Chapter II: Introduction: By Richard Davey (2)

Nothing can exceed the wretchedness of the implements of husbandry employed but the wretched appearance of the persons using them. Women at the plough and young girls driving a team give but an indifferent idea of the progress of agriculture under the Republic. There are no farmhouses dispersed over the fields. The farmers reside together in remote villages, a circumstance calculated to retard the business of cultivation. The interiors of the houses are filthy, the farmyards in the utmost disorder, and the miserable condition of the cattle sufficiently bespeaks the poverty of their owner. Meat of all kinds is poor and unnutritious, but the poultry is excellent. The wine is sour and worse than vinegar and water, and even in the great inns where I paid a high price for so-called burgundy and bordeaux, I never drank one glass of even _tolerable wine_ (Chantilly excepted) between Calais and the capital.

Between Montreuil and Flixecourt we were greatly diverted at the sight of two women ploughing with three asses, although this confirms the opinion upon which I have always insisted, but not ludicrously, that if we in England made more use of asses in husbandry advantage might be derived to the community and a saving to the farmer. If instead of harassing and ill-treating these useful animals we gave them a little more consequence in the society of brutes and raised them from the condition of slaves to servants, they would possess more spirit and energy and be more tractable.

The asses at the plough looked plump and sleek and performed their work apparently as well as horses. After having seen a goat at the plough I think no one should be surprised that I plead the cause of the poor ass, besides I acknowledge myself to be the friend of asses.

V

DESCRIPTION OF AMIENS, AND HAPPY RELEASE
FROM THE “LION D’OR”

At the time we arrived at the inn, the people of the town were just leaving the theatre, which overflowed on account of a new piece having been represented that night. A Frenchman would rather be called a knave than be accused of a want of _goût_. Hence the theatres are always crowded at the representation of a new piece (whatever may be the celebrity of the author, or even if he enjoy no celebrity at all).

In England, at a first representation, the house is seldom half filled, except by friends of the author, who is either bowing to the manager or quaking in the green room, waiting for the sentence of the critics in the pit.

In France, every man fancies himself a born critic, and makes a point of attending the theatre to form part of the general tribunal.

The author generally stations himself in the most distinguished part of the theatre, where, with all the assurance of certain success, he bows to the pit, gallery, and the ladies. If the piece succeeds he carries himself high, and confesses that his countrymen are the only men of taste in the world. But should the play unhappily be damned (a not unfrequent circumstance) his deportment changes, he clenches his fists, gives a horrible and ghastly smile, and swears the audience are a gang of _f-- canaille, scélérats, bandits_, and to crown all, “_Des gens de mauvais goût_.” When he has reached this climax of epithets he rushes furiously from the theatre.

It happened that on the night of our arrival at Amiens a very good piece had been presented to the public. But my inclinations (a proof of _mauvais goût_) were directed to a good supper.

In order to give a proper notion of the dexterity of Madame Pollet, hostess of the “Lion d’Or,” I must describe our mode of living in her house.

We were shown into a large room, containing four chairs, a small round table, and a chest of drawers. In a corner stood a dome bedstead, prettily hung with blue silk curtains, the bed covered by a blue silk counterpane. It is a nasty custom in France to eat and drink in one’s bedroom at an inn. I ordered supper for two persons.

In a quarter of an hour the following dishes were served in succession. A jowl of salmon (the largest and fattest I ever saw), two of the finest soles I ever beheld, a partridge, a pigeon, a hashed hare, a fowl, bouillie beef, spinach, and other vegetables--a bottle of Picardy beer, a bottle of champagne, and one bottle of Volnay wine. The unceasing procession of viands surpassed the scene at Barataria.

[Sidenote: DESCRIPTION OF AMIENS]

My wife ate scarcely anything, but I was hungry and took courage. No sooner had I despatched my quota of a dish when another followed, and another and another.

I do believe it would have continued all night if nature, being entirely exhausted, had not obliged me to cry mercy.

Having successfully begged for quarter and forbidden any dessert, I retired for the night, having desired to see the Cathedral in the morning. It must not be imagined that I attacked every dish as it advanced--I made a hearty supper on a bit of salmon, part of a sole and some hashed hare; the rest of the feast went down untouched.

In the morning we went to see the Cathedral--one of the finest monuments of the piety of ancient days. It has escaped in some measure the onslaughts of Revolutionaries, though its decorations have been grievously mutilated. At the principal portal all the heads of the saints have been struck off, and the sculptured groups representing Scripture history have been so disfigured as to be rendered ridiculous. The admirable marble statue of the weeping child has received considerable injury, but the beautiful chapels on each side of the choir are in an excellent state of preservation, as well as the marble statues over the altars.

Nothing is missing from them but the gold and silver candlesticks and the rich ornaments of the church; even the bones of the tutelary saint have been unmolested, although the immense box of silver in which they were deposited has been seized. The grand altar-piece of the Cathedral, which spreads across the whole breadth of the church and rises majestically towards the top, has outlived the fury which threatened its destruction; a circumstance which must be ascribed solely to the spirit and good sense of the citizens of Amiens. For when the Revolutionary army from Paris had commenced a general sack of the Cathedral and were demolishing its ornaments, the National Guard of Amiens arrived with its drums beating; a pitched battle ensued in the aisles, which did not finish till the _sans culottes_ were driven out of the Cathedral; the citizens afterwards mounted guard over the minster and saved it from the common ruin a ruffianly horde had involved S. Denys and half of the finest churches in France.

