The national perfidy which has always diſtinguiſhed France among the other countries of Europe, ſeems now not to be more a diplomatic principle, than a rule of domeſtic government. It is ſo extended and generalized, that an individual is as much liable to be deceived and betrayed by confiding in a decree, as a foreign power would be by relying on the faith of a treaty.—An hundred and twenty prieſts, above ſixty years of age, who had not taken the oaths, but who were allowed to remain by the ſame law that baniſhed thoſe who were younger, have been lately arreſted, and are confined together in a houſe which was once a college. The people did not behold this act of cruelty with indifference, but, awed by an armed force, and the preſence of the Commiſſioners of the Convention, they could only follow the prieſts to their priſon with ſilent regret and internal horror. They, however, venture even now to mark their attachment, by taking all opportunities of ſeeing them, and ſupplying them with neceſſaries, which it is not very difficult to do, aſ they are guarded by the Bourgeois, who are generally inclined to favour them. I aſked a woman to-day if ſhe ſtill contrived to have acceſs to the prieſts, and ſhe replied, "Ah, oui, il y a encore de la facilite, par ce que l'on ne trouve pas des gardes ici qui ne ſont pas pour eux."*
* "Yes, yes, we ſtill contive it, becauſe there are no guards to be found here who don't befriend them."
Thus, even the moſt minute and beſt organized tyranny may be eluded; and, indeed, if all the agents of this government acted in the ſpirit of itſ decrees, it would be inſupportable even to a native of Turkey or Japan. But if ſome have ſtill a remnant of humanity left, there are a ſufficient number who execute the laws as unfeelingly as they are conceived.
When theſe poor prieſts were to be removed from their ſeveral houſes, it was found neceſſary to diſlodge the Biſhop of Amiens, who had for ſome time occupied the place fixed on for their reception. The Biſhop had notice given him at twelve o'clock in the day to relinquiſh his lodging before evening; yet the Biſhop of Amiens is a conſtitutional Prelate, and had, before the revolution, the cure of a large pariſh at Paris; nor waſ it without much perſuaſion that he accepted the ſee of Amiens. In the ſevere winter of 1789 he diſpoſed of his plate and library, (the latter of which was ſaid to be one of the beſt private collections in Paris,) to purchaſe bread for the poor. "But Time hath a wallet on his back, wherein he puts alms for oblivion;" and the charities of the Biſhop could not ſhield him from the contempt and inſult which purſue his profeſſion.
I have been much diſtreſſed within the laſt few days on account of my friend Madame de B____. I ſubjoining a tranſlation of a letter I have juſt received from her, as it will convey to you hereafter a tolerable ſpecimen of French liberty.
"Maiſon de Arret, at ____. "I did not write to you, my dear friend, at the time I promiſed, and you will perceive, by the date of this, that I have had too good an excuſe for my negligence. I have been here almoſt a week, and my ſpirits are ſtill ſo much diſordered, that I can with difficulty recollect myſelf enough to relate the circumſtances of our unfortunate ſituation; but as it is poſſible you might become acquainted with them by ſome other means, I rather determined to ſend you a few lines, than ſuffer you to be alarmed by falſe or exaggerated reports. "About two o'clock on Monday morning laſt our ſervants were called up, and, on their opening the door, the houſe was immediately filled with armed men, ſome of whom began ſearching the rooms, while otherſ came to our bedchamber, and informed us we were arreſted by order of the department, and that we muſt riſe and accompany them to priſon. It is not eaſy to deſcribe the effect of ſuch a mandate on people who, having nothing to reproach themſelves with, could not be prepared for it.—As ſoon as we were a little recovered from our firſt terrors, we endeavoured to obey, and begged they would indulge us by retiring a few moments till I had put my clothes on; but neither my embarraſſment, nor the ſcreams of the child—neither decency nor humanity, could prevail. They would not even permit my maid to enter the room; and, amidſt this ſcene of diſorder, I waſ obliged to dreſs myſelf and the terrified infant. When thiſ unpleaſant taſk was finiſhed, a general examination of our houſe and papers took place, and laſted until ſix in the evening: nothing, however, tending in the remoteſt degree to criminate us was found, but we were nevertheleſs conducted to priſon, and God knows how long we are likely to remain here. The denunciation againſt us being ſecret, and not being able to learn either our crime or our accuſers, it is difficult for us to take any meaſures for our enlargement. We cannot defend ourſelves againſt a charge of which we are ignorant, nor combat the validity of a witneſs, who is not only allowed to remain ſecret, but is paid perhaps for hiſ information.