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THE ANGLO-FRENCH ENTENTE IN THE XVII CENTURY
BY CHARLES BASTIDE
[Illustration: ON THE ROAD TO CALAIS]
THE ANGLO-FRENCH ENTENTE IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY
BY CHARLES BASTIDE
Even as a hawke flieth not hie with one wing, even so a
man reacheth not to excellency with one tongue.
ASCHAM.
LONDON JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK JOHN LANE COMPANY
TORONTO BELL & COCKBURN MCMXIV
_Printed by_ MORRISON & GIBB LIMITED, _Edinburgh_
INTRODUCTION
Of late there have appeared on the literary relations of England and France
some excellent books, foremost of which may be mentioned, besides the now
classical works of M. Jusserand, Dr. A. H. Upham's _French Influence in
English Literature_ and Sir Sidney Lee's _French Renaissance in England_.
The drift of the main argument set forth in those several volumes may be
pointed out in a few words. Up to the death of Louis XIV., France gave more
than she received; but, in the eighteenth century, England paid back her
debt in full. France, intended by her geographical position to be the
medium through which Mediterranean civilisation spread northwards,
continued by her contributions to the English Renaissance and the influence
of her literary models on the Restoration writers, a work that historians
trace back to Caesar's landing in Britain, Ethelbert's conversion to
Christianity, and the triumph of the Normans at Hastings. But ere long the
native genius of the people asserted itself. Thanks to a series of lucky
revolutions, England reached political maturity before the other Western
nations, and, in her turn, she taught them toleration and self-government.
The French were among the first to copy English broad-mindedness in
philosophy and politics; to admire Locke and Newton; and to practise
parliamentary government.
To books that lead up to conclusions so general may succeed monographs on
minor points hitherto partly, if not altogether, overlooked. In the
following essays will be found some information on the life that Frenchmen
led in England in the seventeenth century and at the same time answers to a
few not wholly uninteresting queries. For instance: was it easy to journey
from Paris to London, and what men cared to run the risk? Did the French
learn and, when they settled in England, did they endeavour to write,
English correctly? Though the two nations were often at war, many
Englishmen admired France and a few Frenchmen appreciated certain aspects
of English life; how was contemporary opinion affected by these men? Though
England taught France rationalism in the eighteenth century, must it be
conceded that rationalism sprang into existence in England? when English
divines proved overbold and English royalists disrespectful, they might
allege for an excuse that Frenchmen had set the bad example. Hence the
importance of noticing the impression made by the Huguenots on English
thought.
Since nothing gives a stronger illusion of real life than the grouping of
actual facts, extracts and quotations are abundant. They do not only
concern governors and generals, Cromwell and Charles II., but men of the
people, an Aldersgate wig-maker, a Covent Garden tailor, a private tutor
like Coste, and poor Themiseul, bohemian and Grub Street hack.
The danger of the method lies in possible confusion, resulting from the
crowding together of details. But the anecdotes, letters, extracts from old
forgotten pamphlets, help to build up a conviction in which the one purpose
of the book should be sought.
The history of the relations of France and England in the past is the
record of the painful endeavours of two nations to come to an
understanding. Though replete with tragical episodes brought about by the
ambition of kings, and the prejudices and passive acquiescence of subjects,
the narrative yields food for helpful reflections. In spite of mutual
jealousy and hatred, the two nations are irresistibly drawn together,
because, having reached the same degree of civilisation, they have need of
each other; whereas the causes that keep them apart are accidental, being
royal policy, temporary commercial rivalry, some estrangement too often
ending in war through the selfishness of party leaders; yet the chances of
agreement seem to grow more numerous as the years roll by; and the
unavoidable happy conclusion makes the narrative of past disunion less
melancholy.
The fantastic dream of one generation may come true for the next succeeding
ones. Did Louis XIV. and William III. think that while their armies were
endeavouring to destroy each other in Flanders, and their fleets on the
Channel, some second-rate men of letters, a few divines who wrote
indifferent grammar, a handful of merchants and skilled workmen were paving
the way for peace more surely than diplomatists? The work of those
cosmopolites was quite instinctive: they helped their several nations to
exchange ideas as insects carry anther dust from one flower to another.
Voltaire was probably the first deliberately to use the example of a
foreign nation as an argument in the controversy which he carried on
against tradition and authority, and, in that respect, he proved superior
to his more obscure predecessors.
