the melancholy state of her poor father. As long as Mr. de Severy
allowed our hopes and fears to fluctuate with the changes of his
disorder, I was unwilling to say anything on so painful a subject;
and it is with the deepest concern that I now confess our absolute
despair of his recovery. All his particular complaints are now lost
in a general dissolution of the whole frame: every principle of life
is exhausted, and as often as I am admitted to his bed-side, though
he still looks and smiles with the patience of an Angel, I have the
heartfelt grief of seeing him each day drawing nearer to the term of
his existence. A few weeks, possibly a few days, will deprive me of
a most excellent friend, and break for ever the most perfect system
of domestic happiness, in which I had so large and intimate a share.
Wilhelm (who has obtained leave of absence from his military duty)
and his sister behave and feel like tender and dutiful children;
but they have a long gay prospect of life, and new connexions, new
families will make them forget, in due time, the common lot of
mortality. But it is Madame de Severy whom I truly pity; I dread the
effects of the first shock, and I dread still more the deep perpetual
consuming affliction for a loss which can never be retrieved.
[Sidenote: GIBBON'S ALTERED SITUATION.]
You will not wonder that such reflections sadden my own mind, nor can
I forget how much my situation is altered since I retired, nine years
ago, to the banks of the Leman lake. The death of poor Deyverdun
first deprived me of a domestic companion, who can never be supplied;
and your visit has only served to remind me that man, however amused
and occupied in his Closet, was not made to live alone. Severy will
soon be no more; his widow for a long time, perhaps for ever, will be
lost to herself and her friends, the son will travel, and I shall be
left a stranger in the insipid circle of mere common acquaintance.
The Revolution of France, which first embittered and divided the
Society of Lausanne, has opposed a barrier to my Sussex visit, and
may finally expell me from the paradise which I inhabit. Even that
paradise, the expensive and delightful establishment of my house,
library, and garden, almost becomes an incumbrance, by rendering it
more difficult for me to relinquish my hold, or to form a new system
of life in my native Country, for which my income, though improved
and improving, would be probably insufficient. But every complaint
should be silenced by the contemplation of the French; compared with
whose cruel fate, all misery is relative happiness. I perfectly
concurr in your partiality for Lally; though Nature might forget some
meaner ingredients, of prudence, economy, &c., she never formed a
purer heart, or a brighter imagination. If he be with you, I beg my
kindest salutations to him. I am every day more closely united with
the Neckers. Should France break, and this country be over-run, they
would be reduced, in very humble circumstances, to seek a refuge;
and where but in England? Adieu, dear Madam: there is, indeed, much
pleasure in discharging one's heart to a real friend.*
Ever yours,
E. G.
604.
_To the Hon. Maria Holroyd._
Lausanne, Nov. 10, 1792.
In dispatching the weekly political journal to Lord Sheffield, my
conscience (for I have some remains of conscience) most powerfully
urges me to salute, with some lines of friendship and gratitude, the
amiable secretary, who might save herself the trouble of a modest
apology. I have not yet forgotten our different behaviour after the
much lamented _separation_ of October the 4th, 1791, your meritorious
punctuality, and my unworthy silence. I have still before me that
entertaining narrative, which would have interested me, not only in
the progress of the _carissima famiglia_, but in the motions of a
Tartar camp, or the march of a caravan of Arabs; the mixture of just
observation and lively imagery, the strong sense of a man, expressed
with the easy elegance of a female. I still recollect with pleasure
the happy comparison of the Rhine, who had heard so much of liberty
on both his banks, that he wandered with mischievous licentiousness
over all the adjacent meadows. The inundation, alas! has now spread
much wider; and it is sadly to be feared that the Elbe, the Po,
and the Danube, may imitate the vile example of the Rhine: I shall
be content, however, if our own Thames still preserves his fair
character of
Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full.
These agreeable epistles of Maria produced only some dumb intentions,
and some barren remorse; nor have I deigned, except by a brief
missive from my chancellor, to express how much I loved the author,
and how much I was pleased with the composition. That amiable author
I have known and loved from the first dawning of her life and
_coquetry_, to the present maturity of her talents; and as long as
I remain on this planet, I shall pursue, with the same tender and
even anxious concern, the future steps of her establishment and life.
That establishment must be splendid; that life must be happy. She
is endowed with every gift of nature and fortune; but the advantage
which she will derive from them, depends almost entirely on herself.
