December 27, 1794.
I took the opportunity of my being here to go about four leagues farther to ſee an old convent acquaintance lately come to this part of the country, and whom I have not met ſince I was at Orleans in 1789.
The time has been when I ſhould have thought ſuch a hiſtory as thiſ lady's a romance, but tales of woe are now become familiar to us, and, if they create ſympathy, they no longer excite ſurprize, and we hear of them as the natural effects of the revolution.
Madame de St. E__m__d is the daughter of a gentleman whoſe fortune waſ inadequate both to his rank and manner of living, and he gladly embraced the offer of Monſieur de St. E__m__d to marry her at ſixteen, and to relinquiſh the fortune allotted her to her two younger ſiſters. Monſieur de St. E__m__d, being a diſſipated man, ſoon grew weary of any ſort of domeſtic life, and placing his wife with her father, in leſs than a year after their marriage departed for Italy.—Madame de St. E__m__d, thuſ left in a ſituation both delicate and dangerous for a young and pretty woman, became unfortunately attached to a gentleman who was her diſtant relation: yet, far from adopting the immoral principles not unjuſtly aſcribed to your country, ſhe conducted herſelf with a prudence and reſerve, which even in France made her an object of general reſpect. About three years after her huſband's departure the revolution took place, and not returning, he was of courſe put on the liſt of emigrants. In 1792, when the law paſſed which ſanctioned and facilitated divorces, her friends all earneſtly perſuaded her to avail herſelf of it, but ſhe could not be prevailed upon to conſider the ſtep as juſtifiable; for though Monſieur de St. E__m__d neglected her, he had, in other reſpects, treated her with generoſity and kindneſs. She, therefore, perſiſted in her refuſal, and her lover, in deſpair, joined the republican army.
At the general arreſt of the Nobleſſe, Madame de St. E__m__d and her ſiſters were confined in the town where they reſided, but their father was ſent to Paris; and a letter from one of his female relations, who had emigrated, being found among his papers, he was executed without being able to ſee or write to his children. Madame de St. E__m__d's huſband had returned about the ſame time to France, in the diſguiſe of a poſt-boy, was diſcovered, and ſhared the ſame fate. Theſe events reached her love, ſtill at the army, but it was impoſſible for him to quit his poſt, and in a few days after, being mortally wounded, he died,* recommending Eugenie de St. E__m__d to the protection of his father.—
* This young man, who died gallantly fighting in the cauſe of the republic, was no republican: but this does not render the murder of his father, a deaf [There were people both deaf and dumb in the priſons as conſpirators.] and inoffenſive man, leſs abominable.—The caſe of General Moreau's father, though ſomewhat ſimilar, is yet more characteriſtic of the revolution. Mons. Moreau was perſuaded, by a man who had ſome intereſt in the buſineſs, to pay a debt which he owed an emigrant, to an individual, inſtead of paying it, as the law directed, to the uſe of the republic. The ſame man afterwardſ denounced him, and he was thrown into priſon. At nine o'clock on the night preceding his trial, his act of accuſation was brought him, and before he had time to ſketch out a few lines for hiſ defence, the light by which he wrote was taken away. In the morning he was tried, the man who had informed againſt him ſitting as one of his judges, and he was condemned and executed the very day on which his ſon took the Fort de l'Ecluſe!—Mons. Moreau had four ſons, beſides the General in the army, and two daughters, all left deſtitute by the confiſcation of his property.
—A brother officer, who engaged to execute this commiſſion, wrote immediately to the old man, to inform him of his loſs, and of his ſon'ſ laſt requeſt. It was too late, the father having been arreſted on ſuſpicion, and afterwards guillotined, with many other perſons, for a pretended conſpiracy in priſon, the very day on which his ſon had fallen in the performance of an act of uncommon bravery.
Were I writing from imagination, I ſhould add, that Madame de St. E__m__d had been unable to ſuſtain the ſhock of theſe repeated calamities, and that her life or underſtanding had been the ſacrifice. It were, indeed, happy for the ſufferer, if our days were always terminated when they became embittered, or that we loſt the ſenſe of ſorrow by its exceſs: but it is not ſo—we continue to exiſt when we have loſt the deſire of exiſtence, and to reaſon when feeling and reaſon conſtitute our torments. Madame de St. E__m__d then lives, but lives in affliction; and having collected the wreck of her perſonal property, which ſome friends had concealed, ſhe left the part of France ſhe formerly inhabited, and is now with an aunt in this neighbourhood, watching the decay of her eldeſt ſiſter, and educating the youngeſt.
