A Residence in France During the Years 1792, 1793, 1794 and 1795, Complete / Described in a Series of Letters from an English Lady: with General and Incidental Remarks on the French Character and Manners

by Charlotte Biggs

Beauvais, March 13, 1795.

I have often, in the courſe of theſe letters, experienced how difficult it is to deſcribe the political ſituation of a country governed by no fixed principles, and ſubject to all the fluctuations which are produced by the intereſts and paſſions of individuals and of parties. In ſuch a ſtate concluſions are neceſſarily drawn from daily events, minute facts, and an attentive obſervation of the opinions and diſpoſitions of the people, which, though they leave a perfect impreſſion on the mind of the writer, are not eaſily conveyed to that of the reader. They are like colours, the various ſhades of which, though diſcriminated by the eye, cannot be deſcribed but in general terms.

Since I laſt wrote, the government has conſiderably improved in decency and moderation; and though the French enjoy as little freedom as their almoſt ſole Allies, the Algerines, yet their terror begins to wear off— and, temporizing with a deſpotiſm they want energy to deſtroy, they rejoice in the ſuſpenſion of oppreſſions which a day or an hour may renew. No one pretends to have any faith in the Convention; but we are tranquil, if not ſecure—and, though ſubject to a thouſand arbitrary details, incompatible with a good government, the political ſyſtem iſ doubtleſs meliorated. Juſtice and the voice of the people have been attended to in the arreſt of Collot, Barrere, and Billaud, though many are of opinion that their puniſhment will extend no farther; for a trial, particularly that of Barrere, who is in the ſecret of all factions, would expoſe ſo many revolutionary myſteries and patriotic reputations, that there are few members of the Convention who will not wiſh it evaded; they probably expect, that the ſecluſion, for ſome months, of the perſons of the delinquents will appeaſe the public vengeance, and that this affair may be forgotten in the buſtle of more recent events.—If there had been any doubt of the crimes of theſe men, the publication of Robeſpierre'ſ papers would have removed them; and, excluſive of their value when conſidered as a hiſtory of the times, theſe papers form one of the moſt curious and humiliating monuments of human debaſement, and human depravity, extant.*

* The Report of Courtois on Robeſpierre's papers, though very able, is an inſtance of the pedantry I have often remarked as ſo peculiar to the French, even when they are not deficient in talents. It ſeems to be an abſtract of all the learning, ancient and modern, that Courtois was poſſeſſed of. I have the book before me, and have ſelected the following liſt of perſons and alluſions; many of which are indeed of ſo little uſe or ornament to their ſtations in thiſ ſpeech, that one would have thought even a republican requiſition could not have brought them there: "Sampſon, Dalila, Philip, Athens, Sylla, the Greeks and Romans, Brutus, Lycurgus, Perſepolis, Sparta, Pulcheria, Cataline, Dagon, Anicius, Nero, Babel, Tiberius, Caligula, Auguſtus, Antony, Lepidus, the Manicheans, Bayle and Galileo, Anitus, Socrates, Demoſthenes, Eſchinus, Marius, Buſiris, Diogenes, Caeſar, Cromwell, Conſtantine, the Labarum, Domitius, Machiavel, Thraſeas, Cicero, Cato, Ariſtophanes, Riſcius, Sophocles, Euripides, Tacitus, Sydney, Wiſnou, Poſſidonius, Julian, Argus, Pompey, the Teutates, Gainas, Areadius, Sinon, Aſmodeus, Salamanders, Anicetus, Atreus, Thyeſtus, Ceſonius, Barca and Oreb, Omar and the Koran, Ptolomy Philadelphus, Arimanes, Gengis, Themuginus, Tigellinus, Adrean, Cacus, the Fates, Minos and Rhadamanthus," &c. &c. Rapport de Courtois ſu les Papiers de Robeſpierre.

After ſeveral ſkirmiſhes between the Jacobins and Muſcadins, the buſt of Marat has been expelled from the theatres and public places of Paris, and the Convention have ratified this popular judgment, by removing him alſo from their Hall and the Pantheon. But reflecting on the frailty of our nature, and the levity of their countrymen, in order to obviate the diſorders theſe premature beatifications give riſe to, they have decreed that no patriot ſhall in future by Pantheonized until ten years after hiſ death. This is no long period; yet revolutionary reputations have hitherto ſcarcely ſurvived as many months, and the puerile enthuſiaſm which is adopted, not felt, has been uſually ſucceeded by a violence and revenge equally irrational.

