LETTER I.

AFTER ſo long a ſuſpenſion of our correſpondence, after a ſilence like that of death, and a ſeparation which for ſome time paſt ſeemed as final as if we had been divided by the limits of ‘that country from whoſe bourn no travel⯑ler returns,’ with what grateful plea⯑ſure did I recognize your hand-writing, with what eagerneſs did I break [...]he ſeal of your welcome letter, and with what ſoothing emotions receive the tidings of [2] your welfare, and the aſſurance of your affection! Your letter was a taliſman that ſerved to conjure up a thouſand images of ſorrows and of joys that are paſt, and which were obliterated by the turbulent ſenſations of diſmay and horror.

Perhaps it will not be unintereſting to you to receive from me a ſketch of the ſcenes which have paſſed in Paris ſince the ſecond of June, an epocha to be for ever deplored by the friends of liberty, which ſeated a vulgar and ſanguinary deſpot on the ruins of a throne, till the memorable 28th of July 1794, when Liberty, bleed⯑ing with a thouſand wounds, revived once more. If the picture I ſend you of thoſe extraordinary events be not well drawn, it is at leaſt marked with the characters of truth, ſince I have been the witneſs of the ſcenes I deſcribe, and have known perſonally all the principal actors. Thoſe ſcenes, connected in my mind with all the detail of domeſtic ſorrow, with the [3] feelings of private ſympathy, with the tears of mourning friendſhip, are im⯑preſſed upon my memory in characters that are indelible. They riſe in ſad ſuc⯑ceſſion like the ſhades of Banquo's line, and paſs along my ſhuddering recollec⯑tion.

After having ſo long ſuffered without daring to utter a complaint, it will relieve my oppreſſed ſpirits, to give you an ac⯑count of our late ſituation; and, in ſo do⯑ing, I ſhall feel the ſame ſort of melan⯑choly pleaſure as the mariner who paints the horrors of the tempeſt when he has reached the harbour, and ſheds a tender tear over his loſt companions who have periſhed in the wreck—Ah! my dear friend, that overwhelming recollection fills my heart with anguiſh which only they who have ſuffered can conceive. Thoſe perſons in whoſe ſociety I moſt delighted, in whoſe cultivated minds and enlight⯑ened converſation I found the ſole com⯑penſation [4] for what I had loſt in leaving my country and my friends—to ſee them torn from me for ever, to know the pre⯑ciſe moment in which they were dragged to execution, to feel—but let me turn a while from images of horror which I have conſidered but too deeply, and which have caſt a ſadneſs over my mind that can never, never be diſpelled. Whenever they recur, a funereal veil ſeems to me to be ſpread over nature; and neither the conſciouſneſs of preſent, nor the aſſurance of future ſafety, neither the charms of ſociety, nor all the graces, nor all the wonders of the ſcenes I am now contem⯑plating, can diſſipate the gloom.

Not long after the reign of Robeſpierre began, all paſſports to leave the country were refuſed, and the arreſtation of the Engliſh reſiding in France was decreed by the national convention; but the very next day the decree was repealed on the repreſentations of ſome French mer⯑chants, [5] who ſhewed its impolicy. We therefore concluded that we had no ſuch meaſures to fear in future; and we heard from what we believed to be good autho⯑rity, that if any decree paſſed with re⯑ſpect to the Engliſh, it would be that of their being ordered to leave the republic. The political clouds in the mean time gathered thick around the hemiſphere: we heard rumours of ſeverity and terror, which ſeemed like thoſe hollow noiſes that roll in the dark gulph of the volcano, and portend its dangerous eruptions: but no one could calculate how far the threatened miſchief would extend, and how wide a waſte of ruin would deſolate the land. Already conſiderable num⯑bers were impriſoned as ſuſpected—ſuſ⯑pected! that indefinite word, which was tortured into every meaning of injuſtice and oppreſſion, and became what the French call the mot de ralliement, the ini⯑tiative term of captivity and death.

[6] One evening when Bernardin St. Pierre, the author of the charming little novel of Paul and Virginia, was drinking tea with me, and while I was liſtening to a deſcrip⯑tion he gave me of a ſmall houſe which he had lately built in the centre of a beau⯑tiful iſland of the river that flows by Eſſonne, which he was employed in de⯑corating, and where he meant to realiſe ſome of the lovely ſcenes which his fine imagination has pictured in the Mauritius, I was ſuddenly called away from this fairy land by the appearance of a friend, who ruſhed into the room, and with great agi⯑tation told us that a decree had juſt paſſed in the national convention, ordering all the Engliſh in France to be put into ar⯑reſtation in the ſpace of four-and-twenty hours, and their property to be conſiſ⯑cated. We paſſed the night without ſleep, and the following day in anxiety and perturbation not to be deſcribed, ex⯑pecting every moment the commiſſaries [7] of the revolutionary committee and their guards, to put in force the mandates of the convention. As the day advanced, our terror increaſed: in the evening we received information that moſt of our Engliſh acquaintances were conducted to priſon. At length night came; and no commiſſaries appearing, we began to flat⯑ter ourſelves that, being a family of wo⯑men, it was intended that we ſhould be ſpared, for the time was only now ar⯑rived when neither ſex nor age gave any claim to compaſſion. Overcome with fa⯑tigue and emotion, we went to bed with ſome faint hopes of exemption from the general calamity of our countrymen. Theſe hopes were however but of ſhort duration. At two in the morning we were awakened by a loud knocking at the gate of the hotel, which we well knew to be the fatal ſignal of our approaching captivity; and a few minutes after, the bell of our apartments was rung with violence. [...]y ſiſter and myſelf hurried [8] on our clothes and went with trembling ſteps to the anti-chamber, when we found two commiſſaries of the revolutionary committee of our ſection, accompanied by a guard, two of whom were placed at the outer door with their ſwords drawn, while the reſt entered the room. One of theſe conſtituted authorities held a paper in his hand, which was a copy of the decree of the convention, and which he offered to read to us; but we declined hearing it, and told him we were ready to obey the law. Seeing us pale and trembling, he and his colleague endeavoured to comfort us; they begged us to compoſe our⯑ſelves; they repeated that our arreſtation was only part of a general political mea⯑ſure, and that innocence had nothing to fear.—Alas! innocence was no longer any plea for ſafety. They took a procès⯑verbal of our names, ages, the country where we were born, the length of time we had lived in France; and when this regiſter was finiſhed, we were told that [9] we muſt prepare to depart. We were each of us allowed to take as much clean linen as we could tie up in a handker⯑chief, and which was all the property which we could now call our own; the reſt, in conſequence of the decree, being ſeized by the nation. Sometimes, under the preſſure of a great calamity, the moſt acute ſenſations are excited by little circum⯑ſtances which form a part of the whole, and ſerve in the retroſpect of memory, like certain points in a landſcape, to call up the ſurrounding ſcenery: ſuch is the feeling with which I recall the moments when, having got out of our apartments, we ſtood upon the ſtair-caſe ſurrounded with guards, while the commiſſaries placed the ſeals on our doors. The con⯑traſt between the priſon where we were going to be led, and that home which was now cloſed againſt us, perhaps for years, filled my heart with a pang for which language has no utterance. Some of the [10] guards were diſpoſed to treat us with rudeneſs; which the commiſſaries ſternly repreſſed, and, ordering them to keep at ſome diſtance, made us lean on their arms, for they ſaw we ſtood in need of ſupport, in our way to the committee-room. We found this place crowded with commiſ⯑ſaries and ſoldiers, ſome ſleeping, ſome writing, and others amuſing themſelves with pleaſantries of a revolutionary na⯑ture, to which we liſtened trembling. Every half-hour a guard entered, con⯑ducting Engliſh priſoners, among whom were no women but ourſelves. Here we paſſed the long night; and at eight in the morning our countrymen were taken to the priſon of the Madelonettes, while we were ſtill detained at the committee. We diſcovered afterwards that this was owing to the humanity of the commiſſaries who arreſted us, and who ſent to the munici⯑pality to know if we might not be taken to the Luxembourg, where we ſhould [11] find good accommodations, while at the Madelonettes' ſcarcely a bed could be procured. All that compaſſion could dictate, all the lenity which it was in the power of theſe commiſſaries to diſplay without incurring ten years impriſonment, the penalty annexed to leaving us at li⯑berty, we experienced. Humanity from members of a revolutionary committee! You will perhaps exclaim in the language of the Jews, ‘Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?’ It is certain, how⯑ever, ſtrange as it may ſeem, that our two commiſſaries behaved towards us as if they remembered that we were defenceleſs women in a land of ſtrangers; that we were accuſed of no crime except that of being born on the ſoil of England; and that, if we were puniſhed, we had only deſerved it by truſting with too eaſy a belief in that national faith which was now violated. By the way, when I tell you that we experienced compaſſion from [12] revolutionary committees, you will not ſuppoſe I mean to aſſert that compaſſion⯑ate men formed the majority of their com⯑mittees. The greater part of mankind in all ages, even when accuſtomed to the moſt elevated rank, have abuſed power: how then could it be hoped that un⯑limited power would not be abuſed, which was confided to men who were for the moſt part ignorant and unenlightened; men who, till that period, confined to their ſhops and their manual occupations, were ſuddenly tranſported into ſplendid hotels, with authority to unlock cabinets blazing with jewels, to ſeize upon heaps of un⯑counted gold, and with a ſtroke of their pens to diſperſe as many warrants for im⯑priſonment, as caprice, envy, or miſtaken zeal might prompt; who were made ar⯑biters of the liberty, property, and even lives of their fellow-citizens; and who were incited, nay even compelled, to acts of violence under the penalty of being [13] branded with the guilt of moderantiſm? When ſuch was the new-eſtabliſhed ſyſtem, when it required the moſt daring courage to be humane, and when to be cruel was to be ſafe, can you wonder, that among the revolutionary committees in general there was not ‘as much pity to be found as would fill the eye of a wren?’ Af⯑ter paſſing the whole day, as we had done the night, in the committee-room, orders arrived from the municipality to ſend us to the former palace, now the priſon of the Luxembourg, where we were attended by two guards within each coach, while two walked on each ſide. What ſtrange ſenſations I felt as I paſſed through the ſtreets of Paris, and aſcended the ſteps of the Luxembourg, a ſad ſpectacle to the crowd! We were conducted to the range of apartments above the former rooms of ſtate, where we were received with the utmoſt civility by the keeper of the pri⯑ſon, Benoit, a name which many a wretch [14] has bleſſed, for many a ſorrow his com⯑paſſion and gentleneſs have ſoftened. His heart was indeed but ill ſuited to his office; and often he incurred the diſ⯑pleaſure of thoſe ſavages by whom he was employed, and who wiſhed their victims to feel the full extent of their calamity, unmitigated by any detail of kindneſs, any attention to thoſe little wants which this benevolent perſon was anxious to re⯑move, or thoſe few comforts which he had the power to beſtow. The barbarians thought it not enough to load their vic⯑tims with iron, unleſs ‘it entered into their ſouls.’ But Benoit was not to be intimidated into cruelty. Without de⯑viating from his duty, he purſued his ſteady courſe of humanity; and may the grateful benedictions of the unhappy have aſcended for him to heaven!

We had a good apartment allotted us, which a few weeks before had been inha⯑bited by Valazé, one of the deputies of [15] the convention, who was now transferred to the priſon of the Conciergerie. Our apartment, with ſeveral adjoining, had ſoon after the event of the 31ſt of May been prepared for the impriſonment of the deputies of the coté droit; and for that purpoſe the windows which commanded a fine view of the Luxembourg-gardens had been blocked up to the upper panes, which were barred with iron. Mattraſſes were provided for us in this gloomy chamber, the door of which was locked by one of our jailors; and we had ſuffered too much fatigue of body, as well as diſ⯑turbance of mind, not to find a refuge from ſorrow in ſome hours of profound ſleep.

LETTER II.

THE next morning the ſun aroſe with unuſual brightneſs; and with the aid of a table on which I mounted, I ſaw through our grated windows the beau⯑tiful gardens of the Luxembourg. Its tall majeſtic trees had not yet loſt their foliage; and though they were fallen, like our fortunes, "into the ſear, the yellow leaf," they ſtill preſented thoſe rich gra⯑dations of colouring which belong to au⯑tumn. The ſun gilded the gothic ſpires of the ſurrounding convents, which lifted up their tall points above the venerable groves; while on the back-ground of the ſcenery aroſe the hills of Meudon. It ſeemed to me as if the declining ſeaſon had ſhed its laſt intereſting graces over the landſcape to ſooth my afflicted ſpirit; [17] and ſuch was the effect it produced. It is ſcarcely poſſible to contemplate the beauties of nature without that enthu⯑ſiaſtic pleaſure which ſwells into devo⯑tion; and when ſuch diſpoſitions are excited in the mind, reſignation to ſuffer⯑ings, which in the ſacred words of ſcripture "are but for a moment," be⯑comes a leſs difficult duty.

The Luxembourg had lately been fitted up to receive the crowd of new inhabi⯑tants, with which it was going to be peopled, and every apartment obtained a particular appellation, which was in⯑ſcribed on the outſide of the door. We were lodged in the chamber of Cincin⯑natus: Brutus, I think, was our next-door neighbour; and Socrates had pitch⯑ed his tent at the diſtance of a few paces. The chamber of Indiviſibility was allotted to ſome perſons accuſed of federaliſm, and Liberty was written in broad characters over the door of a priſoner who was au [18] ſecret ^*. With reſpect to great names, it has been obſerved in Paris, that almoſt all the illuſtrious characters of Greece and Rome have been led to the Guillo⯑tine—for inſtance, Brutus, who often, while we were in priſon, came from the municipality with orders from Anaxa⯑goras, was ſoon after doomed to an equal fate,

together with Anacharſis, Agricola, Ari⯑ſtides, Phocion, Sempronius Gracchus, Epaminondas, Cato the elder and the younger, and many other no leſs cele⯑brated worthies, who fell in ſad ſucceſſion under the ſword of Maximilian^†.

Our priſon was filled with a multi⯑tude of perſons of different conditions, characters, opinions and countries, and [19] ſeemed an epitome of the whole world. The mornings were devoted to buſineſs, and paſſed in little occupations, of which the priſoners ſometimes complained, but for which perhaps they had reaſon to be thankful, ſince leſs leiſure was left them to brood over their misfortunes. Every one had an appointed taſk: in each chamber the priſoners, by turns, lighted the fires, ſwept the rooms, arranged the beds; and thoſe who could not afford to have dinner from a tavern, or, as the rich were yet permitted, from their own houſes, prepared themſelves their meals. Every chamber formed a ſociety ſubject to certain regulations: a new preſident was choſen every day, or every week, who enforced its laws and maintained good order. In ſome chambers no per⯑ſon was allowed to ſing after ten, in others, after eleven at night. This re⯑ſtriction would, perhaps, have been ſu⯑perfluous in England in a ſimilar ſitua⯑tion; [20] but it was highly neceſſary here, ſince it prevented ſuch of the priſoners as were more light-hearted than the reſt from ſinging all night long, to the an⯑noyance of others of their neighbours who might think the muſic which re⯑ſounded through the priſon during the day fully ſufficient. The ſyſtem of equality, whatever oppoſition it met with in the world, was in its full extent prac⯑tiſed in the priſon. United by the ſtrong tie of common calamity, the priſoners conſidered themſelves as bound to ſoften the general evil by mutual kind of⯑fices; and ſtrangers meeting in ſuch circumſtances ſoon became friends. The poor lived not upon the crumbs which fell from the rich man's table, but ſhared the comforts of the repaſt; and here was found a community of the ſmall ſtock of goods, which belonged to the whole without the neceſſity of a requiſition. One broom, [21] which was the property of a counteſs, was uſed by twenty delicate hands to ſweep the reſpective apartments; and a tea-kettle with which a friend furniſhed my mother was literally, as Dr. Johnſon obſerved of his own, "never allowed time to cool," but was employed from morning till night in furniſhing the Engliſh with tea.

In the afternoon the priſoners met in an anti-chamber, which commanded a view of the gardens. Here they formed themſelves into groups: ſome converſed, others walked up and down the room; others gazed from the windows on the walks below, where, perhaps, they re⯑cognized a relation or a friend, who, being denied the privilege of viſiting the priſon, had come to ſooth them by a look or tear of ſympathy. During the firſt days of our confinement, the pri⯑ſoners were permitted to ſee their friends; and many a ſtriking contraſt of gaiety [22] and ſorrow did the anti-chamber then exhibit. In one part of the room, lively young people were amuſing their viſitors by a thouſand little pleaſantries on their own ſituation; in another, a huſband who was a priſoner was taking leave of his wife who had come to ſee him, and ſhed⯑ding tears over his child who was cling⯑ing to his knees, or had thrown its arms around his neck and refuſed to be torn from its father. As the number of pri⯑ſoners increaſed, which they did ſo ra⯑pidly, that in leſs than a week they were augmented from an hundred to a thou⯑ſand, the rules of the priſon became more ſevere, and the adminiſtrators of the po⯑lice gave ſtrict orders, that no perſon whatever ſhould be admitted. After this period the wives of ſome of the pri⯑ſoners came regularly every day, bring⯑ing their children with them to the ter⯑race of the gardens. You often ſaw the mother weeping, and the children ſtretch⯑ing [23] out their little hands and pointing to their fathers, who ſtood with their eyes fixed upon the objects of their affection: but ſometimes a ſurly ſentinel repreſſed theſe melancholy effuſions of tenderneſs, by calling to the perſons in the walk to keep off, and make no ſigns to the pri⯑ſoners.—In the mean time, among the crowd that filled the public room were fine gentlemen and fine ladies, who had held the higheſt rank at court, ſome flirting together, others making appoint⯑ments for card parties or muſic in their own apartments in the evening, and others relating to us in pathetic language all they had ſuffered, and all they had loſt by the revolution. It was impoſſible not to ſympathize in the diſtreſſes of ſome, or avoid wondering at the folly of others, in whom the ſtrong ſenſe of dan⯑ger could not overcome the feelings of vanity; and who, although the tremen⯑dous decree had juſt gone forth, making [24] "terror the order of the day," and know⯑ing that the fatal pre-eminence of rank was the ſureſt paſſport to the guillotine, could not reſiſt uſing the proſcribed no⯑menclature of "Madame la ducheſſe," "Monſieur le comte," &c. which ſeem⯑ed to iſſue from their lips like natural melodies to which the ear has long been accuſtomed, and which the voice invo⯑luntarily repeats. There were, however, among the captive nobility many perſons who had too much good ſenſe not to obſerve a different conduct, who had proved themſelves real friends to liberty, had made important ſacrifices in its cauſe, and who had been led to priſon by revolutionary committees on pre⯑tences the moſt trivial, and ſometimes from miſtakes the moſt ludicrous. Such was the fate of the former count and counteſs of [...], who had diſ⯑tinguiſhed themſelves from the begin⯑ning of the revolution by the ardour [25] of their patriotiſm and the largeneſs of their civic donations. They had hither⯑to lived undiſturbed in their ſplendid hotel, and there they might probably have continued to live a little longer, had not the Counteſs, in an evil hour, ſent down to her chateau a fine marble hearth, which by ſome accident was broken on the way. The ſteward ſent a letter, in which, among other things, he men⯑tioned that the "foyer^* muſt be repaired at Paris." The letter was intercepted and read by the revolutionary committee. They ſwore, they raged at the dark deſigns of ariſtocracy. "Here," ſaid they, "is a daring plot indeed! a foyer of counter-revolution, and to be repaired at Paris! We muſt inſtantly ſeize the authors and the accomplices." In vain the Counteſs related the ſtory of the [26] hearth, and aſſerted that no conſpiracy lurked beneath the marble: both herſelf and her huſband were conducted to the maiſon d'arrêt of their ſection, from which we ſaw them arrive at the Lux⯑embourg with about ſixty other perſons at the hour of midnight, after having been led through the ſtreets in proceſ⯑ſion by the light of an immenſe num⯑ber of flambeaux, and guarded by a whole battalion. Theſe priſoners had at leaſt the conſolation of finding them⯑ſelves in the ſociety of many of their friends and acquaintances, for all the po⯑lite part of the fauxbourg St. Germain might be ſaid to be aſſembled at the Luxembourg in maſs. Impriſonment here was, however, no longer the ex⯑cluſive diſtinction of former nobility, but was extended to great numbers of the former third eſtate. We had prieſts, phyſicians, merchants, ſhop-keepers, ac⯑tors and actreſſes, French valets and [27] Engliſh waiting-women, all aſſembled to⯑gether in the public room; but in the private apartments Benoit's benevolent heart taught him the moſt delicate ſpe⯑cies of politeneſs, by placing thoſe per⯑ſons together who were moſt likely to find ſatisfaction in each others' ſociety.

Amidſt many an eloquent tale of cha⯑teaux levelled with the ground, and palaces where, to borrow an image of de⯑ſolation from Oſſian, "the fox might be ſeen looking out at the window," we ſometimes heard the complaints of ſim⯑ple ſorrow unallied to greatneſs; but, like the notes of the ſtarling, "ſo true in time to nature were they chanted," that they ſeized irreſiſtibly on the heart. Of this kind was a ſcene which paſſed ſometimes between a poor Engliſh woman and her dog, which ſhe had brought to keep her company in her captivity. She had been houſe-keeper in a French family, and, ſome months before ſhe was impriſoned, [28] had ſent her daughter, who was her only child, to her friends in England. The poor woman often exclaimed, while her face was bathed in tears, "Oh, Charlotte, Charlotte, I ſhall never ſee you again!" Whenever the dog heard the name of Charlotte, he began to howl in ſo me⯑lancholy a note that it was impoſſible not to ſympathiſe in his lamentation.

The moſt frightful circumſtance which attended our arreſtation were the viſits of Henriot, the commandant of the mili⯑tary force of Paris. This wretch had been one of the executioners on the ſe⯑cond of September, and was appointed by the commune of Paris on the 31ſt of May to take the command of the na⯑tional guard, to point the cannon againſt the convention, to violate the repreſen⯑tation of the people, and to act the pre⯑lude of that dark drama of which France has been the deſolated ſcene, and Europe the affrighted ſpectator. Henriot per⯑formed [29] his part ſo much to the ſatisfac⯑tion of his employers, that he was con⯑tinued in his command; and it was a part of his office to viſit the priſons, and take ca [...]e that they were properly guard⯑ed. The firſt time I ſaw him was the day after our confinement. He en⯑tered on a ſudden our apartment, bran⯑diſhing his ſword, and accompanied by twelve of his officers. There was ſome⯑thing in his look which did not give you ſimply the idea of the ferocity which is ſometimes to be found among civilized Europeans: his fierceneſs ſeemed to be of that kind which belongs to a cannibal of New Zealand; and he looked not merely as if he longed to plunge his ſabre in our boſoms, but to drink a libation of our blood. He poured forth a volley of oaths and imprecations, called out to know how many guillotines muſt be erected for the Engliſh, and did not leave our chamber till one perſon who [30] was preſent had fainted with terror. In this manner he viſited every apartment, ſpreading conſternation and diſmay; and theſe viſits were repeated three or four times in a week. Whenever the tram⯑pling of his horſe's feet was heard in the court-yard, the firſt priſoner who diſtin⯑guiſhed the well-known ſound gave the alarm, and in one moment the public room was cleared; every perſon flying with the precipitation of fear to his own apartment. Every noiſe was inſtantly huſhed; a ſtillneſs like that of death per⯑vaded the whole dwelling; and we re⯑mained crouching in our cells, like the Greeks in the cave of Polyphemus, till the monſter diſappeared. The viſits of the adminiſtrators of police, though not ſo terrific as thoſe of Henriot, were no⯑thing leſs than ſoothing. Brutality, as well as terror, was the order of the day; and thoſe public functionaries, whoſe bu⯑ſineſs it was not only to ſee that the po⯑lice [31] of the priſon was well regulated, but alſo to hear if the priſoners had any ſub⯑ject of complaint, uſed to make the en⯑quiry in a tone of ſuch ferocity, that, whatever oppreſſions might hang on the heart, the lips loſt the power of giving them utterance. The viſits of the po⯑lice generally produced ſome additional rigour to our confinement; and in a ſhort time all acceſs to us whatever was for⯑bidden except by letters, which were ſent open, and delivered to us after being ex⯑amined by the ſentinels. There was ſometimes room for deep meditation on the ſtrange caprice and viciſſitudes of fortune. We found the ex-miniſter Ame⯑lot a priſoner in the Luxembourg; he, who during his adminiſtration had diſtri⯑buted lettres de cachet with ſo much liberality. Tyranny had now changed its inſtruments, and he was become him⯑ſelf the victim of deſpotiſm with new [32] inſignia: the blue ribband had given place to the red cap, and "de par le roi" was transformed into "par meſure de ſureté générale." By his order La Tude, whoſe hiſtory is ſo well known, had been con⯑fined thirty years in the Baſtille. He was now enjoying the ſweets of liberty; and, before the priſon-doors were ſhut againſt ſtrangers, came frequently to viſit ſome of his friends in the very room where the miniſter was impriſoned.

