APPENDIX.

APPENDIX.No. I.BUONAPARTE'S LETTER TO GENERAL PAOLI.[See p.9.]General,I was born when our country was perishing. Thirty thousand Frenchmen, vomited on our coasts, drowning the throne of liberty in streams of blood—such was the odious spectacle which first presented itself to my sight.The cries of the dying, the groans of the oppressed, the tears of despair, were the companions of my infancy.You quitted our island, and with you disappeared the hope of happiness. Slavery was the reward of our submission; weighed down under the triple chain of the soldier, the legislator, and the collector of imposts, our countrymen live despised—despised by those who have the forces of the administration in their hands. Is not this the severest of suffering for those who have the slightest elevation of sentiment? Can the wretched Peruvian, groaning under the tortures of the rapacious Spaniard, experience a vexation more galling?The traitors to our country—the wretches whom the thirst of sordid gain has corrupted—to justify themselves, have circulated calumnies against the national government, and against you in particular. Writers, adopting them as truths, transmit them to posterity.While reading them, my blood has boiled with indignation; and at length I have resolved to disperse these delusions, the offspring of ignorance. An early study of the French language, long observation, and documents drawn from the portfolios of the patriots, have led me to promise myself some success.I wish to compare your government of our country with the present one. I wish to brand with infamy the men who have betrayed the common cause. I wish to summon before the tribunal of public opinion the men now in power—to set forth their vexatious proceedings, expose their secret intrigues, and if possible, interest the present minister[659]in the deplorable situation we are now in.If my fortune had permitted me to live in the capital, I should doubtless have found out other means of making known the wrongs of my country: but, obliged to serve in the army, I find myself compelled to resort to this, the only means of publicity; for, as to private memorials, they would either not reach those for whom they were intended, or, stifled by the clamour of interested individuals, they would only occasion the ruin of the author.Still young, my undertaking may be a rash one; but a love of truth, my native land, and fellow-countrymen—that enthusiasm, with which the prospect of an amelioration in our state always inspires me, will be my support. If you, general, condescend to approve of a labour, of which your deeds will form so large a portion—if you condescend to encourage the efforts of a young man, whom you have known from the hour of his birth, and whose parents were always attached to the good cause, I shall dare to augur favourably of my success.I at one time indulged a hope, that I should have been able to go to London, to express to you in person the sentiments you have given birth to in my bosom, and to converse together on the misfortunes of our country; but the distance is an obstacle. The day, perhaps, will arrive, when I shall be able to overcome it.Whatever may be the success of my work, I am sensible that it will raise against me the whole host of French employés, who misgovern our island, and against whom my attack is directed. But what imports their enmity, when the interest of our country is at stake! I shall be loaded with their abuse; and, when the bolt falls, I shall descend into my own bosom, call to memory the legitimacy of my motives, and from that moment defy it.Permit me, general, to offer you the homage of my family. And, ah! why should I not say, of my countrymen? They sigh at the recollection of a time when they had hoped for liberty. My mother, Madame Letitia, charges me especially to recall to your memory the years long since past at Corté.I am, with respect,General,Your very humble, and very obedient Servant,Napoleon Buonaparte,Officer in the Regiment of La Fère.Auxonne-en-Bourgoyne, }12th June, 1789.}

[See p.9.]

General,

I was born when our country was perishing. Thirty thousand Frenchmen, vomited on our coasts, drowning the throne of liberty in streams of blood—such was the odious spectacle which first presented itself to my sight.

The cries of the dying, the groans of the oppressed, the tears of despair, were the companions of my infancy.

You quitted our island, and with you disappeared the hope of happiness. Slavery was the reward of our submission; weighed down under the triple chain of the soldier, the legislator, and the collector of imposts, our countrymen live despised—despised by those who have the forces of the administration in their hands. Is not this the severest of suffering for those who have the slightest elevation of sentiment? Can the wretched Peruvian, groaning under the tortures of the rapacious Spaniard, experience a vexation more galling?

The traitors to our country—the wretches whom the thirst of sordid gain has corrupted—to justify themselves, have circulated calumnies against the national government, and against you in particular. Writers, adopting them as truths, transmit them to posterity.

While reading them, my blood has boiled with indignation; and at length I have resolved to disperse these delusions, the offspring of ignorance. An early study of the French language, long observation, and documents drawn from the portfolios of the patriots, have led me to promise myself some success.

I wish to compare your government of our country with the present one. I wish to brand with infamy the men who have betrayed the common cause. I wish to summon before the tribunal of public opinion the men now in power—to set forth their vexatious proceedings, expose their secret intrigues, and if possible, interest the present minister[659]in the deplorable situation we are now in.

If my fortune had permitted me to live in the capital, I should doubtless have found out other means of making known the wrongs of my country: but, obliged to serve in the army, I find myself compelled to resort to this, the only means of publicity; for, as to private memorials, they would either not reach those for whom they were intended, or, stifled by the clamour of interested individuals, they would only occasion the ruin of the author.

Still young, my undertaking may be a rash one; but a love of truth, my native land, and fellow-countrymen—that enthusiasm, with which the prospect of an amelioration in our state always inspires me, will be my support. If you, general, condescend to approve of a labour, of which your deeds will form so large a portion—if you condescend to encourage the efforts of a young man, whom you have known from the hour of his birth, and whose parents were always attached to the good cause, I shall dare to augur favourably of my success.

I at one time indulged a hope, that I should have been able to go to London, to express to you in person the sentiments you have given birth to in my bosom, and to converse together on the misfortunes of our country; but the distance is an obstacle. The day, perhaps, will arrive, when I shall be able to overcome it.

Whatever may be the success of my work, I am sensible that it will raise against me the whole host of French employés, who misgovern our island, and against whom my attack is directed. But what imports their enmity, when the interest of our country is at stake! I shall be loaded with their abuse; and, when the bolt falls, I shall descend into my own bosom, call to memory the legitimacy of my motives, and from that moment defy it.

Permit me, general, to offer you the homage of my family. And, ah! why should I not say, of my countrymen? They sigh at the recollection of a time when they had hoped for liberty. My mother, Madame Letitia, charges me especially to recall to your memory the years long since past at Corté.

I am, with respect,General,Your very humble, and very obedient Servant,Napoleon Buonaparte,Officer in the Regiment of La Fère.

