No pleasure is complete if it cannot be shared with friends; so let me paint you a picture of my last few days.

Do not expect a story of my journey. There have been so many such narratives in the last few years that the public have surely had their fill. I know an author who took a trip of 5 leagues then celebrated it in both verse and prose. How then does this compare with the journey I have undertaken? I have not just travelled 5 leagues, I have gone 6, then 6 more and the inhabitants of the region assure me that these final 6 actually equal 7 ordinary leagues! However, I will not speak a word about the journey. I would only irritate and bore you with it, so I offer instead some very interesting adventures, in comparison with which those of Ulysses and Telemachus are nothing.

It was 5am when we left. The chariot in which we travelled passed through the city gates just as the sun soared in the bosom of Oceanus, adorned with a sheet of gleaming white, part of which floated, unwanted, on the breath of the Zephyrs. Thus we passed triumphantly before the shelter of the young farmhands. You can be sure that I did not fail to glance in this direction to see if the guardians of the farm upheld their age-old reputation for honour and honesty. Being filled myself with a noble emulation, I dared to try and claim the glory of besting them in acts of courtesy. I lent out of the window and, at great risk to my new hat, saluted them with a gracious smile, anticipating the same in return. Can you believe it when I tell you that these farm hands, standing stock still, looked back at me with a fixed expression and offered no greeting at all! I have always had a certain amount of pride and so this disdain cut me to the quick and put me in an unbearable mood for the rest of the day.

However, our steeds carried us with a speed that is difficult to imagine. They seemed to want to pit themselves against the horses of the sun god, which moved slowly above our heads, just as I had contested with the farm hands at the gate of Méaulens. With a single leap they crossed the faubourg Saint-Catherine then in another we reached the place de Lens, stopping for a moment in that town. I profited from this respite as it gave me chance to study all the beauty that the town had to offer to a curious visitor. Whilst the rest of the countryside lunched, I escaped and approached the field where Condé, at just 20 years old, had claimed victory over the Spanish and saved France. I looked over the place with admirations and emotion but then something else caught my attention – the town hall. It is by no means grand or magnificent but it had within it that which inspires in me the most lively interest. That modest edifice, I told myself, was the sanctuary of the mayor T__ who, with his powdered wig upon his head and the scales of Themis in his hand, weighed impartially the rights of his fellow citizens. Minister of Justice and favourite of Aesculapius, having pronounced a sentence on a criminal he went on to write out a prescription for a sick man. The criminal and sick felt the same fright and awe while this great man, by virtue of his double office, played with the mightiest power that a man has ever exercised over his fellows.

In my enthusiasm, I knew I’d have no rest till I had penetrated within the town hall. I wanted to see the audience chamber. I wanted to see the courtroom, where the magistrates sat. I looked throughout the town for the porter. He came. He opened the door. I found myself in the audience chamber. Seized by a kind of religious fervour, I feel to my knees in this august temple and I kissed with transport the seat in which, long ago, the buttocks of the great T__ had rested. It was thus that Alexander prostrated himself before the tomb of Achilles and Caesar paid homage to the monument that housed the ashes of the conqueror of Asia.

We then returned to our vehicle. Barely had I settled onto my bundle of straw when Carvin appeared before my eyes and the view drew forth from within us a cry of joy equal to that of the Trojans on seeing the shores of Italy after their escape from Ileum.

The people of the town gave us a welcome that more than compensated for the recent indifference of the farm hands. Citizens of all classes showed a great desire to see us. The cobbler paused in his work on a sole to regard us at his leisure. The wig-maker abandoned his half-shaved customer and ran, razor in hand, to meet us while a housewife left her tarts to burn in order to satisfy her curiosity. I also saw three gossips pause in their animated conversation and rush to their window. At last, during a journey that was, alas, too short, we tasted the satisfaction and pride of seeing numerous people so interested in us. How wonderful it is to travel, I thought! It is true that no one is a prophet in their own land, and at the gates of your town you are scorned, but 6 leagues further on you become someone worthy of public curiosity. I was engaged in these wise reflections until we finally arrived at the house that marked the end of our journey. I will not even try to describe to you the tender emotions that filled us as we all embraced – the sight would have moved you to tears. In all of history I can think of only one scene with which to compare it and that was after the fall of Troy, when Aeneas enters Epirus with his fleet and finds there Helenus and Andromache, who fate has placed in the throne of Phyrrus. It is said that their meeting was the most tender and I do not doubt it. Aeneas, who had a good heart, Helenus, the best of the Trojans, and Andromache, sweet wife of Hector, all shed many tears and gentle sighs on the occasion. I would like to believe that their emotion could not have been more than ours but after Helenus, Aeneas and Andromache one must give in.

Since our arrival our hours have been filled with delights. Since Saturday evening I have been eating tarts non-stop. Fate has decreed that my bed should be placed within the chamber that forms the patisserie and so I was very tempted to eat all night long. Luckily I reflected that I should master these passions and finally managed to fall asleep amidst all these seductive items. It is true that I compensated for this long abstinence the following day.

Je te rends grace, ô toi, qui d’une main habile,
Façonnant le premier une pâte docile
Présentas aux mortels ce mets délicieux.
Mais ont-ils reconnu ce bienfait précieux?
De tes divins talents consacrant la memoire,
Leur zèle a-t-il dressé des autels à ta gloire?
Cent peoples prodiguant leur encens et leurs voeux
Ont rempli l’univers de temples et de dieux:
Ils ont tous oublié ce sublime genie
Qui pour eux sur la terre apporta l’ambroisie.
La tarte, en leurs festins, domine avec honneur,
Mais daignent-ils songer à son premier auteur?

Of all forms of ingratitude of which the human race is guilty towards its benefactors, it is this one that always revolts me and it is amongst Artesians that it must be atoned for since they are judged throughout Europe to know best, of all the peoples of the world, the worth of a simple tart. Their glory bids them build a temple to its inventor and let me say, just between us, that to this end there is a project that I intend to propose to the States of the Artois. I reckon that it will be powerfully supported by the clergy.

But to simply eat a tart is not enough – one must do so amongst friends. Luckily I had this advantage. Yesterday I received the greatest honour I could ever have hoped for – I dined with three lieutenants, the son of a bailiff and all the magistrates of the neighbouring villages. At the head of this Senate shone M. le lieutenant de Carvin, who seemed like Calypso amongst his nymphs. Oh, if you could have seen the good will with which he conversed with the rest of the company as if he was an ordinary man, the indulgence he used when judging the quality of the champagne and the happy, satisfied air he exuded, as he seemed to study his reflection in his glass. All this I saw!! Yet how difficult it is to content the human heart. All my wishes are not yet granted and I prepare to return to Arras. There I hope that in seeing you again I will discover a pleasure even deeper that that of which I have just spoken. We will greet each other with the same satisfaction that Ulysses and Telemachus felt after 20 years separation. Then it will require no effort to forget my bailiffs and lieutenants – for what seduction could a lieutenant hold for me in comparison with you? Believe me, Madame, that you have no parallel. His figure, even viewed through the soft haze of the champagne, could never offer the same charm that you possess by nature and the company of all the bailiffs in the universe could never replace your enjoyable company.

With the profoundest friendship, please believe me to be, Monsieur, your most humble and obedient servant.

De Robespierre