A Residence in France During the Years 1792, 1793, 1794 and 1795 Part 4

Arras, September 1, 1792.

Had I been accompanied by an antiquary this morning, his sensibility would have been severely exercised; for even I, whose respect for antiquity is not scientific, could not help lamenting the modern rage for devastation which has seized the French. They are removing all "the time-honoured figures" of the cathedral, and painting its ma.s.sive supporters in the style of a ball-room. The elaborate uncouthness of ancient sculpture is not, indeed, very beautiful; yet I have often fancied there was something more simply pathetic in the aukward effigy of an hero kneeling amidst his trophies, or a regal pair with their supplicating hands and surrounding offspring, than in the graceful figures and poetic allegories of the modern artist. The humble intreaty to the reader to "praye for the soule of the departed," is not very elegant--yet it is better calculated to recall the wanderings of morality, than the flattering epitaph, a Fame hovering in the air, or the suspended wreath of the remunerating angel.--But I moralize in vain--the rage of these new Goths is inexorable: they seem solicitous to destroy every vestige of civilization, lest the people should remember they have not always been barbarians.

After obtaining an order from the munic.i.p.ality, we went to see the gardens and palace of the Bishop, who has emigrated. The garden has nothing very remarkable, but is large and well laid out, according to the old style. It forms a very agreeable walk, and, when the Bishop possest it, was open for the enjoyment of the inhabitants, but it is now shut up and in disorder. The house is plain, and substantially furnished, and exhibits no appearance of unbecoming luxury. The whole is now the property of the nation, and will soon be disposed of.--I could not help feeling a sensation of melancholy as we walked over the apartments.

Every thing is marked in an inventory, just as left; and an air of arrangement and residence leads one to reflect, that the owner did not imagine at his departure he was quitting it perhaps for ever. I am not partial to the original emigrants, yet much may be said for the Bishop of Arras. He was pursued by ingrat.i.tude, and marked for persecution. The Robespierres were young men whom he had taken from a mean state, had educated, and patronized. The revolution gave them an opportunity of displaying their talents, and their talents procured them popularity.

They became enemies to the clergy, because their patron was a Bishop; and endeavoured to render their benefactor odious, because the world could not forget, nor they forgive, how much they were indebted to him.--Vice is not often pa.s.sive; nor is there often a medium between grat.i.tude for benefits, and hatred to the author of them. A little mind is hurt by the remembrance of obligation--begins by forgetting, and, not uncommonly, ends by persecuting.

We dined and pa.s.sed the afternoon from home to-day. After dinner our hostess, as usual, proposed cards; and, as usual in French societies, every one a.s.sented: we waited, however, some time, and no cards came-- till, at length, conversation-parties were formed, and they were no longer thought of. I have since learned, from one of the young women of the house, that the butler and two footmen had all betaken themselves to clubs and Guinguettes,* and the cards, counters, &c. could not be obtained.

* Small public houses in the vicinity of large towns, where the common people go on Sundays and festivals to dance and make merry.

This is another evil arising from the circ.u.mstances of the times. All people of property have begun to bury their money and plate, and as the servants are often unavoidably privy to it, they are become idle and impertinent--they make a kind of commutation of diligence for fidelity, and imagine that the observance of the one exempts them from the necessity of the other. The clubs are a constant receptacle for idleness; and servants who think proper to frequent them do it with very little ceremony, knowing that few whom they serve would be imprudent enough to discharge them for their patriotism in attending a Jacobin society. Even servants who are not converts to the new principle cannot resist the temptation of abusing a little the power which they acquire from a knowledge of family affairs. Perhaps the effect of the revolution has not, on the whole, been favourable to the morals of the lower cla.s.s of people; but this shall be the subject of discussion at some future period, when I shall have had farther opportunities of judging.

We yesterday visited the Oratoire, a seminary for education, which is now suppressed. The building is immense, and admirably calculated for the purpose, but is already in a state of dilapidation; so that, I fear, by the time the legislature has determined what system of instruction shall be subst.i.tuted for that which has been abolished, the children (as the French are fond of examples from the ancients) will take their lessons, like the Greeks, in the open air; and, in the mean while, become expert in lying and thieving, like the Spartans.