Bishop Evrard began to build this edifice in the year 1220, during the reign of Philip Augustus. Three architects superintended the work--Robert de Luzarche, Thomas de Cormont, and Maître Renoult. In three years the foundations were laid, a marvellously rapid work when their solidity and extent are considered. The Cathedral is built on irregular ground, and required very deep foundations.

Upon the death of Evrard, his successor, Godfroi d’Eu, continued the building, and during the fourteen years he held the episcopal see piles were raised and the Cathedral completed as far as the arched roof.

Arnold d’Amiens succeeded Godfroi, and he was followed by Gerard of Couchy and Alexander of Neuilly; and under their successor, Bernard of Abbeville, the work was completed in 1260, forty years after the foundation stone was laid. This last ecclesiastic adorned the Cathedral with an immense pointed window, which now ornaments the central part of the choir. Beneath it may still be read the following inscription: “_Bernardus Epis. me dedit anno MCCLIX._”

Nothing can now exceed the gloomy appearance of this church, shorn of all its former decorations. When we entered there were not more than six old women and a veteran soldier of artillery at their matins, all shivering with cold and hunger. When we associated this circumstance with the absence and former persecution of all ministers of religion, it gave a chilly aspect to the whole scene and damped all those emotions of the soul which arise from contemplating a vast edifice formerly consecrated to piety.

[Sidenote: DESCRIPTION OF AMIENS]

On our return we viewed the ruins of a building, once the palace of Henry IV., situated at the back of the “Lion d’Or.” It is surprising that the Revolutionary army, in its rage for destruction, left this vestige of royalty untouched. But the fury of the Jacobins seems to have been directed principally against the sculptured heads of saints, for none of the houses in the Close, formerly the Canons’ residences, have been destroyed. They became national property, but they remain until this day without a purchaser. I have been informed that it is the intention of the First Consul to revive the discipline of the Cathedral and restore these houses to the Chapter. A Bishop has been already nominated; but as the Episcopal Palace has been destroyed, a proper house will be provided for him at the expense of the Government.

When a person is travelling in the French Republic, if he arrives at any town which has been a theatre of Revolutionary carnage, he will have no difficulty in collecting anecdotes (should he desire it), some pathetic, some ludicrous, and some horribly jocose, together with many entertaining lies.

France still bleeds at every pore--she is a vast mourning family, clad in sackcloth. It is impossible at this time for a contemplative mind to be gay in France. At every footstep the merciless and sanguinary route of fanatical barbarians disgust the sight and sicken humanity--on all sides ruins obtrude themselves on the eye and compel the question, “For what and for whom are all this havoc and desolation?”

It was in this city that that execrable villain, Joseph Le Bon met his well-earned doom. He was executed among the curses and yells of that very populace who a few weeks previously had received him with shouts of approval and loaded him with caresses.

When he first reached Amiens a poor harmless priest fell under his displeasure. Le Bon issued an order for the arrest of the ecclesiastic, who sought refuge in the woods. This roused the fury of the vindictive tyrant, who wrote instantly to the Committee of Public Safety, declaring he had discovered a great conspiracy, and that an agent of Pitt had fled to the woods, but he was about to adopt vigorous measures to bring the criminal to justice.

The _générale_ was beaten, the tocsin sounded, and all armed citizens were ordered to scour the woods and seize upon the agent of Pitt. On the ensuing day the poor priest, exhausted with fatigue, hunted like a wild beast and utterly famished, returned to the city and surrendered himself to his tormentors. He was at once carried before the Revolutionary Tribunal. He was asked his name, and had no sooner replied than the jury, without hearing indictment or evidence, pronounced him guilty, and he was sentenced to death. Being remanded to the prison he spent the night in prayer. When the Gens d’armes arrived the next morning to take him to the place of execution they found him resigned and courageous. Fortified by his religious sentiments and conscious innocence, he proclaimed that he preferred death to living in a society in which every spark of justice was extinguished. The time was come, he said, when good men should no longer desire to live, and he would show his fellow-citizens in how calm a manner an innocent man could die. He refused to get into the cart, and with a steady step and cheerful countenance, surrounded by the Sbirri of Le Bon and the miscreants who delight in bloodshed, he walked to the scaffold, which he mounted with joy. But even in the moment of death the bloody tyrant continued to torment him, he desired the execution to be delayed until his women appeared at the window of an opposite house; and when these unfeeling wretches, with a ferocity which disgraced their sex, waved their handkerchiefs as a symptom of exultation, the fatal knife was permitted to fall and the victim released from a world which was unworthy of him.

[Sidenote: DESCRIPTION OF AMIENS]

I have described this melancholy event in order to contrast it with Le Bon’s own behaviour at the place of execution. The night before he suffered excruciating agonies of mind. At intervals he attempted to destroy himself, but fear and hope withheld his hand. He was heard to give loud shrieks, yells of rage, disappointment, terror and despair. When he was brought out of the prison to be seated in the cart, the shout that rent the air cannot be described--a person who was present assured me that the howls of cannibals were nothing compared to it. The populace spat upon him; they asked him, as it was a fine day why he did not walk to the guillotine, as the priest had done a few weeks previously, and die like a man? He was goaded with a thousand terrible questions; and as the procession moved women and children danced in the streets, clapping their hands, and reproaching him with a number of bitter recollections.

