NEITHER MONSTER NOR STATUE.
*I could never forgive myself, were I capable of writing by the same post, a political Epistle to the father, and a friendly letter to the daughter, without sending any token of remembrance to the respectable Matron, my dearest My lady, whom I have now loved as a sister for something better or worse than twenty years. No, indeed, the historian may be careless, he may be indolent, he may always intend and never execute, but he is neither a monster nor a statue; he has a memory, a conscience, a heart, and that heart is sincerely devoted to Lady S. He must even acknowledge the fallacy of a sophism which he has sometimes used, and she has always and most truly denied; that, where the persons of a family are strictly united, the writing to one is in fact writing to all; and that consequently all his numerous letters to the husband, may be considered as equally addressed to the wife. He feels, on the contrary, that separate minds have their distinct ideas and sentiments, and that each character, either in speaking or writing, has its peculiar tone of conversation. He agrees with the maxim of Rousseau, that three friends who wish to disclose a common secret, will impart it onlydeux à deux; and he is satisfied that, on the present memorable occasion, each of the persons of the Sheffield family will claim a peculiar share in this triple missive, which will communicate, however, a triple satisfaction. The experience of what may be effected by vigorous resolution, encourages the historian to hope that he shall cast the skin of the old serpent, and hereafter show himself as a new creature.*
And first let me congratulate yourself and your friends on the present happy state of your mental and corporeal faculties, of which I have gained the pleasing intelligence, not only from the hints in Lord S. and Maria's letters, but still more clearly from your own long and spirited Epistle to young Severy, which he received with gratitude and will answer with speed.
*I lament, on all our accounts, that the last year's expedition to Lausanne did not take place in a golden period;* the more familiar and cheerful intercourse with Madame de Severy would have opened your hearts to each other. I should have escapedmany moments of painful though silent sympathy, and every object in Nature and society would have appeared to your eyes with a different aspect and colour. *But we must reflect, that human felicity is seldom without alloy; and if we cannot indulge the hope of your making a second visit to Lausanne, we must look forwards to my residence next summer at Sheffield-place, where I must find you in the full bloom of health, spirits, and beauty. I can perceive, by all public and private intelligence, that your house has been the open hospital Azylum of French fugitives; and it is a sufficient proof of the firmness of your nerves, that you have not been overwhelmed or agitated by such a concourse of strangers. Curiosity and compassion may, in some degree, have supported you. Every day has presented to your view some new scene of that strange tragical romance, which occupies all Europe so infinitely beyond any event that has happened in our time, and you have the satisfaction of not being a mere spectator of the distress of so many victims of false liberty. The benevolent fame of Lord S. is widely diffused.
From Angletine's last letter to Maria, you have already some idea of the melancholy state of her poor father. As long as Mr. de Severy allowed our hopes and fears to fluctuate with the changes of his disorder, I was unwilling to say anything on so painful a subject; and it is with the deepest concern that I now confess our absolute despair of his recovery. All his particular complaints are now lost in a general dissolution of the whole frame: every principle of life is exhausted, and as often as I am admitted to his bed-side, though he still looks and smiles with the patience of an Angel, I have the heartfelt grief of seeing him each day drawing nearer to the term of his existence. A few weeks, possibly a few days, will deprive me of a most excellent friend, and break for ever the most perfect system of domestic happiness, in which I had so large and intimate a share. Wilhelm (who has obtained leave of absence from his military duty) and his sister behave and feel like tender and dutiful children; but they have a long gay prospect of life, and new connexions, new families will make them forget, in due time, the common lot of mortality. But it is Madame de Severy whom I truly pity; I dread the effects of the first shock, and I dread still more the deep perpetual consuming affliction for a loss which can never be retrieved.
GIBBON'S ALTERED SITUATION.
