Part 11

He told me that there were at present in France several Englishmen employed by the First Consul to write against our Government and in support of his (Bonaparte’s) administration. That an Englishman named Joliffe was employed by Monsieur de Talleyrand to translate all the articles in our newspapers which had any reference to France, and that Talleyrand carried them to Bonaparte as regularly as he did his official despatches. He mentioned the names of several other Englishmen employed by the Consul for similar purposes, among whom were Messrs. Morgan, Stone and Dr. Watson.

The two objects he seemed extremely anxious to impress upon me were, first that the Government and person of Bonaparte ought to inspire us with extreme aversion, but secondly that we ought to abstain rigidly from involving ourselves in another war with him.

These points seemed rather paradoxical, and I asked how Great Britain would be compromised in case of a renewal of the war. To this he answered that 50,000 or 60,000 such military automatons as I had seen to-day were always ready to execute without reflection or care whatever orders the First Consul might issue. Then, again, the violent spirit of Bonaparte was greatly to be dreaded. In case of a war between England and France he would infallibly attack some of the weaker Powers of Europe under the pretext that they favoured our cause. Upon my expressing my astonishment that an enlightened nation should passively submit to a system of tyranny which they disapproved of, and that himself, who had so great an influence, together with many of his colleagues, were taking no steps to abridge the power of this Corsican, he observed with great feeling: “The Revolution was made _for_ the people, but not _by_ the people. The principles of philosophy upon which it was founded have been trampled under foot by the military, and under every form of our government they have been masters. Whoever got possession of the power of the sword ruled and rules the Republic. France is the prize of generals whom our folly has placed on too high an eminence.”

The conversation was next resumed on the dissatisfaction which the government of Bonaparte had occasioned throughout the Republic; and of my speaking favourably of the character, abilities and influence of Moreau,[1] he differed from me, and observed that General Moreau was a man of passive qualities, destitute of energy to undertake any grand political scheme. His chief employment consisted in reading all the military memoirs and books which had ever been written and playing with his pretty wife.

Upon the whole, after a conversation of about three hours, he ended the dialogue by observing that he was at a loss whether to think war or peace would be most favourable to the views of those who wished the destruction of Bonaparte. He urged me, however, on my return to England, that I should describe in the Press the horrible state of slavery to which “Le Petit Caporal” had reduced the French. After having solemnly enjoined me to be very guarded in my expressions during my stay in France, we took leave of each other. The sentiments I have detailed being those of a distinguished member of the Government, what must be those of the people?

XXI

VISIT TO DAVID. ACCOUNT OF HIS PAINTINGS.

[Sidenote: DAVID’S STUDIO]

We have just returned from passing a very agreeable evening at the apartments of David,[1] in the Louvre. It seemed strange to find myself under the roof of a man who actually signed a warrant for my arrest some years ago. But in this capital these are things of course, and it would have been quite natural in 1793 for me to dine with him, and he had sent me the same evening to prison and two days later to the guillotine. The fact is we were very desirous of seeing this man, both on account of his political character and his reputation as the first artist in France. We were received by Madame David and her two daughters with great politeness, and Citizen David comported himself as an human being.

I met in this society a number of intelligent and respectable characters, and had several opportunities of entering into conversation with Monsieur David. The names of several English and French artists were mentioned, but he never condescended to make an observation about them.

His lady frequently desired me to give my opinion of his celebrated picture of the Sabines, and she assured me it would be a good speculation to purchase it for exhibition in London. The price is £5000!

I have heard much of the character, public and private, of M. David, and it is but an act of justice to declare that amidst the most unfavourable circumstances that hover over his public life, I have not been able to trace any relative to his private reputation.

The picture of the Sabines, which is now publicly exhibited in the ancient Academy of Architecture, is considered by David as his masterpiece, and he grounds its character principally on the persons of Hersillia, Tatius and Romulus. Poussin has pencilled the Rape of the Sabine women, but David has chosen the sequel of the story at the moment when the Sabine women rush between the two hostile armies for the purpose of reconciling the Roman and Sabine soldiers.

The two chiefs, Romulus and Tatius, are about to engage in single combat, the former, while holding his uplifted javelin in his right hand, in the attitude of preparing to hurl at his antagonist, his left is concealed under a broad shield, which also covers the left part of his body; on his head he wears a splendid helmet, a shoulder-belt suspends his sword, and his feet are laced with sandals.

In every other respect he is painted stark naked. Tatius is displayed full to the view _in puris naturalibus_. He also wears not only a helmet and sandals, but carries a shield and a scarlet mantle buckled upon the breast, but so contrived as to exhibit his whole body in a state of nature.

