During the forty months that I resided at Avignon two capital executions
only took place; one at Avignon, which I did not witness, and one at
Carpentras, at which town, on account of its being in the centre of the
department, the tribunals or assizes are held. During the last year that
I passed in Lincolnshire four criminals were hanged. Lincolnshire is
smaller and much less populous than the department of Vaucluse. The
disproportion is enormous. This subject has frequently been brought
before the public, and before the public I leave it.
In the second year of my sojourn, a mission was preached at Avignon. On
the expediency or prudence of these missions, concerning which so much
difference of opinion prevailed among the French themselves, a stranger
is hardly competent to decide. Many were offended that catholic France
should be treated like a country that had never heard of the gospel; but
this view of the matter was formed rather on a strict and somewhat
captious interpretation of the word _mission_, than from any thing in
the scheme itself justifying such an interpretation. The gospel was not
preached by the missionaries as new, but as having been neglected. Yet
this supposition of neglect threw a blame somewhere; and these
extraordinary means taken to repair it excited animosity.
Six thousand parishes throughout France were said, at this time, to want
pastors; and it was regretted that funds should be diverted from the
maintenance of the seminaries or their more effectual support, to supply
the expense of desultory efforts, of evanescent enthusiasm.
On the other hand it was argued that, for a quarter of a century,
religion had been discouraged; for one year of that time it had been
proscribed, and the churches closed; during all that time Christian
education had been notoriously neglected; so many clergy had been
banished, that the remainder had been insufficient to the various
functions required of them; that to recover from such a state,
extraordinary remedies were called for.
After all, there was nothing so very extraordinary in these missions:
from three to six priests, men of some talent, zeal, and eloquence,
arrived in a town, stayed there a greater or less number of days
according to the population, or, it may be, the spiritual wants of the
place, preached, and heard confessions. Yet let any one suppose what
would be the effect of the presence of half a dozen methodist teachers
in any town in England, and he will be able to form an idea of the state
of Avignon, pending the mission which lasted, as well as I can remember,
about a fortnight.
The churches were crowded; those who wished to have seats to hear the
sermon at six in the evening, were obliged to take their places at
mid-day; these were chiefly women: men, who could bear the fatigue of
standing during the sermon, occupied every space large enough for a pair
of feet.
The _lessive_, so the washing is called from the wood ashes employed in
it, was neglected; dirty shirts and sheets were too common to be
complained of: the men were obliged to cook their own dinners; children
were grouped together by scores under the care of some one contented or
paid to stay at home. Then came the general confessions, which occupied
some days; then one day for the communion of the male and another for
that of the female penitents; lastly, the procession of the cross, which
was to be set up as a perpetual memorial of the mission, and a mean of
recalling to every one the good resolutions he had then made.
An ill-carved crucifix, larger than life, borne on the shoulders of the
devout, was followed by the missionaries and people singing cantiques,
and was finally placed on the terrace near the great door of the
cathedral, to which it gives the appearance of a place of public
execution.
I venerate the images of Christ and his saints; they are, as St. Austin
calls them, the books of the illiterate, and they speak to the heart
even of those who can read. But they should be so made and so placed as
to inspire, not terror, but sentiments of peace, hope, and gratitude.
The missionaries turned many from the evil of their ways: some sums of
money were deposited in their hands to be by them restored to those who
had been robbed or defrauded of them; these sums, so unexpectedly
recovered, were in general given to the poor. I have read an account of
the conduct of these missionaries to the galeriens at Toulon, which was
very interesting and edifying. On leaving Avignon they were accompanied
for several miles by the people, who, by way of taking leave, tore the
cassock off the back of the chief missionary and divided it into shreds,
that all or as many as possible of their zealous admirers might have a
relic. In this _procede_ there was a little too much of the _fougue du
midi_,[61] and the missionary by no means liked the process of popular
canonization. How long the good effects of the mission may last is
doubtful. It seems as if it were necessary that some strong excitement
should exist in order that religion should be present to the mind. Holy
men create this excitement to themselves by the aid of divine grace, and
by prayer, a powerful mode of self-persuasion: for the multitude, this
excitement must be created for them. I was assured by a very worthy and
experienced cure, who remained in France during the whole of the
revolution, that, in the reign of terror, when the churches were shut
up, many followed the clergy into caverns and hiding-places, who
afterwards could not be persuaded to go to church.
