Part 3

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

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

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

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

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

If an estimate is made of the many hundred thousand hands thus withdrawn from the pursuits of agriculture, manufactures, and commerce, some idea may be formed of the loss which huge standing armies cause to the community at large.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO AMIENS]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Sidenote: DESCRIPTION OF AMIENS]

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.