The Superior of the house is an immoderate revolutionist, speaks English very well, and is a great admirer of our party writers. In his room I observed a vast quant.i.ty of English books, and on his chimney stood what he called a patriotic clock, the dial of which was placed between two pyramids, on which were inscribed the names of republican authors, and on the top of one was that of our countryman, Mr. Thomas Paine--whom, by the way, I understand you intended to exhibit in a much more conspicuous and less tranquil situation. I a.s.sure you, though you are ungrateful on your side of the water, he is in high repute here--his works are translated-- all the Jacobins who can read quote, and all who can't, admire him; and possibly, at the very moment you are sentencing him to an installment in the pillory, we may be awarding him a triumph.--Perhaps we are both right. He deserves the pillory, from you for having endeavoured to destroy a good const.i.tution--and the French may with equal reason grant him a triumph, as their const.i.tution is likely to be so bad, that even Mr. Thomas Paine's writings may make it better!

Our house is situated within view of a very pleasant public walk, where I am daily amused with a sight of the recruits at their exercise. This is not quite so regular a business as the drill in the Park. The exercise is often interrupted by disputes between the officer and his eleves--some are for turning to the right, others to the left, and the matter is not unfrequently adjusted by each going the way that seemeth best unto himself. The author of the _"Actes des Apotres"_ [The Acts of the Apostles] cites a Colonel who reprimanded one of his corps for walking ill--_"Eh Dicentre,_ (replied the man,) _comment veux tu que je marche bien quand tu as fait mes souliers trop etroits."_* but this is no longer a pleasantry--such circ.u.mstances are very common. A Colonel may often be tailor to his own regiment, and a Captain operated on the heads of his whole company, in his civil capacity, before he commands them in his military one.

*"And how the deuce can you expect me to march well, when you have made my shoes too tight?"

The walks I have just mentioned have been extremely beautiful, but a great part of the trees have been cut down, and the ornamental parts destroyed, since the revolution--I know not why, as they were open to the poor as well as the rich, and were a great embellishment to the low town.

You may think it strange that I should be continually dating some destruction from the aera of the revolution--that I speak of every thing demolished, and of nothing replaced. But it is not my fault--"If freedom grows destructive, I must paint it:" though I should tell you, that in many streets where convents have been sold, houses are building with the materials on the same site.--This is, however, not a work of the nation, but of individuals, who have made their purchases cheap, and are hastening to change the form of their property, lest some new revolution should deprive them of it.--Yours, &c.

Arras, September.

Nothing more powerfully excites the attention of a stranger on his first arrival, than the number and wretchedness of the poor at Arras. In all places poverty claims compulsion, but here compa.s.sion is accompanied by horror--one dares not contemplate the object one commiserates, and charity relieves with an averted eye. Perhaps with Him, who regards equally the forlorn beggar stretched on the threshold, consumed by filth and disease, and the blooming beauty who avoids while she succours him, the offering of humanity scarcely expiates the involuntary disgust; yet such is the weakness of our nature, that there exists a degree of misery against which one's senses are not proof, and benevolence itself revolts at the appearance of the poor of Arras.--These are not the cold and fastidious reflections of an unfeeling mind--they are not made without pain: nor have I often felt the want of riches and consequence so much as in my incapacity to promote some means of permanent and substantial remedy for the evils I have been describing. I have frequently enquired the cause of this singular misery, but can only learn that it always has been so. I fear it is, that the poor are without energy, and the rich without generosity. The decay of manufactures since the last century must have reduced many families to indigence. These have been able to subsist on the refuse of luxury, but, too supine for exertion, they have sought for nothing more; while the great, discharging their consciences with the superfluity of what administered to their pride, fostered the evil, instead of endeavouring to remedy it. But the benevolence of the French is not often active, nor extensive; it is more frequently a religious duty than a sentiment. They content themselves with affording a mere existence to wretchedness; and are almost strangers to those enlightened and generous efforts which act beyond the moment, and seek not only to relieve poverty, but to banish it. Thus, through the frigid and indolent charity of the rich, the misery which was at first accidental is perpetuated, beggary and idleness become habitual, and are transmitted, like more fortunate inheritances, from one generation to another.--This is not a mere conjecture--I have listened to the histories of many of these unhappy outcasts, who were more than thirty years old, and they have all told me, they were born in the state in which I beheld them, and that they did not remember to have heard that their parents were in any other. The National a.s.sembly profess to effectuate an entire regeneration of the country, and to eradicate all evils, moral, physical, and political. I heartily wish the numerous and miserable poor, with which Arras abounds, may become one of the first objects of reform; and that a nation which boasts itself the most polished, the most powerful, and the most philosophic in the world, may not offer to the view so many objects shocking to humanity.

