People here charge you with having endeavoured to arm the Royal Corsicans against their brethren. They also wish to impeach your courage, from the small resistance you made at Vescovato. There is little foundation for these accusations; for the first was an immediate consequence of your projects, indeed one of your means of executing them; and, as we have already proved that your conduct was perfectly simple and natural, this incidental charge goes for nothing. As to your want of courage, I do not see how this is settled by the action of Vescovato: You did not go there with the serious purpose of fighting, but for the sake of encouraging, by your example, those who were wavering in the opposite party. And after all, what right has any one to require that you should have run the risk of losing the fruits of two years' good conduct, by being shot like a common soldier? But you must have felt a good deal, say some folk, on seeing your own house, and those of your friends, become a prey to the flames. Good God! when will narrow-minded people give over trying to judge of every thing? Your letting your house be burnt, put M. de Choiseul under the necessity of indemnifying you. Experience proved the accuracy of your calculations; you received much more than the value of what you lost. To be sure you are accused of having kept all to yourself, and of having given nothing but a trifle to the poor creatures whom you had seduced. In order to justify your having acted in this way, it is only necessary to inquire if you could do it with perfect safety. Now, the poor people who were so dependent on your protection, were neither in a condition to demand restitution, nor even to understand very clearly the injustice which was done them. They could not become malecontents, and rebel against your authority; being held in detestation by their countrymen, their return to their former sentiments could no longer be held as sincere. It was then very natural that, when a few thousand crowns thus came in your way, you should not let them out of your hands;—to have done so, would have been cheating yourself.
The French, beaten in spite of their gold, their commissions, the discipline of their numerous battalions, the activity of their squadrons, the skill of their artillerymen,—defeated at La Penta, Vescovato, Loretto, San Nicolai, Borgo Barbaggio, Oletta,—intrenched themselves, excessively disheartened. Winter, the time of their repose, was for you, sir, a period of the greatest labour; and if you could not triumph over the obstinacy of prejudices so deeply rooted in the minds of the people, you found means to seduce some of their chiefs, whom you succeeded, though with some difficulty, in bringing to a right way of thinking. This, along with the thirty battalions whom M. de Vaux brought with him the following spring, forced Corsica to yield to the yoke, and drove Paoli and the greatest fanatics into banishment.
One portion of the patriots had died in the defence of their independence, another had fled from a land of proscription, and which, from that time, was a hideous den of tyrants. But a great number could neither die nor take flight; they became the objects of persecution. Minds, whom it had been found impossible to corrupt, were of such a stamp, that the empire of the French could only be established on their total destruction. Alas! this plan was but too punctually executed. Some perished, victims of crimes unjustly imputed to them; others, betrayed by their own hospitality, and by their own confidence, expiated on the scaffold the sighs and tears into which they had been surprised by dissimulation. A great number, crowded by Narbonne-Fridzelar into the town of Toulon, poisoned by unwholesome food, tortured by their chains, and sinking under the most barbarous treatment, lived a short time in their misery, merely to see death slowly approaching. O God, witness of their innocence, why didst thou not become their avenger?
In the midst of this general calamity, in the midst of the groans and lamentations of this unfortunate people, you, however, began to enjoy the fruit of your labours—honours, dignities, pensions, all were showered upon you. Your prosperity would have advanced still more rapidly, had not Du Barri overthrown M. de Choiseul, and deprived you of a protector, who duly appreciated your services. This blow did not discourage you: you turned your attention to the bureaux; you merely felt the necessity of greater assiduity. This flattered the persons in office, your services were so notorious. All your wishes were granted. Not content with the lake of Biguglia, you demanded a part of the lands of many communities. Why, it is said, did you wish to deprive them of these lands? I ask, in my turn, what regard ought you to have for a nation by whom you knew yourself to be detested?
Your favourite project was, to divide the island among ten Barons. How! not satisfied with having assisted in forging the chains with which your country was bound, you wished still further to subject her to the absurd feudal government! But I commend you for having done as much harm to the Corsicans as you possibly could. You were at war with them; and, in war, to do evil for one's own advantage, is a first principle.
But let us pass over all these paltry matters—let us come to the present moment, and conclude a letter, which, from its frightful length, cannot fail to fatigue you.
The state of affairs in France prognosticated extraordinary events. You became alarmed for the effect of them in Corsica. The same madness with which we were possessed before the war, began, to your great scandal, to infect that amiable people. You comprehended the consequences; for, if noble sentiments were to gain an ascendency in public opinion, you would become no better than a traitor, instead of being a man of prudence and good sense. What was still worse, if ever noble sentiments were again to stir the blood of our ardent countrymen, and if ever a national government were to be the result of such sentiments, what would become of you? Your own conscience then began to terrify you. Restless, however, and unhappy as you were, you did not yield to your conscience. You resolved to risk every thing for every thing—but you played your game skilfully. You married, to strengthen your interest. A respectable man, who, relying on your word, had given his sister to your nephew, found himself abused. Your nephew, whose patrimony you had swallowed up in order to increase an inheritance which was to have been his own, was reduced to poverty, with a numerous family.
Having arranged your domestic affairs, you cast your eyes over the country. You saw it smoking with the blood of its martyrs, heaped with numerous victims, and, at every step, inspiring only ideas of vengeance. But you saw the ruffian soldier, the insolent pettifogger, the greedy tax-gatherer, lord it without contradiction; and the Corsican, groaning under the weight of triple chains, neither daring to think of what he was, nor to reflect on what he still might be. You said to yourself, in the joy of your heart, "Things go on well, and the only thing is to keep them so." And straightway you leagued yourself with the soldier, the pettifogger, and the tax-gatherer. The only point now to be attended to was, to procure deputies who should be animated by congenial sentiments; for, as to yourself, you could never suppose that a nation which was your enemy would choose you for her representative. But you necessarily changed your opinion, when the letters of convocation, by an absurdity which was perhaps the result of design, determined that the deputy from the nobility should be appointed by an assembly composed of only twenty-two persons. All that was necessary was to obtain twelve votes. Your associates in the higher council laboured with activity. Threats, promises, caresses, money, all were put in action. You succeeded. Your friends were not so successful among the Commons. The first president failed; and two men of exalted ideas—the one the son, the brother, the nephew, of the most zealous defenders of the common cause—the other a person who had seen Sionville and Narbonne, and whose mind was full of the horrid actions he had seen, while he lamented his own want of power to oppose them;—these two men were proclaimed deputies, and their appointment satisfied the wishes of the nation. The secret chagrin, the suppressed rage, which were every where caused by your appointment, form the best eulogy on the skill of your manœuvres, and the influence of your league.
When you arrived at Versailles, you were a zealous Royalist. When you now arrived at Paris, you must have seen with much concern, that the government, which it was wished to organize upon so many ruins, was the same with that which, in our country, had been drowned in so much blood.
The efforts of the unprincipled were powerless; the new constitution being admired by all Europe, and having become an object of interest to every thinking being, there remained for you but one resource. This was, to make it be believed that this constitution was not adapted to our island; although it was exactly the same with that which had produced such good effects, and which it cost so much blood to deprive us of.