You must not, you shall not, think yourself unworthy to write to
any man: there is none whom your correspondence would not amuse and
satisfy.
I will not undertake a task, which my taste would adopt, and my
indolence would too soon relinquish; but I am really curious, from
the best motives, to have a particular account of your own studies
and daily occupation. What books do you read? and how do you employ
your time and your pen? Except some professed scholars, I have often
observed that women in general read much more than men; but, for
want of a plan, a method, a fixed object, their reading is of little
benefit to themselves, or others. If you will inform me of the
species of reading to which you have the most propensity, I shall be
happy to contribute my share of advice or assistance.
I lament that you have not left me some monument of your pencil.
Lady Elizabeth Foster has executed a very pretty drawing, taken
from the door of the green-house where we dined last summer, and
including the poor Acacia, (now recovered from the cruel shears of
the gardener,) the end of the terrace, the front of the Pavilion,
and a distant view of the country, lake, and mountains. I am almost
reconciled to d'Apples' house, which is nearly finished. Instead of
the monsters which Lord Hercules Sheffield extirpated, the terrace is
already shaded with the new acacias and plantanes; and although the
uncertainty of possession restrains me from building, I myself have
planted a bosquet at the bottom of the garden, with such admirable
skill that it affords shade without intercepting prospect.
[Sidenote: SOCIETY OF LADY E. FOSTER.]
The society of the aforesaid Eliza, of the Duchess of Devonshire,
&c. has been very interesting; but they are now flown beyond the
Alps, and pass the winter at Pisa. The Legards, who have long since
left this place, should be at present in Italy; but I believe Mrs.
Grimstone and her daughter returned to England. The Levades are
highly flattered by your remembrance. Since you still retain some
attachment to this delightful country, and it is indeed delightful,
why should you despair of seeing it once more? The happy peer or
commoner, whose name you may assume, is still concealed in the book
of fate; but, whosoever he may be, he will cheerfully obey your
commands, of leading you from ---- Castle to Lausanne, and from
Lausanne to Rome and Naples. Before that event takes place, I may
possibly see you in Sussex; and, whether as a visitor or a fugitive,
I hope to be welcomed with a friendly embrace. The delay of this year
was truly painful, but it was inevitable; and individuals must submit
to those storms which have overturned the thrones of the earth.
The tragic story of the Archbishop of Arles I have now somewhat a
better right to require at your hands. I wish to have it in all its
horrid details; and as you are now so much mingled with the French
exiles, I am of opinion, that were you to keep a journal of all the
authentic facts which they relate, it would be an agreeable exercise
at present, and a future source of entertainment and instruction.
I should be obliged to you, if you would make, or find, some excuse
for my not answering a letter from your aunt, which was presented to
me by Mr. Fowler. I shewed him some civilities, but he is now a poor
invalid, confined to his room. By her channel and yours I should be
glad to have some information of the health, spirits, and situation
of Mrs. Gibbon of Bath, whose alarms (if she has any) you may dispel.
She is in my debt. Adieu; most truly yours.
605.
_The Hon. Maria Holroyd to Edward Gibbon._
Sheffield Place, November, 1792.
Your three letters received yesterday caused the most sincere
pleasure to each individual of this family so highly favoured by
you--but to none more than myself. I flatter myself that I despise
general compliments as they deserve, but praise (tho' I fear, beyond
my deserts) from one whose opinion I so highly value, and whose
esteem I so much wish to gain, is more pleasing than I can describe,
& I really think, thus encouraged, & with your _example_ before
me, to shew _bad habits may_ be conquered. I had not neglected to
make the collection of facts which you recommend, and which the
great variety of unfortunate persons whom we see, or with whom we
correspond, enables me to make.
As to the other part of your letter about _my studies_, I can only
say, the slightest hint on that subject will be always received with
the greatest gratitude, and attended to with the utmost punctuality.
