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 travel­ler returns,’ with what grateful plea­sure 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 [Page 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, bleed­ing 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 [Page 3] feelings of private sympathy, with the tears of mourning friendship, are im­pressed upon my memory in characters that are indelible. They rise in sad suc­cession like the shades of Banquo's line, and pass along my shuddering recollec­tion.

After having so long suffered without daring to utter a complaint, it will relieve my oppressed spirits, to give you an ac­count of our late situation; and, in so do­ing, I shall feel the same sort of melan­choly 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 enlight­ened conversation I found the sole com­pensation [Page 4] for what I had lost in leaving my country and my friends—to see them torn from me for ever, to know the pre­cise 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 contem­plating, 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 mer­chants, [Page 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 autho­rity, that if any decree passed with re­spect 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 num­bers were imprisoned as suspected— sus­pected! that indefinite word, which was tortured into every meaning of injustice and oppression, and became what the French call the mot de ralliement, the ini­tiative term of captivity and death.

[Page 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 descrip­tion he gave me of a small house which he had lately built in the centre of a beau­tiful island of the river that flows by Essonne, which he was employed in de­corating, 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 agi­tation told us that a decree had just passed in the national convention, ordering all the English in France to be put into ar­restation in the space of four-and-twenty hours, and their property to be consis­cated. We passed the night without sleep, and the following day in anxiety and perturbation not to be described, ex­pecting every moment the commissaries [Page 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 flat­ter ourselves that, being a family of wo­men, it was intended that we should be spared, for the time was only now ar­rived when neither sex nor age gave any claim to compassion. Overcome with fa­tigue 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 [Page 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 our­selves; they repeated that our arrestation was only part of a general political mea­sure, and that innocence had nothing to fear.—Alas! innocence was no longer any plea for safety. They took a procès­verbal 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 [Page 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 handker­chief, 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 circum­stances 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 con­trast 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 [Page 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 commis­saries and soldiers, some sleeping, some writing, and others amusing themselves with pleasantries of a revolutionary na­ture, to which we listened trembling. Every half-hour a guard entered, con­ducting 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 munici­pality to know if we might not be taken to the Luxembourg, where we should [Page 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 li­berty, 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, how­ever, 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 [Page 12] revolutionary committees, you will not suppose I mean to assert that compassion­ate men formed the majority of their com­mittees. 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 un­limited 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 un­counted gold, and with a stroke of their pens to disperse as many warrants for im­prisonment, as caprice, envy, or mistaken zeal might prompt; who were made ar­biters 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 [Page 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?’ Af­ter 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 pri­son, Benoit, a name which many a wretch [Page 14] has blessed, for many a sorrow his com­passion and gentleness have softened. His heart was indeed but ill suited to his office; and often he incurred the dis­pleasure 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 re­move, or those few comforts which he had the power to bestow. The barbarians thought it not enough to load their vic­tims with iron, unless ‘it entered into their souls.’ But Benoit was not to be intimidated into cruelty. Without de­viating 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 inha­bited by Valazé, one of the deputies of [Page 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 dis­turbance of mind, not to find a refuge from sorrow in some hours of profound sleep.

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 beau­tiful 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 gra­dations of colouring which belong to au­tumn. 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; [Page 17] and such was the effect it produced. It is scarcely possible to contemplate the beauties of nature without that enthu­siastic pleasure which swells into devo­tion; and when such dispositions are excited in the mind, resignation to suffer­ings, which in the sacred words of scripture "are but for a moment," be­comes a less difficult duty.

The Luxembourg had lately been fitted up to receive the crowd of new inhabi­tants, with which it was going to be peopled, and every apartment obtained a particular appellation, which was in­scribed on the outside of the door. We were lodged in the chamber of Cincin­natus: Brutus, I think, was our next-door neighbour; and Socrates had pitch­ed 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 [Page 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 Guillo­tine—for instance, Brutus, who often, while we were in prison, came from the municipality with orders from Anaxa­goras, was soon after doomed to an equal fate,

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

Our prison was filled with a multi­tude of persons of different conditions, characters, opinions and countries, and [Page 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 per­son was allowed to sing after ten, in others, after eleven at night. This re­striction would, perhaps, have been su­perfluous in England in a similar situa­tion; [Page 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 an­noyance of others of their neighbours who might think the music which re­sounded 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 prac­tised 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 of­fices; 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, [Page 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 re­cognized 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 pri­soners were permitted to see their friends; and many a striking contrast of gaiety [Page 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 shed­ding tears over his child who was cling­ing to his knees, or had thrown its arms around his neck and refused to be torn from its father. As the number of pri­soners increased, which they did so ra­pidly, that in less than a week they were augmented from an hundred to a thou­sand, the rules of the prison became more severe, and the administrators of the po­lice gave strict orders, that no person whatever should be admitted. After this period the wives of some of the pri­soners came regularly every day, bring­ing their children with them to the ter­race of the gardens. You often saw the mother weeping, and the children stretch­ing [Page 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 pri­soners.—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 appoint­ments 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 dan­ger could not overcome the feelings of vanity; and who, although the tremen­dous decree had just gone forth, making [Page 24] "terror the order of the day," and know­ing that the fatal pre-eminence of rank was the surest passport to the guillotine, could not resist using the proscribed no­menclature of "Madame la duchesse," "Monsieur le comte," &c. which seem­ed to issue from their lips like natural melodies to which the ear has long been accustomed, and which the voice invo­luntarily 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 pre­tences the most trivial, and sometimes from mistakes the most ludicrous. Such was the fate of the former count and countess of [...], who had dis­tinguished themselves from the begin­ning of the revolution by the ardour [Page 25] of their patriotism and the largeness of their civic donations. They had hither­to 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 men­tioned 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 [Page 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 Lux­embourg with about sixty other persons at the hour of midnight, after having been led through the streets in proces­sion by the light of an immense num­ber of flambeaux, and guarded by a whole battalion. These prisoners had at least the consolation of finding them­selves in the society of many of their friends and acquaintances, for all the po­lite part of the fauxbourg St. Germain might be said to be assembled at the Luxembourg in mass. Imprisonment here was, however, no longer the ex­clusive distinction of former nobility, but was extended to great numbers of the former third estate. We had priests, physicians, merchants, shop-keepers, ac­tors and actresses, French valets and [Page 27] English waiting-women, all assembled to­gether in the public room; but in the private apartments Benoit's benevolent heart taught him the most delicate spe­cies of politeness, by placing those per­sons together who were most likely to find satisfaction in each others' society.

Amidst many an eloquent tale of cha­teaux levelled with the ground, and palaces where, to borrow an image of de­solation from Ossian, "the fox might be seen looking out at the window," we sometimes heard the complaints of sim­ple 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, [Page 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 me­lancholy 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 mili­tary force of Paris. This wretch had been one of the executioners on the se­cond of September, and was appointed by the commune of Paris on the 31st of May to take the command of the na­tional guard, to point the cannon against the convention, to violate the represen­tation of the people, and to act the pre­lude of that dark drama of which France has been the desolated scene, and Europe the affrighted spectator. Henriot per­formed [Page 29] his part so much to the satisfac­tion of his employers, that he was con­tinued in his command; and it was a part of his office to visit the prisons, and take ca [...]e that they were properly guard­ed. The first time I saw him was the day after our confinement. He en­tered on a sudden our apartment, bran­dishing his sword, and accompanied by twelve of his officers. There was some­thing 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 [Page 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 tram­pling of his horse's feet was heard in the court-yard, the first prisoner who distin­guished 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 per­vaded the whole dwelling; and we re­mained 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 no­thing less than soothing. Brutality, as well as terror, was the order of the day; and those public functionaries, whose bu­siness it was not only to see that the po­lice [Page 31] of the prison was well regulated, but also to hear if the prisoners had any sub­ject of complaint, used to make the en­quiry 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 po­lice generally produced some additional rigour to our confinement; and in a short time all access to us whatever was for­bidden except by letters, which were sent open, and delivered to us after being ex­amined by the sentinels. There was sometimes room for deep meditation on the strange caprice and vicissitudes of fortune. We found the ex-minister Ame­lot a prisoner in the Luxembourg; he, who during his administration had distri­buted lettres de cachet with so much liberality. Tyranny had now changed its instruments, and he was become him­self the victim of despotism with new [Page 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 con­fined 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 imagina­tion, used to address letters to all the kings of Europe and all the emigrant princes, inviting them to sumptuous re­pasts, [Page 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 has­tened 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 Septem­ber, 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 or­dered 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 [Page 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-cham­ber, while his room was preparing, than the little boy recognized his acquaint­ance, and running up to him cried, "Bon jour, citoyen Maillard—il faut dire la verité, toute la verité, et rien que la ve­rité."

