A Residence in France During the Years 1792, 1793, 1794 and 1795, Complete. Charlotte Biggs
all the books. The French are on the eve of exhibiting the ſingular ſpectacle of a nation enlightened by ſcience, accuſtomed to the benefit of laws and the enjoyment of arts, ſuddenly becoming barbarous by ſyſtem, and ſinking into ignorance from choice.—When the Goths ſhared the moſt curiouſ antiques by weight, were they not more civilized than the Pariſian of 1793, who diſturbs the aſhes of Henry the Fourth, or deſtroys the monument of Turenne, by a decree?—I have myſelf been forced to an act very much in the ſpirit of the times, but I could not, without riſking my own ſafety, do otherwiſe; and I ſat up late laſt night for the purpoſe of burning Burke, which I had brought with me, but had fortunately ſo well concealed, that it eſcaped the late inquiſition. I indeed made thiſ ſacrifice to prudence with great unwillingneſſ—every day, by confirming Mr. Burke's aſſertions, or fulfilling his predictions, had ſo increaſed my reverence for the work, that I regarded it as a kind of political oracle. I did not, however, deſtroy it without an apologetic apoſtrophe to the author's benevolence, which I am ſure would ſuffer, were he to be the occaſion, though involuntarily, of conducting a female to a priſon or the Guillotine.
"How chances mock, and changes fill the cup of alteration up with diverſ liquors."—On the ſame hearth, and in a mingled flame, was conſumed the very conſtitution of 1789, on which Mr. Burke's book was a cenſure, and which would now expoſe me to equal danger were it to be found in my poſſeſſion. In collecting the aſhes of theſe two compoſitions, the tendency of which is ſo different, (for ſuch is the complexion of the moment, that I would not have even the ſervant ſuſpect I had been burning a quantity of papers,) I could not but moralize on the mutability of popular opinion. Mr. Burke's Gallic adverſaries are now moſt of them proſcribed and anathematized more than himſelf. Perhaps another year may ſee his buſt erected on the piedeſtal which now ſupports that of Brutuſ or Le Pelletier.
The letters I have written to you ſince the communication waſ interrupted, with ſome other papers that I am ſolicitous to preſerve, I have hitherto always carried about me, and I know not if any danger, merely probable, will induce me to part with them. You will not, I think, ſuſpect me of attaching any conſequence to my ſcribblings from vanity; and if I run ſome perſonal riſk in keeping them, it is becauſe the ſituation of this country is ſo ſingular, and the events which occur almoſt daily ſo important, that the remarks of any one who is unlucky enough to be a ſpectator, may intereſt, without the advantage of literary talents.—Yours.
Peronne, Auguſt 24, 1793.
I have been out to-day for the firſt time ſince the arreſt of the Engliſh, and, though I have few acquaintances here, my adventure at the Hotel de Ville has gained me a ſort of popularity. I was ſaluted by many people I did not know, and overwhelmed with expreſſions of regret for what had happened, or congratulations on my having eſcaped ſo well.
The French are not commonly very much alive to the ſufferings of others, and it is ſome mortification to my vanity that I cannot, but at the expence of a reproaching conſcience, aſcribe the civilities I have experienced on this occaſion to my perſonal merit. It would doubtleſſ have been highly flattering to me to relate the tender and general intereſt I had excited even among this cold-hearted people, who ſcarcely feel for themſelves: but the truth is, they are diſpoſed to take the part of any one whom they think perſecuted by their government; and their repreſentative, Dumont, is ſo much deſpiſed in his private character, and deteſted in his public one, that it ſuffices to have been ill treated by him, to enſure one a conſiderable portion of the public good will.
This diſpoſition is not a little conſolatory, at a time when the whole rage of an oligarchical tyranny, though impotent againſt the Engliſh as a nation, meanly exhauſts itſelf on the few helpleſs individuals within itſ power. Embarraſſments accumulate and if Mr. Pitt's agents did not moſt obligingly write letters, and theſe letters happen to be intercepted juſt when they are moſt neceſſary, the Comite de Salut Publique would be at a loſs how to account for them.
