Much as I deplore some of the consequences of the Revolution in France,
and the atrocities by which it was stained, it is impossible not to
admit the great and salutary change effected in the habits and feelings
of the people since that event. Who can live on terms of intimacy with
the French, without being struck by the difference between those of our
time, and those of whom we read previously to that epoch? The system of
education is totally different. The habits of domestic life are wholly
changed. The relations between husband and wife, and parents and
children, have assumed another character, by which the bonds of
affection and mutual dependances are drawn more closely together; and
_home_, sweet _home_, the focus of domestic love, said to have been
once an unknown blessing, at least among the _haute noblesse_, is now
endeared by the discharge of reciprocal duties and warm sympathies.
It is impossible to doubt but that the Revolution of 1789, and the
terrible scenes in the reign of terror which followed it, operated in
producing the change to which I have referred. It found the greater
portion of the _noblesse_ luxuriating in pleasure, and thinking only of
selfish, if not of criminal indulgence, in pursuits equally marked by
puerility and vice.
The corruption of the regency planted the seeds of vice in French
morals, and they yielded a plentiful harvest. How well has St.-Évremond
described that epoch in his playful, but sarcastic verses!--
"Une politique indulgente,
De notre nature innocente,
Favorisait tous les désirs;
Tout goût paraissait légitime,
La douce erreur ne s'appelait point crime,
Les vices délicats se nommalent des plaisirs."
But it was reserved for the reign of Louis the Fifteenth to develope
still more extensively the corruption planted by his predecessor. The
influence exercised on society by the baleful example of his court had
not yet ceased, and time had not been allowed for the reign of the mild
monarch who succeeded that gross voluptuary to work the reform in
manners, if not in morals, which his own personal habits were so well
calculated to produce. It required the terrible lesson given by the
Revolution to awaken the natural feelings of affection that had so long
slumbered supinely in the enervated hearts of the higher classes in
France, corrupted by long habits of indulgence in selfish
gratifications. The lesson at once awoke even the most callous; while
those, and there were many such, who required it not, furnished the
noblest examples of high courage and self-devotion to the objects dear
to them.
In exile and in poverty, when all extraneous sources of consolation
were denied them, those who if still plunged in pleasure and splendour
might have remained insensible to the blessings of family ties, now
turned to them with the yearning fondness with which a last comfort is
clasped, and became sensible how little they had hitherto estimated
them.
Once awakened from their too long and torpid slumber, the hearts
purified by affliction learned to appreciate the blessings still left
them, and from the fearful epoch of the Revolution a gradual change may
be traced in the habits and feelings of the French people. Terrible has
been the expiation of their former errors, but admirable has been the
result; for nowhere can be now found more devoted parents, more dutiful
children, or more attached relatives, than among the French _noblesse_.
If the lesson afforded by the Revolution to the upper class has been
attended with a salutary effect, it has been scarcely less advantageous
to the middle and lower; for it has taught them the dangers to be
apprehended from the state of anarchy that ever follows on the heels of
popular convulsions, exposing even those who participated in them to
infinitely worse evils than those from which they hoped to escape by a
subversion of the legitimate government.
These reflections have been suggested by a description given to me, by
one who mixed much in Parisian society previously to the Revolution, of
the habits, modes, and usages of the _haute noblesse_ of that period,
and who is deeply sensible of the present regeneration. This person,
than whom a more impartial recorder of the events of that epoch cannot
be found, assured me that the accounts given in the memoirs and
publications of the state of society at that epoch were by no means
exaggerated, and that the domestic habits and affections at present so
universally cultivated in France were, if not unknown, at least
neglected.
