Part 20

“Aye,” he replied, “and who would have thought that we should meet in Paris,” he continued, with a smile of contempt; “they have shed blood enough for liberty, and now they have liberty in perfection, no honest man should live in this country, they do not and cannot understand the principles of free government. They have conquered half Europe only to make it more miserable than before.”

I replied that I thought much might yet be done for the Republic. “Republic!” he exclaimed, “this is no Republic! I know of no Republic but that of America, and that is the only place for men like you and I. It is my intention to return as soon as possible. You are a young man, and may see better times. For myself I renounce all European politics.”

I enumerated my objections, concluding with the want of society and the apprehension I had of contracting yellow fever. These objections he met by declaring there was as good and even _better_ society in America than in Europe; and as to the yellow fever, proper precautions would cause it wholly to disappear. In the course of our long conversation about America he put into my hands a letter written to him by Mr. Jefferson, the President of the United States.

It was dictated with the freedom of an old friend. Mr. Jefferson began by congratulating Mr. Paine upon his determination to settle finally in the New World, for he says he will find on his return a favourable change in the political opinions of the citizens, who are happily come back to those enlightened principles which he, Mr. Paine, had so usefully contributed to spread over the world. As Mr. Paine had expressed a desire to return in a _public manner_, he states that the sloop of war which brought the Minister Livingston from France would return at a given time and convey him to America if he could make it _convenient_ to take advantage of the occasion. The rest of the letter is couched in terms of the warmest friendship, assuring Mr. Paine of a hearty reception.

When I had perused this letter he observed that only four persons now survived who had acted in concert during the American Revolution, John Adams,[1] Jefferson,[1] Livingston[1] and himself. He continued laughingly: “It would be a curious circumstance if I were sent as Secretary of Legation to the British Court, which outlawed me. What a hubbub it would create at the King’s levée to see Tom Paine presented by the American ambassador! All the bishops and great ladies would faint away; the women supposing I came to rob and ravish them, the bishops to rob and ravish their titles. I think it would be a good joke!”

But he finally added that this was not a probable event to occur at his time of life, but that he should dispose of his American property, live on the interest, and amuse himself by writing memoirs of his life and correspondence, two volumes of which he had already completed. The estate he possesses in America is valuable, he estimates it at about £7000.

I inquired how he had passed his life since we parted. He gave a long account of his occupations since he was sent to prison. During our invasion of Holland he went to Brussels, where he passed a few days with General Bruno, with a view, he declared, of accompanying him to Holland, “to see the last of John Bull.” But he said that in France and in the French army there was but one opinion concerning that event, _i.e._, the final certain success of the English.

[Sidenote: PAINE AND LADY S.]

When he was in prison he wrote “The Age of Reason,” and amused himself by carrying on a correspondence with Lady S----, under the assumed name of “The Castle in the Air.” To this her ladyship answered under the title of “The Little Corner of the World.” This correspondence still continues.

He showed me some of it, which, notwithstanding the dreadful places in which it was composed, is beautiful and interesting. He is the author of that beautiful song on the death of General Wolfe, which a few years ago was in every one’s mouth. The following extract from one of his manuscript essays affords a competent idea of his manner in treating subjects less solemn and invidious than politics.

TO FORGETFULNESS.

_From the “Castle in the Air,” to the “Little Corner of the World.”_

Memory like a beauty that is always present to hear herself flattered, is flattered by every one. But the silent goddess Forgetfulness has no votaries, yet we owe her much. She is the goddess of ease, though not of pleasure.

When the mind is like a room hung with black, and every corner of it is crowded with the most horrid images Imagination can create, this kind speechless goddess Forgetfulness is following us night and day with her opium wand and gently touching first one and then another, benumbs them into rest, and at last glides away with the silence of a departing shadow.

How dismal must the picture of life appear to that soul which resolves on darkness and to die! Yet how many of the young and beautiful, timid in everything else, have shut their eyes upon the world and made the waters their sepulchral bed! Ah! if at that crisis they had thought or tried to think that Forgetfulness would eventually come to their relief, they would lay hold on life.

All grief, like all things else, will yield to the obliterating power of time, while Despair is preying on the mind, Time is preying upon Despair and Forgetfulness will change the scene.

I have twice been present at a scene of attempted suicide. The one a love-distracted girl in England; the other a patriotic friend in France. I will relate these circumstances to you. They will in some measure corroborate my assertion upon Forgetfulness.

