Chapter I: Introduction: By Richard Davey (1)

Some months ago Lady Sykes accidentally came across a very rare work--Henry Redhead Yorke’s “Letters from France, written in 1802.” She immediately became its possessor, and a perusal of its contents suggested the excellent idea of editing the book for modern publication: for, although intensely interesting, Yorke’s “Letters” were written in the verbose style characteristic of his day. By judicious pruning and omissions Lady Sykes has reduced the volume by about a third, without, however, omitting anything of the least importance; whereby she enables in a concise manner students of French history to bridge over the important though little known period which elapsed between the downfall of Robespierre and the Consulate.

Many imagine that immediately after the Reign of Terror ended things settled down very quickly in France, and that whatever benefits accrued from the Revolution soon blossomed and bore abundant fruit. It was, however, very much otherwise; and the prevalent idea, that the prosperity of modern France is due to the great Revolution, is a fallacy; for, independently of the chaos created by the Reign of Terror, we must take into consideration the decade of Napoleonic despotism which separates the Revolution from the beginning of what is known as _la France moderne_.

Henry Redhead was born in 1772, most probably in the West Indies, whence he was fetched as a child, and brought up at Little Eaton, near Derby. He was evidently a youth of considerable observation and studious habits, and before he was twenty had written a pamphlet against negro emancipation, which, however, he recalled a couple of years later as the result of a visit to Paris, then in the early throes of the Revolution. Redhead threw himself heart and soul with the enthusiasm of youth into a popular movement which he believed was to liberate humanity from every sort of bondage, and bring about a period of quite utopian peace and prosperity. Whilst under the influence of the buoyant rhetoric that marked the first period of the Revolution, he was privileged to witness many of the most striking events and scenes in that momentous drama; including the trial of Louis XVI., in connection with which he gives in these “Letters” several facts omitted by general historians. There were at this time several other British enthusiasts in Paris, amongst them Robert and John Sheares, with whom he became acquainted, and who induced him to join the British Club, an association at which were discussed such subjects as the advantage of liberating England by the assassination of that harmless monarch George III. Redhead would not, however, hear of any such project, and, after a violent quarrel with the Sheares, left the Club, being denounced to the Convention by Robert Rayment. He now concluded it were wiser to put the frontier between himself and the disorderly and fanatical horde of informers and informed who had, with surprising rapidity, seized the reins of administration in Paris. He changed his name, assumed that of Yorke, and, travelling through Holland, reached England in 1793, where he joined a liberal debating society in Derby, and became distinguished for his rhetorical eloquence. It was soon alleged against him, however, that he had, amongst other revolutionary ebullitions, declared, “You have before you, young as I am (about twenty-two years of age), a man who has been concerned in three revolutions already, who essentially contributed to serve the Republic in America, who contributed to that of Holland, who materially assisted in that of France, and who will continue to cause revolutions all over the world.” This striking boast did not receive the support Redhead imagined it would; for he was promptly arrested, and at the York Spring Assizes in 1795, true bills were found against him for conspiracy, sedition and libel. His trial took place on July 23, 1795, at York, but his co-defendant, Joseph Gales, printer of the “Sheffield Register,” and Richard Davison, compositor, absconded. Although he repudiated the violent words imputed to him, and declared himself to be a loyal citizen, Redhead was none the less sentenced to two years’ imprisonment in Dorchester Castle, whence he was not released until March 1799. Whilst in prison his views, political and otherwise, became greatly modified, and, although he remained a staunch Liberal, he conceived an abhorrence of revolutionary methods, considering them as the most unlikely to conduce to true freedom or to the prosperity of the peoples who employed them. In 1802 he revisited France, the result of his observations on this occasion being embodied in the “Letters from France.” He remained in Paris three months, making notes of all he saw, visiting such old friends as had survived the Terror, and seeing for himself all the havoc the Revolution had wrought. On his return to England Redhead continued to place his talents at the disposal of the Liberal party. In 1811 he appeared in London, and delivered a series of lectures on historical and political subjects; but his health completely broke down, and although he had been induced by Richard Valpy to undertake the continuation of John Campbell’s “Lives of British Admirals,” he was too ill to finish that work, and died at Chelsea, after a brief illness, on January 28, 1813. Mr. Redhead married in 1800 the accomplished daughter of Mr. Andrews, keeper of Dorchester Castle, by whom he had four children. This lady accompanied him, and together with her friend, Mrs. Cosway, the wife of the celebrated painter and herself a fine artist, was his companion on most of his excursions in that city and its neighbourhood.

Redhead was a man of very keen perception, generous impulse, and, having the courage of his opinions, was never ashamed to own that circumstances had occasionally compelled him to change them. The best known of his numerous publications is this volume of “Letters from France,” written with the object of exposing the fruits of a tyrannical and corrupt form of government, whose wires were pulled by unscrupulous miscreants in the oft-blasphemed names of “Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity.” These “Letters” were not published until after the author’s death, when Mrs. Redhead found copies of them amongst her husband’s effects, and a very limited edition was printed; so that at present the work is exceedingly scarce.

