I have been told by a gentleman who was at ſchool with Fouquier, and haſ had frequent occaſions of obſerving him at different periods ſince, that he always appeared to him to be a man of mild manners, and by no meanſ likely to become the inſtrument of theſe atrocities; but a ſtrong addiction to gaming having involved him in embarraſſments, he was induced to accept the office of Public Accuſer to the Tribunal, and waſ progreſſively led on from adminiſtering to the iniquity of his employers, to find a gratification in it himſelf.
I have often thought, that the habit of watching with ſelfiſh avidity for thoſe turns of fortune which enrich one individual by the miſery of another, muſt imperceptibly tend to harden the heart. How can the gameſter, accuſtomed both to ſuffer and inflict ruin with indifference, preſerve that benevolent frame of mind, which, in the ordinary and leſſ cenſurable purſuits of common life, is but too prone to become impaired, and to leave humanity more a duty than a feeling?
The conduct of Fouquier Tinville has led me to ſome reflections on a ſubject which I know the French conſider as matter of triumph, and as a peculiar advantage which their national character enjoys over the Engliſh—I mean that ſmoothneſs of manner and guardedneſs of expreſſion which they call "aimable," and which they have the faculty of attaining and preſerving diſtinctly from a correſpondent temper of the mind. It accompanies them through the moſt irritating viciſſitudes, and enableſ them to deceive, even without deceit: for though this ſuavity iſ habitual, of courſe frequently undeſigning, the ſtranger is nevertheleſſ thrown off his guard by it, and tempted to place confidence, or expect ſervices, which a leſs conciliating deportment would not have been ſuggeſted. A Frenchman may be an unkind huſband, a ſevere parent, or an arrogant maſter, yet never contract his features, or aſperate his voice, and for this reaſon is, in the national ſenſe, "un homme bien doux." Hiſ heart may become corrupt, his principles immoral, and his diſpoſition ferociouſ—yet he ſhall ſtill retain his equability of tone and complacent phraſeology, and be "un homme bien aimable."
The revolution has tended much to develope this peculiarity of the French character, and has, by various examples in public life, confirmed the opinions I had formed from previous obſervation. Fouquier Tinville, as I have already noticed, was a man of gentle exterior.—Couthon, the execrable aſſociate of Robeſpierre, was mildneſs itſelf—Robeſpierre'ſ harangues are in a ſtyle of diſtinguiſhed ſenſibility—and even Carrier, the deſtroyer of thirty thouſand Nantais, is atteſted by hiſ fellow-ſtudents to have been of an amiable diſpoſition. I know a man of moſt inſinuating addreſs, who has been the means of conducting his own brother to the Guillotine; and another nearly as prepoſſeſſing, who, without loſing his courteous demeanor, was, during the late revolutionary exceſſes, the intimate of an executioner.
*It would be too voluminous to enumerate all the contraſts of manners and character exhibited during the French revolution—The philoſophic Condorcet, purſuing with malignancy his patron, the Duc de la Rochefoucault, and heſitating with atrocious mildneſs on the ſentence of the King—The maſſacres of the priſons connived at by the gentle Petion—Collot d'Herbois diſpatching, by one diſcharge of cannon, three hundred people together, "to ſpare his ſenſibility" the talk of executions in detail—And St. Juſt, the deviſer of a thouſand enormities, when he left the Committee, after his laſt interview, with the project of ſending them all to the Guillotine, telling them, in a tone of tender reproach, like a lover of romance, "Vous avez fletri mon coeur, je vais l'ouvrir a la Convention."— Madame Roland, in ſpite of the tenderneſs of her ſex, could coldly reaſon on the expediency of a civil war, which ſhe acknowledged might become neceſſary to eſtabliſh the republic. Let thoſe who diſapprove this cenſure of a female, whom it is a ſort of mode to lament, recollect that Madame Roland was the victim of a celebrity ſhe had acquired in aſſiſting the efforts of faction to dethrone the King—that her literary bureau was dedicated to the purpoſe of exaſperating the people againſt him—and that ſhe was conſiderably inſtrumental to the events which occaſioned his death. If her talents and accompliſhments make her an object of regret, it was to the unnatural miſapplication of thoſe talents and accompliſhments in the ſervice of party, that ſhe owed her fate. Her own opinion was, that thouſands might juſtifiably be devoted to the eſtabliſhment of a favourite ſyſtem; or, to ſpeak truly, to the aggrandiſement of thoſe who were its partizans. The ſame ſelfiſh principle actuated an oppoſite faction, and ſhe became the ſacrifice.—"Oh even-handed juſtice!"