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 fu­turity. The evening paper seemed to [Page 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 pub­lic 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 ap­pointed to die!"

THE days of my captivity are often brought back to my remembrance, by circumstances which seem sufficiently re­mote from sorrows; by that connexion of the past with the present, which Aken­side 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 my­self that the scenery was alive around me, [Page 37] so much did I delight in the pleasing il­lusion. How often, while my eyes were fixed on that canvass which led my wound­ed 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 ma­jestically 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 torrent­stream 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 wander­ing through the charming scenes of Swit­zerland, 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 [Page 38] other regions belong only to a few fa­voured spots, I have felt my eyes bathed in tears, while, amidst views of overwhelm­ing greatness, some minute object un­observed 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 un­der rocks of the most terrific form, in a succession of torrents, sweeping after each other down the abrupt descent, and brok­en in their course by enormous fragments torn from the cliffs; sometimes raising their scattered surges into thin air, and sometimes displaying the prismatic co­lours on the foam. While I was stand­ing 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 admira­tion, in which the mind loses all traces of the past, or thought of the future, had subsided, the torrent-rill which [Page 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 droop­ing branches in the surf, I discovered a towering elm, the form of which resem­bled 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 reno­vation 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 adjoin­ing, was separated from the public room by a little passage, and a door which the huissiers carefully locked at night. It [Page 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 jus­tice, they were inhumanly dragged to the scaffold. Sillery, on account of his in­firmities, had with much difficulty ob­tained permission from the police for his servant to be admitted into the prison dur­ing 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 [Page 41] at least bestow on us the palm of con­stancy, 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 some­times obtained permission to visit, in de­fiance 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 re­spective chambers, and the keeper had locked the outer door which enclosed our three apartments, La Source entered our [Page 42] room. Oh! how different was this in­terview from those meetings of social en­joyment that were embellished by the charms of his conversation, always dis­tinguished by a flow of eloquence, and animated by that enthusiastic fervour which peculiarly belonged to his charac­ter! La Source was a native of Langue­doc, and united with very superior ta­lents, that vivid warmth of imagination for which the southern provinces of France have been renowned since the period when, awakened by the genial in­fluence 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 princi­ple 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 op­pression of the antient system. His sensi­bility was acute, and his detestation of the crimes by which the revolution had [Page 43] been sullied, was in proportion to his de­voted 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 poli­tics in the evening, for the conversation of some literary men whom he met occa­sionally 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 whis­pers, while we kept watch successively at the outer door, that if any step ap­proached 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 [Page 44] world; and though he seemed to forget all the horrors of his situation in the con­solation he derived from these moments of confidential conversation, yet he fre­quently lamented, that this last gleam of pleasure which was shed over his ex­istence 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 ar­rival, 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 senti­nels, when he hastened to our apartment. The discovery of these visits would in­deed have exposed us to the most fatal consequences; but our sympathy pre­vailed over our fears; nor could we, what­ever might be the event, refuse our de­voted friend this last melancholy satisfac­tion. La Source at his second visit was [Page 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 belong­ed to his years. His manners retained the elegance, by which that class was distinguished which Mr. Burke has de­nominated "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 litera­ture, 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 [Page 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 mo­ments!—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 endea­voured to sooth the weakness of humanity by hopes which we knew were fallacious, was a species of misery almost insupport­able. There were moments indeed, when the task became too painful to be en­dured; [Page 47] There were moments when, shock­ed 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 sup­port which is of all others the most effec­tual under misfortune. Religion was in La Source a habit of the mind. Im­pressed 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 un­bounded 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 com­posed together a little hymn adapted to a sweet solemn air, which they called [Page 48] their evening service. Every night be­fore 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 mem­ber of the national convention, and could find no interval in which to visit his native spot, or his wife, whom he saw [Page 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 distinguish­ed 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 citi­zen of the fauxbourg, who had been in­vited 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 ene­mies and theirs will represent you as hav­ing overthrown regal power only to es­tablish your own. You will be accused [Page 52] of aristocracy; and I foresee," he added with much perturbation, "that you will all perish on the scaffold." The com­pany smiled at his singular prediction: but during the ensuing winter, when the storm was gathering over the political horizon, La Source recalled the pro­phecy, and sometimes reminded Verg­niaud 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 faux­bourg?" "The prophet of the faux­bourg," 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 [Page 53] arrived, the other prisoners crowded to the public room to see them pass, and we shut ourselves up in our own apart­ment. 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 re­lated 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, cast­ing 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 ar­dent love of their country, the heroical contempt of death which animated his [Page 54] colleagues, whom he had not seen for some time, since they had been transferred to the Conciergerie, while himself and Sil­lery 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 of­fered 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 re­gret in the loss of life. You have a glimpse of the gardens of the Luxem­bourg, which may remind you that there [Page 55] is something beautiful in nature: but we who live in human shambles, who every day see fresh victims dragged to execu­tion, we are become so familiarized with death, that we look on it with uncon­cern."

A few days before this sanguinary trial ended, the administration of the police sent orders that the English-women con­fined in the Luxembourg should be removed 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 pre­served, they should consider themselves for ever bound to us by the most sacred ties of gratitude and friendship: but they [Page 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 ac­count of the political events and their causes, which, after bringing those mem­bers of the convention to the scaffold who were most fitted by their talents to defend liberty, and by their moral qua­lities 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 re­paration to humanity, or retrieve her character among the nations.

THE republican party of the legisla­tive 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 un­derwent a revision previously to the ac­ceptance of the constitution by the ex­ecutive 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 republi­can [Page 58] party, both of which were at length agreed in the overthrow of the new con­stitution, with which each was for dif­ferent 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 symp­toms of a more dangerous and fatal tendency to the welfare of the govern­ment had already appeared among others, yet those to whom the people had given [Page 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 imbeci­lity of the legislative assembly then ex­piring, and had already erected itself into a rival power before the convention had opened its first debates. The pretence of making extraordinary exertions to op­pose 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 representa­tives 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 supe­riority [Page 60] over the national convention. But in this calculation they were deceived. Robespierre and his adherents, who had hitherto directed their counsels, now as­pired to higher destinies; and, though solicitous to make the commune an auxi­liary 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. Al­though 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 ope­rated so powerfully on the minds of the people of the departments, that many de­puties 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 [Page 61] greater dread of the return of those hor­rors 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 atro­cities which they had meditated, to pass unnoticed. The council-general of the commune were called to the bar, but es­caped justice by dissembled professions of repentance, and the promise of delivering up those who had led them to the com­mission of such enormities. Had the con­vention, while its rival was thus sub­dued, proceeded to distinguish between those who had been the chiefs of the con­spiracy [Page 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 humi­liation of the commune was a contrivance to escape examination, of which the con­spirators who directed its operations, and who had been chosen since to the con­vention, were afraid; the assembly, de­ceived by this artifice, had no sooner granted the pardon they implored, than the faction, emboldened by impunity, perceived that with audacity and perse­verance they might yet attain the end to which they aspired. While Robespierre sat in the commune, his object was pro­bably to frame a government of munici­palities, of which Paris was to be the chief, and himself the dictator: but this enter­prise being encompassed with difficulty, since the people had determined to have a national convention, he afterwards [Page 63] changed his measures, and began to me­ditate a plan of making the convention itself, of which he was now a member, serve as the instrument of his usurpa­tion.

With this view, he and his disorganiz­ing 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 plun­der or the power induced them to be­come accomplices in the guilt.

While the municipality laboured to win over the sections of Paris, the Jaco­bins made proselytes to their system of anarchy by their affiliations and corre­spondence in the departments; and before the existing government was fully aware of the extent of the conspiracy, or could [Page 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 con­stituted authorities was sufficient to out­weigh 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 ^*.