The value of Redhead Yorke’s “Letters from France” consists not only in the remarkable picture he gives of Paris eight years after the Reign of Terror, but in the fact that, as he was intimately acquainted with many of those who played a prominent part in that tragedy, he was frequently able to give an account of their latter years. In 1802 the majority, however, of those with whom he had lived on terms of fairly good fellowship on the occasion of his first visit to France, had been guillotined; and, on the other hand, not a few who had been but little known in his earlier years had now risen to conspicuous official positions--which, more often than not, they did not fill so much for their country’s good as for their own. He gives us a very interesting account of a conversation which he had with Tom Paine, whom he had known and admired previously, but whom he now discovered in a state of abject poverty on the very day that the American Republic determined to bring him back to his own country, where, however, he lived, after all his sufferings and misery in France, only two years. Our author was also well acquainted with that remarkable woman, Miss Helen Williams; and he supplies many unedited anecdotes of other Revolutionary celebrities, including Théroigne de Mirecourt; David, the celebrated painter, and his wife; the partially insane English revolutionary, Colonel Oswald; Joseph Le Bon, and the brothers Sheares. One of them was the son of that unhappy Amazon, Théroigne de Mirecourt.

The perusal of these “Letters” will probably convince many readers that this Revolution did not benefit humanity to a quarter of the extent which its enthusiasts would have us believe it did. In fact, Redhead, like most travellers in France at that period, soon came to the conclusion, from personal and unprejudiced observation, that the much-vaunted great Revolution had been a failure. The class which was to have more especially benefited by it was reduced to a greater depth of degradation and poverty in the first decade of the nineteenth century than ever it had been under the _ancien régime_: the peasantry and the working classes in general were for the most part out of employment; and the pernicious forced recruiting system which Napoleon had introduced was draining the country of useful men, whose place in the fields and manufactories had to be filled by incompetent lads, old men, and even by girls and women. At least a third of the arable land had gone out of cultivation, and French manufactures had sunk to the utmost insignificance. The rich landowners who had hitherto helped the peasantry were either dead, in exile or else bankrupt. The village school, like the village church, was generally closed; and the rustic population were endeavouring to escape the conscription which weighed so heavily on the country. Higher education was also at a standstill: the richly endowed universities, colleges, and public schools which had been founded in the eighteenth century, had been pillaged, many of their buildings were in ruins, and their libraries confiscated by the Revolutionaries, had not yet been restored. So it was with the scientific and literary institutions in the capital and larger towns, though in 1802 some of these were beginning to slowly revive. The Revolution was, in short, an orgy of brute force, a destroyer producing nothing great either in art, literature, or science. David was the representative painter, and his pictures, when put up for auction in a modern sale-room, now fetch scarcely the price of the canvas and frames on which they are painted and stretched. The exquisite highly finished art-work of the eighteenth century in bronze, furniture, and ceramic, which still sells for fabulous prices at Christie’s and the Hôtel Drouet, was lost; and it was not until the Empire was well established that it began gradually to improve, a proof, if one were needed, that the artistic taste of the nation had not been entirely extinguished in the general disorder that had overwhelmed the capital and country. The utmost licentiousness reigned supreme in Paris at this period; and Redhead’s description of the nightly and indecent scenes in the Palais Royal, which proved so attractive to British and other foreign bachelors, shows that they were not unlike those that draw crowds of tourists to the heights of Montmartre in 1906. The shop windows in 1802, as at present, were filled with abominable and blasphemous prints: and the whole atmosphere of Parisian life was charged with an unwholesome _miasma_ which filled Redhead with horror and disgust, despite his fiery advocacy of the Revolution in its earlier stages.

The man of genius who was destined eventually to re-establish order was only First Consul; but even then people were beginning to whisper that he intended to make himself King or Emperor. Naturally, Redhead, as an Englishman, has not many compliments to bestow on Napoleon; though, had he lived to see the accomplishment of the great Corsican’s work, he might have entertained a higher opinion of the “ogre.” As it was, Redhead was disgusted with Napoleon’s ostentatious display, and above all with the manner in which the spoils stolen from Italy were exhibited in Paris; one of his most interesting letters being that in which he describes the condition of the Louvre even as he saw it stuffed with the treasures of Italy, many of which bore inscriptions he considered an outrage to decency. Thus, for instance, on the _Madonna del Orto_ might have been read, “This picture was taken from the church of Santa Maria del Orto at Venice,” or again, “This picture, one of the best that Paul Veronese ever painted, was taken from the church of the nuns of St. Zacharia at Venice,” and so on. Unfortunately, many of the pictures brought to Paris were injudiciously restored; and when, after the Treaty of Vienna, they were returned to Italy, it was found that they had been irreparably damaged. Not content with carrying off pictures, statues, and other works of art, Napoleon carted away the chief archives of the foremost Italian cities; and these were so carelessly packed that many hundreds of valuable documents were irretrievably lost. From the artistic and historical point of view, the French Revolution was especially injurious to Italy. Venice not only lost her independence, but half her art treasures. During the French occupation at the beginning of the nineteenth century, forty of her churches were closed and thirty of them destroyed, amongst the finest of them being San Gregorio, still standing though desecrated; and the Servi, one of the largest and most historical in the city, not a stone of which exists. Eugène Beauharnais, when Governor of Venice, pulled down Palladio’s Church of San Geminiano, which stood opposite St. Mark’s, to increase the Royal Palace, and over thirty of the characteristic and beautiful _campanile_, or church towers, which form so delightful a feature in Venetian scenery, were destroyed, their material being carted away to build the new fortifications. At Verona the magnificent church of San Zeno was desecrated (since restored), and two out of three of its splendid cloisters were wantonly laid level. Padua, and, indeed, every other city in Venetia, suffered losses. Ravenna lost three of the handsomest of her ancient basilicas, including San Agnese, whose fine mosaics are now in the Berlin Museum. Milan lost fifty churches full of fine frescoes by Leonardo, Luini, Foppa, and Proccaccino. At Genoa, thanks to the French Revolutionaries, the magnificent Church of San Domenico was demolished, as well as that of San Francesco, which contained the tombs of the Doges, not one of which was spared. Moreover, the sudden suppression of the law of primogeniture ruined half the Italian nobility, and obliged them to sell at low prices the accumulated art treasures of their ancestors. To this day Italy is covered with churches and chapels ruined during the French occupation--which was effected on the pretext of “liberating” that country from superstition.

