* The Commandant had been originally a private ſoldier in the regiment of Dillon.—I know not how he had obtained his advancement, but, however obtained, it proved fatal to him: he was, a very ſhort time after I ſaw him, guillotined at Arras, for having borrowed money of a priſoner. His real crime was, probably, treating the priſoners in general with too much conſideration and indulgence; and at this period every ſuſpicion of the kind was fatal.
In England it would not be very decent to make ſuch a requeſt, or to accept ſuch an accommodation. In France, neither the one nor the other is unuſual, and we had ſuffered lately ſo many embarraſſments of the kind, that we were, if not reconciled, at leaſt inured to them. Before, however, we could determine, the gentleman had been informed of our ſituation, and came to offer his ſervices. You may judge of our ſurprize when we found in the ſtranger, who had his head bound up and his arm in a ſling, General ____, a relation of Mad. de ____. We had now, therefore, leſs ſcruple in ſharing his room, though we agreed, notwithſtanding, only to repoſe a few hours in our clothes.
After taking ſome tea, the remainder of the evening was dedicated to reciprocal converſation of all kinds; and our guards having acquaintance in the town, and knowing it was impoſſible for us to eſcape, even were we ſo inclined, very civilly left us to ourſelves. We found the General had been wounded at Maubeuge, and was now abſent on conge for the recovery of his health. He talked of the preſent ſtate of public affairs like a military man who is attached to his profeſſion, and who thinks it hiſ duty to fight at all events, whatever the rights or merits of thoſe that employ him. He confeſſed, indeed, that they were repulſing their external enemies, only to confirm the power of thoſe who were infinitely more to be dreaded at home, and that the condition of a General was more to be commiſerated at this time than any other: if he miſcarry, diſgrace and the Guillotine await him—if he be ſucceſſful, he gains little honour, becomes an object of jealouſy, and aſſiſts in rivetting the chains of his country. He ſaid, the armies were for the moſt part licentious and inſubordinate, but that the political diſcipline waſ terrible—the ſoldiers are allowed to drink, pillage, and inſult their officers with impunity, but all combinations are rigorouſly ſuppreſſed, the ſlighteſt murmur againſt the Repreſentative on miſſion is treaſon, and to diſapprove of a decree of the convention, death—that every man of any note in the army is beſet with ſpies, and if they leave the camp on any occaſion, it is more neceſſary to be on their guard againſt theſe wretches than againſt an ambuſcade of the enemy; and he related a circumſtance which happened to himſelf, as an example of what he mentioned, and which will give you a tolerable idea of the preſent ſyſtem of government.—After the relief of Dunkirk, being quartered in the neighbourhood of St. Omer, he occaſionally went to the town on hiſ private concerns. One day, while he was waiting at the inn where he intended to dine, two young men accoſted him, and after engaging him in a general converſation for ſome time, began to talk with great freedom, though with an affected caution of public men and meaſures, of the banditti who governed, the tyranny that was exerciſed, and the ſupineneſſ of the people: in ſhort, of all thoſe too poignant truths which conſtitute the leze nation of the day. Mons. de ____ was not at firſt very attentive, but finding their diſcourſe become ſtill more liberal, it excited his ſuſpicions, and caſting his eyes on a glaſs oppoſite to where they were converſing, he perceived a ſort of intelligence between them, which immediately ſuggeſted to him the profeſſion of his companions; and calling to a couple of dragoons who had attended him, ordered them to arreſt the two gentlemen as artiſtocrates, and convey them without ceremony to priſon. They ſubmitted, ſeemingly more ſurprized than alarmed, and in two hours the General received a note from a higher power, deſiring him to ſet them at liberty, as they were agents of the republic.
Duqueſnoy, one of the Repreſentatives now with the Northern army, iſ ignorant and brutal in the extreme. He has made his brother (who, aſ well as himſelf, uſed to retail hops in the ſtreets of St. Pol,) a General; and in order to deliver him from rivals and critics, he breaks, ſuſpends, arreſts, and ſends to the Guillotine every officer of any merit that comes in his way. After the battle of Maubeuge, he arreſted a General Bardell, [The Generals Bardell and D'Aveſnes, and ſeveral others, were afterwards guillotined at Paris.] for accommodating a wounded priſoner of diſtinction (I think a relation of the Prince of Cobourg) with a bed, and tore with his own hands the epaulette from the ſhoulderſ of thoſe Generals whoſe diviſions had not ſuſtained the combat ſo well aſ the others. His temper, naturally ſavage and choleric, is irritated to fury by the habit of drinking large quantities of ſtrong liquors; and Mad. de ___'s relation aſſured us, that he had himſelf ſeen him take the Mayor of Aveſnes (a venerable old man, who was preſenting ſome petition to him that regarded the town,) by the hair and throw him on the ground, with the geſtures of an enraged cannibal. He alſo confined one of hiſ own fellow deputies in the tower of Guiſe, upon a very frivolous pretext, and merely on his own authority. In fact, I ſcarcely remember half the horrors told us of this man; and I ſhall only remind you, that he has an unlimited controul over the civil conſtitution of the Northern army, and over the whole department of the North.