You will not wonder that such reflections sadden my own mind, nor can I forget how much my situation is altered since I retired, nine years ago, to the banks of the Leman lake. The death of poor Deyverdun first deprived me of a domestic companion, who can never be supplied; and your visit has only served to remind me that man, however amused and occupied in his Closet, was not made to live alone. Severy will soon be no more; his widow for a long time, perhaps for ever, will be lost to herself and her friends, the son will travel, and I shall be left a stranger in the insipid circle of mere common acquaintance. The Revolution of France, which first embittered and divided the Society of Lausanne, has opposed a barrier to my Sussex visit, and may finally expell me from the paradise which I inhabit. Even that paradise, the expensive and delightful establishment of my house, library, and garden, almost becomes an incumbrance, by rendering it more difficult for me to relinquish my hold, or to form a new system of life in my native Country, for which my income, though improved and improving, would be probably insufficient. But every complaint should be silenced by the contemplation of the French; compared with whose cruel fate, all misery is relative happiness. I perfectly concurr in your partiality for Lally; though Nature might forget some meaner ingredients, of prudence, economy, &c., she never formed a purer heart, or a brighter imagination. If he be with you, I beg my kindest salutations to him. I am every day more closely united with the Neckers. Should France break, and this country be over-run, they would be reduced, in very humble circumstances, to seek a refuge; and where but in England? Adieu, dear Madam: there is, indeed, much pleasure in discharging one's heart to a real friend.*
Ever yours,E. G.
Lausanne, Nov. 10, 1792.
In dispatching the weekly political journal to Lord Sheffield, my conscience (for I have some remains of conscience) most powerfully urges me to salute, with some lines of friendship andgratitude, the amiable secretary, who might save herself the trouble of a modest apology. I have not yet forgotten our different behaviour after the much lamentedseparationof October the 4th, 1791, your meritorious punctuality, and my unworthy silence. I have still before me that entertaining narrative, which would have interested me, not only in the progress of thecarissima famiglia, but in the motions of a Tartar camp, or the march of a caravan of Arabs; the mixture of just observation and lively imagery, the strong sense of a man, expressed with the easy elegance of a female. I still recollect with pleasure the happy comparison of the Rhine, who had heard so much of liberty on both his banks, that he wandered with mischievous licentiousness over all the adjacent meadows. The inundation, alas! has now spread much wider; and it is sadly to be feared that the Elbe, the Po, and the Danube, may imitate the vile example of the Rhine: I shall be content, however, if our own Thames still preserves his fair character of
Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full.
These agreeable epistles of Maria produced only some dumb intentions, and some barren remorse; nor have I deigned, except by a brief missive from my chancellor, to express how much I loved the author, and how much I was pleased with the composition. That amiable author I have known and loved from the first dawning of her life andcoquetry, to the present maturity of her talents; and as long as I remain on this planet, I shall pursue, with the same tender and even anxious concern, the future steps of her establishment and life. That establishment must be splendid; that life must be happy. She is endowed with every gift of nature and fortune; but the advantage which she will derive from them, depends almost entirely on herself. You must not, you shall not, think yourself unworthy to write to any man: there is none whom your correspondence would not amuse and satisfy.
I will not undertake a task, which my taste would adopt, and my indolence would too soon relinquish; but I am really curious, from the best motives, to have a particular account of your own studies and daily occupation. What books do you read? and how do you employ your time and your pen? Except some professed scholars, I have often observed that women in general readmuch more than men; but, for want of a plan, a method, a fixed object, their reading is of little benefit to themselves, or others. If you will inform me of the species of reading to which you have the most propensity, I shall be happy to contribute my share of advice or assistance.
I lament that you have not left me some monument of your pencil. Lady Elizabeth Foster has executed a very pretty drawing, taken from the door of the green-house where we dined last summer, and including the poor Acacia, (now recovered from the cruel shears of the gardener,) the end of the terrace, the front of the Pavilion, and a distant view of the country, lake, and mountains. I am almost reconciled to d'Apples' house, which is nearly finished. Instead of the monsters which Lord Hercules Sheffield extirpated, the terrace is already shaded with the new acacias and plantanes; and although the uncertainty of possession restrains me from building, I myself have planted a bosquet at the bottom of the garden, with such admirable skill that it affords shade without intercepting prospect.
SOCIETY OF LADY E. FOSTER.