Every subsequent Revolution which has taken place in France since 1793--in 1838, 1848, and 1870--has originated in the continuance of the Jacobin traditions, the main object of which is to substitute free-thought for Christianity. In each case the Revolution has ended in disorder and bloodshed, and has been succeeded by a more or less modified form of autocracy; yet the dawn of the twentieth century is witnessing what may be termed the most powerful combat between the Revolutionary traditions and those of the _ancien régime_ which has taken place since the execution of Louis XVI. Europe is to-day watching with anxiety the result of the abrogation of that very Concordat in honour of the signing of which a _Te Deum_ was sung in Notre Dame amidst the utmost ecclesiastical, civil, and military pomp, and attended by Napoleon and his Court, a function described by Redhead in a letter which is especially interesting at the present time.

It is not by religious persecution that a lasting Republic can be established. France, so generous in her impulses, so artistic, and, above all, so literary, has not yet learned that a true democracy can only be founded upon a more practical interpretation of the motto, “Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity,” than the one that is now in vogue amongst the majority of Frenchmen in both camps.

At the end of this volume will be found a very interesting series of biographies, compiled by Lady Sykes, of the persons connected with the Revolution mentioned in Redhead Yorke’s “Letters,” many of whom are little known even to close students of Revolutionary history.

I

ARRIVAL AT CALAIS

I will endeavour in these letters to give some details of the present moral and political condition of France.

Twelve years of unceasing revolution have changed the face of a country highly favoured by nature. Amidst the dilapidations of civil discord, and the ravages of foreign armies, France has become doubly formidable to Europe, and after the bloodshed, the misery, and the upheaval of the Revolution, the nation has resumed all the habits of her ancient system, and seeks internal repose in the arms of a military despotism. We embarked at Dover, on board the _Venus_ for Calais.

Before the war, the price of the passage was half a guinea, on the signature of the preliminaries of peace six guineas was the price demanded; but this is now reduced to one guinea and a half for each person, with five shillings to the mate, and seven to the steward. The sailors also expect to be remembered. For taking a carriage on board the fee is two guineas.

At Dover and Calais passports are examined with the greatest attention.

My passport was signed by the King, and countersigned by Lord Pelham, Secretary of State. At Dover all that was required was that it should be properly verified at the Custom House, where it was again countersigned by the controller.

At Calais the ceremony was much more scrupulous and imposing. Unfortunately, at the time of our arrival the tide was ebbing, and we were forced to wait outside the harbour until the tide flowed. We did not enter until three in the morning, having been at sea fourteen hours!

When we anchored, an officer came on board to inspect our passport.

He informed us that it was impossible to enter the town until the gates were opened at eight o’clock in the morning, but that there was a little “cabaret,” to which strangers were permitted to visit for refreshment.

I gave the officer a letter of recommendation addressed to the Commissary-General Mengoud, requesting him, on behalf of the lady who was with me, to deliver it immediately, not doubting that it would facilitate us the disagreeable necessity of sitting up all night in the public cabin of the packet.

The officer declared he dared not disturb Monsieur Mengoud at night.

We remained until seven o’clock in the morning, in this uncomfortable situation, when exhaustion compelled us to leave the vessel and repair to the “cabaret.”

We were then conducted to a little pig-stye beside the gates of the town, where we underwent a pleasant ceremony called “La visite de la personne.”

Four of the passengers could only be admitted at a time. Two officers of the Customs passed their hands over the ladies’ dresses, and contented themselves with asking the gentlemen whether they had any contraband goods about them. After this we were allowed to enter the “cabaret,” a filthy hovel, full of fishermen, drinking beer and gin. Here we were regaled with coffee and bread, so disgustingly bad that we could not touch either, and for which each person was charged three English shillings.

I could not help observing to my hostess, that I did not doubt but that when I next visited France, I should have the honour of waiting upon her husband as Mayor of Calais, for she was certain of soon amassing a vast fortune.

There were nine of us in company, and she cleared twenty-seven shillings in a moment.

[Sidenote: ARRIVAL AT CALAIS]

I conversed with one of the fishermen sitting in the room. He stated that in no part of France had the peace of England caused more joy than at Calais, which had suffered extremely by the war, where the inhabitants were in a most deplorable condition; the young and the middle-aged, to avoid being famished, had no other resource than to join the armies, which chiefly subsisted upon the plunder of foreign countries, for they had no alternative between famine and conquest.

