Amiens, Sept. 30, 1794.
The domeſtic politics of France are replete with novelties: the Convention is at war with the Jacobinſ—and the people, even to the moſt decided ariſtocrats, have become partizans of the Convention.—My laſt letters have explained the origin of theſe phaenomena, and I will now add a few words on their progreſs.
You have ſeen that, at the fall of Robeſpierre, the revolutionary government had reached the very ſummit of deſpotiſm, and that the Convention found themſelves under the neceſſity of appearing to be directed by a new impulſe, or of acknowledging their participation in the crimes they affected to deplore.—In conſequence, almoſt without the direct repeal of any law, (except ſome which affected their own ſecurity,) a more moderate ſyſtem has been gradually adopted, or, to ſpeak more correctly, the revolutionary one is ſuffered to relax. The Jacobins behold theſe popular meaſures with extreme jealouſy, as a meanſ which may in time render the legiſlature independent of them; and it iſ certainly not the leaſt of their diſcontents, that, after all their labours in the common cauſe, they find themſelves excluded both from power and emoluments. Accuſtomed to carry every thing by violence, and more ferocious than politic, they have, by inſiſting on the reincarceration of ſuſpected people, attached a numerous party to the Convention, which is thus warned that its own ſafety depends on repreſſing the influence of clubs, which not only loudly demand that the priſons may be again filled, but frequently debate on the project of tranſporting all the "enemies of the republic" together.
The liberty of the preſs, alſo, is a theme of diſcord not leſs important than the emancipation of ariſtocrats. The Jacobins are decidedly adverſe to it; and it is a ſort of revolutionary ſoleciſm, that thoſe who boaſt of having been the original deſtroyers of deſpotiſm, are now the advocates of arbitrary impriſonment, and reſtraints on the freedom of the preſs. The Convention itſelf is divided on the latter ſubject; and, after a revolution of five years, founded on the doctrine of the rightſ of man, it has become matter of diſpute—whether ſo principal an article of them ought really to exiſt or not. They ſeem, indeed, willing to allow it, provided reſtrictions can be deviſed which may prevent calumny from reaching their own perſons; but as that cannot eaſily be atchieved, they not only contend againſt the liberty of the preſs in practice, but have hitherto refuſed to ſanction it by decree, even as a principle.
It is perhaps reluctantly that the Convention oppoſes theſe powerful and extended combinations which have ſo long been its ſupport, and it may dread the conſequences of being left without the means of overawing or influencing the people; but the example of the Briſſotins, who, by attempting to profit by the ſervices of the Jacobins, without ſubmitting to their domination, fell a ſacrifice, has warned their ſurvivors of the danger of employing ſuch inſtruments. It is evident that the clubs will not act ſubordinately, and that they muſt either be ſubdued to inſignificance, or regain their authority entirely; and as neither the people nor Convention are diſpoſed to acquieſce in the latter, they are politicly joining their efforts to accelerate the former.
Yet, notwithſtanding theſe reciprocal cajoleries, the return of juſtice is ſlow and mutable; an inſtinctive or habitual preference of evil appears at times to direct the Convention, even in oppoſition to their own intereſts. They have as yet done little towards repairing the calamities of which they are the authors; and we welcome the little they have done, not for its intrinſic value, but as we do the firſt ſpring flowerſ—which, though of no great ſweetneſs or beauty, we conſider aſ pledges that the ſtorms of winter are over, and that a milder ſeaſon iſ approaching.—It is true, the revolutionary Committees are diminiſhed in number, the priſons are diſencumbered, and a man is not liable to be arreſted becauſe a Jacobin ſuſpects his features: yet there is a wide difference between ſuch toleration and freedom and ſecurity; and it is a circumſtance not favourable to thoſe who look beyond the moment, that the tyrannical laws which authorized all the late enormities are ſtill unrepealed. The Revolutionary Tribunal continues to ſentence people to death, on pretexts as frivolous as thoſe which were employed in the time of Robeſpierre; they have only the advantage of being tried more formally, and of forfeiting their lives upon proof, inſtead of without it, for actions that a ſtrictly adminiſtered juſtice would not puniſh by a month's impriſonment.*
* For inſtance, a young monk, for writing fanatic letters, and ſigning reſolutions in favour of foederaliſm—a hoſier, for facilitating the return of an emigrant—a man of ninety, for ſpeaking againſt the revolution, and diſcrediting the aſſignatſ—a contractor, for embezzling forage—people of various deſcriptions, for obſtructing the recruitment, or inſulting the tree of liberty. Theſe, and many ſimilar condemnations, will be found in the proceedings of the Revolutionary Tribunal, long after the death of Robeſpierre, and when juſtice and humanity were ſaid to be reſtored.
A ceremony has lately taken place, the object of which was to depoſit the aſhes of Marat in the Pantheon, and to diſlodge the buſt of Mirabeau— who, notwithſtanding two years notice to quit this manſion of immortality, ſtill remained there. The aſhes of Marat being eſcorted to the Convention by a detachment of Jacobins, and the Preſident having properly deſcanted on the virtues which once animated the ſaid aſhes, they were conveyed to the place deſtined for their reception; and the excommunicated Mirabeau being delivered over to the ſecular arm of a beadle, theſe remains of the divine Marat were placed among the reſt of the republican deities. To have obliged the Convention in a body to attend and conſecrate the crimes of this monſter, though it could not degrade them, was a momentary triumph for the Jacobins, nor could the royaliſts behold without ſatiſfaction the ſame men deploring the death of Marat, who, a month before, had celebrated the fall of Louis the Sixteenth! To have been ſo deplored, and ſo celebrated, are, methinks, the very extremes of infamy and glory.
I muſt explain to you, that the Jacobins have lately been compoſed of two partieſ—the avowed adherents of Collot, Billaud, &c. and the concealed remains of thoſe attached to Robeſpierre; but party has now given way to principle, a circumſtance not uſual; and the whole club of Paris, with ſeveral of the affiliated ones, join in cenſuring the innovating tendencies of the Convention.—It is curious to read the debates of the parent ſociety, which paſs in afflicting details of the perſecutionſ experienced by the patriots on the parts of the moderates and ariſtocrats, who, they aſſert, are become ſo daring as even to call in queſtion the purity of the immortal Marat. You will ſuppoſe, of courſe, that this cruel perſecution is nothing more than an interdiction to perſecute others; and their notions of patriotiſm and moderation may be conceived by their having juſt expelled Tallien and Freron as moderates.*
* Freron endeavoured, on this occaſion, to diſculpate himſelf from the charge of "moderantiſme," by alledging he had oppoſed Lecointre's denunciation of Barrere, &c.—and certainly one who piques himſelf on being the pupil of the divine Marat, was worthy of remaining in the fraternity from which he was now expelled.—Freron is a veteran journaliſt of the revolution, of better talents, though not of better fame, than the generality of his contemporaries: or, rather, his early efforts in exciting the people to rebellion entitle him to a preeminence of infamy.