Married people looked not to each other for happiness, and sought the
aggrandizement, and not the felicity, of their children. The
acquisition of wealth and splendour and the enjoyment of pleasure
occupied their thoughts, and those parents who secured these advantages
for their offspring, however they might have neglected to instil
sentiments of morality and religion into their minds, believed that
they had fully discharged their duty towards them. It was the want of
natural affection between parents and children that led to the cynical
observation uttered by a French philosopher of that day, who explained
the partiality of grandfathers and grandmothers towards their
grandchildren, by saying these last were the enemies of their
enemies,--a reflection founded on the grossest selfishness.
The habit of judging persons and things superficially, is one of the
defects that most frequently strike me in the Parisians. This defect
arises not from a want of quickness of apprehension, but has its source
in the vivacity peculiar to them, which precludes their bestowing
sufficient time to form an accurate opinion on what they pronounce.
Prone to judge from the exterior, rather than to study the interior
qualifications of those with whom they come in contact, the person who
is perfectly well-dressed and well-mannered will be better received
than he who, however highly recommended for mental superiority or fine
qualities, happens to be ill-dressed, or troubled with _mauvaise
honte_.
A woman, if ever so handsome, who is not dressed _à la mode_, will be
pronounced plain in a Parisian _salon_; while a really plain woman
wearing a robe made by Victorine and a cap by Herbault, will be
considered _très-bien, ou au moins bien gentille_. The person who can
converse fluently on all the ordinary topics, though never uttering a
single sentiment or opinion worth remembering, will be more highly
thought of than the one who, with a mind abounding with knowledge, only
speaks to elicit or convey information. Talent, to be appreciated in
France, must be--like the wares in its shops--fully displayed; the
French give no credit for what is kept in reserve.
I have been reading _Devereux_, and like it infinitely,--even more than
_Pelham_, which I estimated very highly. There is more thought and
reflection in it, and the sentiments bear the stamp of a profound and
elevated mind. The novels of this writer produce a totally different
effect on me to that exercised by the works of other authors; they
amuse less than they make me think. Other novels banish thought, and
interest me only in the fate of the actors; but these awaken a train of
reflection that often withdraws me from the story, leaving me deeply
impressed with the truth, beauty, and originality of the thoughts with
which every page is pregnant.
All in Paris are talking of the _esclandre_ of the late trial in
London; and the comments made on it by the French prove how different
are the views of morality taken by them and us.
Conversing with some ladies on this subject last night, they asserted
that the infrequency of elopements in France proved the superiority of
morals of the French, and that few examples ever occurred of a woman
being so lost to virtue as to desert her children and abandon her home.
"But if she should have rendered herself unworthy of any longer being
the companion of her children, the partner of her home," asked one of
the circle, "would it be more moral to remain under the roof she had
dishonoured, and with the husband she had betrayed, than to fly, and so
incur the penalty she had drawn on her head?" They were of opinion that
the elopement was the most criminal part of the affair, and that Lady
---- was less culpable than many other ladies, because she had not
fled; and, consequently, that elopements proved a greater
demoralisation than the sinful _liaisons_ carried on without them.
Lady C---- endeavoured to prove that the flight frequently originated
in a latent sense of honour and shame, which rendered the presence of
the deceived husband and innocent children insufferable to her whose
indulgence of a guilty passion had caused her to forfeit her right to
the conjugal home; but they could not comprehend this, and persisted in
thinking the woman who fled with her lover more guilty than her who
remained under the roof of the husband she deceived.
One thing is quite clear, which is, that the woman who feels she dare
not meet her wronged husband and children, if she dishonours them, will
be more deterred from sin by the consciousness of the necessity of
flight, which it imposes, than will be the one who sees no such
necessity, and who dreads not the penalty she may be tempted to incur.
Lady C---- maintained that elopements are not a fair criterion for
judging of the morality of a country; for that she who sins and flies
is less hardened in guilt than she who remains and deceives: and the
example is also less pernicious, as the one who has forfeited her place
in society serves as a beacon to warn others; while she whose errors
are known, yet still retains hers, is a dangerous instance of the
indulgence afforded to hardened duplicity. It is not the horror of
guilt, but the dread of its exposure, that operates on the generality
of minds; and this is not always sufficient to deter from sin.