These opinions were fully supported by a young man who joined in the conversation, who said that only dire necessity forced him to become a soldier.

He had served with reluctance in all the campaigns against the English, and was now a captain of Grenadiers. The French army, he said, took no interest in the events occurring in Paris, nor in the Revolution, their common principle being to obey their officers and plunder for bread. The language of every general was the same, “Behind you is nothing but want and misery, before you glory and plenty.”

They fought for glory and plenty, but never liberty, which he acknowledged no Frenchman could either understand or enjoy.

I remarked upon the inconvenience to which travellers were exposed by the port regulations. He replied: “It is no fault of our municipality, they are men of worth. It is the will of the First Consul and must be obeyed.” I inquired whether a “douceur” would not produce admittance into the town. He answered no sum of money could purchase disobedience to an order of the Consul, for the Argus he had planted in it was the terror of the whole department, and nothing escaped the prying eyes of his spies and informers.

About nine o’clock the officer returned with the welcome news--“Monsieur Mengoud would be happy to receive us.” We were then all conducted to the town-hall, where we answered to our names, then we were permitted to go to our respective inns, after a solemn charge to hold ourselves in readiness to present our passports.

After refreshing myself at the “Lion d’Argent” (one of the best hotels in France, and where an Englishman is sure to meet with attention and civility) I proceeded to the house of the Commissary-General, a man who, fulfilling the orders of the executive directors, had introduced French troops and ignited the flames of civil discord in unhappy Switzerland.

Such an interview could not be grateful to one of my habits of thinking, the more so that amidst the cloud-capped mountains and retired valleys of that once free, independent and prosperous country, I had passed the happiest hours of my life.

The secretary announced my name. A voice of thunder roared, “Show him in!”

I entered. Monsieur Mengoud desired me to be seated; the door was shut, and we were left alone altogether.

He was a man of vast stature, and immense calibre, with a round countenance, not unlike in appearance to our Henry VIII., large rolling eyes, and bristly black hair.

The room was hung with carbines, horse pistols, daggers and a pike--proper symbols of his trade.

I mentioned that as I had a lady with me, I had taken the liberty of asking the officer to present my letter of introduction at an early hour, hoping, from the known politeness of the French, she might have experienced the indulgence always conceded to her sex.

MENGOUD. The orders of the Government make no distinction of sex.

MYSELF. I am aware a law is general, but I flattered myself
there might be some discretionary power in the person entrusted
with its execution.

MENGOUD. There is no power vested in any hands but those of the
Government of France.

MYSELF. I recollect an instance of the same kind which occurred
while I was in the garrison at Douvi, a fortified town.

MENGOUD. Examples drawn from the ancient Tyranny cannot apply to
the Republic.

MYSELF. Will this regulation continue?

MENGOUD. It is all the same to me.

MYSELF. Shall I experience any difficulties on my route to Paris?

MENGOUD. None.

MYSELF. When may I depart?

MENGOUD. Now, if you choose.

Here he called his secretary, ordered him to bring up my passport, which he instantly signed, and after having desired me to proceed to the Municipality for countersignment, with a profound bow gave me leave to depart.

As soon as I had despatched my business at the Municipality I returned to the “Lion d’Argent,” and found I had another ceremony to go through at the Custom House, our portmanteaux had not been visited. Accordingly I hastened thither, and after a most rigid search had been made, and I had chastised one of the officers for strutting about wearing my cocked hat for the amusement of his fellows, my things were removed to the inn.

While our property was being repacked, and the horses sent for, I paid a visit to a respectable merchant I had known some years before, and who had survived the havoc of the Revolution.

The information I received from him will form the subject of my next letter.

II

CHARACTER OF THE CITIZENS OF CALAIS

Calais is one of the very few French towns which escaped the horrors of the Revolution. This circumstance is the more remarkable because from its vicinity to England and the attachment borne by its inhabitants to our countrymen, it became an object of suspicion to the Committee of Public Safety.

To the firmness and humanity of one man who filled the office of mayor, and to the unblemished character of the persons who composed the Municipality, do the citizens of Calais owe the preservation of their lives and properties.

The Committee of Public Safety accused the inhabitants of Anglomania, and ordered the ferocious Joseph Le Bon[1] to _visit_ this guiltless town and re-organise the constituted authorities. During those cruel days the _visit_ of a constitutional deputy was really the visit of a public executioner, and in the dismal catalogue of men who were distinguished by unfeeling severity, Le Bon was foremost. He had just perpetrated the most horrible cruelties at Arras before proceeding to Calais. The following anecdote will delineate the fierceness and brutality of his character.

Two young ladies of Arras, neither of whom had attained the age of twenty, practising on the pianoforte the same morning that the news of the surrender of Valenciennes reached their city, Le Bon happened to pass their window and paused to listen. They were playing the tune, “Ça Ira,” a most revolutionary air, which one would have imagined was a proof of their civism.

Nevertheless, by Le Bon’s orders, these beautiful girls were arrested, tried, and condemned the next day, and, notwithstanding their youth and innocence, were executed for “playing on the piano on the day the news of a Republican defeat had arrived, a defeat at which they evidently rejoiced.”