The citadel of Arras is very strong, and, as I am told, the chef d'oeuvre of Vauban; but placed with so little judgement, that the military call it _la belle inutile_ [the useless beauty]. It is now uninhabited, and wears an appearance of desolation--the commandant and all the officers of the ancient government having been forced to abandon it; their houses also are much damaged, and the gardens entirely destroyed.--I never heard that this popular commotion had any other motive than the general war of the new doctrines on the old.

I am sorry to see that most of the volunteers who go to join the army are either old men or boys, tempted by extraordinary pay and scarcity of employ. A cobler who has been used to rear canary-birds for Mad. de ____, brought us this morning all the birds he was possessed of, and told us he was going to-morrow to the frontiers. We asked him why, at his age, he should think of joining the army. He said, he had already served, and that there were a few months unexpired of the time that would ent.i.tle him to his pension.--"Yes; but in the mean while you may get killed; and then of what service will your claim to a pension be?"-- _"N'ayez pas peur, Madame--Je me menagerai bien--on ne se bat pas pour ces gueux la comme pour son Roi."_*

* "No fear of that, Madam--I'll take good care of myself: a man does not fight for such beggarly rascals as these as he would for his King."

M. de ____ is just returned from the camp of Maulde, where he has been to see his son. He says, there is great disorder and want of discipline, and that by some means or other the common soldiers abound more in money, and game higher, than their officers. There are two young women, inhabitants of the town of St. Amand, who go constantly out on all skirmis.h.i.+ng parties, exercise daily with the men, and have killed several of the enemy. They are both pretty--one only sixteen, the other a year or two older. Mr. de ____ saw them as they were just returning from a reconnoitring party. Perhaps I ought to have been ashamed after this recital to decline an invitation from Mr. de R___'s son to dine with him at the camp; but I cannot but feel that I am an extreme coward, and that I should eat with no appet.i.te in sight of an Austrian army. The very idea of these modern Camillas terrifies me--their creation seems an error of nature.*

* Their name was Fernig; they were natives of St. Amand, and of no remarkable origin. They followed Dumouriez into Flanders, where they signalized themselves greatly, and became Aides-de-Camp to that General. At the time of his defection, one of them was shot by a soldier, whose regiment she was endeavouring to gain over. Their house having been razed by the Austrians at the beginning of the war, was rebuilt at the expence of the nation; but, upon their partic.i.p.ation in Dumouriez' treachery, a second decree of the a.s.sembly again levelled it with the ground.

Our host, whose politeness is indefatigable, accompanied us a few days ago to St. Eloy, a large and magnificent abbey, about six miles from Arras. It is built on a terrace, which commands the surrounding country as far as Douay; and I think I counted an hundred and fifty steps from the house to the bottom of the garden, which is on a level with the road.

The cloisters are paved with marble, and the church neat and beautiful beyond description. The iron work of the choir imitates flowers and foliage with so much taste and delicacy, that (but for the colour) one would rather suppose it to be soil, than any durable material.--The monks still remain, and although the decree has pa.s.sed for their suppression, they cannot suppose it will take place. They are mostly old men, and, though I am no friend to these inst.i.tutions, they were so polite and hospitable that I could not help wis.h.i.+ng they were permitted, according to the design of the first a.s.sembly, to die in their habitations-- especially as the situation of St. Eloy renders the building useless for any other purpose.--A friend of Mr. de ____ has a charming country-house near the abbey, which he has been obliged to deny himself the enjoyment of, during the greatest part of the summer; for whenever the family return to Arras, their persons and their carriage are searched at the gate, as strictly as though they were smugglers just arrived from the coast, under the pretence that they may a.s.sist the religious of St. Eloy in securing some of their property, previous to the final seizure.