Auxonne-en-Bourgoyne, }12th June, 1789.}

No. II.LETTER OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE TO M. MATTEO BUTTAFUOCO, DEPUTY FROM CORSICA TO THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY.[See p.10.]Sir,From Bonifacio to Cape Corso, from Ajaccio to Bastia, there is one chorus of imprecations against you. Your friends keep out of sight, your relations disown you, and even the man of reflection, who does not allow himself to be swayed by popular opinion, is, for once, led away by the general effervescence.But what have you done? What are the crimes to justify such universal indignation, such complete desertion? This, sir, is what I wish to inquire into, in the course of a little discussion with you.The history of your life, since the time at least when you appeared on the stage of public affairs, is well known. Its principal features are drawn in letters of blood. Still, however, there are details comparatively unknown. In these I may be mistaken; but I reckon upon your indulgence, and hope for information from you.After having entered the service of France, you returned to see your relations: you found the tyrants vanquished, the national government established, and the Corsicans, entirely governed by noble sentiments, vying with each other in daily sacrifices for the prosperity of the state. You did not allow yourself to be seduced by the general enthusiasm; far from that, you looked with nothing but pity on the nonsensical stuff about country, liberty, independence, and constitution, which had got into the heads of our meanest peasants. Deep reflection had taught you to set a proper value on those artificial sentiments, the maintenance of which is a general evil. In fact, the peasant must be taught to mind his work, and not play the hero, if it is wished that he should not starve, that he should bring up his family, and pay respect to authority. As to those who are called, by their rank and fortune, to occupy stations of power, they cannot long remain such dupes as to sacrifice their comforts and consideration in society for a mere chimera, or stoop to pay court to a cobbler, that they may at last play the part of Brutus. Still, as it was necessary for your designs that you should gain the favour of Paoli, you had to dissemble;—M. Paoli being the centre of all the movements of the political body. We shall admit that he had talent—even a certain degree of genius; he had, in a short time, placed the affairs of the island on a good footing; he had founded a university, in which, for the first time, perhaps, since the creation, the sciences which are useful for the developement of reason were taught among our mountains. He had established a foundery for cannon, powder-mills, and fortifications, which increased the means of defence; he had formed harbours, which, while they encouraged commerce, improved agriculture; he had created a navy, which protected our communication with other countries, while it injured our enemies. All these establishments, in their infancy, were a mere presage of what he one day might have done. Union, peace, and liberty, seemed the precursors of national prosperity, had not a government, ill-organized, and placed on an unsound basis, afforded still surer indications of the misfortunes which were to happen, and of the total ruin into which every thing was to fall.M. Paoli had dreamed of being a Solon, but had been unsuccessful in his imitation. He had placed every thing in the hands of the people or their representatives, so that it was impossible even to exist without pleasing them. A strange error which places under the control of a brutal and mercenary plebeian, the man who alone, by his education, his illustrious birth, and his fortune, is formed for governing. In the long run, so palpable a dereliction of reason cannot fail to bring on the ruin and dissolution of the body-politic, after having exposed it to every species of suffering.You succeeded to your wish. M. Paoli, constantly surrounded by enthusiastic and hot-headed persons, never imagined that there could be any other passion than the devotion to liberty and independence. Finding that you had some knowledge of France, he did not trouble himself to do more than take your own word for your moral principles. He got you appointed to treat at Versailles respecting the accommodation which was negotiating under the mediation of the cabinet. M. de Choiseul saw you, and knew you; minds of a certain stamp are speedily appreciated. In a short time, in place of being the representative of a free people, you transformed yourself into the clerk of a minister; you communicated to him the instructions, the plans, the secrets of the Cabinet of Corsica.This conduct, which is considered here as base and atrocious, appears to me quite natural; but this is because, in all sorts of affairs, we should understand one another, and reason with coolness.The prude censures the coquette, and is laughed at by her in return; this, in a few words, is your history. The man of principle judges you harshly, but you do not believe that there is a man of principle. The common people, who are always led away by virtuous demagogues, cannot be appreciated by you, who do not believe in virtue. You cannot be condemned but by your own principles, like a criminal by the laws; but those who know the refinement of your principles, find nothing in your conduct but what is very simple. This brings us back, then, to what we have already said, that, in all sorts of affairs, the first thing requisite is to understand one another, and then argue coolly. You are also protected by a sort of sub-defence, not less effectual, for you do not aspire to the reputation of a Cato or a Catinat. It is sufficient for you to resemble a certain class; and, among this certain class, it is agreed that he who may get money, and does not profit by the opportunity, is a ninny; for money procures all the pleasures of sense, and the pleasures of sense are the only pleasures. Now, M. de Choiseul, who was very liberal, made it impossible for you to resist him—particularly as your ridiculous country paid you for your services, according to her laughable custom, by the honour of serving her.The treaty of Compiégne being concluded, M. de Chauvelin and twenty-four battalions landed on our shores. M. de Choiseul, to whom the celerity of the expedition was most important, had uneasiness on the subject, which, in his confidential communications, he could not disguise from you. You suggested that he should send you there with a few millions. As Philip took cities with his Mule, you promised to make every thing yield to him without opposition. No sooner said than done—and there you are, recrossing the sea, throwing off the mask, and, with money and your commission in your hand, opening negotiations with those whom you thought would be most easily gained over.Never imagining that a Corsican could prefer himself to his country, the Cabinet of Corsica had intrusted you with her interests. Never dreaming, for your part, that any man would not prefer money and himself to his country, you sold yourself and hoped to buy every body. Profound moralist as you were, you knew how much the enthusiasm of each individual was worth; some pounds of gold, more or less, formed, in your eyes, all the shades which diversify character.You are mistaken, however:—the weak-minded were certainly shaken, but they were terrified by the horrible idea of mangling the bosom of their country. They thought they saw their fathers, their brothers, their friends, who perished in defending her, raise their heads from the tomb to load them with curses. These ridiculous prejudices were strong enough to stop you in your career; you lamented having to do with a people so childish in its notions. But, sir, this refinement of sentiment is not bestowed on the multitude; and, therefore, they live in poverty and wretchedness; while a man who has got proper notions, if circumstances favour him ever so little, knows the way to rise very speedily. This is pretty exactly the moral of your story.When you made your report of the obstacles which prevented you from realizing your promises, you proposed that the Royal Corsican regiment should be bought. You hoped that its example would enlighten our too simple and honestpeasants, and accustom them to things to which they felt so much repugnance. But what happened? Did not Rossi, Marengo, and some other madmen, inflame the minds of the regiment to such a pitch, that the officers in a body protested, by an authentic writing, that they would throw up their commissions, sooner than violate their oaths, or their duties, which were still more sacred?You thus found yourself reduced to stand alone as an example to others. Without being disconcerted, at the head of a few friends and a French detachment, you threw yourself into Vescovato; but the terrible Clement[660]unkennelled you from thence. You retired upon Bastia with your companions in adventure. This little affair was not much to your credit; your house, and those of your associates, were burnt. But, in a place of safety, you laughed at these impotent efforts.People here charge you with having endeavoured to arm the Royal Corsicans against their brethren. They also wish to impeach your courage, from the small resistance you made at Vescovato. There is little foundation for these accusations; for the first was an immediate consequence of your projects, indeed one of your means of executing them; and, as we have already proved that your conduct was perfectly simple and natural, this incidental charge goes for nothing. As to your want of courage, I do not see how this is settled by the action of Vescovato: You did not go there with the serious purpose of fighting, but for the sake of encouraging, by your example, those who were wavering in the opposite party. And after all, what right has any one to require that you should have run the risk of losing the fruits of two years' good conduct, by being shot like a common soldier? But you must have felt a good deal, say some folk, on seeing your own house, and those of your friends, become a prey to the flames. Good God! when will narrow-minded people give over trying to judge of every thing? Your letting your house be burnt, put M. de Choiseul under the necessity of indemnifying you. Experience proved the accuracy of your calculations; you received much more than the value of what you lost. To be sure you are accused of having kept all to yourself, and of having given nothing but a trifle to the poor creatures whom you had seduced. In order to justify your having acted in this way, it is only necessary to inquire if you could do it with perfect safety. Now, the poor people who were so dependent on your protection, were neither in a condition to demand restitution, nor even to understand very clearly the injustice which was done them. They could not become malecontents, and rebel against your authority; being held in detestation by their countrymen, their return to their former sentiments could no longer be held as sincere. It was then very natural that, when a few thousand crowns thus came in your way, you should not let them out of your hands;—to have done so, would have been cheating yourself.The French, beaten in spite of their gold, their commissions, the discipline of their numerous battalions, the activity of their squadrons, the skill of their artillerymen,—defeated at La Penta, Vescovato, Loretto, San Nicolai, Borgo Barbaggio, Oletta,—intrenched themselves, excessively disheartened. Winter, the time of their repose, was for you, sir, a period of the greatest labour; and if you could not triumph over the obstinacy of prejudices so deeply rooted in the minds of the people, you found means to seduce some of their chiefs, whom you succeeded, though with some difficulty, in bringing to a right way of thinking. This, along with the thirty battalions whom M. de Vaux brought with him the following spring, forced Corsica to yield to the yoke, and drove Paoli and the greatest fanatics into banishment.One portion of the patriots had died in the defence of their independence, another had fled from a land of proscription, and which, from that time, was a hideous den of tyrants. But a great number could neither die nor take flight; they became the objects of persecution. Minds, whom it had been found impossibleto corrupt, were of such a stamp, that the empire of the French could only be established on their total destruction. Alas! this plan was but too punctually executed. Some perished, victims of crimes unjustly imputed to them; others, betrayed by their own hospitality, and by their own confidence, expiated on the scaffold the sighs and tears into which they had been surprised by dissimulation. A great number, crowded by Narbonne-Fridzelar into the town of Toulon, poisoned by unwholesome food, tortured by their chains, and sinking under the most barbarous treatment, lived a short time in their misery, merely to see death slowly approaching. O God, witness of their innocence, why didst thou not become their avenger?In the midst of this general calamity, in the midst of the groans and lamentations of this unfortunate people, you, however, began to enjoy the fruit of your labours—honours, dignities, pensions, all were showered upon you. Your prosperity would have advanced still more rapidly, had not Du Barri overthrown M. de Choiseul, and deprived you of a protector, who duly appreciated your services. This blow did not discourage you: you turned your attention to thebureaux; you merely felt the necessity of greater assiduity. This flattered the persons in office, your services were so notorious. All your wishes were granted. Not content with the lake of Biguglia, you demanded a part of the lands of many communities. Why, it is said, did you wish to deprive them of these lands? I ask, in my turn, what regard ought you to have for a nation by whom you knew yourself to be detested?Your favourite project was, to divide the island among ten Barons. How! not satisfied with having assisted in forging the chains with which your country was bound, you wished still further to subject her to the absurd feudal government! But I commend you for having done as much harm to the Corsicans as you possibly could. You were at war with them; and, in war, to do evil for one's own advantage, is a first principle.But let us pass over all these paltry matters—let us come to the present moment, and conclude a letter, which, from its frightful length, cannot fail to fatigue you.The state of affairs in France prognosticated extraordinary events. You became alarmed for the effect of them in Corsica. The same madness with which we were possessed before the war, began, to your great scandal, to infect that amiable people. You comprehended the consequences; for, if noble sentiments were to gain an ascendency in public opinion, you would become no better than a traitor, instead of being a man of prudence and good sense. What was still worse, if ever noble sentiments were again to stir the blood of our ardent countrymen, and if ever a national government were to be the result of such sentiments, what would become of you? Your own conscience then began to terrify you. Restless, however, and unhappy as you were, you did not yield to your conscience. You resolved to risk every thing for every thing—but you played your game skilfully. You married, to strengthen your interest. A respectable man, who, relying on your word, had given his sister to your nephew, found himself abused. Your nephew, whose patrimony you had swallowed up in order to increase an inheritance which was to have been his own, was reduced to poverty, with a numerous family.Having arranged your domestic affairs, you cast your eyes over the country. You saw it smoking with the blood of its martyrs, heaped with numerous victims, and, at every step, inspiring only ideas of vengeance. But you saw the ruffian soldier, the insolent pettifogger, the greedy tax-gatherer, lord it without contradiction; and the Corsican, groaning under the weight of triple chains, neither daring to think of what he was, nor to reflect on what he still might be. You said to yourself, in the joy of your heart, "Things go on well, and the only thing is to keep them so." And straightway you leagued yourself with the soldier, the pettifogger, and the tax-gatherer. The only point now to be attended to was, to procure deputies who should be animated by congenial sentiments; for, as to yourself, you could never suppose that a nation which was your enemy would choose you for her representative. But you necessarily changed your opinion, when the letters of convocation, by an absurdity which was perhaps the result of design, determined that the deputy from the nobility should be appointed by an assembly composed of only twenty-two persons. All that was necessary was to obtain twelve votes. Your associates in the higher council laboured with activity. Threats, promises, caresses, money, all were put in action. You succeeded. Your friends were not so successful among the Commons. The first president failed; and two men of exalted ideas—the one the son, the brother, the nephew, of the most zealous defenders of the common cause—the other a person who had seen Sionville and Narbonne, and whosemind was full of the horrid actions he had seen, while he lamented his own want of power to oppose them;—these two men were proclaimed deputies, and their appointment satisfied the wishes of the nation. The secret chagrin, the suppressed rage, which were every where caused by your appointment, form the best eulogy on the skill of your manœuvres, and the influence of your league.When you arrived at Versailles, you were a zealous Royalist. When you now arrived at Paris, you must have seen with much concern, that the government, which it was wished to organize upon so many ruins, was the same with that which, in our country, had been drowned in so much blood.The efforts of the unprincipled were powerless; the new constitution being admired by all Europe, and having become an object of interest to every thinking being, there remained for you but one resource. This was, to make it be believed that this constitution was not adapted to our island; although it was exactly the same with that which had produced such good effects, and which it cost so much blood to deprive us of.All the delegates of the former administration, who naturally entered into your cabal, served you with the zeal arising from personal interest. Memorials were written, the object of which was to prove how advantageous for us was the existing government, and to demonstrate that any change would be contrary to the wish of the nation. At this time the city of Ajaccio obtained some knowledge of what was going on. This city roused herself, formed her national guard, organized her committee. This unexpected incident alarmed you—the fermentation spread in all directions. You persuaded the ministers, over whom you had gained some ascendency in relation to the affairs of Corsica, that it was of importance to send thither your father-in-law, M. Gaffory, with a command; and immediately we saw M. Gaffory, a worthy precursor of M. Narbonne, endeavouring, at the head of his troops, to maintain by force that tyranny which his late father, of glorious memory, had resisted and confounded by his genius. Innumerable blunders left no room for concealing your father-in-law's mediocrity of talent; he possessed no other art but that of making himself enemies. The people rallied against him on every side. In this imminent danger you lifted up your eyes, and saw Narbonne! Narbonne, profiting by a moment of favour, had laid the plan of establishing firmly, in an island which he had wasted with unheard-of cruelty, the despotism which oppressed it. You laid your heads together; the plan was determined on; five thousand men received orders; commissions for increasing by a battalion the provincial regiment were prepared. Narbonne set out. This poor nation, unarmed and disheartened, without hope and without resource, is delivered into the hands of her executioner.O unhappy countrymen! Of what odious treachery were you to be the victims! You would not perceive it till it was too late. How were you, without arms, to resist ten thousand men? You would yourself have signed the act of your degradation; hope would have been extinguished; and days of uninterrupted misfortune would have succeeded. Emancipated France would have looked upon you with contempt; afflicted Italy with indignation; and Europe, astonished at this unexampled degree of degradation, would have effaced from her annals the traits which do honour to your character. But your deputies from the Commons penetrated the design, and informed you of it in time. A king, whose only wish was the happiness of his people, being well informed on the subject by M. La Fayette, that steady friend of liberty, dissipated the intrigues of a perfidious minister, who was certainly impelled by the desire of vengeance to do you injury. Ajaccio showed resolution in her address, in which was described with such energy the miserable state to which you were reduced by the most oppressive of governments. Bastia, till then stupified as it were, awoke at the sound of danger, and took up arms with that resolution for which she has been always distinguished. Arena came from Paris to Boulogne, full of those sentiments which lead men to the boldest enterprises. With arms in one hand, and the decrees of the National Assembly in the other, he made the public enemies tremble. Achilles Meurate, the conqueror of Caprana, who had carried desolation as far as Genoa, and who, to be a Turenne, wanted nothing but opportunity and a more extensive field, reminded his companions in glory, that this was the time to acquire additional fame,—that their country in danger had need, not of intrigues, which he knew nothing about, but of fire and sword. At the sound of so general an explosion, Gaffory returned to the insignificance from which he had been brought, somal-à-propos, by intrigues;—he trembled in the fortress of Certe. Narbonne fled from Lyons, to hide in Rome his shame, and his infernal projects. A few days afterwardsCorsica is united to France, Paoli recalled; and in an instant the prospect changes, and opens to your view a course of events which you could not have dared to hope for.I beg your pardon, sir; I took up my pen to defend you; but my heart revolts against so uniform a system of treason and atrocity. What! did you, a son of the same country, never feel any thing for her? What! did your heart experience no emotion at the sight of the rocks, the trees, the houses, the spots which were the scenes of your infant amusements? When you came into the world, your country nourished you with her fruits; when you came to the years of reason, she placed her hopes in you; she honoured you with her confidence; she said to you, "My son, you see the wretched state to which I am reduced by the injustice of men;—through my native vigour, I am recovering a degree of strength which promises me a speedy and infallible recovery; but I am again threatened! Fly, my son, hasten to Versailles; inform the great king of every thing, dissipate his suspicions, request his friendship."Well! a little gold made you betray her confidence; and forthwith, for a little gold, you were seen, like a parricide, tearing open her bosom. Ah, sir, I am far from wishing you ill; but there is an avenging conscience! Your countrymen, to whom you are an object of horror, will enlighten France as to your character. The wealth, the pensions, the fruits of your treasons, will be taken from you. In the decrepitude of old age and poverty, in the frightful solitude of wickedness, you will live long enough to become a prey to the torments of conscience. The father will point you out to his son, the master to his pupil, saying, "Young people, learn to respect your country, virtue, fidelity, and humanity."And you, respectable and unhappy woman, whose youth, beauty, and innocence were vilely prostituted, does your pure and chaste heart beat under a hand so criminal? In those moments in which nature gives the alarm to love, when, withdrawn from the chimeras of life, unmingled pleasures succeed each other with rapidity, when the mind, expanded by the fire of sentiment, enjoys only the pleasure of causing enjoyment, and feels only the pleasure of exciting feeling,—in those moments you press to your heart, you become identified with that cold and selfish man, who has never deviated from his character, and who, in the course of sixty years, has never known any thing but the care of his own interest, an instinctive love of destruction, the most infamous avarice, the base pleasures of sense! By and by, the glare of honours, the trappings of riches, will disappear; you will be loaded with general contempt. Will you seek, in the bosom of him who is the author of your woes, a consolation indispensable to your gentle and affectionate mind? Will you endeavour to find in his eyes tears to mingle with yours? Will your failing hand, placed on his bosom, seek to find an agitation like that in your own? Alas, if you surprise him in tears, they will be those of remorse; if his bosom heave, it will be with the convulsions of the wretch who dies abhorring nature, himself, and the hand that guides him.O Lameth! O Robespierre! O Pétion! O Volney! O Mirabeau! O Barnave! O Bailly! O La Fayette! this is the man who dares to seat himself by your side! Dropping with the blood of his brethren, stained by every sort of vice, he presents himself with confidence in the dress of a general, the reward of his crimes! He dares to call himself the representative of the nation—he who sold her—and you suffer it! He dares to raise his eyes, and listen to your discourse, and you suffer it! Is it the voice of the people that sent him? He never had more than the voice of twelve nobles. Ajaccio, Bastia, and most of the districts, have done that to his effigy which they would have been very glad to do to his person.But you, who are induced, by the error of the moment, or perhaps temporary abuses, to oppose any fresh changes, will you tolerate a traitor? a man who, under the cool exterior of a man of sense, conceals the avidity of a lacquey? I cannot imagine it. You will be the first to drive him away with ignominy, as soon as you are aware of the string of atrocities of which he has been the author.I have the honour, &c.Buonaparte.From my closet at Milleli,23d January, 1790