[Page 65] However criminal this band of con­spirators, who have exercised a despotism more hideous than history has ever pre­sented, may appear, or whatever be the [Page 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 care­lessly 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 con­tend 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 re­turned 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 [Page 67] sovereignty of the people. But an ill­judged application of the principles of individual liberty, a too delicate regard for the rights of persons, led on the ma­jority of the convention to the permis­sion of offences, of which they took no measures to stop the progress, till the con­spiracy had acquired such strength as made every exertion against it ineffectual.

The treason of Dumourier had furnish­ed the faction with new resources for ca­lumny against the republican party, with some of whom he had formerly been con­nected: for, as the faction was in the con­stant habit of denouncing indiscriminate­ly every agent of the republic, the com­pletion of one prophecy gave an air of credit to the rest ^*. Although the con­spirators [Page 68] had acquired considerable in­fluence 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 coun­try, there was little hope of success. The prize set before these traitors was too great [Page 69] to suffer them to hesitate about the means of seizing it; and having thrown aside all regard to the laws, all respect for in­dividual or political liberty, they con­ceived the project of violating the na­tional 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 be­came the representatives, bearing peti­tions written by the conspirators them­selves, praying the convention to drive from their seats a certain number whom they marked as unworthy of their confi­dence or that of the nation. The indig­nation of the convention being roused at these attempts, they instituted a com­mission of enquiry to search into the causes of this conspiracy. This com­mission, in pursuance of the powers it had [Page 70] received, after mature examination, ar­rested 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 an­nihilate 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 conven­tion the most eminent for their virtue and talents. The convention for seve­ral days withstood every effort that was made to shake its firmness. The presi­dent Isnard, with all the warmth of ho­nest 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 [Page 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 pro­ceeded too far to be stopped in their ca­reer 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 insurrec­tion. The national guard being thus put into insurrection, the cause of which was unknown, the whole body were con­ducted [Page 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 conven­tion was surrounded till nearly midnight by the military force, nor was any mem­ber 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 conspi­racy 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, find­ing all his efforts ineffectual, he left the assembly in despair.

The assault of the convention on the 31st of May, though it had produced [Page 73] the most horrible disorder, had not forced from the assembly the decree of arresta­tion. But Robespierre with his com­mune, 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 at­tempted to leave the hall, had gone too far to recede. The first of June they employed in preparations for a fresh at­tack; and on the second again the tocsin rung, again the whole city was under arms, and the convention was again in­vested by sixty thousand men.

It does not appear that all the adhe­rents of the conspirators, or rather the different factions in league with them, were acquainted with all the means which Robespierre, Marat, and the mu­nicipality, the original authors of the plot, meant to employ. La Croix, a [Page 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, re­plied, 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 jus­tice the twenty-two deputies whom he called traitors, he would order the can­non 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 indigna­tion, hope to obtain their liberty by de­creeing that the officers of the post next the entrance of the hall should be called to the bar. Two of them had received [Page 75] no orders, and a third informed them that he was himself consigned by a few strangers who did not appear to him ac­quainted even with military forms. These strangers were ordered to the bar; but they refused to attend: and thus this as­sembly, 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 sen­tinels seeing themselves likely to be over­powered gave way. The deputies pa­raded in the garden, expecting every mo­ment to be massacred; but the conspira­tors who directed their motions led them back again to the hall, observing that the convention, after so striking a proof, [Page 76] could have no doubt of their being at liberty.

Previously to this mock parade, Bar­rere, who had been weighing the proba­bilities of success on either side, and ex­amining which party would have the ascendency, at length invited the pro­scribed 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 ac­ceded; 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 ve­hemence 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. "Ci­tizens," said he, "we have beheld in [Page 77] barbarous countries the people leading human victims to the altar, after crown­ing them with flowers; but we never heard, that the priests who were about to sacrifice them treated them with in­sult. 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 ap­palled 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 pro­scribed 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 re­public. While the conspirators were perpetrating this abominable deed, they were deliberating in the house of Guadet [Page 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 col­leagues 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 ^*.

[Page 79] Had the convention, when Henrios sent them his mandate, ordered him to [Page 80] be instantly put to death, their orders, if they could have been promulgated out of the precincts of the hall, would un­doubtedly have been obeyed; but the con­spirators had taken measures to prevent any such transmission, by consigning eve­ry officer to his post, by filling up every avenue with their agents, who had re­ceived 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 no­thing 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 win­dow that overlooked the Tuilleries the convention in full procession; but I could not account for this singular pa­rade, nor was it till midnight that I learned the history of the day, which [Page 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 mur­der!

Liberty, however, did not see her prin­ciples and rights abandoned with impu­nity, but has been terribly avenged. From that fatal decree may be dated all the horrors which have cast their san­guinary cloud over the glories of the re­volution, which have given strength to despots and arguments to slaves. The national convention has beheld its mem­bers dragged in successive multitudes to the scaffold. The Parisian guard, who sub­mitted 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 [Page 82] the baseness to make no conditions for their imprisoned representatives; have seen their fellow-citizens, their friends, their relations, led to death, their pro­perty violated, all social ties shaken, vir­tue 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 pic­ture, even in the proscriptions of Sylla or the caprices of Caligula ^*.

[Page 83] Immediately after the insurrection of the 2d of June, an insidious address was pub­lished 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 hu­miliation to which they were reduced; while others, to give their dissent a more [Page 84] solemn form, assembled and signed indi­vidually a protest, in which they detailed the events of the 2d of June, represent­ing 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 shame­fully 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 pro­mised 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 com­mittee being in the number of the con­spirators, the protest was found among the papers of Duperret, and caused the imprisonment of all those who had sign­ed it.

The tidings of the insurrection in Pa­ris [Page 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 remon­strance, 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 indif­ference the progress of the contest. Find­ing themselves delivered from the oppres­sion of the former government; conclud­ing 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 repub­lic; for had the Parisians attended to the [Page 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 af­fairs, were either filled by the agents of the conspirators, or governed by the conspirators themselves; and where nei­ther of them had weight sufficient to mis­lead the citizens, they took advantage of their departure to propose and carry reso­lutions 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 [Page 87] no tendency to awaken the citizens to greater vigilance. Had they known to what end all the artifices of the conspira­tors tended, they would undoubtedly have been on their guard; but as they were made to serve the views of the trai­tors in demanding the expulsion of their re­presentatives, without believing that they had committed any crime; so they were also made the instruments of consummat­ing the treason by assisting in the violation of the representation itself in the arbi­trary 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 li­berty 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 esta­blished, that as much vigilance is requir­ed to guard it from the inroads of the [Page 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 citi­zens 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 un­moved at these violations, a considerable number of the departments felt the in­dignity, and prepared to avenge the na­tional honour. Some made eloquent remonstrances at the bar of the conven­tion; some deliberated on the convocation of the primary assemblies; some propos­ed 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 [Page 89] of the departmental force was expected; but the conspirators, who foresaw this formidable opposition to the accomplish­ment of their designs, had the prudence to provide against it by sending previ­ously into the departments as many of their emissaries as they could spare with­out 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 advan­tage 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 fol­low 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 com­mon indignation which the conduct of [Page 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 depart­ments 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 crowd­ed partaking their indignation, the ar­mies that had hastily assembled as sud­denly disappeared; and the whole of the republic except the city of Lyons sub­mitted to the yoke. The causes of this defection, which have hitherto been in­volved in obscurity, it being the interest of the conspirators to keep them conceal­ed from the world, have lately been de­veloped by one of the principal actors in those memorable scenes, Louvet, de­puty [Page 91] of the department of the Loiret, who distinguished himself early in the con­vention 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 coun­try. 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 deter­mined royalist, for he took no pains to [Page 92] conceal it. I asked Barbaroux and Bu­zot 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 break­ing his engagements, and the other was altogether captivated by his agreeable manners. Guadet and Pethion, who had just arrived, did not [...] my apprehen­sions. They were astonished at my readi­ness in suspecting every one that was not as much a republican as myself. From that time I saw that every thing was go­ing 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 [Page 93] the republic. Besides, many Normans, who shewed the most favourable disposi­tions 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 con­versation, 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 bet­ter there than elsewhere, we should have taken our passage aboard the first Ame­rican vessel, and have been at this time safe in Philadelphia.