I observe, in walking the streets here, that the common people still retain much of the Spanish cast of features: the women are remarkably plain, and appear still more so by wearing faals. The faal is about two ells of black silk or stuff, which is hung, without taste or form, on the head, and is extremely unbecoming: but it is worn only by the lower cla.s.s, or by the aged and devotees.

I am a very voluminous correspondent, but if I tire you, it is a proper punishment for your insincerity in desiring me to continue so. I have heard of a governor of one of our West India islands who was universally detested by its inhabitants, but who, on going to England, found no difficulty in procuring addresses expressive of approbation and esteem.

The consequence was, he came back and continued governor for life.--Do you make the application of my anecdote, and I shall persevere in scribbling.--Every Yours.

Arras.

It is not fas.h.i.+onable at present to frequent any public place; but as we are strangers, and of no party, we often pa.s.s our evenings at the theatre. I am fond of it--not so much on account of the representation, as of the opportunity which it affords for observing the dispositions of the people, and the bias intended to be given them. The stage is now become a kind of political school, where the people are taught hatred to Kings, n.o.bility, and Clergy, according as the persecution of the moment requires; and, I think, one may often judge from new pieces the meditated sacrifice. A year ago, all the sad catalogue of human errors were personified in Counts and Marquisses; they were not represented as individuals whom wealth and power had made something too proud, and much too luxurious, but as an order of monsters, whose existence, independently of their characters, was a crime, and whose hereditary possessions alone implied a guilt, not to be expiated but by the forfeiture of them. This, you will say, was not very judicious; and that by establis.h.i.+ng a sort of incompatibility of virtue with t.i.tular distinctions, the odium was transferred from the living to the dead--from those who possessed these distinctions to those who inst.i.tuted them.

But, unfortunately, the French were disposed to find their n.o.blesse culpable, and to reject every thing which tended to excuse or favour them. The hauteur of the n.o.blesse acted as a fatal equivalent to every other crime; and many, who did not credit other imputations, rejoiced in the humiliation of their pride. The people, the rich merchants, and even the lesser gentry, all eagerly concurred in the destruction of an order that had disdained or excluded them; and, perhaps, of all the innovations which have taken place, the abolition of rank has excited the least interest.

It is now less necessary to blacken the n.o.blesse, and the compositions of the day are directed against the Throne, the Clergy, and Monastic Orders.

All the tyrants of past ages are brought from the shelves of faction and pedantry, and a.s.similated to the mild and circ.u.mscribed monarchs of modern Europe. The doctrine of popular sovereignty is artfully instilled, and the people are stimulated to exert a power which they must implicitly delegate to those who have duped and misled them. The frenzy of a mob is represented as the sublimest effort of patriotism; and ambition and revenge, usurping the t.i.tle of national justice, immolate their victims with applause. The tendency of such pieces is too obvious; and they may, perhaps, succeed in familiarizing the minds of the people to events which, a few months ago, would have filled them with horror.

There are also numerous theatrical exhibitions, preparatory to the removal of the nuns from their convents, and to the banishment of the priests. Ancient prejudices are not yet obliterated, and I believe some pains have been taken to justify these persecutions by calumny. The history of our dissolution of the monasteries has been ransacked for scandal, and the bigotry and biases of all countries are reduced into abstracts, and exposed on the stage. The most implacable revenge, the most refined malice, the extremes of avarice and cruelty, are wrought into tragedies, and displayed as acting under the mask of religion and the impunity of a cloister; while operas and farces, with ridicule still more successful, exhibit convents as the abode of licentiousness, intrigue, and superst.i.tion.

These efforts have been sufficiently successful--not from the merit of the pieces, but from the novelty of the subject. The people in general were strangers to the interior of convents: they beheld them with that kind of respect which is usually produced in uninformed minds by mystery and prohibition. Even the monastic habit was sacred from dramatic uses; so that a representation of cloisters, monks, and nuns, their costumes and manners, never fails to attract the mult.i.tude.--But the same cause which renders them curious, makes them credulous. Those who have seen no farther than the Grille, and those who have been educated in convents, are equally unqualified to judge of the lives of the religious; and their minds, having no internal conviction or knowledge of the truth, easily become the converts of slander and falsehood.