Le Bon was convulsed with passion, and sometimes he cried; but when he reached the scaffold he gave a horrible cry, which drew peals of laughter from the spectators. He had to be lifted out of the cart, fear had paralysed his strength; during the short period before the knife descended a hundred mocking voices wished him _bon voyage_ and a happy meeting with his friends in hell. Thus amidst curses did this ferocious monster expire.

Amiens exhibits nothing new or interesting since the Revolution. The shag and plush manufactories and the manufactory of woollen stuffs and goats’ hair continue, but have suffered severely by the events of the last ten years. Trade is still dull, but it is hoped it will soon be rendered more brisk by the return of peace.

On our return to the “Lion d’Or” we were charged seven pounds eight shillings sterling money of the Kingdom of Great Britain for a supper in the Republic of France! I ordered horses, resolving never to set foot again in a house where I had been so egregiously cheated. Just before I stepped into the carriage Madame Pollet made her appearance and exclaimed, “Êtes-vous content, monsieur?”

I promised to let my countrymen know what good cheer they might expect at her house, not forgetting the reasonableness of her charges. I have now fulfilled my promises.

VI

JOURNEY TO CHANTILLY, AND DESCRIPTION OF THAT PLACE

Hebricourt was the next great town upon our route, and here we found another church consecrated to Reason. The cap of Liberty, appropriately placed upon the weather-cock, veered round with every different gust of wind--over the door of the church the words “Temple de la Raison” were inscribed.

At Bréteuil, twenty-three miles from Amiens, we dined, or rather starved, at the Hôtel de l’Ange. They made a thousand apologies for the wretched fare put before us, and explained that there was a fair in the town, and the crowd of country people flocking to it had completely demolished every vestige of provision.

After the plates were removed from the table and we had finished our apology for a meal, we visited the fair. There was a great concourse of people, but no noise or disorder. The women were in holiday clothes, wearing close caps. The men were decently attired, but with cocked hats, which gave them a most puritanical appearance. I did not see a single person intoxicated, nor much show of articles of trade. There were many Merry Andrews, quack doctors and puppet shows.

During the greater part of our journey from Amiens to Bréteuil we observed lands in much better order and farmhouses neater and more comfortable than any we had seen in France; the country is agreeably diversified, and woods appear in every direction.

After Bréteuil the country becomes flat and the soil chalky. We changed horses at Wavigny, St. Just and Clermont, the latter being twenty-seven miles from Bréteuil. The road was paved and in excellent order, the country pleasing and fertile, and woods frequent.

[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO CHANTILLY]

A little before we reached Clermont we passed the grounds and plantations of the Duke de FitzJames.[1] The elegant Château was completely destroyed by the Revolutionists, and is at this time a heap of ruins. But the name of the duke has just been erased from the list of émigrés, and all his estates restored to him. He is now in Paris, making arrangements for his future life. The return of their old master is eagerly awaited by the country people, and it is hoped that this beautiful spot will once more flourish.

At Clermont there is a manufactory of painted linen; the environs of the town are gay and picturesque, the neighbouring hills afford several pleasing landscapes, and the culture of the vine gave a charming variety to the scenery. To the left is Liancourt, the magnificent seat of the Duke de la Rochefoucauld.[1] This nobleman, well known for his useful writings on agricultural subjects and his travels in North America, has returned from exile, and is improving and embellishing his patrimonial estate.

Cultivation here is more diversified than in the northern Department, through which we have just travelled. Besides vineyards there are fields of lucerne, wheat, clover and corn, and a large quantity of fruit trees. From Longueville, the next post town, we had a delightful ride through the park of Chantilly. On our arrival at Chantilly we slept at the post-house, where a neatness prevailed we had not yet observed in France. The kitchen and stables, usually filthy in a French establishment, were clean and well arranged.

On the next morning we sent to see Chantilly, so famed for its magnificent gardens and for the heroes of Montmorency and Condé who have inhabited it. Alas! it is now one vast heap of ruins. After the fatal August 1792, a horde of Paris miscreants ransacked, pillaged and destroyed the greater part of the chefs d’œuvres of art. The servants, faithful to their ancient master, concealed a number of valuable articles in the woods, and found means to convey most of them to the Prince de Condé.

Of the fidelity and affection of the Prince’s domestics we heard a great deal, and nothing can exceed the respect in which his memory is held by the villagers. On more than one occasion we saw the honest tear start from their eyes at the mention of his name, and the solicitude they expressed for his welfare and their many tender inquiries respecting his present situation in England, convinced us these poor people were sensible they had lost their best friend. When I told them the Prince de Condé[1] lived near London, and was in fairly easy circumstances and kindly received by the King and Royal Family and by the Ministers of State, they were so greatly affected as to excite in our minds a sympathetic emotion of soul, and on the ruins of the Château of Chantilly, on the very spot where once stood the statue of the Great Condé, we shed tears over the fate of his forsaken and proscribed descendant.

No one can be sensible of the desolation of Chantilly unless they saw the gardens, _jets d’eau_ and variegated plantations there previous to 1792.