It is a pleasure to acknowledge the help I have received while collecting
material. My thanks are due above all to M. Mortreuil of the Bibliotheque
Nationale, to whose unfailing kindness I owe much; and to M. Weiss, the
courteous and learned librarian of the Bibliotheque de la Societe pour
l'histoire du protestantisme francais. Nor shall I omit the authorities of
the Bodleian Library and the British Museum. I desire also to express my
thanks to Mr. W. M. Fullerton, Dr. F. A. Hedgcock, Mr. Frederic Cobb, MM.
Lambin and Cherel.
I must add that the chapters on the political influence of the Huguenots,
that appeared some years ago in the _Journal of Comparative Literature_, of
New York, have been rewritten.
To the readers of _Anglais et Francais du dix-septieme Siecle_ an
explanation is owing. If the original title is retained only in the
headlines, it is because, on the eve of publication, a book appeared
bearing almost the same title. They will, it is hoped, hail in the
short-lived Anglo-French _entente_ of Charles II.'s time, the forerunner of
the present "cordial understanding."
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
INTRODUCTION v
I. FROM PARIS TO LONDON UNDER THE MERRY MONARCH 1
II. DID FRENCHMEN LEARN ENGLISH IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY? 19
III. SPECIMENS OF ENGLISH WRITTEN BY FRENCHMEN 39
IV. GALLOMANIA IN ENGLAND (1600-1685) 62
V. HUGUENOT THOUGHT IN ENGLAND (FIRST PART) 77
VI. HUGUENOT THOUGHT IN ENGLAND (SECOND PART) 114
VII. SHAKESPEARE AND CHRISTOPHE MONGOYE 142
VIII. FRENCH GAZETTES IN LONDON (1650-1700) 149
IX. A QUARREL IN SOHO (1682) 167
X. THE COURTSHIP OF PIERRE COSTE, AND OTHER LETTERS 176
XI. THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF THE TRANSLATOR OF
ROBINSON CRUSOE, THE CHEVALIER DE THEMISEUL 207
INDEX 229
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
ON THE ROAD TO CALAIS (see p. 4) _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
THE FORTUNE-TELLER, AFTER ARNOULT 36
A FRENCH COQUETTE AT HER TOILET-TABLE 66
THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH AS A LEADER OF FASHION 70
"L'ANGLAIS," POPULAR REPRESENTATION OF AN ENGLISHMAN,
_c._ 1670, AFTER BONNART 74
A SCHEME OF THE PERSECUTION 100
JEAN CLAUDE, THE HUGUENOT DIVINE 120
LOUIS XIV. DESTROYS HERETICAL BOOKS 140
"NOUVELLES ORDINAIRES DE LONDRES," NUMBER I 156
AT VERSAILLES, AFTER BONNART 164
THE FRENCH TAILOR, AFTER ARNOULT 168
PIERRE BAYLE, REFUGEE AND MAN OF LETTERS 204
JEAN-BAPTISTE COLBERT, MARQUIS DE SEIGNELAY, SECRETARY
OF STATE, 1690, AFTER MIGNARD 222
ANGLO-FRENCH ENTENTE IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY
CHAPTER I
FROM PARIS TO LONDON UNDER THE MERRY MONARCH
"The French," wrote Jean-Jacques Rousseau, "are the most travelled people.
The English nobility travel, the French nobility do not; the French people
travel, the English people do not." Strange as the fact appears, our
forefathers in the seventeenth century, even as in the eighteenth, wandered
over England as well as Spain or Italy, but they drew up their wills before
setting out.
The nobility travelled little; only a royal injunction would cause a
gentleman to forsake Versailles; the ambassadors left with reluctance. But
there followed a suite of attaches, secretaries, and valets. One day,
Secretary Hughes de Lionne had a mind to send his son to London. The young
marquis was entrusted to the charge of three grave ambassadors; good
advice therefore he did not lack, and we must believe his journey was not
altogether distasteful as he was seen to weep when the day came for him to
return.[1]
Next to official envoys stood unofficial agents, gentlemen who preferred
exile to a more rigorous punishment; lastly, mere adventurers.