Between these two figures stands Hersillia; she is robed in white _à la grecque_, in other words according to the present fashion. Her hair hangs dishevelled over her shoulders. At her feet lie her two naked infants. In the centre ground groups of Sabine women are seen, carrying their naked infants amidst heaps of dead and horses furious in combat. Others are placing their children at the feet of the soldiers of both armies, who struck with the sight ground their spears. The general of the horse sheathes his sword. Numbers of soldiers wave their helmets as a signal of peace. The walls of Rome form the background. These are all the circumstances connected with the picture. I must now give M. David’s vindication of the nakedness of his heroes.

[Sidenote: DAVID’S STUDIO]

“It was a received custom among the painters, statuaries and poets of antiquity to represent naked their gods, heroes, and in general all those whom they intended to illustrate. If they painted a philosopher, he was naked with a cloak over his shoulders and the attributes of his character; if a warrior, he was likewise naked except for a helmet on his head, a shield on his arm and sandals on his feet; sometimes they added drapery to give grace to the figure.”

Among the many paintings we had seen from his hand his “Horatii” is by far the most striking and most justly executed. Those which were hastily drawn for days of ceremonies, in order to be exposed in the open air, are on an immense scale and are not less horrible to the sight than the objects which they were designed to represent were terrific to the mind. He has also drawn the figure of Bonaparte on horseback, at the passage of S. Gothard, for which he received one thousand pounds.

But the picture which interested me most was the representation of the Deputies of the Tiers Etats assembled at Versailles while their President is reading the Declaration of the Rights of Man. The portraits of some of the members were astonishingly striking, particularly those of Mirabeau and Barnave; in most, however, Citizen David has failed in the correctness of his representations, especially in those of Siège and Grégoire.

The public character of David is well-known and held in general detestation. In the course of my conversation with him I once took a favourable opportunity of asking whether he recollected having signed a warrant for my arrest. To these questions he simply replied that it was impossible for him to recall to memory all the warrants of arrest which had been issued at the time he was a member of the Committee of General Vigilance; that hundreds were sometimes signed in one day, and that in the _hurry of business_, he had often put his name to warrants on the reports of his colleagues. I remarked that through this _hurry_ of business a great deal of injustice had been committed.

This he frankly confessed, but defended the measures by the old plea: “What could we do surrounded by traitors, who were paid by Pitt and his government to sap the foundations of the Republic?” I could not help observing that the conduct of the Committee reminded me of the hangman in an English play, who states to his friends, that having a great deal upon his hands one day in the hurry of business whipped the rope round a bystander’s neck, and did not discover his mistake until a full hour after the man had been hanging.

Whenever the atrocities of the different rulers of France are made the subjects of inquiry, I have always found the same language employed to extenuate the guilt of their principal agents. Murders, rapes, burnings, proscriptions and pillage are all laid upon the Revolution, which is a generic term for every species of crime; but the agents, the authors of these horrors, remain unmolested and riot in the blood and tears they have caused to flow.

If it be necessary to offer an apology for deeds of blood, the gold of Pitt is displayed in all its wonder-working efficacy; if the murder of an innocent person be lamented, we are instantly told he was an agent of Pitt.

However penitent some of these miscreants may affect to be, their example does not appear to be followed by David. In general he is silent and reserved upon political subjects. Nothing seems to distress him more than the recollection of the conventional period. But his distress arises not from the awakening voice of nature, nor from the reproaches of an accusing conscience. It originates in idea that the days of blood and proscriptions are no more.

I am convinced that David regrets the halcyon times when thousands were butchered to illustrate the reign of liberty and equality. Speaking of St. Just,[1] the hated Decemvir, he declared: “Notwithstanding the fate of that _unfortunate_ young man and the _prejudices_ entertained against him, he was véritablement à la hauteur de la Revolution.” In an unguarded moment he proceeded to pour forth the bloody sentiments of his ferocious soul.

[Sidenote: CHARACTER OF DAVID]

He did not scruple to avow that the Committee of Public Safety had been the saviours of France and the founders of her gigantic empire; and after a flourish on the civil wars and massacres attendant on the acquisition of our English freedom, said it was impossible to establish a Republic except by wading through seas of blood.

I asked him whether it was true that a project had been in contemplation to reduce the population of France to one-third of its present number. He answered that it had been seriously discussed, and that Dubois Croucé was the author.

M. David, like every other Frenchman, is utterly ignorant of the nature of the liberty we enjoy and of all our institutions.