The Palace is now completely destroyed, there is not even a vestige remaining, all is ruin. As we approached its sight several troops of cavalry were exercising on the lawn. The stables, upon the left, have escaped the fury of the Revolutionists. It is a magnificent building, with all the appearance of a Palace itself. It was originally built for 240 horses. But 400 animals belonging to the Chasseurs stationed at Chantilly are now quartered there without inconvenience.

It is an immense oblong, well paved, with mangers and racks on either side. In the centre is a spacious dome with several apartments now occupied by the smiths of the regiment. All the stags’ heads which ornamented the interior of the building have been struck off, only stumps being left behind. There was formerly a pretty emblematical figure over the reservoir of water under the dome, this has been completely annihilated.

[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO CHANTILLY]

To the left of the stables is the _ménage_, an open circular piece of ground, encircled by Doric pillars. Here we found the subaltern officers of the regiment instructing their men in the art of riding. The French soldiers, in general, keep their seats well, but their position does not appear so easy as that of the English. They ridicule our long trot as ungraceful, perhaps with some reason; but horses and riders using it are better able to support a long journey than a Frenchman, erect as a post, jogging on a dancing horse.

On one side of the _ménage_ is the court for carriages and grooms, and a few yards behind the tennis court, as large as the one at Versailles, enclosed in a noble stone building. A merchant has purchased this place, and is resolved to reconvert it to its original purpose. From these edifices, which are all in fair order, we advanced to the scene of horror. The Palace is a heap of ruins; it was purchased by two persons, who demolished it for the sake of the materials, which they sold for above ten times the original purchase money. It is just the name of these Vandals should descend to posterity, they are Damois, an ironmonger of the Faubourg St. Antoine, Paris, and Boulet, a carpenter of Compiègne.

The Château d’Enghien has escaped, and is now used as a barrack for Chasseurs. The Château of the Duc de Bourbon, where the family, except on State occasions, formerly resided, was in the days of the Revolutionary Tribunal converted into a prison, 750 prisoners were therein confined; men and women intentionally herded together in the same apartments, in defiance of decency. The Château of Bourbon has been completely stripped of decorations and furniture, only the bare walls remain. The beautiful bridge of La Volière, which formed the communication between the Palace and the Island of Love, was broken down lest the prisoners should escape over it.

We traversed the lonely apartments, and were shown the study of the exiled Prince de Condé, a room the former beauty of which the mutilated paintings still remaining gave a lively idea. The gallery of Conquest, formerly filled with pictures representing the achievements of Montmorencies and Condés, exhibits now merely a dead wall. As we descended the staircase we observed the walls covered by inscriptions of the names of prisoners, often accompanied by verses alluding to their forlorn condition.

The gallery of marble vases opposite to the Pavilion of Apollo, consisting of twenty-two rams’ heads, which spouted into basins beneath them, is utterly destroyed. The Island of Love is a bog, and the Pavilion of Venus no more.

At the foot of the grand staircase was once a _jet d’eau_, remarkable for its size and beauty. It had a superb marble column in the centre, around which swans sailed in majestic order, while immense quantities of tench played upon the surface of the water. The column, the _jet d’eau_ and the swans have vanished--the water drawn off and the tench devoured by the Revolutionary army. The romantic cottage by the mill has been pulled down--the carcase of the dairy is still standing, but every article it contained was pillaged, for our guide remarked, “The Jacobins never slept as long as there was anything left to seize.” The small cascade, situated opposite the menagerie, was demolished for the sake of the leaden pipes, profitable articles of sale, indeed _all_ the leaden conduits were removed, so that the numerous communications between the different reservoirs of water and the court being destroyed, the waters in rainy weather overflow their basins and pour upon the adjacent ground. Every step we went we trod in water, and to this circumstance the wretched appearance of the Island of Love is due.

[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO CHANTILLY]

There was formerly a great menagerie on the opposite side of the court. The Revolutionary army condemned to death the beasts and birds which inhabited it, on the ground that they were agents in the alleged conspiracy of Condé to starve the people. But as they were apprehensive these animals might make a rally, and feeling their courage unequal to the shock of a pitched battle, and being afraid to butcher the animals in detail, they stationed a couple of pieces of artillery on the neighbouring height, and the onslaught commenced. A heavy fire was opened on the imprisoned sovereigns of the forest by the sovereign people--after a breach had been effected the drums beat a general charge, the centre of the Revolutionary army advanced, bayonets fixed, while the right and left wings kept up a smart fire of musketry upon the invisible enemy. The army entered the breach, and the whole garrison being put to the sword, the majesty of the people shone forth in all its glory.

A person who was an eye-witness of the affair described to me in detail this patriotic act of carnage.

At the end of the great court a place was erected by the Prince of Condé for the accommodation of the sick who resorted there to drink the water of a mineral spring. The spring is filled up, and four mills for boring cannon supplant the building. The violence of destruction was so great that the source of these mineral waters cannot now be traced. The immense kitchen garden has been preserved, and the house, which once belonged to Monsieur Hatorme, steward or _homme d’affaires_ of the Prince. It is now inhabited by Damois, the ironmonger, one of the Vandals who bought and destroyed the Château. When the Jacobins came to murder Monsieur Hatorme he fortunately escaped by a small secret door at the back of the house.

No better idea can be given of the general horror and desolation effected everywhere by the Revolutionists than a sight of Chantilly. Thistles and grass cover every part of the gardens, here and there a few solitary tulips peep out of the earth. The fox that peeped through the crevices of the desolate Castle of Ossian could not give a more faithful conception of ruin than those lonely and deserted flowers.