"Three weeks elapsed, while Wimp­fen 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 [Page 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 pub­licly, and were preparing to overthrow the terrible municipality. Many sec­tions 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 Mani­festo, 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 punish­ment to some of the mountain, to the municipality and the cordeliers; and this just distinction had produced the best possible effect in Paris. The com­missaries besides had seen and borne [Page 95] their testimonies against the base calum­nies 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 apprehen­sions 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 cow­ardly as they were thievish: this collec­tion had just entered Vernon. Then it was that Wimpfen talked of attacking this town; and here suddenly a Mr. Puy­sey, of whom we had never heard, was in­troduced to us by the general, as an of­ficer [Page 96] full of republicanism and know­ledge. He it was whom Wimpfen or­dered 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 ex­treme heat, and then made his sol­diers, 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 [Page 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 pro­bability 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 [Page 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 depart­ment to the enemy.

"On the arrival of the courier who brought us these sad tidings, Wimpfen did not appear at all disconcerted. He more­over 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 pa­per-money which should be current throughout the seven united depart­ments.

"These observations afforded room for deep reflection. Salles and myself, after having a long time conversed on the subject, were convinced that the general, so far from wishing to march to Paris, [Page 99] intended to keep us shut up with him in the city, where his party was prevalent, to establish a communication with En­gland, 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 ne­cessary to convince them than what hap­pened soon after.

"The general requested to have a con­ference with all of us who were deputies, on an affair of the greatest consequence. He began by describing to us our situa­tion 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 [Page 100] at least for some time a proper defence. The future, however, required some­thing 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 mur­derers of the mountain, an officer, who undoubtedly had been instructed, sud­denly 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 no­thing, said he to the officer; go and talk calmly to the people, make them easy; [Page 101] give them a little money, if it be neces­sary. When this man left us, the gene­ral 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 pro­duced on my too confiding friends. All of them at the same moment, struck with indignation, without any previous [Page 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 resent­ment. 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 infa­mous 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 proposi­tion, 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, [Page 103] imprisoned and guillotined. Our con­spiracy, they would have said, extended to the south. It would have been we, and not themselves, who delivered Tou­lon 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 some­what surprised to see us, but he did not receive us with less courtesy. We learn­ed, what he himself took care not to in­form 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 hand­fuls of assignats at Evreux, and every where on their passage; and who, soon [Page 104] after, probably sure of powerful sup­port, came with the intention of con­tinuing 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 gene­ral 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 resist­ance. &c. He nevertheless avoided repeat­ing to us his English propositions. Ac­cordingly the retreat took place the fol­lowing day: all my friends then acknow­ledged that our affairs were ruined in the western departments. In vain did the general, after having gone back to Caen, [Page 105] where he was always desirous of esta­blishing himself, shew dispositions for a serious defence. In vain did he create staff officers, arrange his troops, em­ploy himself in searching for a conve­nient situation for encampment, establish batteries of eighteen-pounders: all this parade no longer imposed on our col­leagues.

"It appears clear that Wimpfen, the evening before, had given notice by one of the couriers of the committee of pub­lic 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, Pethi­on, Guadet, &c. and the dictator Ro­bespierre—that Wimpfen had given in­formation of the bad success of his En­glish [Page 106] overtures, and that it was useless to renew the proposition. It also ap­pears 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 ne­cessary 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 as­tonish 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 com­plaisantly beaten at Vernon. The admi­nistrators of Calvados had given notice [Page 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 conspi­racy was a man named Chalier, a Pied­montais 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 com­mitted 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 [Page 108] nine persons who had been committed to prison by the municipality of Lyons for slight offences. Agreeably to the in­structions he had received, and in con­formity to the general plan which the commune of Paris and the conspirators had formed, their apostle laboured in­cessantly to propagate the doctrines of robbery, rebellion and murder. Seeing that these exhortations had been attend­ed with their due effects in Paris, "the needy villain's general home," where the promise of riches without labour had al­lured all the idle and profligate to the standard of the conspirators, he was dis­appointed that more proselytes to this seducing system had not honoured his embassy at Lyons, where society was less disunited, and where industry had es­tablished a superstitious regard to proper­ty, 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 regenera­tion, [Page 109] which consisted in placing a guil­lotine 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 in­to 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 an­noyance of the wealthy citizens, against whom his attacks were continually di­rected. 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.

[Page 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, be­came 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, in­fluenced by Chalier, had levied a revo­lutionary 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 [Page 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 con­spirators, 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 conspi­rators 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 com­bat was vigorously supported on both sides; for the conspirators were aided by a party of military whom they had pre­viously engaged in their interests. Vic­tory [Page 112] remained doubtful for a long time, as the battle was fought in the streets of the city, one quarter being in the posses­sion of the conspirators, while the re­publicans 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 se­vere 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 resist­ance 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 conspi­rators, and was besieged a few weeks after this period.

THE chief point of accusation against the deputies who were arrested on the second of June, was the continued op­position which they were accused of hav­ing made to the formation of a republi­can constitution. This calumny was con­tradicted by the fact; the proscribed de­puties having, after the labour of some months, presented a plan of constitution to the convention, which had been pub­lished by its order; but of which it was a part of the conspirators' plan to in­terrupt and prevent the discussion.

As many believed that a constitution was the remedy for every evil, moral and political, and even physical, that af­flicted the state; and that, when once prepared and administered, all its mala­dies [Page 114] would be cured; some of the de­partments 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 indiffer­ent 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 con­stitution, and having obtained their sanc­tion 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-in­vented species of tyranny, under the de­nomination of revolutionary government. [Page 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 depart­ments themselves had of extending the civil war, which then raged in the coun­try south of the Loire, when there was a possibility of attaining by milder means the objects they had in view, the re-esta­blishment of their representatives, and confining the extravagant power of the commune of Paris within its just bounds. What also misled them was, the subjec­tion 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 [Page 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 re­bellion. It was fortunate for the usurpers, that this almost general and speedy ac­quiescence 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 invin­cible spirit of liberty that inspired the im­mense majority of the republic, was cal­culated 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 [Page 117] coasts between the two rivers, and mak­ing part of the territory which was call­ed, under the ancient government, the province of Poitou. It is a country fer­tile 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 inhabi­tant was not solicitous to increase his riches by foreign traffic; so that com­merce contributed but little to his opu­lence, and manufacturers were almost un­known. However innocent and pastoral the life of the shepherd and the husband­man 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 [Page 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 no­thing to the progressive improvement of the world. The negative merit of ex­emption 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 ig­norance becomes the sport of fanaticism, and ambitious men make it the instru­ment 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 inter­course with the rest of the republic than what arose from the export of the super­fluity of its produce; and while the great and immortal principles which directed [Page 119] the revolution awakened in the bosom of every mechanic and peasant through­out 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 be­liever and obedient vassal, while his fel­low-citizens were rejoicing in their eman­cipation.

In this insulated department the feodal system had been maintained in all its rigour. The provincial laws of Brittany, which, from the minuteness and singu­larity of their oppression, would be rather subjects of ridicule than abhorrence, had they not contributed so much to the de­gradation 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 [Page 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 dis­cord 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 pub­lic affairs. Accordingly the nobles and the priests, who, in the first meetings of the constituent assembly, discovered, that by the removal of those factitious bar­riers 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 de­partments, 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 hin­der the promulgation, and particularly [Page 121] those which respected their own orders, were but imperfectly executed, or appa­rently obeyed. Having found that that enthusiasm which led the constituent as­sembly to overthrow these gigantic pri­vileges, had considerably evaporated to­wards 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 over­spread this part of the country—partial fermentations next succeeded, and the spi­rit 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 [Page 122] examine into its causes; instead of en­lightening 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 in­surrection 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 legisla­tive assembly for a long time applied only palliatives to the disease; nor, till it wore an aspect dangerous to the exist­ence 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 consti­tution; but this measure appeared so alarming to the court, and so destructive [Page 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, find­ing themselves so zealously supported, burst into open resistance in the Vendée and the neighbouring departments, which it required all the exertion of the depart­mental 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 Ven­dée and the adjoining departments, but extended itself through a great part of [Page 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 un­interrupted possession of the Vendée and the neighbouring departments. Before the end of March they had organized an army of 40,000 men, consisting chief­ly of peasants, servants of the former no­bility, 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 com­manded 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 pro­gress [Page 125] which the royalists had made be­fore any force was opposed to them was so alarming, and at the period when the Jacobins had seized upon the govern­ment at Paris, the portion of the coun­try which the Vendéens had subdued was so extensive, that it seemed doubt­ful of which party France was destined to be the prey. The royalists had en­tire 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 for­mer 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, Lanjui­nais, Barbaroux, Guadet, Louvet and others of the proscribed deputies having made their escape, the conspirators de­clared, in an address to the departments, [Page 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 re­futed 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 re­laxed 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 as­sassination of Marat. In the first dawn [Page 127] of the conspiracy Marat became a prin­cipal instrument in the hands of the trai­tors, who found him well fitted for their purposes; and being saved from the pu­nishment which usually follows personal insult by the contempt which the defor­mity and diminutiveness of his person ex­cited, 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 an­tipathy 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 conspi­rators was his readiness to publish every [Page 128] slander which they framed, and to ex­hort to every horror which they medi­tated.—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 im­posed 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 cham­ber by a lingering disease to which he was subject, and of which he would proba­bly soon have died. But he was assas­sinated 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 his­torians to have imbibed a strong attach­ment [Page 129] to liberty. She had been accus­tomed 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 be­lieved with fond enthusiasm would de­liver 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 pro­ject she had formed ^*. Under pretence [Page 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 [Page 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 Concier­gerie, and brought before the revolution­ary tribunal.

