* This gentleman's fate is truly to be pitied. After rejecting, aſ his friends aſſert, two hundred a year from the Engliſh Miniſtry, he is obliged now to be ſilent gratis, with the additional deſagrement of occupying a corner in the Luxembourg.
—Adieu!—Heaven knows how often I may have to repeat the word thuſ unmeaningly. I ſit here, like Pope's bard "lulled by ſoft zephyrſ through the broken pane," and ſcribbling high-ſounding phraſes of monarchy, patriotiſm, and republics, while I forget the humbler ſubject of our wants and embarraſſments. We can ſcarcely procure either bread, meat, or any thing elſe: the houſe is crouded by an importation of priſoners from Abbeville, and we are more ſtrictly guarded than ever. My friend ennuyes as uſual, and I grow impatient, not having ſang froid enough for a true French ennuie in a ſituation that would tempt one to hang one's ſelf.
March, 1794.
The aſpect of the times promiſes no change in our favour; on the contrary, every day ſeems to bring its attendant evil. The gentry who had eſcaped the comprehenſive decree againſt ſuſpected people, are now ſwept away in this and the three neighbouring departments by a private order of the repreſentatives, St. Juſt, Lebas, and Dumont.*
* The order was to arreſt, without exception, all the ci-devant Nobleſſſe, men, women, and children, in the departments of the Somme, North, and Pas de Calais, and to exclude them rigourouſly from all external communication—(mettre au ſecret).
—A ſeverer regimen is to be adopted in the priſons, and huſbands are already ſeparated from their wives, and fathers from their daughters, for the purpoſe, as it is alledged, of preſerving good morals. Both thiſ place and the Bicetre being too full to admit of more inhabitants, two large buildings in the town are now appropriated to the male priſoners.— My friends continue at Arras, and, I fear, in extreme diſtreſs. I underſtand they have been plundered of what things they had with them, and the little ſupply I was able to ſend them was intercepted by ſome of the harpies of the priſons. Mrs. D____'s health has not been able to ſuſtain theſe accumulated miſfortunes, and ſhe is at preſent at the hoſpital. All this is far from enlivening, even had I a larger ſhare of the national philoſophy; and did I not oftener make what I obſerve, than what I ſuffer, the ſubject of my letters, I ſhould tax your patience aſ much by repetition, as I may by dullneſs.
When I enumerated in my laſt letters a few of the obligations the French have to their friends in England, I ought alſo to have obſerved, with how little gratitude they behave to thoſe who are here. Without mentioning Mr. Thomas Paine, whoſe perſecution will doubtleſs be recorded by abler pens, nothing, I aſſure you, can be more unpleaſant than the ſituation of one of theſe Anglo-Gallican patriots. The republicans, ſuppoſing that an Engliſhman who affects a partiality for them can be only a ſpy, execute all the laws, which concern foreigners, upon him with additional rigour;* and when an Engliſh Jacobin arrives in priſon, far from meeting with conſolation or ſympathy, his diſtreſſes are beheld with triumph, and hiſ perſon avoided with abhorrence. They talk much here of a gentleman, of very democratic principles, who left the priſon before I came. It ſeems, that, notwithſtanding Dumont condeſcended to viſit at his houſe, and waſ on terms of intimacy with him, he was arreſted, and not diſtinguiſhed from the reſt of his countrymen, except by being more harſhly treated. The caſe of this unfortunate gentleman was rendered peculiarly amuſing to his companions, and mortifying to himſelf, by his having a very pretty miſtreſs, who had ſufficient influence over Dumont to obtain any thing but the liberation of her protector. The Deputy was on this head inflexible; doubtleſs, as a proof of his impartial obſervance of the laws, and to ſhow that, like the juſt man in Horace, he deſpiſed the clamour of the vulgar, who did not ſcruple to hint, that the crime of our countryman was rather of a moral than a political nature—that he waſ unaccommodating, and recalcitrant—addicted to ſuſpicions and jealouſies, which it was thought charitable to cure him of, by a little wholeſome ſecluſion. In fact, the ſummary of this gentleman's hiſtory is not calculated to tempt his fellow ſocietiſts on your ſide of the water to imitate his example.—After taking refuge in France from the tyranny and diſappointments he experienced in England, and purchaſing a large national property to ſecure himſelf the rights of a citizen, he iſ awakened from his dream of freedom, to find himſelf lodged in a priſon, his eſtate under ſequeſtration, and his miſtreſs in requiſition.—Let uſ leave this Coriolanus among the Volſcianſ—it is a perſecution to make converts, rather than martyrs, and
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"Quand le malheur ne ſeroit bon, "Qu'a mettre un ſot a la raiſon, "Toujours ſeroit-ce a juſte cauſe "Qu'on le dit bon a quelque choſe."* |
* If calamity were only good to reſtore a fool to his ſenſes, ſtill we might juſtly ſay, "that it was good for ſome thing."