They have not a conception of the possibility of freedom existing in any state with a monarch at its head; with them there is not a vestige of liberty among any people who have not high-sounding Roman titles.

In the same measure they cannot comprehend the being of that middle class of society which constitutes the bulwark of our isle. According to their notions of Britain, a man must be noble or a pauper.

Thanks to our barbarous forefathers we have the whole essence of regulated freedom, without the gilded terms of Roman despotism; we have gothic names for the enjoyment of an enlightened people. David recognises no freedom that is not open to holy insurrection against established authority. Wherever shrieks of murder and the notes of the trumpet are not heard, there can be no liberty. A person who is conversant in the science of physiognomy would pronounce the character of this monster at first sight. With a hideous wen upon his lip, which shows his teeth and for ever marks him with the snarling grin of a tiger--with features and eyes which denote a lust for massacre, he is a savage by instinct and an assassin by rule. He is an atheist in faith and practice, and a murderer by choice.

While he was a member of the Committee of Public Safety and General Vigilance, his greatest pleasure consisted in frequenting the prison, where he feasted his eyes upon those who were condemned to die and loaded the unhappy victims with imprecations. It was his constant practice to call every morning at the prisons to inquire how many were to be guillotined, and on being told one day that there were sixteen, he instantly exclaimed in a furious attitude: “How, only sixteen! The Republic is undone!”

Retributive justice eventually overtook David, and he was committed to prison in order to be tried for his life. After he had lain some time in jail, two individuals sent to inform him that they were commissioned by certain persons in England to save his life. A powerful interposition did take place, and he was restored to liberty. Some time after he was officially informed (I heard this from his own mouth) that he was wholly indebted to the English for his life and liberation.

I endeavoured in vain to persuade him that if this were true it must have been the work of private friendship or some ardent admirer of his distinguished talents. He persisted in the belief that it was the interference of the English Government which saved him, notwithstanding the obvious improbability of such an occurrence.

When we perceive on all sides in France at the present day nothing but the ruins of religion and morality, it is a relief to the soul and a debt of justice due to an innocent family to describe them as they are, devoid of guile and unstained with their father’s crimes.

Madame David, during the Terror, retired with her children to a country residence, where she lived in ignorance of her husband’s conduct in Paris. She was what the French then termed an aristocrat, that is an honest loyal woman, who believed in God, loved good order and cherished the affections of domestic life.

[Sidenote: MADAME DAVID]

The French Revolution has produced many amazons and many female philosophers, who have died cursing God and man. It has also exhibited magnificent traits of female heroism, and the scaffold has reddened with the blood of women who have sacrificed their private interests for the public cause. But Madame David in her way is as great a heroine as any of these. As soon as the intelligence reached her that her husband was in prison and about to be tried for his life, she forgot at once the religious and political differences which had estranged her from him, and set off instantly for Paris, making herself the companion of his misfortunes.

During the whole period of his confinement, at the risk of arrest on suspicion, she was assiduous in her attendance upon him, and spared no expense to procure him all the comforts of which his situation would admit. She was also unceasing in her work to save him. Every day she was to be seen at the different bureaus or at the houses of the men in power, entreating and even intriguing for her husband. It may be justly questioned whether David does not owe his life to her exertions rather than those of some English emissary.

Of the rest of the family I can speak in equal terms of respect. His daughters are modest and prepossessing, and their good sense is as marked as their good manners. The son devotes his whole time to a study of the Greek language, in which he is in a fair way of excelling. Once a week he has a conversazione, at which every respectable native of Greece, resident in Paris, is invited, as well as all who cultivate Greek literature.

His Attic conversations are extremely well attended, for I have met there Villaison, Viscomti, Mangez,[1] Cornus,[1] Bitaubé,[1] and Larcher. As soon as young David has completed his course of Greek studies he intends to proceed to Greece, and the islands of the neighbouring Archipelago, from whence he will pass over into the Troad and visit Asia Minor.

XXII

EXCURSION TO RINCY. AMUSEMENTS OF THE VILLAGES ON SUNDAY EVENING

The late Duke of Orléans owned Rincy, and took great pains to arrange his park and garden in the English taste. Since his death it has fallen into decay, but the Parisians frequent it on Sunday, much as our Londoners regale themselves at Richmond or at Greenwich Parks.

We departed at an early hour, accompanied by Mrs. Cosway. Rincy is thirteen miles from the capital and situated on the Strasburg road. On our journey we met two open carts filled with criminals, principally robbers, who were under their way to the metropolis under an escort of gens d’armes. The first cart contained two captains of those predatory bands of thieves who infest the Departments near the Rhine, and of whose exploits such terrible accounts have been given. One of them seemed to be placed in an unusually conspicuous position, so that he might be easily recognised. He was extraordinarily tall, and under an immense round hat exhibited features almost equalling in ferocity those of the painter David.