[See p.10.]

Sir,

From Bonifacio to Cape Corso, from Ajaccio to Bastia, there is one chorus of imprecations against you. Your friends keep out of sight, your relations disown you, and even the man of reflection, who does not allow himself to be swayed by popular opinion, is, for once, led away by the general effervescence.

But what have you done? What are the crimes to justify such universal indignation, such complete desertion? This, sir, is what I wish to inquire into, in the course of a little discussion with you.

The history of your life, since the time at least when you appeared on the stage of public affairs, is well known. Its principal features are drawn in letters of blood. Still, however, there are details comparatively unknown. In these I may be mistaken; but I reckon upon your indulgence, and hope for information from you.

After having entered the service of France, you returned to see your relations: you found the tyrants vanquished, the national government established, and the Corsicans, entirely governed by noble sentiments, vying with each other in daily sacrifices for the prosperity of the state. You did not allow yourself to be seduced by the general enthusiasm; far from that, you looked with nothing but pity on the nonsensical stuff about country, liberty, independence, and constitution, which had got into the heads of our meanest peasants. Deep reflection had taught you to set a proper value on those artificial sentiments, the maintenance of which is a general evil. In fact, the peasant must be taught to mind his work, and not play the hero, if it is wished that he should not starve, that he should bring up his family, and pay respect to authority. As to those who are called, by their rank and fortune, to occupy stations of power, they cannot long remain such dupes as to sacrifice their comforts and consideration in society for a mere chimera, or stoop to pay court to a cobbler, that they may at last play the part of Brutus. Still, as it was necessary for your designs that you should gain the favour of Paoli, you had to dissemble;—M. Paoli being the centre of all the movements of the political body. We shall admit that he had talent—even a certain degree of genius; he had, in a short time, placed the affairs of the island on a good footing; he had founded a university, in which, for the first time, perhaps, since the creation, the sciences which are useful for the developement of reason were taught among our mountains. He had established a foundery for cannon, powder-mills, and fortifications, which increased the means of defence; he had formed harbours, which, while they encouraged commerce, improved agriculture; he had created a navy, which protected our communication with other countries, while it injured our enemies. All these establishments, in their infancy, were a mere presage of what he one day might have done. Union, peace, and liberty, seemed the precursors of national prosperity, had not a government, ill-organized, and placed on an unsound basis, afforded still surer indications of the misfortunes which were to happen, and of the total ruin into which every thing was to fall.

M. Paoli had dreamed of being a Solon, but had been unsuccessful in his imitation. He had placed every thing in the hands of the people or their representatives, so that it was impossible even to exist without pleasing them. A strange error which places under the control of a brutal and mercenary plebeian, the man who alone, by his education, his illustrious birth, and his fortune, is formed for governing. In the long run, so palpable a dereliction of reason cannot fail to bring on the ruin and dissolution of the body-politic, after having exposed it to every species of suffering.

