NOTES:
[12] Mr. Kemble brought out the pathetic play of Deaf and Dumb, in which he sustains the character of the abbé de l'Epée with admirable effect.
[13] The first experiment is well known. It is also noticed in Locke upon the Human Understanding.
CHAPTER XX.
Abbè Sieyes.—Consular Procession to the Council Chamber.—10th of August, 1792.—Celerity of Mons. Fouche's Information.—The two Lovers.—Cabinet of Mons. le Grand—Self-prescribing Physician.—Bust of Robespierre.—His Lodgings.—Corn Hall.—Museum of French Monuments.—Revolutionary Agent.—Lovers of married Women.
A neat remark was made upon the abbè Sieyes, to whose prolific mind the revolution and all its changes have been imputed. This extraordinary man has a noble house in the Champs Elisées, and is said to have the best cook in Paris. As a party in which I was, were passing his hotel, a near relation of the abbè, who happened to be with us, commented upon the great services which the cloistered fabricator of constitutions had afforded to France, and adverted to his house and establishment as an unsuitable reward for his labours. A gentleman, who was intimate with the abbè, but was no great admirer of his morals, said, "I think, my dear madam, the abbè ought to be very well satisfied with his destiny; and I would advise him to live as long as he can in the Champs Elisées; for when he shall happen to experience that mysterious transition to which we are all hastening, I think the chances will be against his finding good accommodations in any other Elysium."
As I was passing one morning through the hall of the Thuilleries, the great door of the council chamber was opened, and the second and third consuls, preceded and followed by their suite in full costume, marched with great pomp to business, to the roll of a drum. This singular procession from one part of the house to the other, had a ridiculous effect, and naturally reminded me of the fustian pageantry which, upon the stage, attends the entries and exits of the kings and queens of the drama.
I have often been surprised to find that the injuries which the cornice of the entrance, and the capitals of the columns in the hall of the Thuilleries, have sustained from the ball of cannon, during the horrible massacre of the 10th of August, 1792, have never been repaired. Every vestige of that day of dismay and slaughter ought for ever to be effaced; instead of which, some labour has been exercised to perpetuate its remembrance. Under the largest chasms which have been made by the shot is painted, in strong characters, that gloomy date.
In the evening of that day of devastation, from which France may date all her sufferings, a friend of mine went into the court-yard of the Thuilleries, where the review is now held, for the purpose of endeavouring to recognise, amongst the dead, any of his acquaintances. In the course of this shocking search, he declared to me, that he counted no less than eight hundred bodies of Swiss and French, who had perished in that frightful contest between an infatuated people and an irresolute sovereign. I will not dilate upon this painful subject, but dismiss it in the words of the holy and resigned descendant of Nahor, "Let that day be darkness; let not God regard it from above, neither let the light shine upon it; let darkness and the shadow of death stain it; let a cloud dwell upon it; let the blackness of the day terrify it."
I have before had occasion to notice the promptitude and activity of the french police, under the penetrating eye of Mons. Fouche. No one can escape the vigilance of this man and his emissaries. An emigrant of respectability assured me, that when he and a friend of his waited upon him for their passports to enable them to quit Paris for the South of France, he surprised them by relating to them the names of the towns, the streets, and of the people with whom they had lodged, at various times, during their emigration in England.
Whilst I was at Paris, an affair happened very near the hotel in which I lodged, which in its sequel displayed that high spirit and sensibility which appear to form the presiding features in the french character, to which may be attributed all the excesses which have stained, and all the glory which has embellished it. A lady of fortune, and her only daughter, an elegant and lovely young woman, resided in the Fauxbourg St. Germain. A young man of merit and accomplishments, but unaided by the powerful pretensions of suitable fortune, cherished a passion for the young lady, to whom he had frequent access, on account of his being distantly related to her. His affection was requited with return; and before the parent suspected the attachment, the lovers were solemnly engaged. The indications of pure love are generally too unguarded to escape the keen, observing eye of a cold, mercenary mother. She charged her daughter with her fondness, and forbade her distracted lover the house. To close up every avenue of hope, she withdrew with her wretched child into Italy, where they remained for two years; at the expiration of which, the mother had arranged for her daughter a match more congenial to her own pride and avarice, with an elderly gentleman, who had considerable fortune and property in the vicinity of Bourdeaux. Every necessary preparation was made for this cruel union, which it was determined should be celebrated in Paris, to which city they returned for that purpose. Two days before the marriage was intended to take place, the young lover, wrought up to frenzy by the intelligence of the approaching nuptials, contrived, by bribing the porter whilst the mother was at the opera with her intended son-in-law, to reach the room of the beloved being from whom he was about to be separated for ever. Emaciated by grief, she presented the mere spectre of what she was when he last left her. As soon as he entered the room, he fell senseless at her feet, from which state he was roused by the loud fits of her frightful maniac laughter. She stared upon him, like one bewildered. He clasped her with one hand, and with the other drew from his pocket a vial containing double distilled laurel water: he pressed it to her lips, until she had swallowed half of its contents; the remainder he drank himself.—The drug of death soon began to operate.—Clasped in each other's arms, pale and expiring, they reviewed their hard fate, and, in faint and lessening sentences, implored of the great God of mercy, that he would pardon them for what they had done, and that he would receive their spirits into his regions of eternal repose; that he would be pleased, in his divine goodness, to forgive the misjudging severity which had driven them to despair, and would support the unconscious author of it, under the heavy afflictions which their disastrous deaths would occasion. They had scarcely finished their prayer, when they heard footsteps approaching the room. Madame R——, who had been indisposed at the opera, returned home before its conclusion, with the intended bridegroom. The young man awoke, as it were, from his deadly drowsiness, and, exerting his last strength, pulled from his breast a dagger, stabbed the expiring being, upon whom he doated, to the heart; and, falling upon her body, gave himself several mortal wounds. The door opened; the frantic mother appeared. All the house was in an instant alarmed; and the fatal explanation which furnished the materials of this short and sad recital, was taken from the lips of the dying lover, who had scarcely finished it before he breathed his last. Two days afterwards, the story was hawked about the streets.
