Part 5

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.

My inquiries, conversations and labours, are directed to that end. On the final result of this examination of the state of the French Republic depends my future resolutions and my future destiny.

After twelve years of active engagement on the disturbed theatre of public life; after having seen the rise and fall of contending factions at home and abroad; after having beheld the theories I had studied completely belie themselves in practice, I may, I think, be entitled to give an opinion on political occurrences and public establishments.

On such considerations I proceed to describe the governments, laws, institutions, manners, relative form, internal resources and ultimate view of a people, whom I have seen at one time frivolous, abject and superstitious; at another period starting like Lazarus from a dead repose, roused to a vindication of national liberty; afterwards the base tools of sanguinary demagogues, furious, vindictive and cowardly, renouncing their obligations to God and man, and astounding the civilised world by their folly and their crime--next sighing after that regulated freedom and social order for which they had shed the blood of millions, but never been worthy or able enough to establish; lastly, conscious of their unfitness to be free, relapsing again into the bosom of that ancient despotism, which they had disdainfully trodden under foot, with all the superadded terrors of military government, and a suspicious administration; laughing at the very names of public virtue and public liberty, and themselves the terror and the mockery of Europe. These are great events, worthy of solemn investigation; they have no parallel in the history of mankind. The principal agents in these scenes merit alternate pity and indignation, but the scenes themselves illustrate and present to our minds during the short space of ten years the history of men for ages.

XI

DESCRIPTION OF LONGCHAMPS. BOIS DE BOULOGNE AND THE BOULEVARDS

Strangers in Paris are always recommended to visit the theatres and places of public amusements. Arts, manufactures, courts of justice, useful institutions and distinguished characters in the literary and political worlds rarely trouble. We arrived in good time to see the Easter Promenade de Longchamps in the Bois de Boulogne. This ceremony is for the time uppermost in the heads of the Parisians, it was the only subject of conversation; and every one quitted his house and shop to take a share in the spectacle. The uninitiated might therefore conclude that this favourite diversion of the public was a grand and splendid scene, rivalling the marriage of the Adriatic or the Carnival at Rome.

[Sidenote: BOIS DE BOULOGNE]

It is on the contrary an insipid and contemptible show, consisting merely in the procession of a long string of coaches, cabriolets, carts and horsemen; with a few boobies mounted on asses, making wry faces, and a number of Merry Andrews playing fantastic antics for the diversion of the populace. There was much noise but no real mirth.

The Bois de Boulogne has been extolled, but it presents no object or _coup d’œil_ either agreeable or attractive. The roads are miserable tracks of sand, and the _Wood_ (?) contains no lofty trees, it consists of an extensive copse, composed of shrubs, none of which exceed eight feet in height. There is a sheet of water laden with boats, which plain calculating English Islanders would call a duckpond.

On our return from this excursion we drove round the Boulevards of Paris. They are by far the most pleasant, neat and lively parts of the capital. Indeed, the expressions I have employed do not convey an adequate idea of their beauty and elegance. They extend around the city 12,100 yards in length, and are at least eighty feet wide, bordered by four rows of trees, which form three alleys, the middle for the use of carriages and horsemen and the two collateral ones for passengers on foot.

On the Northern Boulevards the fashionable and idle resort to while away their time in theatres and puppet shows--at Tivoli, Frascati, public baths and eating-houses; but especially at an exhibition of waxwork, so horrible and disgusting that its mere description would make the hair of the most abandoned English libertine stand on end.

I feel no hesitation in saying that I would rather a child of mine should inhabit hell itself than be a spectator of what I have seen there.

The Southern Boulevard is more agreeable and serene; it has more moral views, and though no meretricious forms render it the haunt of fashionable votaries, there is an air of tranquillity about it, which denotes the absence of guilt and the resort of innocence. This is the part frequented by the industrious tradesman and his family. There are two public gardens on the Northern Boulevard, which from the decorum observed there are justly deserving of encomium, especially when contrasted with other public places in Paris. I mean Tivoli and Frascati.

