* At this time it was the prevailing faſhion to call any new inventions of female dreſs after his name, and to decorate the ornamental parts of furniture with his reſemblance.
Yet Henry the Fourth is now a tyrant—his pictures and ſtatues are deſtroyed, and his memory is execrated!—Thoſe who have reduced the French to this are, doubtleſs, baſe and deſigning intriguers; yet I cannot acquit the people, who are thus wrought on, of unfeelingneſs and levity.—England has had its revolutions; but the names of Henry the Fifth and Elizabeth were ſtill revered: and the regal monuments, which ſtill exiſt, after all the viciſſitudes of our political principles, atteſt the mildneſs of the Engliſh republicans.
The laſt days of our ſtay at Arras were embittered by the diſtreſs of our neighbour and acquaintance, Madame de B____. She has loſt two ſons under circumſtances ſo affecting, that I think you will be intereſted in the relation.—The two young men were in the army, and quartered at Perpignan, at a time when ſome effort of counter-revolution was ſaid to be intended. One of them was arreſted as being concerned, and the other ſurrendered himſelf priſoner to accompany his brother.—When the High Court at Orleans was inſtituted for trying ſtate-priſoners, thoſe of Perpignan were ordered to be conducted there, and the two B____'s, chained together, were taken with the reſt. On their arrival at Orleans, their gaoler had miſlaid the key that unlocked their fetters, and, not finding it immediately, the young men produced one, which anſwered the purpoſe, and releaſed themſelves. The gaoler looked at them with ſurprize, and aſked why, with ſuch a means in their power, they had not eſcaped in the night, or on the road. They replied, becauſe they were not culpable, and had no reaſon for avoiding a trial that would manifeſt their innocence. Their heroiſm was fatal. They were brought, by a decree of the Convention, from Orleans to Verſailles, (on their way to Paris,) where they were met by the mob, and maſſacred.
Their unfortunate mother is yet ignorant of their fate; but we left her in a ſtate little preferable to that which will be the effect of certainty. She ſaw the decree for tranſporting the priſoners from Orleans, and all accounts of the reſult have been carefully concealed from her; yet her anxious and enquiring looks at all who approach her, indicate but too well her ſuſpicion of the truth.—Mons. de ____'ſ ſituation is indeſcribable. Informed of the death of his ſons, he is yet obliged to conceal his ſufferings, and wear an appearance of tranquillity in the preſence of his wife. Sometimes he eſcapes, when unable to contain his emotions any longer, and remains at M. de ____'s till he recovers himſelf. He takes no notice of the ſubject of his grief, and we reſpect it too much to attempt to conſole him. The laſt time I aſked him after Madame de ____, he told me her ſpirits were ſomething better, and, added he, in a voice almoſt ſuffocated, "She is amuſing herſelf with working neckcloths for her ſonſ!"—When you reflect that the maſſacres at Paris took place on the ſecond and third of September, and that the decree was paſſed to bring the priſoners from Orleans (where they were in ſafety) on the tenth, I can ſay nothing that will add to the horror of this tranſaction, or to your deteſtation of its cauſe. Sixty-two, moſtly people of high rank, fell victims to this barbarous policy: they were brought in a fort of covered waggons, and were murdered in heaps without being taken out.*
* Perhaps the reader will be pleaſed at a diſcovery, which it would have been unſafe to mention when made, or in the courſe of thiſ correſpondence. The two young men here alluded to arrived at Verſailles, chained together, with their fellow-priſoners. Surprize, perhaps admiration, had diverted the gaoler's attention from demanding the key that opened their padlock, and it was ſtill in their poſſeſſion. On entering Verſailles, and obſerving the crowd preparing to attack them, they diveſted themſelves of their fetters, and of every other incumbrance. In a few moments their carriages were ſurrounded, their companions at one end were already murdered, and themſelves ſlightly wounded; but the confuſion increaſing, they darted amidſt the croud, and were in a moment undiſtinguiſhable. They were afterwards taken under the protection of an humane magiſtrate, who concealed them for ſome time, and they are now in perfect ſecurity. They were the only two of the whole number that eſcaped.
September, 1792.
We paſſed a country ſo barren and unintereſting yeſterday, that even a profeſſional traveller could not have made a ſingle page of it. It was, in every thing, a perfect contraſt to the rich plains of Artoiſ— unfertile, neglected vallies and hills, miſerable farms, ſtill more miſerable cottages, and ſcarcely any appearance of population. The only place where we could refreſh the horſes was a ſmall houſe, over the door of which was the pompous deſignation of Hotel d'Angleterre. I know not if this be intended as a ridicule on our country, or as an attraction to our countrymen, but I, however, found ſomething beſides the appellation which reminded me of England, and which one does not often find in houſeſ of a better outſide; for though the rooms were ſmall, and only two in number, they were very clean, and the hoſteſs was neat and civil. The Hotel d'Angleterre, indeed, was not luxuriouſly ſupplied, and the whole of our repaſt was eggs and tea, which we had brought with us.—In the next room to that we occupied were two priſoners chained, whom the officers were conveying to Arras, for the purpoſe of better ſecurity. The ſecret hiſtory of this buſineſs is worth relating, as it marks the character of the moment, and the aſcendancy which the Jacobins are daily acquiring.
Theſe men were apprehended as ſmugglers, under circumſtances of peculiar atrocity, and committed to the gaol at ____. A few days after, a young girl, of bad character, who has much influence at the club, made a motion, that the people, in a body, ſhould demand the releaſe of the priſoners. The motion was carried, and the Hotel de Ville aſſailed by a formidable troop of ſailors, fiſh-women, &c.—The municipality refuſed to comply, the Garde Nationale was called out, and, on the mob perſiſting, fired over their heads, wounded a few, and the reſt diſperſed of themſelves.—Now you muſt underſtand, the latent motive of all this waſ two thouſand livres promiſed to one of the Jacobin leaders, if he ſucceeded in procuring the men their liberty.—I do not advance thiſ merely on conjecture. The fact is well known to the municipality; and the decent part of it would willingly have expelled this man, who is one of their members, but that they found themſelves too weak to engage in a ſerious quarrel with the Jacobins.—One cannot reflect, without apprehenſion, that any ſociety ſhould exiſt which can oppoſe the execution of the laws with impunity, or that a people, who are little ſenſible of realities, ſhould be thus abuſed by names. They ſuffer, with unfeeling patience, a thouſand enormitieſ—yet blindly riſk their liberties and lives to promote the deſigns of an adventurer, becauſe he harangues at a club, and calls himſelf a patriot.—I have juſt received advice that my friends have left Lauſanne, and are on their way to Paris. Our firſt plan of paſſing the winter there will be imprudent, if not impracticable, and we have concluded to take a houſe for the winter ſix months at Amiens, Chantilly, or ſome place which has the reputation of being quiet. I have already ordered enquiries to be made, and ſhall ſet out with Mrs. ____ in a day or two for Amiens. I may, perhaps, not write till our return; but ſhall not ceaſe to be, with great truth.—Yours, &c.