From this painful narrative, in which the French impetuosity is strongly depicted, I must turn to mention my visit to Mons. le G——, who lives in the Rue Florentine, and is considered to be one of the first architects in France; in which are many monuments of his taste and elegance. It is a curious circumstance that all artists exercise their talents more successfully for their patrons than for themselves. Whether it is the hope of a more substantial reward than that of mere self-complacency, which usually excites the mind to its happiest exertions, I will not pretend to determine; but the point seems to be in some degree settled by the conduct of a celebrated Bath physician, of whom it is related, that, happening once to suffer under a malady from which as his skill had frequently relieved others, he determined to prescribe for himself. The recipe at first had not the desired effect. The doctor was surprised. At last he recollected that he had not feed himself. Upon making this discovery, he drew the strings of his purse, and with his left hand placed a guinea in his right, and then prescribed. The story concludes by informing its readers, that the prescription succeeded, and the doctor recovered.—In adorning the front of his own hôtel, Mons. le G——, in my very humble opinion, has not exhibited his accustomed powers. In a small confined court-yard he has attempted to give to a private dwelling the appearance of one of those vast temples of which he became enamoured when at Athens. The roof is supported by two massy fluted pilastres, which in size are calculated to bear the burthen of some prodigious dome. The muscular powers of Hercules seem to be here exercised in raising a grasshopper from the ground. The genius of Mons. le G——, unlike the world's charity, does not begin at home, but seems more disposed to display its most successful energies abroad. His roof, however, contains such a monument of his goodness and generosity, that I must not pass it over. This distinguished architect is one of those unfortunate beings who have been decreed to taste the bitterness, very soon after the sweets of matrimony. Upon discovering the infidelity of his lady, who is very pretty and prepossessing, the distracted husband immediately sought a divorce from the laws of his country. This affair happened a very short time before the revolution afforded unusual acceleration and facilities to the wishes of parties, who, under similar circumstances, wished to get rid of each other as soon as possible. The then "law's delay" afforded some cause of vexation to Mons. le G——, who was deeply injured. Before his suit had passed through its last forms, the father of his wife, who at the time of their marriage lived in great affluence, became a bankrupt. In the vortex of his failure, all the means of supporting his family were swallowed up. The generous le G——, disdaining to expose to want and ignominy the woman who had once been dear to him, would proceed no further. She is still his wife; she bears his name, is maintained by him, and in a separate suite of apartments lives under the same roof with him. But Mons. and Madame le G—— have had no intercourse whatever with each other for eleven years. If in the gallery or in the hall they meet by accident, they pass without the interchange of a word. This painful and difficult arrangement has now lost a considerable portion of its misery, by having become familiar to the unfortunate couple.
In the valuable and curious cabinet of Mons. le G——, I found out, behind several other casts, a bust of Robespierre, which was taken of him, a short period before he fell. A tyrant, whose offences look white, contrasted with the deep delinquency of the oppressor of France, is said to be indebted more to his character, than to nature, for the representation of that deformity of person which appears in Shakspeare's portrait of him, when he puts this soliloquy in his lips:—
"I that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature, by dissembling Nature, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time, Into the breathing world, scarce half made up; And that so lamely and unfashionably, That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them."
History, enraged at the review of the insatiable crimes of Robespierre, has already bestowed upon him a fanciful physiognomy, which she has composed of features which rather correspond with the ferocity of his soul, than with his real countenance. From the appearance of this bust, which is an authentic resemblance of him, his face must have been rather handsome. His features were small, and his countenance must have strongly expressed animation, penetration and subtlety. This bust is a real curiosity. It is very likely that not another is now to be found, Mons. le G—— is permitted to preserve it, without reproach on account of his art. I can safely say, he does not retain it from any emotions of veneration for the original. It is worthy of being placed between the heads of Caligula and Nero. Very near the residence of Mons. le G—— is the house in which Robespierre lodged. It is at the end of the Rue Florentine, in the Rue St. Honore, at a wax chandler's. This man is too much celebrated, not to render every thing which relates to him curious. The front windows of his former lodgings look towards the Place de la Concorde, on the right of which his prime minister, the permanent guillotine, was quartered. Robespierre, who, like the revolting angel, before the world's formation, appears to have preferred the sceptre of Hell and chaos, to the allegiance of order and social happiness, will descend to posterity with no common attributes of distinction and preeminence. His mind was fully suited to its labours, which, in their wide sphere of mischief, required more genius to direct them than was bestowed upon the worst of the tyrants of Rome, and a spirit of evil which, with its "broad circumference" of guilt, was calculated to darken the disk of their less expanded enormity.
From Robespierre's lodgings, curiosity led me to visit the building in which the jacobin club held their Pandemonium. It is a noble edifice, and once belonged to the Order of Jacobins. Near this church stands the beautiful fabric of the Corn Hall of Paris, designed by Monsieur le Grand. The dome of the bank of England is in the same style, but inferior, in point of lightness and elegance. That of the Corn Hall resembles a vast concavity of glass. In this noble building the millers deposit their corn for sale. Its deep and lofty arches and area, were nearly filled with sacks, containing that grain which is precious to all nations, but to none more than the french; to a frenchman, bread is most emphatically the staff of life. He consumes more of it at one meal than an englishman does at four. In France, the little comparative quantity of bread which the english consume, is considered to form a part of their national character. Before I left Paris, I was requested to visit a very curious and interesting exhibition, the Museum of French Monuments; for the reception of which, the ancient convent of the monks of the Order of les Petits Augustines, is appropriated. This national institution is intended to exhibit the progress of monumental taste in France, for several centuries past, the specimens of which have chiefly been collected from St. Denis, which formerly was the burial place of the monarchs of France, and from other churches.
It will be remembered by the reader, that in the year 1793, Henriot, a vulgar and furious republican, proposed setting off for the former church, at the head of the sans culottes, to destroy all these curious and valuable relics, "to strike," as he said, "the tyrants in their tombs," but was prevented by some other republicans of influence, who had not parted with their veneration for works of taste, from this impious and impotent outrage.
In the first hall, which is very large, and impresses a similar awe to that which is generally felt upon entering a cathedral, are the tombs of the twelfth century. Amongst them I chiefly distinguished that of Henry II, upon which are three beautiful mourning figures, supporting a cup, containing his heart.
In the second hall, are the monuments of the thirteenth century, most of them are very fine; that of Lewis the XIIth and his queen, is well worthy of notice. I did not find much to gratify me in the hall of the fourteenth century. In that of the fifteenth century are several noble tombs, and beautiful windows of stained glass. In the hall of the sixteenth century is a fine statue of Henry the IVth, by Franchville, which is considered to be an admirable likeness of that wonderful man. In the hall of the seventeenth century, is a noble figure, representing religion, by Girardon.
In the cloisters are several curious statues, stained glass windows, and tesselated pavement. There is here also a good bust of Alexis Peron, with this singular epitaph,
Ci git qui ne fut rien, Pas même académicien.
In the square garden within the cloisters, are several ancient urns, and tombs. Amongst them is the vase which contains the ashes, if any remain, of Abelard and Heloise, which has been removed from the Paraclete to the Museum. It is covered with the graceful shade of an Acacia tree, which seems to wave proudly over its celebrated deposit. Upon approaching this treasurable antique, all those feelings rushed in upon me, which the beautiful, and affecting narrative of those disastrous lovers, by Pope, has often excited in me. The melancholy Heloise seemed to breathe from her tomb here,
"If ever chance two wandering lovers brings, O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads, And drink the falling tear each other sheds: Then sadly say, with mutual pity mov'd, Oh! may we never love, as these have lov'd."
National guards are stationed in every apartment of the Museum, and present rather an unaccording appearance, amidst the peaceful solemnity of the surrounding objects. This exhibition is not yet completed, but, in its present condition, is very interesting. Some hints, not altogether useless, may be collected from it. In England, our churches are charnel houses. The pews of the congregation are raised upon foundations of putrefaction. For six days and nights the temple of devotion is filled with the pestilent vapours of the dead, and on the seventh they are absorbed by the living. Surely it is high time to subdue prejudices, which endanger health without promoting piety. The scotch never bury in their churches, and their burial places are upon the confines of their towns. The eye of adoration is filled with a pensive pleasure, in observing itself surrounded with the endeavours of taste and ingenuity, to lift the remembrance of the great and good beyond the grave, in that very spot where the frailty of our nature is so often inculcated.
Such a display, in such a place, is rational, suitable, and admonitory. The silent tomb becomes auxiliary to the eloquence of the pulpit. But the custom which converts the place of worship into a catacomb, can afford but a mistaken consolation to posthumous pride, and must, in some degree, contaminate the atmosphere which is contained within its walls. One evening as I was passing through the Boulevard Italien, in company with a gentleman from Toulon, we met a tall, dark, hollow eyed, ferocious looking man, of whom he related the following story.