It would not be amiss to give here a description of Chantilly, given fifteen years ago by that acute and intelligent traveller, Mr. Arthur Young:

“Chantilly! Magnificence is its reigning character. The Château is great and imposing. The gallery of the great Condé’s victories and the cabinet of natural history, rich in fine specimens, most advantageously arranged, demand particular notice. The stable exceeds anything of the kind I have ever seen. It is 580 feet long and 40 broad, and is filled with 240 English horses. I came to Chantilly prepossessed against the idea of a court, but the one here is striking, and gives the effect which magnificent scenes impress. This arises from extent and from the right lines of the water uniting with the regularity of the object in view. Lord Kaimes says the part of a garden contiguous to a house should partake of the regularity of the building. The effect here is lessened by the _parterre_ before the Castle, in which the divisions and the diminutive _jets d’eau_ do not correspond in size with that of the court.

“The menagerie is very pretty, and exhibits a prodigious quantity of domestic poultry from every part of the world, one of the best objects to which a menagerie can be applied. The _hameau_ contains an imitation of an English garden. The most English idea I saw was the lawn in front of the stables; it is large, of good verdure and well kept. The labyrinth, the only complete one I have ever seen. In the Sylvae are many fine and scarce plants. The great beech is the finest I ever saw, straight as an arrow, between eighty and ninety feet in height and twelve feet in diameter, five feet from the ground. Two others near it are almost equal to this superb tree.”

We were accompanied as guide at Chantilly by a man named Touret, formerly _garde de chasse_ to the Prince. He is a very sensible and good-natured man. He was accused of an attachment to his ancient master, and for that crime pursued by the Jacobins with unrelenting vigour. He was compelled to fly into the woods, where he subsisted on acorns, nuts and berries for several days, and concealed himself in secluded haunts, which from his former situation as gamekeeper were known to him.

[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO CHANTILLY]

The contrast between this poor faithful fellow and that of Hautoir, administrator of the district of Genlis, is great. The former, like Shakespeare’s Adam, fled to the woods for the love he bore his master; the latter is an ungrateful miscreant, who rioted on the spoils of his ancient patron. The Prince of Condé had granted to this fellow, who was originally a grocer, every species of parental favour and indulgence. In return for these acts of kindness Hautoir marched at the head of the Revolutionary army to the superb Château, opened it to the ravages of those sanguinary vagabonds, and affixed the municipal seal on the doors of his former benefactor.

Fanaticism in those awful days transported many individuals to the commission of outrages of which I have heard them now express the deepest and most heartfelt repentance. This rogue could only plead a thirst for pillage, which very shortly afterwards was signally proved by his being publicly detected in a particularly mean theft.

The Bishop of Châlons had a pretty pavilion on the lawn, which I have already described. This prelate was compelled to fly, and his retreat occupied by Jacobins. His property was seized and advertised for sale. Hautoir,[1] as administrator of the district, superintended the business.

While he was announcing the business of the day he was detected with having in his pocket a valuable snuffbox belonging to the Bishop, which he had stolen from the cabinet of the ecclesiastic when placing seals on the property. He was not arrested owing to his position as a Revolutionary delegate, but he was severely hissed at the auction, deprived of his position, and now resides in obscurity at Morli la Ville.

After having taken leave of Touret, who had attended us from morning till night during our three days’ excursions in the immense Forest of Chantilly, which, with its territorial domains, extends to more than one hundred miles in circumference, we drove from a spot where, from the charms of the surrounding country, the serenity of the season and the uncommon attractions of all around us, we had passed the sweetest days of melancholy we had ever experienced.

VII

JOURNEY TO S. DENYS, DESCRIPTION OF THAT PLACE
AND THE FEUDAL CASTLE OF ECOUEN.
ARRIVAL IN PARIS

The road to Luzarches from Chantilly is exceedingly pretty. After passing through part of the Forest we entered upon a magnificent paved road, bordered by trees and lands, which exhibited on either side a _little_ better cultivation than those we had hitherto passed.

Luzarches is seven miles from Chantilly. We were compelled to stop for some time at a miserable inn in this wretched town. One of the wheels of our carriage was broken, and it was necessary to have it repaired. In a miserable room, containing two dirty beds, cold and famished (for we could not touch a morsel that was brought to us), we remained seven hours. The wheel being repaired we proceeded to Ecouen and from thence to S. Denys, but we quitted the public road for the purpose of visiting the Castle of Ecouen, built by Anne de Montmorency, Constable of France. The Château is completely stripped of furniture, even the tapestry being torn away. Two hundred unhappy Vendéans were imprisoned here. It was converted later into a military hospital. Upon the whole nothing is now left of this stately Castle but the walls. It stands on an eminence and commands an extensive prospect. There is a large kitchen garden in front of the grand entrance. A Swiss, formerly in the service of Spain during the siege of Gibraltar, is entrusted with the care of the place. He conducted us over every part of the Castle.

[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO S. DENYS]

It has all the appearance of a modern prison, and does not convey that appearance of feudal grandeur which distinguishes the Castles on the banks of the Danube and the Rhine.

We arrived at a late hour at the S. Denys post-house, where we were well lodged and comfortably entertained, and early the next day went to visit the Cathedral.