It has lately been diſcovered that Condorcet is dead, and that he periſhed in a manner ſingularly awful. Travelling under a mean appearance, he ſtopped at a public houſe to refreſh himſelf, and waſ arreſted in conſequence of having no paſſport. He told the people who examined him he was a ſervant, but a Horace, which they found about him, leading to a ſuſpicion that he was of a ſuperior rank, they determined to take him to the next town. Though already exhauſted, he was obliged to walk ſome miles farther, and, on his arrival, he was depoſited in a priſon, where he was forgotten, and ſtarved to death.

Thus, perhaps at the moment the French were apotheoſing an obſcure demagogue, the celebrated Condorcet expired, through the neglect of a gaoler; and now, the coarſe and ferocious Marat, and the more refined, yet more pernicious, philoſopher, are both involved in one common obloquy.

What a theme for the moraliſt!—Perhaps the gaoler, whoſe brutal careleſſneſs terminated the days of Condorcet, extinguiſhed his own humanity in the torrent of that revolution of which Condorcet himſelf waſ one of the authors; and perhaps the death of a ſovereign, whom Condorcet aſſiſted in bringing to the ſcaffold, might have been this man's firſt leſſon in cruelty, and have taught him to ſet little value on the liveſ of the reſt of mankind.—The French, though they do not analyſe ſeriouſly, ſpeak of this event as a juſt retribution, which will be followed by others of a ſimilar nature. "Quelle mort," ["What an end.">[ ſays one—"Elle eſt affreuſe, (ſays another,) mais il etoit cauſe que bien d'autres ont peri auſſi."—"Ils periront tous, et tant mieux," ["'Twas dreadful—but how many people have periſhed by his means."— "They'll all ſhare the ſame fate, and ſo much the better.">[ reply twenty voices; and this is the only epitaph on Condorcet.

The pretended revolution of the thirty-firſt of May, 1792, which haſ occaſioned ſo much bloodſhed, and which I remember it dangerous not to hallow, though you did not underſtand why, is now formally eraſed from among the feſtivals of the republic; but this is only the triumph of party, and a ſignal that the remains of the Briſſotines are gaining ground.

A more conſpicuous and a more popular victory has been obtained by the royaliſts, in the trial and acquittal of Delacroix. The jury had been changed after the affair of Carrier, and were now better compoſed; though the eſcape of Delacroix is more properly to be attributed to the intimidating favour of the people. The verdict was received with ſhoutſ of applauſe, repeated with tranſport, and Delacroix, who had ſo patriotically projected to purify the Convention, by ſending more than half its members to America, was borne home on the ſhoulders of an exulting populace.

Again the extinction of the war in La Vendee is officially announced; and it is certain that the chiefs are now in treaty with government. Such a peace only implies, that the country is exhauſted, for it ſuffices to have read the treatment of theſe unhappy people to know that a reconciliation can neither be ſincere nor permanent. But whatever may be the eventual effect of this negotiation, it has been, for the preſent, the means of wreſting ſome unwilling conceſſions from the Aſſembly in favour of a free exerciſe of religion. No arrangement could ever be propoſed to the Vendeans, which did not include a toleration of Chriſtianity; and to refuſe that to patriots and republicans, which waſ granted to rebels and royaliſts, was deemed at this time neither reaſonable nor politic. A decree is therefore paſſed, authorizing people, if they can overcome all the annexed obſtacles, to worſhip God in they way they have been accuſtomed to.

The public hitherto, far from being aſſured or encouraged by this decree, appear to have become more timid and ſuſpicious; for it is conceived in ſo narrow and paltry a ſpirit, and expreſſed in ſuch malignant and illuſive terms, that it can hardly be ſaid to intend an indulgence. Of twelve articles of an act ſaid to be conceſſive, eight are prohibitory and reſtrictive; and a municipal officer, or any other perſon "in place or office," may controul at his pleaſure all religious celebrations. The cathedrals and pariſh churches yet ſtanding were ſeized on by the government at the introduction of the Goddeſſes of Reaſon, and the decree expreſſly declares that they ſhall not be reſtored or appropriated to their original uſes. Individuals, who have purchaſed chapels or churches, heſitate to ſell or let them, leſt they ſhould, on a change of politics, be perſecuted as the abettors of fanaticiſm; ſo that the long-deſired reſtoration of the Catholic worſhip makes but very ſlow progreſs.*—

* This decree prohibits any pariſh, community, or body of people collectively, from hiring or purchaſing a church, or maintaining a clergyman: it alſo forbids ringing a bell, or giving any other public notice of Divine Service, or even diſtinguiſhing any building by external ſigns of its being dedicated to religion.