Immediately after the evacuation of Toulon by the english, all the principal toulonese citizens were ordered to repair to the market place; where they were surrounded by a great military force.
This man who, for his offences, had been committed to prison, was liberated by the french agents, in consequence of his undertaking to select those of the inhabitants who had in any manner favoured the capitulation of the town, or who had shown any hospitality to the english, whilst they were in possession of it. The miscreant passed before the citizens, who were drawn out in lines, amounting to near three thousand. Amongst whom he pointed out about one thousand four hundred persons to the fury of the government; without any other evidence, or further examination, they were all immediately adjudged to be shot. For this purpose a suitable number of soldiers were drawn out. The unhappy victims were marched up to their destruction, upon the quay, in sets of three hundred, and butchered.
The carnage was dreadful. In the last of these unfortunate groups, were two gentlemen of great respectability, who received no wound from the fire, but, to preserve themselves, dropped with the rest, and exhibited all the appearances of having participated in the general fate.
This execution took place in the evening: immediately after its close, the soldiers, fatigued, and sick with cold-blooded slaughter, marched back to their quarters, without examining whether every person upon whom they had fired, had fallen a victim to the murderous bullet. Soon after the soldiers had retired, the women of Toulon, allured by plunder, proceeded to the fatal spot. Mounted upon the bodies of the fallen, they stripped the dead, and dying. The night was stormy. The moon, emerging from dark clouds, occasionally, shed its pale lustre upon this horrible scene. When the plunderers had abandoned their prey, during an interval of deep darkness, in the dead of the night, when all was silent, unconscious of each other's intentions, the two citizens who had escaped the general carnage, disencumbered themselves from the dead, under whom they were buried; chilled and naked, in an agony of mind not to be described, they, at the same moment, attempted to escape. In their agitation, they rushed against each other. Expressions of terror and surprise, dropped from each of them. "Oh! God! it is my father!" said one, "my son, my son, my son," exclaimed the other, clasping him in his arms. They were father and son, who had thus miraculously escaped, and met in this extraordinary manner.
The person from whom I received this account, informed me, that he knew these gentlemen very well, and that they had been resettled in Toulon about two years.
The wretch who had thus directed the ruthless vengeance of a revolutionary banditti, against the breasts of his fellow citizens, was, at this time, in Paris, soliciting, from the present government, from a total misconception of its nature, those remunerations which had been promised, but never realized by his barbarous employers.
I need scarcely add, that although he had been in the capital several months, he had not been able to gain access to the minister's secretary.
The time of terror was over—the murderer's occupation was gone—the guillotine, with unsatiated hunger, after having gorged the food which was thrown to it, had devoured its feeder.
I must leave it to the ingenuity of my reader, to connect the observation with which I shall close this chapter, with the preceding story, for I am only enabled to do so, by observing, that an impressive instance of the subject of it, occurred immediately after my mind had been harrowed up, by the narrative which I have just related. The married women of France feel no compunctious visitings of conscience, in cherishing about them a circle of lovers, amongst whom their husbands are merely more favoured than the rest. I hope I shall not be considered as an apologist, for an indulgence which, in France, excites no jealousy in one, and no surprise amongst the many, when I declare, that I confidently believe, in most instances, it commences, and guiltlessly terminates in the love of admiration. I know, and visited in Paris, a most lovely and accomplished young woman, who had been married about two years. She admitted the visits of men, whom she knew were passionately fond of her. Sometimes she received them in the presence, and sometimes in the absence of her husband, as accident, not arrangement, directed. They approached her with all the agitation and tenderness of the most ardent lovers. Amongst the number, was a certain celebrated orator. This man was her abject slave. A glance from her expressive eye raised him to the summit of bliss, or rendered his night sleepless. The complacent husband of Madame G—— regarded these men as his most beloved friends, because they enlarged the happiness of his wife; and, strange as it may appear, I believe that he had as little cause to complain as Othello, and therefore never permitted his repose to be disturbed by those suspicions which preyed upon the vitals of the hapless moor. The french Benedict might truly exclaim,
"——————————'Tis not to make me jealous, To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well; Where virtue is, these are more virtuous; Nor from my own weak merits will I draw The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt."
CHAPTER XXI.
Picturesque and Mechanical Theatre.—Filtrating and purifying Vases.—English Jacobins.—A Farewell.—Messagerie.—Mal Maison.—Forest of Evreux.—Lower Normandy.—Caen.—Hon. T. Erskine.—A Ball.—The Keeper of the Sachristy of Notre Dame.—The two blind Beggars.—Ennui.—St. Lo.—Cherbourg.—England.
I visited, one evening, a very beautiful exhibition, which I think worthy of being noticed; it was the picturesque and mechanical theatre. The company present were select and genteel. The room and stage were upon a small scale; the former was very elegantly fitted up. The spectacle consisted of scenery and appropriate little moving figures. The first scene was a view of a wood in early morning, every object looked blue, fresh, and dewy. The gradations of light, until the approach of meridian day, were admirably represented. Serpents were seen crawling in the grass. A little sportsman entered with his fowling-piece, and imitated all the movements natural to his pursuit; a tiny wild duck rose from a lake, and flew before him. He pointed his gun, changed his situation, pointed it again, and fired. The bird dropped; he threw it over his shoulders, fastened to his gun, and retired. Waggons, drawn by horses about four inches high, passed along; groups of peasantry followed, exquisitely imitating all the indications of life. Amongst several other scenes was a beautiful view of the bay of Naples, and the great bridge; over which little horses, with their riders, passed in the various paces of walking, trotting and galloping. All the minutiæ of nature were attended to. The ear was beguiled with the patting of the horses' hoofs upon the pavement; and some of the little animals reared, and ran before the others. There were also some charming little sea-pieces, in which the vessels sailed with their heads towards the spectators, and manœuvred in a surprising manner. The whole concluded with a storm and shipwreck. Sailors were seen floating in the water, then sinking in the surge. One of them rose again and reached a rock. Boats put off to his relief, and perished in the attempt. The little figure was seen displaying the greatest agonies. The storm subsided; tiny persons appeared upon the top of a projecting cliff, near a watch tower, and lowered a rope to the little sufferer below, which he caught, and, after ascending to some height by it, overwhelmed with fatigue, lost his hold. After recovering from the fall, he renewed his efforts, and at length reached the top in safety, amidst the acclamations of the spectators, who, moved by this enchanting little illusion, took much interest in the apparent distress of the scene.
Upon quitting the theatre, we found a real storm without. The lightning flamed upon us from every quarter, and was succeeded by loud peals of thunder. Whilst we were contemplating the tempest from the balcony of Madame S——, a ball of fire fell very near us, and filled the room with a sulphureous stench. A servant soon afterwards entered, almost breathless, to inform his mistress, Madame R——, who was of the party, that the fire-ball had penetrated her house, which was close adjoining, without having effected any injury. Madame R—— laughed heartily, and observed, "Well, it is very droll that the lightning should make so free with my house when I am not at home." This little sprightly remark dispersed the gloom which had overshadowed most of the ladies present. All the large houses in Paris are well protected against the perilous effect of electric fluid, by conductors, which are very judiciously disposed.
