with great truth.--Yours, &c.

Amiens, 1792.

The departement de la Somme has the reputation of being a little

aristocratic. I know not how far this be merited, but the people are

certainly not enthusiasts. The villages we passed on our road hither

were very different from those on the frontiers--we were hailed by no

popular sounds, no cries of Vive la nation! except from here and there

some ragged boy in a red cap, who, from habit, associated this salutation

with the appearance of a carriage. In every place where there are half a

dozen houses is planted an unthriving tree of liberty, which seems to

wither under the baneful influence of the _bonnet rouge_. [The red cap.]

This Jacobin attribute is made of materials to resist the weather, and

may last some time; but the trees of liberty, being planted unseasonably,

are already dead. I hope this will not prove emblematic, and that the

power of the Jacobins may not outlive the freedom of the people.

The Convention begin their labours under disagreeable auspices. A

general terror seems to have seized on the Parisians, the roads are

covered with carriages, and the inns filled with travellers. A new

regulation has just taken place, apparently intended to check this

restless spirit. At Abbeville, though we arrived late and were fatigued,

we were taken to the municipality, our passports collated with our

persons, and at the inn we were obliged to insert in a book our names,

the place of our birth, from whence we came, and where we were going.

This, you will say, has more the features of a mature Inquisition, than a

new-born Republic; but the French have different notions of liberty from

yours, and take these things very quietly.--At Flixecourt we eat out of

pewter spoons, and the people told us, with much inquietude, that they

had sold their plate, in expectation of a decree of the Convention to

take it from them. This decree, however, has not passed, but the alarm

is universal, and does not imply any great confidence in the new

government.

I have had much difficulty in executing my commission, and have at last

fixed upon a house, of which I fear my friends will not approve; but the

panic which depopulates Paris, the bombardment of Lisle, and the

tranquillity which has hitherto prevailed here, has filled the town, and

rendered every kind of habitation scarce, and extravagantly dear: for you

must remark, that though the Amienois are all aristocrates, yet when an

intimidated sufferer of the same party flies from Paris, and seeks an

asylum amongst them, they calculate with much exactitude what they

suppose necessity may compel him to give, and will not take a livre

less.--The rent of houses and lodgings, like the national funds, rises

and falls with the public distresses, and, like them, is an object of

speculation: several persons to whom we were addressed were extremely

indifferent about letting their houses, alledging as a reason, that if

the disorders of Paris should increase, they had no doubt of letting them

to much greater advantage.

We were at the theatre last night--it was opened for the first time since

France has been declared a republic, and the Jacobins vociferated loudly

to have the fleur de lys, ad other regal emblems, effaced. Obedience was

no sooner promised to this command, than it was succeeded by another not

quite so easily complied with--they insisted on having the Marsellois

Hymn sung. In vain did the manager, with a ludicrous sort of terror,

declare, that there were none of his company who had any voice, or who

knew either the words of the music of the hymn in question. _"C'est egal,

il faut chanter,"_ ["No matter for that, they must sing."] resounded from

all the patriots in the house. At last, finding the thing impossible,

they agreed to a compromise; and one of the actors promised to sing it on

the morrow, as well as the trifling impediment of having no voice would

permit him.--You think your galleries despotic when they call for an

epilogue that is forgotten, and the actress who should speak it is

undrest; or when they insist upon enlivening the last acts of Jane Shore

with Roast Beef! What would you think if they would not dispense with a

hornpipe on the tight-rope by Mrs. Webb? Yet, bating the danger, I

assure you, the audience of Amiens was equally unreasonable. But liberty

at present seems to be in an undefined state; and until our rulers shall

have determined what it is, the matter will continue to be settled as it

is now--by each man usurping as large a portion of tyranny as his

situation will admit of. He who submits without repining to his

district, to his municipality, or even to the club, domineers at the

theatre, or exercises in the street a manual censure on aristocratic

apparel.*

*It was common at this time to insult women in the streets if

dressed too well, or in colours the people chose to call

aristocratic. I was myself nearly thrown down for having on a straw

bonnet with green ribbons.