You succeeded to your wish. M. Paoli, constantly surrounded by enthusiastic and hot-headed persons, never imagined that there could be any other passion than the devotion to liberty and independence. Finding that you had some knowledge of France, he did not trouble himself to do more than take your own word for your moral principles. He got you appointed to treat at Versailles respecting the accommodation which was negotiating under the mediation of the cabinet. M. de Choiseul saw you, and knew you; minds of a certain stamp are speedily appreciated. In a short time, in place of being the representative of a free people, you transformed yourself into the clerk of a minister; you communicated to him the instructions, the plans, the secrets of the Cabinet of Corsica.

This conduct, which is considered here as base and atrocious, appears to me quite natural; but this is because, in all sorts of affairs, we should understand one another, and reason with coolness.

The prude censures the coquette, and is laughed at by her in return; this, in a few words, is your history. The man of principle judges you harshly, but you do not believe that there is a man of principle. The common people, who are always led away by virtuous demagogues, cannot be appreciated by you, who do not believe in virtue. You cannot be condemned but by your own principles, like a criminal by the laws; but those who know the refinement of your principles, find nothing in your conduct but what is very simple. This brings us back, then, to what we have already said, that, in all sorts of affairs, the first thing requisite is to understand one another, and then argue coolly. You are also protected by a sort of sub-defence, not less effectual, for you do not aspire to the reputation of a Cato or a Catinat. It is sufficient for you to resemble a certain class; and, among this certain class, it is agreed that he who may get money, and does not profit by the opportunity, is a ninny; for money procures all the pleasures of sense, and the pleasures of sense are the only pleasures. Now, M. de Choiseul, who was very liberal, made it impossible for you to resist him—particularly as your ridiculous country paid you for your services, according to her laughable custom, by the honour of serving her.

The treaty of Compiégne being concluded, M. de Chauvelin and twenty-four battalions landed on our shores. M. de Choiseul, to whom the celerity of the expedition was most important, had uneasiness on the subject, which, in his confidential communications, he could not disguise from you. You suggested that he should send you there with a few millions. As Philip took cities with his Mule, you promised to make every thing yield to him without opposition. No sooner said than done—and there you are, recrossing the sea, throwing off the mask, and, with money and your commission in your hand, opening negotiations with those whom you thought would be most easily gained over.

Never imagining that a Corsican could prefer himself to his country, the Cabinet of Corsica had intrusted you with her interests. Never dreaming, for your part, that any man would not prefer money and himself to his country, you sold yourself and hoped to buy every body. Profound moralist as you were, you knew how much the enthusiasm of each individual was worth; some pounds of gold, more or less, formed, in your eyes, all the shades which diversify character.

You are mistaken, however:—the weak-minded were certainly shaken, but they were terrified by the horrible idea of mangling the bosom of their country. They thought they saw their fathers, their brothers, their friends, who perished in defending her, raise their heads from the tomb to load them with curses. These ridiculous prejudices were strong enough to stop you in your career; you lamented having to do with a people so childish in its notions. But, sir, this refinement of sentiment is not bestowed on the multitude; and, therefore, they live in poverty and wretchedness; while a man who has got proper notions, if circumstances favour him ever so little, knows the way to rise very speedily. This is pretty exactly the moral of your story.

When you made your report of the obstacles which prevented you from realizing your promises, you proposed that the Royal Corsican regiment should be bought. You hoped that its example would enlighten our too simple and honestpeasants, and accustom them to things to which they felt so much repugnance. But what happened? Did not Rossi, Marengo, and some other madmen, inflame the minds of the regiment to such a pitch, that the officers in a body protested, by an authentic writing, that they would throw up their commissions, sooner than violate their oaths, or their duties, which were still more sacred?

You thus found yourself reduced to stand alone as an example to others. Without being disconcerted, at the head of a few friends and a French detachment, you threw yourself into Vescovato; but the terrible Clement[660]unkennelled you from thence. You retired upon Bastia with your companions in adventure. This little affair was not much to your credit; your house, and those of your associates, were burnt. But, in a place of safety, you laughed at these impotent efforts.

People here charge you with having endeavoured to arm the Royal Corsicans against their brethren. They also wish to impeach your courage, from the small resistance you made at Vescovato. There is little foundation for these accusations; for the first was an immediate consequence of your projects, indeed one of your means of executing them; and, as we have already proved that your conduct was perfectly simple and natural, this incidental charge goes for nothing. As to your want of courage, I do not see how this is settled by the action of Vescovato: You did not go there with the serious purpose of fighting, but for the sake of encouraging, by your example, those who were wavering in the opposite party. And after all, what right has any one to require that you should have run the risk of losing the fruits of two years' good conduct, by being shot like a common soldier? But you must have felt a good deal, say some folk, on seeing your own house, and those of your friends, become a prey to the flames. Good God! when will narrow-minded people give over trying to judge of every thing? Your letting your house be burnt, put M. de Choiseul under the necessity of indemnifying you. Experience proved the accuracy of your calculations; you received much more than the value of what you lost. To be sure you are accused of having kept all to yourself, and of having given nothing but a trifle to the poor creatures whom you had seduced. In order to justify your having acted in this way, it is only necessary to inquire if you could do it with perfect safety. Now, the poor people who were so dependent on your protection, were neither in a condition to demand restitution, nor even to understand very clearly the injustice which was done them. They could not become malecontents, and rebel against your authority; being held in detestation by their countrymen, their return to their former sentiments could no longer be held as sincere. It was then very natural that, when a few thousand crowns thus came in your way, you should not let them out of your hands;—to have done so, would have been cheating yourself.

The French, beaten in spite of their gold, their commissions, the discipline of their numerous battalions, the activity of their squadrons, the skill of their artillerymen,—defeated at La Penta, Vescovato, Loretto, San Nicolai, Borgo Barbaggio, Oletta,—intrenched themselves, excessively disheartened. Winter, the time of their repose, was for you, sir, a period of the greatest labour; and if you could not triumph over the obstinacy of prejudices so deeply rooted in the minds of the people, you found means to seduce some of their chiefs, whom you succeeded, though with some difficulty, in bringing to a right way of thinking. This, along with the thirty battalions whom M. de Vaux brought with him the following spring, forced Corsica to yield to the yoke, and drove Paoli and the greatest fanatics into banishment.

One portion of the patriots had died in the defence of their independence, another had fled from a land of proscription, and which, from that time, was a hideous den of tyrants. But a great number could neither die nor take flight; they became the objects of persecution. Minds, whom it had been found impossibleto corrupt, were of such a stamp, that the empire of the French could only be established on their total destruction. Alas! this plan was but too punctually executed. Some perished, victims of crimes unjustly imputed to them; others, betrayed by their own hospitality, and by their own confidence, expiated on the scaffold the sighs and tears into which they had been surprised by dissimulation. A great number, crowded by Narbonne-Fridzelar into the town of Toulon, poisoned by unwholesome food, tortured by their chains, and sinking under the most barbarous treatment, lived a short time in their misery, merely to see death slowly approaching. O God, witness of their innocence, why didst thou not become their avenger?

In the midst of this general calamity, in the midst of the groans and lamentations of this unfortunate people, you, however, began to enjoy the fruit of your labours—honours, dignities, pensions, all were showered upon you. Your prosperity would have advanced still more rapidly, had not Du Barri overthrown M. de Choiseul, and deprived you of a protector, who duly appreciated your services. This blow did not discourage you: you turned your attention to thebureaux; you merely felt the necessity of greater assiduity. This flattered the persons in office, your services were so notorious. All your wishes were granted. Not content with the lake of Biguglia, you demanded a part of the lands of many communities. Why, it is said, did you wish to deprive them of these lands? I ask, in my turn, what regard ought you to have for a nation by whom you knew yourself to be detested?

Your favourite project was, to divide the island among ten Barons. How! not satisfied with having assisted in forging the chains with which your country was bound, you wished still further to subject her to the absurd feudal government! But I commend you for having done as much harm to the Corsicans as you possibly could. You were at war with them; and, in war, to do evil for one's own advantage, is a first principle.

But let us pass over all these paltry matters—let us come to the present moment, and conclude a letter, which, from its frightful length, cannot fail to fatigue you.

The state of affairs in France prognosticated extraordinary events. You became alarmed for the effect of them in Corsica. The same madness with which we were possessed before the war, began, to your great scandal, to infect that amiable people. You comprehended the consequences; for, if noble sentiments were to gain an ascendency in public opinion, you would become no better than a traitor, instead of being a man of prudence and good sense. What was still worse, if ever noble sentiments were again to stir the blood of our ardent countrymen, and if ever a national government were to be the result of such sentiments, what would become of you? Your own conscience then began to terrify you. Restless, however, and unhappy as you were, you did not yield to your conscience. You resolved to risk every thing for every thing—but you played your game skilfully. You married, to strengthen your interest. A respectable man, who, relying on your word, had given his sister to your nephew, found himself abused. Your nephew, whose patrimony you had swallowed up in order to increase an inheritance which was to have been his own, was reduced to poverty, with a numerous family.

Having arranged your domestic affairs, you cast your eyes over the country. You saw it smoking with the blood of its martyrs, heaped with numerous victims, and, at every step, inspiring only ideas of vengeance. But you saw the ruffian soldier, the insolent pettifogger, the greedy tax-gatherer, lord it without contradiction; and the Corsican, groaning under the weight of triple chains, neither daring to think of what he was, nor to reflect on what he still might be. You said to yourself, in the joy of your heart, "Things go on well, and the only thing is to keep them so." And straightway you leagued yourself with the soldier, the pettifogger, and the tax-gatherer. The only point now to be attended to was, to procure deputies who should be animated by congenial sentiments; for, as to yourself, you could never suppose that a nation which was your enemy would choose you for her representative. But you necessarily changed your opinion, when the letters of convocation, by an absurdity which was perhaps the result of design, determined that the deputy from the nobility should be appointed by an assembly composed of only twenty-two persons. All that was necessary was to obtain twelve votes. Your associates in the higher council laboured with activity. Threats, promises, caresses, money, all were put in action. You succeeded. Your friends were not so successful among the Commons. The first president failed; and two men of exalted ideas—the one the son, the brother, the nephew, of the most zealous defenders of the common cause—the other a person who had seen Sionville and Narbonne, and whosemind was full of the horrid actions he had seen, while he lamented his own want of power to oppose them;—these two men were proclaimed deputies, and their appointment satisfied the wishes of the nation. The secret chagrin, the suppressed rage, which were every where caused by your appointment, form the best eulogy on the skill of your manœuvres, and the influence of your league.

