Part 2

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]