Our embarrassment for small change is renewed: many of the communes who

had issued bills of five, ten, and fifteen sols, repayable in assignats,

are become bankrupts, which circumstance has thrown such a discredit on

all this kind of nominal money, that the bills of one town will not pass

at another. The original creation of these bills was so limited, that no

town had half the number requisite for the circulation of its

neighbourhood; and this decrease, with the distrust that arises from the

occasion of it, greatly adds to the general inconvenience.

The retreat of the Prussian army excites more surprize than interest, and

the people talk of it with as much indifference as they would of an event

that had happened beyond the Ganges. The siege of Lisle takes off all

attention from the relief of Thionville--not on account of its

importance, but on account of its novelty.--I remain, Yours, &c.

Abbeville, September, 1792.

We left Amiens early yesterday morning, but were so much delayed by the

number of volunteers on the road, that it was late before we reached

Abbeville. I was at first somewhat alarmed at finding ourselves

surrounded by so formidable a cortege; they however only exacted a

declaration of our political principles, and we purchased our safety by a

few smiles, and exclamations of vive la nation! There were some hundreds

of these recruits much under twenty; but the poor fellows, exhilarated by

their new uniform and large pay, were going gaily to decide their fate by

that hazard which puts youth and age on a level, and scatters with

indiscriminating hand the cypress and the laurel.

At Abbeville all the former precautions were renewed--we underwent

another solemn identification of our persons at the Hotel de Ville, and

an abstract of our history was again enregistered at the inn. One would

really suppose that the town was under apprehensions of a siege, or, at

least, of the plague. My "paper face" was examined as suspiciously as

though I had had the appearance of a travestied Achilles; and M____'s,

which has as little expression as a Chinese painting, was elaborately

scrutinized by a Dogberry in spectacles, who, perhaps, fancied she had

the features of a female Machiavel. All this was done with an air of

importance sufficiently ludicrous, when contrasted with the object; but

we met with no incivility, and had nothing to complain of but a little

additional fatigue, and the delay of our dinner.

We stopped to change horses at Bernay, and I soon perceived our landlady

was a very ardent patriot. In a room, to which we waded at great risk of

our clothes, was a representation of the siege of the Bastille, and

prints of half a dozen American Generals, headed by Mr. Thomas Paine. On

descending, we found out hostess exhibiting a still more forcible picture

of curiosity than Shakspeare's blacksmith. The half-demolished repast

was cooling on the table, whilst our postilion retailed the Gazette, and

the pigs and ducks were amicably grazing together on whatever the kitchen

produced. The affairs of the Prussians and Austrians were discussed with

entire unanimity, but when these politicians, as is often the case, came

to adjust their own particular account, the conference was much less

harmonious. The postilion offered a ten sols billet, which the landlady

refused: one persisted in its validity, the other in rejecting it--till,

at last, the patriotism of neither could endure this proof, and peace was

concluded by a joint execration of those who invented this fichu papier--

"Sorry paper."

At ____ we met our friend, Mad. de ____, with part of her family and an

immense quantity of baggage. I was both surprized and alarmed at such an

apparition, and found, on enquiry, that they thought themselves unsafe at

Arras, and were going to reside near M. de ____'s estate, where they were

better known. I really began to doubt the prudence of our establishing

ourselves here for the winter. Every one who has it in his power

endeavours to emigrate, even those who till now have been zealous

supporters of the revolution.--Distrust and apprehension seem to have

taken possession of every mind. Those who are in towns fly to the

country, while the inhabitant of the isolated chateau takes refuge in the

neighbouring town. Flocks of both aristocrates and patriots are

trembling and fluttering at the foreboding storm, yet prefer to abide its

fury, rather than seek shelter and defence together. I, however, flatter

myself, that the new government will not justify this fear; and as I am

certain my friends will not return to England at this season, I shall not

endeavour to intimidate or discourage them from their present

arrangement. We shall, at least, be enabled to form some idea of a

republican constitution, and I do not, on reflection, conceive that any

possible harm can happen to us.