* * At this time informers were paid from fifty to an hundred livres for each accuſation. "We moſt probably owe our miſfortune to ſome diſcarded ſervant or perſonal enemy, for I believe you are convinced we have not merited it either by our diſcourſe or our actions: if we had, the charge would have been ſpecific; but we have reaſon to imagine it iſ nothing more than the indeterminate and general charge of being ariſtocrates. I did not ſee my mother or ſiſter all the day we were arreſted, nor till the evening of the next: the one was engaged perhaps with "Roſine and the Angola", who were indiſpoſed, and the other would not forego her uſual card-party. Many of our friendſ likewiſe have forborne to approach us, leſt their apparent intereſt in our fate ſhould involve themſelves; and really the alarm is ſo general, that I can, without much effort, forgive them. "You will be pleaſed to learn, that the greateſt civilities I have received in this unpleaſant ſituation, have been from ſome of your countrymen, who are our fellow-priſoners: they are only poor ſailors, but they are truly kind and attentive, and do us variouſ little ſervices that render us more comfortable than we otherwiſe ſhould be; for we have no ſervants here, having deemed it prudent to leave them to take care of our property. The ſecond night we were here, theſe good creatures, who lodge in the next room, were rather merry, and awoke the child; but as they found, by its cries, that their gaiety had occaſioned me ſome trouble, I have obſerved ever ſince that they walk ſoftly, and avoid making the leaſt noiſe, after the little priſoner is gone to reſt. I believe they are pleaſed with me becauſe I ſpeak their language, and they are ſtill more delighted with your young favourite, who is ſo well amuſed, that he begins to forget the gloom of the place, which at firſt terrified him extremely. "One of our companions is a nonjuring prieſt, who has been impriſoned under circumſtances which make me almoſt aſhamed of my country.—After having eſcaped from a neighbouring department, he procured himſelf a lodging in this town, and for ſome time lived very peaceably, till a woman, who ſuſpected his profeſſion, became extremely importunate with him to confeſs her. The poor man, for ſeveral days, refuſed, telling her, that he did not conſider himſelf as a prieſt, nor wiſhed to be known as ſuch, nor to infringe the law which excluded him. The woman, however, ſtill continued to perſecute him, alledging, that her conſcience was diſtreſſed, and that her peace depended on her being able to confeſs "in the right way." At length he ſuffered himſelf to be prevailed upon—the woman received an hundred livres for informing againſt him, and, perhaps, the prieſt will be condemned to the Guillotine.* * He was executed ſome time after. "I will make no reflection on this act, nor on the ſyſtem of paying informerſ—your heart will already have anticipated all I could ſay. I will only add, that if you determine to remain in France, you muſt obſerve a degree of circumſpection which you may not hitherto have thought neceſſary. Do not depend on your innocence, nor even truſt to common precautionſ—every day furniſhes examples that both are unavailing.—Adieu.—My huſband offers you his reſpects, and your little friend embraces you ſincerely. As ſoon as any change in our favour takes place, I will communicate it to you; but you had better not venture to write—I entruſt this to Louiſon's mother, who iſ going through Amiens, as it would be unſafe to ſend it by the poſt. —Again adieu.—Yours, "Adelaide de ____." Amiens, 1793.
It is obſervable, that we examine leſs ſcrupulouſly the pretenſions of a nation to any particular excellence, than we do thoſe of an individual. The reaſon of this is, probably, that our ſelf-love is as much gratified by admitting the one, as in rejecting the other. When we allow the claims of a whole people, we are flattered with the idea of being above narrow prejudices, and of poſſeſſing an enlarged and liberal mind; but if a ſingle individual arrogate to himſelf any excluſive ſuperiority, our own pride immediately becomes oppoſed to his, and we ſeem but to vindicate our judgement in degrading ſuch preſumption.
