June 11, 1794.
The immorality of Hebert, and the baſe compliances of the Convention, for ſome months turned the churches into "temples of reaſon."—The ambition, perhaps the vanity, of Robeſpierre, has now permitted them to be dedicated to the "Supreme Being," and the people, under ſuch auſpices, are to be conducted from atheiſm to deiſm. Deſirous of diſtinguiſhing his preſidency, and of exhibiting himſelf in a conſpicuous and intereſting light, Robeſpierre, on the laſt decade, appeared as the hero of a ceremony which we are told is to reſtore morals, deſtroy all the miſchiefs introduced by the abolition of religion, and finally to defeat the machinations of Mr. Pitt. A gay and ſplendid feſtival has been exhibited at Paris, and imitated in the provinces: flags of the republican colours, branches of trees, and wreaths of flowers, were ordered to be ſuſpended from the houſeſ—every countenance was to wear the preſcribed ſmile, and the whole country, forgetting the preſſure of ſorrow and famine, was to rejoice. A ſort of monſter was prepared, which, by ſome unaccountable ingenuity, at once repreſented Atheiſm and the Engliſh, Cobourg and the Auſtrianſ—in ſhort, all the enemies of the Convention.—This external phantom, being burned with proper form, diſcovered a ſtatue, which was underſtood to be that of Liberty, and the inauguration of this divinity, with placing the buſts of Chalier* and Marat in the temple of the Supreme Being, by way of attendant ſaints, concluded the ceremony.—
* Chalier had been ſent from the municipality of Paris after the dethronement of the King, to revolutionize the people of Lyons, and to excite a maſſacre. In conſequence, the firſt days of September preſented the ſame ſcenes at Lyons as were preſented in the capital. For near a year he continued to ſcourge this unfortunate city, by urging the lower claſſes of people to murder and pillage; till, at the inſurrection which took place in the ſpring of 1793, he waſ arreſted by the inſurgents, tried, and ſentenced to the guillotine. —The Convention, however, whoſe calendar of ſaints is aſ extraordinary as their criminal code, choſe to beatify Chalier, while they executed Maleſherbes; and, accordingly, decreed him a lodging in the Pantheon, penſioning his miſtreſs, and ſet up hiſ buſt in their own Hall as an aſſociate for Brutus, whom, by the way, one ſhould not have expected to find in ſuch company.
The good citizens of the republic, not to be behind hand with their repreſentatives, placed Chalier in the cathedrals, in their public-houſes, on fans and ſnuff-boxeſ—in ſhort, wherever they thought his appearance would proclaim their patriotiſm.—I can only exclaim aſ Poultier, a deputy, did, on a ſimilar occaſion—"Francais, Francais, ſerez vous toujours Francais?"—(Frenchmen, Frenchmen, will you never ceaſe to be Frenchmen?)
—But the mandates for ſuch celebrations reach not the heart: flowerſ were gathered, and flags planted, with the ſcrupulous exactitude of fear;* yet all was cold and heavy, and a diſcerning government muſt have read in this anxious and literal obedience the indication of terror and hatred.
* I have more than once had occaſion to remark the ſingularity of popular feſtivities ſolemnized on the part of the people with no other intention but that of exact obedience to the edicts of government. This is ſo generally underſtood, that Richard, a deputy on miſſion at Lyons, writes to the Convention, as a circumſtance extraordinary, and worthy of remark, that, at the repeal of a decree which was to have razed their city to the ground, a rejoicing took place, "dirigee et executee par le peuple, les autoriteſ conſtitutees n'ayant fait en quelque ſorte qu'y aſſiſter,"— (directed and executed by the people, the conſtituted authoritieſ having merely aſſiſted at the ceremony).
—Even the priſons were inſultingly decorated with the mockery of colours, which, we are told, are the emblems of freedom; and thoſe whoſe relations have expired on the ſcaffold, or who are pining in dungeons for having heard a maſs, were obliged to liſten with apparent admiration to a diſcourſe on the charms of religious liberty.—The people, who, for the moſt part, took little intereſt in the reſt of this pantomime, and inſenſible of the national diſgrace it implied, beheld with ſtupid ſatiſfaction* the inſcription on the temple of reaſon replaced by a legend, ſignifying that, in this age of ſcience and information, the French find it neceſſary to declare their acknowledgment of a God, and their belief in the immortality of the ſoul.
* Much has been ſaid of the partial ignorance of the unfortunate inhabitants of La Vendee, and divers republican ſcribblers attribute their attachment to religion and monarchy to that cauſe: yet at Havre, a ſea-port, where, from commercial communication, I ſhould ſuppoſe the people as informed and civilized as in any other part of France, the ears of piety and decency were aſſailed, during the celebration above-mentioned, by the acclamations of, "Vive le Pere Eternel!"—"Vive l'etre Supreme!"—(I entreat that I may not be ſuſpected of levity when I tranſlate this; in Engliſh it would be "God Almighty for ever! The Supreme Being for ever!")