October, 1792.

I shall not date from this place again, intending to quit it as soon as

possible. It is disturbed by the crouds from the camps, which are broken

up, and the soldiers are extremely brutal and insolent. So much are the

people already familiarized with the unnatural depravity of manners that

begins to prevail, that the wife of the Colonel of a battalion now here

walks the streets in a red cap, with pistols at her girdle, boasting of

the numbers she has destroyed at the massacres in August and September.

The Convention talk of the King's trial as a decided measure; yet no one

seems to admit even the possibility that such an act can be ever

intended. A few believe him culpable, many think him misled, and many

acquit him totally: but all agree, that any violation of his person would

be an atrocity disgraceful to the nation at large.--The fate of Princes

is often disastrous in proportion to their virtues. The vanity,

selfishness, and bigotry of Louis the Fourteenth were flattered while he

lived, and procured him the appellation of Great after his death. The

greatest military talents that France has given birth to seemed created

to earn laurels, not for themselves, but for the brow of that

vain-glorious Monarch. Industry and Science toiled but for his

gratification, and Genius, forgetting its dignity, willingly received

from his award the same it has since bestowed.

Louis the Fifteenth, who corrupted the people by his example, and ruined

them by his expence, knew no diminution of the loyalty, whatever he might

of the affection, of his people, and ended his days in the practice of

the same vices, and surrounded by the same luxury, in which he had passed

them.

Louis the Sixteenth, to whom scarcely his enemies ascribe any vices, for

its outrages against whom faction finds no excuse but in the facility of

his nature--whose devotion is at once exemplary and tolerant--who, in an

age of licentiousness, is remarkable for the simplicity of his manners--

whose amusements were liberal or inoffensive--and whose concessions to

his people form a striking contrast with the exactions of his

predecessors.--Yes, the Monarch I have been describing, and, I think, not

partially, has been overwhelmed with sorrow and indignities--his person

has been degraded, that he might be despoiled of his crown, and perhaps

the sacrifice of his crown may be followed by that of his life. When we

thus see the punishment of guilt accumulated on the head of him who has

not participated in it, and vice triumph in the security that should seem

the lot of innocence, we can only adduce new motives to fortify ourselves

in this great truth of our religion--that the chastisement of the one,

and reward of the other, must be looked for beyond the inflictions or

enjoyments of our present existence.

I do not often moralize on paper, but there are moments when one derives

one's best consolation from so moralizing; and this easy and simple

justification of Providence, which refers all that appears inconsistent

here to the retribution of a future state, is pointed out less as the

duty than the happiness of mankind. This single argument of religion

solves every difficulty, and leaves the mind in fortitude and peace;

whilst the pride of sceptical philosophy traces whole volumes, only to

establish the doubts, and nourish the despair, of its disciples.

Adieu. I cannot conclude better than with these reflections, at a time

when disbelief is something too fashionable even amongst our

countrymen.--Yours, &c.

Amiens, October, 1792.

I arrived here the day on which a ball was given to celebrate the return

of the volunteers who had gone to the assistance of Lisle.*

*The bombardment of Lisle commenced on the twenty-ninth of

September, at three o'clock in the afternoon, and continued, almost

without interruption, until the sixth of October. Many of the

public buildings, and whole quarters of the town, were so much

damaged or destroyed, that the situation of the streets were

scarcely distinguishable. The houses which the fire obliged their

inhabitants to abandon, were pillaged by barbarians, more merciless

than the Austrians themselves. Yet, amidst these accumulated

horrors, the Lillois not only preserved their courage, but their

presence of mind: the rich incited and encouraged the poor; those

who were unable to assist with their labour, rewarded with their

wealth: the men were employed in endeavouring to extinguish the fire

of the buildings, or in preserving their effects; while women and

children snatched the opportunity of extinguishing the fuzes of the

bombs as soon as they fell, at which they became very daring and

dexterous. During the whole of this dreadful period, not one

murmur, not one proposition to surrender, was heard from any party.