My astonishment was great when the old Swiss, whom I remembered ten years before, opened the door, and I perceived this once beautiful gothic edifice was a heap of ruins. My guide entered into my sentiments of horror and disgust, and certainly did not spare the authors of this devastation. The tombs and mausoleums of the Kings and Queens of France, of Guesclin, of Turenne, and of the most illustrious warriors and great men, were deposited in various compartments of the Cathedral, and formed a striking and splendid decoration. But these, together with the oriflamme of Clovis, the sceptre and sword of Charlemagne, the portrait and sword of the Maid of Orleans, the bronze chair of Dagobert, the reliques and shrines, royal robes and crowns, ancient manuscripts and an immense number of curiosities, sacred and profane--now all vanished; some destroyed: others, by the industry of Monsieur Le Noir, removed to the museum of French monuments in Paris. The Cathedral is unroofed, and it is fraught with peril to traverse any part of it, for stones are continually falling. Our Swiss described with minute precision where every tomb stood, from Pepin to Louis XV. A small room formerly used as a sacristy our pious guardian had converted into an ossory. And here lay in one indistinguished heap the bones of kings, princes and heroes, who for ages had slept undisturbed in the mansions of death. I inquired into the cause of all this ruthless destruction, and was told that the Revolutionary Committee of S. Denys, composed of twelve citizens, six of whom were labouring men, decreed that this ancient and noble ornament of their town should be pulled to pieces for the sake of the lead and iron it contained. Their determination was carried into effect, on the plea that arts and science were of no utility to mankind, and that respect for the habitations of the dead was a mark of puerile superstition. At that time Lavoisier was executed, being told at his trial that the French Republic stood in no need of chemists. After we had quitted the Cathedral we visited the chapel of Mesdames de France. When we entered Divine service was being celebrated therein. The chapel has been stripped of all its ornaments, and was scarcely worth the trouble of a walk to visit it.

S. Denys is not distant more than four miles from Paris.

The approach to the capital is through a wide and magnificent paved road, bordered with double rows of trees, on either side of which are extensive and well-cultivated fields of corn and other grain; but none of those neat and diversified habitations are seen which in our country denote the fruits of commercial industry and mercantile opulence. For that order of men, whom we in England denominate country squires or persons living on their own small estates, the Republic has done nothing; in truth, there are no such persons in France, neither are there any country houses erected with a view to their being inhabited by such a description of beings, much less by merchants and tradesmen. In the “great nation” nothing is so conspicuous as disparity or in other words inequality. Magnificence and filth, opulence and beggary are beside each other. There is no medium in France; in fact, the great middle class which in our country intervenes between rich and poor and forms the solid Doric pillar of society, is unknown in any European country but Great Britain. This class is the most substantial boon for the consolidation of an enlightened form of government; it is the nursery of statesmen, freedom, and equal laws; to the want of it France may ascribe the origin of the greater part of her misfortunes, to the possession of it England is indebted for her independence, her regulated power, and her system of jurisprudence.

[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO S. DENYS]

Rational liberty can never flourish where there are no classes but high and low. Laws can never be executed, except by the point of the bayonet, in any State where a numerous body of men do not exist who are sufficiently independent to prevent the oppressions of the great from trampling the poor under foot and sufficiently strong to repress the reaction of the poor on the property and security of the great.

Every thinking Englishman must feel the dissolution of this middling order of men would transform the State into an absolute military power, or, what is worse, a tyrannical and licentious democracy. This argument finds an apt illustration in a great commercial city which is under aristocratic government. Hamburg, by the encouragement afforded to that body, is one of the best regulated cities of Europe. Multitudes of country seats belonging to traders are scattered plentifully on the banks of the Elbe; and even Denmark, although a purely absolute monarchy, owes much of its happiness and strength to the importance attached to this order of men--an order which in France has never so far existed. Hence during the old monarchy despotism wantoned in power, or was mildly exercised according to the views and inclinations of the rulers, while during every stage of the Republic the leaders of the people, drunk with authority, wallowed in the blood of their fellow citizens. At this very moment an absolute military despot is governing the country, and the people are, as before, mere slaves, insecure of property or personal security.

The entrance to Paris from S. Denys is not calculated to give a foreigner a favourable idea of the capital. The city has every appearance of filth and poverty, and the Triumphal Arch or Porte S. Denys, under which we passed, has such a sombre cast as to give the traveller the impression that he is going into the courtyard of a prison. I ordered the postillion to drive to the hotel in the Rue Coquenon, where I resided in 1792 and 1793, and where I had left all my books.

When we arrived there I saw written in large letters over the _porte-cochère_ “_Maison de Commission_.” I alighted and inquired what had become of the former proprietor. I was told that he had been guillotined. We then drove to the Hôtel Morigny, where I afterwards learnt a celebrated Corsican, when times went hard with him, lodged in a small apartment at seven shillings per week. There were, however, no rooms vacant, we therefore took up our lodgings at the Coq Heron--an hotel lately established and kept by an Englishman named Guillandeau, the greatest blackguard in Christendom.

We afterwards removed to private apartments in the Rue Mirabeau, _ci-devant_ Chaussée d’Antin.

