The little diſtreſſes I formerly complained of, as ariſing from the paper currency, are nearly removed by a plentiful emiſſion of ſmall aſſignats, and we have now pompous aſſignments on the national domains for ten ſols: we have, likewiſe, pieces coined from the church bells in circulation, but moſt of theſe diſappear as ſoon as iſſued. You would ſcarcely imagine that this copper is deemed worthy to be hoarded; yet ſuch is the people's averſion from the paper, and ſuch their miſtruſt of the government, that not an houſewife will part with one of theſe pieceſ while ſhe has an aſſignat in her poſſeſſion; and thoſe who are rich enough to keep a few livres by them, amaſs and bury this copper treaſure with the utmoſt ſolicitude and ſecreſy.
A tolerably accurate ſcale of the national confidence might be made, by marking the progreſs of theſe ſuſpicious interments. Under the firſt Aſſembly, people began to hide their gold; during the reign of the ſecond they took the ſame affectionate care of their ſilver; and, ſince the meeting of the Convention, they ſeem equally anxious to hide any metal they can get. If one were to deſcribe the preſent age, one might, as far as regards France, call it, both literally and metaphorically, the Iron Age; for it is certain, the character of the times would juſtify the metaphoric application, and the diſappearance of every other metal the literal one. As the French are fond of claſſic examples, I ſhall not be ſurprized to ſee an iron coinage, in imitation of Sparta, though they ſeem in the way of having one reaſon leſs for ſuch a meaſure than the Spartans had, for they are already in a ſtate to defy corruption; and if they were not, I think a war with England would ſecure the purity of their morals from being endangered by too much commercial intercourſe.
I cannot be diſpleaſed with the civil things you ſay of my letters, nor at your valuing them ſo much as to preſerve them; though, I aſſure you, this fraternal gallantry is not neceſſary, on the account you intimate, nor will our countrymen ſuffer, in my opinion, by any compariſons I can make here. Your ideas of French gallantry are, indeed, very erroneouſ— it may differ in the manner from that practiſed in England, but is far from having any claim to ſuperiority. Perhaps I cannot define the pretenſions of the two nations in this reſpect better than by ſaying, that the gallantry of an Engliſhman is a ſentiment—that of a Frenchman a ſyſtem. The firſt, if a lady happen to be old or plain, or indifferent to him, is apt to limit his attentions to reſpect, or utility—now the latter never troubles himſelf with theſe diſtinctions: he is repulſed by no extremity of years, nor deformity of feature; he adores, with equal ardour, both young and old, nor is either often ſhocked by his viſible preference of the other. I have ſeen a youthful beau kiſs, with perfect devotion, a ball of cotton dropped from the hand of a lady who waſ knitting ſtockings for her grand-children. Another pays his court to a belle in her climacteric, by bringing gimbletteſ [A ſort of gingerbread.] to the favourite lap-dog, or attending, with great aſſiduity, the egreſſes and regreſſes of her angola, who paces ſlowly out of the room ten times in an hour, while the door is held open by the complaiſant Frenchman with a moſt reſpectful gravity.
Thus, you ſee, France is to the old what a maſquerade is to the ugly —the one confounds the diſparity of age as the other does that of perſon; but indiſcriminate adoration is no compliment to youth, nor is a maſk any privilege to beauty. We may therefore conclude, that though France may be the Elyſium of old women, England is that of the young. When I firſt came into this country, it reminded me of an iſland I had read of in the Arabian Tales, where the ladies were not deemed in their bloom till they verged towards ſeventy; and I conceived the project of inviting all the belles, who had been half a century out of faſhion in England, to croſs the Channel, and begin a new career of admiration!— Yours, &c.
Amiens, 1793.
Dear Brother,
I have thought it hitherto a ſelf evident propoſition—that of all the principles which can be inculcated in the human mind, that of liberty iſ leaſt ſuſceptible of propagation by force. Yet a Council of Philoſopherſ (diſciples of Rouſſeau and Voltaire) have ſent forth Dumouriez, at the head of an hundred thouſand men, to inſtruct the people of Flanders in the doctrine of freedom. Such a miſſionary is indeed invincible, and the defenceleſs towns of the Low Countries have been converted and pillaged [By the civil agents of the executive power.] by a benevolent cruſade of the philanthropic aſſertors of the rights of man. Theſe warlike Propagandiſtes, however, do not always convince without experiencing reſiſtance, and ignorance ſometimes oppoſes, with great obſtinacy, the progreſs of truth. The logic of Dumouriez did not enforce conviction at Gemappe, but at the expence of fifteen thouſand of his own army, and, doubtleſs, a proportionate number of the unconverted.
Here let me forbear every expreſſion tending to levity: the heart recoilſ at ſuch a ſlaughter of human victims; and, if a momentary ſmile be excited by theſe Quixotiſms, it is checked by horror at their conſequenceſ!—Humanity will lament ſuch deſtruction; but it will likewiſe be indignant to learn, that, in the official account of thiſ battle, the killed were eſtimated at three hundred, and the wounded at ſix!—But, if the people be ſacrificed, they are not deceived. The diſabled ſufferers, who are returning to their homes in different partſ of the republic, betray the turpitude of the government, and expoſe the fallacy of theſe bloodleſs victories of the gazettes. The pedants of the Convention are not unlearned in the hiſtory of the Praetorian Bands and the omnipotence of armies; and an offenſive war is undertaken to give occupation to the ſoldiers, whoſe inactivity might produce reflection, or whoſe diſcontent might prove fatal to the new order of things.—Attemptſ are made to divert the public mind from the real miſery experienced at home, by relations of uſeleſs conqueſts abroad; the ſubſtantial loſſes, which are the price of theſe imaginary benefits, are palliated or concealed; and the circumſtances of an engagement is known but by individual communication, and when ſubſequent events have nearly effaced the remembrance of it.—By theſe artifices, and from motives at leaſt not better, and, perhaps, worſe than thoſe I have mentioned, will population be diminiſhed, and agriculture impeded: France will be involved in preſent diſtreſs, and conſigned to future want; and the deluded people be puniſhed in the miſeries of their own country, becauſe their unprincipled rulers have judged it expedient to carry war and devaſtation into another.
One of the diſtinguiſhing features in the French character is ſang froid —ſcarcely a day paſſes that it does not force itſelf on one'ſ obſervation. It is not confined to the thinking part of the people, who know that paſſion and irritability avail nothing; nor to thoſe who, not thinking at all, are, of courſe, not moved by any thing: but is equally poſſeſſed by every rank and condition, whether you claſs them by their mental endowments, or their temporal poſſeſſions. They not only (as, it muſt be confeſſed, is too commonly the caſe in all countries,) bear the calamities of their friends with great philoſophy, but are nearly aſ reaſonable under the preſſure of their own. The grief of a Frenchman, at leaſt, partakes of his imputed national complaiſance, and, far from intruding itſelf on ſociety, is always ready to accept of conſolation, and join in amuſement. If you ſay your wife or relations are dead, they replay coldly, "Il faut ſe conſoler:" or if they viſit you in an illneſs, "Il faut prendre patience." Or tell them you are ruined, and their features then become ſomething more attenuated, the ſhoulderſ ſomething more elevated, and a more commiſerating tone confeſſes, "C'eſt bien mal beureux—Mai enfin que voulez vous?" ["It's unlucky, but what can be ſaid in ſuch caſes?">[ and in the ſame inſtant they ill recount ſome good fortune at a card party, or expatiate on the excellence of a ragout.—Yet, to do them juſtice, they only offer for your comfort the ſame arguments they would have found efficacious in promoting their own.