French history I am most acquainted with--English, I am ashamed to
say, I am much less versed in. I have read Hume, but not since I came
to years of discretion, & what is read as a _task_ seldom is well
attended to. I am now reading a _certain_ work, in 6 Vols. Quarto or
12 Duodecimo, which I was acquainted with before, only by reading it
after supper, frequently with long interruptions caused by Company,
&c., & which only raised my curiosity to give it more attention. It
would be Impertinence or at best but a Drop in the Ocean to add my
mite to the opinion of the generality of the World, & say how much
the Subject interests or the Style delights me. When this work is
read thro', I intend to proceed with English history. I again repeat,
if you condescend to favour me with any directions on this subject, I
shall follow them with the greatest pleasure; but if you should not,
I am much flattered that you should desire to hear from me, & should
have sent you the horrid account of the massacre aux Carmes before,
if I had thought you would have been desirous of it. I have not seen
the details in any newspaper, & one of the eight Priests, who dined
here, & had escaped from the massacre, related the whole with such
simplicity & feeling, as to leave no doubt of the truth of all he
said.
[Sidenote: MURDER OF THE ARCHBISHOP OF ARLES.]
On the 2^d of Sep^{ber} they went into the garden, as usual, to
walk at five o'clock in the evening. They expressed their surprize
at several large pits, which had been digging for two or three days
past. They said to each other, "The day is almost spent, & yet
Manuel[277] told a person who interceded for us, last Thursday, that
on the Sunday following not one should remain in captivity--we are
still Prisoners." Soon after, they heard shouts, and some musquet
shots were fired into the Garden. A number of National Guards, some
Commissaires _de Sections_, & several Marseillois, rushed in. The
unhappy victims who were dispersed about the Garden, assembled under
the Walls of the Church, not daring to enter, least it should be
polluted with blood. One, who was behind the rest, was shot dead.
_Point de coups de fusil_ said some of the Chiefs of the assassins,
thinking this death too merciful. A number of them called for the
Archbishop of Arles,[278] & insisted that he should be given up to
them, the Priests all crowded round him, & determined to defend him
with their Lives. The Archbishop then said, "Let me pass; if we must
all perish, it is of little consequence whether I die first or not,
& if my death will appease them, is it not my duty to preserve your
Lives at the expense of my own?" He asked the eldest of the Priests
to give him Absolution--he knelt to receive it, & when he rose,
advanced, with his arms crossed on his breast, towards the People.
His appearance was so dignified & noble, that for ten minutes not one
of these Wretches had courage to raise their hand against him. They
reproached each other with cowardice & advanced--one look from the
venerable Prelate struck them with involuntary awe, & they retired.
At last, one of the assassins struck off his Cap with a Pike--their
fury returned when they saw respect once violated, & another struck
him on the head with a Sabre, & laid open his scalp. The Archbishop
only said, "O mon Dieu!" & put up his right hand to his eyes. A
second blow cut off this hand--he repeated his exclamation & raised
the other. A third stroke left him sitting, & a fourth extended him
lifeless, when all the Miscreants pressed forwards, to bury their
Poniards in his bosom.
The Priests all agreed that the Archbishop of Arles was one of the
most amiable men in France--his only _crime_ was having parted with
most of his private fortune to support the necessitous Clergy of his
Diocese, since the beginning of the Revolution. When he was murdered,
the National Guards made all the Priests go into the Church, telling
them they should appear, one after another, before the _Commissaires
du Section_, who would try them and determine their fate. They had
hardly entered, before the People impatiently called for them to
shew themselves--upon which, all kneeling before the Altar, they
received Absolution from the B^p of Beauvais--& then, two by two,
passed before one of the commissaires, who did not question, but
only counted his victims. In this manner, perished 120 Priests,
amongst whom were the Bishops of Beauvais and Xaintes, both of the
Rochefoucauld family.[279] _Our friends_ escaped by getting over the
Wall.
I am afraid I have tired your patience, & that you did not expect
such a tedious history. Mad^{e}. d'Hénin & Pauline are at Boulogne;
they have gained nothing by going there, & are afraid they may
find it difficult returning to England. The seal of the Nation is
put on all Mad^{e}. d'Hénin's effects; she is not able to keep a
single servant--she says, Pauline & she must wait on each other.
Papa, who is more alarmed than I ever saw him, will write to you
soon, _politically_. Mama will likewise answer your letter, & in
the mean time desires many thanks for it. Will you say everything
affectionate to Angletine for her letter? I feel sincerely for the
situation of that family, & if you can send any good news of M. de
Severy's amendment, I trust you will write. It was particularly kind
of Angletine to write when her mind must be so ill at ease--but it is
not flung away upon me. I am anything but _une Ingrate_. Mrs. Moss
is here, & speaks with delight of your house, your terrace, & of the
great civility you showed her. Judge if Lausanne is ever the subject
of our conversation.