[Sidenote: THE CITIZENS OF CALAIS]

This atrocious action struck even Jacobins with horror. In the defence of the accused it was stated to the Revolutionary Tribune that “Ça Ira” was a Republican march, written to animate armies on the day of battle. To this Le Bon replied that this popular air had been converted into a vehicle of mischief, and that the _time_ these young people had selected for playing “Ça Ira” proved their evil dispositions. “They played ‘Ça Ira,’” said he, “for the Austrian army, they had doubtless heard of the surrender of Valenciennes, and they meant by Ça Ira, that they desired the Austrian advance and the capture of other French fortresses. Why did they not, if they were true patriots, play ‘Le Réveil du Peuple?’”

This argument induced the jurors to condemn the unfortunate young persons to death. Thin, indeed, was the thread upon which human existence was suspended in these days of wretchedness and terror. The effect upon the minds of the people was to make the very name of liberty odious, and the vast majority sighed for a return of that ancient despotism in which they lived secure. Tormented by those who had abused their confidence and exasperated at the accumulation of public wrongs, they were prepared by degrees for those astonishing events which I shall relate in my future letters.

But to return from this digression. The instant Le Bon received his orders, he departed for Calais, where he found prevailing the utmost order, good conduct and tranquillity. This condition of affairs appeared to the Revolutionary emissary a strong symptom of aristocracy. Accordingly, he deposed the mayor, dissolved the Municipality, convoked an assembly of the people in the market-place, when he desired them to elect true sans culottes in place of their former magistrates.

To his surprise he found not a single person would accept of a situation in the Municipality while their former magistrates were destituted. He attempted in vain to form a Jacobin Club or to establish a Revolutionary Tribunal. In vain he threatened individuals with arrest.

There were not a dozen Jacobins in the whole town.

The mayor boldly remonstrated, and by his prudence and the loyalty of his fellow citizens, Le Bon, muttering vows of vengeance, was driven from the town.

Immediately after his departure the former magistrates resumed their functions. In cases where a peremptory mandate from Paris obliged them to arrest any individual, the order was executed with the utmost humanity. The victim was not sent to prison, but allowed to remain in his own house, and even to walk out attended by gendarmes of his own choice.

Thus the citizens of Calais never saw the blood of their countrymen flow upon the scaffold, nor were any delivered to the homicidal rage of inquisitors, whose sense of freedom consisted in privileged misrule and promises of fraternity, terminated in slaughter. Had the municipal officers of other great towns in France displayed the same courage and determination as those of Calais, many thousands of lives would have been saved, and France avoided much dishonour, misery, and shame.

The humane and uncorrupted character of the people of Calais proves that they have not degenerated from the high repute of their ancient burghers.

III

MODE OF TRAVELLING IN FRANCE

There are three modes of travelling in France: by diligence; by post chaise; in your own carriage. The diligence is the cheapest, but it is a method of conveyance quite out of the question for those who travel for recreation, or in search of information.

The traveller is exposed to the inconveniences attendant on a journey of two hundred miles in a vast unwieldy machine, less comfortable than an English waggon, which travels all night, and makes no stoppages except to change horses. Those who wish to make a trip to Paris and its environs will do best to take their own carriage from England.

[Sidenote: MODE OF TRAVELLING IN FRANCE]

It will be found, even including the expense of the packet, that this is a cheaper plan than to hire a carriage at Calais. But as it was my intention to extend my tour beyond Paris, to penetrate through La Vendée as far as Bordeaux, it became necessary I should provide myself with a strong carriage, capable of passing over horrible and neglected country roads. I therefore resolved upon procuring a carriage at Calais.

This was a Post-chaise or Cabriolet, which runs on two wheels and is very light and convenient, having, besides plenty of room for two persons and their luggage, a number of pockets for almost every kind of article, and on each side a pillow for the ease of the traveller while sleeping. It opens in front, and is so constructed as to give complete shelter in bad weather.

When the carriage is secured it is important to be provided with a sufficient sum of money to carry you to your journey’s end. A letter of credit is more advantageous than English bank-notes or guineas.

The former are not of that value they were at the commencement of the Republic; and the exportation of guineas being unlawful, no honest Englishman should carry them out of his country. A guinea is not worth five sous more now in France than in England.

A device has lately been discovered and employed in France for raising money to repair the high roads. It consists in the erection of Barrières, at which every carriage must pay a toll. These Barrières are stationed at irregular distances, at some I have paid eighteen, at others only three sous. In former times a Cabriolet might run the thirty-four posts between Calais and Paris (each post containing two leagues, six miles) for two hundred and thirteen livres, ten sous, exclusive of the hire of the carriage. But now the number of Barrières and the exactions of the postillions considerably augment the expenditure. Although the postillions legally can only demand fifteen sous per post, it is customary _never_ to give them less than thirty and frequently fifty to sixty sous.

I am sorry to say that several of our dashing British sparks have corrupted postillions on the road by their improvident donations.