Amelot, in a comfortable apartment and ſurrounded by ſociety, did not bear his confinement with the ſame firmneſs as La Tude had borne the ſolitude of his dungeon, cheered only by the plaintive ſounds of his flute of reeds. He was in a ſhort time bereft of his reaſon; and, among the wanderings of his imagina⯑tion, uſed to addreſs letters to all the kings of Europe and all the emigrant princes, inviting them to ſumptuous re⯑paſts, [33] to which he ſometimes propoſed admitting the national convention, to ſhew that he was above bearing malice.

Whenever any new priſoners arrived, the reſt crowded around them, and haſ⯑tened to calm their minds by the moſt ſoothing expreſſions of ſympathy. Not ſuch were the emotions excited by the appearance of Maillard, who was one of the murderers on the ſecond of Septem⯑ber, and who had lately been appointed to a command in the revolutionary army; from which, for ſome malverſations, he was now diſmiſſed, ſent to priſon, and or⯑dered into cloſe confinement. He had taken a very active part in the late tranſactions, and had, a few days before his own arreſt, conducted to priſon two fine boys, who were the ſons of the ex-miniſter La Tour du Pin, together with their governor, who was a prieſt. They were ſtepping into a carriage, which was to convey them to ſchool, when they were ſeized upon [34] by Maillard, who taking the youngeſt, a child of eleven years of age, by the ſhoulder, ſaid to him in a ſtern accent, "Il faut dire la verité, toute la verité, et rien que la verité^*." No ſooner was Maillard brought into the anti-cham⯑ber, while his room was preparing, than the little boy recognized his acquaint⯑ance, and running up to him cried, "Bon jour, citoyen Maillard—il faut dire la verité, toute la verité, et rien que la ve⯑rité."

Nothing could be more painful than the ſenſations excited by reading the evening papers, which the priſoners were at this time permitted to receive, and which were expected with that trembling anxiety with which, under preſent evils, we long to look into the promiſes of fu⯑turity. The evening paper ſeemed to [35] us the book of our deſtiny; but there we could trace no ſoothing characters of hope, or mercy. Every line was ſtamped with conſpiracy, vengeance, deſolation, and death; and the reading the events of the day left impreſſions on our minds which often deprived us of ſleep. We ſometimes quitted the crowd in the pub⯑lic room, and, ſhutting ourſelves up in our own apartment, endeavoured, amidſt the evils of this world, like Sterne's monk, to look beyond it. If ſuch meditation was calculated to wipe away our tears, it ſometimes made them flow—"Let the ſighing of the priſoner come before Thee: according to the greatneſs of Thy power, preſerve Thou thoſe that are ap⯑pointed to die!"

LETTER III.

THE days of my captivity are often brought back to my remembrance, by circumſtances which ſeem ſufficiently re⯑mote from ſorrows; by that connexion of the paſt with the preſent, which Aken⯑ſide deſcribes ſo beautifully^*: and you will perhaps think that my imagination is ſomewhat diſordered, when I tell you that the lake, from the luxuriant banks of which I ſend you this letter, recalls to my mind our apartment in the priſon. The walls of that apartment were hung with tapeſtry which deſcribed a landſcape of romantic beauty. On that landſcape I often gazed till I almoſt perſuaded my⯑ſelf that the ſcenery was alive around me, [37] ſo much did I delight in the pleaſing il⯑luſion. How often, while my eyes were fixed on that canvaſs which led my wound⯑ed ſpirit from the cruelty of man to the benignity of God—how often did I wiſh "for the wings of a dove, that I might flee away and be at reſt!" To be ſeated at the foot of thoſe ſheltering hills which emboſomed ſome mimic habitations, or beneath a mighty elm which roſe ma⯑jeſtically in the fore-ground of the piece, and ſpread its thick foliage over a green ſlope, appeared to me the ſummit of earthly felicity. Thoſe hills, the torrent⯑ſtream which rolled down their ſteep ſides, the ſhady elm, and all the objects on the tapeſtry, are indelibly impreſſed on my memory; and often when I am wander⯑ing through the charming ſcenes of Swit⯑zerland, a country which nature ſeems to have created more for ornament than uſe, where ſhe has ſpread over every landſcape thoſe laviſh graces which in [38] other regions belong only to a few fa⯑voured ſpots, I have felt my eyes bathed in tears, while, amidſt views of overwhelm⯑ing greatneſs, ſome minute object un⯑obſerved by others has led my imagination to the tapeſtry and the priſon. A few days ſince I paſſed along the falls of the Teſſino, rolling through narrow clif [...]s un⯑der rocks of the moſt terrific form, in a ſucceſſion of torrents, ſweeping after each other down the abrupt deſcent, and brok⯑en in their courſe by enormous fragments torn from the cliffs; ſometimes raiſing their ſcattered ſurges into thin air, and ſometimes diſplaying the priſmatic co⯑lours on the foam. While I was ſtand⯑ing on one of thoſe daring bridges that are thrown acroſs the gulph, and that tradition calls the work of ſupernatural agency, after the firſt tranſport of admira⯑tion, in which the mind loſes all traces of the paſt, or thought of the future, had ſubſided, the torrent-rill which [39] ruſhed down the Luxembourg tapeſtry preſented itſelf to my memory, while amidſt the pendent groves of pine and fir, bending along the cliffs, and above the ſweeping birch which dipped its droop⯑ing branches in the ſurf, I diſcovered a towering elm, the form of which reſem⯑bled the friend of my captivity—But how far have I eſcaped from my priſon!—You will forgive this digreſſion: my mind is full of thoſe ſcenes of beauty and grandeur which have calmed my troubled ſpirit, and in which I have found a reno⯑vation of exiſtence.

I have yet only given you a general outline of our priſon; but there was one ſcene of calamity which myſelf and my family were alone doomed to witneſs, and of which our fellow captives had no ſhare. Our apartment, with two others adjoin⯑ing, was ſeparated from the public room by a little paſſage, and a door which the huiſſiers carefully locked at night. It [40] happened that theſe apartments were then occupied by two perſons in whoſe ſociety we had paſſed ſome of the moſt agreeable hours of our reſidence in France. Theſe perſons were Sillery and La Source, two of the members of the convention, who had been long in cloſe confinement, and who were now on the point of appearing before th t ſanguinary tribunal whence, after the moſt ſhocking mockery of juſ⯑tice, they were inhumanly dragged to the ſcaffold. Sillery, on account of his in⯑firmities, had with much difficulty ob⯑tained permiſſion from the police for his ſervant to be admitted into the priſon dur⯑ing the day, together with an old female friend, who, on the plea of his illneſs, had implored leave to attend him as his nurſe, with that eloquence which belongs to affliction, and which ſometimes even the moſt hardened hearts are unable to reſiſt. While men aſſume over our ſex ſo many claims to ſuperiority, let them [41] at leaſt beſtow on us the palm of con⯑ſtancy, and allow that in the fidelity of our attachments we have the right of pre-eminence. Thoſe priſons from which men ſhrunk back with terror, and where they often left their friends abandoned left they ſhould be involved in their fate—women, in whom the force of ſenſibility overcame the fears of female weakneſs, demanded and ſome⯑times obtained permiſſion to viſit, in de⯑fiance of all the dangers that ſurrounded their gloomy walls. Sillery's friend and his ſervant being allowed to go in and out of his apartment, the door was not kept conſtantly locked, although he and La Source were cloſely confined, and not permitted to have any communication with the other priſoners. The ſecond night of our abode in the Luxembourg, when the priſoners had retired to their re⯑ſpective chambers, and the keeper had locked the outer door which encloſed our three apartments, La Source entered our [42] room. Oh! how different was this in⯑terview from thoſe meetings of ſocial en⯑joyment that were embelliſhed by the charms of his converſation, always diſ⯑tinguiſhed by a flow of eloquence, and animated by that enthuſiaſtic fervour which peculiarly belonged to his charac⯑ter! La Source was a native of Langue⯑doc, and united with very ſuperior ta⯑lents, that vivid warmth of imagination for which the ſouthern provinces of France have been renowned ſince the period when, awakened by the genial in⯑fluence of thoſe luxuriant regions, the ſong of the Troubadours burſt from the gloom of gothic barbariſm. Liberty in the ſoul of La Source was leſs a princi⯑ple than a paſſion, for his boſom beat high with philanthropy; and in his former ſituation as a proteſtant miniſter he had felt in a peculiar manner the op⯑preſſion of the antient ſyſtem. His ſenſi⯑bility was acute, and his deteſtation of the crimes by which the revolution had [43] been ſullied, was in proportion to his de⯑voted attachment to its cauſe. La Source was polite and amiable in his manners: he had a taſte for muſic, and a powerful voice; and ſung, as he converſed, with all the energy of feeling. After the day had paſſed in the fatigue of public debates, he was glad to lay aſide the tumult of poli⯑tics in the evening, for the converſation of ſome literary men whom he met occa⯑ſionally at our tea-table. Ah, how little did we then foreſee the horrors of that period when we ſhould meet him in the gloom of a priſon, a proſcribed victim, with whom this melancholy interview was beſet with danger!

We were obliged to converſe in whiſ⯑pers, while we kept watch ſucceſſively at the outer door, that if any ſtep ap⯑proached he might inſtantly fly to his chamber. He had much to aſk, having been three months a cloſe priſoner, and knowing little of what was paſſing in the [44] world; and though he ſeemed to forget all the horrors of his ſituation in the con⯑ſolation he derived from theſe moments of confidential converſation, yet he fre⯑quently lamented, that this laſt gleam of pleaſure which was ſhed over his ex⯑iſtence was purchaſed at the price of our captivity. In the ſolitude of his priſon, no voice of friendſhip, no accents of pity had reached his ear; and after our ar⯑rival, he uſed through the lonely day to count the hours till the priſon-gates were cloſed, till all was ſtill within its walls, and no ſound was heard without, except at intervals the hoarſe cry of the ſenti⯑nels, when he haſtened to our apartment. The diſcovery of theſe viſits would in⯑deed have expoſed us to the moſt fatal conſequences; but our ſympathy pre⯑vailed over our fears; nor could we, what⯑ever might be the event, refuſe our de⯑voted friend this laſt melancholy ſatisfac⯑tion. La Source at his ſecond viſit was [45] accompanied by Sillery, the huſband of Madame de Sillery whoſe writings are ſo well known in England. Sillery was about ſixty years of age; had lived freely, like moſt men of his former rank in France; and from this diſſipated life had more the appearance of age than belong⯑ed to his years. His manners retained the elegance, by which that claſs was diſtinguiſhed which Mr. Burke has de⯑nominated "the Corinthian capital of poliſhed ſociety." Sillery had a fine taſte for drawing, and during his confinement diſplayed the powers of his pencil by tracing beautiful landſcapes. He alſo amuſed himſelf by reading hiſtory; and, poſſeſſing conſiderable talents for litera⯑ture, had recorded with a rich warmth of colouring the events of the revolution, in which he had been a diſtinguiſhed actor, and of which he had treaſured up details precious for hiſtory. With keen regret he told me that he had committed [46] ſeveral volumes of manuſcript to the flames, a ſad ſacrifice to the Omars of the day.

The mind of Sillery was ſomewhat leſs fortified againſt his approaching fate than that of La Source. The old man often turned back on the paſt and wept, and ſometimes enquired with an anxious look, if we believed there was any chance of his deliverance. Alas! I have no words to paint the ſenſations of thoſe mo⯑ments!—To know that the days of our fellow captives were numbered—that they were doomed to periſh—that the bloody tribunal before which they were going to appear, was but the path-way to the ſcaffold—to have the painful taſk of ſtifling our feelings, while we endea⯑voured to ſooth the weakneſs of humanity by hopes which we knew were fallacious, was a ſpecies of miſery almoſt inſupport⯑able. There were moments indeed, when the taſk became too painful to be en⯑dured; [47] There were moments when, ſhock⯑ed by ſome new incident of terror, this cruel reſtraint gave way to uncontrolable emotion; when the tears, the ſobbings of convulſive anguiſh would no longer be ſuppreſſed, and our unfortunate friends were obliged to give inſtead of receiving conſolation.

They had in their calamity that ſup⯑port which is of all others the moſt effec⯑tual under misfortune. Religion was in La Source a habit of the mind. Im⯑preſſed with the moſt ſublime ideas of the Supreme Being, although the ways of heaven never appeared more dark and intricate than in this triumph of guilt over innocence, he repoſed with un⯑bounded confidence in that Providence in whoſe hand are the iſſues of life and death. Sillery, who had a feeling heart, found devotion the moſt ſoothing refuge of affliction. He and La Source com⯑poſed together a little hymn adapted to a ſweet ſolemn air, which they called [48] their evening ſervice. Every night be⯑fore we parted they ſung this ſimple dirge in a low tone to prevent their being heard in the other apartments, which made it ſeem more plaintive. Thoſe mournful founds, the knell of my departing friends, yet thrill upon my heart!

La Source often ſpoke of his wife with tender regret. He had been married only a week, when he was choſen a member of the legiſlative aſſembly, and was obliged to haſten to Paris, while his wife remained in Languedoc to take care of an aged mother. When the legiſlative aſſembly was diſſolved, La Source was immediately elected a mem⯑ber of the national convention, and could find no interval in which to viſit his native ſpot, or his wife, whom he ſaw [51] no more. In his meditations on the chain of political events, he mentioned one little incident which ſeemed to hang on his mind with a ſort of ſuperſtitious feeling. A few days after the 10th of Auguſt he dined in the fauxbourg of St. Antoine with ſeveral members of the legiſlative aſſembly, who were the moſt diſtinguiſh⯑ed for their talents and patriotiſm. They were exulting in the birth of the new republic, and the glorious part they were to act as its founders, when a citi⯑zen of the fauxbourg, who had been in⯑vited to partake of the repaſt, obſerved, that he feared a different deſtiny awaited them. "As you have been the founders of the republic," ſaid he, "you will alſo be its victims. In a ſhort time you will be obliged to impoſe reſtraints and duties on the people, to whom your ene⯑mies and theirs will repreſent you as hav⯑ing overthrown regal power only to eſ⯑tabliſh your own. You will be accuſed [52] of ariſtocracy; and I foreſee," he added with much perturbation, "that you will all periſh on the ſcaffold." The com⯑pany ſmiled at his ſingular prediction: but during the enſuing winter, when the ſtorm was gathering over the political horizon, La Source recalled the pro⯑phecy, and ſometimes reminded Verg⯑niaud of the man of the fauxbourg St. Antoine. Vergniaud had little heeded the augur; but a few days previous to the 31ſt of May, when the convention was for the firſt time beſieged, La Source ſaid again to Vergniaud, "Well, what think you of the prophet of the faux⯑bourg?" "The prophet of the faux⯑bourg," anſwered Vergniaud, "was in the right."

The morning now arrived when La Source and Sillery, together with nineteen other members of the convention, were led before the revolutionary tribunal. When the guards who were to conduct them [53] arrived, the other priſoners crowded to the public room to ſee them paſs, and we ſhut ourſelves up in our own apart⯑ment. They returned about five in the evening; ſoon after which their counſel arrived, and we had no opportunity of ſeeing them till midnight, when they re⯑lated to us what had paſſed. The conduct of the judges and the aſpect of the jury were calculated to baniſh every gleam of hope from the boſoms of the priſoners; the former permitted with reluctance any thing to be urged in their defence, and the latter liſtened with impatience, caſt⯑ing upon their victims looks of atrocity in which they might eaſily read their fate: yet in ſpite of theſe unhappy omens our friends returned from the tribunal with their minds much elevated. La Source deſcribed in his eloquent language the noble enthuſiaſm of liberty, the ar⯑dent love of their country, the heroical contempt of death which animated his [54] colleagues, whom he had not ſeen for ſome time, ſince they had been transferred to the Conciergerie, while himſelf and Sil⯑lery had obtained permiſſion to remain at the Luxembourg upon the certificates of their phyſicians, that they were too ill to be removed without danger. La Source declared that ancient hiſtory of⯑fered no model of public virtue beyond that which was exhibited by his friends at the tribunal, and who in their priſon, blending with the fortitude of Romans the gaiety of Frenchmen, and being confined in one apartment, paſſed the ſhort interval of life which was left in converſation, and cheerful repaſts which were uſually concluded with patriotic ſongs. "You," ſaid Vergniaud to La Source when they met at the tribunal, "you perhaps will find ſomething to re⯑gret in the loſs of life. You have a glimpſe of the gardens of the Luxem⯑bourg, which may remind you that there [55] is ſomething beautiful in nature: but we who live in human ſhambles, who every day ſee freſh victims dragged to execu⯑tion, we are become ſo familiarized with death, that we look on it with uncon⯑cern."

A few days before this ſanguinary trial ended, the adminiſtration of the police ſent orders that the Engliſh-women con⯑fined in the Luxembourg ſhould be re⯑moved the next day to a convent in the fauxbourg St. Antoine. With what keen regret La Source and Sillery received this intelligence! A thouſand and a thouſand times they thanked us for the dangers we had riſqued in receiving them, and for the ſympathy which had ſoothed the laſt hours of their exiſtence—a thouſand times they declared, that if it were yet poſſible their lives might be pre⯑ſerved, they ſhould conſider themſelves for ever bound to us by the moſt ſacred ties of gratitude and friendſhip: but they [56] felt, alas! how ſmall was the chance that we ſhould meet again in this world. Sillery cut off a lock of his white hairs, which he begged I would preſerve for his ſake, and La Source gave me the ſame relick. They embraced us with much emotion. They prayed that the bleſſing of God might be upon us: we mingled our tears together, and parted to meet no more!—

Let me, before I conduct you to our new priſon, give you a ſhort ac⯑count of the political events and their cauſes, which, after bringing thoſe mem⯑bers of the convention to the ſcaffold who were moſt fitted by their talents to defend liberty, and by their moral qua⯑lities to make it beloved, ended in ſuch a ſyſtem of cruelty and crimes, that it can be only by a long perſeverance in public virtue that France can make re⯑paration to humanity, or retrieve her character among the nations.

LETTER IV.

THE republican party of the legiſla⯑tive aſſembly had, it is well known, very early projected many alterations in the new conſtitution. They had obſerved with great inquietude the changes which had taken place at the cloſe of the firſt national aſſembly, when its labours un⯑derwent a reviſion previouſly to the ac⯑ceptance of the conſtitution by the ex⯑ecutive power, and when they found that thoſe who had hitherto been the moſt ſtrenuous opponents of the court ſuddenly became its moſt zealous advocates and friends.

Though this party formed the minority of the legiſlative aſſembly, its influence by means of the popular ſocieties was very extenſive. But when the ſtruggle took place between the court and the republi⯑can [58] party, both of which were at length agreed in the overthrow of the new con⯑ſtitution, with which each was for dif⯑ferent reaſons equally diſſatisfied, the party was joined by many who in this deſtruction of the regal authority had no other end in view than the eſtabliſhment of their own.

The ſociety of the Jacobins, which had been for a long time the rival and at length the conqueror of the throne, was deſerted immediately after the victory by almoſt all thoſe who had contributed to gain it. They imagined that every domeſtic enemy was annihilated when the firſt decree of the convention changed the monarchy into a republic; and though ſymptoms of diſcontent diſcovered themſelves among ſome who thought that the change had been too haſtily decided on, and ſymp⯑toms of a more dangerous and fatal tendency to the welfare of the govern⯑ment had already appeared among others, yet thoſe to whom the people had given [59] their confidence were not ſufficiently aware of the inſtability of popular favour, and the precarious tenure by which they held it. The commune of Paris claimed an equal right to ſhare with the Jacobins the honours of the triumph over royalty; but diſſatisfied with the little credit given to the ſervices it had rendered during the ſtruggle, it took advantage of the imbeci⯑lity of the legiſlative aſſembly then ex⯑piring, and had already erected itſelf into a rival power before the convention had opened its firſt debates. The pretence of making extraordinary exertions to op⯑poſe the march of the enemy towards Paris had led the commune, amidſt a multiplicity of other acts of rebellion, to arrogate the functions of the repreſenta⯑tives of the people; and having at the fatal period of the maſſacre of September humbled the legiſlative aſſembly to the duſt, they thought that the ſame daring conduct would give them the ſame ſupe⯑riority [60] over the national convention. But in this calculation they were deceived. Robeſpierre and his adherents, who had hitherto directed their counſels, now aſ⯑pired to higher deſtinies; and, though ſolicitous to make the commune an auxi⯑liary in their deſigns, were unwilling that it ſhould become their rival. In the new election of repreſentatives, all thoſe were excluded who had been influenced by the court, or who had oppoſed from purer motives the republican party. Al⯑though this party gained a conſiderable reinforcement by the new election, yet the dread of returning royalty, with all the ſeverity of the old ſyſtem, had ope⯑rated ſo powerfully on the minds of the people of the departments, that many de⯑puties were choſen whoſe pretenſions to this truſt aroſe more from the ſtrength of their lungs than of their talents, and whoſe harangues made up in noiſe what they wanted in argument; while the ſtill [61] greater dread of the return of thoſe hor⯑rors which the commune had juſt been exerciſing had ſo intimidated the citizens of Paris, that a part of their deputation to the convention, at the head of which was Robeſpierre, triumphing over the fears they had excited, took their ſeats rather as the conquerors than the repreſentatives of the people. The conduct of the officers of the municipality, however, called aloud for puniſhment. It was impoſſible for the convention to ſuffer the crimes they had committed, and the ſtill greater atro⯑cities which they had meditated, to paſs unnoticed. The council-general of the commune were called to the bar, but eſ⯑caped juſtice by diſſembled profeſſions of repentance, and the promiſe of delivering up thoſe who had led them to the com⯑miſſion of ſuch enormities. Had the con⯑vention, while its rival was thus ſub⯑dued, proceeded to diſtinguiſh between thoſe who had been the chiefs of the con⯑ſpiracy [62] and thoſe who had been the dupes of their impoſture, they would have done a great act of national juſtice, and would have cruſhed any farther attempts againſt the national honour. But as this humi⯑liation of the commune was a contrivance to eſcape examination, of which the con⯑ſpirators who directed its operations, and who had been choſen ſince to the con⯑vention, were afraid; the aſſembly, de⯑ceived by this artifice, had no ſooner granted the pardon they implored, than the faction, emboldened by impunity, perceived that with audacity and perſe⯑verance they might yet attain the end to which they aſpired. While Robeſpierre ſat in the commune, his object was pro⯑bably to frame a government of munici⯑palities, of which Paris was to be the chief, and himſelf the dictator: but this enter⯑priſe being encompaſſed with difficulty, ſince the people had determined to have a national convention, he afterwards [63] changed his meaſures, and began to me⯑ditate a plan of making the convention itſelf, of which he was now a member, ſerve as the inſtrument of his uſurpa⯑tion.

With this view, he and his diſorganiz⯑ing faction in the convention aſſumed the direction of the municipality; and as the ſociety of the Jacobins was deſerted by the republicans, who thought its ſervices no longer neceſſary, the name and the place were ſeized on by the conſpirators, and filled with intriguing and ambitious men, whoſe hopes of ſharing in the plun⯑der or the power induced them to be⯑come accomplices in the guilt.

While the municipality laboured to win over the ſections of Paris, the Jaco⯑bins made proſelytes to their ſyſtem of anarchy by their affiliations and corre⯑ſpondence in the departments; and before the exiſting government was fully aware of the extent of the conſpiracy, or could [64] collect ſufficient energy to counteract it, the faction had gained a moſt alarming aſcendency; and although they formed a very ſmall minority in the convention, their influence both in the executive part of the government and amongſt the con⯑ſtituted authorities was ſufficient to out⯑weigh that of the repreſentation itſelf. Every conceſſion made to the conſpirators ſerved only to increaſe the inſolence of their demands; and although the moſt eloquent members of the convention, Guadet, Vergniaud, Pethion, Louvet, Briſſot and La Source gave inceſſant warnings of the progreſs of the anarchiſts towards the diſſolution of all order in the ſtate, yet like Caſſandra they were believed only when the prophecies were fulfilled^*.