I do not pretend to decide whether the Engliſh are virtually more gentle in their nature than the French; but I am perſuaded this douceur, on which the latter pride themſelves, affords no proof of the contrary. An Engliſhman is ſeldom out of humour, without proclaiming it to all the world; and the moſt forcible motives of intereſt, or expediency, cannot always prevail on him to aſſume a more engaging external than that which delineates his feelings.
If he has a matter to refuſe, he uſually begins by fortifying himſelf with a little ruggedneſs of manner, by way of prefacing a denial he might otherwiſe not have reſolution to perſevere in. "The hows and whens of life" corrugate his features, and diſharmonize his periods; contradiction ſours, and paſſion ruffles him—and, in ſhort, an Engliſhman diſpleaſed, from whatever cauſe, is neither "un homme bien doux," nor "un homme bien aimable;" but ſuch as nature has made him, ſubject to infirmities and ſorrows, and unable to diſguiſe the one, or appear indifferent to the other. Our country, like every other, has doubtleſs produced too many examples of human depravity; but I ſcarcely recollect any, where a ferocious diſpoſition was not accompanied by correſponding mannerſ—or where men, who would plunder or maſſacre, affected to retain at the ſame time habits of ſoftneſs, and a conciliating phyſiognomy.
We are, I think, on the whole, authorized to conclude, that, in determining the claims to national ſuperiority, the boaſted and unvarying controul which the French exerciſe over their features and accents, iſ not a merit; nor thoſe indications of what paſſes within, to which the Engliſh are ſubject, an imperfection. If the French ſometimes ſupply their want of kindneſs, or render diſappointment leſs acute at the moment, by a ſterile complacency, the Engliſh harſhneſs is often only the alloy to an efficient benevolence, and a ſympathizing mind. In France they have no humouriſts who ſeem impelled by their nature to do good, in ſpite of their temperament—nor have we in England many people who are cold and unfeeling, yet ſyſtematically aimable: but I muſt ſtill perſiſt in not thinking it a defect that we are too impetuous, or perhaps too ingenuous, to unite contradictions.
There is a cauſe, that doubtleſs has its effects in repreſenting the Engliſh diſadvantageouſly, and which I have never heard properly allowed for. The liberty of the preſs, and the great intereſt taken by all rankſ of people in public affairs, have occaſioned a more numerous circulation of periodical prints of every kind in England, than in any other country in Europe. Now, as it is impoſſible to fill them conſtantly with politics, and as the taſte of different readers muſt be conſulted, every barbarous adventure, ſuicide, murder, robbery, domeſtic fracas, aſſaults, and batteries of the lower orders, with the duels and divorces of the higher, are all chronicled in various publications, diſſeminated over Europe, and convey an idea that we are a very miſerable, ferocious, and diſſolute nation. The foreign gazettes being chiefly appropriated to public affairs, ſeldom record either the vices, the crimes, or miſfortunes of individuals; ſo that they are thereby at leaſt prevented from fixing an unfavourable judgement on the national character.
Mercier obſerves, that the number of ſuicides committed in Paris waſ ſuppoſed to exceed greatly that of ſimilar diſaſters in London; and that murders in France were always accompanied by circumſtances of peculiar horror, though policy and cuſtom had rendered the publication of ſuch events leſs general than with us.—Our divorces, at which the Gallic purity of manners uſed to be ſo much ſcandalized, are, no doubt, to be regretted; but that ſuch ſeparations were not then allowed, or deſired in France, may perhaps be attributed, at leaſt as juſtly, to the complaiſance of huſbands, as to the diſcretion of wives, or the national morality.*