June 3, 1794.
The individual ſufferings of the French may perhaps yet admit of increaſe; but their humiliation as a people can go no farther; and if it were not certain that the acts of the government are congenial to itſ principles, one might ſuppoſe this tyranny rather a moral experiment on the extent of human endurance, than a political ſyſtem.
Either the vanity or cowardice of Robeſpierre is continually ſuggeſting to him plots for his aſſaſſination; and on pretexts, at once abſurd and atrocious, a whole family, with near ſeventy other innocent people aſ accomplices, have been ſentenced to death by a formal decree of the convention.
One might be inclined to pity a people obliged to ſuppreſs their indignation on ſuch an event, but the mind revolts when addreſſes are preſented from all quarters to congratulate this monſter's pretended eſcape, and to ſolicit a farther ſacrifice of victims to his revenge.— The aſſaſſins of Henry the Fourth had all the benefit of the laws, and ſuffered only after a legal condemnation; yet the unfortunate Cecilia Renaud, though evidently in a ſtate of mental derangement, was hurried to the ſcaffold without a hearing, for the vague utterance of a truth, to which every heart in France, not loſt to humanity, muſt aſſent. Brooding over the miſeries of her country, till her imagination became heated and diſordered, this young woman ſeems to have conceived ſome hopeleſs plan of redreſs from expoſtulation with Robeſpierre, whom ſhe regarded as a principal in all the evils ſhe deplored. The difficulty of obtaining an audience of him irritated her to make ſome compariſon between an hereditary ſovereign and a republican deſpot; and ſhe avowed, that, in deſiring to ſee Robeſpierre, ſhe was actuated only by a curioſity to "contemplate the features of a tyrant."—On being examined by the Committee, ſhe ſtill perſiſted that her deſign was "ſeulement pour voir comment etoit fait un tyrant;" and no inſtrument nor poſſible means of deſtruction was found upon her to juſtify a charge of any thing more than the wild and enthuſiaſtic attachment to royaliſm, which ſhe did not attempt to diſguiſe. The influence of a feminine propenſity, which often ſurvives even the wreck of reaſon and beauty, had induced her to dreſſ with peculiar neatneſs, when ſhe went in ſearch of Robeſpierre; and, from the complexion of the times, ſuppoſing it very probable a viſit of thiſ nature might end in impriſonment and death, ſhe had alſo provided herſelf with a change of clothes to wear in her laſt moments.
Such an attention in a beautiful girl of eighteen was not very unnatural; yet the mean and cruel wretches who were her judges, had the littleneſſ to endeavour at mortifying, by diveſting her of her ornaments, and covering her with the moſt loathſome rags. But a mind tortured to madneſs by the ſufferings of her country, was not likely to be ſhaken by ſuch puerile malice; and, when interrogated under this diſguiſe, ſhe ſtill preſerved the ſame firmneſs, mingled with contempt, which ſhe had diſplayed when firſt apprehended. No accuſation, nor even implication, of any perſon could be drawn from her, and her only confeſſion was that of a paſſionate loyalty: yet an univerſal conſpiracy was nevertheleſſ decreed by the Convention to exiſt, and Miſs Renaud, with ſixty-nine others,* were ſentenced to the guillotine, without farther trial than merely calling over their names.
* It is worthy of remark, that the ſixty-nine people executed aſ accomplices of Miſs Renaud, except her father, mother, and aunt, were totally unconnected with her, or with each other, and had been collected from different priſons, between which no communication could have ſubſiſted.
—They were conducted to the ſcaffold in a ſort of red frocks, intended, as was alleged, to mark them as aſſaſſinſ—but, in reality, to prevent the crowd from diſtinguiſhing or receiving any impreſſion from the number of young and intereſting females who were compriſed in this dreadful ſlaughter.—They met death with a courage which ſeemed almoſt to diſappoint the malice of their tyrants, who, in an original exceſs of barbarity, are ſaid to have lamented that their power of inflicting could not reach thoſe mental faculties which enabled their victims to ſuffer with fortitude.*
* Fouquier Tinville, public accuſer of the Revolutionary Tribunal, enraged at the courage with which his victims ſubmitted to their fate, had formed the deſign of having them bled previous to their execution; hoping by this means to weaken their ſpirits, and that they might, by a puſillanimous behaviour in their laſt moments, appear leſs intereſting to the people.
Such are the horrors now common to almoſt every part of France: the priſons are daily thinned by the ravages of the executioner, and again repeopled by inhabitants deſtined to the fate of their predeceſſors. A gloomy reſerve, and a ſort of uncertain foreboding, have taken poſſeſſion of every body—no one ventures to communicate his thoughts, even to hiſ neareſt friend—relations avoid each other—and the whole ſocial ſyſtem ſeems on the point of being diſſolved. Thoſe who have yet preſerved their freedom take the longeſt circuit, rather than paſs a republican Baſtille; or, if obliged by neceſſity to approach one, it is with downcaſt or averted looks, which beſpeak their dread of incurring the ſuſpicion of humanity.