An invention has lately made its appearance in Paris, which is as full of utility as it is of genius. A house has been lately opened for the sale of filtrating and purifying vases, to which the ingenious constructor has given the most elegant etruscan shapes. They are capable of refining the most fetid and corrupt water, by a process which, in its operation, lasts about four minutes. The principle is the same as in nature. The foul water is thrown into the vase, where it passes through various strata of earth, which are compressed in a series of little apartments, which retain its offensive particles, and from which it issues as clear and as sweet as rock water. This discovery will prove of infinite consequence to families who reside in the maritime parts of Holland, and to many inland towns in France, where the water is frequently very bad. I most cordially hope that the inventor will meet with the remuneration which is due to his humane philosophy.
After having experienced a most cordial display of kindnesses and hospitalities, I prepared to return to my own country, "that precious stone set in the silver sea." I had to part with those who, in the short space of one fleeting month, had, by their endearing and flattering attentions, rivetted themselves to my affections, with the force of a long, and frequent, and cherished intercourse, who, in a country where I expected to feel the comfortless sensations of a foreigner, made me forget that I was even a stranger. Amongst those who excited a considerable share of my regret upon parting, were the elegant and charming family of the S——s. As I was preparing to take my leave, Madame S—— said, "You must not forget us because a few waves divide our countries."
"If he will lend me his pocket-book," said one of her lovely daughters, "I will try and see if my pencil will not preserve us in his memory, at least for a little time."
I presented it to her, and in a few minutes she made an elegant little sketch, which she called "The affectionate Mother." Amiable young artist! may Time, propitious to the happiness of some generous being, who is worthy of such an associate, hail thee with the blissful appellation! and may the graceful discharge of those refined and affecting duties which flow from connubial love, entitle thee, too much esteemed to be envied, to the name of the modern Cornelia!
Several Englishmen, whilst I was at Paris, met with very vexatious delays in procuring their passports to enable them to leave it, from a mistaken course of application. Instead of applying to M. Fouche, or any other municipal officer, I would recommend them to procure their passport from their own embassador, and send it to the office of Mons. Talleyrand for his endorsement; by which means they will be enabled to quit the republic in two or three days after their application.
Having previously determined to return by the way of Lower Normandy, upon the beauty and luxuriance of which I had heard much eulogy, about half past five o'clock in the morning of the 21st of Prairial, I left my hotel, and proceeded to the Messagerie, from which the diligences, all of which are under the control of the nation, set out. The morning was very beautiful. I was much entertained before I mounted that cumbrous vehicle, which was to roll me a little nearer to my own coast, by viewing the numerous groups of travellers and their friends, who surrounded the different carriages as the horses were tackling to them. In different directions of my eye, I saw about thirty men kissing each other. The women in France never think their prerogatives infringed by this anti-anglo mode of salutation. Some shed tears at parting; but the cheek down which they trickled never lost its colour or vivacity. All were animated; every eye looked bright; there was a gayety in their very grief. "Bon voyage, bon voyage—Dieu vous benisse, Dieu vous benisse," reiterated on all sides from sprightly faces, stretched out of the window frames of the massy machine, as it rattled through the gates of the yard, to the incessant crackings of the postilion's long lash. I soon afterwards found myself seated in the diligence for Cherbourg, in company with two ladies, and three gentlemen, who were all polite and pleasing. In the cabriole, forward, was a french captain in the army, who had been in Tippoo's service at the time of the surrender of Seringapatam. He looked abominably dirty in his travelling habiliments; but that, in France, is now no just indication of inferiority or vulgarity.
We passed by the Place de la Concorde, upon the statues and buildings of which, and the gardens of the Thuilleries, the fresh and early sun shone most beautifully. My merry, but feeling fellow travellers, waving their hands, addressed a short apostrophe to these suburb objects, and exclaimed, "adieu ma tres jolie ville—ah! tres jolie ville adieu."
For near three miles after leaving the barrier, we passed through plantations of roses, which supply the markets of Paris with that beautiful flower, which, transferred thence, adorn the toilets, the vases, and the bosoms of the fair parisians, and form the favourite bouquets of the petite maitres; on each side of the road were cherry trees, in full bearing, which presented a very charming appearance. We soon reached the water works of Marli, which supply the jets d'eau of Versailles. They are upon a vast scale, and appear to be very curious. A little further on we passed Mal Maison, the country, and chief residence of the first consul and his family. It is an ancient house, embosomed in beautiful woods and gardens. At the entrance are large military lodges, for the accommodation of a squadron of the consular cavalry, who mount guard when their general is here.
At St. Germain's we breakfasted, upon pork cutlets, excellent bread, wine, and cherries, for twenty sols, or ten pence english. At Mante we had an excellent dinner, of several dishes, for thirty sols, or one shilling and three pence english. Soon after we had passed Mante, we left the higher norman road, and entered a country extremely picturesque and rich. We were conducted through the forest of Evreux, by an escort of chasseurs. This vast tract of land is infested by an immense banditti, who live in large excavations in the earth, similar to the subterranean apartments of the celebrated robbers, in whose service Gil Blas was rather reluctantly enrolled, and generally assail the traveller, with a force which would render common resistance perilous, and unavailing. This forest, in the course of the year, furnishes considerable employ for the guillotine of Caen, where the tribunal of justice is seated. The appearance of our guards was terrific enough to appal such valiant souls, as once animated the frames of prince Hal, and his merry friend Ned Poins. They wore roman helmets, from which descended, to the bottom of their backs, an immense tail, of thick black horsehair, their uniform was light green, and looked rather shabby.
We passed the forest without any molestation, and supped at the town of Evreux, which is very pleasant, where we halted for about four hours. As we were afterwards proceeding, I prepared myself to enjoy a little sleep, and as I reclined for this purpose with my hat over my face, in a corner of the carriage, I overheard one of my fellow travellers observe to the other, "the englishman is sleeping," to which he replied, "no, he is not sleeping, he is only thinking, it is the character of his nation."
The french cannot bear the least appearance of thought; they have a saying, "un homme qui rit ne sera jamais dangereux."
The next morning we breakfasted at Lisieux, an ancient town, in which are the remains of a fine convent, which formerly belonged to the Order of the Capuchins. For four or five miles before we approached the town, the laughing and animated faces of groups of peasantry, all in their jubilee dresses, the old mounted upon asses, and the young walking by the sides of them, hastening to the town, announced to us, that a fair, and merry making was to be held there, on that day. Lisieux was quite in a bustle. About six o'clock in the evening of the same day, we arrived at Caen, the capital of Lower Normandy. My fare to this city from Paris, amounted to thirty livres, including my luggage. I had not completed my dinner at the Hôtel de la Place, before an english servant entered my room, to inform me, that his mistress, Mrs. P——, who, with her daughters, and another young lady, had the rooms over mine, presented her compliments to me, and requested me to take my coffee with them that evening. I must confess I was at first a little surprised at the message, for the english are not very remarkable for politeness and attention to one another in a foreign country.
After I had finished my desert, I made my bow to Mrs. P——, and her family, who proved to be very pleasant, and accomplished people, and were making the tour of France with english servants. They had been in Caen near three weeks, where they had a large acquaintance of the first respectability. This unexpected introduction became additionally agreeable, upon my discovery at the Messagerie, that the diligence for Cherbourg would not proceed, till three days from the time of my arrival. The next morning I rambled with my new friends about the city, which is large, and handsome, and is watered by the river Orne. It is much celebrated for its lace trade; on that day I dined with Mrs. P——, and a french party, and was regaled with an english dinner, cooked, and served up by her own servants. The filth of the french kitchen is too well known, to make it necessary for me to say how delicious such a dinner was. The french admit themselves that their cooks are destitute of cleanliness.