I formed an acquaintance with an old gentleman of eighty-five years of
age, who had served in the seven years war: he had been present at the
affair of St. Cas. Two brothers, of a Lincolnshire family, every member
of which I have always esteemed as a friend, were officers in the
regiments landed on this occasion. I remember when a boy to have heard
one of them relate how his brother called to him, when they were both
driven back into the sea, to share a bottle of wine which chance had
supplied. They were waiting for the boat to take them to their ship:
there was no cork-screw; he broke off the neck of the bottle with his
sword. It was pleasant to me, at such a distance of time and place, to
meet with one whom this trifling anecdote could amuse. He spoke with
respect, as does all the world, of English valour, but said, no one
could conceive why they disembarked their troops on the coast, as it was
utterly impossible for them to penetrate ten miles into the country: in
this he was in accord with the English public at that time. He is dead;
the brothers are dead: very few survive, who fought in the war concluded
by the peace of Paris, in 1763.
I was also acquainted with two young men of celebrated names, officers
of a regiment in garrison at Avignon. One of them was grand nephew of
that archbishop of Marseilles, whose conduct, when the plague raged in
that city, in the year 1720, has ever been spoken of with justly-merited
eulogium; the other was grandson of the author of the "Esprit des Lois."
This latter made me much ashamed, not _of_ my country, she is too great
for that; but _for_ my country. Talking of military discipline, he
said, "Vos soldats sont des braves gens,[62] but you vippe dem; you
vippe dem." I was, as I have said, ashamed, and knew not what to answer,
but that such punishments were not so frequent since certain debates in
the Parliament. "Den you vippe dem," and forgetting the word
_sometimes_, "quelquefois," twirling his hand as if brandishing a
cat-o-nine tails; then added with a serious look, "quelquefois; c'est
trop."[63] Sir Francis Burdett's endeavour to place the representation
of the people in the Commons House on a rational basis, will meet with
the fate of my proposal to establish the Catholic religion in Ireland;
but his efforts to rescue the soldier from a cruel and degrading
punishment deserve the thanks of every friend of mankind. He has
relieved human nature from more suffering than a legislator who should
abolish the _question_; for there are, or were, more soldiers flogged
than, in any equal time, state-prisoners tortured. If the sentiment of
reproach and contempt with which young Montesquieu spoke of our military
punishments,--a sentiment in which he is joined by every man of sense
and honour throughout Europe,--may contribute to abolish the odious
practice, he too may share in the praise of the "legislateur du genre
humain."[64] The great object of all legislation is to prevent evil,
injustice, and misery. Alas! Alas! How much does it itself inflict!
An election of a deputy to the chamber was held while I was at Avignon.
Of this election I can give but a negative account. There was no ringing
of bells; no flags displayed; no parading the streets by day-light or
torch-light; no canvassing; no kissing the women; no rioting; no
drunkenness. The town was as quiet as if no election had been going on.
The number of electors for the department was about six hundred. What
influenced their votes I cannot say; certainly not those glorious
concomitants of an English election in all towns large enough to enjoy
them,--festive noise and indecent tumult.
In the spring of the year 1820, my elder son set off for England, which
was to him an unknown land, as he had been immured in college from his
thirteenth year, and with which he was anxious to become acquainted. At
his departure, he asked and received on his bended knee the blessing of
his parents. This may seem strange to some; yet Sir Thomas More, when
Chancellor of England, began the day by kneeling at the bed-side of his
aged father, to implore, through him, the blessing of God, and then went
and served at mass in his own chapel. Sir Thomas More was a wise and
amiable man, whose life and death are beyond all praise. The act of
submission above-mentioned might, however, for reasons that may easily
be divined, be more laudable in a young man of nineteen, than in a Lord
High Chancellor of England. Besides other considerations, the one acted
in conformity, the other in contradiction, to the spirit of his age.
