A Residence in France During the Years 1792, 1793, 1794 and 1795, Complete. Charlotte Biggs
1792.
We paſſed a country ſo barren and unintereſting yeſterday, that even a profeſſional traveller could not have made a ſingle page of it. It was, in every thing, a perfect contraſt to the rich plains of Artoiſ—unfertile, neglected vallies and hills, miſerable farms, ſtill more miſerable cottages, and ſcarcely any appearance of population. The only place where we could refreſh the horſes was a ſmall houſe, over the door of which was the pompous deſignation of Hotel d'Angleterre. I know not if this be intended as a ridicule on our country, or as an attraction to our countrymen, but I, however, found ſomething beſides the appellation which reminded me of England, and which one does not often find in houſeſ of a better outſide; for though the rooms were ſmall, and only two in number, they were very clean, and the hoſteſs was neat and civil. The Hotel d'Angleterre, indeed, was not luxuriouſly ſupplied, and the whole of our repaſt was eggs and tea, which we had brought with us.—In the next room to that we occupied were two priſoners chained, whom the officers were conveying to Arras, for the purpoſe of better ſecurity. The ſecret hiſtory of this buſineſs is worth relating, as it marks the character of the moment, and the aſcendancy which the Jacobins are daily acquiring.
Theſe men were apprehended as ſmugglers, under circumſtances of peculiar atrocity, and committed to the gaol at ____. A few days after, a young girl, of bad character, who has much influence at the club, made a motion, that the people, in a body, ſhould demand the releaſe of the priſoners. The motion was carried, and the Hotel de Ville aſſailed by a formidable troop of ſailors, fiſh-women, &c.—The municipality refuſed to comply, the Garde Nationale was called out, and, on the mob perſiſting, fired over their heads, wounded a few, and the reſt diſperſed of themſelves.—Now you muſt underſtand, the latent motive of all this waſ two thouſand livres promiſed to one of the Jacobin leaders, if he ſucceeded in procuring the men their liberty.—I do not advance thiſ merely on conjecture. The fact is well known to the municipality; and the decent part of it would willingly have expelled this man, who is one of their members, but that they found themſelves too weak to engage in a ſerious quarrel with the Jacobins.—One cannot reflect, without apprehenſion, that any ſociety ſhould exiſt which can oppoſe the execution of the laws with impunity, or that a people, who are little ſenſible of realities, ſhould be thus abuſed by names. They ſuffer, with unfeeling patience, a thouſand enormitieſ—yet blindly riſk their liberties and lives to promote the deſigns of an adventurer, becauſe he harangues at a club, and calls himſelf a patriot.—I have juſt received advice that my friends have left Lauſanne, and are on their way to Paris. Our firſt plan of paſſing the winter there will be imprudent, if not impracticable, and we have concluded to take a houſe for the winter ſix months at Amiens, Chantilly, or ſome place which has the reputation of being quiet. I have already ordered enquiries to be made, and ſhall ſet out with Mrs. ____ in a day or two for Amiens. I may, perhaps, not write till our return; but ſhall not ceaſe to be, with great truth.—Yours, &c.
Amiens, 1792.
The departement de la Somme has the reputation of being a little ariſtocratic. I know not how far this be merited, but the people are certainly not enthuſiaſts. The villages we paſſed on our road hither were very different from thoſe on the frontierſ—we were hailed by no popular ſounds, no cries of Vive la nation! except from here and there ſome ragged boy in a red cap, who, from habit, aſſociated this ſalutation with the appearance of a carriage. In every place where there are half a dozen houſes is planted an unthriving tree of liberty, which ſeems to wither under the baneful influence of the bonnet rouge. [The red cap.] This Jacobin attribute is made of materials to reſiſt the weather, and may laſt ſome time; but the trees of liberty, being planted unſeaſonably, are already dead. I hope this will not prove emblematic, and that the power of the Jacobins may not outlive the freedom of the people.