Not a few Frenchmen came over to England on business purposes. The Bordeaux
wine merchant, the Rouen printer, the Paris glovemaker, could not always
trust their English agents when some difficult question arose. Cardinal
Mazarin's envoy mentions in his dispatches the "numerous Bordeaux merchants
in London, some of whom are Catholics."[2] At the Restoration there existed
a kind of French Chamber of Commerce, and, as early as 1663, the
ambassadors extol the adroitness of one Dumas, who appears to have played
the part of an unofficial consul-general.[3]
But there were travellers by taste as well as by necessity. Long before the
word _globe-trotter_ was added to the English language, not a few Frenchmen
spent their lives wandering about the world, to satisfy a natural craving
for adventure. Men of letters had been known to travel before Voltaire or
Regnard. Shall we name Voiture, Boisrobert, Saint-Amant, the author of
_Moses_, an epic ridiculed by Boileau? Saint-Amant celebrated his journey
in an amusing poetical skit in which he complains of the climate, the
splenetic character of the people, the rudeness of the drama. But most of
the travellers preferred to note their impressions in ordinary prose. Some
published guides. Those narratives enable us to find out how a Frenchman
could journey from Paris to London under the Grand Monarch.
Then, as now, the travellers had the choice between the Calais and Dieppe
routes. According to their social status, they would set out in a private
coach, on horseback, or in the stage coach. The latter was not yet the
diligence, it was a heavy cumbersome vehicle "neither decent nor
comfortable," through the canvas cover of which the rain would pour.[4] It
took five days to go from Paris to Calais. As travelling by night was out
of the question, the traveller would put up at Beaumont-sur-Oise, Poix,
Abbeville, Montreuil.
As soon as the traveller had passed the gates of the capital, his
adventures began. When the Swiss servant fell off his horse, every one
laughed because he received no more consideration than a "stout
portmanteau."[5] Then the roads were bad: the coach might upset or stick
fast in the mud. Dangers had to be taken into account as well as
inconveniences: in November 1662, Ambassador Cominges quaintly
congratulated himself upon avoiding "two or three shipwrecks on land,"
meaning that there were floods between Montreuil and Boulogne.[6] Another
danger arose from the highwaymen who infested the country, and, in time of
war, no one dreamed of leaving the shelter of a fortress such as Abbeville
or Montreuil without getting previous information on the movements of the
enemy in Flanders or Artois.[7]
A traveller will always complain of the inns; in the seventeenth century
they seem to have been of more than Spartan simplicity: "We were no sooner
got into our chambers," writes a distinguished traveller, "but we thought
we were come there too soon, as the highway seemed the cleaner and more
desirable place.... After supper, we retreated to the place that usually
gives relief to all moderate calamities, but our beds were antidotes to
sleep: I do not complain of the hardness, but the tangible quality of what
was next me, and the savour of all about made me quite forget my
supper."[8]
The illustration "On the road to Calais," taken from a contemporary print,
gives a good idea of what an inn, the "Tin Pot" at Boulogne or the "Petit
Saint-Jean" at Calais, then looked like. The scene is dreary enough, in
spite of the picturesque bare-legged turnspit by the roaring wood-fire, the
furniture is scanty, there are draughts, and the litter lying about spells
slovenliness and discomfort.
In such a place, one must be as wary of one's fellow-travellers as of the
rascally innkeepers. "One of the Frenchmen," Locke goes on to say, "who
had disbursed for our troop, was, by the natural quickness of his temper,
carried beyond the mark, and demanded for our shares more than we thought
due, whereupon one of the English desired an account of particulars, not
that the whole was so considerable, but to keep a certain custom we had in
England not to pay money without knowing for what. Monsieur answered
briskly, he would give no account; the other as briskly, that he would have
it: this produced a reckoning of the several disbursements, and an
abatement of one-fourth of the demand, and a great demonstration of good
nature. Monsieur Steward showed afterwards more civility and good nature,
after the little contest, than he had done all the journey before."
Those were minor difficulties next to what the traveller had to expect who
was bold enough to cross the Channel. In 1609, Beaumont and Fletcher
mention not without horror "Dover's dreadful cliffe and the dangers of the
merciless Channel 'twixt that and Callis."[9] The passengers crossed on
what would appear now a ridiculously small bark, which belonged to the
English Post Office. The boat, pompously named "a packet-boat," attempted
the passage twice a week, but did not always effect it. Even when the sea
was calm the skipper had to wait for the tide before weighing anchor. If
the tide turned in the night, the passengers would set up in an inn
outside the walls of Calais because the gates closed at sunset, and, as
about the same time a huge chain was stretched across the harbour's mouth,
they were compelled to reach by means of a small cock-boat the bark
anchored in the roads.
