A Residence in France During the Years 1792, 1793, 1794 and 1795, Complete. Charlotte Biggs
hinted, that Mr. Thomas Paine may be a ſpy, and every houſeholder who receives a lodger or viſitor, and every proprietor who lets a houſe, is obliged to regiſter the names of thoſe he entertains, or who are his tenants, and to become reſponſible for their conduct. This is done at the municipality, and all who thuſ venture to change their reſidence, of whatever age, ſex, or condition, muſt preſent themſelves, and ſubmit to an examination. The power of the municipalities is indeed very great; and as they are chiefly ſelected from the lower claſs of ſhop-keepers, you may conclude that their authority is not exerciſed with much politeneſs or moderation.
The timid or indolent inhabitant of London, whoſe head has been filled with the Baſtilles and police of the ancient government, and who would aſ ſoon have ventured to Conſtantinople as to Paris, reads, in the debateſ of the Convention, that France is now the freeeſt country in the world, and that ſtrangers from all corners of it flock to offer their adorationſ in this new Temple of Liberty. Allured by theſe deſcriptions, he reſolves on the journey, willing, for once in his life, to enjoy a taſte of the bleſſing in ſublimate, which he now learns has hitherto been allowed him only in the groſs element.—He experiences a thouſand impoſitions on landing with his baggage at Calais, but he ſubmits to them without murmuring, becauſe his countrymen at Dover had, on hiſ embarkation, already kindly initiated him into this ſcience of taxing the inquiſitive ſpirit of travellers. After inſcribing his name, and rewarding the cuſtom-houſe officers for rummaging his portmanteau, he determines to amuſe himſelf with a walk about the town. The firſt centinel he encounters ſtops him, becauſe he has no cockade: he purchaſeſ one at the next ſhop, (paying according to the exigency of the caſe,) and is ſuffered to paſs on. When he has ſettled his bill at the Auberge "a l'Angloiſe," and emagines he has nothing to do but to purſue his journey, he finds he has yet to procure himſelf a paſſport. He waits an hour and an half for an officer, who at length appears, and with a rule in one hand, and a pen in the other, begins to meaſure the height, and take an inventory of the features of the aſtoniſhed ſtranger. By the time thiſ ceremony is finiſhed, the gates are ſhut, and he can proceed no farther, till the morrow. He departs early, and is awakened twice on the road to Boulogne to produce his paſſport: ſtill, however, he keeps his temper, concluding, that the new light has not yet made its way to the frontiers, and that theſe troubleſome precautions may be neceſſary near a port. He continues his route, and, by degrees, becomes habituated to this regimen of liberty; till, perhaps, on the ſecond day, the validity of hiſ paſſport is diſputed, the municipality who granted it have the reputation of ariſtocracy, or the whole is informal, and he muſt be content to wait while a meſſenger is diſpatched to have it rectified, and the officerſ eſtabliſh the ſeverity of their patriotiſm at the expence of the ſtranger.
Our traveller, at length, permitted to depart, feels his patience wonderfully diminiſhed, execrates the regulations of the coaſt, and the ignorance of ſmall towns, and determines to ſtop a few days and obſerve the progreſs of freedom at Ameins. Being a large commercial place, he here expects to behold all the happy effects of the new conſtitution; he congratulates himſelf on travelling at a period when he can procure information, and diſcuſs his political opinions, unannoyed by fears of ſtate priſons, and ſpies of the police. His landlord, however, acquaintſ him, that his appearance at the Town Houſe cannot be diſpenſed with—he attends three or four different hours of appointment, and is each time ſent away, (after waiting half an hour with the valets de ville in the antichamber,) and told that the municipal officers are engaged. As an Engliſhman, he has little reliſh for theſe ſubordinate ſovereigns, and difficult audienceſ—he hints at the next coffee-houſe that he had imagined a ſtranger might have reſted two days in a free country, without being meaſured, and queſtioned, and without detailing his hiſtory, aſ though he were ſuſpected of deſertion; and ventures on ſome implied compariſon between the ancient "Monſieur le Commandant," and the modern "Citoyen Maire."—To his utter aſtoniſhment he finds, that though there are no longer emiſſaries of the police, there are Jacobin informers; hiſ diſcourſe is reported to the municipality, his buſineſs in the town becomes the ſubject of conjecture, he is concluded to be "un homme ſanſ aveu," [One that can't give a good account of himſelf.] and arreſted aſ "ſuſpect;" and it is not without the interference of the people to whom he may have been recommended at Paris, that he is releaſed, and enabled to continue his journey.
At Paris he lives in perpetual alarm. One night he is diſturbed by a viſite domiciliaire, another by a riot—one day the people are in inſurrection for bread, and the next murdering each other at a public feſtival; and our country-man, even after making every allowance for the confuſion of a recent change, thinks himſelf very fortunate if he reacheſ England in ſafety, and will, for the reſt of his life, be ſatiſfied with ſuch a degree of liberty as is ſecured to him by the conſtitution of hiſ own country.
You ſee I have no deſign of tempting you to pay us a viſit; and, to ſpeak the truth, I think thoſe who are in England will ſhow their wiſdom by remaining there. Nothing but the ſtate of Mrs. D____'s health, and her dread of the ſea at this time of the year, detains us; for every day ſubtracts from my courage, and adds to my apprehenſions.
—Yours, &c.
A RESIDENCE IN FRANCE,
DURING THE YEARS
1792, 1793, 1794, and 1795
DESCRIBED IN A SERIES OF LETTERS
FROM AN ENGLISH LADY;
With General And Incidental Remarkſ
On The French Character And Manners.
Prepared for the Preſſ
By John Gifford, Eſq.
Second Edition.
_Plus je vis l'Etranger plus j'aimai ma Patrie._
--Du Belloy.
London: Printed for T. N. Longman, Paternoſter Row. 1797.
1793
Amiens, January, 1793.
Vanity, I believe, my dear brother, is not ſo innoxious a quality as we are deſirous of ſuppoſing. As it is the moſt general of all human failings, ſo is it regarded with the moſt indulgence: a latent conſciouſneſs averts the cenſure of the weak; and the wiſe, who flatter themſelves with being exempt from it, plead in its favour, by ranking it as a foible too light for ſerious condemnation, or too inoffenſive for puniſhment. Yet, if vanity be not an actual vice, it is certainly a potential one—it often leads us to ſeek reputation rather than virtue, to ſubſtitute appearances for realities, and to prefer the eulogiums of the world to the approbation of our own minds. When it takes poſſeſſion of an uninformed or an ill-conſtituted mind, it becomes the ſource of a thouſand errors, and a thouſand abſurdities. Hence, youth ſeeks a preeminence in vice, and age in folly; hence, many boaſt of errors they would not commit, or claim diſtinction by inveſting themſelves with an imputation of exceſs in ſome popular abſurdity—duels are courted by the daring, and vaunted by the coward—he who trembles at the idea of death and a future ſtate when alone, proclaims himſelf