From Lyons, where he passed two days, Kenelm took the road to Paris by
Moulins, in order to see a different country from that by which he had
come to Avignon. He passed five days in Paris, three of which he
dedicated to the Museum of the Louvre, which he now saw with advantage,
derived from the progress he had made in drawing. He spent ten days in
London. A friend who had known him two years before in Paris,
good-naturedly bore testimony to the improvement which two years had
produced: "You were then a great boy; you are now a fine young fellow."
He passed also ten days, at Bath, at the house of his mother's sister.
I know not whether it may have been remarked that, in my chapter of
Paris, I have said not a word of the theatres. The fact is, we never
once were present at any of them. The opinion of Catholics as to the
lawfulness of attending the theatrical representations of the present
day, is by no means uniform. The English Catholic clergy in general
advise to abstain from them: the pious and excellent priest at Paris, to
whose counsels Kenelm owed so much, gave the same injunction. Our kind
and prudent director at Avignon rather requested than required us to
abstain from attending the theatre at that place. "It is no great loss,
considering the merit of the performance: when you shall be in Italy, I
give you up to my successor."
Kenelm, on this journey, made some stay in Paris, London, and Bath,
without going to a theatre. This must be considered as no slight
sacrifice for a young man of nineteen; master, for the time, of his own
actions; solicited by his curiosity and by the invitations of friends,
who regarded the stage as a source of innocent amusement, and even of
instruction.
Following the lights, such as they were, of my own common sense, I had
occasionally, even after becoming a Catholic, assisted at theatrical
representations both in Bath and London, when the inducement was in
accord with good taste and good morals. I could see no harm in allowing
those "purifiers of the affections," terror and pity, to be administered
by those masters of the scenic art, Kemble and Siddons. There were
others, second to these, but of great merit, whom I saw with pleasure:
amongst them Cooke, when he was sober; Elliston, at all times. Arrived
in France, I refrained from going to the theatre as the safer line of
conduct, seeing I was now no longer alone. Besides, I was told that
comedians, so they call all actors, were in a state of excommunication;
that they could not accomplish the sacrament of penance without
promising to renounce their profession; and that if they died comedians,
their right to Christian burial was at least disputable.
I cited the example of the capital of the Christian world. "In Rome
itself there are theatres." "The holy Father is under the necessity of
permitting, as sovereign, what, as head of the church, he condemns."
This reminded me of Sir Jonathan Trelawney, sometime Bishop of
Winchester, who was much given, according to the custom of his time, to
profane cursing and swearing--a custom which he adopted perhaps to show
that he was no puritan, as men neglected days of fasting and abstinence
to prove that they were no papists. This reverend prelate being reproved
for this mal-practice, declared that he swore as Sir Jonathan Trelawney,
not as Bishop of Winchester. He was asked how he would _hereafter_ make
a distinction in his personal identity, or divide what Sir Kenelm Digby
calls "a man's numerical self;"--a phrase which my friend Sir ---- was
so good as to translate for me into "number one."
In fact, the argument drawn from the double character of the Pope to
justify the permission of what was bad in itself, excited my
indignation. "The Pope," said I, "is no hypocrite." "True: the Pope is
no hypocrite; but sovereigns are in some cases obliged to permit evils
which they palliate and diminish by superintendence and regulation." I
understood the allusion, but felt a strong repugnance to class actors,
many of them persons of exemplary morals, and none of them necessarily
otherwise, with those unfortunate outcasts, so well watched in France
and Italy, and so piously allowed to roam at large in London: neither
could I be all at once persuaded that stage-plays were of the nature of
a violation of one of the ten commandments. I alleged the example of
all, or almost all the Catholic sovereigns of Europe, who assisted at
them without scruple. I was answered, that the example of sovereigns
could not justify what was wrong in itself. The great Bossuet was
quoted, who replied to Louis XIV., by whom his opinion was asked on the
lawfulness of stage plays which the monarch himself frequented, "Sire,
il y a de grands exemples pour, et de grandes autorites contre."[65]
"Reste a savoir," said I to myself, with the disputant at Nismes. The
question did not press: we abstained from plays in France. I resolved,
if possible, to reconcile these contradictions in Italy.