We left Louisa & Aunt at Bath very well, they both desire to be
remembered to you when we wrote. Mrs. Gibbon looks as well as ever,
but is really very unwell.
[277] Louis Pierre Manuel (1751-1793) was one of the leaders
in the insurrections of June 20 and August 10, 1792. He was
at this time _procureur_ of the Commune of Paris. At the
king's trial he defended Louis XVI., and, accused of being a
counter-revolutionist, was guillotined in November, 1793.
[278] Jean Marie François Dulau.
[279] They were brothers, and belonged to the family of
Rochefoucauld-Bayers.
606.
_Lord Sheffield to Edward Gibbon._
Bristol, 14th Nov., 1792.
[Sidenote: A FOOLISH GAME IN IRELAND.]
I snatch an interval likely to be very short, to acknowledge you
have some merit in a 14th day epistle, although you fasted as to
your 7th day. I was glad to hear of the agreement on the subject of
Geneva. As the French troops were immediately to return 10 leagues,
and before the evacuation, I think it honourable, but my political
barometer never was so low. During the last 35 years on no occasion
it had materially sunk. It never experienced any great depression
till the wonderful and in some degree inexplicable phenomena of the
later part of last September. I had some hope that Europe would see
the necessity of making a common cause against the Disturbers of the
World. But I have not a ray of hope. The failure of the combined army
has of course encouraged and increased a bad spirit in this country,
but it has not as yet shewn itself except in some towns. And in such,
mischief always begins. The respectable and considerable men of both
parties among my constituents are right. Government had risked a
foolish game in Ireland, playing Roman Catholics against Protestants,
and openly supporting the former, granting too much, and giving
further hopes, which has produced sedition and brought them to the
brink of rebellion, but within a few weeks it has been determined to
go no farther and to support the Protestant Ascendency--better late
than never, but some knocks probably will ensue.
I believe I forgot to assure you in my last that Newspaper account
of our friend Lord L.[280] and his acceptance of Seals is premature,
and that there is no prospect of such an event unless with the
concurrence and accession of the Mass of the party. I rather
suspect some of our friends have more of the shew than the reality,
of wishing or expecting, or promoting healthy conjunction of
parties--but they are few.
I scolded you about the Madeira because I thought it lost thro'
your neglect of writing, but I have the pleasure of finding that
it was only delayed, and is now on its road. So writes Muligan's
correspondent in Holland. I shall send this to Maria to finish. My
eyes are very weak.
I do not know what to add to Papa's _croaking_ Epistle, except to ask
if you will give us an Asylum at Lausanne when this country is in
the state of France. If you should answer in the affirmative, I am
afraid you would make me an enemy to my country and wish it very ill.
_I_ think Papa very _ungrateful_ for your very great kindness and
attention in writing so frequently--at a time so very interesting,
but I believe he is afraid of praising you too much, least you should
think you have done enough. If you were a witness of the pleasure
your letters give all the family, I think you would not talk of
sinking into a _long and irreproachable silence_. Mama assures me you
will not write to me. Pray make her say the thing that is not, for
once in her life. We leave Bath next Sunday, after having enjoyed the
gaieties of the place a fortnight. Louisa is to remain here all the
Winter. She desires to be particularly remembered to you. Switzerland
is our daily subject of conversation and regret. Witness our hands
this 15th day of November.
MARIA JOSEPHA HOLROYD,
LOUISA DOROTHEA HOLROYD.
[280] Lord Loughborough accepted the Great Seal as Lord
Chancellor in January, 1793.
607.
_To Lord Sheffield._
Lausanne, Nov. 25th, 1792.
*After the triple labour of my last dispatch, your experience of the
creature might tempt you to suspect that it would again relapse into
a long slumber. But, partly from the spirit of contradiction, (though
I am not a lady) and partly from the ease and pleasure which I now
find in the task, you see me again alive, awake, and almost faithful
to my hebdomadal promise. The last week has not, however, afforded
any events deserving the notice of an historian. Our affairs are
still floating on the waves of the convention, and the ratification
of a corrected treaty,[281] which had been fixed for the 20th, is
not yet arrived; but the report of the diplomatic committee has
been favourable, and it is generally understood that the leaders of
the French Republic do not wish to quarrel with the Swiss. We are
gradually withdrawing and disbanding our militia. Geneva will be left
to sink or swim, according to the humour of the people; and our last
hope appears to be, that by submission and good behaviour we shall
avert for some time the impending storm.