At last, the passengers being safely on board, the sails are set. Hardly
has the wind carried the packet-boat beyond Cape Grisnez when the swell
becomes uncomfortably perceptible. Nowadays we cross the Channel on fast
steamers, but progress which has given us speed has not done away with the
chief discomfort. Even as we do, so our forefathers dreaded sea-sickness.
Locke, good sailor as he was, rather coarsely jests at his
fellow-traveller, the astronomer Roemer: "I believe he will sacrifice to
Neptune from the depths of his heart or stomach."[10] Those who have
experienced the sufferings of a bad passage will sympathise with the
Frenchman Gourville. "I went on board the packet-boat," he writes, "to go
to Dover; at two or three leagues out at sea, we were beset by a dead calm;
as I was very ill, I compelled the sailors to let down a small skiff not
ten feet long; and two of them having got into it with their oars, I had
trouble enough to find room; hardly had we rowed two leagues, when a gale
arose that scared my two sailors. I got to land nevertheless and, no sooner
had I drained a glass of canary, than I felt well again."[11] On coming
back, Fortune did not favour him. The North Sea that he had thus braved,
took her revenge. "I travelled post to Dover where I went on board the
packet-boat. The winds being against us, I felt worse than the first time,
and it took me three weeks to recover."
The time of crossing varied considerably. "The Strait of Dover," wrote
Coulon, "is only seven leagues wide, so that with a fair wind one can cross
from one kingdom to the other in three hours."[12] But then the wind was
seldom fair. Generally it took twelve or fourteen hours to sail from Calais
to Dover. The passengers always had to take the unexpected into account.
"At 6 in the evening," Evelyn records in his _Diary_, "set saile for
Calais, the wind not favourable. I was very sea sicke. Coming to an anker
about one o'clock; about five in the morning we had a long boate to carry
us to land tho' at a good distance; this we willingly enter'd, because two
vessells were chasing us, but being now almost at the harbour's mouth,
thro' inadvertency there brake in upon us two such heavy seas as had almost
sunk the boate, I being neere the middle up in water. Our steeresman, it
seems, apprehensive of the danger, was preparing to leape into the sea and
trust to swimming, but seeing the vessell emerge, he put her into the pier,
and so, God be thanked, we got to Calais, tho' wett."[13] Thus delays were
frequent enough; for which fogs, contrary winds, and storms were chiefly
responsible. No one appears to have grumbled much at the loss of time: the
age was not one of quick travelling, and worse might befall a passenger
than tossing about the Channel on a cold night. Many a seventeenth-century
packet-boat met with the fate of the _White Ship_, when it did not fall
into the hands of unscrupulous privateers. Under the Protectorate, the
packet-boat was escorted by "a pinnace of eight guns";[14] but the
improvident Government of Charles II. left the merchants to guard their
ships as well as they might.