Clementine was conſumptive when they were firſt arreſted, and vexation, with ill-treatment in the priſon, have ſo eſtabliſhed her diſorder, that ſhe is now paſt relief. She is yet ſcarcely eighteen, and one of the moſt lovely young women I ever ſaw. Grief and ſickneſs have ravaged her features; but they are ſtill ſo perfect, that fancy, aſſociating their paſt bloom with their preſent languor, ſupplies perhaps as much to the mind as is loſt by the eye. She ſuffers without complaining, and mournſ without oſtentation; and hears her father ſpoken of with ſuch ſolemn ſilent floods of tears, that ſhe looks like the original of Dryden'ſ beautiful portrait of the weeping Sigiſmunda.
The letter which condemned the father of theſe ladies, was not, it ſeems, written to himſelf, but to a brother, lately dead, whoſe executor he was, and of whoſe papers he thus became poſſeſſed. On this ground their friends engaged them to petition the Aſſembly for a reviſion of the ſentence, and the reſtoration of their property, which was in conſequence forfeited.
The daily profeſſions of the Convention, in favour of juſtice and humanity, and the return of the ſeventy-three impriſoned Deputies, had ſoothed theſe poor young women with the hopes of regaining their paternal inheritance, ſo iniquitouſly confiſcated. A petition was, therefore, forwarded to Paris about a fortnight ago; and the day before, the following decree was iſſued, which has ſilenced their claims for ever: "La Convention Nationale declare qu'elle n'admettra aucune demande en reviſion des jugemens criminels portant confiſcation de biens rendus et executes pendant la revolution."*
* "The National Convention hereby declares that it will admit no petitions for the reviſal of ſuch criminal ſentences, attended with confiſcation of property, as have been paſſed and executed ſince the revolution." Yet theſe revolutioniſts, who would hear nothing of repairing their own injuſtice, had occaſionally been annulling ſentences paſt half a century ago, and the more recent one of the Chevalier La Barre. But their own executions and confiſcations for an adherence to religion were to be held ſacred.—I ſhall be excuſed for introducing here a few words reſpecting the affair of La Barre, which has been a favourite topic with popular writers of a certain deſcription. The ſeverity of the puniſhment muſt, doubtleſs, be conſidered aſ diſgraceful to thoſe who adviſed as well as to thoſe who ſanctioned it: but we muſt not infer from hence that he merited no puniſhment at all; and perhaps degradation, ſome ſcandalous and public correction, with a few years ſolitary confinement, might have anſwered every purpoſe intended. La Barre was a young etourdi, under twenty, but of lively talents, which, unfortunately for him, had taken a very perverſe turn. The miſdemeanour commonly imputed to him and his aſſociates was, that they had mutilated a Chriſt which ſtood on the Pont-neuf at Abbeville: but La Barre had accuſtomed himſelf to take all opportunities of inſulting, with the moſt wanton malignity, theſe pious repreſentations, and eſpecially in the preſence of people, with whom his particular connections led him to aſſociate, and whoſe profeſſion could not allow them entirely to overlook ſuch affrontſ on what was deemed an appendage to the eſtabliſhed religion of the country. The people of Abbeville manifeſted their ſenſe of the buſineſs when d'Etalonde, La Barre's intimate friend, who had ſaved himſelf by flight, returned, after a long exile, under favour of the revolution. He was received in the neighbourhood with the moſt mortifying indifference. The decree of the Convention too, by which the memory of thiſ imprudent young man was re-eſtabliſhed, when promulgated, created about as much intereſt as any other law which did not immediately affect the property or awaken the apprehenſions of the hearers.
