Paris, June 3, 1795.
We arrived here early on Saturday, and as no ſtranger coming to Paris, whether a native of France, or a foreigner, is ſuffered to remain longer than three days without a particular permiſſion, our firſt care was to preſent ourſelves to the Committee of the ſection where we lodge, and, on giving proper ſecurity for our good conduct, we have had this permiſſion extended to a Decade.
I approached Paris with a mixture of curioſity and apprehenſion, aſ though I expected the ſcenes which had paſſed in it, and the moral changes it had undergone, would be every where viſible; but the gloomy ideas produced by a viſit to this metropolis, are rather the effect of mental aſſociation than external objects. Palaces and public buildingſ ſtill remain; but we recollect that they are become the priſons of miſfortune, or the rewards of baſeneſs. We ſee the ſame hotels, but their owners are wandering over the world, or have expired on the ſcaffold. Public places are not leſs numerous, nor leſs frequented; but, far from inſpiring gaiety, we behold them with regret and diſguſt, aſ proofs of the national levity and want of feeling.
I could almoſt wiſh, for the credit of the French character, to have found ſome indications that the paſt was not ſo ſoon conſigned to oblivion. It is true, the reign of Robeſpierre and his ſanguinary tribunal are execrated in ſtudied phraſes; yet is it enough to adopt humanity as a mode, to ſing the Revel du Peuple in preference to the Marſeillois, or to go to a theatre with a well-powdered head, inſtead of cropped locks a la Jacobin? But the people forget, that while they permitted, and even applauded, the paſt horrors, they were alſo acceſſary to them, and if they rejoice at their termination, their ſenſibility doeſ not extend to compunction; they caſt their ſorrows away, and think it ſufficient to exhibit their reformation in dreſſing and dancing—
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"Yet hearts refin'd their ſadden'd tint retain, "The ſigh is pleaſure, and the jeſt is pain." Sheridan. |
French refinements are not, however, of this poetical kind.*
* This too great facility of the Pariſians has been commented upon by an anonymous writer in the following terms: "At Paris, where more than fifty victims were dragged daily to the ſcaffold, the theatres never failed to overflow, and that on the Place de la Revolution was not the leaſt frequented. The public, in their way every evening to the Champs Elliſees, continued uninterruptedly to croſs the ſtream of blood that deluged this fatal ſpot with the moſt dreadful indifference; and now, though theſe dayſ of horror are ſcarcely paſſed over our heads, one would ſuppoſe them ages removed—ſo little are we ſenſible that we are dancing, as it were, on a platform of dead bodies. Well may we ſay, reſpecting thoſe events which have not reached ourſelveſ—
'Le malheur Qui n'eſt plus, n'a jamais exiſte.'
But if we deſire earneſtly that the ſame miſfortunes ſhould not return, we muſt keep them always preſent in our recollection."
The practice of the government appears to depart every day more widely from its profeſſions; and the moderate harangues of the tribune are often ſucceeded by meaſures as arbitrary as thoſe which are ſaid to be exploded.—Perhaps the Convention begin to perceive their miſtake in ſuppoſing that they can maintain a government againſt the inclination of the people, without the aid of tyranny. They expected at the ſame time that they decried Robeſpierre, to retain all the power he poſſeſſed. Hence, their aſſumed principles and their conduct are generally at variance; and, divided between deſpotiſm and weakneſs, they arreſt the printers of pamphlets and newſpapers one day, and are obliged to liberate them the next.—They exclaim publicly againſt the ſyſtem of terror, yet ſecretly court the aſſiſtance of its agents.—They affect to reſpect the liberty of the preſs, yet every new publication has to defend itſelf againſt the whole force of the government, if it happen to cenſure a ſingle member of the reigning party.—Thus, the Memoirs of Dumouriez had circulated nearly through all Europe, yet it was not without much riſk, and after a long warfare, that they were printed in France.*
*On this ſubject the government appears ſometimes to have adopted the maxim—that prevention is better than puniſhment; for, in ſeveral inſtances, they ſeized on manuſcripts, and laid embargoes on the printerſ' preſſes, where they only ſuſpected that a work which they might diſapprove was intended to be publiſhed.
I know not if it be attributable to theſe political inconſiſtencies that the calm which has ſucceeded the late diſorders is little more than external. The minds of the people are uncommonly agitated, and every one expreſſes either hope or apprehenſion of ſome impending event. The royaliſts, amidſt their oſtenſible perſecutions, are particularly elated; and I have been told, that many conſpicuous revolutioniſts already talk of emigration.
I am juſt returned from a day's ramble, during which I have met with various ſubjects of unpleaſant meditation. About dinner-time I called on an old Chevalier de St. Louis and his lady, who live in the Fauxbourg St. Germain. When I knew them formerly, they had a handſome annuity on the Hotel de Ville, and were in poſſeſſion of all the comforts neceſſary to their declining years. To-day the door was opened by a girl of dirty appearance, the houſe looked miſerable, the furniture worn, and I found the old couple over a ſlender meal of ſoup maigre and eggs, without wine or bread. Our revolutionary adventures, as is uſual on all meetings of this kind, were ſoon communicated; and I learned, that almoſt before they knew what was paſſing around them, Monſieur du G————'s forty yearſ' ſervice, and his croix, had rendered him ſuſpected, and that he and hiſ wife were taken from their beds at midnight and carried to priſon. Here they conſumed their ſtock of ready money, while a guard, placed in their houſe, pillaged what was moveable, and ſpoiled what could not be pillaged. Soon after the ninth of Thermidor they were releaſed, but they returned to bare walls, and their annuity, being paid in aſſignats, now ſcarcely affords them a ſubſiſtence.—Monſieur du G———— is near ſeventy, and Madame is become helpleſs from a nervous complaint, the effect of fear and confinement; and if this depreciation of the paper ſhould continue, theſe poor people may probably die of abſolute want.