Happy the passenger whose title, fortune, family connections or mere
impudence secured him a place on one of the royal yachts! He had nothing to
fear from the insolence or greed of the seamen, and instead of setting foot
on a filthy tar-bespattered deck, he found, according to the Duc de
Verneuil, "rooms which were admirably clean with foot carpets and velvet
beds."[15]
But the traveller lands on English shores. Hardly has he left the boat when
the Custom-House officers are upon him. The alert and courteous officials
one meets with nowadays at Dover or Newhaven have little in common with
their predecessors of the Restoration. The latter were coarse, ill-clad
wretches bent on extorting from the travellers a pay that a needy
Government held back. Useless to add, that they readily succumbed to the
offer of a bribe. Even the Puritan Custom-House officers had been known
for a consideration to wink at a forged pass. "Money to the searchers,"
observed Evelyn, "was as authentiq as the hand and seale of Bradshaw
himselfe."[16]
When the Frenchman has got rid of these, he is confronted by the
harbour-master, who demands the payment of a licence to pass over seas. Nor
are his troubles at end: he needs must get the governor of the castle to
affix his seal to the pass. If that exalted personage is out with the
hounds, there is nothing to do but to await his return. There is not even
the expedient of visiting the town to while away the time. Dover, in the
seventeenth century, far from resembling the picturesque port we know
closely nestling in a hollow of the white cliffs, held altogether "in one
ill-paved street about a mile long" and lined with "tumbledown houses."[17]
What about the castle? "Built upon a chalky rock, very lofty and looking
out to sea. It was formerly called the key to England, and, before cannon
came into use, was considered impregnable; but at the present time it is
used solely as a prison. It is placed too high for it to endanger any
vessel, and by land it could not withstand half a day's regular siege."[18]
The harassed traveller must needs bend his steps to an inn, probably the
French inn, kept by one Lefort and his capable wife.[19]
Travellers never landed at Folkestone: it was then "a small poor-looking
town, inhabited by fishermen."[20] Skippers seldom preferred Rye to Dover,
which greatly puzzled Frenchmen. "Rye is built on a hill at the foot of
which is a pretty good harbour which might accommodate all kinds of ships;
but I cannot imagine why the haven is so neglected. I am sure the French or
the Dutch would make it a very convenient haven, being at the mouth of a
fine river. The port is blocked up by sandbanks, through the carelessness
and idleness of the inhabitants and the selfish disposition of some of
their neighbours, who have reclaimed from the sea a great part of the port
and turned it into enclosed lands. But that is the people's business and
not mine."[21]
At last the Frenchman, all formalities being disposed of, is free to pursue
his journey. He may choose between a saddle horse or a coach. According to
Chamberlayne, the charge for a horse was threepence a mile, besides
fourpence a stage for the guide. The coach cost less: one shilling for five
miles.[22] In a few hours the traveller would reach Gravesend and there he
would take boat up to London Bridge.
Coulon gives a slightly different route: Dover to Gravesend via Canterbury,
Sittingbourne, and Rochester; Gravesend to London via Dartford (spelt by
Coulon Datford). By the way, he copies a sixteenth-century guide-book,
Jean Bernard's _Traite de la Guide des Chemins d'Angleterre_ (1579).[23]
Travelling is both easier and quicker than in France, but there are dangers
to look out for. "Take heed," cautions Jean Bernard, "of a wood called
Shuttershyll (Shooter's Hill) or the Archers' Hill, very perilous for
travellers and passers-by on account of the thieves and robbers, who would
formerly take refuge there." Even under the Merry Monarch, marauders lurked
about every main road.
One of the guide-book writers, the Lyonnese Payen, has handed down to us a
very curious computation, which it is worth while to transcribe:--
"TABLE OF THE ROADS, OF THE INNS AND THE EXPENSE TO BE INCURRED"
"FROM PARIS TO ENGLAND"
"_Dieppe_: 30 leagues.
Lodge at Place Royale and pay per meal, 20 sous.
_Rye_: 30 leagues.
Pay for the Channel crossing, 3 livres.
Lodge at the Ecu de France and pay for meal, 15 sous.
_Gravesend_: 30 leagues.
Pay by post, 9 livres.
Lodge at Saint Christopher's and pay per meal, 20 sous.
_London_: 10 leagues.
Pay by boat on the Thames, 10 sous.
Lodge at the Ville-de-Paris, at the Common Garden,
and pay for meal, 12 sous."[24]
The _Ville-de-Paris_ was a French inn, and the landlord at the time was
one Bassoneau, as Claude Mauger records in his delightful dialogues.[25]
M. Payen was a wise man; as he travelled without ostentation, he managed to
get from Paris to London spending about 26 francs or a little over. In
London, he could rent a room for four shillings a week.