She acknowledged the deed, and jus­tified 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 in­volve the country in anarchy and civil war, and asserted her right to put Ma­rat to death as a convict already con­demned by the public opinion. She trusted that her example would inspire the people with that energy which had been at all times the distinguished cha­racteristic of republicans; and which she defined to be that devotedness to our [Page 132] country which renders life of little com­parative 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 an­swers 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 co­vered with smiles. At the close of her trial she took three letters from her bo­som, and presented them to the judges, and requested they might be forwarded to the persons to whom they were ad­dressed. Two were written to Barba­roux, in which with great ease and spi­rit she relates her adventures from her leaving Caen to the morning of her trial. [Page 133] The other was an affectionate and so­lemn adieu to her father. She retired while the jury deliberated on their ver­dict; and when she again entered the tri­bunal 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 [Page 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 exul­tation thrown over her countenance, that she inspired sentiments of love rather than sensations of pity ^*. She ascended [Page 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 at­tempted 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 handker­chief, the moment before she bent under the fatal stroke, she blushed deeply; and her head, which was held up to the mul­titude the moment after, exhibited this last impression of offended modesty.

[Page 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 cir­cumstances 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 an­tient 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 depart­ments remained. The death of Marat was the point of conviction. Every member of the mountain was to be as­sassinated 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 credu­lous [Page 137] to believe these calumnies, the fac­tion 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 inaugu­ration of Marat and of Chalier, they were meditating the murder of the depu­ties whom they had driven from the le­gislature.

It was impossible to contemplate with­out indignation and despair that glorious revolution, which had opened to man­kind the brightest prospects of happi­ness, 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 Rous­seau, Mably and Voltaire, prostrate in frantic enthusiasm before the shrine of [Page 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, at­tributed 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 in­vention of those by whom they were ex­hibited. 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 mea­sures 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 [Page 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 medi­tating, was denounced for its moderantism, and the members of which it was com­posed, renewed.

A certain class of the women of Paris, whogave themselves the title of revolution­ary women, had been serviceable auxilia­ries 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 oc­cupied. On the days of tumult which preceded the 31st of May they had mounted guard in person at the con­vention, [Page 140] and prevented the execution of certain orders which they disliked. They now presented themselves at the bar of the assembly, and demanded the exclu­sion of the former nobles from every function civil or military, the renewal of all the administrations throughout the republic, the examination of the con­duct 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 hav­ing shewn some disinclination to comply with these modest requisitions, these fe­male politicians insulted some of the members, and the society was dissolved by a decree.

In the mean time the royalists had pro­ceeded 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 [Page 141] was over-run by the Austrians. Valen­ciennes 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 Per­pignan, and the English were masters of Toulon.

More efficient measures became neces­sary than had hitherto been employed, and that which was now adopted was put­ting 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 in­vested with the title of the defenders of their country, and, as soon as arms were procured, sent to the frontiers.

[Page 142] Whatever may be the difference of po­litical opinion respecting the events of the French revolution, there can be no dis­senting voice against the tribute of ho­nour 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 coun­try invaded, and bravely repulsed the at­tack, leaving the arrangement of the in­ternal concerns of the state to the indivi­duals 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 mili­tary 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 con­vention, [Page 143] and their country were looking on them with fond and anxious expecta­tion, and the decrees which declared that they deserved well of the republic ani­mated them with a more ardent desire to merit the eulogium.

One of the great springs which me­chanically inspired courage and reso­lution, was the patriotic songs and hymns which were continually resound­ing through their camps. But the great moral motive that urged them to valor­ous 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 consci­ous 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 de­liverers, and that his fate would inspire that sentiment which our animated poet [Page 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 repre­sented 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 ene­my. The rest languished in tents and ships, amidst damps and putrefaction, [Page 145] pale, torpid, spiritless and helpless, gasp­ing and groaning, unpitied among men made obdurate by long continuance of helpless misery, and were at last whelm­ed in pits or heaved into the ocean with­out notice and without remembrance. By incommodious encampments and un­wholesome stations, where courage is use­less 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 [Page 146] of plenty to themselves, but to contri­bute to the accommodation of their less wealthy companions.

THE usurpers saw that those young citizens who had obeyed with alacrity the call of the convention against the com­mon enemy were not fitted to be the in­struments of these revolutionary projects. Revolutionary committees had been esta­blished in every commune of the depart­ments, 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 term­ed the most sansculottide and revolution­ary 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, [Page 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 conven­tion 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 in­flicting twenty years imprisonment on whoever should introduce English mer­chandize into the republic, and for throw­ing into prison and confiscating the pro­perty of all those who had been born in the British dominions, except such as [Page 149] were employed in manufactures. This impolitic and savage decree, in open vio­lation 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 re­main among them, was put into execu­tion; 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 con­spirators than the consideration of the cases of individuals, those who had the cre­dulity to trust to their protection were left to ruminate on their injustice.

The next step taken by the conspira­tors was that of throwing aside the incum­brance of the constitution. A report was accordingly prepared, shewing the impossibility of conducting the machine of the revolution without the use of ex­traordinary measures, and the convention [Page 150] voted without discussion, that the consti­tution should be set aside, and that the government should become revolution­ary. 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 recom­mends it in similar cases to all free go­vernments. 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 [Page 151] on the power, instead of making this tem­porary 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 assump­tion of their new power, the conspirators thought it necessary to shew their distin­guishing 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 "aristo­cracy of talents" succeeded the "aris­tocracy 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 ob­liged [Page 152] light every merchant and shop-keeper to sell his goods to the public at the pre­scribed 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 con­sumer, 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 com­merce, when the cargo which he had pur­chased abroad was struck with the revo­lutionary maximum on its entrance into [Page 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 re­duction of the price of merchandize, they were equally solicitous to shew their re­gard for the public safety by the punish­ment 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 re­public. She was accordingly arraigned for having committed a series of crimes, which in the language of the indictment comprehended not merely counter-revolu­tion ary projects, but all the enormities of the Messalinas, Brunehauts, Fredegondes, and Medicis. A curious account of the [Page 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 fea­tures of the evidence on the trial of the Austrian. I did not forget that expostu­lation 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 hor­rors." Robespierre, struck with this an­swer as by an electrical stroke, broke his plate with his fork. "That blockhead [Page 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 be­haviour during the whole of her trial, ex­cept when a starting tear accompanied her answer to Hebert. She was con­demned 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 [Page 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 sur­rounding multitude. Her eyes, though bent on vacancy, did not conceal the emotion that was labouring at her heart—her cheeks were sometimes in a singu­lar manner streaked with red, and some­times overspread with deadly paleness; but her general look was that of indig­nant 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 precipita­tion, 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 [Page 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 vic­tims. The substance of the accusation was at length founded on a sort of spor­tive party romance written by Camille Desmoulins on Brissot and the Brissotins; and what was meant by the author mere­ly 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 parti­cipation 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 indict­ment, which was filled up with charges of royalism and federalism; which being presented to the assembly for their sanc­tion, [Page 158] the decree of accusation passed with­out a discussion.