[65] However criminal this band of con⯑ſpirators, who have exerciſed a deſpotiſm more hideous than hiſtory has ever pre⯑ſented, may appear, or whatever be the [66] regrets we feel for thoſe virtuous friends of liberty who fell the victims of their rage, the hiſtorian, more impartial than the friend, will not fail to animadvert on the negligence of which in ſome inſtances they were guilty, and above all in care⯑leſsly throwing aſide, by the deſertion of the Jacobin ſociety, the means which they had obtained of informing the public mind and directing its will.

But before we carry our cenſures too far, we muſt recollect that they had to con⯑tend againſt men hardened in crimes and inacceſſible to ſhame, who found refuge from the detection of their guilt in the protection of their party, and who re⯑turned the thunder of the patriots in the convention by their noiſy vociferations at the Jacobins and the commune.

The firſt attempt made on the national repreſentation by the commune of Paris and the Jacobins, ought to have been puniſhed as an act of rebellion againſt the [67] ſovereignty of the people. But an ill⯑judged application of the principles of individual liberty, a too delicate regard for the rights of perſons, led on the ma⯑jority of the convention to the permiſ⯑ſion of offences, of which they took no meaſures to ſtop the progreſs, till the con⯑ſpiracy had acquired ſuch ſtrength as made every exertion againſt it ineffectual.

The treaſon of Dumourier had furniſh⯑ed the faction with new reſources for ca⯑lumny againſt the republican party, with ſome of whom he had formerly been con⯑nected: for, as the faction was in the con⯑ſtant habit of denouncing indiſcriminate⯑ly every agent of the republic, the com⯑pletion of one prophecy gave an air of credit to the reſt^*. Although the con⯑ſpirators [68] had acquired conſiderable in⯑fluence from the aſſiſtance given them by the commune and the Jacobins, they perceived that the object which they had in view, would never fully be attained till they had gained ſo abſolute a controul over the convention, as to make it, like the ancient parliaments, the regiſterers of their imperial edicts. To this end all their efforts were directed: but while thoſe men ſtill ſat within its walls whoſe virtue and eloquence had hitherto warded off the blow which menaced their coun⯑try, there was little hope of ſucceſs. The prize ſet before theſe traitors was too great [69] to ſuffer them to heſitate about the means of ſeizing it; and having thrown aſide all regard to the laws, all reſpect for in⯑dividual or political liberty, they con⯑ceived the project of violating the na⯑tional repreſentation itſelf, and tearing from it the moſt eloquent and intrepid defenders of its rights. To carry their plot into execution, it was neceſſary to cover it with the veil of the wiſh of the people, of whom a few hired deſperadoes and other ignorant and ſeduced perſons be⯑came the repreſentatives, bearing peti⯑tions written by the conſpirators them⯑ſelves, praying the convention to drive from their ſeats a certain number whom they marked as unworthy of their confi⯑dence or that of the nation. The indig⯑nation of the convention being rouſed at theſe attempts, they inſtituted a com⯑miſſion of enquiry to ſearch into the cauſes of this conſpiracy. This com⯑miſſion, in purſuance of the powers it had [70] received, after mature examination, ar⯑reſted Hebert, one of the municipal chiefs, and gave notice to the convention that they were prepared to make their report. The conſpirators ſeeing that their crimes were on the point of being brought to light, the diſcovery of which would an⯑nihilate their project, threw off the maſk, and brought forward the commune of Paris to demand not only the diſmiſſion of the commiſſion which the convention had created, but the arreſtation of the members who compoſed it, together with the twenty-two deputies of the conven⯑tion the moſt eminent for their virtue and talents. The convention for ſeve⯑ral days withſtood every effort that was made to ſhake its firmneſs. The preſi⯑dent Iſnard, with all the warmth of ho⯑neſt indignation, threatened in the name of the republic the liberticide factioners of the commune, that if they dared to proceed to the execution of thoſe deſigns [71] which their preſent meaſures indicated, if the national repreſentation ſhould be violated by any of thoſe conſpiracies of which they had been the accomplices, that Paris ſhould be blotted out from the reſt of its cities, and that the traveller ſhould wander on the banks of the Seine enquiring where it once ſtood.

The chiefs of the conſpiracy had pro⯑ceeded too far to be ſtopped in their ca⯑reer by ſuch conſiderations as theſe; but they found more intrepidity and firmneſs in the convention than they expected, and therefore determined to employ their laſt expedient. The ringing of the tocſin and the firing of alarm guns had excited the attention of the citizens of Paris for two days, when on the third the beating to arms informed them that they were going to be put into inſurrec⯑tion. The national guard being thus put into inſurrection, the cauſe of which was unknown, the whole body were con⯑ducted [72] to the hall of the convention, where Henriot the commander of the military force, who had been created by the conſpirators for that purpoſe, had ordered them to aſſemble. The conven⯑tion was ſurrounded till nearly midnight by the military force, nor was any mem⯑ber permitted to leave the hall; but although beſieged the aſſembly was not yet conquered. The day paſſed in the moſt frightful tumult, and Rabaut de St. Etienne in vain ſtood at the tribune, holding in his hand the report of the commiſſion of twelve upon the conſpi⯑racy of the commune, together with the proofs of its authenticity. His voice was loſt in the horrible vociferations of the tribunes, and the murmurs of the faction within the hall. At length, find⯑ing all his efforts ineffectual, he left the aſſembly in deſpair.

The aſſault of the convention on the 31ſt of May, though it had produced [73] the moſt horrible diſorder, had not forced from the aſſembly the decree of arreſta⯑tion. But Robeſpierre with his com⯑mune, his Jacobins, and his body guard of revolutionary women, who were in the van of the attack, and ſtood in the paſſages of the convention armed with poniards, which they pointed at the boſoms of ſuch of the deputies as at⯑tempted to leave the hall, had gone too far to recede. The firſt of June they employed in preparations for a freſh at⯑tack; and on the ſecond again the tocſin rung, again the whole city was under arms, and the convention was again in⯑veſted by ſixty thouſand men.

It does not appear that all the adhe⯑rents of the conſpirators, or rather the different factions in league with them, were acquainted with all the means which Robeſpierre, Marat, and the mu⯑nicipality, the original authors of the plot, meant to employ. La Croix, a [74] member of the mountain, who had been repulſed in endeavouring to go out of the hall, proteſted with vehemence againſt this violation of their liberties; and when Henriot, in receiving orders from the preſident to draw off his troops, re⯑plied, that as ſoon as he had executed the orders of the people he would obey thoſe of the convention, and threatened that if they refuſed to deliver up to juſ⯑tice the twenty-two deputies whom he called traitors, he would order the can⯑non to be fired on the hall; Danton with great indignation imprecated vengeance on the head of the ruffian, which ſome months after, at the period of his own fall, was in the act of accuſation alleged againſt him as a crime. In vain did the convention, partaking Danton's indigna⯑tion, hope to obtain their liberty by de⯑creeing that the officers of the poſt next the entrance of the hall ſhould be called to the bar. Two of them had received [75] no orders, and a third informed them that he was himſelf conſigned by a few ſtrangers who did not appear to him ac⯑quainted even with military forms. Theſe ſtrangers were ordered to the bar; but they refuſed to attend: and thus this aſ⯑ſembly, which talked of nothing leſs than bringing princes and kings in chains to their feet, were made priſoners in their very ſanctuary by a few hirelings, of whom no other deſcription was given than that they were ſtrangers and wore muſtaches. This was an indignity not to be borne. The preſident, therefore, propoſed that the aſſembly in a body ſhould go out of the hall: this was decreed, and the ſen⯑tinels ſeeing themſelves likely to be over⯑powered gave way. The deputies pa⯑raded in the garden, expecting every mo⯑ment to be maſſacred; but the conſpira⯑tors who directed their motions led them back again to the hall, obſerving that the convention, after ſo ſtriking a proof, [76] could have no doubt of their being at liberty.

Previouſly to this mock parade, Bar⯑rere, who had been weighing the proba⯑bilities of ſucceſs on either ſide, and ex⯑amining which party would have the aſcendency, at length invited the pro⯑ſcribed deputies, for the ſake of peace and for the good of the ſtate, to ſubmit, and devote themſelves to their country. To this admonition three of them ac⯑ceded; but Barbaroux aſſerted, that he had no right to give in his dimiſſion, nor could he obey any other mandate than that of the people, who having inveſted him with the power had alone the right to take it from him. With more ve⯑hemence Lanjuinais exclaimed, that he would remain at his poſt to his lateſt breath, or till he was torn from it by force. His intrepidity provoked the conſpirators to rage and tumult. "Ci⯑tizens," ſaid he, "we have beheld in [77] barbarous countries the people leading human victims to the altar, after crown⯑ing them with flowers; but we never heard, that the prieſts who were about to ſacrifice them treated them with in⯑ſult. I repeat, that I have no right to lay aſide the auguſt character with which the people have honoured me; therefore, expect from me neither ſelf-dimiſſion, nor voluntary ſuſpenſion for a moment." This courageous reply to their fury ap⯑palled the tyrants; and had Vergniaud, Rabaut, Briſſot, and others whoſe names were in the conſpirators' liſt, been then at their poſt, had they ſeconded their pro⯑ſcribed colleagues at this critical moment with the thunder of their eloquence, the project of the conſpirators might eaſily have been defeated, and they might have ſaved both themſelves and the re⯑public. While the conſpirators were perpetrating this abominable deed, they were deliberating in the houſe of Guadet [78] about the means that ſhould be taken to avoid it, and deceived by a report which a friend unhappily ill-informed conveyed to them, that the blood of their col⯑leagues was flowing; and believing it to be too late to make any farther ſtruggle, they ſuffered the decree of arreſtation to be carried without oppoſition^*.

[79] Had the convention, when Henrios ſent them his mandate, ordered him to [80] be inſtantly put to death, their orders, if they could have been promulgated out of the precincts of the hall, would un⯑doubtedly have been obeyed; but the con⯑ſpirators had taken meaſures to prevent any ſuch tranſmiſſion, by conſigning eve⯑ry officer to his poſt, by filling up every avenue with their agents, who had re⯑ceived orders to ſuffer no communication between the hall and the court or garden, and alſo by cloſing the gates of the latter, ſo that the people in general knew no⯑thing of what was paſſing.

With many others I ſaw parts of the execution of this conſpiracy. I ſaw the armed force ſurrounding the hall, but was ignorant, like the reſt, of what was paſſing within. I beheld from a win⯑dow that overlooked the Tuilleries the convention in full proceſſion; but I could not account for this ſingular pa⯑rade, nor was it till midnight that I learned the hiſtory of the day, which [81] ſome of the deputies related to us; among whom was Barrere, who with eyes full of tears lamented to us the fate of his friends, and the total ruin of the republic—that Barrere who a few months after provoked and gloried in their mur⯑der!

Liberty, however, did not ſee her prin⯑ciples and rights abandoned with impu⯑nity, but has been terribly avenged. From that fatal decree may be dated all the horrors which have caſt their ſan⯑guinary cloud over the glories of the re⯑volution, which have given ſtrength to deſpots and arguments to ſlaves. The national convention has beheld its mem⯑bers dragged in ſucceſſive multitudes to the ſcaffold. The Pariſian guard, who ſub⯑mitted to become the paſſive inſtruments of this atrocious faction; the citizens of Paris, who bent their necks tamely to the yoke; the departments, who, when they afterwards accepted the conſtitution, had [82] the baſeneſs to make no conditions for their impriſoned repreſentatives; have ſeen their fellow-citizens, their friends, their relations, led to death, their pro⯑perty violated, all ſocial ties ſhaken, vir⯑tue every where depreſſed, vice every where triumphant, and their country one wide ſcene of calamity, of which the long page of hiſtory preſents no ſimilar pic⯑ture, even in the proſcriptions of Sylla or the caprices of Caligula^*.

[83] Immediately after the inſurrection of the 2d of June, an inſidious addreſs was pub⯑liſhed by the committee of public ſafety to calm the minds, and in their language to enlighten the underſtanding, of the people. This addreſs was heard with great indignation by the majority of the convention, ſome of whom proteſted with vehemence againſt the ſtate of hu⯑miliation to which they were reduced; while others, to give their diſſent a more [84] ſolemn form, aſſembled and ſigned indi⯑vidually a proteſt, in which they detailed the events of the 2d of June, repreſent⯑ing in ſtrong colours the deſpotiſm which had been exerciſed, the conſequences to which it would lead, and their reſolution to take no part in the deliberations of an aſſembly whoſe rights had been ſo ſhame⯑fully violated^*. This proteſt was ſigned by ſeventy-three deputies a few days after the arreſt of their colleagues; but it was not then publiſhed, ſince the report pro⯑miſed by the committee of public ſafety on thoſe who were arreſted had not yet been preſented; and as this report never appeared, ſeveral members of the com⯑mittee being in the number of the con⯑ſpirators, the proteſt was found among the papers of Duperret, and cauſed the impriſonment of all thoſe who had ſign⯑ed it.

The tidings of the inſurrection in Pa⯑ris [85] occaſioned much fermentation in the departments, who were expected to have demanded of the Pariſians, in a manner more ſerious than by addreſs or remon⯑ſtrance, why the repreſentatives whom they had committed to their reſpect and protection were retained as priſoners and regarded as traitors. The Pariſians, who had been altogether paſſive during this ſtruggle, were not much moved by theſe menaces. They had beheld with indif⯑ference the progreſs of the conteſt. Find⯑ing themſelves delivered from the oppreſ⯑ſion of the former government; conclud⯑ing that no tyrant exiſted except ſuch as bore the name of king; and perſuaded that that ſyſtem could never return, they were careleſs whether the plain or the mountain, the côté droit or côté gauche held the reins of government. This fatal error has been the ſource of almoſt all the evils that have deſolated the repub⯑lic; for had the Pariſians attended to the [86] political duties that were required of them in exchange for their enjoyment of political rights, they would never have ſeen their fellow-citizens dragged daily through their ſtreets to the ſcaffold, at the nod of tyrants whom they ought early to have cruſhed.

During the progreſs of this conſpiracy, the aſſemblies of the ſections where the citizens met to deliberate on public af⯑fairs, were either filled by the agents of the conſpirators, or governed by the conſpirators themſelves; and where nei⯑ther of them had weight ſufficient to miſ⯑lead the citizens, they took advantage of their departure to propoſe and carry reſo⯑lutions among themſelves, which they proclaimed as the voice of the ſection. Though theſe practices were denounced in the convention, and though ſometimes the ſection of to-day came to diſclaim what the ſame ſection of yeſterday had ſaid, yet the diſcovery of the fraud had [87] no tendency to awaken the citizens to greater vigilance. Had they known to what end all the artifices of the conſpira⯑tors tended, they would undoubtedly have been on their guard; but as they were made to ſerve the views of the trai⯑tors in demanding the expulſion of their re⯑preſentatives, without believing that they had committed any crime; ſo they were alſo made the inſtruments of conſummat⯑ing the treaſon by aſſiſting in the violation of the repreſentation itſelf in the arbi⯑trary arreſt of the deputies, without knowing for what reaſon they were armed and aſſembled. A long and mournful experience has at length ſhewn them, that it is not ſufficient to feel the love of li⯑berty without making continual efforts to preſerve it; that ſo many and various are the enemies which it has to combat before its reign can be permanently eſta⯑bliſhed, that as much vigilance is requir⯑ed to guard it from the inroads of the [88] aſpiring demagogue, as courage to ſhake off the yoke of deſpotiſm; and that when the ſacred code of freedom is violated in one point it leads to the deſtruction of the whole. When the nobles whom the law had confounded in the claſs of citi⯑zens were perſecuted as a caſt, when men of ſuperior abilities became proſcribed for "ariſtocracy of talents," thoſe who were diſtinguiſhed for neither deceived themſelves in believing they were ſafe.

Although the citizens remained un⯑moved at theſe violations, a conſiderable number of the departments felt the in⯑dignity, and prepared to avenge the na⯑tional honour. Some made eloquent remonſtrances at the bar of the conven⯑tion; ſome deliberated on the convocation of the primary aſſemblies; ſome propoſ⯑ed ſending no farther contributions to Paris, while others took arms to ſuppreſs the rebellion of the commune againſt the republic. For ſome time the arrival [89] of the departmental force was expected; but the conſpirators, who foreſaw this formidable oppoſition to the accompliſh⯑ment of their deſigns, had the prudence to provide againſt it by ſending previ⯑ouſly into the departments as many of their emiſſaries as they could ſpare with⯑out weakening their force at home, taken partly from among their accomplices in the convention, who carried with them the importance of repreſentatives of the people.

The conſpirators had alſo the advan⯑tage of being inveſted with the authority of government, as they had ſeized on the machine. They had poſſeſſion of the convention, who were compelled to fol⯑low the impulſe already given them; they were proprietors of the national wealth, and had the armies at their command. The departments, on the contrary, had no central point of union except the com⯑mon indignation which the conduct of [90] the conſpirators had excited. They had no treaſure at their diſpoſal but what aroſe from voluntary contributions; and while they were deliberating what ſteps they ſhould purſue, the conſpirators, clothed with the national power which they had uſurped, reduced the depart⯑ments to the ſame ſtate of ſubjection as they had the convention and Paris. In the weſtern departments, where ſome of the deputies who were accuſed had fled, and around whom the people had crowd⯑ed partaking their indignation, the ar⯑mies that had haſtily aſſembled as ſud⯑denly diſappeared; and the whole of the republic except the city of Lyons ſub⯑mitted to the yoke. The cauſes of this defection, which have hitherto been in⯑volved in obſcurity, it being the intereſt of the conſpirators to keep them conceal⯑ed from the world, have lately been de⯑veloped by one of the principal actors in thoſe memorable ſcenes, Louvet, de⯑puty [91] of the department of the Loiret, who diſtinguiſhed himſelf early in the con⯑vention by his accuſation of Robeſpierre, who unmaſked the conſpiracy of the 10th of March, and who on the 31ſt of May was honourably proſcribed, but is now reſtored to his friends and his coun⯑try. I ſhall tranſcribe his own words.

"Guadet and myſelf reached Caen on the 26th of June. On the 5th of the ſame month eight departments, namely, five of the former province of Brittany and three of Normandy, had entered into a common league. They had juſt ſent their commiſſaries to Caen, and their troops were at the point of arriving. Wimpfen, the general of the whole force, had hitherto confined all his exploits to travelling about and talking, and under the moſt frivolous pretences delayed every kind of organiſation. As ſoon as I ſaw him I was convinced that he was a deter⯑mined royaliſt, for he took no pains to [92] conceal it. I aſked Barbaroux and Bu⯑zot what they could expect from ſuch a man, for the ſupport of our cauſe. One of them anſwered me, that Wimpfen was a man of honour, and incapable of break⯑ing his engagements, and the other was altogether captivated by his agreeable manners. Guadet and Pethion, who had juſt arrived, did not [...] my apprehen⯑ſions. They were aſtoniſhed at my readi⯑neſs in ſuſpecting every one that was not as much a republican as myſelf. From that time I ſaw that every thing was go⯑ing the ſame way at Caen as it had done at Paris. Wimpfen was beloved by the Normans; he had a conſiderable party among the adminiſtrators of Calvados, and had gained the confidence of the Bretons. In order to take the command from him, it was neceſſary to unite and make uſe of all our exertions; but I found myſelf altogether unſupported. Every thing therefore was likely to fail on the ſide of [93] the republic. Beſides, many Normans, who ſhewed the moſt favourable diſpoſi⯑tions towards us, becauſe in the credit of the news-papers they believed us to be royaliſts, changed their conduct in the moſt pointed manner when by our con⯑verſation, and particularly by our actions, they came to know us better. My firſt hopes were directed therefore towards the ſouth. If my wife had been at Caen, we ſhould have gone aboard ſome veſſel at Honfleur bound to Bourdeaux; and as it would have been very eaſy for us to have ſeen whether things went no bet⯑ter there than elſewhere, we ſhould have taken our paſſage aboard the firſt Ame⯑rican veſſel, and have been at this time ſafe in Philadelphia.

"Three weeks elapſed, while Wimp⯑fen did nothing but lead to Evreux the two thouſand men who had come up from the different departments. In the mean time report had ſo ſwelled this little [94] troop, that it was ſaid at Paris to be thirty thouſand ſtrong. At this period, the patriots there had recovered from their fears, ſpoke their opinions pub⯑licly, and were preparing to overthrow the terrible municipality. Many ſec⯑tions had already ſent their commiſſaries to Evreux, who had carried back to Paris different publications explanatory of our true ſentiments, and particularly a piece which they called, but I know not for what reaſon, Wimpfen's Mani⯑feſto, and which was a declaration of the commiſſaries of the united departments; a declaration which I had compoſed with great labour, which breathed only peace, fraternity and aſſiſtance to the Pariſians, but open war and exemplary puniſh⯑ment to ſome of the mountain, to the municipality and the cordeliers; and this juſt diſtinction had produced the beſt poſſible effect in Paris. The com⯑miſſaries beſides had ſeen and borne [95] their teſtimonies againſt the baſe calum⯑nies which had been uttered againſt this departmental army, when it was accuſed of having worn the white cockade, and expreſſed its wiſh for royalty. Every thing in ſhort was ſo diſpoſed, that if, at this moment, our arms had met but with the ſlighteſt ſucceſs, the revolution would have been effected in Paris, without the interpoſition of the departmental army; but it was not in this kind of ſucceſs that Wimpfen was intereſted.

"The mountain under great apprehen⯑ſions had at length raiſed in Paris 1800 foot ſoldiers, the better half of which were praying for our ſucceſs, and alſo ſeven or eight hundred ruffians as cow⯑ardly as they were thieviſh: this collec⯑tion had juſt entered Vernon. Then it was that Wimpfen talked of attacking this town; and here ſuddenly a Mr. Puy⯑ſey, of whom we had never heard, was in⯑troduced to us by the general, as an of⯑ficer [96] full of republicaniſm and know⯑ledge. He it was whom Wimpfen or⯑dered to attack Vernon, and certainly he very well obeyed his ſecret inſtructions.

"In order to ſurpriſe the enemy, he went out in open day with drums beating. He marched during the ex⯑treme heat, and then made his ſol⯑diers, who had no tents, and who for the greater part had never been in a camp, paſs the night in the open air. He loſt the whole of the following day in attacking a ſmall caſtle, which he had the honour of taking. The enemy having by this time been well and duly informed of all his manoeuvres, he, in order to give them ſtill greater advantage, made his troops halt at the entrance of a wood a league diſtant from Vernon; placed his cannon one piece behind the other along a wall; left all his little army in the greateſt diſorder; did not even place ſentinels; and went to ſleep [97] at a cottage at half a league from the place. An hour after, a few hundred men ſuddenly made their appearance, who ſurpriſed our men and fired three rounds of grape ſhot; but the guns in all pro⯑bability were charged only with powder, for there is no doubt that it was but a farce well arranged. However that may be, a rout took place immediately among the ſoldiers, who did not know with what numbers they had to engage, who could ſcarcely find their arms, and who were looking about in vain for their commander. This was ſo expeditious a retreat, that, had it not been for the brave ſoldiers of the department of the Iſle and Vilaine, who ſtood their ground for ſome little time, not a ſingle field piece would have been ſaved. In ſhort, not a man received the ſlighteſt wound: the enemy did not advance thirty ſteps to follow up their eaſy victory. This adventure did not hinder Mr. Puyſay, whom the [98] adminiſtration of the department of the Eure entreated not to abandon them, from declaring that Evreux was not tenable; and in reality the next day he withdrew himſelf ſixteen leagues, without ſtriking a blow, and abandoned a whole depart⯑ment to the enemy.

"On the arrival of the courier who brought us theſe ſad tidings, Wimpfen did not appear at all diſconcerted. He more⯑over aſſured us that there was nothing unfortunate in this event: he talked of fortifying Caen, of declaring the city in a ſtate of defence, of organizing an army ſomewhat ſtronger, and of making pa⯑per-money which ſhould be current throughout the ſeven united depart⯑ments.

"Theſe obſervations afforded room for deep reflection. Salles and myſelf, after having a long time converſed on the ſub⯑ject, were convinced that the general, ſo far from wiſhing to march to Paris, [99] intended to keep us ſhut up with him in the city, where his party was prevalent, to eſtabliſh a communication with En⯑gland, and to commit us with that power if it were poſſible; in fine, to make uſe of us according to circumſtances, either to make his peace with the mountain if the coalition of the ſouthern departments ſhould be diſſolved, or make his peace with the republicans if they ſhould overthrow the mountain. Our colleagues, to whom we communicated our ſuſpicions, thought us viſionaries, and nothing leſs was ne⯑ceſſary to convince them than what hap⯑pened ſoon after.