The society of the aforesaid Eliza, of the Duchess of Devonshire, &c. has been very interesting; but they are now flown beyond the Alps, and pass the winter at Pisa. The Legards, who have long since left this place, should be at present in Italy; but I believe Mrs. Grimstone and her daughter returned to England. The Levades are highly flattered by your remembrance. Since you still retain some attachment to this delightful country, and it is indeed delightful, why should you despair of seeing it once more? The happy peer or commoner, whose name you may assume, is still concealed in the book of fate; but, whosoever he may be, he will cheerfully obey your commands, of leading you from —— Castle to Lausanne, and from Lausanne to Rome and Naples. Before that event takes place, I may possibly see you in Sussex; and, whether as a visitor or a fugitive, I hope to be welcomed with a friendly embrace. The delay of this year was truly painful, but it was inevitable; and individuals must submit to those storms which have overturned the thrones of the earth.
The tragic story of the Archbishop of Arles I have now somewhat a better right to require at your hands. I wish to have it in all its horrid details; and as you are now so much mingled with the French exiles, I am of opinion, that were you to keep ajournal of all the authentic facts which they relate, it would be an agreeable exercise at present, and a future source of entertainment and instruction.
I should be obliged to you, if you would make, or find, some excuse for my not answering a letter from your aunt, which was presented to me by Mr. Fowler. I shewed him some civilities, but he is now a poor invalid, confined to his room. By her channel and yours I should be glad to have some information of the health, spirits, and situation of Mrs. Gibbon of Bath, whose alarms (if she has any) you may dispel. She is in my debt. Adieu; most truly yours.
Sheffield Place, November, 1792.
Your three letters received yesterday caused the most sincere pleasure to each individual of this family so highly favoured by you—but to none more than myself. I flatter myself that I despise general compliments as they deserve, but praise (tho' I fear, beyond my deserts) from one whose opinion I so highly value, and whose esteem I so much wish to gain, is more pleasing than I can describe, & I really think, thus encouraged, & with yourexamplebefore me, to shewbad habits maybe conquered. I had not neglected to make the collection of facts which you recommend, and which the great variety of unfortunate persons whom we see, or with whom we correspond, enables me to make.
As to the other part of your letter aboutmy studies, I can only say, the slightest hint on that subject will be always received with the greatest gratitude, and attended to with the utmost punctuality. French history I am most acquainted with—English, I am ashamed to say, I am much less versed in. I have read Hume, but not since I came to years of discretion, & what is read as ataskseldom is well attended to. I am now reading acertainwork, in 6 Vols. Quarto or 12 Duodecimo, which I was acquainted with before, only by reading it after supper, frequently with long interruptions caused by Company, &c., & which only raised my curiosity to give it more attention. It would be Impertinence or at best but a Drop in the Ocean to addmy mite to the opinion of the generality of the World, & say how much the Subject interests or the Style delights me. When this work is read thro', I intend to proceed with English history. I again repeat, if you condescend to favour me with any directions on this subject, I shall follow them with the greatest pleasure; but if you should not, I am much flattered that you should desire to hear from me, & should have sent you the horrid account of the massacre aux Carmes before, if I had thought you would have been desirous of it. I have not seen the details in any newspaper, & one of the eight Priests, who dined here, & had escaped from the massacre, related the whole with such simplicity & feeling, as to leave no doubt of the truth of all he said.
MURDER OF THE ARCHBISHOP OF ARLES.