—A few people, whoſe zeal overpowers their diſcretion, have ventured to have maſſes at their own houſes, but they are thinly attended; and on aſking any one if they have yet been to this ſort of conventicle, the reply is, "On new ſait pas trop ce que le decret veut dire; il faut voir comment cela tournera." ["One cannot rightly comprehend the decree—it will be beſt to wait and ſee how things go.">[ Such a diſtruſt is indeed very natural; for there are two ſubjects on which an inveterate hatred iſ apparent, and which are equally obnoxious to all ſyſtems and all partieſ in the Aſſembly—I mean Chriſtianity and Great Britain. Every day produces harangues againſt the latter; and Boiſſy d'Anglas has ſolemnly proclaimed, as the directing principle of the government, that the only negociation for peace ſhall be a new boundary deſcribed by the Northern conqueſts of the republic; and this modeſt diplomatic is ſupported by arguments to prove, that the commerce of England cannot be ruined on any other terms.*

* "How (exclaims the ſagacious Bourdon de l'Oiſe) can you hope to ruin England, if you do not keep poſſeſſion of the three great rivers." (The Rhine, the Meuſe, and the Scheldt.)

The debates of the Convention increaſe in variety and amuſement. Beſideſ the manual exerciſes of the members, the accuſations and retorts of unguarded choler, diſcloſe to us many curious truths which a politic unanimity might conceal. Saladin, who was a ſtipendiary of the Duke of Orleans, and whoſe reputation would not grace any other aſſembly, iſ tranſformed into a Moderate, and talks of virtue and crime; while Andre Dumont, to the great admiration of his private biographiſts, has been ſigning a peace with the Duke of Tuſcany.—Our republican ſtateſmen require to be viewed in perſpective: they appear to no advantage in the foreground. Dumont would have made "a good pantler, he would have chipp'd bread well;" or, like Scrub, he might have "drawn warrants, or drawn beer,"—but I ſhould doubt if, in a tranſaction of this nature, the Dukedom of Tuſcany was ever before ſo aſſorted; and if the Duke were obliged to make this peace, he may well ſay, "neceſſity doth make us herd with ſtrange companions."

Notwithſtanding the Convention ſtill deteſts Chriſtianity, utterſ anathemas againſt England, and exhibits daily ſcenes of indecent diſcuſſion and reviling, it is doubtleſs become more moderate on the whole; and though this moderation be not equal to the people's wiſhes, it is more than ſufficient to exaſperate the Jacobins, who call the Convention the Senate of Coblentz, and are perpetually endeavouring to excite commotions. The belief is, indeed, general, that the Aſſembly contains a ſtrong party of royaliſts; yet, though this may be true in a degree, I fear the impulſe which has been given by the public opinion, iſ miſtaken for a tendency in the Convention itſelf. But however, this may be, neither the imputations of the Jacobins, nor the hopes of the people, have been able to oppoſe the progreſs of a ſentiment which, operating on a character like that of the French, is more fatal to a popular body than even hatred or contempt. The long duration of this diſaſtrouſ legiſlature has excited an univerſal wearineſs; the guilt of particular members is now leſs diſcuſſed than the inſignificance of the whole aſſemblage; and the epithets corrupt, worn out, hackneyed, and everlaſting, [Tare, uſe, banal, and eternel.] have almoſt ſuperſeded thoſe of rogues and villains.

The law of the maximum has been repealed ſome time, and we now procure neceſſaries with much greater facility; but the aſſignats, no longer ſupported by violence, are rapidly diminiſhing in credit—ſo that every thing is dear in proportion. We, who are more than indemnified by the riſe of exchange in our favour, are not affected by theſe progreſſive augmentations in the price of proviſions. It would, however, be erroneous and unfeeling to judge of the ſituation of the French themſelves from ſuch a calculation.