You, I ſuppoſe, will be better informed of military events than we are, and I mention our friend's conjecture, that (beſides an enormous number of killed) the wounded at Maubeuge amounted to twelve or fourteen thouſand, only to remark the deception which is ſtill practiſed on the people; for no publiſhed account ever allowed the number to be more than a few hundreds.—Beſides theſe profeſſional details, the General gave uſ ſome very unpleaſant family ones. On returning to his father's chateau, where he hoped to be taken care of while his wounds were curing, he found every room in it under ſeals, three guards in poſſeſſion, his two ſiſterſ arreſted at St. Omer, where they happened to be on a viſit, and hiſ father and mother confined in ſeparate houſes of detention at Arras. After viſiting them, and making ſome ineffectual applications for their relief, he came to the neighbourhood of Dourlens, expecting to find an aſylum with an uncle, who had hitherto eſcaped the general perſecution of the gentry. Here again his diſappointment and chagrin were renewed: hiſ uncle had been carried off to Amiens the morning of his arrival, and the houſe rendered inacceſſible, by the uſual affixture of ſeals, and an attendant pair of myrmidons to guard them from infraction. Thus excluded from all his family habitations, he had taken up his reſidence for a day or two at the inn where we met him, his intention being to return to Arras.
In the morning we made our adieus and purſued our journey; but, tenaciouſ of this comparative liberty and the enjoyment of pure air, we prevailed on our conductors to let us dine on the road, ſo that we lingered with the unwillingneſs of truant children, and did not reach Amiens until dark. When we arrived at the Hotel de Ville, one of the guards enquired how we were to be diſpoſed of. Unfortunately for us, Dumont happened to be there himſelf, and on hearing we were ſent from Arras by order of Le Bon, declared moſt furiouſly (for our Repreſentative is ſubject to choler ſince his acceſſion to greatneſs) that he would have no priſonerſ received from Arras, and that we ſhould ſleep at the Conciergerie, and be conveyed back again on the morrow. Terrified at this menace, we perſuaded the guard to repreſent to Dumont that we had been ſent to Amiens at our own inſtance, and that we had been originally arreſted by himſelf, and were therefore deſirous of returning to the department where he was on miſſion, and where we had more reaſon to expect juſtice than at Arras. Mollified, perhaps, by this implied preference of his authority, he conſented that we ſhould remain for the preſent at Amiens, and ordered us to be taken to the Bicetre. Whoever has been uſed to connect with the word Bicetre the idea of the priſon ſo named at Paris, muſt recoil with horror upon hearing they are deſtined to ſuch a abode. Mad. de ___, yet weak from the remains of her illneſs, laid hold of me in a tranſport of grief; but, far from being able to calm or conſole her, my thoughts were ſo bewildered that I did not, till we alighted at the gate, begin to be really ſenſible of our ſituation. The night was dark and dreary, and our firſt entrance was into a kitchen, ſuch as my imagination had pictured the ſubterraneous one of the robbers in Gil Blas. Here we underwent the ceremony of having our pocket-books ſearched for papers and letters, and our trunks rummaged for knives and fire-arms. This done, we were ſhown to the lodging I have deſcribed, and the poor prieſts, already inſufferably crouded, were obliged almoſt to join their beds in order to make room for us.—I will not pain you by a recital of all the embarraſſments and diſtreſſes we had to ſurmount before we could even reſt ourſelves. We were in want of every thing, and the rules of the priſon ſuch, that it was nearly impoſſible, for ſome time, to procure any thing: but the human mind is more flexible than we are often diſpoſed to imagine it; and in two days we were able to ſee our ſituation in thiſ beſt point of view, (that is, as an eſcape from Arras,) and the affair of ſubmitting our bodies to our minds muſt be atchieved by time.—We have now been here a week. We have ſounded the very depth of humiliation, taken our daily allowance of bread with the reſt of the priſoners, and contracted a moſt friendly intimacy with the gaoler.
I have diſcovered ſince our arrival, that the order for tranſferring uſ hither deſcribed me as a native of the Low Countries. I know not how this happened, but my friend has inſiſted on my not rectifying the miſtake, for as the French talk continually of re-conquering Brabant, ſhe perſuades herſelf ſuch an event would procure me my liberty. I neither deſire the one nor expect the other; but, to indulge her, I ſpeak no Engliſh, and avoid two or three of my countrymen who I am told are here. There have been alſo ſome Engliſh families who were lately removed, but the French pronounce our names ſo ſtrangely, that I have not been able to learn who they were.
November 19, 1793.
The Engliſh in general, eſpecially of late years, have been taught to entertain very formidable notions of the Baſtille and other ſtate priſonſ of the ancient government, and they were, no doubt, horrid enough; yet I have not hitherto been able to diſcover that thoſe of the new republic are any way preferable. The only difference is, that the great number of priſoners which, for want of room, are obliged to be heaped together, makes it impoſſible to exclude them as formerly from communication, and, inſtead of being maintained at the public expence, they now, with great difficulty, are able to procure wherewithal to eat at their own. Our preſent habitation is an immenſe building, about a quarter of a mile from the town, intended originally for the common gaol of the province. The ſituation is damp and unwholeſome, and the water ſo bad, that I ſhould ſuppoſe a long continuance here of ſuch a number of priſoners muſt be productive of endemical diſorders. Every avenue to the houſe is guarded, and no one is permitted to ſtop and look up at the windows, under pain of becoming a reſident. We are ſtrictly prohibited from all external intercourſe, except by writing; and every ſcrap of paper, though but an order for a dinner, paſſes the inquiſition of three different people before it reaches its deſtination, and, of courſe, many letters and noteſ are miſlaid, and never ſent at all.—There is no court or garden in which the priſoners are allowed to walk, and the only exerciſe they can take iſ in damp paſſages, or a ſmall yard, (perhaps thirty feet ſquare,) which often ſmells ſo deteſtably, that the atmoſphere of the houſe itſelf iſ leſs mephitic.