The Convent of the Benedictines, which is converted into the palace of the prefect, is a noble building. The gardens belonging to it are well arranged. The promenade called de la Cour is very charming, from which the city is seen to great advantage. The water of the Orne is rather nauseous, but is not considered unwholesome. The Palais de Justice is a fine modern structure. In its courts of law, I had again an opportunity of hearing the forensic elocution of Normandy. The gestures, and vehemence of the orators here, as at Rouen, appeared to me to be tinctured with the extravagance of frenzy. But perhaps my ears, and eyes have been rendered somewhat too fastidious by having been frequently banqueted with the grace, animation, and commanding eloquence of the unrivalled advocate of the british bar; who, when he retires from the laborious duties of the crowded, and admiring forum, where his acute sagacity has so often unfolded the dark compact involutions of human obliquity, where his wit and fancy have covered with the choicest flowers, the dreary barrenness of technical pleading; will leave behind him that lasting, and honourable respect and remembrance, which faculties so extensively beneficial, must ever excite in the minds of men who have been instructed, delighted, and benefited by their splendid, and prosperous display.
In this city was pointed out to me, the house in which the celebrated Charlotte Corday resided, who, by her poniard, delivered France of the monster, Marat, on Sunday, the 14th of July, 1793. There is some coincidence in the crimes, and fate of Caligula and Marat, both perished by the avengers of their country, whilst in the act of approaching their baths. Posterity will embalm, with its grateful remembrance, the patriotic heroism of this great, and distinguished female, and in her own firm, and eloquent language, will say of her, "that crime begets disgrace, and not the scaffold."
On the evening after my arrival at Caen, I was invited to an elegant ball, which was given by the lady of the paymaster general of the district, in one of the government houses. I had before witnessed the dancing of the higher orders of people in Paris, and from this reason was not surprised in contemplating the exquisite grace which was here displayed. The party consisted of near eighty persons. Amongst them were the judges of the district, and the principal officers quartered in the city, and its neighbourhood, the latter were attired in superb military dresses. Amongst the ladies were several beautiful, well dressed young women, who exhibited their persons to great advantage. The grave, and elderly part of the company played at buillotte, which is at present the favourite french game. In France to please and to be pleased, seem to be the two presiding principles in all their meetings. An elegant young officer, who had distinguished himself at the battle of Marengo, observing that the musicians appeared to be a little fatigued, by the contribution of their exhilarating services towards the festivity of the evening, supplied their room, whilst they refreshed themselves, and struck up an english country dance on one of the violins. The party attempted to dance it, but to show how arbitrary habit is, in the attempt, all those powers of grace, which they had before so beautifully displayed, retired as if influenced by the magic of some unpropitious spirit. Amongst the party, was a little girl, about nine years old, who was dressed in the highest style of fashion, and looked like a fashionable milliner's doll. This little spoiled child was accustomed to spend an hour at her toilette every morning, and to be tricked out in all the ephemeral decoration of the haut ton. This little coquette already looked out for admiration, and its foolish mother expressed the greatest satisfaction, when any one, out of politeness to her, paid attentions to the pert premature nursling. Our entertainment concluded with a handsome supper, and we parted, highly delighted, at the dawn of day. Nothing could be more flattering, than the attentions which, as an englishman, I received from every one present.
After a few hours repose, I went with a large party to the church of Notre Dame; in which there is a very fine altar piece. The keeper of the sachristy, who was a very arch-looking little fellow, in spite of the solemnity of the place in which we were, made us all smile (even a young lady who was going to be confessed for the first time the next day, lost a considerable proportion of her gravity) by informing us, that during the time of terror he had run off with the Virgin Mary, pointing to the image, and that to prevent the detection of Robespierre's agents, he had concealed her in his bed for three years. Nothing could exceed his joy in having saved her from the hatchet, or the flames, from which impending fate, she was restored to her former situation in this church; and was, when we saw her, by the extravagance of her sprightly, and ardent protector, dressed in a white muslin gown, spotted with silver; a little bouquet of artificial flowers graced her bosom, and her wig was finely curled, and powdered. The figure in her arms, which was intended to represent the infant Jesus, was dressed in a style equally unsuitable; his hair was also curled, and powdered, and a small cocked hat placed upon his head. Our delighted guide, whose eyes sparkled with self-complacency, asked us if we had ever seen a prettier Virgin Mary, or one dressed more handsomely. We were all much amused by the quaintness of this man's conduct, although I am confident he had no intention of exciting unbecoming sensations, for in saving this image, he had exposed his life.
From Notre Dame, we went to the Abbaye aux Hommes, built by William the Conqueror. It is a large lofty plain pile of building. The spires are well proportioned, and very high. The pillars in the choir are, in my humble opinion, too massy. Preparations were here making for the celebration of the great festival called the Feast of God. We presented to one of the priests, who, in the sachristy, was adorning the cradle of our Saviour's image with flowers, some very fine moss roses, which in France are very rare, which he received with great politeness. This festival before the revolution was always superbly celebrated. It was then renewed for the first time since the proscription of religion, during which, all the costly habits of the priests, and rich vessels used in the ceremonies of the church have been stolen, sold, or melted down. Near the altar, which has been shattered by the axe of the revolution, is the vault of the norman conqueror.
Upon our return to our hotel, we saw a considerable crowd assembled near the bridge leading to de la Cour. Upon inquiring into the cause of this assemblage, we found it was owing to a curious rencounter between two blind beggars, who, in total darkness, had been waging an uncertain battle for near six minutes. It appeared that one of them had for several months, enjoyed quiet possession of the bridge, which happened to be a great thoroughfare, and had during that time, by an undisputed display of his calamity, contrived to pick up a comfortable recompense for it; that within a few days preceding this novel fracas, another mendicant, who had equal claims to compassion, allured by the repute of his success, had deserted a less frequented part of the city, and had presented himself at the other corner of the same bridge, where by a more masterly selection of moving phrases, he soon not only divided, but monopolized the eleemosynary revenues of this post of wretchedness. The original possessor naturally grew jealous. Even beggars "can bear no brother near the throne." Inflamed with jealousy, he silently moved towards his rival, by the sound of whose voice, which was then sending forth some of its most affecting, and purse-drawing strains, he was enabled to determine whether his arm was within reach of the head of his competitor, which circumstance, having with due nicety ascertained, he clenched his fist, which in weight, size, and firmness, was not much surpassed by the hard, and ponderous paw of a full-grown tiger, and with all the force of that propulsion, which a formidable set of muscles afforded, he felled his rival to the ground, and not knowing that he was fallen, discharged many other blows, which only served to disturb the tranquillity of the air. The recumbent hero, whose head was framed for enterprises of this nature, soon recovered from the assault, and, after many unavailing efforts in the dark, at length succeeded in opening one of the vessels of the broad nose of his brawny assailant, whose blood, enriched by good living, streamed out most copiously. In this condition we saw these orbless combatants, who were speedily separated from each other. Some of the crowd were endeavouring to form a treaty of pacification between them, whether they succeeded I know not, for we were obliged to leave the bridge of battle, before these important points were arranged, to join a pleasant party at Mons. St. J——'s, an opulent banker at Caen, to whom I had letters of introduction from Mons. R——, the banker of Paris.