Hence during the whole of my route between Calais and Paris, I never found one of the fellows satisfied with thirty sous for a single post, and I was always teased out of more. This is trifling to men who can afford to throw away many thousand pounds during a six weeks’ visit to Paris, but to a plain animal like myself, it is a matter of serious consequence. This remark I have often had occasion to make in Switzerland, when that delightful but now wretched country was the favourite resort of our gentry. They were so prodigal of their money, that I have often heard the Swiss declare “Les Anglais sont de braves gens, mais ils sont fous.” Nor is there any rational motive for such extravagance. Such persons are often accused of being emissaries of Mr. Pitt, despatched to France to illustrate the wealth of Great Britain and to prove we understand the art of becoming rich in the midst of war and alarms.

The French, for the greater part, laugh at all such folly, and say that the English are doing their best to refund the products of that commerce which Mr. Pitt had completely wrested from them.

French people are keen and artful, and though they receive such squanderers with bows and smiles, they secretly despise their folly. These truths I write reluctantly, because whatever is disreputable to our nation’s character wounds me to the quick.

I make these observations from no desire to deprive the poor postillions of any advantage they may derive from the folly of travelling Englishmen, but because this system has extended to the inns on the road and to the hotels and shops in Paris and is severely felt by persons of inferior fortune and sober disposition.

It is an established principle in France that in travelling you pay for as many horses as there are people, not excepting servants.

[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO AMIENS]

But this regulation is not always rigidly adhered to The postmasters in general seldom put on more than three horses, even for four persons. They are civil and obliging men, and I have often found their conversation interesting and instructive.

The service of posting is well managed, and for good order, regularity, and promptness, excels any other part of Europe.

This must by no means be ascribed to the effects of the Revolution, for it was projected and executed under the ancient _régime_, and since the establishment of the Republic the best part of the establishment, _i.e._, the excellent roads, have been utterly neglected, and in many cases almost destroyed, notwithstanding the enormous charges at the Barrières, for the ostensible purpose of keeping them in good order.

The traveller has nothing whatever to apprehend from highway robbers or footpads, and this I attribute to the number of Gens d’armes, extremely well mounted, who are continually riding along the roads to ensure the safety of travellers.

IV

JOURNEY TO AMIENS, WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE
PRESENT STATE OF THE COUNTRY

After all our arrangements had been concluded we proceeded on the route towards Paris.

We were forcibly struck by the backward state of the vegetation in the Department of Calais, and we compared the poverty of the exhausted soil with the luxuriant richness of the county of Kent this early spring.

Over the service of vast unenclosed tracts of land we perceived scarcely any but women employed in culture of the earth.

The implements of village husbandry, as well as the cattle, were the worst I ever beheld, and the population did not seem in any way adequate to the extent of the country. Wherever any vestiges of religion or aristocracy remained we traced the ravages of the Revolution. Monasteries and churches were heaps of ruins; if a church had escaped the general wreck, an inscription over its portal, “This is the Temple of Reason and Truth,” denoted that it had been abused for atheistical purposes.

In every village through which we passed crowds of children, women and old men pressed upon us, begging charity and bread. I inquired into the causes of this melancholy spectacle. My informer pointed to a monastery in ruins, and shook his head. I felt the force of this explanation.

The agreeable seaport of Boulogne presented itself before us. When we reached the gates I asked whether Parker was alive.

I heard he still kept the same hotel where I slept in 1792.

When we reached it I found him grown grey, however, with suffering and persecution. He received me with unfeigned pleasure, few Englishmen had hitherto passed, and the sight of a countryman rejoiced his heart. He told me that during the time of Terror, Dounne,[1] the Conventional Deputy, took up his quarters in his hotel, and fared sumptuously upon the fat of the land. In a very short time this representative of the people contrived to absorb a vast quantity of wine, particularly port, for which he had a great relish, and for none of this did he ever pay one farthing.

One day after dinner he sent for Parker and inquired whether he had any more port. The latter replied that unfortunately his stock was exhausted. At this the Citizen Deputy expressed great regret. Two hours later, he ordered, in consequence, poor Parker into arrest, and sent him to a prison in Paris, without permitting him to make any arrangements respecting his family concerns, or even to take leave of his family.

He remained eighteen months in jail, cut off from his friends and relations, while his house and property were completely at the mercy of the Jacobins.

[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO AMIENS]

He has now returned to try his fortune once more at Boulogne, and I sincerely hope English travellers will encourage a countryman, who is highly deserving of their patronage.

I traversed after dinner several streets of the town. I found a great number of private houses, convents and monasteries utterly demolished and reduced to piles of ruins, giving the town the appearance of having experienced a long and severe siege. I thought (for I forgot for a moment the enlightened age of Reason) that all this devastation was the result of the late bombardment of Lord Nelson. But I was in error. Only one bomb fell into the town, and did no mischief.

The ruins everywhere visible were formerly the habitations of suspected persons and religious and charitable foundations destroyed by the Jacobins, when they overthrew what they were pleased to call prejudice and superstition. Some of these buildings were remarkably handsome, and it might have been supposed could have served for the use of the public, but when the waters of bitterness overflow, destruction is general and indiscriminate.

During the bombardment of the town, the French naval officers, among whom was Jerome Bonaparte, brother of the First Consul, messed every day at Parker’s. In contradistinction to the Deputy of the Convention, they conducted themselves with the greatest liberality to this Englishman during their residence.

Jerome put up at Parker’s by the express desire of his elder brother. The inhabitants and the French officers scouted the idea of a French invasion of England, and wondered that the bravest and most distinguished admiral of the British Fleet should have been sent to oppose an inconsiderable flotilla moored in Boulogne waters.