On the 2dof Sepberthey went into the garden, as usual, to walk at five o'clock in the evening. They expressed their surprize at several large pits, which had been digging for two or three days past. They said to each other, "The day is almost spent, & yet Manuel[277]told a person who interceded for us, last Thursday, that on the Sunday following not one should remain in captivity—we are still Prisoners." Soon after, they heard shouts, and some musquet shots were fired into the Garden. A number of National Guards, some Commissairesde Sections, & several Marseillois, rushed in. The unhappy victims who were dispersed about the Garden, assembled under the Walls of the Church, not daring to enter, least it should be polluted with blood. One, who was behind the rest, was shot dead.Point de coups de fusilsaid some of the Chiefs of the assassins, thinking this death too merciful. A number of them called for the Archbishop of Arles,[278]& insisted that he should be given up to them, the Priests all crowded round him, & determined to defend him with their Lives. The Archbishop then said, "Let me pass; if we must all perish, it is of little consequence whether I die first or not, & if my death will appease them, is it not my duty to preserve your Lives at the expense of my own?" He asked the eldest of the Priests to give him Absolution—he knelt to receive it, & when he rose, advanced, with his arms crossed on his breast, towards the People.His appearance was so dignified & noble, that for ten minutes not one of these Wretches had courage to raise their hand against him. They reproached each other with cowardice & advanced—one look from the venerable Prelate struck them with involuntary awe, & they retired. At last, one of the assassins struck off his Cap with a Pike—their fury returned when they saw respect once violated, & another struck him on the head with a Sabre, & laid open his scalp. The Archbishop only said, "O mon Dieu!" & put up his right hand to his eyes. A second blow cut off this hand—he repeated his exclamation & raised the other. A third stroke left him sitting, & a fourth extended him lifeless, when all the Miscreants pressed forwards, to bury their Poniards in his bosom.
The Priests all agreed that the Archbishop of Arles was one of the most amiable men in France—his onlycrimewas having parted with most of his private fortune to support the necessitous Clergy of his Diocese, since the beginning of the Revolution. When he was murdered, the National Guards made all the Priests go into the Church, telling them they should appear, one after another, before theCommissaires du Section, who would try them and determine their fate. They had hardly entered, before the People impatiently called for them to shew themselves—upon which, all kneeling before the Altar, they received Absolution from the Bpof Beauvais—& then, two by two, passed before one of the commissaires, who did not question, but only counted his victims. In this manner, perished 120 Priests, amongst whom were the Bishops of Beauvais and Xaintes, both of the Rochefoucauld family.[279]Our friendsescaped by getting over the Wall.
I am afraid I have tired your patience, & that you did not expect such a tedious history. Made. d'Hénin & Pauline are at Boulogne; they have gained nothing by going there, & are afraid they may find it difficult returning to England. The seal of the Nation is put on all Made. d'Hénin's effects; she is not able to keep a single servant—she says, Pauline & she must wait on each other. Papa, who is more alarmed than I ever saw him, will write to you soon,politically. Mama will likewise answer your letter, & in the mean time desires many thanks forit. Will you say everything affectionate to Angletine for her letter? I feel sincerely for the situation of that family, & if you can send any good news of M. de Severy's amendment, I trust you will write. It was particularly kind of Angletine to write when her mind must be so ill at ease—but it is not flung away upon me. I am anything butune Ingrate. Mrs. Moss is here, & speaks with delight of your house, your terrace, & of the great civility you showed her. Judge if Lausanne is ever the subject of our conversation.
We left Louisa & Aunt at Bath very well, they both desire to be remembered to you when we wrote. Mrs. Gibbon looks as well as ever, but is really very unwell.
Bristol, 14th Nov., 1792.
A FOOLISH GAME IN IRELAND.
I snatch an interval likely to be very short, to acknowledge you have some merit in a 14th day epistle, although you fasted as to your 7th day. I was glad to hear of the agreement on the subject of Geneva. As the French troops were immediately to return 10 leagues, and before the evacuation, I think it honourable, but my political barometer never was so low. During the last 35 years on no occasion it had materially sunk. It never experienced any great depression till the wonderful and in some degree inexplicable phenomena of the later part of last September. I had some hope that Europe would see the necessity of making a common cause against the Disturbers of the World. But I have not a ray of hope. The failure of the combined army has of course encouraged and increased a bad spirit in this country, but it has not as yet shewn itself except in some towns. And in such, mischief always begins. The respectable and considerable men of both parties among my constituents are right. Government had risked a foolish game in Ireland, playing Roman Catholics against Protestants, and openly supporting the former, granting too much, and giving further hopes, which has produced sedition and brought them to the brink of rebellion, but within a few weeks it has been determined to go no farther and tosupport the Protestant Ascendency—better late than never, but some knocks probably will ensue.
I believe I forgot to assure you in my last that Newspaper account of our friend Lord L.[280]and his acceptance of Seals is premature, and that there is no prospect of such an event unless with the concurrence and accession of the Mass of the party. I rather suspect some of our friends have more of the shew than the reality, of wishing or expecting, or promoting healthy conjunction of parties—but they are few.
