* Now multiplied to more than four hundred thouſand!—The priſons of Paris and the environs were ſuppoſed to contain twenty-ſeven thouſand. The public papers ſtated but about ſeven thouſand, becauſe they included the official returns of Paris only.
—Agents of the police are, under ſome pretended accuſation, ſent to the different priſons; and, from liſts previouſly furniſhed them, make daily information of plots and conſpiracies, which they alledge to be carrying on by the perſons confined. This charge and this evidence ſuffice: the priſoners are ſent to the tribunal, their names read over, and they are conveyed by cart's-full to the republican butchery. Many whom I have known, and been in habits of intimacy with, have periſhed in this manner; and the expectation of Le Bon,* with our numbers which make us of too much conſequence to be forgotten, all contribute to depreſs and alarm me.
* Le Bon had at this period ſent for liſts of the priſoners in the department of the Somme—which liſts are ſaid to have been ſince found, and many of the names in them marked for deſtruction.
—Even the levity of the French character yields to this terrible deſpotiſm, and nothing is obſerved but wearineſs, ſilence, and ſorrow:— "O triſte loiſir, poids affreux du tems." [St. Lambert.] The ſeaſon returns with the year, but not to uſ—the ſun ſhines, but to add to our miſeries that of inſupportable heat—and the viciſſitudes of nature only awaken our regret that we cannot enjoy them—
|
"Now gentle gales o'er all the vallies play, "Breathe on each flow'r, and bear their ſweets away." [Collins.] |
Yet what are freſh air and green fields to us, who are immured amidſt a thouſand ill ſcents, and have no proſpect but filth and ſtone walls? It is difficult to deſcribe how much the mind is depreſſed by this ſtate of paſſive ſuffering. In common evils, the neceſſity of action half relieves them, as a veſſel may reach her port by the agitation of a ſtorm; but this ſtagnant liſtleſs exiſtence is terrible.
Thoſe moſt to be envied here are the victims of their religious opinions. The nuns, who are more diſtreſſed than any of us,* employ themſelveſ patiently, and ſeem to look beyond this world; whilſt the once gay deiſt wanders about with a volume of philoſophy in his hand, unable to endure the preſent, and dreading ſtill more the future.
* Theſe poor women, deprived of the little which the rapacity of the Convention had left them, by it ſubordinate agents, were in want of every thing; and though in moſt priſons they were employed for the republican armies, they could ſcarcely procure more than bread and water. Yet this was not all: they were objects of the meaneſt and moſt cruel perſecution.—I knew one who was put in a dungeon, up to her waiſt in putrid water, for twelve hours altogether, without loſing her reſolution or ſerenity.
I have already written you a long letter, and bid you adieu with the reluctance which precedes an uncertain ſeparation. Uneaſineſs, ill health, and confinement, beſides the danger I am expoſed to, render my life at preſent more precarious than "the ordinary of nature's tenures." —God knows when I may addreſs you again!—My friend Mad. de ____ iſ returned from the hoſpital, and I yield to her fears by ceaſing to write, though I am nevertheleſs determined not to part with what I have hitherto preſerved; being convinced, that if evil be intended us, it will be aſ ſoon without a pretext as with one.—Adieu.