Today on Project Gutenberg: "A Trip to Paris in 1792"

Today on Project Gutenberg, we have…

A Trip to Paris in July and August 1792 by Richard Twiss

As any historian knows, the 1790s were an exciting and dangerous time to be in Paris (or anywhere in France, really). By the summer of 1792, the French Revolution had yet to reach the heights of chaos and bloodshed it would attain during the Reign of Terror. But the Revolution was well underway—the Bastille had been torn down, the royal family was stuck in the Tuileries, a new constitution had been written and the powers of the church had been curtailed significantly. These were the last days of the constitutional monarchy initially established by the revolutionaries. On August 10th, 1792, the arrest of Louis XVI would lead to the official abolition of the monarchy the following month.

Into this political whirlwind comes Richard Twiss, an English writer known for his travelogues and books about chess. Twiss tells us at the beginning of this narrative that he has visited Paris several times before, but he wants to see how society has progressed since the start of the Revolution (and so he can be there to witness the “Counter-Revolution” or “violent measures,” as he puts it). He also, somewhat inexplicably, really wants to visit some gardens.

In theory, this would be an excellent subject for a travel narrative. In practice, however, the first several chapters are quite a slog to read, because Twiss isn’t very good at this whole “getting to the interesting part of the story” thing. He starts out with dull, straightforward accounts of each town he passes through, the people he travels with, how much money he spends on his trip, being offended that he has to pay for a passport, that sort of thing. And his visits to the gardens, which apparently take much higher priority on this trip than he’d let on. When he does finally get to Paris, he does things like make an exhausting list of how many theaters are currently operating in the city.

But despite all of Twiss’s dithering, he does start to stumble across subjects more pertinent to the Revolution itself. One chapter is devoted to how French coinage has been updated to include references to current events and iconography like the fasces (bundle of sticks) and the Phrygian cap (or Liberty Cap). Twiss also reports seeing Liberty Caps with tricolor cockades placed on trees, statues and crucifixes while traveling between Calais and Paris.

Of course, the darker aspects of the Revolution soon start to appear. One chapter is about how Twiss witnessed the execution of two criminals by guillotine, carried out with chilling mechanical precision. The centerpiece of the book is his account of the fight at the Tuileries on August 10th, the beginning of the end for the royal family:

The insurrection now became general; the Place du Carrousel…was already filled; the king had not been in bed; all the night had probably been spent in combining a plan of defence, if attacked, or rather of retreat; soon after seven the king, the queen, their two children (the dauphin, seven years old, and his sister fourteen) Princess Elizabeth, (the queen's sister, about 50 years old) and the Princess de Lamballe, crossed the garden of the Tuileries, which was still shut, escorted by the National Guard, and by all the Swiss, and took refuge in the National Assembly, when the Swiss returned to their posts in the château.

The alarm-bells, which were incessantly ringing, the accounts of the carrying heads upon pikes, and of the march of almost all Paris in arms; the presence of the king, throwing himself, as it were, on the mercy of the legislative body; the fierce and determinate looks of the galleries; all these things together had such an effect on the National Assembly, that it immediately decreed the suspension of Lewis [sic] XVI. which decree was received with universal applause and clapping.

At this moment a wounded man rushed into the Assembly, crying, "We are betrayed, to arms, to arms, the Swiss are firing on the citizens; they have already killed a hundred Marseillois."

While the book is not especially well-written or compelling, it has its uses for us historians. You get a decent impression of what Revolutionary-era France looked like to an outsider visiting from another nation. Twiss may be repulsed at the violence and perceived moral degeneracy that he witnesses—trashy books being sold in public!—but he also points out how the working class and the nation as a whole is benefiting from a higher quality of life. First-person accounts of major historical events are always worth preserving and having a look at, even if they’re not the most fun to read, and this little book is no exception.

And that’s what we found today on Project Gutenberg! See you next time!

—Dana