The witnesses in support of the charges consisted principally of the chiefs of the municipality of Paris, who were the ori­ginal accusers. But the defence which the prisoners made was so entirely de­structive 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 tribu­nal 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 compell­ed them to dress out matter for condem­nation from the absurd and lying fables of the conspirators, who were called as witnesses to the indictment; while, to the [Page 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 re­spect to their patriotism or love of the republic, the prosecution would have served to dispel it.

The judges, as well as the jury, al­though determined to execute their a­trocious commission, saw that the defence of the prisoners would carry conviction to the minds of the audience, who, not­withstanding their being hired by the ac­cusers, began to shew signs of compassion. The court, therefore, wrote to the con­vention to inform them, that if the trials were permitted to proceed, the formali­ties of the law would reduce them to ex­treme difficulties; and observed, that in a revolutionary process it was not neces­sary to be incumbered with troublesome witnesses, or a long defence. This hu­mane epistle was supported by a deputa­tion [Page 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 attend­ing to the whole of the charge, or hear­ing what the prisoners might have to al­lege 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 pro­nouncing 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 convic­tion of the innocence of the victims whose judicial murder they were bound to perpetrate, lost no time in declaring that they were sufficiently instructed.

[Page 161] Alas! in what were "they sufficiently instructed?" That the men they were go­ing to condemn, were those who were the most distinguished for talents, and most devoted to the establishment of the re­public, of which they were the founders. Were not this sanguinary jury sufficient­ly 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 re­monstrated 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 in­structed respecting the rest, they could not be informed of the crimes of those against whom no witnesses had appeared. [Page 162] The court, sheltering themselves under the sanction of a decree, were little in­clined to give the reasons of their con­viction; 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 in­dignation, stabbed himself before the court. Brissot, Vergniaud, Gensonné, La Source, Fonfrede, Sillery, Ducos, Carra, Duperret, Gardien, Duprat, Fau­cher, Beauvais, Duchastel, Mainvielle, La Caze, Le Hardy, Boileau, Anteboul, and Vigée, were led to execution on the following day. Vergniaud, having a pre­sage of his impending fate, had early provided himself with poison; but find­ing that his young friends Fonfrede and Ducos, who he had some hope would be spared, were companions of his misfor­tune, he gave the phial to the officer of the guard, resolving to wait the appoint­ed moment, and to perish with them.

[Page 163] They met their sate with all the calm of innocence, and breathed their last vows for the safety and liberty of the re­public. 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 eleva­tion, 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 [Page 164] sometimes serious, and sometimes gay. He amused his fellow-prisoners at times with the recital of poetry which he re­tained in his memory, and sometimes in­dulged 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 charac­ters, 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 ar­rest 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 [Page 165] hope, and that he would rather die, than live a witness of his country's shame. Fonfrede and Ducos had the full enjoy­ment of their liberty till the act of accu­sation appeared, in which they had not the least suspicion that they should be in­cluded. The day previous to the read­ing 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 defor­mity 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 [Page 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 con­demnation, wrote to bid us a last fare­well; 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 know­ing 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 [Page 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 su­perstitious respect was paid to the miser­able matrass of Vergniaud; and those who felt neither the force of their pa­triotism, 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 con­spirators 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—Lanjui­nais, [Page 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.

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 ex­isted; and Robespierre was then in pos­session of such established dominion, the spirit of liberty had so bowed itself be­neath the axe of the guillotine, from the pastoral hills of Normandy to the orange­groves of Nice, from the ensanguined banks of the Loire to the mourning waters of Vaucluse, that when my mo­ther, while she gave me her last embrace at parting, told me she should see me [Page 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 friend­ship, 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 al­ready been imprisoned in consequence of the law against the English. By sharing the general misfortune of our country­men 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 [Page 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 por­trait 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 un­recorded horrors, he would have answer­ed with the feelings of Hazael, "Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this [Page 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 na­tional representation was violated, liberty was lost; deploring the fate of the Gi­ronde, above all of Vergniaud, and ex­ecrating 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 Pyre­nées, 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 en­thusiasm.

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 [Page 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 coun­try answered with her groans. Barrere also knew that there was no danger of my declaring these things at the revolu­tionary tribunal, since those who were tried were not permitted to speak: and he had no longer any ties of acquaint­ance with us which might have restrain­ed him from such conduct; since very soon after the 31st of May, upon our re­fusing to receive some deputies of the mountain whom he asked leave to intro­duce to us, he abandoned us altogether.

In the mean time the English news­papers came regularly to the committee of public safety, in which passages from my letters were frequently transcribed, and the work mentioned as mine; and [Page 174] those papers were constantly translated into French for the members of the com­mittee. 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 commis­saries.

Thus I passed the winter at Paris, with the knife of the guillotine suspended over me by a frail thread, when a singu­lar opportunity of escape presented it­self, 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 com­mon danger of every individual in the country, and relieved from the cruel ap­prehensions they had felt on my account.

I proceeded on my journey haunted [Page 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 agita­tion 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 dis­quieted 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 pro­ceed [Page 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 ra­pidly 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 fa­mily—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 excep­tions indeed!) returned no answers to my letters. With what overwhelming [Page 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 hap­pily ended, I returned to Paris. On enter­ing 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 ima­gination—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 de­serted streets of the fauxbourg Germain, I saw inscribed in broad letters upon the gate of every hotel, "propriété nati­onale," [Page 178] while the orphans whose fathers and mothers have perished on the scaf­fold, 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 his­tory 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 con­demned to despair of finding justice on earth. Every day is signalized by such acts of retribution, that it seems as if hea­ven visibly descended to punish the guilty, while at the same time mercy and huma­nity 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 pro­scribed friends so long entombed in sub­terraneous dungeons, wandering over de­sert [Page 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 an­ticipate. Let me lead you to the con­vent in the fauxbourg St. Antoine, to which we were transferred in order to make room at the Luxembourg for pri­soners whom it was thought expedient to guard more strictly. We were taught by the administrators of the police to consi­der 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 occa­sionally in the garden of the convent. Our countrymen were condemned to re­main in the Luxembourg, at which they repined and remonstrated in vain. Wives were separated from their husbands, [Page 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 resour­ces 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 [Page 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 pro­vide ourselves with beds, and what fur­niture 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 pa­pers, consisting now only of a few poeti­cal 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 [Page 182] from being accomplices in any conspi­racy against liberty, had in all ages been its warmest auxiliaries. With what melan­choly 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 apart­ment! 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 atti­tudes 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 gene­ral 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 [Page 183] houses both of men and women, which belonged to the English, had been re­spected, and their inhabitants left un­disturbed. 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 hu­mility, felt that their esteem and vene­ration for the nuns had survived their own superstitious belief. The conquer­ors of the Bastile, the terror of aristo­cracy, [Page 184] and the vanguard of revolutions, laying aside their bloody pikes and bayo­nets, humbled themselves before these holy sisters, whom a sort of visible sanctity seemed to encompass, and whom they suffered, notwithstanding the general re­gulation, 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 com­forted, 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 po­lice, that it seemed as if some pitying angel had leaned from heaven to com­fort [Page 185] us. The kindness with which we were received by our amiable country­women, contributed to reconcile us to our chamber, which might more pro­perly be called a passage to other rooms, where the glowing tapestry of the Luxembourg was exchanged for plais­tered 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 pre­vailed 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 ca­lamity was the tie of a common coun­try; [Page 186] and in our present situation this bond of union appeared so strong, that it seem­ed, as Dr. Johnson said of family rela­tions, 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 promul­gation 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 ac­tive served the infirm, and the gay cheered the dejected. There were in­deed 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 lan­guage, seemed astonished to find by their imprisonment that they were En­glish women. They had no trace or [Page 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 Luxem­bourg 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 quar­ter 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 me­chanics, who in the course of the revo­lution 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.

[Page 188] The administrators of the police, when they ordered preparations to be made for our reception, announced us to the sec­tion as being all the wives and daughters of milords anglois. This was no aus­picious introduction: accordingly our first care was to lay aside the honours and dignities conferred upon us by the of­ficers 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 re­joice [Page 189] at the sound of the organ." That good which alone gives value to every other, was wanting; and music was dis­cordant, and conversation joyless.