--The Convention decreed, amidst the wildest enthusiasm of applause,

that Lisle had deserved well of the country.

--Forty-two thousand five hundred balls were fired, and the damages

were estimated at forty millions of livres.

The French, indeed, never refuse to rejoice when they are ordered; but as

these festivities are not spontaneous effusions, but official ordinances,

and regulated with the same method as a tax or recruitment, they are of

course languid and uninteresting. The whole of their hilarity seems to

consist in the movement of the dance, in which they are by not means

animated; and I have seen, even among the common people, a cotillion

performed as gravely and as mechanically as the ceremonies of a Chinese

court.--I have always thought, with Sterne, that we were mistaken in

supposing the French a gay nation. It is true, they laugh much, have

great gesticulation, and are extravagantly fond of dancing: but the laugh

is the effect of habit, and not of a risible sensation; the gesture is

not the agitation of the mind operating upon the body, but constitutional

volatility; and their love of dancing is merely the effect of a happy

climate, (which, though mild, does not enervate,) and that love of action

which usually accompanies mental vacancy, when it is not counteracted by

heat, or other physical causes.

I know such an opinion, if publicly avowed, would be combated as false

and singular; yet I appeal to those who have at all studied the French

character, not as travellers, but by a residence amongst them, for the

support of my opinion. Every one who understands the language, and has

mixed much in society, must have made the same observations.--See two

Frenchmen at a distance, and the vehemence of their action, and the

expression of their features, shall make you conclude they are discussing

some subject, which not only interests, but delights them. Enquire, and

you will find they were talking of the weather, or the price of a

waistcoat!--In England you would be tempted to call in a peace-officer at

the loud tone and menacing attitudes with which two people here very

amicably adjust a bargain for five livres.--In short, we mistake that for

a mental quality which, in fact, is but a corporeal one; and, though the

French may have many good and agreeable points of character, I do not

include gaiety among the number.

I doubt very much of my friends will approve of their habitation. I

confess I am by no means satisfied with it myself; and, with regard to

pecuniary consideration, my engagement is not an advantageous one.

--Madame Dorval, of whom I have taken the house, is a character very

common in France, and over which I was little calculated to have the

ascendant. Officiously polite in her manners, and inflexibly attentive

to her interest, she seemingly acquiesces in every thing you propose.

You would even fancy she was solicitous to serve you; yet, after a

thousand gracious sentiments, and as many implied eulogiums on her

liberality and generosity, you find her return, with unrelenting

perseverance, to some paltry proposition, by which she is to gain a few

livres; and all this so civilly, so sentimentally, and so determinedly,

that you find yourself obliged to yield, and are duped without being

deceived.

The lower class have here, as well as on your side of the water, the

custom of attributing to Ministers and Governments some connection with,

or controul over, the operations of nature. I remarked to a woman who

brings me fruit, that the grapes were bad and dear this year--_"Ah! mon

Dieu, oui, ils ne murrissent pas. Il me semble que tout va mal depuis

qu'on a invente la nation."_ ["Ah! Lord, they don't ripen now.--For my

part, I think nothing has gone well since the nation was first

invented."]

I cannot, like the imitators of Sterne, translate a chapter of sentiment

from every incident that occurs, or from every physiognomy I encounter;

yet, in circumstances like the present, the mind, not usually observing,

is tempted to comment.--I was in a milliner's shop to-day, and took

notice on my entering, that its mistress was, whilst at her work,

learning the _Marseillois_ Hymn. [A patriotic air, at this time highly

popular.] Before I had concluded my purchase, an officer came in to

prepare her for the reception of four volunteers, whom she was to lodge

the two ensuing nights. She assented, indeed, very graciously, (for a

French woman never loses the command of her features,) but a moment

after, the Marseillois, which lay on the counter, was thrown aside in a

pet, and I dare say she will not resume her patriotic taste, nor be

reconciled to the revolution, until some days after the volunteers shall

have changed their quarters.