In Italy I was instructed, that there exists no excommunication of
actors by the universal church, but only by the decrees of some
particular dioceses, in remote ages, when the scenic art was reputed
infamous on account of the representations, then almost always contrary
to good morals: that they who exercise the profession of actors are
guilty of great sin, if they exhibit on the stage any thing shameful or
obscene, but not otherwise: that there exist indeed sentences of the
holy see and of general councils against scenic representations, but
that they refer always to such as may be indecent and contrary to sound
morality: that the Fathers condemn the theatres of their time, not only
because of the indecencies there represented, but also because, as the
pagans acted plays in honour of their false gods, the Christians could
not assist at them without the stain of idolatry: that a decent play
cannot be called _absolutely_ a proximate occasion of sin, but may
become such _relatively_ to certain individuals on account of their
personal fragility; and that such, admonished by their own experience,
are bound to fly a danger which, though it may be _remote_ to others, is
to them _proximate_: finally, that there cannot be any positive judgment
nor any fixed or constant rule respecting theatres; since the lawfulness
or unlawfulness of them may vary at every moment, according as scenic
representations are agreeable or repugnant to good morals.
Priests go to plays in Italy, generally retiring before the ballet. I
have seen a cardinal at a private theatre: that it was a private
theatre, was a circumstance of some importance in point of decorum, but
of none in point of morality, concerning which it is fair to presume
that his eminence entertained no doubt or scruple.
Kenelm, however, abstained all his life from going to the theatre: in
this he acted according to the information which his conscience had
received. Conscience is not the rule of action: the rule is THE LAW
divine or human; conscience is the measure which each individual
applies, first to the rule, then to his own actions. He who does a bad
action, thinking it a good one, is not excused; it is his duty to inform
his conscience: he who abstains from that which is innocent because he
thinks it wrong, has merit in conforming his actions to his sense of
duty, as well as he who, from a motive of duty, performs an action in
itself indifferent.
Kenelm proceeded from Bath to the country-house of his mother's father
in Somersetshire, where he passed three or four months, making short
excursions and visits in the neighbourhood. Towards the end of September
he returned to Bath, his native place, visited Bristol and the shores of
the Severn. He then went through the midland counties into Lincolnshire,
where his family, originally from Yorkshire, had been settled for four
generations. Here visits and business detained him some time: he
returned to London: the theatres were again opened; but not for him.
During his former stay in London he had received the sacrament of
confirmation on the feast of Pentecost: he wrote to me, that that day
had been the happiest of his life. On this occasion he took the name of
Aloysius or St. Lewis of Gonzaga, whom a conformity of character seems
to have induced him to regard with peculiar sympathy. Is it fanaticism
or imbecility to hope and believe, as I sincerely believe, that these
two happy souls, after their short trial, now enjoy the society and
converse of each other in a state of unchangeable felicity?
After a short visit in the neighbourhood of Southampton, Kenelm once
more embarked at that port and returned to France. He was desirous of
following a route, not unusual with English tourists, by Orleans,
Bordeaux, and the line of the Garonne, to Avignon; but the season was
too late: in truth he complained that he suffered from cold in his
journey from Paris. His family had the satisfaction of receiving him
again on the eleventh of November.
The judgment formed of him by those who became acquainted with him
during his stay in England, may be known by the following extract from a
letter written by his mother within a short time after his death, that
is, within a twelvemonth after his return to France.
"Your son was perfect, as far as human nature can be so: so much
self-denial, tenderness to the feelings of others, such strict
attention to his religious duties, whatever pleasures might be offered
him, I never met with in any character; and in so young a man, at a
distance from all who had a right to control him, it was most
extraordinary, and bespoke a mind whose every feeling was governed by
religion. Could you have heard the general regret for his loss, and the
remarks made on his conduct and manners by all who knew him, you would
have been gratified; but you have a higher source of comfort," &c.