People who have let their eſtates on leaſes, or have annuities on the Hotel de Ville, &c. receive aſſignats at par, and the wages of the labouring poor are ſtill comparatively low. What was five years ago a handſome fortune, now barely ſupplies a decent maintenance; and ſmaller incomes, which were competencies at that period, are now almoſt inſufficient for exiſtence. A workman, who formerly earned twenty-five ſols a day, has at preſent three livres; and you give a ſempſtreſs thirty ſols, inſtead of ten: yet meat, which was only five or ſix ſols when wages was twenty-five, is now from fifty ſols to three livres the pound, and every other article in the ſame or a higher proportion. Thus, a man's daily wages, inſtead of purchaſing four or five pounds of meat, aſ they would have done before the revolution, now only purchaſe one.

It grieves me to ſee people whom I have known at their eaſe, obliged to relinquiſh, in the decline of life, comforts to which they were accuſtomed at a time when youth rendered indulgence leſs neceſſary; yet every day points to the neceſſity of additional oeconomy, and ſome little convenience or enjoyment is retrenched—and to thoſe who are not above acknowledging how much we are the creatures of habit, a diſh of coffee, or a glaſs of liqueur, &c. will not ſeem ſuch trifling privations. It iſ true, theſe are, ſtrictly ſpeaking, luxuries; ſo too are moſt things by compariſon—

"O reaſon not the need: our baſeſt beggarſ "Are in the pooreſt thing ſuperfluous: "Allow not nature more than nature needs, "Man's life is cheap as beaſt's."

If the wants of one claſs were relieved by theſe deductions from the enjoyments of another, it might form a ſufficient conſolation; but the ſame cauſes which have baniſhed the ſplendor of wealth and the comfortſ of mediocrity, deprive the poor of bread and raiment, and enforced parſimony is not more generally conſpicuous than wretchedneſs.

The frugal tables of thoſe who were once rich, have been accompanied by relative and ſimilar changes among the lower claſſes; and the ſuppreſſion of gilt equipages is ſo far from diminiſhing the number of wooden ſhoes, that for one pair of ſabots which were ſeen formerly, there are now ten. The only Luculluſ's of the day are a ſwarm of adventurers who have eſcaped from priſons, or abandoned gaming-houſes, to raiſe fortunes by ſpeculating in the various modes of acquiring wealth which the revolution has engendered.—Theſe, together with the numberleſs agents of government enriched by more direct pillage, live in coarſe luxury, and diſſipate with careleſs profuſion thoſe riches which their original ſituations and habits have diſqualified them from converting to a better uſe.

Although the circumſtances of the times have neceſſitated a good deal of domeſtic oeconomy among people who live on their fortunes, they have lately aſſumed a gayer ſtyle of dreſs, and are leſs averſe from frequenting public amuſements. For three years paſt, (and very naturally,) the gentry have openly murmured at the revolution; and they now, either convinced of the impolicy of ſuch conduct, terrified by their paſt ſufferings, or, above all, deſirous of proclaiming their triumph over the Jacobins, are every where reviving the national taſte for modeſ and finery. The attempt to reconcile theſe gaieties with prudence, haſ introduced ſome contraſts in apparel whimſical enough, though our French belles adopt them with much gravity.

In conſequence of the diſorders in the South of France, and the interruption of commerce by ſea, ſoap is not only dear, but ſometimeſ difficult to purchaſe at any rate. We have ourſelves paid equal to five livres a pound in money. Hence we have white wigſ* and grey ſtockings, medallions and gold chains with coloured handkerchiefs and diſcoloured tuckers, and chemiſes de Sappho, which are often worn till they rather remind one of the pious Queen Iſabel, than the Greek poeteſs.

* Vilate, in his pamphlet on the ſecret cauſes of the revolution of the ninth Thermidor, relates the following anecdote of the origin of the peruques blondes. "The caprice of a revolutionary female who, on the fete in celebration of the Supreme Being, covered her own dark hair with a tete of a lighter colour, having excited the jealouſy of La Demahe, one of Barrere's miſtreſſes, ſhe took occaſion to complain to him of this coquettry, by which ſhe thought her own charms eclipſed. Barrere inſtantly ſent for Payen, the national agent, and informed him that a new counter-revolutionary ſect had ſtarted up, and that its partizans diſtinguiſhed themſelveſ by wearing wigs made of light hair cut from the heads of the guillotined ariſtocrats. He therefore enjoined Payen to make a ſpeech at the municipality, and to thunder againſt this new mode. The mandate was, of courſe, obeyed; and the women of rank, who had never before heard of theſe wigs, were both ſurprized and alarmed at an imputation ſo dangerous. Barrere is ſaid to have been highly amuſed at having thus ſolemnly ſtopped the progreſs of a faſhion, only becuaſe it diſpleaſed one of his female favourites.—I perfectly remember Payen's oration againſt this coeffure, and every woman in Paris who had light hair, was, I doubt not, intimidated." This pleaſantry of Barrere's proves with what inhuman levity the government ſported with the feelings of the people. At the fall of Robeſpierre, the peruque blonde, no longer ſubject to the empire of Barrere's favourites, became a reigning mode.