I can conceive no other cauſes for our having ſo long acquieſced in the claims of the French to pre-eminent good breeding, in an age when, I believe, no perſon acquainted with both nations can diſcover any thing to juſtify them. If indeed politeneſs conſiſted in the repetition of a certain routine of phraſes, unconnected with the mind or action, I might be obliged to decide againſt our country; but while decency makes a part of good manners, or feeling is preferable to a mechanical jargon, I am inclined to think the Engliſh have a merit more than they have hitherto aſcribed to themſelves. Do not ſuppoſe, however, that I am going to deſcant on the old imputations of "French flattery," and "French inſincerity;" for I am far from concluding that civil behaviour gives one a right to expect kind offices, or that a man is falſe becauſe he pays a compliment, and refuſes a ſervice: I only wiſh to infer, that an impertinence is not leſs an impertinence becauſe it is accompanied by a certain ſet of words, and that a people, who are indelicate to exceſs, cannot properly be denominated "a polite people."
A French man or woman, with no other apology than "permettez moi," ["Give me leave.">[ will take a book out of your hand, look over any thing you are reading, and aſk you a thouſand queſtions relative to your moſt private concernſ—they will enter your room, even your bedchamber, without knocking, place themſelves between you and the fire, or take hold of your clothes to gueſs what they coſt; and they deem theſe acts of rudeneſs ſufficiently qualified by "Je demande bien de pardons." ["I aſk you a thouſand pardons.">[—They are fully convinced that the Engliſh all eat with their knives, and I have often heard this diſcuſſed with much ſelf-complacence by thoſe who uſually ſhared the labours of the repaſt between a fork and their fingers. Our cuſtom alſo of uſing water-glaſſes after dinner is an object of particular cenſure; yet whoever dines at a French table muſt frequently obſerve, that many of the gueſtſ might benefit by ſuch ablutions, and their napkins always teſtify that ſome previous application would be by no means ſuperfluous. Nothing iſ more common than to hear phyſical derangements, diſorders, and their remedies, expatiated upon by the parties concerned amidſt a room full of people, and that with ſo much minuteneſs of deſcription, that a foreigner, without being very faſtidious, is on ſome occaſions apt to feel very unpleaſant ſympathies. There are ſcarcely any of the ceremonies of a lady's toilette more a myſtery to one ſex than the other, and men and their wives, who ſcarcely eat at the ſame table, are in thiſ reſpect groſſly familiar. The converſation in moſt ſocieties partakes of this indecency, and the manners of an Engliſh female are in danger of becoming contaminated, while ſhe is only endeavouring to ſuffer without pain the cuſtoms of thoſe ſhe has been taught to conſider as models of politeneſs.
Whether you examine the French in their houſes or in public, you are every where ſtricken with the ſame want of delicacy, propriety, and cleanlineſs. The ſtreets are moſtly ſo filthy, that it is perilous to approach the walls. The inſides of the churches are often diſguſting, in ſpite of the advertiſements that are placed in them to requeſt the forbearance of phthifical perſons: the ſervice does not prevent thoſe who attend from going to and fro with the ſame irreverence as if the church were empty; and, in the moſt ſolemn part of the maſs, a woman is ſuffered to importune you for a liard, as the price of the chair you ſit on. At the theatres an actor or actreſs frequently coughs and expectorates on the ſtage, in a manner one ſhould think highly unpardonable before one'ſ moſt intimate friends in England, though this habit is very common to all the French. The inns abound with filth of every kind, and though the owners of them are generally civil enough, their notions of what iſ decent are ſo very different from ours, that an Engliſh traveller is not ſoon reconciled to them. In ſhort, it would be impoſſible to enumerate all that in my opinion excludes the French from the character of a well-bred people.—Swift, who ſeems to have been gratified by the contemplation of phyſical impurity, might have done the ſubject juſtice; but I confeſs I am not diſpleaſed to feel that, after my long and frequent reſidences in France, I am ſtill unqualified. So little are theſe people ſuſceptible of delicacy, propriety, and decency, that they do not even uſe the words in the ſenſe we do, nor have they any otherſ expreſſive of the ſame meaning.