I will cite another testimony; that of the priest who was his director
during his visit to his native land:--"I was much affected by the news
of the death of the amiable Henry Kenelm; and yet I cannot but regard it
as a great mercy in Almighty God to snatch him in his innocence from the
horrid corruptions and impieties of the world. Now he is gone, it is not
unlawful for me to say that I thought him one of the most innocent,
watchful, and mortified souls I had ever met with of his age."
On the morrow of his return he began a drawing of an infant Jesus from
an engraving of a picture by Raphael in the Palazzo Pitti: it was to be
finished in the French style, with much exactness and labour. He said,
"the infant shall be ready for his birth-day;" and in effect he
concluded his work on Christmas eve. I saw the features of this infant
Jesus with an astonishment, the motive of which I explained to Kenelm;
it is not yet time to reveal it to the reader.
This winter Kenelm took lessons in fencing, and, after having acquired
some skill in the noble science of defence, he engaged a sous-officier
to come daily to the house to teach him the manual exercise. He had
learned dancing in his college, where masters attended for that purpose.
During his first winter at Avignon he refused to take dancing lessons,
from scruples suggested to him by a devout person, who also endeavoured
to engage me to forbid my children to learn to dance, supporting his
opinion of its unlawfulness by the usual topics. I replied, "I should be
ashamed for my children, if I thought they could not dance without
finding in it a proximate occasion of sin: the thing is innocent in
itself; let those who find it, or make it otherwise, avoid it." In his
second winter Kenelm surmounted the scruples of our devout friend, and
resumed his dancing lessons, and now continued them, not so much out of
a desire to perfect himself, as for the sake of joining in the amusement
of the family party.
The summer which Kenelm passed in England had been excessively hot in
the south of France. I was in the habit of observing my thermometer at
midnight, and, during July and August, usually found it, at that hour,
at 84 Fahrenheit. The autumn was very mild: we were to give a ball on
new year's day, and there was no ice in the town, as the master of the
cafe, who was to furnish ice creams, announced to me in a tone of due
despondency. He proposed to send a cart to Mont Ventoo, a lofty and
remarkable mountain fifteen miles off, where there was ice at all times;
this carriage would cost thirty francs. I asked him if he would bear a
part of the expense, as the ice would be of use to him for his other
customers. He said, if it should freeze, his share of the load would
become useless; moreover that, if there should be ice of the thickness
of a ten-sous piece, that would be enough for my purpose. That very
night, the last of the year 1820, a frost set in, so severe, that almost
all the olive-trees of Provence and of the east of Languedoc were
destroyed to the root. The preceding open weather had sustained the sap;
so that this sudden and violent check was fatal. It was a great
calamity: the government came in aid of the more indigent of the
sufferers; but four years must pass ere the olive-trees could be in
full bearing as before.
Besides the "fatness" of the olive, they reckon in this country four
other _recoltes_ or harvests: the hay of the artificial grasses, of
which lucerne is the chief; with this hay they fatten cattle and make a
great deal of manure: indeed I saw at Avignon a symptom of covetousness
of dung, much to the credit of their agricultural management; those who
sweep the streets bring straw, cut into little bits about three inches
long, which they throw into the kennels and dirty puddles to suck up the
fertilizing moisture. Manure must be in great demand, and an article of
the first necessity in a country, where, besides extensive gardens, they
intercule, after the wheat, reaped usually at the end of June, a crop of
haricots or French beans,--a standing dish, during the winter, at all
tables. I remembered at how high a price I had formerly bought a few of
these beans for seed, that I might have this vegetable, young and green,
as a side-dish or in pickle: yet these _haricots secs_, or the dried
grain of the French bean, is the cheapest food at Avignon, cheaper even
than bread; and it was without cause that I was alarmed at my own
extravagance, when I saw them spread in such abundance on the table in
my kitchen. _Gar__rence_, or madder, is another _recolte_, and a source
of great wealth. Add to these harvests, their wine, which, by the help
of the climate and good manipulation, is, in my opinion, the best in the
world, except perhaps that of Xeres and Madeira. Melons and _pastecs_,
or water-melons, are here delicious, and the food of the common people.
Bread is excellent, light, white, and nutritious; many degrees whiter
than that which I made of my own wheat in England, though not so white
nor so quickly dry and tasteless as the adulterated bread of London.