"The general requeſted to have a con⯑ference with all of us who were deputies, on an affair of the greateſt conſequence. He began by deſcribing to us our ſitua⯑tion as very critical, unleſs we took ſome vigorous reſolution. He was going to Liſieux to organiſe his army, and to form his camp in ſuch a manner as to make [100] at leaſt for ſome time a proper defence. The future, however, required ſome⯑thing more permanent. He returned back to his projects reſpecting (aen, to his propoſals about the creation of paper money, &c. &c. &c. and as he judged it neceſſary to ſupport his reaſoning by terror, though he ought to have known that ſuch a mode of proceeding would have little influence on men accuſtomed to brave daily the fury and the mur⯑derers of the mountain, an officer, who undoubtedly had been inſtructed, ſud⯑denly entered, and with a frightened look informed the general that there was a riot; that the people had arreſted the convoys going to the army; and that they were making violent motions againſt the deputies. Wimpfen affected to be angry at the precipitation with which he told him this alarming news. It is no⯑thing, ſaid he to the officer; go and talk calmly to the people, make them eaſy; [101] give them a little money, if it be neceſ⯑ſary. When this man left us, the gene⯑ral thought he might venture to make the great propoſition. Reflect maturely on all that I have ſaid, reſumed he: in order to execute great projects we muſt employ great means. But ſtay, I am going to ſpeak plainly: I ſee only one poſſible mode of providing ourſelves with men, arms, ammunition, money, and help of every kind; that is, to negotiate with England; and myſelf have the means provided, but I muſt have your authority, your engagem nt.

"The reader may be aſſured that I have a perfect recollection of the lines I have written in Italics, and I can alſo aſſure him that I have ſtated truly the ſcene of the preceding paſſage. It is difficult to paint the effect which theſe words pro⯑duced on my too confiding friends. All of them at the ſame moment, ſtruck with indignation, without any previous [102] conſultation roſe up. The conference was inſtantly interrupted, though the general tried every means of renewing it.

"Wimpfen, ſomewhat diſconcerted, left us without ſeeming to feel any reſent⯑ment. He only repeated to us that he was going to Liſieux, and infinuated, that in order to reſtrain ſome malevolent people who were endeavouring in Caen to render us unpopular, we ſhould all do better to remain in that place. I think that every perſon muſt perceive the infa⯑mous ſnare into which this worthy ally of the mountain wiſhed to draw us. Had fear or the deſire of vengeance prompted us to accede to this propoſi⯑tion, the republic would have been loſt as well as our honour. The mountain would have had victorious proofs againſt us. It would have been they who were republicans, we that were royaliſts; and all the republicans perſecuted for being royaliſts, would have been arreſted, [103] impriſoned and guillotined. Our con⯑ſpiracy, they would have ſaid, extended to the ſouth. It would have been we, and not themſelves, who delivered Tou⯑lon to the Engliſh. I know, indeed, that after their terrible triumphs they did not fail to make ſuch aſſertions; but they found no honeſt or enlightened man who gave them credit. They were, therefore, driven to their accuſation of federaliſm; an accuſation not leſs abſurd and calumnious.

"The next day Barbaroux and myſelf went to Liſieux. The general was ſome⯑what ſurpriſed to ſee us, but he did not receive us with leſs courteſy. We learn⯑ed, what he himſelf took care not to in⯑form us, that he had juſt had a ſecret conference with one of the agents of the chiefs of the mountain, who for three weeks paſt were throwing away hand⯑fuls of aſſignats at Evreux, and every where on their paſſage; and who, ſoon [104] after, probably ſure of powerful ſup⯑port, came with the intention of con⯑tinuing the ſame plan of corruption at Caen, even under our eyes. We found at Liſieux many people in arms, but no ſoldiers, no organization, no diſcipline, and the rage of making motions. A ſecret hand in a ſingle day diſorganized even the Breton battalions which had hitherto been firmly united. The gene⯑ral was at pains to make us obſerve this diſorder, and to lead us to conclude from thence that he could not maintain his poſition there, but that he muſt march back with all his troops to Caen, and make this city the central point of reſiſt⯑ance. &c. He nevertheleſs avoided repeat⯑ing to us his Engliſh propoſitions. Ac⯑cordingly the retreat took place the fol⯑lowing day: all my friends then acknow⯑ledged that our affairs were ruined in the weſtern departments. In vain did the general, after having gone back to Caen, [105] where he was always deſirous of eſta⯑bliſhing himſelf, ſhew diſpoſitions for a ſerious defence. In vain did he create ſtaff officers, arrange his troops, em⯑ploy himſelf in ſearching for a conve⯑nient ſituation for encampment, eſtabliſh batteries of eighteen-pounders: all this parade no longer impoſed on our col⯑leagues.

"It appears clear that Wimpfen, the evening before, had given notice by one of the couriers of the committee of pub⯑lic ſafety, to the mountain; and I hope that I am underſtood, when I ſay the mountain, that it is not of the whole body, nor even all its leaders, that I ſpeak, but the principal cordeliers of the mountain, ſuch as La Croix, Fabre d'Eglantine, and, who were equally deceiving and ſhifting between the republicans, Pethi⯑on, Guadet, &c. and the dictator Ro⯑beſpierre—that Wimpfen had given in⯑formation of the bad ſucceſs of his En⯑gliſh [106] overtures, and that it was uſeleſs to renew the propoſition. It alſo ap⯑pears that the mountain then determined to diſperſe our little band, but without neglecting to throw on our party that colouring of royaliſm which was ſo ne⯑ceſſary to effect our ruin; and it was without doubt at this period only that they determined to deliver, at leaſt to all appearance, Toulon to the Engliſh. What I am now ſaying will poſſibly aſ⯑toniſh every one who is not well informed as to this buſineſs; but when the proper time ſhall come, I will explain myſelf fully with reſpect to this terrible farce of Toulon.

"It is thought that Wimpfen had a ſafe-conduct from the mountain, and a ready opportunity of going into England; but I know not what became of Mr. Puyſay, who ſuffered himſelf to be ſo com⯑plaiſantly beaten at Vernon. The admi⯑niſtrators of Calvados had given notice [107] to the adminiſtration of their ſhameful defection. They had ſecretly made their peace with the mountain, without giving us any information. The third day only they made it known to us; and the method they took was to ſend and poſt up at the gate of the intendance, where we lodged, the mountain placard, in which was the decree of our being out of the law."

The counterpart of the ſcene acted at Paris, between the conſpirators and the convention, was attempted at Lyons, and the ſame day was appointed in both cities for the accompliſhment of their purpoſe. At the head of this provincial conſpi⯑racy was a man named Chalier, a Pied⯑montais by birth (for moſt of the agents of the conſpirators were foreigners) and a ſharper by profeſſion, having fled his own country on account of having com⯑mitted fraudulent bankruptcies. He was ſent to Lyons by the commune of Paris, after the maſſacre of September, and opened his miſſion by the murder of [108] nine perſons who had been committed to priſon by the municipality of Lyons for ſlight offences. Agreeably to the in⯑ſtructions he had received, and in con⯑formity to the general plan which the commune of Paris and the conſpirators had formed, their apoſtle laboured in⯑ceſſantly to propagate the doctrines of robbery, rebellion and murder. Seeing that theſe exhortations had been attend⯑ed with their due effects in Paris, "the needy villain's general home," where the promiſe of riches without labour had al⯑lured all the idle and profligate to the ſtandard of the conſpirators, he was diſ⯑appointed that more proſelytes to this ſeducing ſyſtem had not honoured his embaſſy at Lyons, where ſociety was leſs diſunited, and where induſtry had eſ⯑tabliſhed a ſuperſtitious regard to proper⯑ty, altogether incompatible with Chalier's ſyſtem of reform. A few, however, he found who liſtened to his projects, and to thoſe he communicated his plan of regenera⯑tion, [109] which conſiſted in placing a guil⯑lotine the following day on one of the bridges, where all the capital merchants, who were neceſſarily ariſtocrats, were to be executed, and their bodies thrown in⯑to the Rhone. Though this ſecret was imparted under the ſolemnity of an oath, yet there were ſome who touched with remorſe gave private notice of it to the citizens, who took meaſures to prevent its execution.

Chalier, who ought inſtantly to have been put to death by the juſt indignation of the people, was ſuffered to continue his revolutionary projects, to the great an⯑noyance of the wealthy citizens, againſt whom his attacks were continually di⯑rected. By perſeverance he had at length formed a ſet out of the profligate which are to be found in all large communities, and with their aid he was encouraged to attempt once more the accompliſhment of his deſigns.

[110] He had been appointed procureur of the commune; and as the municipality were compoſed of Jacobins, and of others as weak as thoſe were wicked, Chalier, ſupported by the faction of Paris, be⯑came its principal director. Knowing the progreſs of the conſpiracy in that city, he prepared his friends for the ſame events at Lyons, by declaring openly in the popular ſociety on the 27th of May, that the preſidents and ſecretaries of the ſections, together with the rich egotiſts, ſhould be beheaded on the following day. The municipality on the 26th, in⯑fluenced by Chalier, had levied a revo⯑lutionary tax of ſix millions of livres on the rich, to be paid in twenty-four hours. This municipal levy excited murmurs, as was expected, and gave the anarchiſts pretences for raiſing tumults. The rich were deſtined to be the victims, and Chalier's band prepared themſelves to be the executioners. But the Lyonnais [111] might have cruſhed this inſurrection in its birth, had not the narrow ſpirit of traffic, which ſees nothing beneficial in ſociety except the accumulation of wealth, made them feel that their country was but a ſecondary object, and fitted only to employ the attention of thoſe whoſe time was of leſs mercantile profit than their own.

Appriſed of the intentions of the con⯑ſpirators, who had made out the liſt of the proſcriptions, and arranged the plan of the maſſacre, the citizens flew to arms, and ſeized on the arſenal. The conſpi⯑rators kept poſſeſſion of the town-hall, and both parties prepared for action; for Lyons now conſiſted only of thoſe who intended to murder, and thoſe who did not like to be murdered. The com⯑bat was vigorouſly ſupported on both ſides; for the conſpirators were aided by a party of military whom they had pre⯑viouſly engaged in their intereſts. Vic⯑tory [112] remained doubtful for a long time, as the battle was fought in the ſtreets of the city, one quarter being in the poſſeſ⯑ſion of the conſpirators, while the re⯑publicans were maſters of the other. It was not till midnight that the citizens took the town-hall, which was the head quarters of Chalier's party. This event decided the conteſt, which had been ſe⯑vere and bloody. The conſpirators were impriſoned, and their chief, after a long and formal trial, was condemned by the tribunal to death. Had the ſame reſiſt⯑ance been made to oppreſſion in other communes, that of Paris would have been compelled to ſubmit to the general will; but as the departments had declined the conteſt, Lyons was left to withſtand alone all the reſentment of the conſpi⯑rators, and was beſieged a few weeks after this period.

LETTER V.

THE chief point of accuſation againſt the deputies who were arreſted on the ſecond of June, was the continued op⯑poſition which they were accuſed of hav⯑ing made to the formation of a republi⯑can conſtitution. This calumny was con⯑tradicted by the fact; the proſcribed de⯑puties having, after the labour of ſome months, preſented a plan of conſtitution to the convention, which had been pub⯑liſhed by its order; but of which it was a part of the conſpirators' plan to in⯑terrupt and prevent the diſcuſſion.

As many believed that a conſtitution was the remedy for every evil, moral and political, and even phyſical, that af⯑flicted the ſtate; and that, when once prepared and adminiſtered, all its mala⯑dies [114] would be cured; ſome of the de⯑partments were appeaſed by the aſſurance that their preſent rulers would give them in a fortnight what they were made to believe their predeceſſors had ſo long withheld.

The appearance of this conſtitution within the appointed time tended greatly to allay the diſcontents, and gave an air of popularity to the proceedings of the conſpirators; for, as long as the people obtained the bleſſing, they were indiffer⯑ent from what hand they received it. They were little aware of the purpoſes of their tyrants, who only giving them one ſhort glimpſe of this wiſhed-for con⯑ſtitution, and having obtained their ſanc⯑tion of it, threw it aſide, locked up this hallowed book of the law, ſhrowded with a dark veil the tables of the rights of man, and boldly proclaimed a new-in⯑vented ſpecies of tyranny, under the de⯑nomination of revolutionary government. [115] That epithet has ſince juſtified every enormity, warranted the violation of every principle: and theft and pillage, noyades and fuſilades have all received the common appellation of revolutionary meaſures.

What contributed alſo to diſſipate the ſtorm that was going to be poured on Paris, was the dread which the depart⯑ments themſelves had of extending the civil war, which then raged in the coun⯑try ſouth of the Loire, when there was a poſſibility of attaining by milder means the objects they had in view, the re-eſta⯑bliſhment of their repreſentatives, and confining the extravagant power of the commune of Paris within its juſt bounds. What alſo miſled them was, the ſubjec⯑tion to which Paris itſelf was reduced, and which, deceived by addreſſes from the convention and the commune, they miſtook for the enjoyment of tranquillity; and what finiſhed the conteſt was the thunder of the conſpirators hurled againſt [116] the departments which had ſhewn moſt zeal in favour of the impriſoned deputies, the conſtituted powers of which were diſſolved by the convention, and its members declared guilty of acts of re⯑bellion. It was fortunate for the uſurpers, that this almoſt general and ſpeedy ac⯑quieſcence took place; as, independently of the coaleſced powers, they had a moſt formidable enemy to contend with in the royaliſts of the Vendée, who, while theſe ſtruggles for power convulſed Paris, were organizing a force that, but for the invin⯑cible ſpirit of liberty that inſpired the im⯑menſe majority of the republic, was cal⯑culated to overwhelm every contending party, and bring back the antient deſpotiſm with all the avenging terrors of ſacerdotal and ariſtocratical rage.

The country which was the ſcene of this inſurrection in favour of prieſthood and royal [...]y, is ſituated between the Loire and the Charente, ſtretching along the [117] coaſts between the two rivers, and mak⯑ing part of the territory which was call⯑ed, under the ancient government, the province of Poitou. It is a country fer⯑tile both in corn and paſture; and from its rich abundance diſtributed plenty to moſt of the neighbouring departments, and furniſhed even to the centre of France a conſiderable part of its ſupplies. Where nature had done ſo much to make this region the ſeat of plenty, the inhabi⯑tant was not ſolicitous to increaſe his riches by foreign traffic; ſo that com⯑merce contributed but little to his opu⯑lence, and manufacturers were almoſt un⯑known. However innocent and paſtoral the life of the ſhepherd and the huſband⯑man has been repreſented, and however productive of thoſe vices that corrupt and enervate mankind the commercial intercourſe between nations may have been found; this communication brings with it an interchange of knowledge and [118] manners which improves and embelliſhes ſociety, while the permanent habitudes of the former ſerve to retain him in a ſtate which adds nothing to the common ſtock of knowledge, and contributes no⯑thing to the progreſſive improvement of the world. The negative merit of ex⯑emption from vices to which we have never been tempted, may be granted to this intellectual darkneſs, where it is placed beyond the reach of endangering more enlightened ſociety; but when ig⯑norance becomes the ſport of fanaticiſm, and ambitious men make it the inſtru⯑ment of their guilty deſigns, it becomes a calamity the moſt terrible in the liſt of human evils.

The department of the Vendée, from its local ſituation, had little other inter⯑courſe with the reſt of the republic than what aroſe from the export of the ſuper⯑fluity of its produce; and while the great and immortal principles which directed [119] the revolution awakened in the boſom of every mechanic and peaſant through⯑out France the noble ſentiment that no man was ſuperior to him in his rights, the Vendéan, who had only heard of theſe things through the organ of the noble and the prieſt, remained the implicit be⯑liever and obedient vaſſal, while his fel⯑low-citizens were rejoicing in their eman⯑cipation.

In this inſulated department the feodal ſyſtem had been maintained in all its rigour. The provincial laws of Brittany, which, from the minuteneſs and ſingu⯑larity of their oppreſſion, would be rather ſubjects of ridicule than abhorrence, had they not contributed ſo much to the de⯑gradation of the human character in the tyrant who inflicted and the ſlave who ſuffered them, were incorporated with other laws equally barbarous, and peculiar to the country.

As this part of the republic, from its [120] geographical and moral ſituation, had received but a few faint rays of the light of that liberty which had burſt forth in France; and as already the ſeeds of diſ⯑cord had been plentifully ſcattered among the inhabitants by the fanatical clergy, it was fitted to become the retreat of all who were averſe to the new order of pub⯑lic affairs. Accordingly the nobles and the prieſts, who, in the firſt meetings of the conſtituent aſſembly, diſcovered, that by the removal of thoſe factitious bar⯑riers by which they had hitherto been ſeparated from the other claſſes of the people, they were now to mingle in the common maſs, found refuge in theſe de⯑partments, where they truſted that thoſe diſtinctions might ſtill be reſpected which had elſewhere ſunk into contempt. Their influence was extenſive; and as their zeal was quickened by implacable reſentment, thoſe laws of which they could not hin⯑der the promulgation, and particularly [121] thoſe which reſpected their own orders, were but imperfectly executed, or appa⯑rently obeyed. Having found that that enthuſiaſm which led the conſtituent aſ⯑ſembly to overthrow theſe gigantic pri⯑vileges, had conſiderably evaporated to⯑wards its cloſe; and ſeeing alſo that the court, in ſtruggling to regain its loſt power, ſought their alliance; they grew bolder in their pretenſions, and became more active in their hatred towards the eſtabliſhment of the new government. At firſt an air of general diſcontent over⯑ſpread this part of the country—partial fermentations next ſucceeded, and the ſpi⯑rit of inſurrection at length became ſo general, that the conſtituent aſſembly was compelled to take meaſures to ſtop its alarming progreſs.

The means employed by the legiſlature were calculated rather to increaſe than prevent the evil; for, inſtead of ſending commiſſaries from their own body to [122] examine into its cauſes; inſtead of en⯑lightening the people, and unmaſking and puniſhing thoſe who had prompted them to rebellion; they entruſted the court with the execution of their decrees, and, as it might have been expected, the in⯑ſurrection obtained additional force, and even a ſort of royal ſanction.

The authority of the next aſſembly was inſufficient to repreſs ſo alarming an evil. Too much divided by the ſpirit of party, and too much occupied in ſtruggles againſt the court, the legiſla⯑tive aſſembly for a long time applied only palliatives to the diſeaſe; nor, till it wore an aſpect dangerous to the exiſt⯑ence of the revolution, was the aſſembly rouſed to the application of any effective remedy. The meaſure they firſt propoſed was the baniſhment of the prieſts who had refuſed adherence to the new conſti⯑tution; but this meaſure appeared ſo alarming to the court, and ſo deſtructive [123] of the ſyſtem it had adopted to regain its loſt influence, that the king was adviſed to make uſe of the repreſſive power which the conſtitution gave him, and to refuſe his royal ſanction. Though this refuſal haſtened the deſtruction of the court, already tottering, it gave new courage to the diſcontented, who, find⯑ing themſelves ſo zealouſly ſupported, burſt into open reſiſtance in the Vendée and the neighbouring departments, which it required all the exertion of the depart⯑mental force to ſuppreſs.

The fall of the court ſuſpended for a time the progreſs of this inſurrection; but the unhappy auſpices under which the convention met inſpired freſh ardour, and led the inſurgents to new exertions. In hopes of reſtoring the monarchy, a vaſt plan of inſurrection was formed, which not only comprehended the Ven⯑dée and the adjoining departments, but extended itſelf through a great part of [124] Brittany. The convention was too much occupied in reſiſting the conſpirators at Paris to attend to the progreſs of the royaliſts, who were ſuffered to take un⯑interrupted poſſeſſion of the Vendée and the neighbouring departments. Before the end of March they had organized an army of 40,000 men, conſiſting chief⯑ly of peaſants, ſervants of the former no⯑bility, ſmugglers, poachers and game-keepers, men well accuſtomed to the uſe of arms, and had begun their march towards Paris before the convention were formally adviſed that any inſurrection had taken place. Their army was com⯑manded by experienced chiefs who had ſerved under the antient government: but what gave the rebellion its fierceſt rage was the fanaticiſm which the prieſt inſpired, who marching at the head of their columns, bearing the crucifix in his hand, pointed out to his followers the road to victory or heaven. The pro⯑greſs [125] which the royaliſts had made be⯑fore any force was oppoſed to them was ſo alarming, and at the period when the Jacobins had ſeized upon the govern⯑ment at Paris, the portion of the coun⯑try which the Vendéens had ſubdued was ſo extenſive, that it ſeemed doubt⯑ful of which party France was deſtined to be the prey. The royaliſts had en⯑tire poſſeſſion of the Loire almoſt as far as Paris, and menaced Rochelle on the one ſide while they beſieged Nantes on the other, and opened a paſſage into the departments which made part of the for⯑mer province of Brittany.

The faction at Paris did not fail to improve the events of the Vendée to their own advantage. Pethion, Buzot, Rabaud St. Etienne, Iſnard, Lanjui⯑nais, Barbaroux, Guadet, Louvet and others of the proſcribed deputies having made their eſcape, the conſpirators de⯑clared, in an addreſs to the departments, [126] that the project of the deputies who were ſtill in arreſtation was evidently the ſame as that of their colleagues, who were gone to facilitate the march of the rebels, and aid them in the eſtabliſhment of the royal power. This calumny, which was re⯑futed by every addreſs received from the departments^*, formed the baſis of the accuſation which was framed againſt the Gironde; and the founders and moſt ſtrenuous ſupporters of the republic were ſoon after dragged to the ſcaffold as the advocates and protectors of royalty.

In proportion as the departments re⯑laxed in their energy, the ferocity of the conſpirators increaſed. An event alſo happened at this period, which, from the calumnies to which it gave riſe, and the conſequences it produced, proved fatal to the arreſted deputies. This was the aſ⯑ſaſſination of Marat. In the firſt dawn [127] of the conſpiracy Marat became a prin⯑cipal inſtrument in the hands of the trai⯑tors, who found him well fitted for their purpoſes; and being ſaved from the pu⯑niſhment which uſually follows perſonal inſult by the contempt which the defor⯑mity and diminutiveneſs of his perſon ex⯑cited, he became the habitual retailer of all the falſehoods and calumnies which were invented by his party againſt every man of influence or reputation. He was the Therſites of the convention, whom no one would deign to chaſtiſe; for his extravagance made his employers often diſclaim him as a fool, while the general ſentiment he excited was the ſort of an⯑tipathy we feel for a loathſome reptile. His political ſentiments often varied; for he ſometimes exhorted the choice of a chief, and ſometimes made declamations in favour of a limited monarchy; but what rendered him uſeful to the conſpi⯑rators was his readineſs to publiſh every [128] ſlander which they framed, and to ex⯑hort to every horror which they medi⯑tated.—His rage for denunciation was ſo great that he became the dupe of the idle; and his daily paper contains the names of great criminals who exiſted only in the imagination of thoſe who im⯑poſed on his credulous malignity.

After this firſt preacher of blood had performed the part allotted to him in the plan of evil, he was confined to his cham⯑ber by a lingering diſeaſe to which he was ſubject, and of which he would proba⯑bly ſoon have died. But he was aſſaſ⯑ſinated in his bath by a young woman who had travelled with this intention from Caen in Normandy. Charlotte Anne Marie Corday was a native of St. Saturnin in the department of the Orne. She appears to have lived in a ſtate of literary retirement with her father, and by the ſtudy of antient and modern hiſ⯑torians to have imbibed a ſtrong attach⯑ment [129] to liberty. She had been accuſ⯑tomed to aſſimilate certain periods of antient hiſtory with the events that were paſſing before her, and was probably excited by the examples of antiquity to the commiſſion of a deed, which ſhe be⯑lieved with fond enthuſiaſm would de⯑liver and ſave her country.

Being at Caen when the citizens of the department were enrolling themſelves to march to the relief of the convention, the animation with which ſhe ſaw them devoting their lives to their country, led her to execute, without delay, the pro⯑ject ſhe had formed^*. Under pretence [130] of going home, ſhe came to Paris, and the third day after her arrival obtained admiſſion to Marat. She had invented a ſtory to deceive him; and when he promiſed her that all the promoters of [131] the inſurrection in the departments ſhould be ſent to the guillotine, ſhe drew out a knife which ſhe had purchaſed for the occaſion, and plunged it into his breaſt.

She was immediately apprehended, and conducted to the Abbaye priſon, from which ſhe was transferred to the Concier⯑gerie, and brought before the revolution⯑ary tribunal.

