CHAPTER II. AN OUTLAWED ENGLISH AMBASSADOR
Soon after Paine had taken his seat in the Convention, Lord Fortescue wrote to Miles, an English agent in Paris, a letter fairly expressive of the feelings, fears, and hopes of his class.
"Tom Paine is just where he ought to be—a member of the Convention of Cannibals. One would have thought it impossible that any society upon the face of the globe should have been fit for the reception of such a being until the late deeds of the National Convention have shown them to be most fully qualified. His vocation will not be complete, nor theirs either, till his head finds its way to the top of a pike, which will probably not be long first."*
* This letter, dated September 26, 1792, appears in the
Miles Correspondence (London, 1890). There are indications
that Miles was favorably disposed towards Paine, and on that
account, perhaps, was subjected to influence by his
superiors. As an example of the way in which just minds were
poisoned towards Paine, a note of Miles may be mentioned. He
says he was "told by Col. Bosville, a declared friend of
Paine, that his manners and conversation were coarse, and he
loved the brandy bottle." But just as this Miles
Correspondence was appearing in London, Dr. Grèce found the
manuscript diary of Rickman, who had discovered (as two
entries show) that this "declared friend of Paine," Col.
Bosville, and professed friend of himself, was going about
uttering injurious falsehoods concerning him (Rickman),
seeking to alienate his friends at the moment when he most
needed them. Rickman was a bookseller engaged in circulating
Paine's works. There is little doubt that this wealthy Col.
Bosville was at the time unfriendly to the radicals. He was
staying in Paris on Paine's political credit, while
depreciating him.
But if Paine was so fit for such a Convention, why should they behead him? The letter betrays a real perception that Paine possesses humane principles, and an English courage, which would bring him into danger. This undertone of Fortescue's invective represented the profound confidence of Paine's adherents in England, When tidings came of the King's trial and execution, whatever glimpses they gained of their outlawed leader showed him steadfast as a star caught in one wave and another of that turbid tide. Many, alas, needed apologies, but Paine required none. That one Englishman, standing on the tribune for justice and humanity, amid three hundred angry Frenchmen in uproar, was as sublime a sight as Europe witnessed in those days. To the English radical the outlawry of Paine was as the tax on light, which was presently walling up London windows, or extorting from them the means of war against ideas.* The trial of Paine had elucidated nothing, except that, like Jupiter, John Bull had the thunderbolts, and Paine the arguments. Indeed, it is difficult to discover any other Englishman who at the moment pre-eminently stood for principles now proudly called English.
* In a copy of the first edition of "The Rights of Man,"
which I bought in London, I found, as a sort of book-mark, a
bill for 1L. 6s. 8d., two quarters' window-tax, due from Mr.
Williamson, Upper Fitzroy Place. Windows closed with bricks
are still seen in some of the gloomiest parts of London.
I have in manuscript a bitter anathema of the time:
"God made the Light, and saw that it was good: Pitt laid a
tax on it,—G—— d——— his blood!"
But Paine too presently held thunderbolts. Although his efforts to save Louis had offended the "Mountain," and momentarily brought him into the danger Lord Fortescue predicted, that party was not yet in the ascendant. The Girondists were still in power, and though some of their leaders had bent before the storm, that they might not be broken, they had been impressed both by the courage and the tactics of Paine. "The Girondists consulted Paine," says Lamartine, "and placed him on the Committee of Surveillance." At this moment many Englishmen were in France, and at a word from Paine some of their heads might have mounted on the pike which Lord Fortescue had imaginatively prepared for the head that wrote "The Rights of Man." There remained, for instance, Mr. Munro, already mentioned. This gentleman, in a note preserved in the English Archives, had written to Lord Grenville (September 8, 1792) concerning Paine: "What must a nation come to that has so little discernment in the election of their representatives, as to elect such a fellow?" But having lingered in Paris after England's formal declaration of war (February 11th), Munro was cast into prison. He owed his release to that "fellow" Paine, and must be duly credited with having acknowledged it, and changed his tone for the rest of his life,—which he probably owed to the English committeeman. Had Paine met with the fate which Lords Gower and Fortescue hoped, it would have gone hard with another eminent countryman of theirs,—Captain Grimstone, R.A. This personage, during a dinner party at the Palais Égalité, got into a controversy with Paine, and, forgetting that the English Jove could not in Paris safely answer argument with thunder, called Paine a traitor to his country and struck him a violent blow. Death was the penalty of striking a deputy, and Paine's friends were not unwilling to see the penalty inflicted on this stout young Captain who had struck a man of fifty-six. Paine had much trouble in obtaining from Barrère, of the Committee of Public Safety, a passport out of the country for Captain Grimstone, whose travelling expenses were supplied by the man he had struck.
In a later instance, related by Walter Savage Landor, Paine's generosity amounted to quixotism. The story is finely told by Landor, who says in a note: "This anecdote was communicated to me at Florence by Mr. Evans, a painter of merit, who studied under Lawrence, and who knew personally (Zachariah) Wilkes and Watt. In religion and politics he differed widely from Paine."
"Sir," said he, "let me tell you what he did for me. My name is Zachariah Wilkes. I was arrested in Paris and condemned to die. I had no friend here; and it was a time when no friend would have served me: Robespierre ruled. 'I am innocent!' I cried in desperation. 'I am innocent, so help me God! I am condemned for the offence of another.' I wrote a statement of my case with a pencil; thinking at first of addressing it to my judge, then of directing it to the president of the Convention. The jailer, who had been kind to me, gave me a gazette, and told me not to mind seeing my name, so many were there before it.
"'O!' said I 'though you would not lend me your ink, do transmit this paper to the president.'