I consider French agriculture, as far as I was able to observe it in the
south, to be in a flourishing condition. They have not the grand
cultivation: the subdivision of property and the nature of the products
forbid it. They have no "expensive plans For deluging their
dripping-pans." They would regard almost as thrown away, a rich plot of
land given up to the fattening sheep and bullocks. In the southern
moiety of France, indeed, they have no choice: there are water meadows,
where irrigation is possible, but no pastures. Their cattle are fed on
the mountains and hills and poorest lands, during summer, and brought
home in winter.
The end of agriculture is to obtain the greatest value of produce from
land at the least expense, and that for ever; and in this end the
French, the spirit of calculation coming in aid of their soil and
climate, succeed in a great degree. The chattels (the word is French),
the stock, both live and dead, belongs to the proprietor; he
superintends; the land is not worse managed on that account. Indeed, as
Pythagoras or Plato said, that states would never be well governed, till
philosophers were kings or kings were philosophers; so it may be said,
that land will never be well cultivated, till proprietors shall be
farmers or farmers shall be proprietors: their interests are opposite,
and not to be reconciled by leases or conditions of obligation; one
desires immediate, the other continued, profit: but the interest that a
French proprietor has in his share of the produce, is not great enough
to induce him to diminish his capital by deteriorating the land, which
the tenant always will do if he can: even the _materiel_ of the farm, no
unimportant part of its value, is better cared for by the landlord than
by a tenant. In short, France, in the southern part of it, is rapidly
advancing towards garden culture, the perfection of all cultivation;
since the more a farm is cultivated like a garden, the more will the
management of it be applauded, and the greater will be its produce in
proportion to its extent. The spade and hoe are very much used in
fields, especially where, as is often the case, these fields are
traversed by rows of mulberry or other trees; and the vines trimmed into
the form of bushes, and the _garence_, and _haricots_, and lucerne in
rows and drills, and the slight fences, occupying the least possible
space, and set rather as limits than as guards, give, to a rich tract,
as much of the appearance as it really has of the nature of a garden.
The silk-worm, though silk is a most valuable _recolte_ of this country,
has no connexion with agriculture, except that this worm feeds on the
leaves of the mulberry tree. These leaves are plucked as soon as they
have attained their full spread, and before they are at all dried or
even hardened by the sun. While nature is preparing the food of the
silk-worm, art is forcing into existence the worm itself. The eggs are
hatched by artificial warmth, and, from the time that the worm can eat
till it becomes a cocon, this savoury food is administered. The mulberry
is of the white sort; but the _fruit_ is hardly known to the Avignonais;
it is of course destroyed by plucking off the leaves. I surprised my
friends by telling them I had eaten excellent black mulberries in
England, and, as is usual in such cases, they gave no credence to my
word. These trees look very miserable without leaves under so fine a
sky: by the end of summer a second crop of leaves is plucked off, and
given to cattle.
It was pleasing to me, as carrying memory back into former ages, to see
the threshing-floors of the Avignonais: they are on the outside of the
building that serves for the granary: the sheaves are laid in a circle,
in the centre of which stands a man who drives two or more horses round,
over the ears of corn: another man stands without the circle to correct
any irregularities in the work. The moral meaning of the command, not to
muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn, is evident; and it is to be
hoped that, in practice, it was interpreted according to its moral
meaning: otherwise the work would not have proceeded very quickly, and
would soon have been stopped altogether by the strangulation of the
beast.
They built, while I was at Avignon, a very good _abattoir_ near one of
the gates of the town. I saw here the process of skinning an ox: air is
thrown in under the skin by a pair of bellows, which air is then forced
forward by beating the inflated hide with clubs. A beast, whose turn it
was to be killed next, was standing by with his nose fastened to a ring
in the floor. How far did his intelligence enable him to presage the
fate that awaited him?
French agriculture has made rapid strides within twenty years: they
procure and disperse improved machinery: in the breed of their sheep
they pay attention to the quality of the fleece. They call the English
their masters in the science of agriculture, but entertain confidence, I
hope well-founded, of soon equalling those masters.