A Trip to Paris in July and August 1792 — Context and Discussion

A Traveler's Practical Eye

Twiss begins not with grand political reflections but with the logistics of his trip. He recounts obtaining passports, noting the cost of two guineas and sixpence for a British one, which he calls an unnecessary expense. He contrasts this with the free passes from the French minister Chauvelin and the mayor of Paris, Petion. This attention to fees, distances, and the condition of roads sets the tone for a work that is as much a practical guide as a historical document. The table of contents lists expenses, coins, and inns alongside entries on the execution of criminals and the massacre. Twiss's observations on the assignats (paper currency) and the new names given to streets and squares after the revolution show a traveler trying to make sense of a rapidly changing city. His description of the guillotine as a "beheading machine" is characteristically detached, focusing on its mechanics rather than its moral implications.

Witness to the Tuileries Massacre

The most striking section of the book is Twiss's account of August 10, 1792, when the Tuileries Palace was stormed and the Swiss Guard massacred. He describes the scene with a reporter's precision: the wounded being taken to hospitals, women and children walking among dead bodies, and sans-culottes covered in blood, carrying rags torn from the naked Swiss. He notes that one man bragged of killing eight Swiss, and another lay wounded, asleep or drunk, surrounded by weapons. Twiss pays particular attention to the role of women, especially Théroigne de Méricourt, whom he calls "Teroigne." He recounts how she cleaved the head of a Swiss who sought her protection, and how poissardes (fishwives) ripped open the bellies of the dead. At six in the evening, he saw a Swiss killed on the Pont Royal, his skull cleaved by a dozen sabres, then cast into the river. The shops were shut, theatres closed, and houses lit up as patrols paraded all night.

Statues Pulled Down, New Names Given

The following day, August 11, Twiss records the systematic destruction of royal statues. The equestrian bronze of Louis XV in the Place Louis XV (now Place de la Concorde) was pulled down by ropes, along with the allegorical figures of strength, peace, prudence, and justice by Pigalle. The statue of Louis XIV in the Place Vendôme, cast in a single piece, crushed a man to death when it fell. Twiss notes the material details: the bronze, the marble pedestals, the balustrades. This destruction was accompanied by the renaming of streets and squares, a symbolic erasure of the old regime. Twiss's account is clinical, but the accumulation of detail conveys the scale of the upheaval. He also mentions the hanging of thieves and the continued presence of Théroigne de Méricourt on horseback leading the crowd. The juxtaposition of these events with his earlier notes on the price of eggs and the quality of inns creates a jarring effect that is characteristic of the whole work.

The Limits of Twiss's View

Twiss's narrative is valuable precisely because it is incomplete. He does not pretend to offer a comprehensive history of the French Revolution; he records what he saw and heard during a two-month visit. His perspective is that of a foreigner, a gentleman traveler with a taste for the macabre and a sharp eye for expense. He is more interested in the mechanics of the guillotine than in the political philosophy behind it. The book ends abruptly with an epilogue and a return to Calais, leaving the reader with a sense of a journey cut short. The excerpts we have do not include his final reflections, but the tone throughout suggests a man who is both fascinated and horrified, but never entirely engaged. For a modern reader, the book offers a ground-level view of revolutionary Paris, filtered through the sensibilities of an eighteenth-century English tourist. It is a document of its time, with all the biases and limitations that implies.

Twiss's Trip to Paris is best read as a primary source for the events of July and August 1792, rather than as a polished historical analysis. The reader should be aware that the author's perspective is that of an outsider, and his descriptions of violence are often matter-of-fact, reflecting the sensibilities of his era. The book's value lies in its concrete details: the cost of a passport, the size of a statue, the appearance of a beheading machine. These details bring the reader closer to the lived experience of revolutionary Paris than many more famous accounts. Approach the text with an eye for the incidental, and you will find a vivid, if unsettling, portrait of a city in crisis.