When you arrived at Versailles, you were a zealous Royalist. When you now arrived at Paris, you must have seen with much concern, that the government, which it was wished to organize upon so many ruins, was the same with that which, in our country, had been drowned in so much blood.

The efforts of the unprincipled were powerless; the new constitution being admired by all Europe, and having become an object of interest to every thinking being, there remained for you but one resource. This was, to make it be believed that this constitution was not adapted to our island; although it was exactly the same with that which had produced such good effects, and which it cost so much blood to deprive us of.

All the delegates of the former administration, who naturally entered into your cabal, served you with the zeal arising from personal interest. Memorials were written, the object of which was to prove how advantageous for us was the existing government, and to demonstrate that any change would be contrary to the wish of the nation. At this time the city of Ajaccio obtained some knowledge of what was going on. This city roused herself, formed her national guard, organized her committee. This unexpected incident alarmed you—the fermentation spread in all directions. You persuaded the ministers, over whom you had gained some ascendency in relation to the affairs of Corsica, that it was of importance to send thither your father-in-law, M. Gaffory, with a command; and immediately we saw M. Gaffory, a worthy precursor of M. Narbonne, endeavouring, at the head of his troops, to maintain by force that tyranny which his late father, of glorious memory, had resisted and confounded by his genius. Innumerable blunders left no room for concealing your father-in-law's mediocrity of talent; he possessed no other art but that of making himself enemies. The people rallied against him on every side. In this imminent danger you lifted up your eyes, and saw Narbonne! Narbonne, profiting by a moment of favour, had laid the plan of establishing firmly, in an island which he had wasted with unheard-of cruelty, the despotism which oppressed it. You laid your heads together; the plan was determined on; five thousand men received orders; commissions for increasing by a battalion the provincial regiment were prepared. Narbonne set out. This poor nation, unarmed and disheartened, without hope and without resource, is delivered into the hands of her executioner.

O unhappy countrymen! Of what odious treachery were you to be the victims! You would not perceive it till it was too late. How were you, without arms, to resist ten thousand men? You would yourself have signed the act of your degradation; hope would have been extinguished; and days of uninterrupted misfortune would have succeeded. Emancipated France would have looked upon you with contempt; afflicted Italy with indignation; and Europe, astonished at this unexampled degree of degradation, would have effaced from her annals the traits which do honour to your character. But your deputies from the Commons penetrated the design, and informed you of it in time. A king, whose only wish was the happiness of his people, being well informed on the subject by M. La Fayette, that steady friend of liberty, dissipated the intrigues of a perfidious minister, who was certainly impelled by the desire of vengeance to do you injury. Ajaccio showed resolution in her address, in which was described with such energy the miserable state to which you were reduced by the most oppressive of governments. Bastia, till then stupified as it were, awoke at the sound of danger, and took up arms with that resolution for which she has been always distinguished. Arena came from Paris to Boulogne, full of those sentiments which lead men to the boldest enterprises. With arms in one hand, and the decrees of the National Assembly in the other, he made the public enemies tremble. Achilles Meurate, the conqueror of Caprana, who had carried desolation as far as Genoa, and who, to be a Turenne, wanted nothing but opportunity and a more extensive field, reminded his companions in glory, that this was the time to acquire additional fame,—that their country in danger had need, not of intrigues, which he knew nothing about, but of fire and sword. At the sound of so general an explosion, Gaffory returned to the insignificance from which he had been brought, somal-à-propos, by intrigues;—he trembled in the fortress of Certe. Narbonne fled from Lyons, to hide in Rome his shame, and his infernal projects. A few days afterwardsCorsica is united to France, Paoli recalled; and in an instant the prospect changes, and opens to your view a course of events which you could not have dared to hope for.

I beg your pardon, sir; I took up my pen to defend you; but my heart revolts against so uniform a system of treason and atrocity. What! did you, a son of the same country, never feel any thing for her? What! did your heart experience no emotion at the sight of the rocks, the trees, the houses, the spots which were the scenes of your infant amusements? When you came into the world, your country nourished you with her fruits; when you came to the years of reason, she placed her hopes in you; she honoured you with her confidence; she said to you, "My son, you see the wretched state to which I am reduced by the injustice of men;—through my native vigour, I am recovering a degree of strength which promises me a speedy and infallible recovery; but I am again threatened! Fly, my son, hasten to Versailles; inform the great king of every thing, dissipate his suspicions, request his friendship."

Well! a little gold made you betray her confidence; and forthwith, for a little gold, you were seen, like a parricide, tearing open her bosom. Ah, sir, I am far from wishing you ill; but there is an avenging conscience! Your countrymen, to whom you are an object of horror, will enlighten France as to your character. The wealth, the pensions, the fruits of your treasons, will be taken from you. In the decrepitude of old age and poverty, in the frightful solitude of wickedness, you will live long enough to become a prey to the torments of conscience. The father will point you out to his son, the master to his pupil, saying, "Young people, learn to respect your country, virtue, fidelity, and humanity."

And you, respectable and unhappy woman, whose youth, beauty, and innocence were vilely prostituted, does your pure and chaste heart beat under a hand so criminal? In those moments in which nature gives the alarm to love, when, withdrawn from the chimeras of life, unmingled pleasures succeed each other with rapidity, when the mind, expanded by the fire of sentiment, enjoys only the pleasure of causing enjoyment, and feels only the pleasure of exciting feeling,—in those moments you press to your heart, you become identified with that cold and selfish man, who has never deviated from his character, and who, in the course of sixty years, has never known any thing but the care of his own interest, an instinctive love of destruction, the most infamous avarice, the base pleasures of sense! By and by, the glare of honours, the trappings of riches, will disappear; you will be loaded with general contempt. Will you seek, in the bosom of him who is the author of your woes, a consolation indispensable to your gentle and affectionate mind? Will you endeavour to find in his eyes tears to mingle with yours? Will your failing hand, placed on his bosom, seek to find an agitation like that in your own? Alas, if you surprise him in tears, they will be those of remorse; if his bosom heave, it will be with the convulsions of the wretch who dies abhorring nature, himself, and the hand that guides him.

O Lameth! O Robespierre! O Pétion! O Volney! O Mirabeau! O Barnave! O Bailly! O La Fayette! this is the man who dares to seat himself by your side! Dropping with the blood of his brethren, stained by every sort of vice, he presents himself with confidence in the dress of a general, the reward of his crimes! He dares to call himself the representative of the nation—he who sold her—and you suffer it! He dares to raise his eyes, and listen to your discourse, and you suffer it! Is it the voice of the people that sent him? He never had more than the voice of twelve nobles. Ajaccio, Bastia, and most of the districts, have done that to his effigy which they would have been very glad to do to his person.

But you, who are induced, by the error of the moment, or perhaps temporary abuses, to oppose any fresh changes, will you tolerate a traitor? a man who, under the cool exterior of a man of sense, conceals the avidity of a lacquey? I cannot imagine it. You will be the first to drive him away with ignominy, as soon as you are aware of the string of atrocities of which he has been the author.