Les Dames de B---- dined with us yesterday. They are very clever and
amusing, and, what is better, are excellent women. Their attachment to
each other, and devotion to their nephew, are edifying; and he appears
worthy of it. Left an orphan when yet an infant, these sisters adopted
their nephew, and for his sake have refused many advantageous offers of
marriage, devoting themselves to forwarding his interests and insuring
him their inheritance. They have shared his studies, taken part in his
success, and entered into his pains and pleasures, made his friends
theirs, and theirs his; no wonder, then, that he loves them so fondly,
and is never happier than with them, taking a lively interest in all
their pursuits.
These good and warm-hearted women are accused of being enthusiasts, and
romantic. People say that at their age it is odd, if not absurd, to
indulge in such exaggerated notions of attachment; nay more, to give
such disinterested proofs of it. They may well smile at such remarks,
while conscious that their devotion to their nephew has not only
secured his happiness, but constitutes their own; and that the warmth
of affection for which they are censured, cheers the winter of their
lives and diffuses a comfort over their existence unknown to the
selfish mortals who live only for self.
They talked to me last night of the happiness they anticipated in
seeing their nephew married. "He is so good, so excellent, that the
person he selects cannot fail to love him fondly," said La Chanoinesse;
"and we will love her so dearly for ensuring his happiness," added the
other sister.
Who could know these two estimable women, without acknowledging how
harsh and unjust are often the sweeping censures pronounced on those
who are termed old maids?--a class in whose breasts the affections
instinct in woman, not being exercised by conjugal or maternal ties,
expand into some other channel; and, if denied some dear object on
which to place them, expends them on the domestic animals with which,
in default of more rational favourites, they surround themselves.
Les Dames de B----, happier than many of the spinsters of their age,
have an estimable object to bestow their affections on; but those who
are less fortunate should rather excite our pity than ridicule, for
many and severe must have been the trials of that heart which turns at
last, _dans le besoin d'aimer_, to the bird, dog, or cat, that renders
solitude less lonely.
The difference between servitude in England and in France often strikes
me, and more especially when I hear the frequent complaints made by
English people of the insolence and familiarity of French servants.
Unaccustomed to hear a servant reply to any censure passed on him, the
English are apt to consider his doing so as a want of respect or
subordination, though a French servant does not even dream that he is
guilty of either when, according to the general habit of his class and
country, he attempts an exculpation not always satisfactory to his
employer, however it may be to himself.
A French master listens to the explanation patiently, or at least
without any demonstration of anger, unless he finds it is not based on
truth, when he reprehends the servant in a manner that satisfies the
latter that all future attempts to avoid blame by misrepresentation
will be unavailing. French servants imagine that they have the right to
explain, and their employers do not deny it; consequently, when they
change a French for an English master, they continue the same tone and
manner to which they have been used, and are not a little surprised to
find themselves considered guilty of impertinence.
A French master and mistress issue their orders to their domestics with
much more familiarity than the English do; take a lively interest in
their welfare and happiness; advise them about their private concerns;
inquire into the cause of any depression of spirits, or symptom of ill
health they may observe, and make themselves acquainted with the
circumstances of those in their establishment.
This system lessens the distance maintained between masters and
servants, but does not really diminish the respect entertained by the
latter towards their employers, who generally find around them humble
friends, instead of, as with us, cold and calculating dependents, who
repay our _hauteur_ by a total indifference to our interests, and,
while evincing all the external appearance of profound respect,
entertain little of the true feeling of it to their masters.
Treating our servants as if they were automatons created solely for our
use, and who, being paid a certain remuneration for their services,
have no claim on us for kindness or sympathy, is a system very
injurious to their morals and our own interests, and requires an
amelioration. But while I deprecate the tone of familiarity that so
frequently shocks the untravelled English in the treatment of French
employers to their servants, I should like to see more kindness of
manner shewn by the English to theirs. Nowhere are servants so well
paid, clothed, fed, and lodged, as with us, and nowhere are they said
to feel so little attachment to their masters; which can only be
accounted for by the erroneous system to which I have referred.