I scolded you about the Madeira because I thought it lost thro' your neglect of writing, but I have the pleasure of finding that it was only delayed, and is now on its road. So writes Muligan's correspondent in Holland. I shall send this to Maria to finish. My eyes are very weak.
I do not know what to add to Papa'scroakingEpistle, except to ask if you will give us an Asylum at Lausanne when this country is in the state of France. If you should answer in the affirmative, I am afraid you would make me an enemy to my country and wish it very ill.Ithink Papa veryungratefulfor your very great kindness and attention in writing so frequently—at a time so very interesting, but I believe he is afraid of praising you too much, least you should think you have done enough. If you were a witness of the pleasure your letters give all the family, I think you would not talk of sinking into along and irreproachable silence. Mama assures me you will not write to me. Pray make her say the thing that is not, for once in her life. We leave Bath next Sunday, after having enjoyed the gaieties of the place a fortnight. Louisa is to remain here all the Winter. She desires to be particularly remembered to you. Switzerland is our daily subject of conversation and regret. Witness our hands this 15th day of November.
Maria Josepha Holroyd,Louisa Dorothea Holroyd.
Lausanne, Nov. 25th, 1792.
*After the triple labour of my last dispatch, your experience of the creature might tempt you to suspect that it would again relapse into a long slumber. But, partly from the spirit of contradiction, (though I am not a lady) and partly from the ease and pleasure which I now find in the task, you see me again alive, awake, and almost faithful to my hebdomadal promise. The last week has not, however, afforded any events deserving the notice of an historian. Our affairs are still floating on the waves of the convention, and the ratification of a corrected treaty,[281]which had been fixed for the 20th, is not yet arrived; but the report of the diplomatic committee has been favourable, and it is generally understood that the leaders of the French Republic do not wish to quarrel with the Swiss. We are gradually withdrawing and disbanding our militia. Geneva will be left to sink or swim, according to the humour of the people; and our last hope appears to be, that by submission and good behaviour we shall avert for some time the impending storm.
FLIGHT OF A FRENCH GENERAL.
A few days ago, an odd incident happened in the French army; the desertion of the general. As the Neckers were sitting, about eight o'clock in the evening, in their drawing-room at Rolle, the door flew open, and they were astounded by their servant's announcingMonsieur le General de Montesquiou! On the receipt of some secret intelligence of adecrét d'accusation, and an order to arrest him, he had only time to get on horseback, to gallop through Geneva, to take boat for Coppet, and to escape from his pursuers, who were ordered to seize him alive or dead. He left the Neckers after supper, passed through Lausanne in the night, and proceeded to Berne and Basle, whence he intended to wind his way through Germany, amidst enemies of every description, and to seek a refuge in England, America, or the moon. He told Necker, that the sole remnant of his fortune consisted in a wretched sum of twenty thousand livres; but the public report, or suspicion, bespeaks him in muchbetter circumstances. Besides the reproach of acting with too much tameness and delay, he is accused of making very foul and exorbitant contracts:[282]and it is certain that new Sparta is infected with this vice beyond the example of the most corrupt monarchy. Kellerman[283]is arrived to take the command; and it is apprehended that on the first of December, after the departure of the Swiss, the French mayrequestthe permission of using Geneva, a friendly city, for their winter quarters. In that case, the democratical revolution, which we all foresee, will be very speedily effected.[284]
I would ask you, whether you apprehend there was any treason in the Duke of Brunswick's retreat, and whether you have totally withdrawn your confidence and esteem from that once-famed general? Will it be possible for England to preserve her neutrality with any honour or safety? We are bound, as I understand, by treaty, to guarantee the dominions of the King of Sardinia and the Austrian provinces of the Netherlands. These countries are now invaded and over-run by the French. Can we refuse to fulfil our engagements, without exposing ourselves to all Europe as a perfidious or pusillanimous nation? Yet, on the other hand, can we assist those allies, without plunging headlong into an abyss, whose bottom no man can discover? But my chief anxiety is for our domestic tranquillity; for I must find a retreat in England, should I be driven from Lausanne. The idea of firm and honourable union of parties pleases me much; but you must frankly unfold what are the great difficulties that may impede so salutary a measure: you write to a man discreet in speech, and now careful of papers. Yet what can such a coalition avail if Fox be detestable and Pitt democratical?Where is the champion of the constitution? Alas, Lord Guildford! I am much pleased with the Manchester ass. The asses or wolves who sacrificed him have cast off the mask too soon; and such a nonsensical act must open the eyes of many simple patriots, who might have been led astray by the specious name of reform. It should be made as notorious as possible. Next winter may be the crisis of our fate, and if you begin to improve the constitution, you may be driven step by step from the disfranchisement of Old Sarum to the king in Newgate, the lords voted useless, the bishops abolished, and a house of commons without articles (sans culottes).