This quartering of troops in private houses appears to me the most

grievous and impolitic of all taxes; it adds embarrassment to expence,

invades domestic comfort, and conveys such an idea of military

subjection, that I wonder any people ever submits to it, or any

government ever ventures to impose it.

I know not if the English are conscious of their own importance at this

moment, but it is certain they are the centre of the hopes and fears of

all parties, I might say of all Europe. The aristocrates wait with

anxiety and solicitude a declaration of war, whilst their opponents

regard such an event as pregnant with distress, and even as the signal of

their ruin. The body of the people of both parties are averse from

increasing the number of their enemies; but as the Convention may be

directed by other motives than the public wish, it is impossible to form

any conclusion on the subject. I am, of course, desirous of peace, and

should be so from selfishness, if I were not from philanthropy, as a

cessation of it at this time would disconcert all our plans, and oblige

us to seek refuge at ____, which has just all that is necessary for our

happiness, except what is most desirable--a mild and dry atmosphere.--

Yours, &c.

Amiens, November, 1792.

The arrival of my friends has occasioned a short suspension of my

correspondence: but though I have been negligent, I assure you, my dear

brother, I have not been forgetful; and this temporary preference of the

ties of friendship to those of nature, will be excused, when you consider

our long separation.

My intimacy with Mrs. D____ began when I first came to this country, and

at every subsequent visit to the continent it has been renewed and

increased into that rational kind of attachment, which your sex seldom

allow in ours, though you yourselves do not abound in examples of it.

Mrs. D____ is one of those characters which are oftener loved than

admired--more agreeable than handsome--good-natured, humane, and

unassuming--and with no mental pretensions beyond common sense tolerably

well cultivated. The shades of this portraiture are an extreme of

delicacy, bordering on fastidiousness--a trifle of hauteur, not in

manners, but disposition--and, perhaps, a tincture of affectation. These

foibles are, however, in a great degree, constitutional: she is more an

invalid than myself; and ill health naturally increases irritability, and

renders the mind less disposed to bear with inconveniencies; we avoid

company at first, through a sense of our infirmities, till this timidity

becomes habitual, and settles almost into aversion.--The valetudinarian,

who is obliged to fly the world, in time fancies herself above it, and

ends by supposing there is some superiority in differing from other

people. Mr. D____ is one of the best men existing--well bred and well

informed; yet, without its appearing to the common observer, he is of a

very singular and original turn of mind. He is most exceedingly nervous,

and this effect of his physical construction has rendered him so

susceptible, that he is continually agitated and hurt by circumstances

which others pass by unnoticed. In other respects he is a great lover of

exercise, fond of domestic life, reads much, and has an aversion from

bustle of all kind.

The banishment of the Priests, which in many instances was attended with

circumstances of peculiar atrocity, has not yet produced those effects

which were expected from it, and which the promoters of the measure

employed as a pretext for its adoption. There are indeed now no masses

said but by the Constitutional Clergy; but as the people are usually as

ingenious in evading laws as legislators are in forming them, many

persons, instead of attending the churches, which they think profaned by

priests who have taken the oaths, flock to church-yards, chapels, or

other places, once appropriated to religious worship, but in disuse since

the revolution, and of course not violated by constitutional masses. The

cemetery of St. Denis, at Amiens, though large, is on Sundays and

holidays so crouded, that it is almost difficult to enter it. Here the

devotees flock in all weathers, say their mass, and return with the

double satisfaction of having preserved their allegiance to the Pope, and

risked persecution in a cause they deem meritorious. To say truth, it is

not very surprizing that numbers should be prejudiced against the

constitutional clergy. Many of them are, I doubt not, liberal and

well-meaning men, who have preferred peace and submission to theological

warfare, and who might not think themselves justified in opposing their

opinion to a national decision: yet are there also many of profligate

lives, who were never educated for the profession, and whom the

circumstances of the times have tempted to embrace it as a trade, which

offered subsistence without labour, and influence without wealth, and

which at once supplied a veil for licentiousness, and the means of

practising it. Such pastors, it must be confessed, have little claim to

the confidence or respect of the people; and that there are such, I do

not assert, but on the most credible information. I will only cite two

instances out of many within my own knowledge.