She acknowledged the deed, and juſ⯑tified it by aſſerting that it was a duty ſhe owed her country and mankind to rid the world of a monſter whoſe ſanguinary doctrines were framed to in⯑volve the country in anarchy and civil war, and aſſerted her right to put Ma⯑rat to death as a convict already con⯑demned by the public opinion. She truſted that her example would inſpire the people with that energy which had been at all times the diſtinguiſhed cha⯑racteriſtic of republicans; and which ſhe defined to be that devotedneſs to our [132] country which renders life of little com⯑parative eſtimation.

Her deportment during the trial was modeſt and dignified. There was ſo engaging a ſoftneſs in her countenance, that it was difficult to conceive how ſhe could have armed herſelf with ſufficient intrepidity to execute the deed. Her an⯑ſwers to the interrogatories of the court were full of point and energy. She ſometimes ſurpriſed the audience by her wit, and excited their admiration by her eloquence. Her face ſometimes beamed with ſublimity, and was ſometimes co⯑vered with ſmiles. At the cloſe of her trial ſhe took three letters from her bo⯑ſom, and preſented them to the judges, and requeſted they might be forwarded to the perſons to whom they were ad⯑dreſſed. Two were written to Barba⯑roux, in which with great eaſe and ſpi⯑rit ſhe relates her adventures from her leaving Caen to the morning of her trial. [133] The other was an affectionate and ſo⯑lemn adieu to her father. She retired while the jury deliberated on their ver⯑dict; and when ſhe again entered the tri⯑bunal there was a majeſtic ſolemnity in her demeanour which perfectly became her ſituation. She heard her ſentence with attention and compoſure; and after converſing for a few minutes with her counſel and a friend of mine who had ſat near her during the trial, and whom ſhe requeſted to diſcharge ſome trifling debts ſhe had incurred in the priſon, ſhe left the court with the ſame ſerenity, and prepared herſelf for the laſt ſcene.

She had concluded her letter to her father with this verſe of Corneille,

and it is difficult to conceive the kind of heroiſm which ſhe diſplayed in the way to execution. The women who were [134] called furies of the guillotine, and who had aſſembled to inſult her on leaving the priſon, were awed into ſilence by her demeanour, while ſome of the ſpectators uncovered their heads before her, and others gave loud tokens of applauſe. There was ſuch an air of chaſtened exul⯑tation thrown over her countenance, that ſhe inſpired ſentiments of love rather than ſenſations of pity^*. She aſcended [135] the ſcaffold with undaunted firmneſs, and, knowing that ſhe had only to die, was reſolved to die with dignity. She had learned from her jailor the mode of puniſhment, but was not inſtructed in the detail; and when the executioner at⯑tempted to tie her feet to the plank, ſhe reſiſted, from an apprehenſion that he had been ordered to inſult her; but on his explaining himſelf ſhe ſubmitted with a ſmile. When he took off her handker⯑chief, the moment before ſhe bent under the fatal ſtroke, ſhe bluſhed deeply; and her head, which was held up to the mul⯑titude the moment after, exhibited this laſt impreſſion of offended modeſty.

[136] The leaders of the faction, who thought every meaſure good that could be made ſubſervient to their purpoſe, found this event too replete with favourable cir⯑cumſtances to be neglected. Marat, whom they had thrown aſide to die at leiſure, unleſs perchance he ſhould have lived to ſhare the fate to which they afterwards condemned their other agents, was now reſtored to more than his an⯑tient honours, was proclaimed a martyr, and his death ordered to be lamented as an irreparable loſs to the republic. The conſpirators declared that no farther doubt of the federaliſm of the depart⯑ments remained. The death of Marat was the point of conviction. Every member of the mountain was to be aſ⯑ſaſſinated in his turn, and the traitors of the departments had their accomplices in Paris who had whetted their poniards to involve the city in deſtruction. Though the Pariſians were not ſufficiently credu⯑lous [137] to believe theſe calumnies, the fac⯑tion made them the pretence to proceed to the farther commiſſion of crimes; and while they endeavoured to amuſe the people with what they called the inaugu⯑ration of Marat and of Chalier, they were meditating the murder of the depu⯑ties whom they had driven from the le⯑giſlature.

It was impoſſible to contemplate with⯑out indignation and deſpair that glorious revolution, which had opened to man⯑kind the brighteſt proſpects of happi⯑neſs, and which had promiſed the moſt beneficial effects to the world, become the ſport of the cruel, and the prey of the rapacious; to ſee a people who were called to liberty, bending their necks, like the votaries of the ſtoried aſſaſſin of the mountain, at the nod of their tyrant; to ſee a nation which had poſſeſſed Rouſ⯑ſeau, Mably and Voltaire, proſtrate in frantic enthuſiaſm before the ſhrine of [138] Marat, like the idolaters of Mo [...]tapama, whoſe devotion roſe in proportion to the hideouſneſs of their gods.

Every day ſome pretended plot was diſcovered, ſome dark conſpiracy, at⯑tributed ſucceſſively to nobles, prieſts, bankers and foreigners, was dragged to light; but the ſpecimens produced of theſe counter-revolutionary projects were often ſuch as did little honour to the in⯑vention of thoſe by whom they were ex⯑hibited. Sometimes letters were found from agents of the coaleſced powers; but they were generally ſo ill fabricated that they only deceived thoſe who could not read them.

The departments having ſubmitted to the uſurpers, they now began their mea⯑ſures of ſeverity againſt thoſe who had reſiſted their authority. The general denomination for diſaffection to their principles was that of being ſuſpected; and accordingly a decree was iſſued to [139] arreſt all thoſe who came under this title. The revolutionary tribunal not having all the energy neceſſary to carry into execution the plans that were medi⯑tating, was denounced for its moderantiſm, and the members of which it was com⯑poſed, renewed.

A certain claſs of the women of Paris, whogave themſelves the title of revolution⯑ary women, had been ſerviceable auxilia⯑ries to the conſpirators, and had taken place of the poiſſards, who not having all the energy which the preſent exigencies required, had yielded the palm to their revolutionary ſucceſſors. Theſe female politicians held deliberative aſſemblies, and afterwards preſented their views to the convention, while they influenced its debates by their vociferations in the tribunes, which they now excluſively oc⯑cupied. On the days of tumult which preceded the 31ſt of May they had mounted guard in perſon at the con⯑vention, [140] and prevented the execution of certain orders which they diſliked. They now preſented themſelves at the bar of the aſſembly, and demanded the exclu⯑ſion of the former nobles from every function civil or military, the renewal of all the adminiſtrations throughout the republic, the examination of the con⯑duct of the miniſters, the arreſt of every ſuſpected perſon, the raiſing of the whole nation in maſs, and obliging the women to wear red caps. The convention hav⯑ing ſhewn ſome diſinclination to comply with theſe modeſt requiſitions, theſe fe⯑male politicians inſulted ſome of the members, and the ſociety was diſſolved by a decree.

In the mean time the royaliſts had pro⯑ceeded almoſt as far as Tours on their way to Paris. Lyons was in a ſtate of formidable reſiſtance. The Marſeillois were at Avignon. Mentz ſurrendered to the Pruſſians. The province of Alſace [141] was over-run by the Auſtrians. Valen⯑ciennes was taken after a formidable ſiege, and Cambray was ſummoned to ſurrender. The Piedmonteſe had invaded the department of Montblanc, formerly Savoy, the Spaniards had inveſted Per⯑pignan, and the Engliſh were maſters of Toulon.

More efficient meaſures became neceſ⯑ſary than had hitherto been employed, and that which was now adopted was put⯑ting into requiſition every individual that could be made uſeful to his country in any ſituation in which his ſervices were claimed. That part of the community which was deſtined to the moſt active ſervice were the young men from 18 to 25 years of age, who under the name of the firſt requiſition were immediately in⯑veſted with the title of the defenders of their country, and, as ſoon as arms were procured, ſent to the frontiers.

[142] Whatever may be the difference of po⯑litical opinion reſpecting the events of the French revolution, there can be no diſ⯑ſenting voice againſt the tribute of ho⯑nour and applauſe which belongs to the armies of the republic. Amidſt all the internal commotions of contending chiefs, regardleſs of plain or mountain, of côté droit or côté gauche, they ſaw their coun⯑try invaded, and bravely repulſed the at⯑tack, leaving the arrangement of the in⯑ternal concerns of the ſtate to the indivi⯑duals who were left behind. They were not of that claſs which compoſes the uſual maſs of armies, the idle and the profligate who ſeek a refuge from induſtry or want in the vocation of a ſoldier; and they were of that age when the love of mili⯑tary glory and the paſſion for liberty are felt with the greateſt ardour. This paſſion was nouriſhed by the conſciouſneſs that their ſections, their communes, the con⯑vention, [143] and their country were looking on them with fond and anxious expecta⯑tion, and the decrees which declared that they deſerved well of the republic ani⯑mated them with a more ardent deſire to merit the eulogium.

One of the great ſprings which me⯑chanically inſpired courage and reſo⯑lution, was the patriotic ſongs and hymns which were continually reſound⯑ing through their camps. But the great moral motive that urged them to valor⯑ous deeds, was that contempt of death which men in all ages, who combat for liberty and their country, have felt, and this was a motive which their antagoniſts could not feel. The ſoldier was conſci⯑ous that, if he ſurvived, he ſhould partake of the honour he had laboured to acquire; and if he died, that his country would enroll his name amongſt thoſe of its de⯑liverers, and that his fate would inſpire that ſentiment which our animated poet [144] has ſo beautifully deſcribed in his ode on the glorious dead.

"But the life of a modern ſoldier," Dr. Johnſon has obſerved, "is ill repre⯑ſented by heroic fiction. War has means of deſtruction more formidable than the cannon and the ſword. Of the thouſands and ten thouſands that periſhed in our late conteſt with France and Spain, a very ſmall part ever felt the ſtroke of an ene⯑my. The reſt languiſhed in tents and ſhips, amidſt damps and putrefaction, [145] pale, torpid, ſpiritleſs and helpleſs, gaſp⯑ing and groaning, unpitied among men made obdurate by long continuance of helpleſs miſery, and were at laſt whelm⯑ed in pits or heaved into the ocean with⯑out notice and without remembrance. By incommodious encampments and un⯑wholeſome ſtations, where courage is uſe⯑leſs and enterpriſe impracticable, fleets are ſilently diſpeopled, and armies ſluggiſhly melted away."

From this devaſtation of diſeaſe the French have been exempted; for the evils which Dr. Johnſon enumerates moſt commonly proceed from the abſence of thoſe conveniences which money can procure. But a great part of the firſt requiſition, which was taken from the claſs of the rich as well as of the poor, were enabled, by the attention of their friends, and the expenditure of their own income, to procure not only the means [146] of plenty to themſelves, but to contri⯑bute to the accommodation of their leſs wealthy companions.

LETTER VI.

THE uſurpers ſaw that thoſe young citizens who had obeyed with alacrity the call of the convention againſt the com⯑mon enemy were not fitted to be the in⯑ſtruments of theſe revolutionary projects. Revolutionary committees had been eſta⯑bliſhed in every commune of the depart⯑ments, and in every ſection of Paris; but though the laſt were in general compoſed of the creatures of the faction, they were not ſo ſecure of what they called the energy of the committees in the country. For this reaſon, a certain number of what was term⯑ed the moſt ſanſculottide and revolution⯑ary citizens of each ſection of Paris were choſen by their reſpective committees to compoſe a body of ſix thouſand men, which was called the revolutionary army, [148] and which, accompanied by a ^* guillotine ambulante, was to iſſue forth from Paris into the departments, to invite the people to raiſe themſelves to the height of the revolution.

In the mean while the uſurpers framed an act of accuſation againſt the deputies whom they had driven from the conven⯑tion on the 31ſt of May, and arreſted the ſeventy-three members who had proteſted againſt that meaſure. At this period alſo the vague report of a ſpy, that Beauvais a deputy of the convention had been put to death by the Engliſh at Toulon, ſerved as a pretext to the uſurpers for in⯑flicting twenty years impriſonment on whoever ſhould introduce Engliſh mer⯑chandize into the republic, and for throw⯑ing into priſon and confiſcating the pro⯑perty of all thoſe who had been born in the Britiſh dominions, except ſuch as [149] were employed in manufactures. This impolitic and ſavage decree, in open vio⯑lation of the rights of nations, and breach of that hoſpitality under the protection of which but a few months before they had invited the Engliſh then in France to re⯑main among them, was put into execu⯑tion; and though it met with univerſal reprobation, yet as terror was the order of the day, no one felt himſelf ſufficiently bold to demand its repeal; and as buſineſs of more importance lay before the con⯑ſpirators than the conſideration of the caſes of individuals, thoſe who had the cre⯑dulity to truſt to their protection were left to ruminate on their injuſtice.

The next ſtep taken by the conſpira⯑tors was that of throwing aſide the incum⯑brance of the conſtitution. A report was accordingly prepared, ſhewing the impoſſibility of conducting the machine of the revolution without the uſe of ex⯑traordinary meaſures, and the convention [150] voted without diſcuſſion, that the conſti⯑tution ſhould be ſet aſide, and that the government ſhould become revolution⯑ary. The ſuperiority of a monarchical over a republican government has been ſaid to conſiſt in the unity of its action, particularly in caſes of danger. The Romans in time of great public calamity were accuſtomed to throw a veil over the tables of the laws, and place in the hands of one of their fellow-citizens, whom they called a Dictator, the whole energy of the government, as long as the danger which threatened the ſtate ſhould exiſt. Rouſſeau admires this policy, and recom⯑mends it in ſimilar caſes to all free go⯑vernments. Of whatever advantage the temporary abſence of liberty might have been, had the people of France, like the Romans, choſen thoſe to rule the ſtorm who had the greateſt ſkill or the moſt acknowledged virtue; thoſe ſanguinary and ferocious characters who now ſeized [151] on the power, inſtead of making this tem⯑porary deſpotiſm a means of ſaving the country, like the malevolent genii who preſide over evil, filled it with horror, deſolation, and death.

To reconcile the nation to the aſſump⯑tion of their new power, the conſpirators thought it neceſſary to ſhew their diſtin⯑guiſhing attachment to what they called the people by the exerciſe of every kind of perſecution againſt what they called ariſtocracy, an appellation by no means confined to the adherents of the former court or the nobility. To the "ariſto⯑cracy of talents" ſucceeded the "ariſ⯑tocracy of commerce," which ſignified that he who enriched himſelf while he enriched his country by the ſupply of its wants, was an object of ſuſpicion, or a counter-revolutioniſt. They therefore conceived the project of reducing every article of merchandize and ſubliſtence to what they called the maximum, and ob⯑liged [152] light every merchant and ſhop-keeper to ſell his goods to the public at the pre⯑ſcribed rate, whatever might have been the firſt coſt. Though it was evident to the moſt ſuperficial obſerver, that ſuch a meaſure muſt be eventually deſtructive of commerce, and productive of the evil it was intended to prevent; yet, as it was an evil that but remotely affected the con⯑ſumer, it was calculated to pleaſe the lower claſs of people.

The faction, armed with the abſolute power they had uſurped, fancied they could controll all poſſible circumſtances; and though they could not but perceive that the manufacturer muſt neceſſarily ceaſe his labour when the new materials exceeded the ſtated price of the goods he expoſed to ſale, and that the merchant could no longer go on with his com⯑merce, when the cargo which he had pur⯑chaſed abroad was ſtruck with the revo⯑lutionary maximum on its entrance into [153] port; though they could not but ſee that it was a law fraught with every evil, yet as it was a blow at the ariſtocracy of commerce, and a revolutionary meaſure, it was propoſed and adopted.

While they were thus perſuading the people what intereſt they took in their welfare by the introduction of plenty, in the extinction of monopolies, and the re⯑duction of the price of merchandize, they were equally ſolicitous to ſhew their re⯑gard for the public ſafety by the puniſh⯑ment of traitors and conſpirators. For a long time the Jacobins had demanded the trial of Marie Antoinette, whoſe exiſtence they declared endangered that of the re⯑public. She was accordingly arraigned for having committed a ſeries of crimes, which in the language of the indictment comprehended not merely counter-revolu⯑tion ary projects, but all the enormities of the Meſſalinas, Brunehauts, Fredegondes, and Medicis. A curious account of the [154] evidence in ſupport of theſe charges, and the effect which her behaviour produced upon Robeſpierre, is given by Vilate, a young man of the revolutionary tribunal. The ſcene paſſed during the trial, at a tavern near the Tuilleries, where he was invited to dine with Robeſpierre, Barrere, and St. Juſt. "Seated around the table," he ſays, "in a cloſe and retired room, they aſked me to give them ſome leading fea⯑tures of the evidence on the trial of the Auſtrian. I did not forget that expoſtu⯑lation of inſulted nature when, Hebert accuſing Antoinette of having committed the moſt ſhocking crime, ſhe turned with dignity towards the audience, and ſaid, "I appeal to the conſcience and feelings of every mother preſent, to declare if there be one amongſt them who does not ſhudder at the idea of ſuch hor⯑rors." Robeſpierre, ſtruck with this an⯑ſwer as by an electrical ſtroke, broke his plate with his fork. "That blockhead [155] Hebert!" cried he, "as if it were not enough that ſhe was really a Meſſalina, he muſt make her an Agrippina alſo, and furniſh her with the triumph of exciting the ſympathy of the public in her laſt moments."

Marie Antoinette made no defence, and called no witneſſes, alleging that no poſitive fact had been produced againſt her. She had preſerved an uniform be⯑haviour during the whole of her trial, ex⯑cept when a ſtarting tear accompanied her anſwer to Hebert. She was con⯑demned about four in the morning, and heard her ſentence with compoſure. But her firmneſs forſook her in the way from the court to her dungeon—ſhe burſt into tears; when, as if aſhamed of this weakneſs, ſhe obſerved to her guards, that though ſhe wept at that moment, they ſhould ſee her go to the ſcaffold without ſhedding a tear.

In her way to execution, where ſhe [156] was taken after the accuſtomed manner in a cart, with her hands tied behind her, ſhe paid little attention to the prieſt who attended her, and ſtill leſs to the ſur⯑rounding multitude. Her eyes, though bent on vacancy, did not conceal the emotion that was labouring at her heart—her cheeks were ſometimes in a ſingu⯑lar manner ſtreaked with red, and ſome⯑times overſpread with deadly paleneſs; but her general look was that of indig⯑nant ſorrow. She reached the place of execution about noon; and when ſhe turned her eyes towards the gardens and the palace, ſhe became viſibly agitated. She aſcended the ſcaffold with precipita⯑tion, and her head was in a moment held up to the people by the executioner.

The trial of Marie Antoinette was followed by that of the accuſed deputies. Although thoſe guardians of the public weal, the Jacobins, had repeatedly urged the convention to bring forward their [157] trial, it had been long delayed from the difficulty of finding any proofs that wore the appearance of probability; and it remained long undecided what ſhould be the charges, and who ſhould be the vic⯑tims. The ſubſtance of the accuſation was at length founded on a ſort of ſpor⯑tive party romance written by Camille Deſmoulins on Briſſot and the Briſſotins; and what was meant by the author mere⯑ly to excite a laugh, was diſtorted to ſerve this horrible purpoſe. Camille, it is ſaid, remonſtrated loudly on this perverſion of his intentions, and diſclaimed any parti⯑cipation in the guilt. He declared that the charges were only extravagancies of his own imagination, and that he could not ſupport any of them by evidence. This remonſtrance was ineffectual, and the romance formed part of the indict⯑ment, which was filled up with charges of royaliſm and federaliſm; which being preſented to the aſſembly for their ſanc⯑tion, [158] the decree of accuſation paſſed with⯑out a diſcuſſion.

The witneſſes in ſupport of the charges conſiſted principally of the chiefs of the municipality of Paris, who were the ori⯑ginal accuſers. But the defence which the priſoners made was ſo entirely de⯑ſtructive of the accuſation, that though the judges and the jury had bound up their nature to this execrable deed; though the audience, like the tribunes of the Jacobins and the convention, were hired to applaud this crime, the eloquence of the accuſed drew iron tears down their cheeks, and convinced the whole tribu⯑nal of the infamy and falſehood of the charges. Imagine the remorſe with which the minds of the jury muſt have been wrung when their employment compell⯑ed them to dreſs out matter for condem⯑nation from the abſurd and lying fables of the conſpirators, who were called as witneſſes to the indictment; while, to the [159] demonſtration even of the moſt perverſe and ignorant, the priſoners refuted every charge with triumph on their accuſers; and if any ſuſpicion had exiſted with re⯑ſpect to their patriotiſm or love of the republic, the proſecution would have ſerved to diſpel it.

The judges, as well as the jury, al⯑though determined to execute their a⯑trocious commiſſion, ſaw that the defence of the priſoners would carry conviction to the minds of the audience, who, not⯑withſtanding their being hired by the ac⯑cuſers, began to ſhew ſigns of compaſſion. The court, therefore, wrote to the con⯑vention to inform them, that if the trials were permitted to proceed, the formali⯑ties of the law would reduce them to ex⯑treme difficulties; and obſerved, that in a revolutionary proceſs it was not neceſ⯑ſary to be incumbered with troubleſome witneſſes, or a long defence. This hu⯑mane epiſtle was ſupported by a deputa⯑tion [160] of the Jacobins, who ſpoke a ſtill plainer language, by demanding a decree, that the accuſed ſhould be condemned whenever the jury ſhould feel themſelves "ſufficiently inſtructed," without attend⯑ing to the whole of the charge, or hear⯑ing what the priſoners might have to al⯑lege in their defence. To this meaſure the ſociety was urged by the municipal witneſſes, who were ſtung with ſhame at ſeeing their perjuries unveiled.

The decree, empowering the jury to ſtop the proſecution at whatever period they thought proper, was virtually pro⯑nouncing the ſentence of death: and the tribunal, releaſing themſelves from the torture they were compelled to ſuffer, while their conſciences were every hour more and more loaded with the convic⯑tion of the innocence of the victims whoſe judicial murder they were bound to perpetrate, loſt no time in declaring that they were ſufficiently inſtructed.

[161] Alas! in what were "they ſufficiently inſtructed?" That the men they were go⯑ing to condemn, were thoſe who were the moſt diſtinguiſhed for talents, and moſt devoted to the eſtabliſhment of the re⯑public, of which they were the founders. Were not this ſanguinary jury ſufficient⯑ly inſtructed, that it was for their virtues, and not their crimes, that theſe victims had been dragged before them? and yet, with all this conviction on their minds, they coolly commanded the murder.

This atrocious condemnation was re⯑monſtrated againſt by the priſoners in vain. In vain they alleged, that againſt ſome of them no evidence whatever had been heard; that their names had ſcarcely been mentioned at the tribunal; and that, whatever pretence the jury might have for calling themſelves ſufficiently in⯑ſtructed reſpecting the reſt, they could not be informed of the crimes of thoſe againſt whom no witneſſes had appeared. [162] The court, ſheltering themſelves under the ſanction of a decree, were little in⯑clined to give the reaſons of their con⯑viction; and therefore replied to the arguments of the priſoners, by ordering the military force to take them from the tribunal. Valazé, in a tranſport of in⯑dignation, ſtabbed himſelf before the court. Briſſot, Vergniaud, Genſonné, La Source, Fonfrede, Sillery, Ducos, Carra, Duperret, Gardien, Duprat, Fau⯑cher, Beauvais, Duchaſtel, Mainvielle, La Caze, Le Hardy, Boileau, Anteboul, and Vigée, were led to execution on the following day. Vergniaud, having a pre⯑ſage of his impending fate, had early provided himſelf with poiſon; but find⯑ing that his young friends Fonfrede and Ducos, who he had ſome hope would be ſpared, were companions of his misfor⯑tune, he gave the phial to the officer of the guard, reſolving to wait the appoint⯑ed moment, and to periſh with them.

[163] They met their ſate with all the calm of innocence, and breathed their laſt vows for the ſafety and liberty of the re⯑public. Thoſe who were the melancholy witneſſes of their laſt hours in priſon, love to relate how they ſpoke, and felt, and acted. I have been told by one who was their fellow priſoner and friend, that their minds were in ſuch a ſtate of eleva⯑tion, that no one could approach them with the common-place and ordinary topics of conſolation. Briſſot was ſerious and thoughtful, and at times an air of diſcontent clouded his brow; but it was evident that he mourned over the fate of his country and not his own. Genſonné, firm and ſelf-collected, ſeemed fearful of ſullying his lips by mentioning the names of his murderers. He did not utter a word reſpecting his own ſituation, but made many obſervations on the ſtate of the republic, and expreſſed his ardent wiſhes for its happineſs. Vergniaud was [164] ſometimes ſerious, and ſometimes gay. He amuſed his fellow-priſoners at times with the recital of poetry which he re⯑tained in his memory, and ſometimes in⯑dulged them with the laſt touches of that ſublime eloquence which was now for ever loſt to the world. Fonfrede and Ducos relieved the ſombre of the piece by the habitual livelineſs of their charac⯑ters, although each lamented the fate of his brother to their reſpective friends, and ſometimes ſhed tears over the diſtreſs and ruin of their wives and children; for both had young families and immenſe fortunes. Their courage was the more exemplary, as their fate was altogether unexpected.