VIII

A DESCRIPTION OF THE _MODE_

I am once more in Paris. A thousand painful recollections obtrude themselves on my mind, and I am almost afraid to inquire after my former acquaintances. I know not where I shall address myself for information, or where I shall first set my foot. When I reflect upon the strange vicissitudes of fortune I have experienced; when I recall the whirlpool of danger I have passed, and the proscription which, with some mean and pusillanimous minds, is still considered to hang over me, I am doubtful whether I am prudent to venture again into the source of all my injuries. The motive that brought me from England, the desire of ascertaining the fate of a relative, so dearly beloved and so long lost, gives strength to my resolution and dissipates my personal anxieties. But I am both low and dejected in mind and spirits.

[Sidenote: A DESCRIPTION OF THE _MODE_]

I will attempt to give a faithful account of this capital, which may be considered as the manufactory whence all the horrors and changes of the _Revolution_ have originated. France as a country should not be judged by the dissolute principles of the inhabitants of her metropolis. In the provinces remote from the centre of government as much character and simplicity exist as in the best regulated empires.

The _Revolution_ may in _some_ degree have changed the innocence of the peasantry, and corrupted the primitive integrity of their character. The cause of this may be traced to the artifices of demagogues and atheists. In the mountains of the Vosges, in La Vendée and in the South-Western parts of the Republic, the people of both town and country possess an originality of character founded on sentiments of generosity and virtue. But in many Departments of the Republic, particularly the Department of the Seine, every principle of Society is inverted, and Society itself is loathsome, abhorrent, corrupt, poisoned and poisonous.

My first duty was to visit those old friends who had survived the general wreck of moral order. From them I hoped to learn the history of those who had perished. With an anxious mind I hastened after dinner to the Rue Jacob, in the Faubourg S. Germain, to see if my old friend M. Suédaeur was alive. I inquired if the doctor resided there; the answer was affirmative, but he was not at home. I proceeded to the Rue Niçoise and found M. de la Metherie in perfect health and better spirits than on that gloomy night in 1793 when we last parted. From him I learnt the fatal end of many of my acquaintance, but he mentioned several who were not only in existence but prosperous, and gave me considerable encouragement in what was the main object of my journey to Paris.

I returned home to find a citizen hairdresser playing the devil with my wife’s locks. He had so clipped and twisted them as to give her the air of a person just issued from the bath. Upon my seriously remonstrating against this wild appearance, he very coolly informed me that it was _La Mode_, and unless my pate was better organised it would be impossible for me to go into good company. I immediately submitted to an operation. My tail was instantly amputated and the hair of my unfortunate head frizzled into such a multitude of compound forms as to give me precisely the appearance of one of the ourang outangs which is to be seen over Exeter Change. Having undergone this ceremony, I supposed I was now in the _Mode_. But no! He pulled from his pocket two horrible whiskers, which were to extend from my cheek bones and meet at the bottom of my chin, and another piece of hair which was to be hid under my neckcloth and fly up so as to cover my chin.

“What is all this apparatus for?”

“To complete you in the Parisian _mode_.”

“I will not submit to be made into a baboon.”

“But, sir, you must! It is _La Mode_!”

“I tell you I will not obey _La Mode_!”

“Donc, monsieur, vous êtes perdu!”

“If you trouble me with another word on this subject I shall be under the indispensable necessity of knocking you down.”

Thus by an act of matchless fortitude I rescued myself from the hands of this prattler, but not till he had extracted from me eighteen shillings for having made my companion look wild, myself like a monkey, and annoyed me with perfumes and gallipots.

Before we were allowed to retire to rest a tailor, a hatter and a glover made their appearance. All honest tradesmen in Paris are really to be pitied, a long and sanguinary war has ruined their commerce, and these poor hungry wretches are as voracious as sharks. It is impossible to complain of them. To all these civil gentlemen I returned a plain answer, saying I had brought from England every article necessary for use during my residence in France. On which they retired with great politeness, and left me for the first time in nine years to take repose in the capital of a nation whose former rulers thirsted to shed our blood.

IX

ATTENDANCE UPON THE MINISTER OF POLICE

[Sidenote: THE MINISTER OF POLICE]

The following morning my landlord informed me I must at once wait upon the Minister of Police, present my passport and have it ratified. He added that otherwise he might be called to account, as police emissaries called frequently and unexpectedly at every hotel to ascertain the names of the residents.

Accordingly I engaged a very good chariot at six guineas a week for my stay in Paris, and after paying my respect to our Minister, Mr. Jackson (the British Embassy is lodged in the Faubourg S. Germain), I hastened to the office of the notorious Fouché,[1] the Minister of Police, on the Quai Voltaire, opposite the Louvre, where I was admitted into an ante-chamber, crowded with ninety persons; their number I knew because on entering I received a billet marked 91 from a soldier. I had to wait two hours and a half for my audience.

During this long period I was able to make the following observations. I was never more surprised than at the want of courtesy shown to females in a country which has always boasted more of its gallantry than its virtue. Several well-dressed ladies received their billets long after mine, but when I offered them the precedence, the brute who attends the entrance pushed them back with disgusting insolence and violence. I remarked that I cheerfully resigned my right to the ladies; he replied with a savage sneer, “If you don’t choose to take your turn, pass to the bottom.” In this ante-chamber stood a motley group whose countenances evidently bespoke the sentiments of their hearts. The returned emigrants might easily be distinguished, supple and servile, and never suffering the lowest commissary of police, who wore a little gold or silver tinsel about his coat, to pass without offering him a profound reverence. And they were right, for the ancient aristocracy were lofty and self-conceited, but affable and courteous withal. The modern aristocracy of France, that is those men who have been transplanted from the dunghill to the exercise of public functions, are, in general, brutal in their manners to inferiors, cringing to their superiors and insolent to unofficial persons, they also show strong traits of a ferocity of character.