I have the honour, &c.Buonaparte.From my closet at Milleli,23d January, 1790

No. III.THE SUPPER OF BEAUCAIRE.July 29, 1793.[See p.14.]I happened to be at Beaucaire on the last day of the fair, and by chance had for my companions at supper two merchants from Marseilles, a citizen of Nimes, and a manufacturer from Montpelier.After the first few minutes of mutual survey, they discovered that I came from Avignon, and was in the army. The attention of my companions, which, all the week, had been fixed on the details of that traffic which is the parent of wealth, was at this moment turned to the issue of those passing events, upon which the security of all wealth so much depends. They endeavoured to come at my opinion, in order that, by comparing it with their own, they might be enabled to form probable conjectures respecting that future, which affected us so differently. The two citizens of Marseilles, in particular, appeared to be perplexed in spirit. The evacuation of Avignon had taught them to doubt of every thing. They manifested but one great solicitude as to their future fate. Confidence soon made us talkative, and our conversation ran in nearly the following terms:—Nimois.—Is Cartaux's army strong? It is said to have lost a great many men in the attack; but if it be true that it has been repulsed, why have the Marseillese evacuated Avignon?Militaire.—The army was four thousand strong when it assaulted Avignon; it now amounts to six thousand, and within four days will reach ten thousand men. It lost five men killed and eleven wounded. It has never been repulsed, since it never made a formal attack; the troops only manœuvred about the place, in order to ascertain where an attempt to force the gates, by means of petards, might be made to the best advantage; a few cannon were fired, to try the courage of the garrison, and it was then necessary to draw back to the camp, to combine the attack for the following night. The Marseillese were three thousand six hundred men; they had a heavier and more numerous artillery, and yet they have been obliged to recross the Durance. This surprises you; but it is only veteran troops who can endure the uncertain events of a siege. We were masters of the Rhone, of Villeneuve, and of the open country; we had intercepted all their communications. They were under the necessity of evacuating the town, were pursued by our cavalry, and lost many prisoners, with two guns.Marseillese.—This is a very different story from what we have been told. I do not dispute what you say, since you were present; but you must confess, that, after all this, they can do you no good. Our army is at Aix. Three good generals are come in place of the former ones: at Marseilles they are raising fresh battalions; we have a new train of artillery, several twenty-four pounders; in a few days, we shall be in a position to retake Avignon, or at worst we shall remain masters of the Durance.Militaire.—Such is the story you have been told, to entice you to the brink of the abyss, which is deepening every moment, and which perhaps will engulf the finest town of France—the one which has deserved most of the patriots. But you were also told, that you should traverse France—that you should give thetonto the Republic—and yet your very first steps have been checks. You were told that Avignon could resist for a long time a force of twenty thousand men—and yet a single column, without a battering train, gained possession of it in four-and-twenty hours. You were told that the south had risen—and you found yourselvesalone! You were told that the Nimes cavalry were about to crush the Allobroges—and yet the Allobroges were already at Saint-Esprit, and at Villeneuve. You were told that four thousand Lyonese were marching to your assistance—and yet the Lyonese were negotiating an accommodation for themselves. Acknowledge, then, that you have been deceived—open youreyes to the want of skill among your leaders, and put no faith in their calculations. Of all counsellors, self-love is the most dangerous. You are naturally impetuous: they are leading you to your destruction, by the self-same means which have ruined so many nations—by inflaming your vanity. You possess considerable wealth, and a large population—these they exaggerate. You have rendered signal services to the cause of liberty—of these they remind you, without, at the same time, pointing out to you, that the genius of the republic was at that time with you, that it has now abandoned you.Your army, you say, is at Aix with a large train of artillery, and skilful generals; well, do what it may, I tell you it will be beaten. You had three thousand six hundred men—a full half is dispersed. Marseilles, and a few refugees from the department, may offer you four thousand: that is the utmost. You will then have between five and six thousand troops, without unity, without order, without discipline.You have, you say, good generals. I do not know them, and shall not, therefore, dispute their abilities; but they will be absorbed in details, they will not be seconded by the subalterns, they will be unable to do any thing to maintain the reputation they may possess; for it would require at least two months to get their army into tolerable discipline; and in four days Cartaux will have passed the Durance—and with what soldiers? Why, with the excellent light troop of the Allobroges, the old regiment of Burgundy, and the brave battalion of the Cote d'Or (which has been a hundred times victorious in battle,) and six or seven other corps, all disciplined soldiers, encouraged by their successes on the frontiers, andagainst your army! You have some twenty-four pounders, and eighteen pounders, and you fancy yourselves impregnable. In this you but follow the vulgar opinion; but military men will tell you, and fatal experience is about to convince you, that good four-pounders and eight-pounders are preferable on many accounts to pieces of heavy calibre! You have cannoneers of the new levy—your adversaries have gunners from regiments of the line, the best masters of their art in all Europe!What will your army do if it concentrates itself at Aix? It is lost. It is an axiom in the military art, that the army which remains in its intrenchments is beaten: experience and theory agree upon this point; and the walls of Aix are not equal to the worst field-intrenchment, especially if you bear in mind their extent, and the houses which skirt them on the exterior within pistol-shot. Be you well assured then that this course, which to you appears the best, is the very worst. Besides, what means will you possess of supplying the town, in so short a time, with every kind of provisions? Will your army offer battle? Why, it is the weaker in numbers—it has no cavalry—its artillery is less adapted for the field—it would be broken, and from that moment defeated without resource, for the cavalry would prevent it from rallying.Expect, then, to see the war carried into the Marseilles territory. There a tolerably powerful party is for the Republic; this will be the moment for the struggle; the junction will be made; and your city, the centre of the commerce of the Levant, theentrepôtof the south of Europe, is lost! Recollect the recent example of Lisle,[661]and the barbarous laws of war.What infatuation has all at once possessed your townsmen? What fatal blindness is leading them to their ruin? How can they fancy themselves powerful enough to oppose the whole Republic? Even should they compel this army to fall back upon Avignon, can they doubt that, in a few days, fresh troops would come to supply the place of the former? The Republic, which gives the law to Europe, will she receive it from Marseilles?United with Bourdeaux, Lyons, Montpellier, Nimes, Grenoble, the Jura, the Eure, the Calvados, you undertook a revolution. You had a probability of success: those who spurred you on might be ill-intentioned men; but you were an imposing mass of strength. On the contrary, now that Lyons, Nimes, Montpellier, Bourdeaux, the Jura, the Eure, Grenoble, Caen, have accepted the constitution;—now that Avignon, Tarascon, Arles, have submitted, acknowledge that in obstinacy there is folly. The fact is, that you are under the influence of individuals who,having no property of their own to look after, are involving you in their ruin.Your army will be composed of the best-conditioned, the richest portion of your city; for the Sans-Culottes could but be too easily turned against you. You are about, then, to risk theéliteof your youthful population, young men accustomed to hold the commercial balance of the Mediterranean, and enrichyou by their economy and their speculations, against veteran soldiers a hundred times stained with the blood of the desperate aristocrat or the ferocious Prussian.Let poor countries fight to the last extremity. The inhabitant of the Vivarais, of the Cevennes, of Corsica, exposes himself without fear to the issue of a battle; if he gains it, he has obtained his object; if he is beaten, he finds himself as before, in the condition to make peace, and in the same position. But you!—lose but a battle, and the fruits of a thousand years of industry, of economy, of prosperity, become the prey of the soldier.Marseillese.—You get on a great rate, and you alarm me. I agree with you that our situation is critical. It is perhaps true, that we do not sufficiently consider the position in which we now stand; but you cannot but acknowledge that we have still immense resources to oppose you. You have persuaded me that we could not resist at Aix: your observation as to the want of subsistence is perhaps unanswerable, as applied to a siege of long duration; but do you imagine that all Provence can, for a long period, witness with indifference the blockade of Aix? It will rise spontaneously; and your army, hemmed in on all sides, will be but too happy to repass the Durance.Militaire.—Ah! how little you know of the spirit of men, and of the times, to talk thus! Everywhere there are two parties. The moment you are besieged, the Sectionary party will be put down in all the country places. The example of Tarascon, Saint-Remy, Organ, Arles, should convince you of this; a score of dragoons have sufficed to restore the old authorities, and put the new ones to flight.Henceforward, in your department, any powerful movement in your favour is impossible. It might have taken place when the army was on the other side the Durance, and you were unbroken. At Toulon, the active spirits are much divided; and there the Sectionaries have not the same superiority as at Marseilles; they must therefore remain in the city to keep down their adversary. As for the department of the Lower Alps, nearly the whole of it, as you know, has accepted the constitution.Marseillese.—We shall attack Cartaux in our mountains, where his cavalry will be of no service to him.Militaire.—As if an army engaged in protecting a town could choose the point of attack. Besides, it is a fallacy to suppose there are any mountains near Marseilles sufficiently inaccessible to render cavalry ineffective: your hills are just steep enough to render the use of artillery more difficult, and to give a great advantage to your enemy; for it is in a country intersected by rivers that the skilful artilleryman, by the rapidity of his movements, the exactness in serving his pieces, and the accuracy of his elevations, is the most sure of having the superiority.Marseillese.—You fancy us, then, to be without resources: Is it then possible, that it can be the destiny of a town who resisted the Romans, and preserved a portion of its laws under the despots who succeeded them, to become the prey of a handful of brigands? What! the Allobroge, laden with the spoils of Lisle, shall he give law to Marseilles? What! Dubois du Crancé, and Albitte, shall they rule over us uncontrolled? Those men, steeped in blood, whom the miseries of the times have placed at the head of affairs, shall they be our absolute masters? Sad, indeed, is the prospect you set before us! Our property, under different pretences, would be invaded; at every instant we should be the victims of a soldiery, whom plunder unites under the same banner: our best citizens would be imprisoned, and perish by violence. The Club would again rear its monstrous head to execute its infernal projects! Nothing can be worse than this; better to expose ourselves to the chance of warfare, than become victims without alternative!Militaire.—Such is civil war! men revile one another—detest one another—kill one another, without knowing one another! The Allobroges! what do you suppose them to be? Africans? inhabitants of Siberia? Oh, not at all! They are your countrymen,—the men of Provence, of Dauphiny, of Savoy. Some people fancy them to be barbarians, because the name they have taken sounds oddly. If your own troops were to be called the Phocœan phalanx, every species of fable would be accredited respecting them.You have reminded me of one fact, the assault of Lisle. I do not justify it, but will explain to you how it happened. The inhabitants killed the trumpeter who was sent to them; they resisted without the slightest chance of success; the town was taken by assault; the soldiers entered it amidst fire and slaughter: it was impossible to restrain them, and fury did the rest.Those soldiers whom you call brigands, are our best troops, and most disciplined battalions: their reputation is above calumny.Dubois-Crancé and Albitte, constant friends of the people, have never deviated from the right line. Certainly they are "wicked men" in the eyes of the bad: but Condorcet, Brissot, Barbaroux, were also "wicked men," so long as they remained uncontaminated. It will ever be the fate of the good to be ill-spoken of by the worthless. You imagine they show you no mercy; on the contrary, they are treating you like wayward children. Do you think, if they had been otherwise disposed, that the merchants of Marseilles would have been suffered to withdraw the goods which they had at Beaucaire? They could have sequestered them till the war was over. They were unwilling to do so; and, thanks to them, you can now return quietly to your homes.You call Cartaux an assassin. Well! let me tell you, that that general takes the greatest pains to preserve order and discipline; witness his conduct at St. Esprit and at Avignon. He ordered a sergeant to prison because he had violated the asylum of a citizen who concealed one of your soldiers. In the eyes of the general, this sergeant was culpable for having entered, without direct orders, a private dwelling. Some people of Avignon were punished for pointing out a house as belonging to an aristocrat. A prosecution is now going on against a soldier, on a charge of theft. On the contrary, your army killed, assassinated more than thirty persons, violated the asylums of families, and filled the prisons with citizens, on the vague pretence that they were brigands.Do not be in alarm about the army. It esteems Marseilles, because it knows that no town has made so many sacrifices for the public good. You have eighteen thousand men on the frontier; and you have not spared yourselves under any circumstances. Shake off, then, the yoke of the few aristocrats who govern you; return to sounder principles, and you will have no truer friend than the army.Marseillese.—Ah! your army! It has greatly degenerated from the army of 1789. That army would not take up arms against the nation. Yours should imitate so worthy an example, and not turn their arms against their fellow-citizens.Militaire.—With such principles, La Vendée would now have planted the white flag on the again reared walls of the Bastile, and the Camp of Jalès been dominant at Marseilles.Marseillese.—La Vendée is anxious for a king—a counter-revolution: the war of La Vendée, of the camp of Jalès, is that of fanaticism, of despotism. Ours, on the contrary, is that of true Republicans, friends of the laws, of order; enemies of anarchy and of bad men. Is not ours the tri-coloured flag? and what interest could we have in wishing for slavery?Militaire.—I well know that the people of Marseilles differ widely from those of La Vendée as to the subject of counter-revolution. The people of La Vendée are robust and healthy: the people of Marseilles weak and sickly. They stand in need of honey, to induce them to swallow the pill: to establish among them the new doctrine, they must be deceived. But after four years of revolution, after so many plots, and counterplots, and conspiracies, all the perversity of human nature has been developed under all its different aspects, and bad men have perfected their subtlety. You have, you say, the tri-coloured flag? Paoli also hoisted it in Corsica to have time to deceive the people, to crush the true friends of liberty, to entice his countrymen to join him in his ambitious and criminal projects; he hoisted the tri-coloured flag, and he nevertheless fired upon the vessels of the Republic, and drove our troops from the fortresses; he disarmed all the detachments he could surprise; he collected forces to drive the garrison from the island; he plundered the magazines, selling at a low price every thing found within them, to secure money to carry on his revolt; he confiscated the property of the wealthiest families, because they were attached to the unity of the Republic; he got himself appointed generalissimo, and he declared all those who should continue in our armies enemies of their country. Before this, he had caused the failure of the expedition to Sardinia;and yet he had the shamelessness to call himself the friend of France and a good Republican; and he deceived the Convention still, after all. He acted, in short, in such a way, that when at length he was unmasked by his own letters found at Calvi,—it was too late,—the fleets of our enemies intercepted all intercourse with the island.It is no longer to words that we must trust. We must analyse deeds; and in appreciating yours, it is easy, you must acknowledge, to show you to be counter-revolutionary. Take my advice, people of Marseilles: shake off the yoke of the handful of wretches who are leading you to a counter-revolution; restore your constituted authorities; accept the constitution; liberate the representatives; let them go to Paris and intercede for you: you have been misled—it is no new thing for the people to be so—by a few conspirators and intriguers. In all ages, the flexibility and ignorance of the multitude have been the causes of most civil wars.Marseillese.—Ah! sir, who is to bring the good about? Can it be the refugees who arrive on all sides from the department? They are interested in acting with desperation. Can it be those who at this moment govern us? Are not they in the same situation? Can it be the people? One portion of them knows nothing of its real position; it is blinded andfanaticized; the other portion is disarmed, suspected, humbled. I see, therefore, with deep affliction, miseries without remedy.Militaire.—At last you are brought to reason. Why should not a like change be effected in the minds of a large portion of your fellow-citizens, who are deluded and sincere? In that case, Albitte, who can have no other wish than to spare French blood, will send you some honest and able man; matters will be arranged; and without a moment's delay, the army will march under the walls of Perpignan, to make the Spaniard dance the Carmagnole; and Marseilles will continue to be the centre of gravity to liberty. The only thing necessary will be to tear a few leaves out of its history.This happy prognostic put us all in excellent humour. The citizens of Marseilles, with great readiness, treated us to some bottles of champagne, which dispelled all our doubts and anxieties. We retired to rest at two in the morning, having agreed to meet again at breakfast; where my new acquaintance had still many doubts to suggest, and I many interesting truths to impart.July 29, 1793.