Previouſly to the impriſonment of the deputies, while they were yet under ar⯑reſt in their own houſes, I frequently viſited thoſe who were in the number of our friends. Vergniaud had long told me that he ſaw no juſt foundation for [165] hope, and that he would rather die, than live a witneſs of his country's ſhame. Fonfrede and Ducos had the full enjoy⯑ment of their liberty till the act of accu⯑ſation appeared, in which they had not the leaſt ſuſpicion that they ſhould be in⯑cluded. The day previous to the read⯑ing of this murderous proſcription in the convention, Fonfrede had accompanied us to Montmorenci, about four leagues from Paris, where we had wandered till evening, amidſt that enchanting ſcenery which Rouſſeau once inhabited, and which he had ſo luxuriantly deſcribed. Alas! while the charms of nature had ſoothed our imaginations, and made us forget awhile the ſcenes of moral defor⯑mity exhibited in the polluted city we had left; while every thing around us breathed delight, and the landſcape was a hymn to the Almighty; the aſſaſſins were at their bloody work, and plotting the murder of our friends. The next [166] day Fonfrede was ſent to the Conciergerie, and we ſaw him no more. A week after we were ourſelves arreſted. He conveyed to us, from his dungeon, his ſympathy in our misfortunes, and, after his con⯑demnation, wrote to bid us a laſt fare⯑well; but the letter was carried to the committee of general ſafety, and never reached us.

They were condemned at midnight. When they returned to their priſon, they gave the appointed ſignal of their fate to their fellow-priſoners, whoſe ſecluſion afforded them no other means of know⯑ing it, by ſinging a parody of the chorus of the Marſeillois hymn—

After ſpending the few hours of life that remained, in converſation, now and then enlivened by the ſallies of the young and gay amongſt them, they bade adieu [167] to their fellow-priſoners, whoſe minds were ſo raiſed by the heroiſm which theſe patriots diſplayed, that it was ſome time before they became ſenſible of their loſs.

The dungeon which they inhabited was ſhewn with profound veneration to every priſoner who afterwards arrived at this preparatory ſcene of murder. A ſu⯑perſtitious reſpect was paid to the miſer⯑able matraſs of Vergniaud; and thoſe who felt neither the force of their pa⯑triotiſm, nor ſhared in their love for their country, were taught to pronounce with religious awe the names of theſe martyrs of liberty.

Had theſe lamented patriots known all the foulneſs of the crimes which the con⯑ſpirators were meditating againſt them, it would have been eaſy to have withdrawn themſelves from their vengeance, as many of their proſcribed colleagues did. Some, indeed, fell under the murderer's hands, but ſome have happily eſcaped—Lanjui⯑nais, [168] Iſnard, Louvet, and ſome others, appear again on the ſcene. Barbaroux and Buzot, I am told, are alive; and Pethion, who but a few months before was hailed as the ſupport of his country, may again deſerve the appellation—but the reſt are gone for ever; and there is no one who has any taſte for literature, or feeling for liberty, but will ſigh at the remembrance of Rabaut, Guadet, and Condorcet.

LETTER VII.

SINCE my laſt letter was written, I have left Switzerland, and returned to Paris, and have had the unſpeakable joy of embracing my family again. I have not yet mentioned to you (for till the Jacobins were deſtroyed it was too ſoon to relate) that I forſook home to return no more while Robeſpierre ex⯑iſted; and Robeſpierre was then in poſ⯑ſeſſion of ſuch eſtabliſhed dominion, the ſpirit of liberty had ſo bowed itſelf be⯑neath the axe of the guillotine, from the paſtoral hills of Normandy to the orange⯑groves of Nice, from the enſanguined banks of the Loire to the mourning waters of Vaucluſe, that when my mo⯑ther, while ſhe gave me her laſt embrace at parting, told me ſhe ſhould ſee me [170] no more, my deſponding heart aſſented to the ſad prediction. Upon the fall of the deputies who were proſcribed the 31ſt of May, and who were well known to have honoured us with their friend⯑ſhip, we became a ſubject of diſcuſſion at the committee of public ſafety, and a mandat d'arrêt would certainly have been iſſued againſt us if we had not al⯑ready been impriſoned in conſequence of the law againſt the Engliſh. By ſharing the general misfortune of our country⯑men in France, we were ſheltered from any particular mark of vengeance. We afterwards obtained our liberty by means of the municipality, to whom we were unknown; and when the murderers had ſatiated their vengeance in the blood of our friends, my family had no longer any peculiar danger to fear. But my ſituation was far different, During the ſpring preceding the fatal 31ſt of May, when the deputies of the Gironde, and [171] Barrere, paſſed moſt of their evenings at our houſe, I had not concealed that I was employed in writing ſome letters which have ſince been publiſhed in England, in which I had drawn the por⯑trait of the tyrant in thoſe dark ſhades of colouring that belonged to his hideous nature; and Barrere, in whoſe power my life was placed, was now the lacquey of Robeſpierre, and the great inquiſitor of the Engliſh at Paris. He had now ſeared his conſcience with crimes, and bathed his hands in the blood of the innocent. What ſtill increaſed my danger was, that Barrere could not but recollect, with the conſciouſneſs of his preſent vileneſs in our eyes, the political ſentiments which he had expreſſed in thoſe hours of ſocial confidence, when had he been told that he ſhould become the accomplice of un⯑recorded horrors, he would have anſwer⯑ed with the feelings of Hazael, "Is thy ſervant a dog, that he ſhould do this [172] thing?" He could not but recollect that on the third of June, the day after the inſurrection, he came to our houſe with looks diſordered and haggard, with eyes filled with tears, and a mind that ſeemed burſting with indignant ſorrow; repeatedly declaring that, ſince the na⯑tional repreſentation was violated, liberty was loſt; deploring the fate of the Gi⯑ronde, above all of Vergniaud, and ex⯑ecrating the Jacobins, and the commune of Paris. A thouſand times he wiſhed that he could tranſport himſelf to the foot of his native mountains, the Pyre⯑nées, bid adieu for ever to the polluted city of Paris, and wander for the reſt of his life amidſt that ſublime ſcenery which he deſcribed with melancholy en⯑thuſiaſm.

It was not a little dangerous to have heard ſuch ſentiments from the lips of one who afterwards ſaid boaſtingly in the convention, "ll n'y a que les morts [173] qui ne reviennent pas;"—of one who became the leader of aſſaſſinations; and who, mounting the tribune with the light ſtep of gaiety, dreſſed up with point and epigram thoſe atrocious edicts of the committee to which his bleeding coun⯑try anſwered with her groans. Barrere alſo knew that there was no danger of my declaring theſe things at the revolu⯑tionary tribunal, ſince thoſe who were tried were not permitted to ſpeak: and he had no longer any ties of acquaint⯑ance with us which might have reſtrain⯑ed him from ſuch conduct; ſince very ſoon after the 31ſt of May, upon our re⯑fuſing to receive ſome deputies of the mountain whom he aſked leave to intro⯑duce to us, he abandoned us altogether.

In the mean time the Engliſh newſ⯑papers came regularly to the committee of public ſafety, in which paſſages from my letters were frequently tranſcribed, and the work mentioned as mine; and [174] thoſe papers were conſtantly tranſlated into French for the members of the com⯑mittee. Two copies of the work had alſo reached Paris; and although one was at my requeſt deſtroyed, the other might, by means of thoſe domiciliary viſits which were ſo often repeated, have been thrown into the hands of revolutionary commiſ⯑ſaries.

Thus I paſſed the winter at Paris, with the knife of the guillotine ſuſpended over me by a frail thread, when a ſingu⯑lar opportunity of eſcape preſented it⯑ſelf, and I fled to Switzerland, with a heart almoſt broken by the crimes I had witneſſed, and the calamities I had ſhared. I forſook thoſe who were moſt dear to me on earth, with no other conſolation than that I left them expoſed only to the com⯑mon danger of every individual in the country, and relieved from the cruel ap⯑prehenſions they had felt on my account.

I proceeded on my journey haunted [175] by the images of gens d'armes, who I fancied were purſuing me, and with a ſort of ſuperſtitious perſuaſion that it was impoſſible I ſhould eſcape. I felt as if ſome magical ſpell would chain my feet at the frontier of France, which ſeemed to me a boundary that was impaſſable. As I approached the frontier the agita⯑tion of my ſpirits increaſed, and when I reached Bourg-Libre, the laſt French poſt where commiſſaries were appointed to examine the paſſports and thoſe who preſented them; my heart ſunk within me, and I tried to reſign myſelf to a fate which ſeemed to my diſordered mind inevitable. But I found that I had diſ⯑quieted myſelf in vain: revolutionary government had relaxed its iron nerve at this diſtance from the ſeat of tyranny; and the commiſſaries on the frontiers, after having performed their office with the mildeſt urbanity, ſuffered us to pro⯑ceed [176] to Baſil, which is only half a league farther.

Some tall ſtakes driven into the earth at certain diſtances mark the limits of France and Switzerland. We drove ra⯑pidly paſt them, and were then beyond the reach of revolutionary government, and the axe of the guillotine.

At Baſil, now almoſt the only ſocial ſpeck on Europe's wide ſurface, where men meet for any other purpoſes than thoſe of mutual deſtruction, I was in ſafety: but I was an exile from my fa⯑mily—from the only friends I had left—my friends in England, to whom I had written immediately on my arrival, in the fulneſs of my heart and with the fond perſuaſion that they had trembled for my ſafety and would rejoice in my deliverance, having (with few excep⯑tions indeed!) returned no anſwers to my letters. With what overwhelming [177] ſenſations did I receive the tidings of the fall of Robeſpierre, which was to change the colour of my life, and give peace and conſolation to ſo many millions of my fellow-creatures! After waiting till the ſtruggle maintained by the Jacobins againſt the national repreſentation had hap⯑pily ended, I returned to Paris. On enter⯑ing again that polluted city, a thouſand fatal recollections ruſhed upon my mind, a thouſand local ſenſations overwhelmed my ſpirit. In driving along the Rue Honoré, the appalling proceſſion of the guillotine aroſe before my troubled ima⯑gination—I ſaw in the vehicles of death the ſpectres of my murdered friends. The magnificent ſquare of the revolution, with all its gay buildings, appeared to me clotted with blood, and incumbered with the dead. Along the ſilent and de⯑ſerted ſtreets of the fauxbourg Germain, I ſaw inſcribed in broad letters upon the gate of every hotel, "propriété nati⯑onale," [178] while the orphans whoſe fathers and mothers have periſhed on the ſcaf⯑fold, and who live upon the alms of charity, paſs in ſilence by the dwellings which are their rightful inheritance.—The red flag waving above the portals of their forfeited manſions, reminded me of an image of horror in De Foe's hiſ⯑tory of the plague at London, where, he ſays, every houſe that was infected was marked with a bloody ſign of the croſs.

Yet at leaſt we are no longer con⯑demned to deſpair of finding juſtice on earth. Every day is ſignalized by ſuch acts of retribution, that it ſeems as if hea⯑ven viſibly deſcended to puniſh the guilty, while at the ſame time mercy and huma⯑nity are binding up the wounds of the afflicted, and ſetting the captive free. We ſeem to live in regions of romance. Louvet, Iſnard, and others of our pro⯑ſcribed friends ſo long entombed in ſub⯑terraneous dungeons, wandering over de⯑ſert [179] mountains, or concealed in the gloom of caverns unviſited by day, now reſtored to ſociety and to their country, recount to us the ſecrets of their priſon-houſe, their "hair-breadth 'ſcapes," to which we liſten with eager anxiety, and tremble at their paſt dangers.—But I muſt not thus an⯑ticipate. Let me lead you to the con⯑vent in the fauxbourg St. Antoine, to which we were transferred in order to make room at the Luxembourg for pri⯑ſoners whom it was thought expedient to guard more ſtrictly. We were taught by the adminiſtrators of the police to conſi⯑der our removal as a mark of particular indulgence towards us, ſince we ſhould have the privilege of ſeeing our friends through the grate, and of walking occa⯑ſionally in the garden of the convent. Our countrymen were condemned to re⯑main in the Luxembourg, at which they repined and remonſtrated in vain. Wives were ſeparated from their huſbands, [180] daughters from their fathers; and as far the greater part of the Engliſh were in confined circumſtances, and lived by their reſpective occupations, their reſour⯑ces being ſtopped by their impriſonment, the little ſtore of aſſignats which they had ſaved from ſequeſtration they were now forced to divide, and, inſtead of ſharing their frugal meal together, their expences were doubled. Many were reduced to the moſt cruel difficulties, who had been accuſtomed to maintain their families reſpectably by their induſtry, and felt that the humiliation of receiving alms was no ſlight aggravation of the miſeries of captivity^*. That part of the convent [181] which the municipality had allotted for our priſon conſiſting only of bare walls, we were each of us permitted to return to our reſpective houſes, in order to pro⯑vide ourſelves with beds, and what fur⯑niture and clothes we thought proper. We were attended thither by an inſpector of the police and guards, together with one of the commiſſaries of our own ſection, who had put the ſeals on our apartments, and who on removing them examined our pa⯑pers, conſiſting now only of a few poeti⯑cal ſcraps which had eſcaped the flames. Odes, elegies, and ſonnets were inſtantly bundled up and ſent to the municipality, notwithſtanding my aſſurances that the muſes to whom they were addreſſed, far [182] from being accomplices in any conſpi⯑racy againſt liberty, had in all ages been its warmeſt auxiliaries. With what melan⯑choly ſenſations did we re-viſit that home from which we were again to be torn in a few hours! How often did my eyes wander over every object in our apart⯑ment! The chairs and tables, which we found in the ſame poſition as we had left them on our firſt impriſonment, ſeemed like mute friends whom it was anguiſh to leave, and whoſe well-known atti⯑tudes recalled the comforts of the paſt. With aching hearts we were once more led through the ſtreets of Paris to our new priſon. This convent, called Les Anglaiſes, was ſtill inhabited by twenty-three Engliſh nuns, and, as it was their own property, had not ſhared the gene⯑ral fate of the monaſtic edifices. While the French monks and nuns had for more than a year before this period been driven from their retreats, the religious [183] houſes both of men and women, which belonged to the Engliſh, had been re⯑ſpected, and their inhabitants left un⯑diſturbed. The Engliſh or rather Iriſh monks had, however, long ſince thrown off their habits, and conformed as well as they were able to the new ſyſtem of opinions. But this was not the caſe with thoſe religious ſiſters, whoſe enthuſiaſtic attachment to the external ſigns of their profeſſion was greater, and their worldly wiſdom leſs. The inhabitants of the fauxbourg St. Antoine where they reſided, accuſtomed from infancy to revere them, to have the wants of the poor ſupplied at the gate of the convent, and, while under the former government they were treated with neglect or diſdain by others, to be there received with evangelical hu⯑mility, felt that their eſteem and vene⯑ration for the nuns had ſurvived their own ſuperſtitious belief. The conquer⯑ors of the Baſtile, the terror of ariſto⯑cracy, [184] and the vanguard of revolutions, laying aſide their bloody pikes and bayo⯑nets, humbled themſelves before theſe holy ſiſters, whom a ſort of viſible ſanctity ſeemed to encompaſs, and whom they ſuffered, notwithſtanding the general re⯑gulation, to wear the cheriſhed ſymbols of their order, the veil and the croſs, and ſeven times a day to ring the bell for prayers. When we had paſſed the ſentinels who guarded the convent, the gate was unlocked for our admiſſion by a nun in her habit. She embraced us with affectionate warmth, and, addreſſing us in Engliſh, begged we would be com⯑forted, ſince ſhe and the other nuns who were to have the charge of us were our countrywomen and our ſiſters. This ſoothing ſympathy, expreſſed in our native language, formed ſuch a contraſt to the rude accents of inſpectors of po⯑lice, that it ſeemed as if ſome pitying angel had leaned from heaven to com⯑fort [185] us. The kindneſs with which we were received by our amiable country⯑women, contributed to reconcile us to our chamber, which might more pro⯑perly be called a paſſage to other rooms, where the glowing tapeſtry of the Luxembourg was exchanged for plaiſ⯑tered walls, and where we had to ſuffer phyſical as well as moral evils, the weather being intenſely cold, and our wretched gallery having neither ſtove nor chimney. One circumſtance tended to make our ſituation tolerable, which was that true ſpirit of fraternity that pre⯑vailed in our community, conſiſting of about forty female priſoners beſides the nuns. Into how happy a region would the world be transformed, if that mutual forbearance and amity were to be found in it which had power to cheer even the gloom of a priſon!

In addition to the tie of common ca⯑lamity was the tie of a common coun⯑try; [186] and in our preſent ſituation this bond of union appeared ſo ſtrong, that it ſeem⯑ed, as Dr. Johnſon ſaid of family rela⯑tions, that we were born each others friends. It was the general ſtudy of the whole community to prevent each others wiſhes. There were no rich amongſt us. The rich had made themſelves wings, and vaniſhed away before the promul⯑gation of the law againſt the Engliſh; but thoſe who had ſtill any reſources left, ſhared all their little luxuries and indulgencies with thoſe that had none. The young ſuccoured the old, the ac⯑tive ſerved the infirm, and the gay cheered the dejected. There were in⯑deed among us a few perſons, who born of French parents, having paſſed their whole lives in France, and not ſpeaking one word of our native lan⯑guage, ſeemed aſtoniſhed to find by their impriſonment that they were En⯑gliſh women. They had no trace or [187] recollection of that country which in evil hour chanced to give them birth, and did not eaſily reconcile themſelves to the grated convent, while their French ſiſters were enjoying perfect liberty.

When ſuch of the former nobility who were our fellow-priſoners at the Luxem⯑bourg heard that we were going to be transferred to the fauxbourg St. Antoine, they gathered round us to expreſs their fears for our ſafety in that frightful quar⯑ter of the city. I was perſuaded, on the contrary, that we had much more to fear while ſhut up in this ſtate priſon with themſelves, than in the fauxbourg St. Antoine, the inhabitants of which were chiefly compoſed of workmen and me⯑chanics, who in the courſe of the revo⯑lution had acted too much in union to be led to perpetrate any partial miſchief; ſince thoſe immenſe numbers which had power to overthrow government could not be bribed to commit maſſacres.

[188] The adminiſtrators of the police, when they ordered preparations to be made for our reception, announced us to the ſec⯑tion as being all the wives and daughters of milords anglois. This was no auſ⯑picious introduction: accordingly our firſt care was to lay aſide the honours and dignities conferred upon us by the of⯑ficers of the police, and which certainly would not have been confirmed by the herald's office. The only diſtinction we now envied was that of belonging to the privileged claſs who gained their bread by the labour of their hands, and who alone were exempted from the penalties of the law. We would thankfully have conſented to purchaſe at the price of toil the ſweets of liberty, when bereaved of which the ſickening ſoul grows weary of exiſtence. In vain we tried to twine the flowers of ſocial pleaſure around the bars of our priſon; in vain we "took the viol and the harp, or endeavoured to re⯑joice [189] at the ſound of the organ." That good which alone gives value to every other, was wanting; and muſic was diſ⯑cordant, and converſation joyleſs.

Having repelled the calumnious report of our nobility, the revolutionary com⯑mittee of our ſection, under whoſe in⯑ſpection we were placed, and who viſited us in ſucceſſion every day, began to look upon us with a more propitious eye; and leſt our health ſhould be impaired by confinement, they unlocked the garden gate, of the key of which ſince our ar⯑rival they had taken poſſeſſion, to pre⯑vent any attempts to ſcale the walls, and permitted us to walk two hours every day accompanied by themſelves. Dur⯑ing theſe walks we found means to con⯑vince them that we had been guilty of no other offence againſt the ſtate, than that of being born in England; and the common principles of juſtice taught theſe unlettered patriots to lament the ſeverity of [190] our fate, which they endeavoured to ſoften by every mark of honeſt kindneſs.

The viſits of the adminiſtration of po⯑lice were far leſs agreeable than thoſe of our good commiſſaries. The firſt time they came, Brutus, one of their ſecre⯑taries, fired with uncontrollable rage at the ſight of the nun who unlocked the gate for his admiſſion, rudely ſeized her veil, which he was with difficulty pre⯑vented from tearing off her face. This ferocious pagan threw down the croſs which was erected in the garden, and trampled it under foot; and having pour⯑ed forth a volley of imprecations againſt the great bell, which ſtill hung at the ſteeple inſtead of being transformed into a cannon, he left the diſmayed nuns trembling with horror, and haſtened to denounce the veils, the croſſes, and the great bell at the municipality. The next morning Pache, the mayor of Paris, ſent orders for the bell to be taken down, the [191] croſſes to be removed, and the nuns to throw off their habits immediately. No⯑thing could exceed their deſpair upon receiving this municipal mandate. The convent reſounded with lamentations, and the veils which were now to be caſt off were bathed with tears.

There was, however, little time to be allowed to the indulgence of unavailing ſorrow. Brutus might return, and it was neceſſary to proceed to action. Accord⯑ingly, a council of caps was called in the room of the ſuperior; and after a deli⯑beration, ſometimes interrupted by ſighs and ſometimes by pleaſantry, we all went to work, and in a few hours ſweeping trains were converted into gowns, and flowing veils into bonnets. One charm⯑ing young nun, who was a penſive en⯑thuſiaſt, begged that, if it were poſſible, her bonnet might ſhroud her face al⯑together; while another, whoſe regards were not entirely turned away from this [192] world, hinted that ſhe ſhould have no ob⯑jection to the decoration of a bow.

My chief conſolation during my con⯑finement aroſe from the ſociety of ſiſter Thereſa, that amiable nun who ſo much wiſhed to hide a face which nature had formed to excite love and admiration. It was impoſſible to converſe with her with⯑out feeling that the revolution was a bleſſ⯑ing, if it was only for having prohibited vows which robbed ſociety of thoſe who were formed to be its delight and orna⯑ment. I never met with a human crea⯑ture who ſeemed to approach nearer to the ideas we form of angelic purity, who poſſeſſed a more corrected ſpirit, or a more tender heart. Devotion was her firſt delight, her unfailing ſource of hap⯑pineſs; and ſometimes, inſtead of regret⯑ting her fate, I envied her feelings, and was tempted to exclaim with Pope,

We were allowed the melancholy in⯑dulgence of ſeeing our friends through an iron grate; and there were ſtill among the French ſome perſons whoſe courageous friendſhip, undiſmayed by all the frowns of power, and the increaſing terrors of revolutionary meaſures, did not abandon us in our priſon. The greater part of the Engliſh who were yet in France, hav⯑ing been eſtabliſhed in that country for years, had acquired ſome friends who la⯑mented their misfortunes, and who riſqued their own perſonal ſafety by making un⯑wearied efforts for their deliverance. The dreſs of our viſitors was indeed not a little groteſque, the period being now arrived when the viſible ſigns of patriotiſm were dirty linen, pantaloons, uncombed hair, [194] red caps, or black wigs, and all, as Roſa⯑lind ſays, "denoting a careleſs diſorder." The obſolete term of muſcadin, which means a ſcented fop, was revived; and every man who had the boldneſs to ap⯑pear in a clean ſhirt was branded with that appellation, and every woman who wore a hat was a muſcadine; for the pe⯑riod was ſtill remembered when a round cap was the badge of roture, nor were the ariſtocratical pretenſions of the hat yet buried in oblivion. It is remarkable enough, that at this period Robeſpierre always appeared not only dreſſed with neatneſs, but with ſome degree of ele⯑gance, and, while he called himſelf the leader of the ſans-culottes, never adopted the coſtume of his band. His hideous countenance, far from being involved in a black wig, was decorated with hair care⯑fully arranged, and nicely powdered; while he endeavoured to hide thoſe emo⯑tions of his inhuman ſoul which his eyes [195] might ſometimes have betrayed, beneath a large pair of green ſpectacles, though he had no defect in his ſight.