It is interesting to compare the above account with that of Fynes Moryson,
an Englishman writing some thirty-five years previously. Choosing the
longer route at a time when civil wars had made the roads round Paris
impassable, he took boat from Paris to Rouen, was three days going down the
river and paid the boatman "one French crown" or three francs. His meals
had cost him 15 sous in Paris, but he was charged only 12 for them in
Rouen, and the hostler told him that before the religious wars the price of
a meal was as low as 8 sous. Along the road the innkeepers asked 15 sous,
the price of the supper including lodging for the night. Yet, he exclaims,
"all things for diet were cheaper in France than they used to be in
England." From Rouen he rode to Dieppe and there took passage to Dover for
"one crown." Odd expenses he duly recorded: 10 sous for a "licence to pass
over sea" plus 5 sous gratuity to the officer; 10 sous "for my part in the
hire of a boat to draw our ship out of the haven." It took him fourteen
hours to sail to Dover. There he had to disburse sixpence for a seat in
the boat that carried the passengers ashore. The rest of the journey was
easy, though two little mishaps happened to him: in Dover he was taken into
custody on suspicion of being a papist and brought before the Mayor; on his
arrival in his sister's house in London, the servants sought to drive him
from the door, not one of them recognising in the dirty, ill-clad, lean
stranger the gentleman who had set out for his travels ten years
before.[26]
Political changes have, as well as private misfortunes, obliged a great man
to travel under conditions which to the most humble would appear trying
enough. The details of Charles II.'s flight after the defeat at Worcester
are now known with the utmost accuracy. Extraordinary adventures, including
the episode of the famous Boscobel oak, brought the royal outlaw to the
little port of Shoreham in Sussex, where the captain of a brig bound for
Poole with a cargo of coal consented to take him over to France. On 25th
October 1651, about seven or eight o'clock, the tide came up and they set
sail. No sooner did the boat stand to sea than Charles began playing a
little comedy to avert suspicions. Drawing near the men, he told them he
was a merchant fleeing from his creditors, but with money owing to him in
France. He entreated them to induce the captain to sail for the coast of
Normandy, and made them a gift of twenty shillings. After feigning to
refuse, the captain ended by listening to the men's entreaties. Next
morning the coast of Normandy was sighted, but the wind failing, they had
to cast anchor two miles from Fecamp. Thereupon a sail came in sight and
the captain fancied it might be an Ostend privateer. A boat was instantly
lowered, and the King, together with Wilmot, reached the port with all
possible speed.
On the 27th, Charles and Wilmot took horses for Rouen. At the inn where
they resolved to stay, they were mistaken for thieves, so disreputable was
their appearance, and, no doubt, trouble would have befallen them had not
some English merchants vouched for their respectability. Refreshed and
supplied with new clothes more befitting their rank, the two wanderers set
out for Paris, the day after, in a coach.
Forty-eight hours later, they had reached the capital. Having slept at
Fleury, they arrived on the 30th at Magny, where Queen Henrietta, James
Duke of York, the Duc d'Orleans and a number of gentlemen met them. Late at
night Charles, much tired but always good-humoured, entered the Louvre.
"His retinue," wrote the Venetian ambassador, "consisted of one gentleman
and one servant; his costume was more calculated to induce laughter than
respect; his appearance was so changed that the outriders who first came up
with him, thought he must be one of his own servants."[27]
To-day, in London, one may read every morning letters from France. It was
not so three centuries ago. The mails for France, the "ordinary," as it was
then called, left London twice a week, on Monday and Thursday.[28] An
answer would be forthcoming a fortnight later, if no mishap had taken
place, that is to say, if the carrier had not been drowned on the way,[29]
or if the Secretary of State had not caused the bags to be opened in his
office. "Here," wrote Cominges to Louis XIV., "they know how to open
letters with more dexterity than anywhere in the world; they think it the
right thing to do and that no one can be a great statesman without prying
into private correspondence."[30] The Record Office preserves the
melancholy letters that never reached those to whom they were addressed.
The present house-to-house delivery of letters was unknown. They had to be
called for at the Post Office in Lombard Street. Contemporary guides never
fail to give a lengthy description of the building, and the grand court
where the City merchants used to walk up and down while the officers sorted
the foreign mails.
Frenchmen of rank seldom leave London. "The quarter of the Common Garden is
ordinarily that of the travelling Frenchmen, more busy at Court than at the
Exchange.... Most of our young Frenchmen who go to London know only that
region, and have ventured only as far as the Exchange by land or the Tower
by water."[31]
How does the Frenchman of rank spend his time in London? Moreau de Brazey
has answered the question in the most satisfactory manner: "We rise at
nine, those who assist at the levees of great men have plenty to do till
eleven; about twelve, the people of fashion assemble in the chocolate and
coffee houses; if the weather is fine, we take a walk in Saint James's Park
till two, when we go and dine. The French have set up two or three pretty
good inns for the accommodation of foreigners in Suffolk Street, where we
are tolerably well entertained. At the inn, we sit talking over our glasses
till six o'clock, when it is time to go to the Comedy or the Opera, unless
one is invited to some great lord's house. After the play one generally
goes to the coffee-house, plays at piquet, and enjoys the best conversation
in the world till midnight."[32]
At that late hour, the kind help of the City constable may be needed: "the
watchmen or _guards_ are so civil and obliging that they lead a foreigner
to his home with a lantern; but if he rebels and is overbearing, they are
content to lead him to the Roundhouse, where he spends the night till the
fumes of the wine may have vanished."[33]
Though the guide-book has expatiated on the attractions of London life, the
Frenchman soon gets weary. Neither the country nor the people please him.