After spending the short time, during which I was detained at Caen, very pleasantly, I resumed my seat in the diligence for Cherbourg, in which I found a very agreeable woman, her two daughters, two canary birds, a cat, and her kitten, who were, I found, to be my companions all the way. After we left Caen, the roads became very bad. Our ponderous machine, frequently rolled from one side to the other, and with many alarming creakings, threatened us with a heavy, and perilous overthrow. At length we arrived at Bayeux, where we dined, at the house of a friend of my fair fellow traveller, to which she invited me with a tone of welcome, and good wishes, which overpowered all resistance. We sat down to an excellent dinner, at which was produced the usual favourite french dish of cold turbot, and raw artichokes. After our repast, a fine young woman, the daughter of the lady of the house, in a very obliging, but rather grave manner, poured out a tumbler full of some delicious potent liqueur, which, to my no small surprise, she presented me with; upon my only tasting it, and returning it, she appeared to be equally surprised, and confused. Her mother, observing our mutual embarrassment, informed me, that in France it was understood that the english were troubled with the ennui, or tristesse de cœur, and that they drank large draughts of wine and spirits to expel the gloomy malady. I softened this opinion of our common character, as well as I could, for, I fear, without offering considerable outrage to truth, I could not wholly have denied it.
After dinner, we walked to the cathedral, which is a noble gothic pile, and, upon our return, found the diligence in waiting for us. My companions were attended to the door of the carriage by their hospitable friends, between whom several kisses were interchanged. I took an opportunity, just before I mounted the step, of stealing one of these tokens of regard from the fair young damsel who had so courteously offered me the liqueur, at the same time telling her, that in England, a kiss was always considered as the best remedy for the tristesse de cœur.—Away trotted our little norman steeds; and, notwithstanding they had come all the way from Caen, they soon carried us over the hills on this side of Bayeux. The eye communicated delight to the heart, whilst it contemplated the vast extent of corn fields, which in this fertile province undulated on all sides of us, in waves of yellow exuberance, over which, embosomed in trees, at short distances, peeped the peaceful and picturesque abode of the prosperous cottage farmer. The prospect afforded an impressive contrast to the impolitic agricultural system, which has lately obtained in England, by which cottage farms are consolidated into ample domains of monopoly, and a baneful preference is given in favour of the rearing of cattle, to the vital and bountiful labours of the plough. A celebrated writer, who well knew in what the real wealth of a nation consisted, has observed, that he who could make two ears of corn grow upon a spot of ground, where only one grew before, would deserve better of mankind than the whole race of politicians. The high roads of Normandy are unnecessarily broad; hence considerable portions of land remain uncultivated. A spacious road, like every thing which is vast, excites an impression of grandeur; but in this prolific department, the facilities of travelling, and the dignity of the country, might be consulted with less waste. This prodigality is perhaps attributable to the highways in France having shared but little of its legislative attention; and accommodation appears to have been sought rather by a lavish allotment of space, than by a judicious formation, and frequent repair.
The inns along the road are very poor, although over the door of almost every little cottage is written, in large characters, "Bon Cidre de Victoire." There are also no regular post-horses to be met with. The country, on all sides of us, was very mountainous and luxuriant, and much resembled the southern parts of Devonshire. About seven o'clock in the evening of the same day, we arrived at St. Lo, which is, without exception, the cleanest and most charming, romantic little town, I saw in France. It is fortified, and stands upon the top of a mountain, at whose base is expanded a luxuriant scenery of woods and villages, through which the riviere de Ville winds in beautiful meanders. The inhabitants of this town appeared to be rich and genteel. In the evening I supped at the table d'hôte, where there were several pleasant people. At this town we slept, and set off, the next morning, very early, for Valogne, where we dined; and in the evening, after passing a considerable extent of rich meadow land, and descending a very steep hill, the freshness of the sea air announced to us our near approach to Cherbourg, where, at the hôtel d'Angleterre, I was soon afterwards landed. For my place and luggage to this place I paid twenty-four livres. My expenses upon the road were very reasonable. Here I had the good fortune to find a packet which intended to sail to England in two days, the master of which asked me only one guinea for my passage in the cabin, provisions included. However, thinking that the kitchen of a french vessel might, if possible, be more uncleanly than the kitchen of a french inn, I resolved upon providing my own refreshments for the little voyage.
Cherbourg is a poor and dirty town. After having heard so much of its costly works and fortifications for the protection of its harbour, my surprise was not little, upon finding the place so miserable. It is defended by three great forts, which are erected upon rocks in the sea. The centre one is about three miles off from shore, and is garrisoned by 1200 men. At a distance, this fort looks like a vast floating battery. Upon a line with it, but divided by a distance sufficient for the admission of shipping, commences the celebrated, stupendous wall, which has been erected since the failure of the cones. It is just visible at low water. This surprising work is six miles in length, and three hundred french feet in breadth, and is composed of massy stones and masonry, which have been sunk for the purpose, and which are now cemented, by sea weed, their own weight and cohesion, into one immense mass of rock. Upon this wall a chain of forts is intended to be erected, as soon as the finances of government will admit of it. The expenses which have already been incurred, in constructing this wonderful fabric, have, it is said, exceeded two millions sterling. These costly protective barriers can only be considered as so many monuments, erected by the french to the superior genius and prowess of the british navy.
Whilst I was waiting for the packet's sailing, I received great civilities from Mons. C——, the banker and american consul at Cherbourg, to whom I had letters from Mons. R——. I rode, the second evening after my arrival, to his country house, which was about nine miles from the town. Our road to it lay over a prolific and mountainous country. From a high point of land, as we passed along, we saw the islands of Guernsey, Jersey and Alderney, which made a beautiful appearance upon the sea. Upon our return, by another road, I was much pleased with a group of little cottages, which were embosomed in a beautiful wood, through which there was an opening to the sea, which the sinking sun had then overspread with the richest lustre. As we entered this scene of rustic repose, the angelus bell of the little village church rang; and a short time afterwards, as we approached it, a number of villagers came out from the porch, with their mass-books in their hands, their countenances beaming with happiness and illuminated by the sinking sun, which shone full upon them. The charms of this simple scene arrested our progress for a short time. Under some spreading limes, upon a sloping lawn, the cheerful cottagers closed the evening with dancing to the sounds of one of the sweetest flagelets I ever heard, which was alternately played by several performers, who relieved each other. In France, every man is a musician. Goldsmith's charming picture of his Auburn, in its happier times, recurred to me:—
"When toil remitting, lends its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree."
The cross roads of France are very bad; but, to my surprise, although we never could have had a worse specimen of them than what this excursion presented to us, yet the norman hunter upon which I was mounted, carried me over the deepest ruts, and abrupt hillocks, without showing the least symptom of infirmity which so much prevails amongst his brethren of the Devonshire breed. The norman horses are remarkable for lifting their feet high, and the safety and ease with which they carry their riders. In the morning of the day in which the packet was to sail, a favourable breeze sprung up; and, after undergoing the usual search of the revenue officers, in the execution of which they behaved with much civility, I embarked, and bade adieu to continental ground. The vessel had the appearance of being freighted with hot bread, with which the deck was covered from one end to the other. This immense collection of smoking loaves was intended for the supply of six men, and one woman, during a passage which we expected to accomplish in thirty hours, or less!
