R 0 β e s π r

Bonus: the cute spine of the booklet with flower decorations

[Ch. Vellay Transcriptions]

First letter:

"It is unfortunate, and I have told myself this many times over the past two years, that I am as much a slave to my adolescence as I truly am. You are not the first to make me bitterly regret possessing nothing; it would have been pleasant to find at home, as it is in my own feelings, what you ask of me, though I am fortunate if I have found it elsewhere. If I were the master, I would ask for nothing better than to help you in a powerful way in a career that requires wealth. But do you know my age? I am 23 years, 5 months, and a few days old."

"Il est malheureux, et je me le suis dit plusieurs fois depuis ces deux années, que je sois aussi esclave que je le suis de mon adolescence. Vous n'êtes point le premier qui me faites regretter amèrement de ne posséder rien, il m'aurait été agréable de trouver chez moi comme il l'est dans mes sentimens ce que vous me demandiés (*), heureux toutesfois si je l'ai trouvé ailleurs. Si j'étais le maître, je ne demanderais pas mieux que de vous aider d'une manière puissante dans une carrière où il faut de la fortune. Mais savés-vous (*) mon âge? J'ai 23 ans, 5 mois et quelques jours."

Second letter:

"Tell me what you think. I have the desire to start a journal until I turn 25, because I'm only 23, what am I supposed to do? I'm bored and this constant work in solitude is an obsession. Besides, I wish I were in Paris to frequent the libraries, which I can no longer do without."

"Dites-moi ce que vous en pensés (*). J'ai envie d'entreprendre un journal jusqu'à ce que mes 25 ans me viennent, car je n'en ai que 23, que faire? Je m'ennuie et ce travail continuel dans la solitude m'obsède. D'ailleurs je voudrais être à Paris pour fréquenter les bibliothèques dont je ne puis plus me passer."

(*) This would not have been considered "bad spelling" at the time. His use of this form is entirely consistent and reflects a common orthographic variant in use before French spelling was standardized. It wasn't until the 1835 reform of the Académie Française that French spelling was fully modernized into the forms we use today - for instance, replacing the "-ois" endings with "-ais", such as changing françois to français.

[M. Boussemart Transcriptions]

Third letter:

"You might send copies of my book to Laon, to Waroquier's in Soissons, to St. Quentin, and to Devin's in Noyon. I am known in all those parts; it is my département."

I forgot Château-Thierry.

"Vous pourriez faire passer des exemplaires de mon livre à Laon, à Soisson chez Waroquier, à St Quentin, à Noyon chez Devin. Je suis connu dans tous ces pays-là, c'est mon département.

J'oubliai Château-Thierry."

Fourth letter:

Dated 10 or 11 March 1791.

"You quite rightly anticipated that I would be awaiting your response with the utmost impatience. In truth, I feared that you had sent me packing. I take a sincere interest in your affliction; however, it does not befit a man of wit to succumb to it."

"Vous prévoyiez bien justement que je devais attendre votre réponse avec la dernière impatience. J'ai en vérité cru que vous m'aviez envoyé promener. Je prends part avec un véritable intérêt à votre mal, mais il n'appartient point à un homme d'esprit d'y succomber."

"The title of the work does not please me; it strikes me as a bit inflated. Substitute it with this one: Public Law of the French and Revolution in France."

"Le titre de l'ouvrage ne me plait pas, il me parait un peu enflé. Substituez-y celui-ci : Droit public des Français et révolution en France."

"I am a man truly vexed at being unable to do as I please to fulfill your wishes, but no one possesses more goodwill nor more impotence than I do at this moment. How much bitterness my legal minority brings me - not to mention the bitterness of being unfit for any employment, and of being in this world as if I had no motherland at all."

"Je suis un homme bien fâché de ne pouvoir faire à mon gré ce que vous souhaitez mais personne n'a plus que moi de bonne volonté et d'impuissance pour le moment. Combien ma minorité me coûte d'amertume, sans compter celle d’être inhabile à tout emploi et d'être au monde comme si je n'avais point de patrie."

Fifth letter:

"I would, however, prefer the title Public Law or the Spirit of the Revolution of France, and here is why: as I have often strayed from my subject, I have seemed more to expand upon the principles of the public law of this France than I have appeared merely to lay them down. The first title was sufficient, in truth, according to the first draft; it has become insignificant following everything I have sent you since."

"J'aimerais mieux pourtant le titre Droit public ou esprit de la révolution de France, voici pourquoi : comme souvent je suis sorti de mon sujet, j'ai plus semblé étendre les principes du droit public de cette France que je n'ai paru les poser seulement. Le premier titre suffisait à la vérité selon la première rédaction ; il est insignifiant depuis tout ce que je vous ai fait passer."

What These Letters Can Teach Us About Saint-Just

These rare glimpses into Saint-Just's interiority stand in stark contrast to the rigid, official correspondence that dominates his surviving record. Here, we find the portrait of an anxious young man at a threshold, transitioning from years of local activism in Blérancourt toward the national stage. We witness a profound, human vulnerability: his loneliness, his desperation for the intellectual life of Paris, and his plans for a journal as a remedy to this isolation. We even witness his fear that his editor might have abandoned him.

​In these letters, the man of "twenty-three years and five months" literally counts the days to his majority. He is powerless and terrified that the first serious political work into which he poured his soul might be suppressed or discarded. It is perhaps one the most fragile moments we have of him - there is no arrogance or aggression, merely a young thinker facing the existential dread of being silenced before he has even begun.

