605.
The Hon. Maria Holroyd to Edward Gibbon.
Sheffield Place, November, 1792.
Your three letters received yesterday caused the most sincere pleasure to each individual of this family so highly favoured by you—but to none more than myself. I flatter myself that I despise general compliments as they deserve, but praise (tho' I fear, beyond my deserts) from one whose opinion I so highly value, and whose esteem I so much wish to gain, is more pleasing than I can describe, & I really think, thus encouraged, & with your example before me, to shew bad habits may be conquered. I had not neglected to make the collection of facts which you recommend, and which the great variety of unfortunate persons whom we see, or with whom we correspond, enables me to make.
As to the other part of your letter about my studies, I can only say, the slightest hint on that subject will be always received with the greatest gratitude, and attended to with the utmost punctuality. French history I am most acquainted with—English, I am ashamed to say, I am much less versed in. I have read Hume, but not since I came to years of discretion, & what is read as a task seldom is well attended to. I am now reading a certain work, in 6 Vols. Quarto or 12 Duodecimo, which I was acquainted with before, only by reading it after supper, frequently with long interruptions caused by Company, &c., & which only raised my curiosity to give it more attention. It would be Impertinence or at best but a Drop in the Ocean to add my mite to the opinion of the generality of the World, & say how much the Subject interests or the Style delights me. When this work is read thro', I intend to proceed with English history. I again repeat, if you condescend to favour me with any directions on this subject, I shall follow them with the greatest pleasure; but if you should not, I am much flattered that you should desire to hear from me, & should have sent you the horrid account of the massacre aux Carmes before, if I had thought you would have been desirous of it. I have not seen the details in any newspaper, & one of the eight Priests, who dined here, & had escaped from the massacre, related the whole with such simplicity & feeling, as to leave no doubt of the truth of all he said.
MURDER OF THE ARCHBISHOP OF ARLES.
On the 2d of Sepber they went into the garden, as usual, to walk at five o'clock in the evening. They expressed their surprize at several large pits, which had been digging for two or three days past. They said to each other, "The day is almost spent, & yet Manuel[277] told a person who interceded for us, last Thursday, that on the Sunday following not one should remain in captivity—we are still Prisoners." Soon after, they heard shouts, and some musquet shots were fired into the Garden. A number of National Guards, some Commissaires de Sections, & several Marseillois, rushed in. The unhappy victims who were dispersed about the Garden, assembled under the Walls of the Church, not daring to enter, least it should be polluted with blood. One, who was behind the rest, was shot dead. Point de coups de fusil said some of the Chiefs of the assassins, thinking this death too merciful. A number of them called for the Archbishop of Arles,[278] & insisted that he should be given up to them, the Priests all crowded round him, & determined to defend him with their Lives. The Archbishop then said, "Let me pass; if we must all perish, it is of little consequence whether I die first or not, & if my death will appease them, is it not my duty to preserve your Lives at the expense of my own?" He asked the eldest of the Priests to give him Absolution—he knelt to receive it, & when he rose, advanced, with his arms crossed on his breast, towards the People. His appearance was so dignified & noble, that for ten minutes not one of these Wretches had courage to raise their hand against him. They reproached each other with cowardice & advanced—one look from the venerable Prelate struck them with involuntary awe, & they retired. At last, one of the assassins struck off his Cap with a Pike—their fury returned when they saw respect once violated, & another struck him on the head with a Sabre, & laid open his scalp. The Archbishop only said, "O mon Dieu!" & put up his right hand to his eyes. A second blow cut off this hand—he repeated his exclamation & raised the other. A third stroke left him sitting, & a fourth extended him lifeless, when all the Miscreants pressed forwards, to bury their Poniards in his bosom.
The Priests all agreed that the Archbishop of Arles was one of the most amiable men in France—his only crime was having parted with most of his private fortune to support the necessitous Clergy of his Diocese, since the beginning of the Revolution. When he was murdered, the National Guards made all the Priests go into the Church, telling them they should appear, one after another, before the Commissaires du Section, who would try them and determine their fate. They had hardly entered, before the People impatiently called for them to shew themselves—upon which, all kneeling before the Altar, they received Absolution from the Bp of Beauvais—& then, two by two, passed before one of the commissaires, who did not question, but only counted his victims. In this manner, perished 120 Priests, amongst whom were the Bishops of Beauvais and Xaintes, both of the Rochefoucauld family.[279] Our friends escaped by getting over the Wall.
I am afraid I have tired your patience, & that you did not expect such a tedious history. Made. d'Hénin & Pauline are at Boulogne; they have gained nothing by going there, & are afraid they may find it difficult returning to England. The seal of the Nation is put on all Made. d'Hénin's effects; she is not able to keep a single servant—she says, Pauline & she must wait on each other. Papa, who is more alarmed than I ever saw him, will write to you soon, politically. Mama will likewise answer your letter, & in the mean time desires many thanks for it. Will you say everything affectionate to Angletine for her letter? I feel sincerely for the situation of that family, & if you can send any good news of M. de Severy's amendment, I trust you will write. It was particularly kind of Angletine to write when her mind must be so ill at ease—but it is not flung away upon me. I am anything but une Ingrate. Mrs. Moss is here, & speaks with delight of your house, your terrace, & of the great civility you showed her. Judge if Lausanne is ever the subject of our conversation.
We left Louisa & Aunt at Bath very well, they both desire to be remembered to you when we wrote. Mrs. Gibbon looks as well as ever, but is really very unwell.