Yet, notwithſtanding theſe reciprocal cajoleries, the return of juſtice is ſlow and mutable; an inſtinctive or habitual preference of evil appears at times to direct the Convention, even in oppoſition to their own intereſts. They have as yet done little towards repairing the calamities of which they are the authors; and we welcome the little they have done, not for its intrinſic value, but as we do the firſt ſpring flowerſ—which, though of no great ſweetneſs or beauty, we conſider aſ pledges that the ſtorms of winter are over, and that a milder ſeaſon iſ approaching.—It is true, the revolutionary Committees are diminiſhed in number, the priſons are diſencumbered, and a man is not liable to be arreſted becauſe a Jacobin ſuſpects his features: yet there is a wide difference between ſuch toleration and freedom and ſecurity; and it is a circumſtance not favourable to thoſe who look beyond the moment, that the tyrannical laws which authorized all the late enormities are ſtill unrepealed. The Revolutionary Tribunal continues to ſentence people to death, on pretexts as frivolous as thoſe which were employed in the time of Robeſpierre; they have only the advantage of being tried more formally, and of forfeiting their lives upon proof, inſtead of without it, for actions that a ſtrictly adminiſtered juſtice would not puniſh by a month's impriſonment.*
* For inſtance, a young monk, for writing fanatic letters, and ſigning reſolutions in favour of foederaliſm—a hoſier, for facilitating the return of an emigrant—a man of ninety, for ſpeaking againſt the revolution, and diſcrediting the aſſignatſ—a contractor, for embezzling forage—people of various deſcriptions, for obſtructing the recruitment, or inſulting the tree of liberty. Theſe, and many ſimilar condemnations, will be found in the proceedings of the Revolutionary Tribunal, long after the death of Robeſpierre, and when juſtice and humanity were ſaid to be reſtored.
A ceremony has lately taken place, the object of which was to depoſit the aſhes of Marat in the Pantheon, and to diſlodge the buſt of Mirabeau— who, notwithſtanding two years notice to quit this manſion of immortality, ſtill remained there. The aſhes of Marat being eſcorted to the Convention by a detachment of Jacobins, and the Preſident having properly deſcanted on the virtues which once animated the ſaid aſhes, they were conveyed to the place deſtined for their reception; and the excommunicated Mirabeau being delivered over to the ſecular arm of a beadle, theſe remains of the divine Marat were placed among the reſt of the republican deities. To have obliged the Convention in a body to attend and conſecrate the crimes of this monſter, though it could not degrade them, was a momentary triumph for the Jacobins, nor could the royaliſts behold without ſatiſfaction the ſame men deploring the death of Marat, who, a month before, had celebrated the fall of Louis the Sixteenth! To have been ſo deplored, and ſo celebrated, are, methinks, the very extremes of infamy and glory.
I muſt explain to you, that the Jacobins have lately been compoſed of two partieſ—the avowed adherents of Collot, Billaud, &c. and the concealed remains of thoſe attached to Robeſpierre; but party has now given way to principle, a circumſtance not uſual; and the whole club of Paris, with ſeveral of the affiliated ones, join in cenſuring the innovating tendencies of the Convention.—It is curious to read the debates of the parent ſociety, which paſs in afflicting details of the perſecutionſ experienced by the patriots on the parts of the moderates and ariſtocrats, who, they aſſert, are become ſo daring as even to call in queſtion the purity of the immortal Marat. You will ſuppoſe, of courſe, that this cruel perſecution is nothing more than an interdiction to perſecute others; and their notions of patriotiſm and moderation may be conceived by their having juſt expelled Tallien and Freron as moderates.*
* Freron endeavoured, on this occaſion, to diſculpate himſelf from the charge of "moderantiſme," by alledging he had oppoſed Lecointre's denunciation of Barrere, &c.—and certainly one who piques himſelf on being the pupil of the divine Marat, was worthy of remaining in the fraternity from which he was now expelled.—Freron is a veteran journaliſt of the revolution, of better talents, though not of better fame, than the generality of his contemporaries: or, rather, his early efforts in exciting the people to rebellion entitle him to a preeminence of infamy.
Amiens, October 4, 1794.