The faithful associate of our young captain, to whom she had just been married, either from motives of fondness or distrust, resolved upon sharing with him the perils of the ocean.
The sea-sufferings of this constant creature, and the resignation with which she endured them, sufficiently manifested the strength of her affections; for she was obliged to keep below all the time, and could afford but very little assistance in reducing the prodigious depot of bread which we had on board.
Credulous mariners describe a species of the fair sex (I believe the only one) who appear to much advantage upon the briny wave; but the nature of our commander's lady not happening to be amphibious, she gave such unequivocal proofs of being out of her proper element, that my wishes for shore increased upon me every minute.
During our passage, I could not help contrasting the habits of the english with the french sailors. The british tar thinks his allowance of salt beef scarcely digestible without a copious libation of ardent spirits, whilst the gallic mariner is satisfied with a little meagre soup, an immoderate share of bread, and a beverage of water, poor cider, or spiritless wine.
At length, after a passage of a day and a night, in which we experienced the vicissitudes of a stiff breeze, and a dead calm, we beheld
——"That pale, that white-fac'd shore, Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides, And coops from other lands her islanders, That water-walled bulwark, still secure And confident from foreign purposes."
After passing another tedious night on board, owing to our being becalmed within the Needles, I stepped upon the same landing stone from which I first embarked for a country, where, in the centre of proscriptions, instability and desolation, those arts which are said to flourish only in the regions of repose, have, by their vigour and unrivalled bloom, excited the wonder and admiration of surrounding nations; where Peace, by her sudden and cherished reappearance, is calling forth all the virtues from their hiding places, to aid in effacing the corroding stains of a barbarous revolution, and in restoring the moral and social character to its pristine polish, rank and estimation.
GENERAL REMARKS.
The fact seems at first singular. Two of the greatest nations under Heaven, whose shores almost touch, and, if ancient tales be true, were once unsevered, call the natives of each other foreigners.
Jealousy, competition, and consequent warfare, have, for ages, produced an artificial distance and separation, much wider, and more impassable, than nature ever intended, by the division which she has framed; hence, whilst the unassisted eye of the islander can, from his own shores, with "unwet feet," behold the natural barrier of his continental neighbour, he knows but little more of his real character and habits, than of those of beings, who are more distantly removed from him, by many degrees of the great circle.
The events which have happened in France for the last eleven years, have rendered this separation more severe, and during that long and gloomy interval, have wholly changed the national character. Those who once occupied the higher class in the ascending scale of society, and who have survived the revolution without leaving their country, are no longer able to display the taste and munificence which once distinguished them. In the capital, those who formerly were accustomed to have their court yards nightly filled with carriages, and their staircases lined with lacqueys, are now scarcely able to occupy one third of their noble abodes. They cannot even enjoy the common observances of friendship, and hospitality, without pausing, and resorting to calculation. A new race of beings called the "nouveaux enrichés," whose services have been chiefly auxiliary to the war, at present absorb the visible wealth of the nation. Amongst them are many respectable persons. The lower orders of the people have been taught, by restless visionaries, to consider the destinations of Providence, which had before, by an imperceptible gradation of social colouring, united the russet brown to the magisterial purple, as usurpations over those natural rights which have been impressed without illustration, and magnified by a mischievous mystery. In the fierce pursuit of these imaginary immunities, which they had been taught to believe had been long withheld, they abruptly renounced all deference and decorum, as perilous indications of the fallacy of their indefinable pretensions, and were not a little encouraged by the disastrous desertion of their superiors, who fled at the first alarm. In short, the revolution has, in general, made the higher orders poor, and dispirited, and the lower barbarous, and insolent, whilst a third class has sprung up, with the silence and suddenness of an exhalation, higher than both, without participating in the original character of either, in which the principles of computation, and the vanity of wealth, are at awkward variance.
Until lately, the ancient french and the modern french were antipodes, but they are now converging, under a government, which, in point of security, and even of mildness, has no resemblance, since the first departure from the ancient establishments. The french, like the libertine son, after having plunged in riot and excesses, subdued by wretchedness, are returning to order and civilization. Unhappy people, their tears have almost washed away their offences—they have suffered to their heart's core. Who will not pity them to see their change, and hear their tales of misery? Yet, strange to relate, in the midst of their sighs and sufferings, they recount, with enthusiasm, the exploits of those very men, whose heroic ambition has trampled upon their best hopes, and proudest prosperity. Dazzled by the brilliancy of the spreading flame, they forget that their own abode is involved in its desolation, and augments the gloomy grandeur of the scene. To this cause may, perhaps, be traced that singular union of grief and gayety, which affords rather an impressive contrast to the more solemn consistency of english sadness. The terrible experiment which they have tried, has, throughout, presented a ferocious contest for power, which has only served to deteriorate their condition, sap their vigour, and render them too feeble either to continue the contest, or to reach the frontier of their former character. In this condition they have been found by a man who, with the precedent of history in one hand, and the sabre in the other, has, unstained with the crimes of Cromwell, possessed himself of the sovereignty; and, like Augustus, without the propensities which shaded his early life, preserved the name of a republic, whilst he well knows that a decisive and irresistible authority can alone reunite a people so vast and distracted; who, in the pursuit of a fatal phantom, have been inured to change, and long alienated from subordination. I would not wish such a government to be perpetual, but if it be conducted with wisdom and justice, I will not hesitate to declare, that I think it will ultimately prove as favourable to the happiness, as it has been propitious to the glory of the french. A government which breathes a martial spirit under a thin appearance of civil polity, presents but a barren subject to the consideration of the inquirer. When the sabre is changed into the sceptre, the science of legislation is short, simple, and decisive. Its energies are neither entangled in abstract distinctions, nor much impeded by the accustomed delays of deliberation.
From the magnitude of the present ruling establishment in France, and the judicious distribution of its powers, and confidence, the physical strength can scarcely be said to reside in the governed.
A great portion of the population participates in the character of the government. The bayonet is perpetually flashing before the eye. The remark may appear a little ludicrous, but in the capital almost every man who is not near sighted is a soldier, and every soldier of the republic considers himself as a subordinate minister of state. In short the whole political fabric is a refined system of knight's service. Seven centuries are rolled back, and from the gloom of time behold the crested spirit of the norman hero advance, "with beaver up," and nod his sable plumes, in grim approval of the novel, gay, and gaudy feodality.
If such an expectation may be entertained, that time will replace the ancient family on the throne, I am far from believing that it can offer much consolation to the illustrious wanderer, who as yet, has only tasted of the name of sovereignty. If the old royalty is ever restored, it is my opinion, and I offer it with becoming deference, that, from personal hatred to the present titular monarch, and the dread of retaliation by a lineal revival of monarchy, the crown will be placed upon the brows of one of the collateral branches of the expatriated family. The prince de Condé is the only member of that august house, of whom the french speak with esteem, and approbation.
The treasury of the french is, as may be expected, not overflowing, but its resources must speedily become ample. The necessities of the state, or rather the peculations of its former factious leaders, addressed themselves immediately to the purses of the people, by a summary process completely predatory. Circuitous exaction has been, till lately, long discarded. The present rulers have not yet had sufficient time to digest, and perfect a financial system, by which the establishments of the country may be supported by indirect, and unoffending taxation. Wisdom and genius must long, and ardently labour, before the ruins, and rubbish of the revolution can be removed. Every effort hitherto made to raise the deciduous credit of the republic has been masterly, and forcibly bespeaks the public hope, and confidence in favour of every future measure.