At this period one of the moſt ac⯑compliſhed women that France has pro⯑duced periſhed on the ſcaffold. This lady was Madame Roland, the wife of the late miniſter. On the 31ſt of May he had fled from his perſecutors, and his wife who remained was carried to priſon. The wits obſerved on this occa⯑ſion, that the body of Roland was miſ⯑ſing, but that he had left his ſoul be⯑hind. Madame Roland was indeed poſ⯑ſeſſed of the moſt diſtinguiſhed talents, and a mind highly cultivated by the ſtudy of literature. I had been acquainted with her ſince I firſt came to France, and had always obſerved in her converſation the moſt ardent attachment to liberty, and the moſt enlarged ſentiments of philanthropy; ſentiments which ſhe developed with an eloquence peculiar to herſelf, with a flow [196] and power of expreſſion which gave new graces and new energy to the French language. With theſe extraordinary en⯑dowments of mind ſhe united all the warmth of a feeling heart, and all the charms of the moſt elegant manners. She was tall and well ſhaped, her air was dignified, and although more than thirty-five years of age ſhe was ſtill handſome. Her countenance had an expreſſion of un⯑common ſweetneſs, and her full dark eyes beamed with the brighteſt rays of intelli⯑gence. I viſited her in the priſon of St. Pelagie, where her ſoul, ſuperior to cir⯑cumſtances, retained its accuſtomed ſe⯑renity, and ſhe converſed with the ſame animated cheerfulneſs in her little cell as ſhe uſed to do in the hotel of the miniſter. She had provided herſelf with a few books, and I found her reading Plutarch. She told me ſhe expected to die; and the look of placid reſignation with which ſhe ſpoke of it, convinced me that ſhe was [197] prepared to meet death with a firmneſs worthy of her exalted character. When I enquired after her daughter, an only child of thirteen years of age, ſhe burſt into tears; and at the overwhelming recol⯑lection of her huſband and her child, the courage of the victim of liberty was loſt in the feelings of the wife and the mo⯑ther.

Immediately after the murder of the Gironde ſhe was ſent to the Conciergerie, like them to undergo the mockery of a trial, and like them to periſh. When brought before the revolutionary tribunal ſhe preſerved the moſt heroical firmneſs, though ſhe was treated with ſuch barba⯑rity, and inſulted by queſtions ſo injurious to her honour, that ſometimes the tears of indignation ſtarted from her eyes. This celebrated woman, who at the bar of the national convention had by the commanding graces of her eloquence forced even from her enemies the tribute [198] of applauſe and admiration, was now in the hands of vulgar wretches, by whom her fine talents, far from being appreciated, were not even underſtood. I ſhall tran⯑ſcribe a copy of her defence taken from her own manuſcript^*. With keen regret I muſt add [...], that ſome papers in her juſ⯑tification, which ſhe ſent me from her pri⯑ſon, perhaps with a view that at ſome happier period, when the voice of inno⯑cence might be heard, I ſhould make them public, I was compelled to deſtroy, the night on which I was myſelf arreſted; ſince, had they been found in my poſſeſſion, they would inevitably have involved me in her fate. Before I took this reſolution, which coſt me a cruel effort, I employed every means in my power to preſerve thoſe precious memorials, in vain; for I could find no perſon who would venture to keep them amidſt the terrors of domiciliary viſits, and the certainty, if they were found, [199] of being put to death as an accomplice of the writer. But her fair fame ſtands in no need of ſuch teſtimonials: her memory is embalmed in the minds of the wiſe and good, as one of thoſe glorious martyrs who have ſealed with their blood the li⯑berties of their country. After hearing her ſentence, ſhe ſaid, "Vous me jugez digne de partager le ſort des grands hom⯑mes que vous avez aſſaſſinés. Je tâ⯑cherai de porter à l'échafaud le courage qu'ils y ont montré^*."

On the day of her trial ſhe dreſſed her⯑ſelf in white: her long dark hair flowed looſely to her waiſt, and her figure would have ſoftened any hearts leſs ferocious than thoſe of her judges. On her way to the ſcaffold ſhe was not only compoſed, but ſometimes aſſumed an air of gaiety, [200] in order to encourage a perſon who was condemned to die at the ſame time, but who was not armed with the ſame forti⯑tude.

When more than one perſon is led at the ſame time to execution, ſince they can ſuf⯑feronly in ſucceſſion, thoſe who are reſerv⯑ed to the laſt are condemned to feel multi⯑plied deaths at the ſound of the falling in⯑ſtrument, and the ſight of the bloody ſcaffold. To be the firſt victim was there⯑fore conſidered as a privilege, and had been allowed to Madame Roland as a woman. But when ſhe obſerved the diſ⯑may of her companion, ſhe ſaid to him, "Allez le premier: que je vous épar⯑gne au moins la douleur de voir couler mon ſang^*." She then turned to the executioner, and begged that this ſad in⯑dulgence might be granted to her fellow ſufferer. The executioner told her that [201] he had received orders that ſhe ſhould periſh firſt. "But you cannot, I am ſure," ſaid ſhe with a ſmile, "refuſe the laſt requeſt of a lady." The execu⯑tioner complied with her demand. When ſhe mounted the ſcaffold, and was tied to the fatal plank, ſhe lifted up her eyes to the ſtatue of Liberty, near which the guil⯑lotine was placed, and exclaimed, "Ah Liberté, comme on t'a jouée^*!" The next moment ſhe periſhed. But her name will be recorded in the annals of hiſtory, as one of thoſe illuſtrious women whoſe ſuperior attainments ſeem fitted to exalt her ſex in the ſcale of being.

She had predicted that her huſband would not ſurvive her loſs, and her pre⯑diction was fulfilled. Roland, who had concealed himſelf till this period, no ſooner heard the fate of his wife, whoſe [202] influence over his mind had often been a ſubject of reproach amongſt his ene⯑mies, than, feeling that life was no longer worth poſſeſſing, he put an end to his exiſtence. His body was found in a wood near the high-road between Paris and Rouen: the papers which were in his pocket-book were ſent to the com⯑mittee of general ſafety, and have never ſeen the light. His unhappy daughter found an aſylum with an old friend of her proſcribed parents, who had the courage to receive her at a period when it was imminently dangerous to afford her protection. But the time probably now draws near when this child will be adopt⯑ed by her country, and an honourable proviſion will be made for her, as a teſ⯑timony of national gratitude towards thoſe who gave her birth.

Amidſt the extraordinary changes which were paſſing in France, the con⯑vention now changed time itſelf, and decreed the new calendar. A report was [203] made on it, ſo philoſophical and ſo plea⯑ſing to the imagination, that, amidſt the ſanguinary meaſures of thoſe days, it ſeemed to the oppreſſed heart what a ſo⯑litary ſpot of freſh verdure appears to the eye amidſt the craggineſs of louring rocks, or the gloom of ſavage deſerts. Love of change is natural to ſorrow; and for my own part I felt myſelf ſo little obliged to the months of my for⯑mer acquaintance, which as they paſſed over my head had generally brought ſucceſſive evils in their train, or ſerved as the anniverſaries of ſome melancholy epocha, that I was not much diſpleaſed to part with them for months with ap⯑pellations that bring to the mind images of nature, which in every aſpect has ſome power of giving pleaſure, from Nivoſe the month of ſnows, to Floreal the month of flowers. I therefore ſoon learnt to count the days of my captivity by the new calendar; which was highly neceſ⯑ſary [204] ſince, if a reclamation for liberty had been dated on Monday inſtead of Primidi, or on Tueſday to the neglect of Duodi, the police would not only have paſſed to the order of the day, but de⯑clared the writer ſuſpect. After two months impriſonment we obtained our liberty, in conſequence of the unwearied efforts which were made for that purpoſe by a young Frenchman whom my ſiſter has ſince married. He was at Rouen in Normandy when the decree againſt the Engliſh arrived, and a few hours after ſaw a long proceſſion of coaches paſs through the ſtreets filled with Engliſh priſoners, who, juſt torn from their fa⯑milies and their homes, were weeping bitterly. Deeply affected by this ſpecta⯑cle, he flew to Paris with the reſolution of obtaining our liberty, or of ſharing our priſon. He haunted the municipa⯑lity every night, attended the levées of adminiſtrators of police every morning, [205] riſqued his own perſonal ſafety a thou⯑ſand times, and at length, like a true knight, vanquiſhed all obſtacles, and ſnatched his miſtreſs from captivity. I could not help lamenting, that he was compelled to make application for our releaſe to Chaumette, the procureur of the commune, who had been the prin⯑cipal evidence againſt the deputies of the Gironde. Nothing could be more cruel than this kind of humiliation—

With what delicious emotions did we return to our own habitation! After paſſing two months in priſon at ſuch a period, we felt the bleſſedneſs of home in its full extent. To range through our own apartments without being pur⯑ſued by guards or jailors, to return to domeſtic comforts and domeſtic peace, excited ſenſations the moſt delightful. [206] Society had indeed vaniſhed, and home was but a milder priſon, where we lived in voluntary ſecluſion, trembling at every knock at the gate, leſt it ſhould bring the mandate of a new arreſtation; and afraid to venture out, leſt we ſhould be found guilty of an Engliſh phyſiognomy, by ſome of the numerous ſpies of the police, who were continually prowling through the ſtreets of Paris. Theſe in⯑deed were the only perſons we had to fear; for even at the very moment when the permanent order of the day at the Jacobins was the crimes of the Engliſh, far from receiving the ſmalleſt inſult from the people of Paris, they diſplay⯑ed the utmoſt ſympathy for our ſitua⯑tion, and our releaſe from priſon ſeem⯑ed to diffuſe general ſatisfaction through our whole neighbourhood.

The priſons became more and more crowded, and increaſing numbers were every day dragged to the ſcaffold. Suſ⯑pect [207] was the warrant of impriſonment, and conſpiracy was the watch-word of murder. One perſon was ſent to priſon, becauſe ariſtocracy was written in his countenance; another, becauſe it was ſaid to be hidden at his heart; many were deprived of liberty, becauſe they were rich; others, becauſe they were learned; and moſt who were arreſted enquired the reaſon in vain.

LETTER VIII.

A FEW weeks after our releaſe from priſon, Rabaut de St. Etienne was put to death. He was one of the moſt en⯑lightened and virtuous men whom the revolution had called forth, and had ac⯑quired general eſteem by his conduct as a legiſlator, and conſiderable reputation by his talents as a writer. He was the preſident of the famous committee of twelve, which was appointed by the convention, previouſly to the 31ſt of May, to examine into the conſpiracies which threatened its exiſtence, and which, as I have already related, haſtened its par⯑tial diſſolution. Rabaut, as often as he preſented himſelf to make the report, was compelled by the interruptions of the conſpirators and their agents to re⯑tire [209] from the tribune, until that moment arrived, when he, together with the members of the commiſſion, and the deputies of the Gironde, were expelled, or torn from the convention! I ſaw him on this memorable day (for he took ſhelter for a few hours at our houſe) filled with deſpair, not ſo much for the loſs of his own life, which he then con⯑ſidered as inevitable, as for that of the liberty of his country, now falling un⯑der the vileſt deſpotiſm. He eſcaped arreſt on the 2d of June, from not hav⯑ing been preſent at the convention when the conſpirators conſummated their crime by means of the military force of Paris, and concealed himſelf in the houſe of a friend, with his brother, one of the ſe⯑venty-three deputies who had ſigned the proteſt.

They encloſed part of a room for their place of ſhelter, and built up the wall with their own hands, placing a book⯑caſe [210] before the entrance, ſo that there was not the leaſt appearance of conceal⯑ment. They employed a carpenter, in whom they had great confidence, to make the door, and the wretch betrayed them. Rabaut de St. Etienne was immediately brought before the revolutionary tribu⯑nal to have his perſon identified, for he was now outlawed, which in France is the ſentence of death. He was led to execution; and his wife, a moſt amia⯑ble woman, unable to ſupport the loſs of a huſband whom ſhe tenderly loved, put an end to her exiſtence. His brother was taken to the Conciergerie, where he lan⯑guiſhed with three other victims, for many months, in a ſubterraneous dun⯑geon; and there being only one bed al⯑lotted for four perſons, he lay upon the damp floor, and contracted ſuch violent diſorders, that his life was long deſpaired of. He has now taken his ſeat in the convention. The generous friend and [211] his wife, who had given the brothers an aſylum, were alſo dragged to priſon; and ſome time after were condemned, for this noble act of friendſhip, to periſh on the ſcaffold.

If France, during the unrelenting ty⯑ranny of Robeſpierre, exhibited unex⯑ampled crimes, it was alſo the ſcene of extraordinary virtue; of the moſt af⯑fecting inſtances of magnanimity and kind⯑neſs. Of this nature was the conduct of a young man, who being a priſoner with his brother, happened to be preſent when the names of the victims were called over, who were ſummoned to appear the next day before the ſanguinary tribunal. The young man found the name of his bro⯑ther, who at that moment was abſent, upon the fatal liſt. He pauſed only an inſtant to reflect, that the life of the fa⯑ther of a large family was of more va⯑lue than his own: he anſwered the call, ſurrendered himſelf to the officer, and [212] was executed in his brother's ſtead. A father made the ſame ſacrifice for his ſon; for the tribunal was ſo negligent of forms, that it was not difficult to de⯑ceive its vigilance.

The increaſing horrors which every day produced, had at length the effect of extinguiſhing in every heart the love of life, that ſentiment which clings ſo faſt to our nature. To die, and get be⯑yond the reach of oppreſſion, appeared a privilege; and perhaps nothing ap⯑palled the ſouls of the tyrants ſo much as that ſerenity with which their vic⯑tims went to execution. The page of hiſtory has held up to the admiration of ſucceeding ages, thoſe philoſophers who have met death with fortitude. But had they been led among the victims of Robeſpierre to execution, they would have found themſelves, in this reſpect, undiſtinguiſhed from the crowd. They would have ſeen perſons of each ſex, [213] of all ages, and all conditions, look⯑ing upon death with a contempt equal to their own. Socrates expiring ſur⯑rounded by his friends, or Seneca and Lucan ſinking gently into death, have perhaps leſs claim to admiration than thoſe blooming beauties, who in all the firſt freſhneſs of youth, in the very ſpring of life, ſubmitted to the ſtroke of the executioner with placid ſmiles on their countenances, and looked like angels in their flight to heaven.

Among the victims of the tyrants, the women have been peculiarly diſtinguiſh⯑ed for their admirable firmneſs in death. Perhaps this aroſe from the ſuperior ſen⯑ſibility which belongs to the female mind, and which made it feel that it was leſs terrible to die, than to ſurvive the objects of its tenderneſs. When the general who commanded at Longwy on its ſurrender to the Pruſſians was con⯑demned to die, his wife, a beautiful [214] young woman of four-and-twenty years of age, who heard the ſentence pro⯑nounced, cried out in a tone of deſpair, "Vive le roi!" The inhuman tribunal, inſtead of attributing her conduct to diſ⯑traction, condemned her to die. Her huſband, when he was placed in the cart, was filled with aſtoniſhment and anguiſh when he ſaw his beloved wife led towards it. The people, ſhocked at the ſpectacle, followed her to the ſcaffold, crying, "Elle n'a pas mérité la mort." "Mes amis," ſaid ſhe, "c'eſt ma faute; j'ai voulu périr avec mon mari^*."

The fury of theſe implacable monſters ſeemed directed with peculiar virulence againſt that ſex, whoſe weakneſs man was deſtined by nature to ſupport. The ſcaffold was every day bathed with the [215] blood of women. Some who had been condemned to die, but had been re⯑ſpited on account of their pregnancy, were dragged to death immediately after their delivery, in that ſtate of weakneſs which ſavages would have reſpected. One unfortunate woman, the wife of a peaſant, had been brought to Paris, with nineteen other women of the ſame claſs, and condemned to die with her com⯑panions. She heard her ſentence without emotion; but when they came to carry her to execution, and take away the infant who was hanging at her breaſt, and receiving that nouriſhment of which death was ſo ſoon to dry up the ſource, ſhe rent the air with her cries, with the ſtrong ſhriek of inſtinctive affection, the piercing throes of maternal tender⯑neſs—But in vain! the infant was torn from the boſom that cheriſhed it, and the agonies of the unfortunate mother found reſpite in death.

[216] Fourteen young girls of Verdun, who had danced at a ball given by the Pruſ⯑ſians, were led to the ſcaffold together, and looked like nymphs adorned for a feſtival. Sometimes whole generations were ſwept away at one moment; and the tribunal exhibited many a family⯑piece, which has almoſt broken the heart of humanity. Maleſherbes, the counſel of Louis XVI, was condemned to die, at eighty years of age, with his daughter, and ſon-in-law, his grand⯑daughter and grand-ſon.

His daughter ſeemed to have loſt ſight of every earthly object but her venera⯑ble parent: ſhe embraced him a thou⯑ſand times on the way to execution; bathed his face with her tears; and when the miniſter of death dragged her from him, forgetting that the next moment put an end to her own, ſhe exclaimed, "Wretch, are you going to murder my father?"

[217] Theſe proſcribed families ſeemed to find the ſweeteſt ſource of conſolation in dying together, and to conſider the momentary paſſage which they were going to make, as ſo much the leſs painful, ſince they ſhould undergo no ſeparation, but enter at the ſame in⯑ſtant into another ſtate of exiſtence. A young lady, the former marchioneſs of Bois-Berenger, was impriſoned in the Luxembourg with her whole family. When her father, mother, and younger ſiſter received their act of accuſation, and ſhe found herſelf alone exempted, ſhe ſhed a flood of tears, her heart was over⯑whelmed with anguiſh. "You will die without me," ſhe cried; "I am con⯑demned to ſurvive you; we ſhall not pe⯑riſh together!" While ſhe abandoned herſelf to deſpair, her act of accuſation arrived: a ray of tranſport was inſtantly diffuſed over her countenance, ſhe flew into the arms of her parents, and em⯑braced them. "My dear mother," ſhe [218] exclaimed, "we ſhall die together!" When the family was transferred to the Conciergerie, ſhe never left her mother a moment, but watched over her with un⯑wearied tenderneſs; and while ſhe tried to ſooth her ſufferings by her filial en⯑dearments, ſhe endeavoured to inſpire her with courage by the example of her own heroic fortitude. It was the pic⯑ture of a ſort of Roman charity. The unfortunate mother was mute, and her whole ſoul ſeemed petrified with horror. She ſeemed another Niobe. Her admirable daughter died with the moſt noble reſo⯑lution.

Mademoiſelle Maleſi, her younger ſiſ⯑ter, when condemned to die, ſaid to her father with naïveté, "Je me ſerrerai tant contre vous, mon bon pere, vous qui êtes ſi honnête homme, que Dieu me laiſſera paſſer malgré mes pêchés^*."

[219] In the priſon of the Force, the men were allowed to breathe the air in a court⯑yard ſeparated by a wall from the habi⯑tation of the women. A common-ſewer was the only means of communication. At that ſpot, an unhappy ſon preſented himſelf every morning and every night, to enquire after his mother, who was condemned to die, but reprieved be⯑cauſe ſhe was pregnant, and after her delivery executed. That pious child, in his early age already the victim of miſ⯑fortune, knelt down before the infec⯑tious ſewer, and, with his mouth placed upon the hole, poured forth the feelings of his filial tenderneſs. His younger bro⯑ther, a lovely child of three years of age, and who was ſuffered to remain with his mother till her laſt moments, was often placed at the oppoſite end of the ſewer, and anſwered for his mother when ſhe was too ill to undertake that taſk herſelf. A perſon of my acquaintance [220] heard him ſay, "Mama a moins pleuré cette nuit—un peu repoſée, et te ſou⯑haite le bon jour; c'eſt Lolo, qui t'aime bien, qui te dit cela^*." At length this unfortunate mother, when going to execu⯑tion, tranſmitted to her ſon, by the ſewer, her long and graceful treſſes, as the only inheritance ſhe had to give. She then bade her infant a laſt farewell, and was led to the ſcaffold, where her huſ⯑band had periſhed ſome months before.

One of the perſons moſt diſtinguiſhed by their noble contempt of death was Girey Dupré, with whom I was well acquainted. He was the writer of a paper called the Patriote François, in conjunction with Briſſot: he had acquired a high degree of literary reputation, and maintained his mother, a widow, by the labours of his [221] pen. He was twenty-four years of age, and his countenance was one of the moſt agreeable I ever ſaw. To theſe perſonal advantages he united the moſt frank and pleaſing manners, and diſtinguiſhed pow⯑ers of converſation. He had defended the deputies of the Gironde with too much energy not to be involved in their fate, and he was alſo connected by the ties of friendſhip with Briſſot. Dupré was forced to ſly from his perſecutors, and ſeek refuge at Bordeaux, where he was ſeized and brought back in irons to Paris. Far fr m being depreſſed by his approaching fate, the natural gaiety of his diſpoſition never forſook him a ſingle moment. When interrogated at the tri⯑bunal with reſpect to his connection with Briſſot, he anſwered only in theſe words ^*, "J'ai connu Briſſot; j'atteſte qu'il a vécu comme Ariſtide, et qu'il eſt mort comme [222] Sydney martyr de la liberté." He pre⯑ſented himſelf at the tribunal with his hair cut off, the collar of his ſhirt thrown open, and already prepared for the ſtroke of the executioner. On his way to the ſcaffold he ſaw Robeſpierre's miſtreſs at the window of his lodging, with her ſiſter, and ſome of their ferocious accomplices, "A bas les tyrans et les dictateurs^*!" cried Dupré, repeating this prophetic ex⯑clamation till he loſt ſight of the houſe. While going to execution, he ſung in a triumphant tone a very popular patriotic ſong which he had himſelf compoſed, and of which the chorus was "Plutôt la mort que l'eſclavage^†." That cheriſhed ſentiment he fondly repeated even to his laſt moment, and death left the half⯑finiſhed ſentence on his lips.

Claviere, who had been contemporary miniſter with Roland, and who was im⯑priſoned [223] in the Conciergerie, upon receiv⯑ing his act of accuſation, ſaw that the liſt of witneſſes againſt him was compoſed of his moſt implacable enemies. "Theſe are aſſaſſins," ſaid he to a fellow priſoner; "I will ſnatch myſelf from their rage." He then repeated theſe lines of Voltaire,

and after deliberating with his companion upon the moſt effectual manner of ſtrik⯑ing himſelf ſo that the dagger might reach his heart, he retired to his cell, where he was found a few minutes after breathing his laſt ſigh. Madame Cla⯑viere, upon receiving the tidings of his death, ſwallowed poiſon, after having em⯑braced her children, and regulated her af⯑fairs. Notwithſtanding his ſuicide, the property of Claviere was confiſcated, as if he had been regularly condemned. A law had lately been paſſed to conſtrue an act of ſuicide into a counter-revolution⯑ary [224] project, when the father of a family who knew that his life was devoted, had voluntarily put an end to his exiſtence in the hope of preſerving his children from want. Robeſpierre and his financial agents found nothing more preſſing than to baffle thoſe conſpiracies againſt the re⯑venues of their government; for confiſca⯑tion was ſo evidently the leading motive for the great maſs of their judicial aſſaſſi⯑nations, that the guillotine, amongſt other numerous titles, was moſt generally called the "miniſter of finance." The tribunal [...] began, to uſe the language of the orator^*, "to look into their caſh account for delinquency, and found the offenders guilty of ſo many hundred thouſand pounds worth of treaſon. They now ac⯑cuſed by the multiplication table, tried by the rule of three, and condemned, not by the ſublime inſtitutes of Juſtinian, but by [225] the unerring rules of Cocker's arithme⯑tic."

On ſome occaſions the genuine feelings of nature burſt forth amidſt the ſtupefied terror that had frozen every heart. A law had lately paſſed, obliging every mer⯑chant to inſcribe on his door the ſtock of merchandize in his warehouſe, under the penalty of death. A wine-merchant, whoſe affairs had called him haſtily into the country, entruſted the buſineſs of the inſcription to his ſon, who from igno⯑rance or regligence, for it was clearly prov⯑ed that there exiſted no intention of fraud, had omitted to affix the declaration in the preciſe words of the law. The conſcien⯑tious jury of the revolutionary tribunal condemned him to death, preſuming on the counter-revolutionary intention in this caſe from the act, though they were in general accuſtomed, for want of other evidence, to find the act by gueſſing at the intention. The innocent priſoner had prepared himſelf for death, when the mi⯑niſter [226] of juſtice, informed of the caſe, wrote to the convention, demanding a reſpite. His letter had not been half read before the hall reſounded with the cry of "reprieve, reprieve!" and fearing that the act of pardon would arrive too late, the convention, diſpenſing with the uſual formalities, not only ſent its officers and part of the military force, but great numbers of the deputies ruſhed out to ſtop the execution. The officer who re⯑ceived the order firſt, with which he flew towards the place of the revolution, told me that on his coming out of the con⯑vention he ſaw the ſcaffold reared and the crowd aſſembled. He had ſcarcely reached the firſt tree of the viſta when he ſaw the fatal knife deſcend; he redoubled his ſpeed, but before he got to the end of the walk another head had fallen: a third perſon had mounted the ſcaffold, but the voice of the meſſenger was too weak, from the efforts he had made to reach the ſpot, [227] to be noticed by the multitude. The fourth had aſcended when he gained the place, ruſhed through the crowd, called to the executioner, and leaped on the ſcaf⯑fold. The priſoner had been ſtripped, his ſhoulders were bare, and he was already tied to the plank; when the cry of "re⯑prieve" burſt forth. The officer enquired his name, which the young man told him. "Alas! you are not the perſon," he re⯑plied. The priſoner ſubmitted calmly to his fate.