Having repelled the calumnious report of our nobility, the revolutionary com­mittee of our section, under whose in­spection 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 ar­rival they had taken possession, to pre­vent any attempts to scale the walls, and permitted us to walk two hours every day accompanied by themselves. Dur­ing these walks we found means to con­vince 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 [Page 190] our fate, which they endeavoured to soften by every mark of honest kindness.

The visits of the administration of po­lice were far less agreeable than those of our good commissaries. The first time they came, Brutus, one of their secre­taries, 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 pre­vented 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 pour­ed 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 [Page 191] crosses to be removed, and the nuns to throw off their habits immediately. No­thing 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. Accord­ingly, a council of caps was called in the room of the superior; and after a deli­beration, 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 charm­ing young nun, who was a pensive en­thusiast, begged that, if it were possible, her bonnet might shroud her face al­together; while another, whose regards were not entirely turned away from this [Page 192] world, hinted that she should have no ob­jection to the decoration of a bow.

My chief consolation during my con­finement 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 with­out feeling that the revolution was a bless­ing, if it was only for having prohibited vows which robbed society of those who were formed to be its delight and orna­ment. I never met with a human crea­ture 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 hap­piness; and sometimes, instead of regret­ting her fate, I envied her feelings, and was tempted to exclaim with Pope,

We were allowed the melancholy in­dulgence 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, hav­ing been established in that country for years, had acquired some friends who la­mented their misfortunes, and who risqued their own personal safety by making un­wearied 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, [Page 194] red caps, or black wigs, and all, as Rosa­lind 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 ap­pear in a clean shirt was branded with that appellation, and every woman who wore a hat was a muscadine; for the pe­riod 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 ele­gance, 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 care­fully arranged, and nicely powdered; while he endeavoured to hide those emo­tions of his inhuman soul which his eyes [Page 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 ac­complished women that France has pro­duced 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 occa­sion, that the body of Roland was mis­sing, but that he had left his soul be­hind. Madame Roland was indeed pos­sessed 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 [Page 196] and power of expression which gave new graces and new energy to the French language. With these extraordinary en­dowments 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 un­common sweetness, and her full dark eyes beamed with the brightest rays of intelli­gence. I visited her in the prison of St. Pelagie, where her soul, superior to cir­cumstances, retained its accustomed se­renity, 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 [Page 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 recol­lection of her husband and her child, the courage of the victim of liberty was lost in the feelings of the wife and the mo­ther.

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 barba­rity, 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 [Page 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 tran­scribe a copy of her defence taken from her own manuscript ^*. With keen regret I must add [...], that some papers in her jus­tification, which she sent me from her pri­son, perhaps with a view that at some happier period, when the voice of inno­cence 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, [Page 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 li­berties of their country. After hearing her sentence, she said, "Vous me jugez digne de partager le sort des grands hom­mes que vous avez assassinés. Je tâ­cherai de porter à l'échafaud le courage qu'ils y ont montré ^*."

On the day of her trial she dressed her­self 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, [Page 200] in order to encourage a person who was condemned to die at the same time, but who was not armed with the same forti­tude.

When more than one person is led at the same time to execution, since they can suf­feronly in succession, those who are reserv­ed to the last are condemned to feel multi­plied deaths at the sound of the falling in­strument, and the sight of the bloody scaffold. To be the first victim was there­fore considered as a privilege, and had been allowed to Madame Roland as a woman. But when she observed the dis­may of her companion, she said to him, "Allez le premier: que je vous épar­gne au moins la douleur de voir couler mon sang ^*." She then turned to the executioner, and begged that this sad in­dulgence might be granted to her fellow sufferer. The executioner told her that [Page 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 execu­tioner 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 guil­lotine 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 pre­diction was fulfilled. Roland, who had concealed himself till this period, no sooner heard the fate of his wife, whose [Page 202] influence over his mind had often been a subject of reproach amongst his ene­mies, 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 com­mittee 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 adopt­ed by her country, and an honourable provision will be made for her, as a tes­timony of national gratitude towards those who gave her birth.

Amidst the extraordinary changes which were passing in France, the con­vention now changed time itself, and decreed the new calendar. A report was [Page 203] made on it, so philosophical and so plea­sing to the imagination, that, amidst the sanguinary measures of those days, it seemed to the oppressed heart what a so­litary 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 for­mer 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 ap­pellations 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 neces­sary [Page 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 de­clared 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 fa­milies and their homes, were weeping bitterly. Deeply affected by this specta­cle, he flew to Paris with the resolution of obtaining our liberty, or of sharing our prison. He haunted the municipa­lity every night, attended the levées of administrators of police every morning, [Page 205] risqued his own personal safety a thou­sand 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 prin­cipal 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 pur­sued by guards or jailors, to return to domestic comforts and domestic peace, excited sensations the most delightful. [Page 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 in­deed 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 display­ed the utmost sympathy for our situa­tion, and our release from prison seem­ed 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. Sus­pect [Page 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.

A FEW weeks after our release from prison, Rabaut de St. Etienne was put to death. He was one of the most en­lightened and virtuous men whom the revolution had called forth, and had ac­quired 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 par­tial dissolution. Rabaut, as often as he presented himself to make the report, was compelled by the interruptions of the conspirators and their agents to re­tire [Page 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 con­sidered as inevitable, as for that of the liberty of his country, now falling un­der the vilest despotism. He escaped arrest on the 2d of June, from not hav­ing 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 se­venty-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 book­case [Page 210] before the entrance, so that there was not the least appearance of conceal­ment. 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 tribu­nal 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 amia­ble 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 lan­guished with three other victims, for many months, in a subterraneous dun­geon; and there being only one bed al­lotted 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 [Page 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 ty­ranny of Robespierre, exhibited unex­ampled crimes, it was also the scene of extraordinary virtue; of the most af­fecting instances of magnanimity and kind­ness. 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 bro­ther, who at that moment was absent, upon the fatal list. He paused only an instant to reflect, that the life of the fa­ther of a large family was of more va­lue than his own: he answered the call, surrendered himself to the officer, and [Page 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 de­ceive 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 be­yond the reach of oppression, appeared a privilege; and perhaps nothing ap­palled the souls of the tyrants so much as that serenity with which their vic­tims 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, [Page 213] of all ages, and all conditions, look­ing upon death with a contempt equal to their own. Socrates expiring sur­rounded 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 distinguish­ed for their admirable firmness in death. Perhaps this arose from the superior sen­sibility 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 con­demned to die, his wife, a beautiful [Page 214] young woman of four-and-twenty years of age, who heard the sentence pro­nounced, cried out in a tone of despair, "Vive le roi!" The inhuman tribunal, instead of attributing her conduct to dis­traction, 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 [Page 215] blood of women. Some who had been condemned to die, but had been re­spited 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 com­panions. 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 tender­ness—But in vain! the infant was torn from the bosom that cherished it, and the agonies of the unfortunate mother found respite in death.

[Page 216] Fourteen young girls of Verdun, who had danced at a ball given by the Prus­sians, 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 family­piece, 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 grand­daughter and grand-son.

His daughter seemed to have lost sight of every earthly object but her venera­ble parent: she embraced him a thou­sand 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?"

[Page 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 in­stant 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 over­whelmed with anguish. "You will die without me," she cried; "I am con­demned to survive you; we shall not pe­rish 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 em­braced them. "My dear mother," she [Page 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 un­wearied tenderness; and while she tried to sooth her sufferings by her filial en­dearments, she endeavoured to inspire her with courage by the example of her own heroic fortitude. It was the pic­ture 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 reso­lution.

Mademoiselle Malesi, her younger sis­ter, 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 ^*."

[Page 219] In the prison of the Force, the men were allowed to breathe the air in a court­yard separated by a wall from the habi­tation 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 be­cause she was pregnant, and after her delivery executed. That pious child, in his early age already the victim of mis­fortune, knelt down before the infec­tious sewer, and, with his mouth placed upon the hole, poured forth the feelings of his filial tenderness. His younger bro­ther, 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 [Page 220] heard him say, "Mama a moins pleuré cette nuit—un peu reposée, et te sou­haite le bon jour; c'est Lolo, qui t'aime bien, qui te dit cela ^*." At length this unfortunate mother, when going to execu­tion, 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 hus­band 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 [Page 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 pow­ers 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 tri­bunal 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 [Page 222] Sydney martyr de la liberté." He pre­sented 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 ex­clamation 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 half­finished sentence on his lips.