About the year 1766 I was in Lincolnshire on a visit to a widow lady, Mrs. E. It was summer and after supper one evening Mrs. E. and I went to take a turn in the garden. It was about eleven o’clock, to avoid the night air of the Fens, we were walking in a bower shaded by hazel bushes. On a sudden she screamed and pointed to a white shapeless figure without head or arms, moving along one of the walks at some distance away. I quitted my companion and went after it. When I got up into the walk where the figure was, it took a cross walk. There was a holly bush on the corner of the two walks, which, being night, I did not observe, and as I continued to step forward the holly bush came in a straight line between me and the figure, which thus appeared to have vanished. But when I had passed the bush I caught sight of the figure again, and coming up to it put out my hand to touch it. My hand rested on the shoulder of a human figure. I spoke, it answered “Pray let me alone.” I then recognised a young lady on a visit to Mrs. E., who that evening, on the plea of indisposition, had not joined us at supper. I said, “My God! I hope you are not going to do yourself some hurt!” She replied, with pathetic melancholy, “Life has not one pleasure left for me.” I got her into the house, and Mrs. E. took her to sleep in her room.

The case was, the man who had promised to marry her had forsaken her, and was about to be married to another. The shock and sorrow appeared to her too great to be borne. She had retired to her room, and when, as she supposed, all the family had gone to bed, she undressed herself, tied her apron over her head--which, descending below her waist, gave her a shapeless figure--and was going to drown herself in a pond at the bottom of the garden, when I arrested her progress.

[Sidenote: PAINE’S FORGETFULNESS]

By gentle usage, and leading her into subjects that might distract her mind and occupy her thoughts, we gradually stole her from the horror and misery she was in. In the course of a few months she recovered her former cheerfulness, and was afterwards a happy wife and mother of a family.

The other case is as follows:[9] In Paris, in 1793, I had lodgings in the Rue Faubourg St. Denis, No. 63; they were agreeable, except for the fact that they were too remote from the Convention, of which I was a member. But this was recompensed by the lodging being also remote from the alarms and confusion into which the interior of Paris was so often thrown at this time. The house, which was enclosed by a wall and gateway from the street, was a good deal like an old mansion farmhouse, and the courtyard was stocked like a farmyard, with fowls, turkeys and geese, which for amusement we used to feed out of the window of the parlour on the ground floor. There were some hutches for rabbits, and a stye or two for pigs. Beyond was a garden of two acres, well laid out and stocked with excellent fruit-trees. The orange, the apple, the greengage and the plum were the best I ever tasted. The place had formerly been occupied by some curious person.

My apartments consisted of three rooms. The first for wood, water, &c., with an old-fashioned chest high enough to hang up clothes in. The next was the bedroom, and beyond the sitting-room. At the end of the sitting-room was a glass door leading to a flight of narrow stairs, by which I could descend privately into the garden.

* * * * *

I went into my chamber to write and sign a certificate for them, which I intended to take into the guard-house to obtain their release. Just as I had finished it, a man came into my room dressed in the uniform of a captain, spoke to me in good English and with a good address.

He told me that two young Englishmen were arrested and detained at the guard-house, and that “_the section_” had sent him to ask me if I knew them and would answer for them, and in that case they would be liberated.

This matter being soon settled between us, he talked to me about the “Rights of Man,” which he had read in English, and finally took his leave in the politest and most friendly manner, _saying he was always at my service_.

This man, who so civilly offered me _his service_, turned out to be Samson, the public executioner, who guillotined the King and all the political victims of the Revolution.

* * * * *

As for me, I used to find some relief by walking alone in the garden after it was dark, and cursing with hearty good will the authors of that terrible system which had so altered the character of that Revolution I had been so proud to defend.[10]

I went but little to the Convention, and then only to show an appearance, because I found it _impossible to join in their tremendous decrees, and useless and dangerous to oppose them_. My having voted, as well as extensively spoken (more so than any member) against the execution of the King, had already fixed a mark upon me; neither dared any of my associates in the Convention translate and speak in French for me, as they formerly did when I wished to make my views publicly known.[11]

* * * * *

Pen and ink was then of no use to me. No good could be done by writing what no printer dared to print; and whatever I might have written for my private amusement as anecdotes of the times would have been continually exposed to be examined and tortured into any meaning the rage of party might fix upon it. And my heart was in distress at the fate of my friends, and my harp strung upon the weeping willows.