An unanswerable proof of this degeneracy may be found in the degraded condition of the fair sex, who are no longer treated with that decorous respect which heretofore characterised the French people. This is a nation of soldiers, not cavaliers--not a solitary blade would leap out of its scabbard to resent an insult to the finest woman in the Republic. The sword here is now used, not for the defence of the feeble, but as an instrument to acquire wealth and power.

The Republican soldier is fully as brave as was the soldier of the Royal army, but he is destitute of the honour and urbanity which distinguished the latter.

An army of soldiers, organised for conquest, propelled by avarice, and inured to victory, resemble more the hordes of an Attila or Ghengiz Khan, than the forces of a polished Empire. The Republican troops are now masters of the State, their defeats obliterated, and their victories confirmed by triumphing over the liberties of their fellow citizens.

The other personages who composed this assembly were waggoners, farmers, tradesmen, persons about to depart for the colonies, ladies, and common women. An army subaltern officer came in while we were waiting; without taking a billet he entered the bureau, every person hastily making way for him. I inquired of the doorkeeper the reason of his admittance before his turn, and he replied that no officer of the army was ever kept waiting.

[Sidenote: THE MINISTER OF POLICE]

We were drawn up in the ante-chamber in two opposite lines, like files of soldiers. A sentinel patrolled backwards and forwards with a drawn bayonet in his hand and maintained discipline. If any one happened to advance a little too forward, he or she received a far from gentle tap from the bayonet to compel them to keep their position.

When at length I was admitted into the bureau I was informed that in consequence of a recent regulation the business of examining passports and giving certificates was transferred to the office of the Prefect, on the Quai du Louvre, the other side of the river.

In the office of the Prefect I experienced no delay. The passport I had received from the Calais Municipality was taken from me and I received another in exchange. On its top was a figure of the Republic, garbed as Minerva, her right hand supported by the fasces and a hatchet. In her left she holds a spear, at her feet a game-cock, standing on one leg, denotes vigilance. On either side are the laughable words in this country: “Egalité, Liberté, Fraternité,” and below as follows, which I insert by way of contrast to passports of former times:

PREFECTURE DE POLICE.

We, Prefect of the Police of Paris, invite the Civil and Military Authorities to permit to pass freely in this Commune, Henry Redhead Yorke, English Gentleman, who declares he lodges in Paris, at the Hôtel Coq Heron, accompanied by his wife. The present pass is only to be in force two months, when it must be revised at the Prefecture, under penalty of being arrested, conformably to the law of the 4th Floreal, year three. Done at the Prefecture of Police, Paris, 23 Germinal, Year 10 of the Republic, one and indivisible.

(Signed) For the Prefect,

(Here followed an illegible signature.)

OFFICE OF PASSPORTS.

=Note=:--No passport will be delivered on this pass, and the bearer arrested if he be found elsewhere in France, save in the Department of the Seine.

For a longer residence than two months in Paris a petition must be made to the Prefect of Police, without delay.

Residence must not be changed without permission.

* * * * *

Then followed description of my appearance, age, person and signature. On changing my residence the Secretary wrote the day of the month, the street and number of the house upon my pass and returned it to me.

The want of a pass is attended by disagreeable circumstances. One such occurred to me a day or two after our arrival at Paris. Being desirous of saving a little distance on my way to the Pont Neuf, I was stopped by a sentinel and my pass demanded; but not having it about me, and notwithstanding my plea of being a foreigner, I was compelled to make a very considerable _détour_ before I reached my destination.

[Sidenote: THE PRESENT STATE OF FRANCE]

In England no one would tolerate the introduction of such a system which would prove the destruction of commerce. There are merchants who travel from Bristol, Manchester, and Liverpool to London, merely to settle in the course of a few hours their great concerns and then to return. Conceive what an obstacle to their affairs would be a two hours’ attendance in the ante-chamber of a Minister of Police. Suspicion is the result of fear--the jealousy of a despotism doubtful of its existence--a system proper for the present government of France. But there is more _charbonnerie_ than effective vigour in the boasted police of M. Fouché. If the French Government be seriously inclined to extend their commerce there must be a relaxation in this perplexing system of police, they must give free scope to industry, and not jealously inquire into the motives which may lead their fellow countrymen to visit the capital or pass from one district of France to another. If the present plan is continued the revenues will be less productive, and the support of an immense military, as well as the extensive pageantry of a pompous Government, will be provided for with difficulty and only by imposing severe taxes which depress and ruin the cause of agriculture.

I would not dare to affirm that these consequences are to be traced exclusively to police espionage; but when this latter is contemplated as a brand of a widely extended system of jealous government, it enters into a consideration and forms a constituent of a policy the French Republic will long have good reason to deplore.

X

GENERAL VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF FRANCE

Without a preconcerted plan a person who visits Paris will be lost among the multitude of captivating subjects which require his attention, and he will return to his native country having seen many things but obtained a knowledge of none.

Apart from the private motive which brought me here I live in France only for the good of my country.