Aſſignats have fallen into a diſcredit beyond example, an hundred and thirty livres having been given for one Louis-d'or; and, as if this were not the natural reſult of circumſtances like the preſent, a correſpondence between two Engliſhmen informs us, that it is the work of Mr. Pitt, who, with an unparalleled ingenuity, has contrived to ſend couriers to every town in France, to concert meaſures with the bankerſ for this purpoſe. But if we may believe Barrere, one of the members of the Committee, this atrocious policy of Mr. Pitt will not be unrevenged, for another intercepted letter contains aſſurances that an hundred thouſand men have taken up arms in England, and are preparing to march againſt the iniquitous metropolis that gives this obnoxious Miniſter ſhelter.
My ſituation is ſtill the ſame—I have no hope of returning to Amiens, and have juſt reaſon to be apprehenſive for my tranquillity here. I had a long converſation this morning with two people whom Dumont has left here to keep the town in order during his abſence. The ſubject was to prevail on them to give me a permiſſion to leave Peronne, but I could not ſucceed. They were not, I believe, indiſpoſed to gratify me, but were afraid of involving themſelves. One of them expreſſed much partiality for the Engliſh, but was very vehement in his diſapprobation of their form of government, which he ſaid was "deteſtable." My cowardice did not permit me to argue much in its behalf, (for I look upon theſe people aſ more dangerous than the ſpies of the old police,) and I only ventured to obſerve, with great diffidence, that though the Engliſh government waſ monarchical, yet the power of the Crown was very much limited; and that as the chief ſubjects of our complaints at preſent were not our inſtitutions, but certain practical errors, they might be remedied without any violent or radical changes; and that our nobility were neither numerous nor privileged, and by no means obnoxious to the majority of the people.—"Ah, vous avez donc de la nobleſſe bleſſe en Angleterre, ce ſont peut-etre les milords," ["What, you have nobility in England then? The milords, I ſuppoſe."] exclaimed our republican, and it operated on my whole ſyſtem of defence like my uncle Toby's ſmoke-jack, for there was certainly no diſcuſſing the Engliſh conſtitution with a political critic, who I found was ignorant even of the exiſtence of a third branch of it; yet this reformer of governments and abhorrer of Kings has power delegated to him more extenſive than thoſe of an Engliſh Sovereign, though I doubt if he can write his own language; and his moral reputation is ſtill leſs in his favour than his ignorance—for, previouſ to the revolution, he was known only as a kind of ſwindler, and has more than once been nearly convicted of forgery.—This is, however, the deſcription of people now chiefly employed, for no honeſt man would accept of ſuch commiſſions, nor perform the ſervices annexed to them.
Bread continues very ſcarce, and the populace of Paris are, as uſual, very turbulent; ſo that the neighbouring departments are deprived of their ſubſiſtence to ſatiſfy the wants of a metropolis that has no claim to an exemption from the general diſtreſs, but that which ariſes from the fears of the Convention. As far as I have opportunity of learning or obſerving, this part of France is in that ſtate of tranquillity which iſ not the effect of content but ſupineneſs; the people do not love their government, but they ſubmit to it, and their utmoſt exertions amount only to a little occaſional obſtinacy, which a few dragoons always reduce to compliance. We are ſometimes alarmed by reports that parties of the enemy are approaching the town, when the gates are ſhut, and the great bell is toll'd; but I do not perceive that the people are violently apprehenſive about the matter. Their fears are, I believe, for the moſt part, rather perſonal than political—they do not dread ſubmiſſion to the Auſtrians, but military licentiouſneſs.
I have been reading this afternoon Lord Orrery's definition of the male Ceciſbeo, and it reminds me that I have not yet noticed to you a very important claſs of females in France, who may not improperly be denominated female Ceciſbeos. Under the old ſyſtem, when the rank of a woman of faſhion had enabled her to preſerve a degree of reputation and influence, in ſpite of the gallantries of her youth and the