---- came to see me to-day. He talked politics, and I am afraid went
away shocked at perceiving how little interest I took in them. I like
not political subjects in England, and avoid them whenever I can; but
here I feel very much about them, as the Irishman is said to have felt
when told that the house he was living in was on fire, and he answered
"Sure, what's that to me!--I am only a lodger!"
---- told me that France is in a very dangerous state; the people
discontented, etc. etc. So I have heard every time I have visited Paris
for the last ten years; and as to the people being discontented, when
were they otherwise I should like to know? Never, at least since I have
been acquainted with them; and it will require a sovereign such as
France has not yet known to satisfy a people so versatile and
excitable. Charles the Tenth is not popular. His religious turn, far
from conciliating the respect or confidence of his subjects, tends only
to awaken their suspicions of his being influenced by the Jesuits--a
suspicion fraught with evil, if not danger, to him.
Strange to say, all admit that France has not been so prosperous for
years as at present. Its people are rapidly acquiring a love of
commerce, and the wealth that springs from it, which induces me to
imagine that they would not be disposed to risk the advantages they
possess by any measure likely to subvert the present state of things.
Nevertheless, more than one alarmist like ---- shake their heads and
look solemn, foretelling that affairs cannot long go on as they are.
Of one thing I am convinced, and that is, that no sovereign, whatever
may be his merits, can long remain popular in France; and that no
prosperity, however brilliant, can prevent the people from those
_émeutes_ into which their excitable temperaments, rather than any real
cause for discontent, hurry them. These _émeutes_, too, are less
dangerous than we are led to think. They are safety-valves by which the
exuberant spirits of the French people escape; and their national
vanity, being satisfied with the display of their force, soon subside
into tranquillity, if not aroused into protracted violence by unwise
demonstrations of coercion.
The two eldest sons of the Duc and Duchesse de Guiche have entered the
College of Ste.-Barbe. This is a great trial to their mother, from whom
they had never previously been separated a single day. Well might she
be proud of them, on hearing the just eulogiums pronounced on the
progress in their studies while under the paternal roof; for never did
parents devote themselves more to the improvement of their children
than the Duc and Duchesse de Guiche have done, and never did children
offer a fairer prospect of rewarding their parents than do theirs.
It would have furnished a fine subject for a painter to see this
beautiful woman, still in the zenith of her youth and charms, walking
between these two noble boys, whose personal beauty is as remarkable as
that of their parents, as she accompanied them to the college. The
group reminded me of Cornelia and her sons, for there was the same
classic _tournure_ of heads and profiles, and the same elevated
character of _spirituelle_ beauty, that painters and sculptors always
bestow on the young Roman matron and the Gracchi.
The Duc seemed impressed with a sentiment almost amounting to solemnity
as he conducted his sons to Ste.-Barbe. He thought, probably, of the
difference between their boyhood and his own, passed in a foreign land
and in exile; while they, brought up in the bosom of a happy home, have
now left it for the first time. Well has he taught them to love the
land of their birth, for even now their youthful hearts are filled with
patriotic and chivalrous feelings!
It would be fortunate, indeed, for the King of France if he had many
such men as the Duc de Guiche around him--men with enlightened minds,
who have profited by the lessons of adversity, and kept pace with the
rapidly advancing knowledge of the times to which they belong.
Painful, indeed, would be the position of this excellent man should any
circumstances occur that would place the royal family in jeopardy, for
he is too sensible not to be aware of the errors that might lead to
such a crisis, and too loyal not to share the perils he could not ward
off; though he will never be among those who would incur them, for no
one is more impressed with the necessity of justice and impartiality
than he is.