MADAME DE STAEL.
Necker has ordered you a copy of his royal defence, which has met with, and deserved, universal success. The pathetic and argumentative parts are, in my opinion, equally good, and his mild eloquence may persuade without irritating. I have applied to this gentler tone some verses of Ovid (Metamorph. 1. iii. 302, &c.[285]) which you may read. Madame de Stael has produced a second son. She talks wildly enough of visiting England this winter.* Her friend the Vicomte de Narbonne is somewhere about Dorking. If you could shew him any civilities she would thank us both. She is a pleasant little woman.
No news from Basil or Ostend of my Madeira. Pray contrive to get me a mortgage; there is nothing like land or landed security. Poor Mrs. G. in such a state! I can only wish her an easy dismission. I wish the same to poor Severy, whose *condition is hopeless. Should he drag through the winter, Madame de S. would scarcely survive him. She kills herself with grief and fatigue. What a difference in Lausanne! I hope triple answers are on the road. I must write soon; thetimeswill not allow me to read or think. Ever yours.*
No. 6 (I believe). Send me a list of these letters, with their respective dates.
Lausanne, Nov. 25, 1792.
My dearest Madam,
My friend Lord Sheffield has just informed of your late illness and happy recovery, and though I will not oppress you by a long letter, I cannot refrain from writing six lines to express my concern for the one and my joy for the other. It is my intention (if any road be open) to reach England early next summer, when I shall hasten to Bath, and hope to find you perfectly revived in health and spirits. We have had some slight alarms in this country, but they are now past, and amidst the general hurricane we hope to sleep without any troublesome dreams. Adieu, my Dear Madam; if your hand be too feeble to write yourself, could you not employ that of a friend to send me a short and sincere account?
I amEver yours,E. Gibbon.
Downing Street, 14 Dec., 1792.
Being harrassed in an extraordinary degree, I with ease persuaded myself that it should be better to delay my letter till this day, that I might say what passed in opening the Parliament yesterday.[286]Your extraordinary effort to write so much would have immediately forced me to answer if I had not known that Maria had despatched a packet, and that My Lady threatened another. I must acknowledge that Maria pressed me every post to take up the political part of the correspondence. But you will be satisfied with my occupation lately.
THE CONSTITUTION IS THE FRENZY.
Government had information (I know it to be very serious,and not from them). The sudden withdrawing of the Troops from the coast to the City, the extraordinary assembling of Parliament, the calling out of a part of the Militia, of course caused great alarm, but the effect was good. The middle ranks in town proposed Associations.[287]I believe we began in Sussex. I instantly took to it, gave a right direction, limited the business to support of Constitution as now established, and of exerting the Civil power which should be found necessary at this extraordinary crisis instead of patchwork and partial association by Towns. I have promoted one in each of the twelve Divisions of the County. My Division meets first. The Plan ran like wild-fire. The Constitution is the phrenzy more than Liberty, property and no excise, or coalition ever was. All the parishes in London are associating.
I had written the first page when the Princess d'Henin, who left Boulogne yesterday, entered my room, and the now immediate departure of post only allows me to say that Charles Fox on moving the amendment of the Address[288]uttered themost mischievous doctrines, principles, &c., that could at this time be invented, declaring himself, however, a friend to the Constitution, yet admitting the necessity of some changes. We (Country Gentlemen) opposed him, 290 to 50.[289]Lord Lansdown's men included in the latter. Most of the others were only with him because they thought it better not to throw him out of all chance of control. Just as I came into this house I met Lord Bute, who told me the Irish Catholicks were in arms. Whether we shall have war with France is far from settled.