[See p.14.]

I happened to be at Beaucaire on the last day of the fair, and by chance had for my companions at supper two merchants from Marseilles, a citizen of Nimes, and a manufacturer from Montpelier.

After the first few minutes of mutual survey, they discovered that I came from Avignon, and was in the army. The attention of my companions, which, all the week, had been fixed on the details of that traffic which is the parent of wealth, was at this moment turned to the issue of those passing events, upon which the security of all wealth so much depends. They endeavoured to come at my opinion, in order that, by comparing it with their own, they might be enabled to form probable conjectures respecting that future, which affected us so differently. The two citizens of Marseilles, in particular, appeared to be perplexed in spirit. The evacuation of Avignon had taught them to doubt of every thing. They manifested but one great solicitude as to their future fate. Confidence soon made us talkative, and our conversation ran in nearly the following terms:—

Nimois.—Is Cartaux's army strong? It is said to have lost a great many men in the attack; but if it be true that it has been repulsed, why have the Marseillese evacuated Avignon?

Militaire.—The army was four thousand strong when it assaulted Avignon; it now amounts to six thousand, and within four days will reach ten thousand men. It lost five men killed and eleven wounded. It has never been repulsed, since it never made a formal attack; the troops only manœuvred about the place, in order to ascertain where an attempt to force the gates, by means of petards, might be made to the best advantage; a few cannon were fired, to try the courage of the garrison, and it was then necessary to draw back to the camp, to combine the attack for the following night. The Marseillese were three thousand six hundred men; they had a heavier and more numerous artillery, and yet they have been obliged to recross the Durance. This surprises you; but it is only veteran troops who can endure the uncertain events of a siege. We were masters of the Rhone, of Villeneuve, and of the open country; we had intercepted all their communications. They were under the necessity of evacuating the town, were pursued by our cavalry, and lost many prisoners, with two guns.

Marseillese.—This is a very different story from what we have been told. I do not dispute what you say, since you were present; but you must confess, that, after all this, they can do you no good. Our army is at Aix. Three good generals are come in place of the former ones: at Marseilles they are raising fresh battalions; we have a new train of artillery, several twenty-four pounders; in a few days, we shall be in a position to retake Avignon, or at worst we shall remain masters of the Durance.

Militaire.—Such is the story you have been told, to entice you to the brink of the abyss, which is deepening every moment, and which perhaps will engulf the finest town of France—the one which has deserved most of the patriots. But you were also told, that you should traverse France—that you should give thetonto the Republic—and yet your very first steps have been checks. You were told that Avignon could resist for a long time a force of twenty thousand men—and yet a single column, without a battering train, gained possession of it in four-and-twenty hours. You were told that the south had risen—and you found yourselvesalone! You were told that the Nimes cavalry were about to crush the Allobroges—and yet the Allobroges were already at Saint-Esprit, and at Villeneuve. You were told that four thousand Lyonese were marching to your assistance—and yet the Lyonese were negotiating an accommodation for themselves. Acknowledge, then, that you have been deceived—open youreyes to the want of skill among your leaders, and put no faith in their calculations. Of all counsellors, self-love is the most dangerous. You are naturally impetuous: they are leading you to your destruction, by the self-same means which have ruined so many nations—by inflaming your vanity. You possess considerable wealth, and a large population—these they exaggerate. You have rendered signal services to the cause of liberty—of these they remind you, without, at the same time, pointing out to you, that the genius of the republic was at that time with you, that it has now abandoned you.

Your army, you say, is at Aix with a large train of artillery, and skilful generals; well, do what it may, I tell you it will be beaten. You had three thousand six hundred men—a full half is dispersed. Marseilles, and a few refugees from the department, may offer you four thousand: that is the utmost. You will then have between five and six thousand troops, without unity, without order, without discipline.

You have, you say, good generals. I do not know them, and shall not, therefore, dispute their abilities; but they will be absorbed in details, they will not be seconded by the subalterns, they will be unable to do any thing to maintain the reputation they may possess; for it would require at least two months to get their army into tolerable discipline; and in four days Cartaux will have passed the Durance—and with what soldiers? Why, with the excellent light troop of the Allobroges, the old regiment of Burgundy, and the brave battalion of the Cote d'Or (which has been a hundred times victorious in battle,) and six or seven other corps, all disciplined soldiers, encouraged by their successes on the frontiers, andagainst your army! You have some twenty-four pounders, and eighteen pounders, and you fancy yourselves impregnable. In this you but follow the vulgar opinion; but military men will tell you, and fatal experience is about to convince you, that good four-pounders and eight-pounders are preferable on many accounts to pieces of heavy calibre! You have cannoneers of the new levy—your adversaries have gunners from regiments of the line, the best masters of their art in all Europe!

What will your army do if it concentrates itself at Aix? It is lost. It is an axiom in the military art, that the army which remains in its intrenchments is beaten: experience and theory agree upon this point; and the walls of Aix are not equal to the worst field-intrenchment, especially if you bear in mind their extent, and the houses which skirt them on the exterior within pistol-shot. Be you well assured then that this course, which to you appears the best, is the very worst. Besides, what means will you possess of supplying the town, in so short a time, with every kind of provisions? Will your army offer battle? Why, it is the weaker in numbers—it has no cavalry—its artillery is less adapted for the field—it would be broken, and from that moment defeated without resource, for the cavalry would prevent it from rallying.

Expect, then, to see the war carried into the Marseilles territory. There a tolerably powerful party is for the Republic; this will be the moment for the struggle; the junction will be made; and your city, the centre of the commerce of the Levant, theentrepôtof the south of Europe, is lost! Recollect the recent example of Lisle,[661]and the barbarous laws of war.

What infatuation has all at once possessed your townsmen? What fatal blindness is leading them to their ruin? How can they fancy themselves powerful enough to oppose the whole Republic? Even should they compel this army to fall back upon Avignon, can they doubt that, in a few days, fresh troops would come to supply the place of the former? The Republic, which gives the law to Europe, will she receive it from Marseilles?