It seemed incomprehensible that the Government should go to the expense and inconvenience of transporting these wretches 200 miles from the theatre of their crimes, in order to take their trials before the criminal tribunal in Paris, where all witnesses for and against could only be produced at a very great public cost. When I returned to Paris I attempted to probe this matter to the bottom, when the only _rational_ answer I obtained was that the citizens of Paris were fond of seeing the execution of great criminals! I suggested that this taste for blood might be as easily gratified if the culprits were transferred after their conviction to the Parisian guillotine, having been first tried in the Department where their crimes were committed. I was told, however, the effect would not be the same.

[Sidenote: THE CHÂTEAU OF RINCY]

I resume my narrative. We had hitherto been favoured with fine weather, but just as we arrived at the gates of the château a heavy shower of rain began to fall--the coachman desired the woman to open the gates, which she bluntly refused to do unless we produced a permit from the present proprietor. Upon which I held out “un petit écu,” and received this reply from the female citizen: “C’est impossible, monsieur, ce n’est pas une affaire du gouvernement!” A more open and honest avowal of the venality of the present government of France was impossible.

But a further parley and exhibition of our papers of identity effected what bribery could not accomplish, and we were suffered eventually to pass.

Just at the entrance of the park is a traiteur’s (or restaurant), where, it being Sunday, many of the bourgeois of Paris were regaling themselves. The grounds themselves resemble an Englishman’s park. It has, of course, suffered from the effects of the Revolution, but enough remains to indicate that it was once a most voluptuous spot. The château unhappily is demolished, and the massive pillars lie broken and dispersed upon the ground. The lodge is repairing for the actual proprietor, a wealthy Parisian merchant and the present keeper of Madame Tallien, the wife of the Conventional butcher of Bordeaux.

Opposite to this edifice stand the stables, in a tolerably good state of preservation. The gravel walks are in good order, the fountains, aqueducts and basins in a complete state, and the copses and woods have not been cut down. The magnificent dairy is untouched, and at the top of the hill which overlooks the park, the Sunday excursionists amuse themselves by wandering in a labyrinth and surveying the “jets d’eau” which are continually playing.

In ascending the hill we found a pretty cottage, at the door of which stood a man whose physiognomy announced his English extraction. He also perceived we were English and invited us in our own language to rest in his house. His name is Hudson, he was gamekeeper to the late Duke of Orleans for fourteen years, and had accompanied him from England on the occasion of that Prince’s visit when Duc de Chartres to our country. He had a son of about ten years of age, who spoke English and French with equal facility. The extreme neatness of the little cottage showed it was not inhabited by a Frenchman--everything was arranged in English fashion. A fine ham was on the table and several flitches of bacon decorated the ceiling. During Robespierre’s reign Hudson was imprisoned, and was to have been executed, but the death of that monster happily intervening, he was liberated.

Hudson made many affectionate and respectful inquiries after the young Princes of the House of Orleans, and was very particular in his questions respecting the Count of Beaujolais, whom he had taught to ride, and for whom he seemed to entertain a great affection. He did not appear the least disposed to quit France, nor to leave the situation he now holds under another master. He consoles himself with the idea “that things are coming round again as they were before the Revolution, and he hoped he should do as well at Rincy under the new proprietor as he did under the late Duke.” He is one of those beings who are satisfied with any master so long as he is well provided for.

I inquired for the celebrated breed of merino sheep, and was told the whole flock had been removed to Rambouillet. We then retired to the traiteur’s, where we were provided with an excellent dinner; and after eating it, while the horses were harnessing, entered into conversation with an old man who had formerly received a pension from the late Duke, and who now, with so many others, was quite destitute.

[Sidenote: THE PANTHEON]

Most bitterly did he deplore the Revolution and curse its abettors. We were surprised to find nearly all the people at Rincy speak of the late Duke in terms of deep regret. On our return to Paris we were serenaded in every village, and twice alighted to watch the diversions of the peasants. At one place they were dancing by moonlight on a green, and at another in a large room lighted for the purpose. They were neatly dressed in their Sunday clothes, and seemed to enjoy their sports. We did not pass a single village where there was not a rural ball; and on the left of the high road a great number of rooms were lighted in which suppers were preparing for the dancers. These rooms were interspersed among the trees and gave a pleasing and lively appearance.