[Sidenote: PAINE’S FORGETFULNESS]

It was summer; we therefore spent most of our time in the garden, and passed it away in childish amusements, such as marbles, scotch hop, battledore, &c., so as to try and keep reflection from our minds.

* * * * *

In this retired manner we remained about six or seven weeks. Our landlord went every evening into the city to bring us the news of the day and the _Evening journal_.

* * * * *

He recovered, and being anxious to get out of France, a passport was obtained for him and his friend, chiefly, I believe, by the means of the huissier Rose, and secretly by the influence of some of the members of the Committee.[12] They received their passport late in the evening, but set off that same night in a post-chaise to Basle, which place they reached in safety. The very morning after their departure I heard a rapping at the gate, and looking out of the window I beheld entering the courtyard a guard with muskets and fixed bayonets. It was a guard to take up the fugitives, but they were already, happily, out of their reach.[13]

The same guard returned a month later and took the Landlord Geit and myself to prison!

I have often been in company with Mr. Paine since my arrival in Paris. I was surprised to find him quite indifferent about the public spirit in England or the influence of his doctrines upon his fellow countrymen. Indeed he disliked the mention of the subject, and when one day I casually remarked that I had altered my opinions upon my principles, he said:

“You certainly have the right to do so, but you cannot alter the nature of things; the French have alarmed all honest men, but still truth is truth. My principles are possibly almost impracticable and might cause in their carrying out much misery and confusion, but they are _just_.” Here he spoke with the greatest severity of Mr. ----, who had obtained a seat in Parliament, and said: “parsons were always mischievous fellows.” I then hinted to him that his publication of the “Age of Reason” had lost him the good opinion of many Englishmen. He became uncommonly warm at this remark, and said he only published it “to inspire mankind with a higher idea of the Supreme Architect of the Universe, and to put an end to villainous imposture.”

He then broke out into violent invectives against Christianity, declaring at the same time his intense reverence for the Omnipotent Supreme Being. He avowed himself ready to lay down his life in support of his opinions and said “The Bishop of Llandaff may roast me in Smithfield if he likes, but human torture cannot shake my opinions.”

I assured him that the Bishop of Llandaff was a man of too enlightened, tolerant and humane a disposition to wish to roast any man for differing with him in opinions, and that his celebrated apology breathes tolerance in every page.

[Sidenote: RETENTIVE MEMORY OF PAINE]

“Aye, it is an apology indeed, for priestcraft. Parsons will meddle and make mischief, they thus hurt their own cause, but I have a rod in pickle for Mr. Bishop.” Here he reached down a copy of the Bishop’s work, interleaved with remarks upon it, which he read to me. It seems as if in proportion to his present listlessness in politics, his zeal in his religious or anti-religious opinions increases; of this the following anecdote is an instance.

An English lady of our acquaintance, as remarkable for her talents as her charm of person and manners, entreated me to arrange a meeting for her with Mr. Paine. As this lady is a very rigid Roman Catholic I cautioned Mr. Paine beforehand to be very discreet in touching upon religious subjects, and with much good nature he promised to be so. For about four hours he kept every one of the company on this occasion in astonishment and admiration of his memory, of his keen observation of men and women, his numberless anecdotes of the American Indians, of the American War, of Franklin, Washington and even of his Majesty the King, of whom he told several curious anecdotes of humour and benevolence. His remarks on genius and taste can never be forgotten by those present.

So far all went excellently well, and the sparkling champagne gave a zest to his conversation, and we were all delighted. But, alas! alas! one of the company happened to allude to his “Age of Reason,” he then broke out immediately. He began with astronomy, and addressing himself to Mrs. Y----, the lady in question, he declared that the least inspection of the motion of the stars proved Moses to be a liar. Nothing would then stop him. In vain I attempted to change the subject by every artifice in my power. He returned to the charge with unabated ardour.

The ladies gradually stole unobserved from the room, and left three other gentlemen and myself to contest or rather leave him master of the field of battle.

I felt extremely mortified, and reminded him of his promise.

