As to peace, I have not a doubt that we shall have it forthwith. Our folks are prepared to say that the pacification of Europe has swept away the matters in contestation, as M. the Secretary of State has it. All that we see in the government prints, is to reconcile us the better to the terms which they must receive from the enemy. From the time of his flight from Egypt, my opinion of the character of Bonaparte has never changed, except for the worse. I have considered him from that date a coward, and ascribed his success to the deity he worships—Fortune. His insolence and rashness have met their just reward. Had he found an efficient government in France on his abandonment of his brave companions in arms in Egypt, and return to Paris, he would have been cashiered for ruining the best appointed armament that ever left an European port. But all was confusion and anarchy at Paris, and, instead of a coup de fusil, he was rewarded with a sceptre. He succeeded in throwing the blame of Aboukir on poor Brueys. He could safely talk of “his orders to the admiral,” after L'Orient had blown up. His Russian and German campaign is another such commentary on his character; it is all of a piece.
If the Allies adhere to their treaty of Chaumont, the peace of Europe will be preserved—but in France I think the seeds of disorder must abound. Instead of the triple aristocracy of the Noblesse, the Church and the Parliaments, I see nothing but janissaries and a divan of ruffians: Algiers on a great scale. Moral causes I see none—and I am well persuaded that these are not created in a day. Matters of inveterate opinion, when once rooted up, are dead never to revive: other opinions must succeed them. But I am prosing—uttering a string of common place, that every one can write, and no one can deny. But you brought it on yourself—you expected I would say something, and I resolved to try. I can bear witness to the fact of Mrs. B's prediction respecting Bonaparte's retirement. I wish I were permitted to name five ladies who should constitute the Cabinet of this country: our affairs would be conducted in another guess manner. This reminds me of Mrs. G., of whom I have at last heard. Mr. G. wrote me late in February from London. They were going to Bath, and “if circumstances on the continent would permit, meant to take a tour through France.” How well timed their trip to Europe has been.
I am here completely hors du monde. My neighbor Clark, with whom I have made a violent effort to establish an intercourse, has been here twice by invitation. W. Leigh as often, on his way to court, and on Saturday I was agreeably surprised by stumbling on Frank Gilmer, who was wandering to and fro in the woods, seeking my cabin. He left me on Tuesday for his brother's in Henry. Except my standing dish, you have my whole society for nine weeks. On the terms by which I hold it, life is a curse, from which I would willingly escape, if I knew where to fly. I have lost my relish for reading—indeed I could not devour even the Corsair3 with the zest that Lord Byron's pen generally inspires. My plantation affairs always irksome are now revolting. I have lost ¾ of the finest and largest crop I ever had.
3 It is very inferior to the Giaour or the Bride. The character of Conrad is unnatural. Blessed with his mistress, he has no motive for desperation.
My best respects and regards to Mrs. B.
Your's unchangeably, I am as ever, yours,
JOHN RANDOLPH, of Roanoke.
Dr. Dudley is (as you may suppose) a treasure to me above all price. Without him what should I do? He desires his respects to you both.
As to an English constitution for France, they will have one when they all speak the English language, and not before. Have you read Morris's oration on the 29th of June? His description of Bonaparte's “taking money for his crown” is very fine. It is a picture. I see him. There are some cuts in the same page that our fulminating statesman will not like.
SUNDAY, the 17th.
I am compelled to be at Prince Edward Court tomorrow, and the weather is now so intensely hot that I shall go a part of the way this afternoon, and put my letter in the Farmville P. O. whence it will go direct to Richmond, instead of waiting five days on the road. Our crops lately drowned, are now burning up, and I begin to feel the effects of the fresh in my health as well as my purse. Dudley and myself have both experienced the ill consequences of our daily visits to the low grounds. The negroes, however, continue healthy: out of more than 200, not a patient since I came home. Who is it that says “il-y-a tant de plaisir à bavarder avec un ami!” Perhaps you will reply that the pleasure is not so great etre bavardè.
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