A Few More Notes:

1. We see him being knowledgeable about his region when he notes to Beuvin the places (Laon, Soissons, St-Quentin, Noyon and Château-Thierry) his book should be sold at: "I am known in all those parts; it is my département." Indeed, Bernard Vinot mentions the relevance of these places in his biography:

[This passage comes right after the one I already shared here.]

THE BAPTISM OF THE ROSTRUM AT CHAUNY

​The fate of this address was barely known before Saint-Just won a new triumph. From May 17 to 20, he participated in the assembly of electors called to choose the capital of the Aisne department. The meeting took place in the Saint-Martin church of Chauny, on neutral ground. A sharp rivalry pitted Soissons, the former administrative capital (chef-lieu de généralité), against the city of Laon, which benefited from its central position. In an attempt to thwart Laon, Soissons had obtained the annexation of the Château-Thierry region to the new department, stretching it significantly toward the south. However, as the northern districts were the most populated, it was predictable that the electors would choose Laon.

​As the spokesperson for the canton of Blérancourt, Saint-Just feared not facing the assembly, but rather being unable to speak at all. He was not yet twenty-three years old, and twenty-five was the requirement for participating in political life. Granted, the entry control was not extremely rigorous, and he could allow some uncertainty to linger: born in Decize, he hoped it would be impossible to verify his records. But he had everything to fear from his adversaries. Thus, he had to resort to the help of "burly" companions to get rid of Gellé, who had denounced him ("he was thrown out by the shoulders," he would later confide to Desmoulins), in order to enter. Mandated to support Soissons, he strove above all to make himself known and appreciated by an audience composed, in his own words, of "men of every stripe and caliber." These were men he could not afford to alienate, for two obstacles stood in the path of his candidacy: age and the cens (since the end of 1789, to be eligible for the Assembly, one had to pay a "silver mark" in taxes, or 50 francs). Fulfilling neither of these conditions, it was in Saint-Just's best interest to charm his high-ranking listeners, which he did with the skill of a seasoned politician.

​He apologized for his youth and gave thanks for the indulgence shown to him and for the lesson in democracy he was being offered. He expressed regret at having to take a side: "My conscience belongs to one, and my heart to both." Then, without passion, he laid out arguments that had been virulently rehashed for two days and invited the assembly to repudiate all local chauvinism by thinking of the unfortunate people who lacked bread.

​The assembly ended in confusion, as most of the partisans of Soissons had left the premises before the vote that consecrated the triumph of Laon. Saint-Just was hardly affected by it. He confessed to Desmoulins: "It seems to me that it is only a point of honor between the two cities, and points of honor are very little thing in almost every regard." By the evening of May 20, Soissons had suffered a blow that weighed heavily on its future... But the detachment Saint-Just had displayed was interpreted as a sign of poise and mastery that placed him above partisan passions. He was congratulated from all sides: "I left loaded with compliments like the donkey with relics." He could tell Camille of his confidence in being elected "at the next legislature."

​Before leaving the Saint-Martin church, he had the text of his speech inserted into the minutes. He had signed it Florelle de Saint-Just. This fanciful and unusual first name, used on this single occasion, was the first in a long series of false declarations meant to maintain doubt regarding his status as an elector: if the authorities, intrigued by Gellé's denunciation, had the idea of investigating the orator's age, it would be quite difficult to find a Saint-Just named "Florelle" in any parish register.

​A week later, the electors of the Chauny district met to appoint their administrators. The choice of Saint-Just as the assembly's secretary bears witness to his adoption into the circle of notables: he had accomplished the most difficult part.

2. It's interesting to read his motivations (it sounds a bit too pompous, it doesn't accurately reflect the final text) and insistence on changing the title of his essay, as his choice clearly didn't prevail. The fact he focuses on "Droit public" gives a stronger basis to Quennedey's hypothesis that the true title of the manuscript known as "De la Nature" should be known as "Du Droit social".

3. Like Boussemart notes, he didn't check the date when writing the third letter, writing only "10 ou 11 mars 1791": "the young revolutionary didn't have the possibility or didn't have an interest in checking the date".

3. He reveals he feels unfit for any job which raises some questions about his work as a clerk in Soissons, like Quennedey observes:

"One cannot help but be surprised by Saint-Just’s admission, in one of his letters, that he was 'unfit for any position'. This statement casts doubt on whether his work as a clerk to a prosecutor in Soissons from 1787 to 1789 went smoothly."

(On ne manquera pas non plus de s’étonner de l’aveu que fait Saint-Just, dans l’une de ses lettres, « d’être inhabile à tout emploi ». Cette déclaration fait douter que le travail qu’il aurait effectué à Soissons en 1787-1789 comme clerc de procureur se soit bien passé.)

One could argue this admission also suggests a man whose intellectual ambitions had already made the clerk's desk feel like a cage. The bitterness and frustration he evokes weren't just about age; they were about a spirit that refused to be small and contained.

Conclusion

The discovery of these new letters after two centuries is a testament to the fact that the history of the Revolution is never truly "closed". There are still voices waiting to be heard in the uncatalogued boxes of our archives. For Saint-Just, these fragments restore a sense of intimacy that official records cannot provide. They remind us that behind every political decree was a human heart, often heavy with the bitterness of being misunderstood and the desperate hope of being seen.