“Oh!” says he, “what a pity people should be so prejudiced!” One of the most extraordinary properties belonging to Mr. Paine is the power of retaining everything he has written during his life. He can repeat word for word every sentence in his “Common Sense”--“Rights of Man”--“Age of Reason” and others. This I attribute first to the unparalleled slowness with which he composes every passage he writes, and secondly to his dislike of reading other books than his own. Wonderful and productive as his mechanical genius is, he assured me he never has read anything on this subject. This he told me when showing me one day the beautiful models of two bridges he had devised. These models exhibit an extraordinary degree of skill and taste. They are wrought with extreme delicacy, entirely by his own hands. The longest is nearly four feet long, the iron work, the chains and every other article belonging to it were forged and manufactured by himself. It is intended to be a model for a bridge to span the Delaware extending 480 feet, with a single arch. The other is to be erected over a lesser river (whose name indeed I have forgotten), and is likewise a single arch of his own workmanship, excepting the chains, which instead of iron are cut out of paste-board, by the fair hands of his correspondent, “Little Corner of the World.” He was offered £3000 sterling for those models, but has refused it. He intends to dispose of them to the American Government. The iron bars, I noticed in the corner of his room, are also forged by himself, and as the model of a new description of crane. He put them together and exhibited to me the power of a lever in a surprising degree.

It would require the leisure and the memory of James Boswell himself to relate in detail the conversations I had while in Paris with Thomas Paine, or the opinions and anecdotes he recounted. I shall therefore only conclude this account of him with a few words, respecting his acquaintance with Bonaparte.

When the hero of Italy had returned to Paris, in order to take the command of that “_Army of England_” (whose left wing he afterwards conducted to the burning sands of Egypt instead of the Valley of Thames) he called on Mr. Paine and invited him to dinner.

In the course of his rapturous ecstasies, he declared that a statue of gold ought to be erected to him _in every city in the universe_; he also assured Paine that he (Bonaparte) always slept with a copy of the “Rights of Man” under his pillow, and conjured him to honour him with his counsel and advice.

[Sidenote: BONAPARTE AND PAINE]

When the Military Council of Paris, who then directed the movements of Bonaparte, came to a serious consultation about the invasion of England, Mr. Paine was at the sitting by special invitation. After they had ransacked all the plans, charts and projects of the Monarchical Government, Bonaparte submitted to them that they should hear what Citizen Paine had to say on the matter. They were, however, already all of opinion that the measure was impracticable and dangerous in idea, much more in attempt. General d’Arcor, a celebrated engineer (who directed the siege of Gibraltar during the American War), was one of this Council. He laughed at the project, and said there was no Prince Charlie nowadays, and that they might as well attempt to invade the moon as England, considering her superior fleet at sea. “Ah! but,” exclaimed Bonaparte, “there will be a fog.” “Yes,” replied d’Arcor, “but there will be an English fleet in that fog.” “Cannot we pass?” said Bonaparte. “Doubtless,” answered the other, “if you dive below twenty fathoms of water.” Then, looking steadfastly at the hero, “General,” he continued, “the earth is ours, but _not_ the sea; we must recruit our fleets before we can hope to make any impression on England, and even then the enterprise would be fraught with perdition, unless we could raise a diversion among the people.”

Then Bonaparte rose and said with dignity and emphasis: “That is the very point I mean--here is Citizen Paine, who will tell you that the whole English nation, except the Royal Family and the Hanoverians, who have been created Peers of the Realm and absorb the landed property, are ardently burning for fraternisation.”

Paine being called upon said: “It is now many years since I have been in England, and therefore I can judge of it by what I knew when I was there. I think the people are very disaffected, but I am sorry to add that if the expedition should escape the fleet, I think the army would be cut to pieces. The only way to kill England is to annihilate her commerce.” This opinion was backed by all the Council, and Bonaparte, turning to Paine, asked him how long it would take to annihilate British commerce? Paine answered that everything depended on a Peace. From that hour Bonaparte has never spoken to him again, and when he returned from finishing his adventures in Egypt, he passed by him at a grand dinner given to the Generals of the Republic a short time before his usurpation, staring him in the face and then remarking in a loud voice to General Lasnes, “The English are all alike, in every country they are rascals” (_canailles_).

Mr. Paine thinks the Directorate determined upon the Egyptian expedition in consequence of the rejection of the project to invade England by the Council. The popularity of Bonaparte was so excessive and his inflammatory and determined character so great that they were glad to get rid of him in any way they could. Paine detests and despises Bonaparte, and declares he is the completest charlatan that ever existed.

[Sidenote: JOEL BARLOW]