I cannot help thinking, that there is something mean and cruel in this procedure. If policy demand the sacrifice, it does not require that the victims should be rendered odious; and if it be necessary to dispossess them of their habitations, they ought not, at the moment they are thrown upon the world, to be painted as monsters unworthy of its pity or protection. It is the cowardice of the a.s.sa.s.sin, who murders before he dares to rob.

This custom of making public amus.e.m.e.nts subservient to party, has, I doubt not, much contributed to the destruction of all against whom it has been employed; and theatrical calumny seems to be always the harbinger of approaching ruin to its object; yet this is not the greatest evil which may arise from these insidious politics--they are equally unfavourable both to the morals and taste of the people; the first are injured beyond calculation, and the latter corrupted beyond amendment. The orders of society, which formerly inspired respect or veneration, are now debased and exploded; and mankind, once taught to see nothing but vice and hypocrisy in those whom they had been accustomed to regard as models of virtue, are easily led to doubt the very existence of virtue itself: they know not where to turn for either instruction or example; no prospect is offered to them but the dreary and uncomfortable view of general depravity; and the individual is no longer encouraged to struggle with vicious propensities, when he concludes them irresistibly inherent in his nature. Perhaps it was not possible to imagine principles at once so seductive and ruinous as those now disseminated. How are the morals of the people to resist a doctrine which teaches them that the rich only can be criminal, and that poverty is a subst.i.tute for virtue--that wealth is holden by the sufferance of those who do not possess it--and that he who is the frequenter of a club, or the applauder of a party, is exempt from the duties of his station, and has a right to insult and oppress his fellow citizens? All the weaknesses of humanity are flattered and called to the aid of this pernicious system of revolutionary ethics; and if France yet continue in a state of civilization, it is because Providence has not yet abandoned her to the influence of such a system.

Taste is, I repeat it, as little a gainer by the revolution as morals.

The pieces which were best calculated to form and refine the minds of the people, all abound with maxims of loyalty, with respect for religion, and the subordinations of civil society. These are all prohibited; and are replaced by fustian declamations, tending to promote anarchy and discord --by vulgar and immoral farces, and insidious and flattering panegyrics on the vices of low life. No drama can succeed that is not supported by the faction; and this support is to be procured only by vilifying the Throne, the Clergy, and n.o.blesse. This is a succedaneum for literary merit, and those who disapprove are menaced into silence; while the mult.i.tude, who do not judge but imitate, applaud with their leaders--and thus all their ideas become vitiated, and imbibe the corruption of their favourite amus.e.m.e.nt.

I have dwelt on this subject longer than I intended; but as I would not be supposed prejudiced nor precipitate in my a.s.sertions, I will, by the first occasion, send you some of the most popular farces and tragedies: you may then decide yourself upon the tendency; and, by comparing the dispositions of the French before, and within, the last two years, you may also determine whether or not my conclusions are warranted by fact.

Adieu.--Yours.

Arras.

Our countrymen who visit France for the first time--their imaginations filled with the epithets which the vanity of one nation has appropriated, and the indulgence of the other sanctioned--are astonished to find this "land of elegance," this refined people, extremely inferior to the English in all the arts that minister to the comfort and accommodation of life. They are surprized to feel themselves starved by the intrusion of all the winds of heaven, or smothered by volumes of smoke--that no lock will either open or shut--that the drawers are all immoveable--and that neither chairs nor tables can be preserved in equilibrium. In vain do they inquire for a thousand conveniences which to them seem indispensible; they are not to be procured, or even their use is unknown: till at length, after a residence in a score of houses, in all of which they observe the same deficiencies, they begin to grow sceptical, to doubt the pretended superiority of France, and, perhaps for the first time, do justice to their own una.s.suming country. It must however, be confessed, that if the chimnies smoke, they are usually surrounded by marble--that the unstable chair is often covered with silk--and that if a room be cold, it is plentifully decked with gilding, pictures, and gla.s.ses.--In short, a French house is generally more showy than convenient, and seldom conveys that idea of domestic comfort which const.i.tutes the luxury of an Englishman.