We have had our guard withdrawn for ſome days; and I am juſt now returned from Peronne, where we had been in order to ſee the ſeals taken off the papers, &c. which I left there laſt year. I am much ſtruck with the alteration obſervable in people's countenances. Every perſon I meet ſeems to have contracted a ſort of revolutionary aſpect: many walk with their heads down, and with half-ſhut eyes meaſure the whole length of a ſtreet, as though they were ſtill intent on avoiding greetings from the ſuſpicious; ſome look grave and ſorrow-worn; ſome apprehenſive, as if in hourly expectation of a mandat d'arret; and others abſolutely ferocious, from a habit of affecting the barbarity of the times.
Their language is nearly as much changed as their appearance—the revolutionary jargon is univerſal, and the moſt diſtinguiſhed ariſtocratſ converſe in the ſtyle of Barrere's reports. The common people are not leſs proficients in this faſhionable dialect, than their ſuperiors; and, as far as I can judge, are become ſo from ſimilar motives. While I waſ waiting this morning at a ſhop-door, I liſtened to a beggar who waſ cheapening a ſlice of pumpkin, and on ſome diſagreement about the price, the beggar told the old revendeuſe [Market-woman.] that ſhe waſ "gangrenee d'ariſtocratie." ["Eat up with ariſtocracy.">[ "Je vous en defie," ["I defy you.">[ retorted the pumpkin-merchant; but turning pale as ſhe ſpoke, "Mon civiſme eſt a toute epreuve, mais prenez donc ta citrouille," ["My civiſm is unqueſtionable; but here take your pumpkin.">[ take it then." "Ah, te voila bonne republicaine, ["Ah! Now I ſee you are a good republican.">[ ſays the beggar, carrying off her bargain; while the old woman muttered, "Oui, oui, l'on a beau etre republicaine tandiſ qu'on n'a pas de pain a manger." ["Yes, in troth, it's a fine thing to be a republican, and have no bread to eat.">[
I hear little of the poſitive merits of the convention, but the hope iſ general that they will ſoon ſuppreſs the Jacobin clubs; yet their attackſ continue ſo cold and cautious, that their intentions are at leaſt doubtful: they know the voice of the nation at large would be in favour of ſuch a meaſure, and they might, if ſincere, act more deciſively, without riſk to themſelves.—The truth is, they would willingly proſcribe the perſons of the Jacobins, while they cling to their principles, and ſtill heſitate whether they ſhall confide in a people whoſe reſentment they have ſo much deſerved, and have ſo much reaſon to dread. Conſciouſ guilt appears to ſhackle all their proceedings, and though the puniſhment of ſome ſubordinate agents cannot, in the preſent ſtate of things, be diſpenſed with, yet the Aſſembly unveil the regiſter of their crimes very reluctantly, as if each member expected to ſee his own name inſcribed on it. Thus, even delinquents, who would otherwiſe be ſacrificed voluntarily to public juſtice, are in a manner protected by delays and chicane, becauſe an inveſtigation might implicate the Convention as the example and authoriſer of their enormities.—Fouquier Tinville devoted a thouſand innocent people to death in leſs time than it has already taken to bring him to a trial, where he will benefit by all thoſe judicial forms which he has ſo often refuſed to others. This man, who is much the ſubject of converſation at preſent, was Public Accuſer to the Revolutionary Tribunal—an office which, at beſt, in this inſtance, only ſerved to give an air of regularity to aſſaſſination: but, by a ſort of genius in turpitude, he contrived to render it odious beyond its original perverſion, in giving to the moſt elaborate and revolting cruelties a turn of ſpontaneous pleaſantry, or legal procedure.—The priſoners were inſulted with ſarcaſms, intimidated by threats, and ſtill oftener ſilenced by arbitrary declarations, that they were not entitled to ſpeak; and thoſe who were taken to the ſcaffold, after no other ceremony than calling over their names, had leſs reaſon to complain, than if they had previouſly been expoſed to the barbarities of ſuch trials.—Yet thiſ wretch might, for a time at leaſt, have eſcaped puniſhment, had he not, in defending himſelf, criminated the remains of the Committee, whom it was intended to ſcreen. When he appeared at the bar of the Convention, every word he uttered ſeemed to fill its members with alarm, and he waſ ordered away before he could finiſh his declaration. It muſt be acknowledged, that, however he may be condemned by juſtice and humanity, nothing could legally attach to him: he was only the agent of the Convention, and the utmoſt horrors of the Tribunal were not merely ſanctioned, but enjoined by ſpecific decrees.