[Sidenote: FLIGHT OF A FRENCH GENERAL.]
A few days ago, an odd incident happened in the French army; the
desertion of the general. As the Neckers were sitting, about eight
o'clock in the evening, in their drawing-room at Rolle, the door
flew open, and they were astounded by their servant's announcing
_Monsieur le General de Montesquiou_! On the receipt of some secret
intelligence of a _decrét d'accusation_, and an order to arrest
him, he had only time to get on horseback, to gallop through
Geneva, to take boat for Coppet, and to escape from his pursuers,
who were ordered to seize him alive or dead. He left the Neckers
after supper, passed through Lausanne in the night, and proceeded
to Berne and Basle, whence he intended to wind his way through
Germany, amidst enemies of every description, and to seek a refuge
in England, America, or the moon. He told Necker, that the sole
remnant of his fortune consisted in a wretched sum of twenty thousand
livres; but the public report, or suspicion, bespeaks him in much
better circumstances. Besides the reproach of acting with too much
tameness and delay, he is accused of making very foul and exorbitant
contracts:[282] and it is certain that new Sparta is infected
with this vice beyond the example of the most corrupt monarchy.
Kellerman[283] is arrived to take the command; and it is apprehended
that on the first of December, after the departure of the Swiss, the
French may _request_ the permission of using Geneva, a friendly city,
for their winter quarters. In that case, the democratical revolution,
which we all foresee, will be very speedily effected.[284]
I would ask you, whether you apprehend there was any treason in the
Duke of Brunswick's retreat, and whether you have totally withdrawn
your confidence and esteem from that once-famed general? Will it
be possible for England to preserve her neutrality with any honour
or safety? We are bound, as I understand, by treaty, to guarantee
the dominions of the King of Sardinia and the Austrian provinces
of the Netherlands. These countries are now invaded and over-run
by the French. Can we refuse to fulfil our engagements, without
exposing ourselves to all Europe as a perfidious or pusillanimous
nation? Yet, on the other hand, can we assist those allies, without
plunging headlong into an abyss, whose bottom no man can discover?
But my chief anxiety is for our domestic tranquillity; for I must
find a retreat in England, should I be driven from Lausanne. The
idea of firm and honourable union of parties pleases me much; but
you must frankly unfold what are the great difficulties that may
impede so salutary a measure: you write to a man discreet in speech,
and now careful of papers. Yet what can such a coalition avail if
Fox be detestable and Pitt democratical? Where is the champion
of the constitution? Alas, Lord Guildford! I am much pleased with
the Manchester ass. The asses or wolves who sacrificed him have
cast off the mask too soon; and such a nonsensical act must open
the eyes of many simple patriots, who might have been led astray
by the specious name of reform. It should be made as notorious as
possible. Next winter may be the crisis of our fate, and if you begin
to improve the constitution, you may be driven step by step from
the disfranchisement of Old Sarum to the king in Newgate, the lords
voted useless, the bishops abolished, and a house of commons without
articles (_sans culottes_).
[Sidenote: MADAME DE STAEL.]
Necker has ordered you a copy of his royal defence, which has met
with, and deserved, universal success. The pathetic and argumentative
parts are, in my opinion, equally good, and his mild eloquence may
persuade without irritating. I have applied to this gentler tone some
verses of Ovid (Metamorph. 1. iii. 302, &c.[285]) which you may read.
Madame de Stael has produced a second son. She talks wildly enough
of visiting England this winter.* Her friend the Vicomte de Narbonne
is somewhere about Dorking. If you could shew him any civilities she
would thank us both. She is a pleasant little woman.
No news from Basil or Ostend of my Madeira. Pray contrive to get me
a mortgage; there is nothing like land or landed security. Poor Mrs.
G. in such a state! I can only wish her an easy dismission. I wish
the same to poor Severy, whose *condition is hopeless. Should he drag
through the winter, Madame de S. would scarcely survive him. She
kills herself with grief and fatigue. What a difference in Lausanne!
I hope triple answers are on the road. I must write soon; the _times_
will not allow me to read or think. Ever yours.*
No. 6 (I believe). Send me a list of these letters, with their
respective dates.
[281] _I.e._ the treaty of November 2.