United with Bourdeaux, Lyons, Montpellier, Nimes, Grenoble, the Jura, the Eure, the Calvados, you undertook a revolution. You had a probability of success: those who spurred you on might be ill-intentioned men; but you were an imposing mass of strength. On the contrary, now that Lyons, Nimes, Montpellier, Bourdeaux, the Jura, the Eure, Grenoble, Caen, have accepted the constitution;—now that Avignon, Tarascon, Arles, have submitted, acknowledge that in obstinacy there is folly. The fact is, that you are under the influence of individuals who,having no property of their own to look after, are involving you in their ruin.

Your army will be composed of the best-conditioned, the richest portion of your city; for the Sans-Culottes could but be too easily turned against you. You are about, then, to risk theéliteof your youthful population, young men accustomed to hold the commercial balance of the Mediterranean, and enrichyou by their economy and their speculations, against veteran soldiers a hundred times stained with the blood of the desperate aristocrat or the ferocious Prussian.

Let poor countries fight to the last extremity. The inhabitant of the Vivarais, of the Cevennes, of Corsica, exposes himself without fear to the issue of a battle; if he gains it, he has obtained his object; if he is beaten, he finds himself as before, in the condition to make peace, and in the same position. But you!—lose but a battle, and the fruits of a thousand years of industry, of economy, of prosperity, become the prey of the soldier.

Marseillese.—You get on a great rate, and you alarm me. I agree with you that our situation is critical. It is perhaps true, that we do not sufficiently consider the position in which we now stand; but you cannot but acknowledge that we have still immense resources to oppose you. You have persuaded me that we could not resist at Aix: your observation as to the want of subsistence is perhaps unanswerable, as applied to a siege of long duration; but do you imagine that all Provence can, for a long period, witness with indifference the blockade of Aix? It will rise spontaneously; and your army, hemmed in on all sides, will be but too happy to repass the Durance.

Militaire.—Ah! how little you know of the spirit of men, and of the times, to talk thus! Everywhere there are two parties. The moment you are besieged, the Sectionary party will be put down in all the country places. The example of Tarascon, Saint-Remy, Organ, Arles, should convince you of this; a score of dragoons have sufficed to restore the old authorities, and put the new ones to flight.

Henceforward, in your department, any powerful movement in your favour is impossible. It might have taken place when the army was on the other side the Durance, and you were unbroken. At Toulon, the active spirits are much divided; and there the Sectionaries have not the same superiority as at Marseilles; they must therefore remain in the city to keep down their adversary. As for the department of the Lower Alps, nearly the whole of it, as you know, has accepted the constitution.

Marseillese.—We shall attack Cartaux in our mountains, where his cavalry will be of no service to him.

Militaire.—As if an army engaged in protecting a town could choose the point of attack. Besides, it is a fallacy to suppose there are any mountains near Marseilles sufficiently inaccessible to render cavalry ineffective: your hills are just steep enough to render the use of artillery more difficult, and to give a great advantage to your enemy; for it is in a country intersected by rivers that the skilful artilleryman, by the rapidity of his movements, the exactness in serving his pieces, and the accuracy of his elevations, is the most sure of having the superiority.

Marseillese.—You fancy us, then, to be without resources: Is it then possible, that it can be the destiny of a town who resisted the Romans, and preserved a portion of its laws under the despots who succeeded them, to become the prey of a handful of brigands? What! the Allobroge, laden with the spoils of Lisle, shall he give law to Marseilles? What! Dubois du Crancé, and Albitte, shall they rule over us uncontrolled? Those men, steeped in blood, whom the miseries of the times have placed at the head of affairs, shall they be our absolute masters? Sad, indeed, is the prospect you set before us! Our property, under different pretences, would be invaded; at every instant we should be the victims of a soldiery, whom plunder unites under the same banner: our best citizens would be imprisoned, and perish by violence. The Club would again rear its monstrous head to execute its infernal projects! Nothing can be worse than this; better to expose ourselves to the chance of warfare, than become victims without alternative!

Militaire.—Such is civil war! men revile one another—detest one another—kill one another, without knowing one another! The Allobroges! what do you suppose them to be? Africans? inhabitants of Siberia? Oh, not at all! They are your countrymen,—the men of Provence, of Dauphiny, of Savoy. Some people fancy them to be barbarians, because the name they have taken sounds oddly. If your own troops were to be called the Phocœan phalanx, every species of fable would be accredited respecting them.

You have reminded me of one fact, the assault of Lisle. I do not justify it, but will explain to you how it happened. The inhabitants killed the trumpeter who was sent to them; they resisted without the slightest chance of success; the town was taken by assault; the soldiers entered it amidst fire and slaughter: it was impossible to restrain them, and fury did the rest.

Those soldiers whom you call brigands, are our best troops, and most disciplined battalions: their reputation is above calumny.

Dubois-Crancé and Albitte, constant friends of the people, have never deviated from the right line. Certainly they are "wicked men" in the eyes of the bad: but Condorcet, Brissot, Barbaroux, were also "wicked men," so long as they remained uncontaminated. It will ever be the fate of the good to be ill-spoken of by the worthless. You imagine they show you no mercy; on the contrary, they are treating you like wayward children. Do you think, if they had been otherwise disposed, that the merchants of Marseilles would have been suffered to withdraw the goods which they had at Beaucaire? They could have sequestered them till the war was over. They were unwilling to do so; and, thanks to them, you can now return quietly to your homes.

You call Cartaux an assassin. Well! let me tell you, that that general takes the greatest pains to preserve order and discipline; witness his conduct at St. Esprit and at Avignon. He ordered a sergeant to prison because he had violated the asylum of a citizen who concealed one of your soldiers. In the eyes of the general, this sergeant was culpable for having entered, without direct orders, a private dwelling. Some people of Avignon were punished for pointing out a house as belonging to an aristocrat. A prosecution is now going on against a soldier, on a charge of theft. On the contrary, your army killed, assassinated more than thirty persons, violated the asylums of families, and filled the prisons with citizens, on the vague pretence that they were brigands.

Do not be in alarm about the army. It esteems Marseilles, because it knows that no town has made so many sacrifices for the public good. You have eighteen thousand men on the frontier; and you have not spared yourselves under any circumstances. Shake off, then, the yoke of the few aristocrats who govern you; return to sounder principles, and you will have no truer friend than the army.

Marseillese.—Ah! your army! It has greatly degenerated from the army of 1789. That army would not take up arms against the nation. Yours should imitate so worthy an example, and not turn their arms against their fellow-citizens.

Militaire.—With such principles, La Vendée would now have planted the white flag on the again reared walls of the Bastile, and the Camp of Jalès been dominant at Marseilles.

Marseillese.—La Vendée is anxious for a king—a counter-revolution: the war of La Vendée, of the camp of Jalès, is that of fanaticism, of despotism. Ours, on the contrary, is that of true Republicans, friends of the laws, of order; enemies of anarchy and of bad men. Is not ours the tri-coloured flag? and what interest could we have in wishing for slavery?

Militaire.—I well know that the people of Marseilles differ widely from those of La Vendée as to the subject of counter-revolution. The people of La Vendée are robust and healthy: the people of Marseilles weak and sickly. They stand in need of honey, to induce them to swallow the pill: to establish among them the new doctrine, they must be deceived. But after four years of revolution, after so many plots, and counterplots, and conspiracies, all the perversity of human nature has been developed under all its different aspects, and bad men have perfected their subtlety. You have, you say, the tri-coloured flag? Paoli also hoisted it in Corsica to have time to deceive the people, to crush the true friends of liberty, to entice his countrymen to join him in his ambitious and criminal projects; he hoisted the tri-coloured flag, and he nevertheless fired upon the vessels of the Republic, and drove our troops from the fortresses; he disarmed all the detachments he could surprise; he collected forces to drive the garrison from the island; he plundered the magazines, selling at a low price every thing found within them, to secure money to carry on his revolt; he confiscated the property of the wealthiest families, because they were attached to the unity of the Republic; he got himself appointed generalissimo, and he declared all those who should continue in our armies enemies of their country. Before this, he had caused the failure of the expedition to Sardinia;and yet he had the shamelessness to call himself the friend of France and a good Republican; and he deceived the Convention still, after all. He acted, in short, in such a way, that when at length he was unmasked by his own letters found at Calvi,—it was too late,—the fleets of our enemies intercepted all intercourse with the island.

It is no longer to words that we must trust. We must analyse deeds; and in appreciating yours, it is easy, you must acknowledge, to show you to be counter-revolutionary. Take my advice, people of Marseilles: shake off the yoke of the handful of wretches who are leading you to a counter-revolution; restore your constituted authorities; accept the constitution; liberate the representatives; let them go to Paris and intercede for you: you have been misled—it is no new thing for the people to be so—by a few conspirators and intriguers. In all ages, the flexibility and ignorance of the multitude have been the causes of most civil wars.

Marseillese.—Ah! sir, who is to bring the good about? Can it be the refugees who arrive on all sides from the department? They are interested in acting with desperation. Can it be those who at this moment govern us? Are not they in the same situation? Can it be the people? One portion of them knows nothing of its real position; it is blinded andfanaticized; the other portion is disarmed, suspected, humbled. I see, therefore, with deep affliction, miseries without remedy.

Militaire.—At last you are brought to reason. Why should not a like change be effected in the minds of a large portion of your fellow-citizens, who are deluded and sincere? In that case, Albitte, who can have no other wish than to spare French blood, will send you some honest and able man; matters will be arranged; and without a moment's delay, the army will march under the walls of Perpignan, to make the Spaniard dance the Carmagnole; and Marseilles will continue to be the centre of gravity to liberty. The only thing necessary will be to tear a few leaves out of its history.

This happy prognostic put us all in excellent humour. The citizens of Marseilles, with great readiness, treated us to some bottles of champagne, which dispelled all our doubts and anxieties. We retired to rest at two in the morning, having agreed to meet again at breakfast; where my new acquaintance had still many doubts to suggest, and I many interesting truths to impart.

July 29, 1793.

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