The bearer of the reprieve, who is a perſon of a very benevolent diſpoſition, declared that he never felt ſo acute a pang as when he was compelled to turn away from this unfortunate victim. He haſt⯑ened, however, to the priſon, where he found the perſon who was reprieved await⯑ing the return of the cart and the execu⯑tioner, his hair cut and his hands tied, to be led to death at another part of the city where his houſe ſtood. A wife and nine [228] children were deploring the miſerable loſs of a huſband and a father, when the of⯑ficer who had brought the tidings of life to the priſoner, went at his requeſt to carry them to his diſtracted family. I need not deſcribe what he related to me of the ſcene—your heart will readily fill up the picture.

That claſs of men who were peculiarly the object of the tyrant's rage were men of letters, with reſpect to whom the jealouſy of the rival mingled with the fury of the oppreſſor, and againſt whom his hatred was leſs implacable for having oppoſed his tyranny, than for having eclipſed his eloquence. It is a curious conſideration, that the unexampled crimes of this ſan⯑guinary uſurper, and the conſequent miſe⯑ries which have deſolated the fineſt coun⯑try of Europe, may perhaps, if traced to their ſource, be found to ariſe from the reſentment of a diſappointed wit. Ro⯑beſpierre, for the misfortune of humani⯑ty, [229] was perſecuted by the moſt reſtleſs de⯑ſire of diſtinguiſhing himſelf as an orator, and nature had denied him the power. He and his brother were born at Arras, and left orphans at an early age. The bi⯑ſhop of Arras had beſtowed on them the ad⯑vantages of a liberal education. Robeſpierre diſtinguiſhed himſelf by his application to his firſt ſtudies, and obtained many literary prizes. At the age of ſixteen, elated by the applauſe he had received, he fan⯑cied himſelf endowed with ſuch rare power of genius as would enable him to act a ſplendid part on the theatre of the world, and his friends indulged the ſame fond expectation. He applied to the ſtudy of the law, and already in imagination con⯑templated himſelf diſputing with the firſt orators of the age the palm of eloquence. Experience, however, convinced his friends, and at length himſelf, that they had indulged a vain illuſion. He diſ⯑covered no taſte or aptitude for the pro⯑feſſion [230] for which he was deſigned, became weary of ſtudy, was checked by the ſlighteſt difficulties; and being found de⯑ſtitute of thoſe talents which were neceſ⯑ſary to his ſucceſs as a public ſpeaker, his benefactor, after a trial of ſufficient length, refuſed to ſupport him any longer at a conſiderable and fruitleſs expence at Paris, but ordered him to return to Arras, where in an humble ſphere, better ſuited to the mediocrity of his abilities, he might purſue his profeſſion as a lawyer. Robeſpierre was compelled to return to Arras; which, after the ſplendid dreams he had indulged of fame and honours in the capital, was an humiliation he felt keenly, but which he brooded over in ſilence: for he never on any occa⯑ſion diſplayed his ſenſibility to mortifica⯑tions, which was in proportion to his ex⯑ceſſive vanity, but concentred within his vindictive ſoul his diſgrace, his reſent⯑ment, and his projects of vengeance. From [231] the period of his return to Arras may be dated his abhorrence of men of talents. From that moment, inſtead of admiring genius, he repined at its exiſtence. The ſame feelings clung to his baſe and envi⯑ous ſpirit when he had uſurped his dic⯑tatorial power. He made it pain of death to be the author of what he called ſeditious publications, by which means it was eaſy for him to involve men of letters in a general proſcription. He ſuppreſſed every dramatic piece in which there were any alluſions he diſliked, or wherein the picture or hiſtory held up to view any feature of his own character. And it was his plan to aboliſh theatrical entertain⯑ments altogether; for he conſidered the applauſe beſtowed on fine poetry as ſome⯑thing of which his harangues were de⯑frauded. He held up men of letters to the people as perſons hoſtile to the cauſe of liberty, and incapable of raiſing them⯑ſelves to the height of the revolution; and to make them ſtill greater objects of miſ⯑truſt [232] and ſuſpicion, he had long inſtructed his agents to declaim unceaſingly againſt them as ſtateſmen; the meaning of which word, in the dictionary of theſe conſpi⯑rators, was counter-revolutioniſt. Their ſyſtem had even arrived at ſome maturity, when Briſſot, in his ſpeech for an appeal to the people on the trial of the late king, thus pourtrays them:

"Il ſemble à entendre ces hommes qu'on ne puiſſe étre à la hauteur de la révolution, qu'en montant ſur des piles de cadavres. Il ſemble que le ſecret de l'homme d'état ſoit maintenant le ſecret des bourreaux. Veut-on faire entendre le langage de la ſaine politique? on eft ſoudoyé par des puiſſances étrangeres. Veut-on parler celui de la raiſon? c'eſt de la philoſophie toute-pure, s'écrie-t-on; et on accoutume la multitude à mépriſer ſa bienfaitrice, à diviniſer l'ignorance^*."

[233] "L'ignorance de la multitude eſt le ſe⯑cret du pouvoir des agitateurs comme des deſpotes; c'eſt là le ſecret de la durée de l'ait de calomnier. Voilà pourquoi ils s'elevent contre la philoſophie, qui veut affermir la liberté ſur la raiſon univerſelle. Voilà pourquoi ils plaiſantent ſur le ſyſ⯑tême d'éducation, ſur l'utilité des écoles primaires. Il s'agit bien de tout cela, c'eſt de maſſacres qu'il faut entretenir le peuple. Voilà pourquoi ils ſuppoſent, ils accuſent ſans ceſſe l'ariſtocratie du talent. Ah pourquoi le talent? n'eſt-il qu'un être metaphyſique? Avec quel [234] doux plaiſir ces Vandales le nivelleroi⯑ent, ſi leur faux pourroient l'atteindre^*!"

One of the objects of Robeſpierre's re⯑ſentment was M. Bitauby, a Pruſſian, well known in the literary world by his ele⯑gant tranſlation of Homer into French. He was a member of the academy at Ber⯑lin, from which the king of Pruſſia or⯑dered his name to be ſtruck out, and the penſion with which the great Frederic had rewarded his merit to be diſconti⯑nued, [235] on account of his avowed attach⯑ment to the principles of the revolution. M. Bitauby had fixed his reſidence at Paris ſeveral years previous to that event. I have been acquainted with him and his lady ſince my firſt arrival in France, and have never met with perſons who blend⯑ed with the wiſdom and ſeriouſneſs of age, ſo much of all that is amiable in youth. M. Bitauby, in the firſt days of the revolution, had been perſonally ac⯑quainted with Robeſpierre, who fre⯑quently dined at his houſe; but he was not long in diſcovering the ſanguinary and fanatical ideas of liberty which filled the ſoul of the tyrant, and which ſo much diſguſted him that he gave up his acquaintance.

Robeſpierre did not forget the affront, which he had now the power to avenge. M. Bitauby and his wife were dragged to priſon in the beginning of the winter, where they languiſhed ten months; and depriv⯑ed [236] of thoſe cares which their age and their infirmities required, they had almoſt ſunk beneath their weight. Madame Bitauby's indiſpoſitions required medical aſſiſtance; but ſo many formalities were neceſſary before a phyſician could be admitted into the priſon, that, if the diſorder was not of a lingering nature, the patient ex⯑pired while the police were arranging the ceremonials previous to his relief. Dur⯑ing the laſt months of Robeſpierre's uſur⯑pation, the priſoners were refuſed the con⯑ſolation of being attended by their own phyſicians. Profeſſional men were ap⯑pointed by the police; and as ſelections were made among thoſe who were able to give clearer proofs of their Jacobin principles than of their medical ſkill, theſe revolutionary doctors ſometimes robbed the revolutionary jury of their prey. A few however of theſe "officers of health" poſſeſſed the negative merit which Dr. Franklin aſcribed to old and [237] experienced phyſicians, "they let their patients die," for the remedies they ad⯑miniſtered were of too harmleſs a nature to be capable of doing miſchief. The phyſician of the Conciergerie had as ſtrong a predilection for tiſanne as Dr. Sangrado for hot water. Tiſanne was the vivifying draught which was deſtined to ſooth all pains, and heal all maladies. One day the doctor, after having felt a patient's pulſe, ſaid to the jailor, "He is better this morning." "Yes," anſwer⯑ed the jailor, "he is better, but the per⯑ſon who lay in this bed yeſterday is dead." "Eh bien," reſumed the doctor coolly, qu'on donne toujours la tiſanne."

M. and Madame Bitauby had an advo⯑cate in their diſtreſs whom it was difficult indeed to reſiſt. This was an old ſervant of eighty years of age. His figure was ſo intereſting that Sterne's pencil only could ſketch it well; and had Sterne ſeen him, he would not have failed to draw [238] his portrait. He pleaded the cauſe of his maſter with ſuch pathetic eloquence, that at the revolutionary committee he ſometimes "drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek." But the old man was eloquent in vain, and was ſinking with deſpair into the grave when the revolution of the 9th of Thermidor reſtored his maſter and miſtreſs to liberty.

The fate of Boucheu, author of a poem called "The Months," excited particular ſympathy. He paſſed his time in priſon, in educating one of his children, and this employment ſeem⯑ed to charm away his cares. The day he received his act of accuſation, know⯑ing well the fate that awaited him, he ſent his ſon home, giving him his por⯑trait, which a painter who was his fellow⯑priſoner had drawn, and which he or⯑dered the child to give his mother. Be⯑low the picture he had written the follow⯑ing lines:

La Voiſier, the celebrated chemiſt, was put to death with the other farmers ge⯑neral. He requeſted a fortnight's reſ⯑pite to enable him to complete a phi⯑loſophical experiment. The Vandals had no time to pauſe in their career of blood, for the purſuits of philoſophy, and ſent him away, obſerving that the republic had no longer any need of che⯑miſts. Chamfort, a member of the French academy, and an enthuſiaſtic advocate for the revolution, with feelings too keen to bear the horrors by which ſo noble a cauſe had been ſtained, hid them from his [240] ſight by a voluntary death. La Harpe was thrown into priſon, and was deſtined to periſh on the ſcaffold. The author of the Travels of the younger Anachar⯑ſis, notwithſtanding his advanced age, was the object of continual perſecution. Flo⯑rian, who was himſelf impriſoned, and con⯑demned to ſee his deareſt friends periſh, had not ſufficient fortitude to ſuſtain ſuch trials. His charming pen had diſ⯑played the moſt ſoothing images of hap⯑pineſs and virtue; and when he beheld around him only miſery and crimes, his diſordered imagination haſtened his death. Vicq d'Azyr died of a broken heart. Bailly, the firſt mayor of Paris, whoſe aſtronomical reſearches have placed him in the higheſt rank of ſcience, was mur⯑dered with circumſtances of particular aggravation. He was to have been ex⯑ecuted in the Champ de Mars; but from the caprice of the ſanguinary mob, he was compelled to wait two or three hours [241] at the place of execution, while the ſcaffold was removed to a field adjoin⯑ing, where he ſtood drenched in rain, in the midſt of winter, and, which was more difficult to bear than the "pelting of the pitileſs ſtorm," expoſed to the inſults and injuries of an execrable ſet of wretches who uſually attended theſe horrid ſpectacles. The red flag was burned before his eyes, and he was compelled to ſet fire to the pile that conſumed it, while the ruffians plunged his head into the ſmoke for their farther amuſement. He ſubmitted to all that was inflicted on him with the ſerenity of a philoſopher, and only requeſted with mildneſs, that his ſufferings might be terminated. One of the barbarians by whom he was tormented, ſaid to him in a tone of ſavage mockery, "Tu trem⯑bles, Bailly." "Mon ami, c'eſt de froid^*," [242] replied the ſage. At length, after hav⯑ing made him drink the cup of bitterneſs to the very dregs, they permitted him to die.

LETTER IX.

ONE of the particular objects of Ro⯑beſpierre's rage was general Miranda, a native of Peru, well known in Europe by that philanthropic ſpirit of adventure which led him to paſs many years in travelling through various parts of the globe, with the view of being uſeful to his own country; which, ſince the pe⯑riod of the ſanguinary Spaniſh conqueſts, has groaned beneath the yoke of the moſt abject ſlavery. If this philoſophi⯑cal enthuſiaſt ſhould not accompliſh the purpoſe for which he undertook his cru⯑ſade of patriotiſm, it has at leaſt enabled him to furniſh his mind with ſuch acqui⯑ſitions of knowledge, ſuch ſtores of ob⯑ſervation, and ſuch a diſtinguiſhed taſte for the fine arts, as render his ſociety in [244] the higheſt degree inſtructive and delight⯑ful; while with an underſtanding of the firſt order he unites that perfect ſimpli⯑city of manners which uſually belongs to great minds^*.

When the Pruſſians were on their march towards Paris, Miranda accepted a command in the army of Dumourier, who was then retreating before them. After the defeat of the Pruſſians, and on the entrance of the republican army into the Low Countries, Miranda added to the high reputation he had already acquired through Europe, by the gallant [245] manner in which he executed that part of the conqueſt of thoſe countries which was allotted him. When Dumourier came to Paris, the command of the whole army devolved on Miranda; and when the campaign began, and Dumourier was invading Holland, the attack of Maeſ⯑tricht, and the army on the Meuſe, were committed to his care. The ſucceſsful march of the Auſtrians on Aix-la-Cha⯑pelle obliged him to raiſe the ſiege; and he was joined ſoon after by Dumourier, who had left his conqueſt in Holland to repair the misfortunes of the army com⯑manded by Valence. The ill humour which Dumourier had brought with him from Paris, where the Jacobins had al⯑ready begun their ſyſtem of miſrule and anarchy, was not leſſened by ill ſucceſs; and goaded by the pang of indignation and of diſappointed ambition, he formed the criminal deſign of betraying the re⯑public. This ſpirit of rebellion found [246] the moſt inflexible oppoſition from Mi⯑randa, whoſe perſonal friendſhip for Du⯑mourier did not lead him to forget that his firſt duty was towards that country which had entruſted him with its defence. The event of the battle of Nerwinden, fought againſt the repeated advice of Miranda, and in which this general loſt a conſiderable part of the troops he com⯑manded, having been forced to ſuſtain the whole ſhock of the enemy, afforded Dumourier the means of getting rid of an opponent ſo hoſtile to his deſigns; and Miranda was ſent by the commiſ⯑ſaries La Croix and Danton, without be⯑ing previouſly heard by them, to give an account of his conduct at the bar of the convention. He underwent the moſt ſtrict xamination before the committees of war and general ſafety, who declared, that not the ſlighteſt doubt remained of his military conduct, or his fidelity to the republic. But this report was ſtifled by [247] the intrigues of La Croix, Danton, and others of their party; and he was ſent, in defiance of all decency, to the revo⯑lutionary tribunal.

His trial took place in the beginning of May, before juſtice had for ever fled from that ſanguinary court. The hour of carnage was not yet arrived: the tri⯑bunal, though from its inſtitution terrible, and cruel in its forms, which placed the life of the accuſed upon a caſting voice, had not yet become a ſhrine conſecrated to infernal deities, and reeking with the daily ſacrifice of human victims. The voice of innocence was not yet ſtifled by the ſavage vociferations of monſters thirſting for its blood; and Miranda pleaded his cauſe with ſuch ſublime energy, as proved that his powers as an orator were not inferior to his talents as a general. He covered himſelf with glory, and his enemies with confuſion; and overſtepping the uſual forms, the [248] jury made their verdict the vehicle of eulogium upon his conduct.

After his trial he retired to a ſmall diſtance from Paris, where he lived in literary leiſure, amidſt his books and paintings, and where I viſited him fre⯑quently. His repoſe was however of ſhort duration. He was too diſtinguiſhed a character to eſcape the tyranny which the conſpiracy of the 31ſt of May had eſtabliſhed; and after having been perſe⯑cuted by domiciliary viſits on various pretences, he was again thrown into pri⯑ſon, charged with being the chief de⯑fender and abettor of the Gironde and Girondiſm. The real cauſe of Robeſ⯑pierre's animoſity towards him is not well known, but may be reſolved into that general hatred which he bore to⯑wards all men of talents; and as he knew that the eminent abilities of Miranda were improved by advantages which had fallen to the lot of few, he might na⯑turally [249] think that the exiſtence of ſuch a man was dangerous to his own.

Twice, in the zenith of his tyranny, he accuſed Miranda to his ſubjects the Jacobins; and when we heard that the name of Miranda had iſſued from thoſe peſtilential lips, we conſidered his mur⯑der as inevitable. One obſtacle was found ſufficient to ſhield him from the tyrant's vengeance; and this was a feel⯑ing of ſhame which lurked in the mind of the public accuſer, who, covered as he was with blood, did not dare to meet the look of Miranda, and bring forward a ſecond accuſation, after having once joined the general voice of applauſe up⯑on his acquittal. This ſentiment led Fouquier Tainville to put off the ſecond trial required by Robeſpierre, till the tyrant would hear of delay and ex⯑cuſes no more; and himſelf inſcribed Miranda's name on the fatal liſt for the twelfth of Thermidor. The revo⯑lution [250] of the tenth reſtored him to li⯑berty.

Miranda ſubmitted to an impriſon⯑ment of eighteen months, under the con⯑tinual expectation of death, with that philoſophical ſtrength of mind which he poſſeſſes in a moſt eminent degree. He had indeed determined not to be dragged to the guillotine, and had therefore pro⯑vided himſelf with poiſon. Thus armed, he ſent for a conſiderable number of books from his library, and placed them in his little chamber, of which he found means to keep the ſole poſſeſſion. Here he told me, that he endeavoured to for⯑get his preſent ſituation in the ſtudy of hiſtory and ſcience. He tried to conſi⯑der himſelf as a paſſenger on a long voy⯑age, who had to fill up the vacuity of time with the reſearches of knowledge, and was alike prepared to periſh or to reach the ſhore. During his long con⯑finement, the only perſon with whom [251] he aſſociated was the former marquis Achille du Chatelet, who poſſeſſed all the accompliſhments of literature, and whom the tyrants had dragged to priſon while the wounds were yet unhealed which he had received in defending his country. He and Miranda uſed to meet every evening, take their tea together, and talk over the books they had read during the day, avoiding as much as poſſible the ſubject of politics, which affected them too deeply, nor could Du Chatelet bear to pronounce the names of the decemvirs. Tidings, however, of the horrible ſcenes which were paſſing in Paris reached him in the gloom of his priſon; and the emotions of his mind, together with the irritation of his wound, produced a fever. Miranda attended him night and day alternately with an⯑other priſoner; and he was recovering from this diſorder, when he heard that ſome of his deareſt friends had periſhed [252] on the ſcaffold. The next morning, when Miranda went to his room to re⯑lieve a fellow-priſoner who had watched him during the night, he obſerved that his whole face was violently inflamed. He enquired eagerly what was the mat⯑ter. Du Chatelet preſſed his hand, and bade him farewell. This unfortunate young man, unable to ſupport the ſhock occaſioned by the murder of his friends, and grown weary of exiſtence, reſolved not to wait till the aſſaſſins called him to the ſcaffold, but had recourſe to poi⯑ſon, with which he had provided him⯑ſelf. A phyſician had furniſhed Verg⯑niaud, Du Chatelet, and ſeveral other martyrs to their country, with this le⯑thean remedy, which they called ^* la pillule de la liberté. A note was found in Du Chatelet's chamber, in which he declared that he had ſold his books and all that belonged to him in the priſon, [253] to Miranda. This was the only mode in which he could leave his effects to his friend, or prevent their being ſeized by the nation.

Miranda found a memorial among his papers, which he has put into my hands, where he traces the hiſtory of his poli⯑tical life. It contains an honourable liſt of the ſacrifices he had made, the labours he had achieved, and the perils he had encountered in the public cauſe, from the period when in 1789 he contributed in the baillage of Perronne to the union of the nobles with the third eſtate, till the middle of the year 1793; when, al⯑though his wounds were not cloſed, he deſired leave to return to the army, and obtained the command of the diſtrict of Aire. But he ſoon found that his in⯑firmities did not permit him to fulfil the duties of his ſtation:—he was obliged to return; and though his fortune was now loſt, he refuſed to accept his pay as a [254] general officer, ſince he was no longer able to ſerve his country. At the very moment when he was preparing to return home, he was arreſted by the revolu⯑tionary committee at Aire, as a meaſure of "general ſafety," and conducted with guards to the committee of general ſafety of the convention, who, with the ſame tender regard for public ſecurity, inſtead of declaring that this gallant young of⯑ficer had merited well of his country, ſent him to the priſon of the Force, and refuſed to let his ſervant enter for a few minutes in the day to dreſs his wound. His priſon ſix months after be⯑came his grave, and he was placed be⯑yond the reach of tyranny. Miranda was then left to abſolute ſolitude; but he had ſtill the courage to live, and at length the hour of deliverance arrived.

You will perhaps think, dear ſir, that the ſketch which I have given you of public and private calamity is ſufficiently [255] gloomy. But, alas! the ſcene blackens as we advance, and wears a deeper hor⯑ror. We have now arrived at that pe⯑riod when the tyrant, grown bolder by ſucceſs, intoxicated with power, and throwing aſide all regard even to forms, reached the climax of his crimes, and accelerated the moment of his fall. You will view him and the agents of his ini⯑quity no longer ſatisfied with victims in detail: they now murder in maſs, and, in the words of Racine,

I ſhall in the courſe of a fortnight ſend you a hiſtory of the laſt ſcenes of this foul tragedy, and give you ſuch a detail, as can only be learnt on the ſpot, of the events which produced the revolu⯑tion of the 9th of Thermidor, and of the incidents which on that memorable night determined the fate of the French republic.

[256] In the mean time, you will not ex⯑claim as the Roman poet did with re⯑ſpect to religion, "Of ſo many evils could Liberty have been the cauſe!" It is, alas! the condition of our uninſtructed nature, that nations like individuals ſhould acquire wiſdom only in the ſchool of ex⯑perience; and though the page of hiſtory, which according to Lord Bolingbroke is "philoſophy teaching by example," be open before us, we are too preſumptuous, or too careleſs, to heed or apply the leſ⯑ſon. I need not make uſe of any reaſon⯑ing to convince you that Liberty is inno⯑cent of the outrages committed under its borrowed ſanction; for though we might from ſome momentary impulſe blaſpheme its name, as Lucretius did that of religion, we muſt be perſuaded that neither religion nor liberty is chargeable with the crimes committed by tyranny or ſuperſtition. As no weeds are more pernicious than thoſe which ariſe in that ſoil from which good [257] fruit alone ſhould have ſprung, ſo no crimes have exceeded thoſe which the ty⯑rant and the fanatic have committed in the name of Freedom, the guardian an⯑gel of the happineſs of mankind, and in that of the Being "whoſe tender mercies are over all his works."

I muſt not conclude without inform⯑ing you, that the dark picture which you have been contemplating is relieved by a bright and ſoothing perſpective. The paſt ſeems like one of thoſe frightful dreams which preſents to the diſturbed ſpirit phantoms of undeſcribable horror, and "deeds without a name;" awakened from which, we hail with rapture the cheering beams of the morning, and an⯑ticipate the meridian luſtre of the day. The 9th of Thermidor has eſtabliſhed the republic; and nothing now remains but to arrange its forms. Its internal ſitua⯑tion will no more offer a hideous con⯑traſt to its external victories. The guil⯑ty [258] commune of Paris exiſts no longer; the den of the Jacobins is cloſed; and the whole nation, rouſed into a ſenſe of its danger by the terrible leſſon it has been taught, can be oppreſſed no more. There ſcarcely exiſts a family, or an in⯑dividual in France, that has not been be⯑reaved by tyranny of ſome dear relation, ſome choſen friend, who ſeems from the grave to call upon them with a warning voice to watch over the liberties of their country. The love of public virtue in the people of France is now blended with all the ſympathies and affections of their natures: it is heard in the ſighs of general mourning; it ſpeaks in the tears of the widow and the orphan; and is not only imprinted by every argument that can render it ſacred and durable on the underſtanding, but clings to every feeling of the heart.