I shall write by next post.
Sheffield Place, 20th Dec., '92.
JACOBINISM IN ENGLAND.
I wrote in much haste to you last Friday, and I know not at this time what I wrote. I suppose I mentioned to you that Fox had, contrary to the opinion of all the considerable and respectable men of the Party, uttered everything that his worst enemy could wish, and avowed everything which he seemed to keep back last Sessions. It is impossible to imagine anything more injudicious or more mischievous at this time. Every man in the street asked, "Is he mad?" On the report of the address he maintained still more extravagant language than the day before. The next day, Saturday, he moved an Address to the King to acknowledge and send an Embassy to the Republic, or to that effect.[290]I had been considerablyelevatedby his speeches of the preceding day, and just before I came down to the House, I heard that Brissot had announced in his newspaper of the 10th, as a measure of Opposition, the acknowledgment of the Republic andan Embassy. I did not suppose that Fox had any communication with him, but it seemed that somebody who was in his councils had connection with Brissot. Thus figged, the moment Fox sat down, I burst, and expressed myself pretty vigorously, and I was not sorry for the opportunity, as I knew the country gentlemen were properly disposed, and I was glad to shew agood example. Some followed strongly against Fox's conduct. The speeches are wretchedly given in the common newspapers, but there is a good report of what I said in the Diary and Morning Chronicle, and if there should be room, Maria shall copy it at the end of this letter, as it is not long.
Your last letter of the 26th Nov. is not the 6th, but the 5th Bulletin of affairs in your neighbourhood. While you continue to write you shall have frequent accounts from hence.
I had not an opportunity of learning distinctly whether Pitt has at last positively declined the admission of Fox into Administration. I have heard it said that he had, and that he had not, both seemingly from good authority, but in truth I forgot to enquire from the only quarter that could inform. The Duke of Portland is greatly distressed by Fox's conduct—if he were to be desired, he might become more desperate.—Lord Loughborough is more vigorous in his opinion of the matter. There seems at present no probability of his accepting the Great Seal. It would be a situation of uncertainty, his acceptance would be reprobated, and he would involve himself in much more trouble and difficulty than at present; yet I do not see how Government can go on without a considerable addition of force. It seems to me, however, agreed among the better part of us in Opposition not to distress or obstruct Government by opposition at this time. The business is too serious. Jacobinism had lately slid rapidly through many parts of the country. Emissaries of all sorts and in great numbers have been very busy, and at a great expence.
I believe that I mentioned in a late letter that the Chief of the Propaganda was here.—Rotombeau,[291]the most execrable ofwretches, is here, and bragged that with his own hand he had murdered the Lamballe and 38 persons in one day. Many Frenchmen landed upon different parts of our coast with arms. Some imported them regularly and paid duty for them. Several men landed even near Ipswich with Fire-locks, Side-arms, and a dagger. The officer commanding took them from them, and the Mayor ordered them to be stored. The numbers in London were very great—a very considerable number of persons there, and especially in the Borough, were in concert with them. However wild it may appear, the Plan was to surprize the Tower and to deliver the hundred thousand muskets in the Armoury to the people, who they supposed would follow them. The number who have associated in the several clubs is said to consist of many thousands. Government had notice that an attack would be made on Sat. the 1st Decr. All the night of Friday Artillery and Artillery-men were marching to the Tower from Woolwich, and before day-break it was well-guarded. All this I know and not from friends of Government. The Tower has since been much strengthened; the gates fortified, the Ditch cleansed, and a considerable body of men is now there. All the Cavalry and Regulars within a hundred miles of London, were brought to its close neighbourhood.
FOX'S MISCHIEVOUS SPEECHES.