I observe, that the most prevailing ornaments here are family portraits: almost every dwelling, even among the lower kind of tradesmen, is peopled with these ensigns of vanity; and the painters employed on these occasions, however deficient in other requisites of their art, seem to have an unfortunate knack at preserving likenesses. Heads powdered even whiter than the originals, laced waistcoats, enormous lappets, and countenances all ingeniously disposed so as to smile at each other, enc.u.mber the wainscot, and distress the unlucky visitor, who is obliged to bear testimony to the resemblance. When one sees whole rooms filled with these figures, one cannot help reflecting on the goodness of Providence, which thus distributes self-love, in proportion as it denies those gifts that excite the admiration of others.

You must not understand what I have said on the furniture of French houses as applying to those of the n.o.bility or people of extraordinary fortunes, because they are enabled to add the conveniences of other countries to the luxuries of their own. Yet even these, in my opinion, have not the uniform elegance of an English habitation: there is always some disparity between the workmans.h.i.+p and the materials--some mixture of splendour and clumsiness, and a want of what the painters call keeping; but the houses of the gentry, the lesser n.o.blesse, and merchants, are, for the most part, as I have described---abounding in silk, marble, gla.s.ses, and pictures; but ill finished, dirty, and deficient in articles of real use.--I should, however, notice, that genteel people are cleaner here than in the interior parts of the kingdom. The floors are in general of oak, or sometimes of brick; but they are always rubbed bright, and have not that filthy appearance which so often disgusts one in French houses.

The heads of the lower cla.s.ses of people are much disturbed by these new principles of universal equality. We enquired of a man we saw near a coach this morning if it was hired. "Monsieur--(quoth he--then checking himself suddenly,)--no, I forgot, I ought not to say Monsieur, for they tell me I am equal to any body in the world: yet, after all, I know not well if this may be true; and as I have drunk out all I am worth, I believe I had better go home and begin work again to-morrow." This new disciple of equality had, indeed, all the appearance of having sacrificed to the success of the cause, and was then recovering from a dream of greatness which he told us had lasted two days.

Since the day of taking the new oath we have met many equally elevated, though less civil. Some are undoubtedly paid, but others will distress their families for weeks by this celebration of their new discoveries, and must, after all, like our intoxicated philosopher, be obliged to return "to work again to-morrow."

I must now bid you adieu--and, in doing so, naturally turn my thoughts to that country where the rights of the people consist not of sterile and metaphysic declarations, but of real defence and protection. May they for ever remain uninterrupted by the devastating chimeras of their neighbours; and if they seek reform, may it be moderate and permanent, acceded to reason, and not extorted by violence!--Yours, &c.

September 2, 1792.

We were so much alarmed at the theatre on Thursday, that I believe we shall not venture again to amuse ourselves at the risk of a similar occurrence. About the middle of the piece, a violent outcry began from all parts of the house, and seemed to be directed against our box; and I perceived Madame d.u.c.h.ene, the Presidente of the Jacobins, heading the legions of Paradise with peculiar animation. You may imagine we were not a little terrified. I anxiously examined the dress of myself and my companions, and observing nothing that could offend the affected simplicity of the times, prepared to quit the house. A friendly voice, however, exerting itself above the clamour, informed us that the offensive objects were a cloak and a shawl which hung over the front of the box.--You will scarcely suppose such grossness possible among a civilized people; but the fact is, our friends are of the proscribed cla.s.s, and we were insulted because in their society.--I have before noticed, that the guards which were stationed in the theatre before the revolution are now removed, and a munic.i.p.al officer, made conspicuous by his scarf, is placed in the middle front box, and, in case of any tumult, is empowered to call in the military to his a.s.sistance.

We have this morning been visiting two objects, which exhibit this country in very different points of view--as the seat of wealth, and the abode of poverty. The first is the abbey of St. Vaast, a most superb pile, now inhabited by monks of various orders, but who are preparing to quit it, in obedience to the late decrees. Nothing impresses one with a stronger idea of the influence of the Clergy, than these splendid edifices. We see them reared amidst the solitude of deserts, and in the gaiety and misery of cities; and while they cheer the one and embellish the other, they exhibit, in both, monuments of indefatigable labour and immense wealth.--The facade of St. Vaast is simple and striking, and the cloisters and every other part of the building are extremely handsome.