I dined with a relation of the Marquiſe's, and in the afternoon we called by appointment on a perſon who is employed by the Committee of National Domains, and who has long promiſed my friend to facilitate the adjuſtment of ſome of the various claims which the government has on her property. This man was originally a valet to the brother of the Marquiſe: at the revolution he ſet up a ſhop, became a bankrupt, and a furious Jacobin, and, in the end, a member of a Revolutionary Committee. In the laſt capacity he found means to enrich himſelf, and intimidate his creditorſ ſo as to obtain a diſcharge of his debts, without the trouble of paying them.*
* "It was common for men in debt to procure themſelves to be made members of a revolutionary committee, and then force their creditorſ to give them a receipt in full, under the fear of being impriſoned." Clauzel's Report, Oct. 13, 1794. I am myſelf acquainted with an old lady, who was confined four months, for having aſked one of theſe patriots for three hundred livres which he owed her.
—Since the diſſolution of the Committees, he has contrived to obtain the ſituation I have mentioned, and now occupies ſuperb apartments in an hotel, amply furniſhed with the proofs of his official dexterity, and the perquiſites of patriotiſm.
The humiliating viciſſitudes occaſioned by the revolution induced Madame de la F———— to apply to this democratic parvenu, [Upſtart.] whoſe office at preſent gives him the power, and whoſe former obligations to her family (by whom he was brought up) ſhe hoped would add the diſpoſition, to ſerve her.—The gratitude ſhe expected has, however, ended only in delays and diſappointments, and the ſole object of my commiſſion was to get ſome papers which ſhe had entruſted to him out of his poſſeſſion.
When we enquired if the Citizen was at home, a ſervant, not in livery, informed us Monſieur was dreſſing, but that if we would walk in, he would let Monſieur know we were there. We paſſed through a dining parlour, where we ſaw the remains of a deſſert, coffee, &c. and were aſſailed by the odours of a plentiful repaſt. As we entered the ſaloon, we heard the ſervant call at the door of an adjoining parlour, "Monſieur, voici deux Citoyennes et un Citoyen qui vous demandent." ["Sir, here are two female citizens and one male citizen enquiring for you.">[ When Monſieur appeared, he apologized with an air of graciouſneſs for the impoſſibility he had been under of getting my friend's affairs arranged—proteſted he was accable [Oppreſſed..]—that he had ſcarcely an inſtant at his own diſpoſal—that enfin the reſponſibility of people in office was ſo terrible, and the fatigue ſo aſſommante, [Overpowering.] that nothing but the pureſt civiſm, and a heart penetre de l'amour de la patrie, [Penetrated with the love of his country.] could enable him to perſevere in the taſk impoſed on him. As for the papers we required, he would endeavour to find them, though his cabinet was really ſo filled with petitions and certificates of all ſorts, que des malheureux lui avoient addreſſes, [Addreſſed to him by unfortunate people.] that it would not be very eaſy to find them at preſent; and, with this anſwer, which we ſhould have ſmiled at from M. de Choiſeul or Sartine, we were obliged to be ſatiſfied. We then talked of the news of the day, and he lamented that the ariſtocrats were ſtill reſtleſs and increaſing in number, and that notwithſtanding the efforts of the Convention to diffuſe a ſpirit of philoſophy, it was too evident there was yet much fanaticiſm among the people.
As we roſe to depart, Madame entered, dreſſed for viſiting, and decorated with bracelets on her wriſts and above her elbows, medallions on her waiſts and neck, and, indeed, finery wherever it could poſſibly be beſtowed. We obſerved her primitive condition of a waiting-woman ſtill operated, and that far from affecting the language of her huſband, ſhe retained a great deference for rank, and was ſolicitous to inſinuate that ſhe was ſecretly of a ſuperior way of thinking. As we left the room together, ſhe made advances to an acquaintance with my companions (who were people of condition); and having occaſion to ſpeak to a perſon at the door, as ſhe uttered the word Citoyen ſhe looked at us with an expreſſion which ſhe intended ſhould imply the contempt and reluctance with which ſhe made uſe of it.
I have in general remarked, that the republicans are either of the ſpecies I have juſt been deſcribing, waiters, jockies, gamblers, bankrupts, and low ſcribblers, living in great ſplendour, or men taken from laborious profeſſions, more ſincere in their principles, more ignorant and brutal—and who diſſipate what they have gained in groſſ luxury, becauſe they have been told that elegance and delicacy are worthy only of Sybarites, and that the Greeks and Romans deſpiſed both. Theſe patriots are not, however, ſo uninformed, nor ſo diſintereſted, as to ſuppoſe they are to ſerve their country without ſerving themſelves; and they perfectly underſtand, that the rich are their legal patrimony, and that it is enjoined them by their miſſion to pillage royaliſts and ariſtocrats.*
—Yours.
* Garat obſerves, it was a maxim of Danton, "Que ceux qui feſaient les affaires de la republique devaient auſſi faireles leurs," that who undertook the care of the republic ſhould alſo take care of themſelves. This tenet, however, ſeems common to the friends of both.