P____n, bishop of St. Omer, was originally a priest of Arras, of vicious

character, and many of his ordinations have been such as might be

expected from such a patron.--A man of Arras, who was only known for his

vicious pursuits, and who had the reputation of having accelerated the

death of his wife by ill treatment, applied to P____n to marry him a

second time. The good Bishop, preferring the interest of his friend to

the salvation of his flock, advised him to relinquish the project of

taking a wife, and offered to give him a cure. The proposal was accepted

on the spot, and this pious associate of the Reverend P____n was

immediately invested with the direction of the consciences, and the care

of the morals, of an extensive parish.

Acts of this nature, it is to be imagined, were pursued by censure and

ridicule; but the latter was not often more successful than on the

following occasion:--Two young men, whose persons were unknown to the

bishop, one day procured an audience, and requested he would recommend

them to some employment that would procure them the means of subsistence.

This was just a time when the numerous vacancies that had taken place

were not yet supplied, and many livings were unfilled for want of

candidates. The Bishop, who was unwilling that the nonjuring priests

should have the triumph of seeing their benefices remain vacant, fell

into the snare, and proposed their taking orders. The young men

expressed their joy at the offer; but, after looking confusedly on each

other, with some difficulty and diffidence, confessed their lives had

been such as to preclude them from the profession, which, but for this

impediment, would have satisfied them beyond their hopes. The Bishop

very complaisantly endeavoured to obviate thesse objections, while they

continued to accuse themselves of all the sins in the decalogue; but the

Prelate at length observing he had ordained many worse, the young men

smiled contemptuously, and, turning on their heels, replied, that if

priests were made of worse men than they had described themselves to be,

they begged to be excused from associating with such company.

Dumouriez, Custine, Biron, Dillon, &c. are doing wonders, in spite of the

season; but the laurel is an ever-green, and these heroes gather it

equally among the snows of the Alps, and the fogs of Belgium. If we may

credit the French papers too, what they call the cause of liberty is not

less successfully propagated by the pen than the sword. England is said

to be on the eve of a revolution, and all its inhabitants, except the

King and Mr. Pitt, become Jacobins. If I did not believe "the wish was

father to the thought," I should read these assertions with much

inquietude, as I have not yet discovered the excellencies of a republican

form of government sufficiently to make me wish it substituted for our

own.--It should seem that the Temple of Liberty, as well as the Temple of

Virtue, is placed on an ascent, and that as many inflexions and

retrogradations occur in endeavouring to attain it. In the ardour of

reaching these difficult acclivities, a fall sometimes leaves us lower

than the situation we first set out from; or, to speak without a figure,

so much power is exercised by our leaders, and so much submission exacted

from the people, that the French are in danger of becoming habituated to

a despotism which almost sanctifies the errors of their ancient monarchy,

while they suppose themselves in the pursuit of a degree of freedom more

sublime and more absolute than has been enjoyed by any other nation.--

Attempts at political as well as moral perfection, when carried beyond

the limits compatible with a social state, or the weakness of our

natures, are likely to end in a depravity which moderate governments and

rational ethics would have prevented.

The debates of the Convention are violent and acrimonious. Robespierre

has been accused of aspiring to the Dictatorship, and his defence was by

no means calculated to exonerate him from the charge. All the chiefs

reproach each other with being the authors of the late massacres, and

each succeeds better in fixing the imputation on his neighbour, than in

removing it from himself. General reprobation, personal invectives, and

long speeches, are not wanting; but every thing which tends to

examination and enquiry is treated with much more delicacy and composure:

so that I fear these first legislators of the republic must, for the

present, be content with the reputation they have assigned each other,

and rank amongst those who have all the guilt, but want the courage, of

assassins.