—Madame Tallien, who is ſuppoſed occaſionally to dictate decrees to the Convention, preſides with a more avowed and certain ſway over the realmſ of faſhion; and the Turkiſh draperies that may float very gracefully on a form like hers, are imitated by rotund ſeſquipedal Fatimas, who make one regret even the tight lacings and unnatural diminiſhings of our grandmothers.

I came to Beauvais a fortnight ago with the Marquiſe. Her long confinement has totally ruined her health, and I much fear ſhe will not recover. She has an aunt lives here, and we flattered ourſelves ſhe might benefit by change of air—but, on the contrary, ſhe ſeems worſe, and we propoſe to return in the courſe of a week to Amiens.

I had a good deal of altercation with the municipality about obtaining a paſſport; and when they at laſt conſented, they gave me to underſtand I was ſtill a priſoner in the eye of the law, and that I was indebted to them for all the freedom I enjoyed. This is but too true; for the decree conſtituting the Engliſh hoſtages for the Deputies at Toulon has never been repealed—

"Ah, what avails it that from ſlavery far, "I drew the breath of life in Engliſh air?" Johnſon.

Yet is it a conſolation, that the title by which I was made an object of mean vengeance is the one I moſt value.*

* An Engliſh gentleman, who was aſked by a republican Commiſſary, employed in examining the priſons, why he was there, replied, "Becauſe I have not the miſfortune to be a Frenchman!"

This is a large manufacturing town, and the capital of the department of l'Oiſe. Its manufactories now owe their chief activity to the requiſitions for ſupplying cloth to the armies. Such commerce is by no means courted; and if people were permitted, as they are in moſt countries, to trade or let it alone, it would ſoon decline.—The choir of the cathedral is extremely beautiful, and has luckily eſcaped republican devaſtation, though there ſeems to exiſt no hope that it will be again reſtored to the uſe of public worſhip. Your books will inform you, that Beauvais was beſieged in 1472 by the Duke of Burgundy, with eighty thouſand men, and that he failed in the attempt. Its modern hiſtory iſ not ſo fortunate. It was for ſome time haraſſed by a revolutionary army, whoſe exactions and diſorders being oppoſed by the inhabitants, a decree of the Convention declared the town in a ſtate of rebellion; and thiſ ban, which operates like the Papal excommunications three centuries ago, and authorizes tyranny of all kinds, was not removed until long after the death of Robeſpierre.—Such a ſpecimen of republican government has made the people cautious, and abundant in the exteriors of patriotiſm. Where they are ſure of their company, they expreſs themſelves without reſerve, both on the ſubject of their legiſlators and the miſeries of the country; but intercourſe is conſiderably more timid here than at Amiens.

Two gentlemen dined with us yeſterday, whom I know to be zealouſ royaliſts, and, as they are acquainted, I made no ſcruple of producing an engraving which commemorates myſteriouſly the death of the King, and which I had juſt received from Paris by a private conveyance. They looked alarmed, and affected not to underſtand it; and, perceiving I had done wrong, I replaced the print without farther explanation: but they both called this evening, and reproached me ſeparately for thus expoſing their ſentiments to each other.—This is a trifling incident, yet perhapſ it may partly explain the great aenigma why no effectual reſiſtance iſ made to a government which is ſecretly deteſted. It has been the policy of all the revolutioniſts, from the Lameths and La Fayette down to Briſſot and Robeſpierre, to deſtroy the confidence of ſociety; and the calamities of laſt year, now aiding the ſyſtem of ſpies and informers, occaſion an apprehenſion and diſtruſt which impede union, and check every enterprize that might tend to reſtore the freedom of the country.—Yours, &c.