The armies of the republic are immense; they have hitherto been paid, and maintained by the countries which they have subdued; their exigencies, unless they are employed, will in future form an embarrassing subject of consideration in the approaching system of finance. This mighty body of men, who are very moderately paid, are united by the remembrance of their glory, and the proud consideration that they constitute a powerful part of the government; an impression which every french soldier cherishes. They also derive some pride, even from their discipline: a military delinquent is not subject to ignoble punishment; if he offend, he suffers as a soldier. Imprisonment, or death, alone displaces him from the ranks. He is not cut down fainting, and covered with the ignominious wounds of the dissecting scourge, and sent to languish in the reeking wards of hospitals.
In reviewing the present condition of France, the liberal mind will contemplate many events with pleasure, and will suspend its final judgment, until wisdom, and genius shall repose from their labours, and shall proclaim to the people, "behold the work is done."
It has been observed, that in reviewing the late war, two of the precepts of the celebrated author of "The Prince," will hereafter be enshrined in the judgments of politicians, and will be as closely adhered to, as they have been boldly disregarded by that great man, who, till lately, has long presided over the british councils. Machiavel has asserted, that no country ought to declare war with a nation which, at the time, is in a state of internal commotion; and that, in the prosecution of a war, the refugees of a belligerent power ought not to be confidentially trusted by the opposite nation which receives them. Upon violating the former, those heterogeneous parties, which, if left to themselves, will always embarrass the operations of their government, become united by a common cause; and by offending against the latter clause of this cautionary code, a perilous confidence is placed in the triumph of gratitude, and private pique, over that great love which nature plants and warmly cherishes in the breast of every man, for his country. In extenuation of a departure from these political maxims it may be urged, that the french excited the war, and that in the pursuit of it, they displayed a compound spirit, which Machiavel might well think problematical, for whilst that country never averted its eye from the common enemy, it never ceased to groan under the inflictions of unremitting factions. Rather less can be said in palliation of the fatal confidence, which was placed by the english government in some of the french emigrants. I have mentioned these unhappy people in the aggregate, with the respect which I think they deserve. To be protected, and not to betray, was all that could in fairness, and with safety be expected from them; it was hazarding too much to put swords in their hands, and send them to their own shores to plunge them in the breasts of their own countrymen: in such an enterprise
——————"The native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought."
The brave have not frequently wept over such a victim as Sombrieul.
Whether the experiment of repelling those machinations which warred against all established order, and all sanctioned usage, by a novel, and unnatural opposition, is attributable to any other cause, than that of a misjudging principle, must be decided by Him, whose mighty hand suspended the balance of the battle, and whose eye can, at a glance, pierce through the labyrinth of human obliquity, however compact, shaded, or concealed. If the late minister is chargeable with a prolongation of the war, if he is responsible for having misplaced his confidence, and if brave men have perished by the fatal delusion, he will find some, if not ample consolation, in reflecting, that by his vigilance, and vigour, he has saved his country from the miseries of a revolutionary frenzy, which has rendered, even our enemies, the objects of our sympathy, and compassion.
Such is the narrowness of our nature, that we know not how adequately to appreciate our preservation from an intercepted evil: it is indistinctly seen, like a distant object. The calamity must touch before its powers and magnitude can be estimated. The flames of the neighbouring pile, must stop at our very doors, before our gratitude becomes animated with its highest energies. If Providence were to unfold to us all the horrours which we have escaped; if all the blood which would have followed the assassin's dagger were to roll in reeking streams before us; if the full display of irreligion, flight, massacre, confiscation, imprisonment and famine, which would have graced a revolutionary triumph in these realms, were to be unbarred to our view, how should we recoil from the ghastly spectacle! With what emotions of admiration and esteem should we bend before the man, whose illumined mind and dignified resolution protected us from such fell perdition, and confined the ravages of the "bellowing storm" within its own barrier.
The dazzling and perilous claims of the Rights of Man in the abstract, have had a long and ample discussion before the sanguinary tribunals of another country; and the loud decree of an indignant and insulted world has pronounced their eternal doom. Other contests may arise; but the powers of a prophet are not necessary to assert, that such rights will form no part of their provocation.
In France, I was repeatedly asked my opinion of the probable stability of the peace. The question was always addressed in this rather curious shape: "Thank God, we have peace! Will your country let us enjoy it?"—My answer was, "You may be assured of it; for it will not cease to be prepared for war."
Alas! the restless spirit of ambition seldom long delights in repose. The peaceful virtues, under whose influence Nations flourish and mankind rejoice, possess no lasting captivations for the Hero. The draught of conquest maddens his brain, and excites an insatiable thirst for fresh atchievements—He
"Looks into the clouds, scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend"——
May that extraordinary Being in whose hands the fate of millions is deposited reverse the gloomy picture, and restore to a country long wasted by revolutions, and warfare, and languishing in the midst of the monuments of her glory, the benign blessings of enduring tranquillity. But if this hope prove fruitless, if all the countries of continental Europe are destined to be compressed into one empire, if their devoted princes are doomed to adorn the triumphs of the chief of that mighty republic, which now towers above the surrounding nations of the earth, like the pyramid of the desert, what have we to fear even though the ocean which divides us should become the soldiers element?
When an enlightened frenchman is asked what he thinks of his government, his answer is, "We want repose." For this alone, a stranger to the recent occurrences of the world would think he had toiled, just as valetudinarians take exercise for the purpose of securing sleep. Even those who have profited of eleven years of desolation, are ready to acknowledge that war is not pastime, and that a familiarity with its horrours does not lessen them. The soldier, drooping under the weight of booty, pants for the refreshing shades of his native village, and for the hour which is to restore him to his alienated family.
I am satisfied, that both in France and England, one desire pervades all classes of people, that two nations, so brave, and so worthy of reciprocal esteem, may at last grow wise and virtuous enough to abstain from those ebullitions of furious hostility which have stained so many centuries with blood.
Peace is the gem with which Europe has embellished her fair but palpitating bosom; and may disappointment and dishonour be the lot of that ambitious and impolitic being who endeavours or who wishes to pluck it from her!
FINIS.
ERRATA.
| [Page 2,] | l.21, | for | Lewis, | read | Louis. |
| [13], | 3, | for | English, | read | own. |
| [Ibid.] | 4, | for | import, | read | impost. |
| [17], | 25, | for | bleu, | read | bleus. |
| [44], | 9, | for | stories, | read | stones. |
| [53], | 17, | for | entered now, | read | reentered. |
| [77], | 21, | for | perpetual, | read | vast. |
| [120], | 1, | for | profession, | read | will. |
| [151], | 18, | for | the, | read | his. |
| [164], | 19, | for | France, | read | the country. |
| [169], | 6, | for | at, | read | of. |
| [169], | 26, | for | hardworn, | read | hardwon. |
| [188], | Chap. XVIII, | for | Commodities, | read | Commodités. |
| [197], | l. 7, | for | heightened, | read | high toned. |
| [203], | 21, | for | is, | read | was. |
| [210], | ult. | after | to, | add | those of. |
| [221], | 14, | for | remblance, | read | resemblance. |