that has been the cause of all this murder and devastation.
Nor let the Doctor pretend that this could not be foreseen. It was foreseen, and foretold too, from the very moment a part of the deputies to the States General were permitted to call themselves a National Assembly. In proof of this, I could mention a dozen publications that came out under his own eye; but I shall content myself with giving a short extract from a speech in the British Parliament, which is the more proper on this occasion, as it was delivered but a few weeks before the period of the riots.
“The Americans,” said Mr. Burke, “have what was essentially necessary for freedom: they have the phlegm of the good-tempered Englishmen—they were fitted for republicans by a republican education. Their revolution was not brought about by base and degenerate crimes; nor did they overturn a government for the purposes of anarchy; but they raised a republic, as nearly representing the British Government as it was possible. They did not run into the absurdity of France, and by seizing on the rights of man, declare that the nation was to govern the nation, and Prince Prettyman to govern Prince Prettyman. There are in Canada many of the ancient inhabitants; will it be proper to give them the French Constitution? In my opinion, there is not a single circumstance that recommends the adoption of any part of it, for the whole is abominably bad, the production of folly, not wisdom—of vice, not virtue; it contains nothing but extremes, as distant from each other as the poles—the parts are in eternal opposition to each other—it is founded on what is called the rights of man; but, to my conviction, it is founded on the wrongs of man; and I now hold in my hand, an example of its effects on the French colonies. Domingo, Guadaloupe, and the other French islands, were rich, happy, and growing in strength and consequence, in spite of the three last distressing wars, before they heard of the new doctrine of the rights of man; but these rights were no sooner arrived at the islands than any spectator would have imagined that Pandora’s box had been opened, and that hell had yawned out discord, murder, and every mischief; for anarchy, confusion, and bloodshed, raged every where; it was a general summons for
Black spirits and white,
Blue spirits and gray,
Mingle, mingle, mingle,
You that mingle may.”
“When the Assembly heard of these disorders, they ordered troops to quell them; but it proves that the troops have joined the insurgents, and murdered their commander. I look on the revolution with horror and detestation; it is a revolution of consummate folly, formed and maintained by every vice.”
But perhaps the Doctor’s intense studies, “his continual labours for the good of mankind,” might not leave him time to peruse the debates of Parliament; however, we may fairly presume, that he read the letters addressed to himself; and if so, he has read the following passage: “You think that a neighbouring nation is emancipated from tyranny, and that a company of Englishmen may laudably express their joy on the occasion. Were your premises true, I would allow your conclusion. But let us wait the event. Philosophers should not be too credulous, or form their determinations too rashly. It is very possible that all the magnificent schemes of your august diet in France may be succeeded by a ridiculous, a villanous, or a bloody catastrophe.”
Either he foresaw the consequences of the French revolution, or he did not foresee them: if he did not, he must confess that his penetration was far inferior to that of his antagonists, and even to that of the multitude of his countrymen; for they all foresaw them. If he did foresee them, he ought to blush at being called the “friend of human happiness;” for, to foresee such dreadful calamities, and to form a deliberate plan for bringing them upon his country, he must have a disposition truly diabolical. If he did not foresee them, he must have an understanding little superior to that of an idiot; if he did, he must have the heart of a Marat. Let him choose.
But it is pretty clear that he foresaw the consequences, or, at least, that he approves of them; for, as I have observed above, he sent his son into France, in the very midst of the massacres, to request the honour of becoming a French Citizen; and in his answers to the addressers at New York, he takes good care to express his disapprobation of the war pursued by his country (which he calls an infatuation), because its manifest tendency is to destroy that hydra, that system of anarchy which is the primary cause. Besides, is not his emigration itself a convincing proof that his opinion still remains the same? If he found himself mistaken, he would confess his error; at least tacitly, by a change of conduct. Has he done this? No: the French revolution is his system, and sooner than not see it established; I much question if he would not with pleasure see the massacre of all the human race.
Even suppose his intended plan of improvement had been the best in the world, instead of the worst, the people of England had certainly a right to reject it. He claims as an indubitable right, the right of thinking for others, and yet he will not permit the people of England to think for themselves. Paine says, “What a whole nation wills, it has a right to do.” Consequently, what a whole nation does not will, it has a right not to do. Rousseau says, “The majority of a people has a right to force the rest to be free:” but even the “insane Socrates of the National Assembly” has never, in all his absurd reveries, had the folly to pretend that a club of dissenting malcontents has a right to force a whole nation to be free. If the English choose to remain slaves, bigots, and idolaters, as the Doctor calls them, that was no business of his: he had nothing to do with them. He should have let them alone; and perhaps in due time, the abuses of their Government would have come to that “natural termination,” which he trusts, “will guard against future abuses.” But no said the Doctor, I will reform you—I will enlighten you—I will make you free. You shall not, say the people. But I will! says the Doctor. By——, say the people, you shall not! “And when Ahithophel saw that his counsel was not followed, he saddled his ass, and arose, and got him home to his house, to his city, and put his household in order, and hanged himself, and died, and was buried in the sepulchre of his father.”
I now beg the reader’s company, in a slight review of the addresses delivered to the Doctor by the several patriotic societies at New York. Ref 013
It is no more than justice to say of these addresses, in the lump, that they are distinguished for a certain barrenness of thought and vulgarity of style, which, were we not in possession of the Doctor’s answer, might be thought inimitable. If the parties were less known, one might be tempted to think that the addressers were dull by concert; and that, by way of retaliation, the Doctor was resolved to be as dull as they. At least, if this was their design, nobody will deny but they have succeeded to admiration.
“The Governments of the old world,” say the Democratic Society, “are most of them now basely combined to prevent the establishment of liberty in France, and to effect the total destruction of the rights of man.”
What! The rights of man yet? I thought that liberty and equality, the rights of man, and all that kind of political cant, had long been proved to be the grossest imposition. Are there people in this country, and people who pretend to possess a superior degree of sagacity too, who are dolts enough to talk about French liberty, after what passes under their eyes every day? Is not every Frenchman in the United States obliged to go to a justice of the peace every two or three months, to have a certificate of residence? And must he not have this certificate sworn to, and signed by four inhabitants besides the magistrate? And must he not pay for this too? And if he fails in any part of this slavish ceremony, or goes into Canada or Florida, is he not marked out for the guillotine? An Englishman may come when he will, stay as long as he pleases, go where he will, and return when he will to his own country, without finding any law of proscription or confiscation issued against him or his property. Which has the most liberty?
I thought no one would dun our ears with French liberty, after the decree which obliges every merchant, under the pain of the guillotine, to make a declaration of all his property in foreign countries, and to give up his right and title of such property to the Convention; and not only to make a declaration of his own, but of his neighbours’ property also, under the same penalty! It has long been customary to express a detestation of the tyranny and cruelty of the Inquisition: but the Inquisition, in the height of its severity, was never half so tyrannical as this decree. This is the boasted “Gallic liberty.” Let us hear their