Madame de St. E__m__d told me her whole fortune was now reduced to a few Louis, and about ſix or ſeven thouſand livres in diamonds; that ſhe waſ unwilling to burden her aunt, who was not rich, and intended to make ſome advantage of her muſical talents, which are indeed conſiderable. But I could not, without anguiſh, hear an elegant young woman, with a heart half broken, propoſe to get her living by teaching muſic.—I know not that I ever paſſed a more melancholy day. In the afternoon we walked up and down the path of the village church-yard. The church was ſhut up, the roof in part untiled, the windows were broken, and the wooden croſſeſ that religion or tenderneſs had erected to commemorate the dead, broken and ſcattered about. Two labourers, and a black-ſmith in his working garb, came while we were there, and threw a ſort of uncouth wooden coffin haſtily into a hole dug for the purpoſe, which they then covered and left without farther ceremony. Yet this was the body of a lady regretted by a large family, who were thus obliged to conquer both their affection and their prejudices, and inter her according to the republican mode.*
* The relations or friends of the dead were prohibited, under ſevere penalties, from following their remains to the grave.
I thought, while we traverſed the walk, and beheld this ſcene, that every thing about me bore the marks of the revolution. The melancholy objectſ I held on my arm, and the feeble ſteps of Clementine, whom we could ſcarcely ſupport, aided the impreſſion; and I fear that, for the moment, I queſtioned the juſtice of Heaven, in permitting ſuch a ſcourge to be let looſe upon its works.
I quitted Madame de St. E__m__d this morning with reluctance, for we ſhall not meet again till I am entirely at liberty. The village municipality where ſhe now reſides, are quiet and civil, and her miſfortunes make her fearful of attracting the notice of the people in authority of a large place, ſo that ſhe cannot venture to Amiens.—You muſt obſerve, that any perſon who has ſuffered is an object of particular ſuſpicion, and that to have had a father or a huſband executed, and to be reduced to beggary, are titles to farther perſecution.—The politics of the day are, it is true, ſomething leſs ferocious than they were: but confidence is not to be reſtored by an eſſay in the Orateur du Peuple,* or an equivocal harangue from the tribune; and I perceive every where, that thoſe who have been moſt injured, are moſt timid.
* "L'Orateur du Peuple," was a periodical paper publiſhed by Freron, many numbers of which were written with great ſpirit.— Freron was at this time ſuppoſed to have become a royaliſt, and hiſ paper, which was comparatively favourable to the ariſtocrats, waſ read with great eagerneſs. The following extract from the regiſters of one of the popular commiſſions will prove, that the fears of thoſe who had already ſuffered by the revolution were well founded: "A. Sourdeville, and A. N. E. Sourdeville, ſiſters of an emigrant Noble, daughters of a Count, ariſtocrats, and having had their father and brother guillotined. "M. J. Sourdeville, mother of an emigrant, an ariſtocrat, and her huſband and ſon having been guillotined. "Jean Marie Defille—very ſuſpiciouſ—a partizan of the Abbe Arnoud and La Fayette, has had a brother guillotined, and always ſhewn himſelf indifferent about the public welfare." The commiſſions declare that the above are condemned to baniſhment.
I did not reach this place till after the family had dined, and taking my ſoup and a diſh of coffee, have eſcaped, under pretext of the headache, to my own room. I left our poet far gone in a claſſical deſcription of a ſort of Roman dreſſes, the drawings of which he had ſeen exhibited at the Lyceum, as models of an intended national equipment for the French citizens of both ſexes; and my viſit to Madame de St. E__m__d had incapacitated me for diſcuſſing revolutionary draperies.
In England, this is the ſeaſon of feſtivity to the little, and beneficence in the great; but here, the ſterile genius of atheiſm haſ ſuppreſſed the ſounds of mirth, and cloſed the hands of charity—no ſeaſon is conſecrated either to the one or the other; and the once-varied year is but an uniform round of gloom and ſelfiſhneſs. The philoſopher may treat with contempt the notion of periodical benevolence, and aſſert that we ſhould not wait to be reminded by religion or the calendar, in order to contribute to the relief of our fellow creatures: yet there are people who are influenced by cuſtom and duty, that are not always awake to compaſſion; and indolence or avarice may yield a too ready obedience to prohibitions which favour both. The poor are certainly no gainers by the ſubſtitution of philoſophy for religion; and many of thoſe who are forbidden to celebrate Chriſtmas or Eaſter by a maſs, will forget to do it by a donation. For my own part, I think it an advantage that any period of the year is more particularly ſignalized by charity; and I rejoice when I hear of the annual gifts of meat or firing of ſuch, or ſuch a great perſonage—and I never enquire whether they might ſtill continue their munificence if Chriſtianity were aboliſhed.—Adieu.