—At Avignon the public underſtanding ſeems to have been equally enlightened, if we may judge from the report of a Paris miſſionary, who writes in theſe terms:—"The celebration in honour of the Supreme Being was performed here yeſterday with all poſſible pomp: all our country-folks were preſent, and unſpeakably content that there was ſtill a God—What a fine decree (cried they all) is thiſ!"
My laſt letter was a record of the moſt odious barbaritieſ—to-day I am deſcribing a feſtival. At one period I have to remark the deſtruction of the ſaintſ—at another the adoration of Marat. One half of the newſpaper is filled with a liſt of names of the guillotined, and the other with that of places of amuſement; and every thing now more than ever markſ that deteſtable aſſociation of cruelty and levity, of impiety and abſurdity, which has uniformly characterized the French revolution. It is become a crime to feel, and a mode to affect a brutality incapable of feeling—the perſecution of Chriſtianity has made atheiſm a boaſt, and the danger of reſpecting traditional virtues has hurried the weak and timid into the apotheoſis of the moſt abominable vices. Conſcious that they are no longer animated by enthuſiaſm,* the Pariſians hope to imitate it by ſavage fury or ferocious mirth—their patriotiſm is ſignalized only by their zeal to deſtroy, and their attachment to their government only by applauding its cruelties.—If Robeſpierre, St. Juſt, Collot d'Herbois, and the Convention as their inſtruments, deſolate and maſſacre half France, we may lament, but we can ſcarcely wonder at it. How ſhould a ſet of baſe and needy adventurers refrain from an abuſe of power more unlimited than that of the moſt deſpotic monarch; or how diſtinguiſh the general abhorrence, amid addreſſes of adulation, which Louis the Fourteenth would have bluſhed to appropriate?*
* Louis the Fourteenth, aguerri (ſteeled) as he was by ſixty yearſ of adulation and proſperity, had yet modeſty ſufficient to reject a "doſe of incenſe which he thought too ſtrong." (See D'Alembert'ſ Apology for Clermont Tonnerre.) Republicaniſm, it ſhould ſeem, haſ not diminiſhed the national compliaſance for men in power, thought it has leſſened the modeſty of thoſe who exerciſe it.—If Louis the Fourteenth repreſſed the zeal of the academicians, the Convention publiſh, without ſcruple, addreſſes more hyperbolical than the praiſes that monarch refuſed.—Letters are addreſſed to Robeſpierre under the appellation of the Meſſiah, ſent by the almighty for the reform of all thingſ! He is the apoſtle of one, and the tutelar deity of another. He is by turns the repreſentative of the virtueſ individually, and a compendium of them altogether: and this monſter, whoſe features are the counterpart of his ſoul, find republican paraſites who congratulate themſelves on reſembling him.
The bulletins of the Convention announce, that the whole republic is in a ſort of revolutionary tranſport at the eſcape of Robeſpierre and hiſ colleague, Collot d'Herbois, from aſſaſſination; and that we may not ſuppoſe the legiſlators at large deficient in ſenſibility, we learn alſo that they not only ſhed their grateful tears on this affecting occaſion, but have ſettled a penſion on the man who was inſtrumental in reſcuing the benign Collot.
The members of the Committee are not, however, the excluſive objects of public adoration—the whole Convention are at times incenſed in a ſtyle truly oriental; and if this be ſometimes done with more zeal than judgment, it does not appear to be leſs acceptable on that account. A petition from an incarcerated poet aſſimilates the mountain of the Jacobins to that of Parnaſſuſ—a ſtate-creditor importunes for a ſmall payment from the Gods of Olympuſ—and congratulations on the abolition of Chriſtianity are offered to the legiſlators of Mount Sinai! Every inſtance of baſeneſs calls forth an eulogium on their magnanimity. A ſcore of orators harangue them daily on their courage, while they are over-awed by deſpots as mean as themſelves and whom they continue to reinſtal at the ſtated period with clamorous approbation. They proſcribe, devaſtate, burn, and maſſacre—and permit themſelves to be addreſſed by the title of "Fathers of their Country!"
All this would be inexplicable, if we did not contemplate in the French a nation where every faculty is abſorbed by a terror which involves a thouſand contradictions. The rich now ſeek protection by becoming members of clubs,* and are happy if, after various mortifications, they are finally admitted by the mob who compoſe them; while families, that heretofore piqued themſelves on a voluminous and illuſtrious genealogy,** eagerly endeavour to prove they have no claim to either.