The English, he thinks, are haughty, fantastic, unfriendly. Moreover, they
are melancholy because their climate engenders spleen. Complaints against
the fogs ever recur in the ambassador's dispatches: "What I wish," wrote
the Duc d'Aumont to the Marquis de Torcy (19th January 1713), "is that the
fog, the air, and the smoke did not irritate my lungs." Courtin speaks in
the same strain: "an ambassador here must be broad-shouldered. M. de
Cominges has an everlasting cold that will follow him to the grave or to
France, and I who am by nature of delicate health, have grown hoarse for
the last four or five days and feel a burning in my stomach, with great
pains in the side."[34] A bad winter, a fit of influenza, were enough to
make the Grand Monarch's envoys loathe a country which they did not care to
understand.
Never was a king worse informed by his ambassadors than Louis XIV. None of
them dreamed of forsaking the Court to study the middle classes and the
people. Of the institutions of England they knew what contemporary lawyers
and archaeologists had to teach. The love of freedom, the insular pride,
they did not even suspect. Ignorant as they were, they tried by giving
advice to the king, who mocked them, and money to his ministers, to subvert
parliamentary government established at the price of six years of civil war
and six years of dictatorship. "The French nobility do not travel"; when
the gentlemen of France left Versailles they carried away with them their
spirit of caste and narrow-mindedness. Forgetting nothing, they did not
readily learn anything new.
But France had unofficial representatives beyond the Channel besides the
royal envoys and their retinue of brainless young marquises.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Jusserand, _French Ambassador at the Court of Charles II._, Appendix.
[2] Guizot, _Repub. d'Angleterre_, i. p. 420.
[3] Jusserand, _French Ambassador at the Court of Charles II._
[4] Babeau, _Voyageurs en France_, p. 78.
[5] _Lettres de Locke a Thoynard_ (ed. Ollion), p. 35.
[6] Jusserand, _French Ambassador at the Court of Charles II._
[7] Evelyn, _Diary_, 12th November 1643.
[8] Locke, _Journal in France_, November 1675.
[9] _Scornful Lady_, Act I. Sc. 2.
[10] _Lettres de Locke_, p 38.
[11] _Memoires de Gourville_, p. 539 (1663).
[12] _Fidele Conducteur pour le voyage d'Angleterre_ (1654).
[13] _Diary_, 13th July 1650.
[14] _Diary_, 12th July 1649.
[15] Jusserand, _French Ambassador at the Court of Charles II._
[16] _Diary_, 12th July 1650.
[17] Moreau de Brazey, _Guide d'Angleterre_, p. 72.
[18] _Ibid._ p. 73.
[19] _State Papers_, _Dom._, 1668-1669, p. 155.
[20] Moreau de Brazey, _Guide d'Angleterre_, p. 75.
[21] _Ibid._ p. 76.
[22] _Angliae Notitia_, ii. p. 254 (1684).
[23] This Bernard or Benard styles himself elsewhere: "Secretary to the
King for English, Welsh, Irish, and Scotch" (es langues angloise, galoise,
irlandoise, et escossoise).
[24] _Voyages de M. Payen_, 1663.
[25] _French Grammar_, 1662.
[26] _Itinerary_, 1617.
[27] Eva Scott, _Travels of the King_, pp. 279-80.
[28] Chamberlayne, _op. cit._ ii. p. 254.
[29] Jusserand, _French Ambass._ p. 206.
[30] Jusserand, _idem._ p. 193.
[31] Sorbiere, _Relation d'un voyage en Angleterre_, 1664.
[32] _Guide_, pp. 156-58.
[33] _Ibid._ p. 293.
[34] Jusserand, _op. cit._