“Your countrymen,” they said, “are very brave, but you are a mercantile nation, and merchants are always nervous. This town, as well as Calais and Dunkerque were, before the war, filled by English refugees, persons who sought shelter from the pursuit of their creditors.”

Considering the extraordinary severity of the English law of debtor and creditor, I cannot avoid looking upon these with some slight approbation, as affording to the unfortunate and improvident the means of becoming careful and honest! and more advantageous resorts for the debtor than the wood of America among rattlesnakes and savages.

So far, since the Peace, few persons of this description have arrived at Boulogne, though many are expected.

To give any account of the present state of commerce here is quite out of my power. I doubt if the town can be said to possess any. Formerly the fishing was prosperous, and much shipbuilding was undertaken and a smart smuggler’s trade carried on with the seaports on the opposite side of the water.

It had been my intention to have slept at Montreuil-sur-Mer, a distance of four posts or about twenty-three miles from Boulogne, but my companion was so exhausted that we settled to pass the night at Samur, the nearest post town. Although we were obliged to lodge at a miserable inn, nothing could exceed the kind attention of the people who owned it, they had but milk and coffee to give us, which were but slender supports for persons just recovered from sea-sickness, and seven hours had elapsed since dinner. However, as we had provided ourselves at Calais with a fowl and two bottles of burgundy we were thus enabled to make an excellent supper; the milk and coffee I poured into a bowl and gave with a big French roll to a miserable creature at the gate. The manner in which they were received and devoured absolutely confounded me, for I had never seen the like in old France.

[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO AMIENS]

The next day we proceeded to Cormont, about five miles and a half, where we changed horses, and from thence to Montreuil, situated on a steep mountain and formerly a strong fortress.

Before the Revolution there was here an English convent, and a number of English families, but the convent has been demolished, and the town altogether abandoned by our people.

I entered into a political dialogue with two very respectable persons whom I found at the inn, and asked them what was their opinion of the Peace and their present Government. They expressed themselves content with both. They observed that no man who had witnessed such scenes as they had done could avoid rejoicing at an event which promised repose to France.

The blood which had been spilt within and without their country had sickened the French people with the very name of war. Then followed the old and trite remark, that if England and France could join in a cordial union they might _command the whole world_ and retain it in a state of permanent peace. In their opinion the Peace was in favour of England, and when I enumerated the names of the different colonies we had restored to France they laughed at me and said, “You have taken away our commerce, and what have we taken from you?”

They expressed themselves satisfied with the present Government, and avowed that any Government which maintained order was preferable to a state of anarchy. They assured me that they had witnessed scenes which could not be described. They said, “We lived in times when no man could trust his neighbour, much less speak his thoughts. A brother could not confide in a brother.” Then I observed, “You have doubtless had the guillotine permanent in your town?” “No, sir, it has never been erected here, but many of our fellow townsmen were imprisoned and executed at Arras.” “By Joseph Le Bon?” “The same.” “What induced your people to destroy the Convent?” “With many fear of death, with others because it was the fashion.” While we were engaged in conversation, a person brought in a hare and a leveret, for which our hostess paid ten sous. On my observing that provisions must, to judge from this price, be extremely cheap in France, it was quickly proved to me that any articles of necessity were inordinately dear; bread I found was a halfpenny a pound dearer than in England. Our horses being now harnessed, or rather corded, we took our leave, but we had literally to penetrate through a column of beggars before we mounted the carriage. They were mostly boys between fourteen and seventeen years of age, and their number was three-and-twenty. I requested the person with whom I had been conversing to explain why at eleven o’clock in the morning these lads were not at work. He answered that they had no work, and were in an utter state of indigence, their parents not having the means of providing them with subsistence. On which I observed that they might find ample occupation in the pursuits of agriculture and husbandry, and asked if it was not highly injurious to the community to suffer their boys not to be brought up to a trade. He then whispered that while the Noblesse resided in the country, and the Monasteries existed, vast numbers found employment, and those who were out of a place were assisted by a charity of the religious orders, but that since their destruction, the land had devolved in other hands, and often to proprietors who were in Paris and never lived on their estate. “It is evident,” said I, “that these poor people are punished for their folly.” A fact he fully admitted. He mentioned that the parents of these children were the persons now employed in the business of agriculture, and that as for trades all those who were not requisitioned for the armies were only too glad for the sake of bread to serve different tradesmen and perform the duties formerly fulfilled by boys, but, he added, “all in good time. These lads will be in the next conscription, and then they will be provided for.” I thanked him for his description, and after distributing a little money among these children, I resumed my journey, pondering on the reversed order of social life.

[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO AMIENS]

The Revolution, which was brought about ostensibly for the benefit of the lower classes of society, has sunk them to a degree of degradation and misfortune to which they never were reduced under the ancient monarchy. They have been disinherited, stripped and deprived of every resource for existence, except defeats of arms and the fleeting spoil of vanquished nations. In the sententious language of Montesquieu, “With an hundred thousand arms they have overthrown everything, while with an hundred thousand feet they have crawled like insects.” This reversion of social order must destroy sentiments of moral obligation.