The country was of course alarmed, the shopkeepers at Lewes proposed Association in favour of the Constitution, the same disposition seems to have arisen at the same time in different parts of England. Finding it likely to run, I have been very active in giving it a direction. It appeared to me that nothing could be more advantageous than arranging the minds of the people under a good Principle, while they were in a ferment, and when once committed by their signature, it was likely they would be strenuous for measures which I endeavoured to make their own, as much as possible. Every division of this county is forming Associations to support the Civil Power, and declaring infavour of a Government by King, Lords and Commons. The spirit is going through the whole kingdom. The Jacobins seem to be totally crushed and dismayed. Many French fled to the Ports to secure a passage. Whether C. Fox's speeches will revive them, I do not yet know, but they certainly will encourage many of the miscreants within the country. I do not know whether I mentioned to you the great facility with which several people, even in this county, talk of the foolish expence of maintaining a royal family. Association, giving an opportunity to such an immense proportion of the people to shew their attachment to the Constitution, has an excellent effect, and I have no doubt that the French Devils on the excellent appearance of things will give up their machinations. On the late explosion Rotombeau made an attempt to fly—he was told he would be safer in London. He is wellspied—he sees four hundred persons in a day. I believe he is now gone.
I came here on Sunday to attend a great meeting of Associations (which I had promoted) on Monday. I intended to return, but on Tuesday I wrote to the D. of Portland & to Lord Loughborough, and told them I was so disgusted with Fox's conduct that I thought they would agree with me, that I had better remain at Sheffield Place till Parliament meets for business after Christmas. That I was sure a very small number of members indeed would follow him in his present career. That, as a well-wisher to the tranquility and safety of the country, I need not be apprehensive of any mischief, except what may arise from the language he holds, which cannot be prevented. That I do not like to seem separate from men with whom I have zealously acted ten out of the thirteen years of my political life.
(Continued by the Hon. Maria Holroyd.)
My Lord's Speech, taken from the Diary—he rose immediately after Mr. Fox's motion for an Embassy to France. "It is impossible to be silent. Are we then in that deplorable situation? Are we the vilest and most contemptible of nations? Are we to be the first to acknowledge, and cringe to these cut-throats and robbers, who have not the recommendation of being able to controul their own Banditti? Are we to league with them, to act in concert with them? How soon they may be invited here, heshould not then attempt to guess—or to say how soon our gaols may be filled with the most respectable persons of the Nation, for the purpose of murdering them in cold blood without a trial—or how soon the most amiable of our women and of the highest ranks may lie on straw crowded in the most loathsome gaols, as in France, with the lowest dregs of the people, faultless however, except that their fathers, husbands, or sons may have ventured to maintain the constitution; he should leave to others more able than he was to detail the mischiefs of the monstrous proposition that had been made. He was too much agitated to attempt it. He was almost ashamed of the enthusiasm he had hitherto felt in favour of the Right Honourable Mover. It is true he had made much enquiry, but he hoped other country gentlemen would communicate what they knew of the state of the country. In respect to war, he believed every man wished to avert it. That the surest means of avoiding it would be by vigorous preparation for it, and if it could not be avoided, that it would be better policy to meet it, than wait for it. That the Disturbers of the World when they had over-run other nations, envying and dreading our prosperity, would not fail with double force to visit us. His Lordship concluded with some observations on the late measures, and told the Ministers, that although he commended their promptness and vigour, yet he could not approve their unjustifiable interpretation of the word—Insurrection. They would have done much better if they had acknowledged that, in consequence of some uncommon danger which impended, they had for the public good laid themselves under the necessity of applying to the Legislature for indemnity, but that he had not objected to the Address or supported the Amendment, because he would not seem to countenance the many mischievous principles and suggestions which had been heard in that House the last two days from the Mover of the Amendment."
Lausanne, Dec. 14th, 1792.
*Our little storm has now completely subsided, and we are again spectators, though anxious spectators, of the general tempestthat invades or threatens almost every country of Europe. Our troops are every day disbanding and returning home, and the greatest part of the French have evacuated the neighbourhood of Geneva. Monsieur Barthelemy,[292]whom you have seen secretary in London, is most courteously entertained, as ambassador, by the Helvetic body. He is now at Berne, where a Diet will speedily be convened; the language on both sides is now pacific, and even friendly, and some hopes are given of a provision for the officers of the Swiss guards who have survived the Massacres of Paris.
January 1st, 1793.