Tivoli is celebrated for its mineral waters and baths as well as its garden. The French compare its walks to those of our Vauxhall, but the comparison is ridiculous, as well compare the sun to a farthing rushlight. In the first place there are no variegated lamps. The gardens are not lighted at all except the platform appropriated to dancing.

The _sheet of water_ is about sixty yards long and three yards broad. Upon this the gay Parisians perform their nautical exploits or _promenade sur l’eau_. The illuminations and fireworks are on such an inferior scale that the price of admission, three livres (or half a crown), is absolutely exorbitant. Frascati, at the corner of the rue de la Loi, on the boulevard, is the most elegant lounge in Paris. The garden is small but well lighted--along each walk are busts of the French and English poets, and at the extremity of the principal one is a pretty little hermitage, arranged with great taste. Nothing is paid for admission, the proprietors are amply compensated by the prices the fashionable company of Paris pay for the exquisite ices in the form of peaches and other refreshments supplied at no very immoderate price. There is no place of public amusement here which unites so much elegance with decency, and I was never satisfied with the fascinations of Frascati _below stairs_. Above the apartments are reserved for gamblers.

[Sidenote: THE BOULEVARDS]

Chantilly, in the Champs Elysées, is a lower kind of Tivoli, a franc is the price of admission, which includes refreshments. The inferior orders in France conduct themselves with more propriety and are less riotous than the Londoners who assemble at Bagnigge Wells and the so-called tea gardens of our Metropolis.

On the other side of the water, near the residence of the British Minister, in the Faubourg S. Germain, is a fashionable walk in the Garden of Biron. But that which gave me most pleasure was the solitary and unfrequented garden of the Luxembourg. To this solitude I fled when I wished to avoid the noise of Paris. It was also a place of conversation with my friends. Here I learnt the _true_ history of the French Revolution from personages who had distinguished themselves in that wonderful event, here I was instructed in the characters of those who now govern France; this was the rendezvous of concealed Royalists and avowed Republicans. I shall never forget the walks in the Gardens of the Luxembourg. We were too remote from the office of Fouché for our whispers to reach it, and we were too well guarded to become objects of suspicion.

The Government are now repairing the Palace, and the new Senate is to hold its sittings there. The garden will then be cleared and beautified.

There are three or four other public walks in Paris. The Gardens of the Arsenal, the Soubise and the Temple, but they are totally deserted. The garden of the Tuileries, attached to the residence of the First Consul, the Garden of the Palais Royal and the Jardin des Plantes I have not yet described. Each of these gardens has been the scene of extraordinary events and deserve a detailed account and description.

XII

GARDEN OF THE TUILERIES. FOUNDATIONS OF THE REPUBLIC. ANECDOTE OF MLLE. THÉROUANNE. KNIGHTS OF THE POIGNARD. NATIONAL CONVENTION. TRIAL OF LOUIS XVI. ATTEMPT TO SAVE HIM

The garden of the Tuileries is large and handsome. It evokes the memories of the glorious efforts of the brave Swiss Guard, murdered for their fidelity to their trust on August 10, 1792. I have been informed on very good authority that if the King could have been persuaded to remain in the Palace, surrounded by his faithful guards, the victory would have terminated in favour of the Royal cause. Several persons who were then members of the Legislative Assembly have assured me the majority of the Convention never dreamt of a deposition until they perceived their victim at their mercy. The King’s fatal resolution determined those who were yet undecided. But even then it was supposed Royalty would be continued in different hands. The Orleans faction were, however, afraid to exert their power. Those engaged in the conspiracy of the Duke neglected to seize the moment and thus secure their object. They were duped by men who had no share in their treachery, a convincing proof that in political matters too much refinement and fine-spun preliminaries will never avail against unity of principle.

Above a month elapsed before the Orleans faction and the Republican party felt their mutual strength. The former were employed in sounding the minds of others and in treaty; the latter, while they held out encouraging hopes to the former, were concentrating their forces and preparing to strike a decisive blow. Thus they compelled the Orleans party to become their blind instruments.

[Sidenote: FOUNDATIONS OF THE REPUBLIC]