I ſay little of my own feelings; they are not of a nature to be relieved by pathetic expreſſions: "I am e'en ſick at heart." For ſome time I have ſtruggled both againſt my own evils, and the ſhare I take in the general calamity, but my mortal part gives way, and I can no longer reſiſt the deſpondency which at times depreſſes me, and which indeed, more than the danger attending it, has occaſioned my abandoning my pen for the laſt month.—Several circumſtances have occurred within theſe few days, to add to the uneaſineſs of our ſituation, and my own apprehenſions. Le Bon,* whoſe cruelties at Arras ſeem to have endeared him to his colleagues in the Convention, has had his powers extended to this department, and Andre Dumont is recalled; ſo that we are hourly menaced with the preſence of a monſter, compared to whom our own repreſentative is amiable.—
* I have already noticed the cruel and ferocious temper of Le Bon, and the maſſacres of his tribunals are already well known. I will only add ſome circumſtances which not only may be conſidered aſ characteriſtic of this tyrant, but of the timeſ—and I fear I may add of the people, who ſuffered and even applauded them. They are ſelected from many others not ſuſceptible of being deſcribed in language fit for an Engliſh reader. As he was one day enjoying his cuſtomary amuſement of ſuperintending an execution, where ſeveral had already ſuffered, one of the victimſ having, from a very natural emotion, averted his eyes while he placed his body in the poſture required, the executioner perceived it, and going to the ſack which contained the heads of thoſe juſt ſacrificed, took one out, and with the moſt horrible imprecationſ obliged the unhappy wretch to kiſs it: yet Le Bon not only permitted, but ſanctioned this, by dining daily with the hangman. He was afterwards reproached with this familiarity in the Convention, but defended himſelf by ſaying, "A ſimilar act of Lequinio's was inſerted by your orders in the bulletin with 'honourable mention;' and your decrees have invariably conſecrated the principles on which I acted." They all felt for a moment the dominion of conſcience, and were ſilent.—On another occaſion he ſuſpended an execution, while the ſavages he kept in pay threw dirt on the priſoners, and even got on the ſcaffold and inſulted them previous to their ſuffering. When any of his colleagues paſſed through Arras, he always propoſed their joining with him in a "partie de Guillotine," and the executions were perpetrated on a ſmall ſquare at Arras, rather than the great one, that he, his wife, and relations might more commodiouſly enjoy the ſpectacle from the balcony of the theatre, where they took their coffee, attended by a band of muſic, which played while this human butchery laſted. The following circumſtance, though ſomething leſs horrid, yet ſufficiently ſo to excite the indignation of feeling people, happened to ſome friends of my own.—They had been brought with many others from a diſtant town in open carts to Arras, and, worn out with fatigue, were going to be depoſited in the priſon to which they were deſtined. At the moment of their arrival ſeveral perſons were on the point of being executed. Le Bon, preſiding as uſual at the ſpectacle, obſerved the cavalcade paſſing, and ordered it to ſtop, that the priſoners might likewiſe be witneſſes. He was, of courſe, obeyed; and my terrified friends and their companions were obliged not only to appear attentive to the ſcene before them, but to join in the cry of "Vive la Republique!" at the ſevering of each head.— One of them, a young lady, did not recover the ſhock ſhe received for months. The Convention, the Committees, all France, were well acquainted with the conduct of Le Bon. He himſelf began to fear he might have exceeded the limits of his commiſſion; and, upon communicating ſome ſcruples of this kind to his employers, received the following letters, which, though they do not exculpate him, certainly render the Committee of Public Welfare more criminal than himſelf. "Citizen, "The Committee of Public Welfare approve the meaſures you have adopted, at the ſame time that they judge the warrant you ſolicit unneceſſary—ſuch meaſures being not only allowable, but enjoined by the very nature of your miſſion. No conſideration ought to ſtand in the way of your revolutionary progreſſ—give free ſcope therefore to your energy; the powers you are inveſted with are unlimited, and whatever you may deem conducive to the public good, you are free, you are even called upon by duty, to carry into execution without delay.—We here tranſmit you an order of the Committee, by which your powers are extended to the neighbouring departments. Armed with ſuch means, and with your energy, you will go on to confound the enemies of the republic, with the very ſchemes they have projected for its deſtruction. "Carnot. "Barrere. "R. Lindet."
Extract from another letter, ſigned Billaud Varenne, Carnot, Barrere. "There is no commutation for offences againſt a republic. Death alone can expiate them!—Purſue the traitors with fire and ſword, and continue to march with courage in the revolutionary track you have deſcribed."
—Merciful Heaven! are there yet poſitive diſtinctions betwixt bad and worſe that we thus regret a Dumont, and deem ourſelves fortunate in being at the mercy of a tyrant who is only brutal and profligate? But ſo it is; and Dumont himſelf, fearful that he has not exerciſed his miſſion with ſufficient ſeverity, has ordered every kind of indulgence to ceaſe, the priſons to be more ſtrictly guarded, and, if poſſible, more crowded; and he is now gone to Paris, trembling leſt he ſhould be accuſed of juſtice or moderation!
The pretended plots for aſſaſſinating Robeſpierre are, as uſual, attributed to Mr. Pitt; and a decree has juſt paſſed, that no quarter ſhall be given to Engliſh priſoners. I know not what ſuch inhuman politics tend to, but my contempt, and the conſcious pride of national ſuperiority; certain, that when Providence ſees fit to vindicate itſelf, by beſtowing victory on our countrymen, the moſt welcome
"Laurels that adorn their browſ "Will be from living, not dead boughs."
The recollection of England, and its generous inhabitants, has animated me with pleaſure; yet I muſt for the preſent quit this agreeable contemplation, to take precautions which remind me that I am ſeparated from both, and in a land of deſpotiſm and miſery!
—Yours affectionately.