* Le diplome de Jacobin etait une eſpece d'amulette, dont leſ inities etaient jaloux, et qui frappoit de preſtiges ceux qui ne l'etaient paſ—"The Jacobin diploma was a kind of amulet, which the initiated were jealous of preſerving, and which ſtruck as it were with witchcraft, thoſe who were not of the number." Rapport de Courtois ſur les Papiers de Robeſpierre. ** Beſides thoſe who, being really noble, were anxious to procure certificates of ſans-cullotiſm, many who had aſſumed ſuch honourſ without pretenſions now relinquiſhed them, except indeed ſome few, whoſe vanity even ſurmounted their fears. But an expreſs law included all theſe ſeceders in the general proſcription; alledging, with a candour not uſual, that thoſe who aſſumed rank were, in fact, more criminal than ſuch as were guilty of being born to it. —Places and employments, which are in moſt countries the objects of intrigue and ambition, are here refuſed or relinquiſhed with ſuch perfect ſincerity, that a decree became requiſite to oblige every one, under pain of durance, to preſerve the ſtation to which his ill ſtars, miſtaken politics, or affectation of patriotiſm, had called him. Were it not for this law, ſuch is the dreadful reſponſibility and danger attending offices under the government, that even low and ignorant people, who have got poſſeſſion of them merely for ſupport, would prefer their original poverty to emoluments which are perpetually liable to the commutation of the guillotine.—Some members of a neighbouring diſtrict told me to-day, when I aſked them if they came to releaſe any of our fellow-priſoners, that ſo far from it, they had not only brought more, but were not certain twelve hours together of not being brought themſelves.
The viſionary equality of metaphyſical impoſtors is become a ſubſtantial one—not conſtituted by abundance and freedom, but by want and oppreſſion. The diſparities of nature are not repaired, but its whole ſurface is levelled by a ſtorm. The rich are become poor, but the poor ſtill remain ſo; and both are conducted indiſcriminately to the ſcaffold. The priſons of the former government were "petty to the endſ" of this. Convents, colleges, palaces, and every building which could any how be adapted to ſuch a purpoſe, have been filled with people deemed ſuſpicious;* and a plan of deſtruction ſeems reſolved on, more certain and more execrable than even the general maſſacre of September 1792.
* Now multiplied to more than four hundred thouſand!—The priſons of Paris and the environs were ſuppoſed to contain twenty-ſeven thouſand. The public papers ſtated but about ſeven thouſand, becauſe they included the official returns of Paris only.
—Agents of the police are, under ſome pretended accuſation, ſent to the different priſons; and, from liſts previouſly furniſhed them, make daily information of plots and conſpiracies, which they alledge to be carrying on by the perſons confined. This charge and this evidence ſuffice: the priſoners are ſent to the tribunal, their names read over, and they are conveyed by cart's-full to the republican butchery. Many whom I have known, and been in habits of intimacy with, have periſhed in this manner; and the expectation of Le Bon,* with our numbers which make us of too much conſequence to be forgotten, all contribute to depreſs and alarm me.
* Le Bon had at this period ſent for liſts of the priſoners in the department of the Somme—which liſts are ſaid to have been ſince found, and many of the names in them marked for deſtruction.
—Even the levity of the French character yields to this terrible deſpotiſm, and nothing is obſerved but wearineſs, ſilence, and ſorrow:— "O triſte loiſir, poids affreux du tems." [St. Lambert.] The ſeaſon returns with the year, but not to uſ—the ſun ſhines, but to add to our miſeries that of inſupportable heat—and the viciſſitudes of nature only awaken our regret that we cannot enjoy them—
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"Now gentle gales o'er all the vallies play, "Breathe on each flow'r, and bear their ſweets away." [Collins.] |
Yet what are freſh air and green fields to us, who are immured amidſt a thouſand ill ſcents, and have no proſpect but filth and ſtone walls? It is difficult to deſcribe how much the mind is depreſſed by this ſtate of paſſive ſuffering. In common evils, the neceſſity of action half relieves them, as a veſſel may reach her port by the agitation of a ſtorm; but this ſtagnant liſtleſs exiſtence is terrible.
Thoſe moſt to be envied here are the victims of their religious opinions. The nuns, who are more diſtreſſed than any of us,* employ themſelveſ patiently, and ſeem to look beyond this world; whilſt the once gay deiſt wanders about with a volume of philoſophy in his hand, unable to endure the preſent, and dreading ſtill more the future.
* Theſe poor women, deprived of the little which the rapacity of the Convention had left them, by it ſubordinate agents, were in want of every thing; and though in moſt priſons they were employed for the republican armies, they could ſcarcely procure more than bread and water. Yet this was not all: they were objects of the meaneſt and moſt cruel perſecution.—I knew one who was put in a dungeon, up to her waiſt in putrid water, for twelve hours altogether, without loſing her reſolution or ſerenity.
I have already written you a long letter, and bid you adieu with the reluctance which precedes an uncertain ſeparation. Uneaſineſs, ill health, and confinement, beſides the danger I am expoſed to, render my life at preſent more precarious than "the ordinary of nature's tenures." —God knows when I may addreſs you again!—My friend Mad. de ____ iſ returned from the hoſpital, and I yield to her fears by ceaſing to write, though I am nevertheleſs determined not to part with what I have hitherto preſerved; being convinced, that if evil be intended us, it will be aſ ſoon without a pretext as with one.—Adieu.