It is necessary perhaps for an observer of mankind, to guard as
carefully the remembrance of the first impression made by a nation, as
by a countenance; because we imperceptibly lose sight of the national
character, when we become more intimate with individuals. It is not then
useless or presumptuous to note, that, when I first entered Paris, the
striking contrast of riches and poverty, elegance and slovenliness,
urbanity and deceit, every where caught my eye, and saddened my soul;
and these impressions are still the foundation of my remarks on the
manners, which flatter the senses, more than they interest the heart,
and yet excite more interest than esteem.
The whole mode of life here tends indeed to render the people frivolous,
and, to borrow their favourite epithet, amiable. Ever on the wing, they
are always sipping the sparkling joy on the brim of the cup, leaving
satiety in the bottom for those who venture to drink deep. On all sides
they trip along, buoyed up by animal spirits, and seemingly so void of
care, that often, when I am walking on the Boulevards, it occurs to me,
that they alone understand the full import of the term leisure; and they
trifle their time away with such an air of contentment, I know not how
to wish them wiser at the expence of their gaiety. They play before me
like motes in a sunbeam, enjoying the passing ray; whilst an English
head, searching for more solid happiness, loses, in the analysis of
pleasure, the volatile sweets of the moment.—Their chief enjoyment, it
is true, rises from vanity: but it is not the vanity that engenders
vexation of spirit; on the contrary, it lightens the heavy burden of
life, which reason too often weighs, merely to shift from one shoulder
to the other.
Investigating the modification of the passion, as I would analyze the
elements that give a form to dead matter, I shall attempt to trace to
their source the causes which have combined to render this nation the
most polished, in a physical sense, and probably the most superficial in
the world; and I mean to follow the windings of the various streams that
disembogue into a terrific gulf, in which all the dignity of our nature
is absorbed. For every thing has conspired to make the French the most
sensual people in the world; and what can render the heart so hard, or
so effectually stifle every moral emotion, as the refinements of
sensuality?
The frequent repetition of the word French, appears invidious; let me
then make a previous observation, which I beg you not to lose sight of,
when I speak rather harshly of a land flowing with milk and honey.
Remember that it is not the morals of a particular people that I would
decry; for are we not all of the same stock? But I wish calmly to
consider the stage of civilization in which I find the French, and,
giving a sketch of their character, and unfolding the circumstances
which have produced its identity, I shall endeavour to throw some light
on the history of man, and on the present important subjects of
discussion.
I would I could first inform you that, out of the chaos of vices and
follies, prejudices and virtues, rudely jumbled together, I saw the fair
form of Liberty slowly rising, and Virtue expanding her wings to shelter
all her children! I should then hear the account of the barbarities that
have rent the bosom of France patiently, and bless the firm hand that
lopt off the rotten limbs. But, if the aristocracy of birth is levelled
with the ground, only to make room for that of riches, I am afraid that
the morals of the people will not be much improved by the change, or the
government rendered less venial. Still it is not just to dwell on the
misery produced by the present struggle, without adverting to the
standing evils of the old system. I am grieved—sorely grieved—when I
think of the blood that has stained the cause of freedom at Paris; but I
also hear the same live stream cry aloud from the highways, through
which the retreating armies passed with famine and death in their rear,
and I hide my face with awe before the inscrutable ways of Providence,
sweeping in such various directions the bosom of destruction over the
sons of men.
Before I came to France, I cherished, you know, an opinion, that strong
virtues might exist with the polished manners produced by the progress
of civilization; and I even anticipated the epoch, when, in the course
of improvement, men would labour to become virtuous, without being
goaded on by misery. But now, the perspective of the golden age, fading
before the attentive eye of observation, almost eludes my sight; and,
losing thus in part my theory of a more perfect state, start not, my
friend, if I bring forward an opinion, which at the first glance seems
to be levelled aginst the existence of God! I am not become an Atheist,
I assure you, by residing at Paris: yet I begin to fear that vice, or,
if you will, evil, is the grand mobile of action, and that, when the
passions are justly poized, we become harmless, and in the same
proportion useless.
The wants of reason are very few; and, were we to consider
dispassionately the real value of most things, we should probably rest
satisfied with the simple gratification of our physical necessities, and
be content with negative goodness: for it is frequently, only that
wanton, the imagination, with her artful coquetry, who lures us forward,
and makes us run over a rough road, pushing aside every obstacle merely
to catch a disappointment.
The desire also of being useful to others, is continually damped by
experience; and, if the exertions of humanity were not in some measure
their own reward, who would endure misery, or struggle with care, to
make some people ungrateful, and others idle?
You will call these melancholy effusions, and guess that, fatigued by
the vivacity, which has all the bustling folly of childhood, without the
innocence which renders ignorance charming, I am too severe in my
strictures. It may be so; and I am aware that the good effects of the
revolution will be last felt at Paris; where surely the soul of Epicurus
has only been at work to root out the simple emotions of the heart,
which, being natural, are always moral. Rendered cold and artificial by
the selfish enjoyments of the senses, which the government fostered, is
it surprising that simplicity of manners, and singleness of heart,
rarely appear, to recreate me with the wild odour of nature, so passing
sweet?
Seeing how deep the fibres of mischief have shot, I sometimes ask, with
a doubting accent, Whether a nation can go back to the purity of manners
which has hitherto been maintained unsullied only by the keen air of
poverty, when, emasculated by pleasure, the luxuries of prosperity are
become the wants of nature? I cannot yet give up the hope, that a fairer
day is dawning on Europe, though I must hesitatingly observe, that
little is to be expected from the narrow principle of commerce which
seems every where to be shoving aside _the point of honour_ of the
_noblesse_. I can look beyond the evils of the moment, and do not expect
muddied water to become clear before it has had time to stand; yet, even
for the moment, it is the most terrific of all sights, to see men
vicious without warmth—to see the order that should be the
superscription of virtue, cultivated to give security to crimes which
only thoughtlessness could palliate. Disorder is, in fact, the very
essence of vice, though with the wild wishes of a corrupt fancy humane
emotions often kindly mix to soften their atrocity. Thus humanity,
generosity, and even self-denial, sometimes render a character grand,
and even useful, when hurried away by lawless passions; but what can
equal the turpitude of a cold calculator who lives for himself alone,
and considering his fellow-creatures merely as machines of pleasure,
never forgets that honesty is the best policy? Keeping ever within the
pale of the law, he crushes his thousands with impunity; but it is with
that degree of management, which makes him, to borrow a significant
vulgarism, a villain _in grain_. The very excess of his depravation
preserves him, whilst the more respectable beast of prey, who prowls
about like the lion, and roars to announce his approach, falls into a
snare.
You may think it too soon to form an opinion of the future government,
yet it is impossible to avoid hazarding some conjectures, when every
thing whispers me, that names, not principles, are changed, and when I
see that the turn of the tide has left the dregs of the old system to
corrupt the new. For the same pride of office, the same desire of power
are still visible; with this aggravation, that, fearing to return to
obscurity after having but just acquired a relish for distinction, each
hero, or philosopher, for all are dubbed with these new titles,
endeavours to make hay while the sun shines; and every petty municipal
officer, become the idol, or rather the tyrant of the day, stalks like a
cock on a dunghill.
I shall now conclude this desultory letter; which however will enable
you to foresee that I shall treat more of morals than manners.