Claviere, who had been contemporary minister with Roland, and who was im­prisoned [Page 223] in the Conciergerie, upon receiv­ing 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 strik­ing 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 Cla­viere, upon receiving the tidings of his death, swallowed poison, after having em­braced her children, and regulated her af­fairs. 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-revolution­ary [Page 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 re­venues of their government; for confisca­tion was so evidently the leading motive for the great mass of their judicial assassi­nations, 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 ac­cused by the multiplication table, tried by the rule of three, and condemned, not by the sublime institutes of Justinian, but by [Page 225] the unerring rules of Cocker's arithme­tic."

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 mer­chant 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 igno­rance or regligence, for it was clearly prov­ed that there existed no intention of fraud, had omitted to affix the declaration in the precise words of the law. The conscien­tious 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 mi­nister [Page 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 re­ceived the order first, with which he flew towards the place of the revolution, told me that on his coming out of the con­vention 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, [Page 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 scaf­fold. The prisoner had been stripped, his shoulders were bare, and he was already tied to the plank; when the cry of "re­prieve" burst forth. The officer enquired his name, which the young man told him. "Alas! you are not the person," he re­plied. 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 hast­ened, however, to the prison, where he found the person who was reprieved await­ing the return of the cart and the execu­tioner, 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 [Page 228] children were deploring the miserable loss of a husband and a father, when the of­ficer 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 san­guinary usurper, and the consequent mise­ries which have desolated the finest coun­try of Europe, may perhaps, if traced to their source, be found to arise from the resentment of a disappointed wit. Ro­bespierre, for the misfortune of humani­ty, [Page 229] was persecuted by the most restless desire 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 bi­shop of Arras had bestowed on them the ad­vantages 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 fan­cied 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 con­templated 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 dis­covered no taste or aptitude for the pro­fession [Page 230] for which he was designed, became weary of study, was checked by the slightest difficulties; and being found de­stitute of those talents which were neces­sary 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 occa­sion displayed his sensibility to mortifica­tions, which was in proportion to his excessive vanity, but concentred within his vindictive soul his disgrace, his resent­ment, and his projects of vengeance. From [Page 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 envi­ous spirit when he had usurped his dic­tatorial 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 entertain­ments altogether; for he considered the applause bestowed on fine poetry as some­thing of which his harangues were de­frauded. He held up men of letters to the people as persons hostile to the cause of liberty, and incapable of raising them­selves to the height of the revolution; and to make them still greater objects of mis­trust [Page 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 conspi­rators, 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 ^*."

[Page 233] "L'ignorance de la multitude est le se­cret 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 sys­tême 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 [Page 234] doux plaisir ces Vandales le nivelleroi­ent, si leur faux pourroient l'atteindre ^*!"

One of the objects of Robespierre's re­sentment was M. Bitauby, a Prussian, well known in the literary world by his ele­gant translation of Homer into French. He was a member of the academy at Ber­lin, from which the king of Prussia or­dered his name to be struck out, and the pension with which the great Frederic had rewarded his merit to be disconti­nued, [Page 235] on account of his avowed attach­ment 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 blend­ed 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 ac­quainted with Robespierre, who fre­quently 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 depriv­ed [Page 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 ex­pired while the police were arranging the ceremonials previous to his relief. Dur­ing the last months of Robespierre's usur­pation, the prisoners were refused the con­solation of being attended by their own physicians. Professional men were ap­pointed 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 [Page 237] experienced physicians, " they let their patients die," for the remedies they ad­ministered 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," answer­ed the jailor, " he is better, but the per­son 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 advo­cate 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 [Page 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 seem­ed to charm away his cares. The day he received his act of accusation, know­ing well the fate that awaited him, he sent his son home, giving him his por­trait, which a painter who was his fellow­prisoner had drawn, and which he or­dered the child to give his mother. Be­low the picture he had written the follow­ing lines:

La Voisier, the celebrated chemist, was put to death with the other farmers ge­neral. He requested a fortnight's res­pite to enable him to complete a phi­losophical 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 che­mists. 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 [Page 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 Anachar­sis, notwithstanding his advanced age, was the object of continual persecution. Flo­rian, who was himself imprisoned, and con­demned to see his dearest friends perish, had not sufficient fortitude to sustain such trials. His charming pen had dis­played the most soothing images of hap­piness 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 mur­dered with circumstances of particular aggravation. He was to have been ex­ecuted in the Champ de Mars; but from the caprice of the sanguinary mob, he was compelled to wait two or three hours [Page 241] at the place of execution, while the scaffold was removed to a field adjoin­ing, 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 trem­bles, Bailly." "Mon ami, c'est de froid ^*," [Page 242] replied the sage. At length, after hav­ing made him drink the cup of bitterness to the very dregs, they permitted him to die.

ONE of the particular objects of Ro­bespierre'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 pe­riod of the sanguinary Spanish conquests, has groaned beneath the yoke of the most abject slavery. If this philosophi­cal enthusiast should not accomplish the purpose for which he undertook his cru­sade of patriotism, it has at least enabled him to furnish his mind with such acqui­sitions of knowledge, such stores of ob­servation, and such a distinguished taste for the fine arts, as render his society in [Page 244] the highest degree instructive and delight­ful; while with an understanding of the first order he unites that perfect simpli­city 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 [Page 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 Maes­tricht, and the army on the Meuse, were committed to his care. The successful march of the Austrians on Aix-la-Cha­pelle 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 com­manded by Valence. The ill humour which Dumourier had brought with him from Paris, where the Jacobins had al­ready 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 re­public. This spirit of rebellion found [Page 246] the most inflexible opposition from Mi­randa, whose personal friendship for Du­mourier 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 com­manded, 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 commis­saries La Croix and Danton, without be­ing 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 [Page 247] the intrigues of La Croix, Danton, and others of their party; and he was sent, in defiance of all decency, to the revo­lutionary 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 tri­bunal, 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 [Page 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 fre­quently. 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 perse­cuted by domiciliary visits on various pretences, he was again thrown into pri­son, charged with being the chief de­fender and abettor of the Gironde and Girondism. The real cause of Robes­pierre's animosity towards him is not well known, but may be resolved into that general hatred which he bore to­wards 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 na­turally [Page 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 mur­der as inevitable. One obstacle was found sufficient to shield him from the tyrant's vengeance; and this was a feel­ing 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 up­on his acquittal. This sentiment led Fouquier Tainville to put off the second trial required by Robespierre, till the tyrant would hear of delay and ex­cuses no more; and himself inscribed Miranda's name on the fatal list for the twelfth of Thermidor. The revo­lution [Page 250] of the tenth restored him to li­berty.

Miranda submitted to an imprison­ment of eighteen months, under the con­tinual 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 pro­vided 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 for­get his present situation in the study of history and science. He tried to consi­der himself as a passenger on a long voy­age, 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 con­finement, the only person with whom [Page 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 an­other prisoner; and he was recovering from this disorder, when he heard that some of his dearest friends had perished [Page 252] on the scaffold. The next morning, when Miranda went to his room to re­lieve 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 mat­ter. 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 poi­son, with which he had provided him­self. A physician had furnished Verg­niaud, Du Chatelet, and several other martyrs to their country, with this le­thean 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, [Page 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 poli­tical 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, al­though 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 in­firmities 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 [Page 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 revolu­tionary 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 of­ficer 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 be­came his grave, and he was placed be­yond 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 [Page 255] gloomy. But, alas! the scene blackens as we advance, and wears a deeper hor­ror. We have now arrived at that pe­riod 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 ini­quity 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 revolu­tion of the 9th of Thermidor, and of the incidents which on that memorable night determined the fate of the French republic.

[Page 256] In the mean time, you will not ex­claim as the Roman poet did with re­spect 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 ex­perience; 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 les­son. I need not make use of any reason­ing to convince you that Liberty is inno­cent 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 [Page 257] fruit alone should have sprung, so no crimes have exceeded those which the ty­rant and the fanatic have committed in the name of Freedom, the guardian an­gel of the happiness of mankind, and in that of the Being "whose tender mercies are over all his works."

I must not conclude without inform­ing 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 an­ticipate 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 situa­tion will no more offer a hideous con­trast to its external victories. The guil­ty [Page 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 in­dividual in France, that has not been be­reaved 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.