The Convention begin their labours under diſagreeable auſpices. A general terror ſeems to have ſeized on the Pariſians, the roads are covered with carriages, and the inns filled with travellers. A new regulation has juſt taken place, apparently intended to check thiſ reſtleſs ſpirit. At Abbeville, though we arrived late and were fatigued, we were taken to the municipality, our paſſports collated with our perſons, and at the inn we were obliged to inſert in a book our names, the place of our birth, from whence we came, and where we were going. This, you will ſay, has more the features of a mature Inquiſition, than a new-born Republic; but the French have different notions of liberty from yours, and take theſe things very quietly.—At Flixecourt we eat out of pewter ſpoons, and the people told us, with much inquietude, that they had ſold their plate, in expectation of a decree of the Convention to take it from them. This decree, however, has not paſſed, but the alarm is univerſal, and does not imply any great confidence in the new government.
I have had much difficulty in executing my commiſſion, and have at laſt fixed upon a houſe, of which I fear my friends will not approve; but the panic which depopulates Paris, the bombardment of Liſle, and the tranquillity which has hitherto prevailed here, has filled the town, and rendered every kind of habitation ſcarce, and extravagantly dear: for you muſt remark, that though the Amienois are all ariſtocrates, yet when an intimidated ſufferer of the ſame party flies from Paris, and ſeeks an aſylum amongſt them, they calculate with much exactitude what they ſuppoſe neceſſity may compel him to give, and will not take a livre leſs.—The rent of houſes and lodgings, like the national funds, riſeſ and falls with the public diſtreſſes, and, like them, is an object of ſpeculation: ſeveral perſons to whom we were addreſſed were extremely indifferent about letting their houſes, alledging as a reaſon, that if the diſorders of Paris ſhould increaſe, they had no doubt of letting them to much greater advantage.
We were at the theatre laſt night—it was opened for the firſt time ſince France has been declared a republic, and the Jacobins vociferated loudly to have the fleur de lys, ad other regal emblems, effaced. Obedience waſ no ſooner promiſed to this command, than it was ſucceeded by another not quite ſo eaſily complied with—they inſiſted on having the Marſelloiſ Hymn ſung. In vain did the manager, with a ludicrous ſort of terror, declare, that there were none of his company who had any voice, or who knew either the words of the muſic of the hymn in queſtion. "C'eſt egal, il faut chanter," ["No matter for that, they muſt ſing."] reſounded from all the patriots in the houſe. At laſt, finding the thing impoſſible, they agreed to a compromiſe; and one of the actors promiſed to ſing it on the morrow, as well as the trifling impediment of having no voice would permit him.—You think your galleries deſpotic when they call for an epilogue that is forgotten, and the actreſs who ſhould ſpeak it iſ undreſt; or when they inſiſt upon enlivening the laſt acts of Jane Shore with Roaſt Beef! What would you think if they would not diſpenſe with a hornpipe on the tight-rope by Mrs. Webb? Yet, bating the danger, I aſſure you, the audience of Amiens was equally unreaſonable. But liberty at preſent ſeems to be in an undefined ſtate; and until our rulers ſhall have determined what it is, the matter will continue to be ſettled as it is now—by each man uſurping as large a portion of tyranny as hiſ ſituation will admit of. He who ſubmits without repining to hiſ diſtrict, to his municipality, or even to the club, domineers at the theatre, or exerciſes in the ſtreet a manual cenſure on ariſtocratic apparel.*
*It was common at this time to inſult women in the ſtreets if dreſſed too well, or in colours the people choſe to call ariſtocratic. I was myſelf nearly thrown down for having on a ſtraw bonnet with green ribbons.
Our embarraſſment for ſmall change is renewed: many of the communes who had iſſued bills of five, ten, and fifteen ſols, repayable in aſſignats, are become bankrupts, which circumſtance has thrown ſuch a diſcredit on all this kind of nominal money, that the bills of one town will not paſſ at another. The original creation of theſe