Angelique has contrived to-day to negotiate the ſale of ſome bracelets, which a lady, with whom I was acquainted previous to our detention, haſ very obligingly given almoſt half their value for, though not without many injunctions to ſecreſy, and as many implied panegyrics on her benevolence, in riſking the odium of affording aſſiſtance to a foreigner. We are, I aſſure you, under the neceſſity of being oeconomiſts, where the moſt abundant wealth could not render us externally comfortable: and the little we procure, by a clandeſtine diſpoſal of my unneceſſary trinkets, is conſiderably diminiſhed,* by arbitrary impoſitions of the guard and the poor,** and a voluntary tax from the miſery that ſurrounds us.
* I am aware of Mr. Burke's pleaſantry on the expreſſion of very little, being greatly diminiſhed; but my exchequer at this time waſ as well calculated to prove the infinite diviſibility of matter, aſ that of the Welch principality. ** The guards of the republican Baſtilles were paid by the priſonerſ they contained; and, in many places, the tax for this purpoſe waſ levied with indecent rigour. It might indeed be ſuppoſed, that people already in priſon could have little to apprehend from an inability or unwillingneſs to ſubmit to ſuch an impoſition; yet thoſe who refuſed were menaced with a dungeon; and I was informed, from undoubted authority, of two inſtances of the ſort among the Engliſh—the one a young woman, the other a perſon with a large family of children, who were on the point of ſuffering thiſ treatment, but that the humanity of ſome of their companionſ interfered and paid the ſum exacted of them. The tax for ſupporting the impriſoned poor was more willingly complied with, though not leſs iniquitous in its principle; numbers of inoffenſive and induſtrious people were taken from their homes on account of their religion, or other frivolous pretexts, and not having the wherewithal to maintain themſelves in confinement, inſtead of being kept by the republic, were ſupported by their fellow-priſoners, in conſequence of a decree to that purpoſe. Families who inherited nothing from their noble anceſtors but their names, were dragged from obſcurity only to become objects of perſecution; and one in particular, conſiſting of nine perſons, who lived in extreme indigence, but were notwithſtanding of the proſcribed claſs; the ſons were brought wounded from the army and lodged with the father, mother, and five younger children in a priſon, where they had ſcarcely food to ſupport, or clothing to cover them. I take this opportunity of doing juſtice to the Comte d'Artois, whoſe youthful errors did not extinguiſh his benevolence—the unfortunate people in queſtion having enjoyed a penſion from him until the revolution deprived them of it.
Our male companions are for the moſt part tranſferred to other priſons, and among the number are two young Engliſhmen, with whom I uſed ſometimeſ to converſe in French, without acknowledging our compatriotiſm. They have told me, that when the decree for arreſting the Engliſh was received at Amiens, they happened to be on a viſit, a few miles from the town; and having notice that a party of horſe were on the road to take them, willing to gain time at leaſt, they eſcaped by another route, and got home. The republican conſtables, for I can call the military employed in the interior by no better appellation, finding their prey had taken flight, adopted the impartial juſtice of the men of Charles Town,* and carried off the old couple (both above ſeventy) at whoſe houſe they had been.
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* "But they maturely having weigh'd "They had no more but him o'th'trade, "Reſolved to ſpare him, yet to do "The Indian Hoghan-Moghan too "Impartial juſtice—in his ſtead did "Hang an old weaver that was bed-rid." |
The good man, who was probably not verſed in the etiquette of the revolution, conceived nothing of the matter, and when at the end of their journey they were depoſited at the Bicetre, his head was ſo totally deranged, that he imagined himſelf ſtill in his own houſe, and continued for ſome days addreſſing all the priſoners as though they were hiſ gueſtſ—at one moment congratulating them on their arrival, the next apologizing for want of room and accommodation.—The evaſion of the young men, as you will conclude, availed them nothing, except a delay of their captivity for a few hours.
A report has circulated amongſt us to-day, that all who are not detained on ſpecific charges are ſoon to be liberated. This is eagerly believed by the new-comers, and thoſe who are not the "pale converts of experience." I am myſelf ſo far from crediting it, that I dread leſt it ſhould be the harbinger of ſome new evil, for I know not whether it be from the effect of chance, or a refinement in atrocity, but I have generally found every meaſure which tended to make our ſituation more miſerable preceded by theſe flattering rumours.
You would ſmile to ſee with what anxious credulity intelligence of thiſ ſort is propagated: we ſtop each other on the ſtairs and liſten while our palled dinner, juſt arrived from the traiteur, is cooling; and the bucket of the draw-well hangs ſuſpended while a hiſtory is finiſhed, of which the relator knows as little as the hearer, and which, after all, proveſ to have originated in ſome ambiguous phraſe of our keeper, uttered in a good-humoured paroxyſm while receiving a douceur.
We occaſionally loſe ſome of our aſſociates, who, having obtained their diſcharge, depart a la Francaiſe, forget their ſuffering, and praiſe the clemency of Dumont, and the virtue of the Convention; while thoſe who remain ſtill unconverted amuſe themſelves in conjecturing the channel through which ſuch favours were ſolicited, and alleging reaſons why ſuch preferences were partial and unjuſt.
Dumont viſits us, as uſual, receives an hundred or two of petitions, which he does not deign to read, and reſerves his indulgence for thoſe who have the means of aſſailing him through the ſmiles of a favourite miſtreſs, or propitiating him by more ſubſtantial advantages.—Many of the emigrantſ' wives have procured their liberty by being divorced, and in this there is nothing blameable, for I imagine the greater number conſider it only as a temporary expedient, indifferent in itſelf, and which they are juſtified in having recourſe to for the protection of their perſons and property. But theſe domeſtic alienations are not confined to thoſe who once moved in the higher orders of ſociety—the monthly regiſters announce almoſt as many divorces as marriages, and the facility of ſeparation has rendered the one little more than a licentiouſ compact, which the other is conſidered as a means of diſſolving. The effect of the revolution has in this, as in many other caſes, been to make the little emulate the vices of the great, and to introduce a more groſs and deſtructive policy among the people at large, than exiſted in the narrow circle of courtiers, imitators of the Regent, or Louis the fifteenth. Immorality, now conſecrated as a principle, is far more pernicious than when, though practiſed, it was condemned, and, though ſuffered, not ſanctioned.
You muſt forgive me if I ennuye you a little ſententiouſly—I was more partial to the lower ranks of life in France, than to thoſe who were deemed their ſuperiors; and I cannot help beholding with indignant regret the laſt aſylums of national morals thus invaded by the general corruption.—I believe no one will diſpute that the revolution haſ rendered the people more vicious; and, without conſidering the matter either in a moral or religious point of view, it is impoſſible to aſſert that they are not leſs happy. How many times, when I was at liberty, have I heard the old wiſh for an acceſſion of years, or envy thoſe yet too young to be ſenſible of "the miſeries of a revolution!"—Were the vanity of the ſelf-ſufficient philoſopher ſuſceptible of remorſe, would he not, when he beholds this country, lament his preſumption, in ſuppoſing he had a right to cancel the wiſdom of paſt ages; or that the happineſs of mankind might be promoted by the deſtruction of their morals, and the depravation of their ſocial affections?—Yours, &c.