Boys of fifteen beg for charity while their fathers and mothers toil in the field! Full-grown men are engaged in avocations peculiar to youth. A life of habitual indolence is encouraged in those who should be toiling for those who gave them birth. From this they will shortly be transplanted to the armies, without having been taught one occupation by which they might obtain a livelihood when the period of service has expired.

What is to be expected of such young men on their return as citizens? They will be a dead stock on the community--a load on their friends, an incumbrance to themselves, they who have been taught no other trade but to handle a firelock, to parade and plunder--will merely be the terror of peaceful citizens, and the Government will find the only mode of disposing of them to send them back to the army.

Thus an immense permanent military establishment will result, and will consist of an army which is the reservoir of the indolent and profligate, who must be supported by the speculations of the merchant and the labours of the farmer. This is in itself far more pernicious than the _corvées_, the abolishment of which was one of the pleas for the extirpation of the aristocracy.

To foreign nations the possession by France of such an immense force ready to burst upon them at a single word of command must be an object of terror and alarm. And in self-defence they too must maintain powerful armies in the centre of Europe, in the midst of a profound and general peace.

If an estimate is made of the many hundred thousand hands thus withdrawn from the pursuits of agriculture, manufactures, and commerce, some idea may be formed of the loss which huge standing armies cause to the community at large.

Such arguments are, however, vain while the vast military establishment of France is upheld.

Necessity compels every nation in Europe to provide for its own security. The military force of France is justly pleaded as a reason for maintaining a strong standing army in our island. How much more reason have continental nations to adopt a similar precaution, for they do not possess our advantage of being separated from France by a ditch? A man who proposed the reduction of the English army at the present time would be esteemed a madman. The continental powers are only pursuing a system forced upon them by imperious necessity.

Nevertheless, much is to be hoped from the versatile and ingenious character of the French people. A Frenchman can turn himself to occupations which would never enter the brain of an Englishman or German, and it is a common adage that if a Frenchman be turned adrift and penniless on the wide world he will thrive and prosper.

If the situation of the nations on the continent be contrasted with that of our happy country, we shall perceive that Great Britain enjoys a decided advantage. All our soldiers and most of our sailors, before their entrance into the Navy or Army, have been previously educated to some industrial pursuit. Hence after a long war they rejoice in returning to their former pursuits, and the country has nothing to apprehend from them. They resume their former relations to society, and every species of trade and manufacture is open to them.

The present Government should seriously reflect upon these undoubted facts if the First Consul is sincerely desirous of peace.

These reflections have led me out of my road to Nampont (a post and a half from Montreuil). Here we changed horses and proceeded to Bernay, where we again changed.

[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO AMIENS]

The weather was favourable and we hastened on, hoping to reach Amiens before dark. Nouviou was our next stage, whence we traversed a flat and unpleasant tract of country to Abbeville.

We passed a pretty château surrounded by trees. It belonged to a Monsieur de St. Quentin, who, having emigrated, found himself deprived of his property, which was purchased for a trifling sum from the Republican Government by a merchant of Abbeville.

Since the proscription of emigrants has been removed by the First Consul, Monsieur de St. Quentin has returned to France. He now resides at a little village, formerly belonging to him, within sight of the mansion which was once his. None of his property has been restored to him, and no allowance so far granted by the State, he therefore lives in a forlorn state of poverty. Our postillion had lived twelve years with M. de St. Quentin in the capacity of a gardener. He pointed to a young plantation and said, sadly, “All those trees were planted by me.”

Love of country must be a predominant passion in the mind of a man who after twelve years’ exile is content to reside in it in penury, and endure the mortification of being constantly within view of his former property. We dined at Reichord’s hotel, were well entertained, and the charges reasonable. But our meal was rendered uncomfortable on account of the crowd of beggars who were looking through the window and craving charity. As fast as one crowd was dismissed another advanced upon their heels. A gentleman who was there declared he counted over a hundred persons. The city of Abbeville is old and wretchedly built, many of the houses being made of wood there is a gloomy aspect in every part of it. Before the Revolution it was celebrated for its damasks, and the vast establishment of Vau Robois, established by Louis XIV., gave employment to over 4000 persons; but this industry perished in the Revolution. Before the war the population of Abbeville was computed at 22,000, it is now reduced to less than 18,000 souls.

Ally-le-haut Clocher was our next stopping-place--the only circumstance worthy of notice there was a red cap on the top of the church steeple, a mark of Jacobinism; during the nine miles traversed between Abbeville and this place we never remarked one cheerful prospect or one well cultivated lot of ground. At Flixecourt stood a tree of Liberty, the first we had noticed since our arrival in France. From this place we proceeded to Picquigny, where we again changed horses and thence to Amiens, a stage of nine miles. It was late when we arrived, and to our misfortune (as you will learn later) I mistook the house to which I had been recommended. By the light of the lantern I read _Pollet_ instead of _La Poste_, and in consequence drove to Madame Pollet’s inn, “Le Lion d’Or.”

Before I close this letter I will make a few observations on the general face of the country and the state of agriculture. The soil is good, but cultivation is deplorable.

There are scarcely any enclosures, trees have been ruthlessly cut down, and the hills completely stripped of timber. I saw neither cattle nor sheep pasturing.

[Sidenote: DESCRIPTION OF AMIENS]