GALLOMANIA IN ENGLAND (1600-85)
The English have always been divided between a wish to admire and a
tendency to detest us. France is for her neighbour a coquette whimsical
enough to deserve to be beaten and loved at the same time. The initial
misunderstanding between the two nations endures through ages, sometimes
threatening open war, more seldom ready to be cleared up. A few miles of
deep sea cuts Great Britain off from the rest of Europe. As England has
retained no possessions on the Continent, no intermediary race has sprung
up, as is the case with most of the Western Powers on their borderlands.
Thus the French and Germans are linked together by the Flemings, Alsatians,
and Swiss; the Savoyards and Corsicans are a cross between the French and
the Italians; and before reaching Spain, a Frenchman must traverse vast
tracts of land inhabited by Basques and Catalans; but a few hours' sail
from Calais to Dover, from Rotterdam or Antwerp to Harwich will bring a
traveller from the Continent into an entirely new world. To avoid
disagreements, in the past infinite tact and patience were requisite on
both sides of the Channel: our indiscreet friends made us unpopular with
their fellow-countrymen. The story of English gallomania, which is amusing
enough, is thus also instructive, as a few episodes will show.[106]
In the sixteenth century, Italy, just emerging from her glorious
Renaissance, charmed England; but common interests, political and
economical necessities, a degree of civilisation almost the same, prevented
her from neglecting us altogether. In the following century, the marriage
of Charles I. with a daughter of Henri IV. made French fashions acceptable
for a time in Whitehall. But misfortune overtook the Stuarts. The Great
Rebellion broke out, Charles I. was put to death and his son exiled. During
over twelve years, the future King of England lived in French-speaking
countries; when restored to his throne, he could not help bringing back our
fashions, literature, manners of thinking and doing; of all the Kings of
England, from Plantagenets to Edward VII., Charles II., in spite of some
diplomatic reserve and occasional outbursts of insularity, proved the most
amenable to French influence: perhaps that is why his popularity was so
great; the English would admire France without stint, if France were but
her finest colony.
If the courtiers imitated French manners to please the monarch, the
citizens did so to copy the courtiers; so that, about 1632 and 1670, all
the frivolous, unreflective idlers that England numbered, were bent on
appearing French. Few examples are more striking of the power of the
curious desire that possesses ordinary mankind to astonish simple souls by
aping the eccentricities of the higher classes.
The mania was carefully studied by contemporary writers: they describe the
morbid symptoms with so much accuracy and minuteness as to render all
conjectures superfluous.
The disease was developed chiefly by travelling. Attracted by the mildness
of a foreign climate and dazzled by the luxurious life of the nobles there,
the young Englishman feels estranged from his native land and the rude
simplicity of his home. When he comes back, the contrast between his new
ideas and his old surroundings, the conflict waged in his own heart between
Continental influence and insularity, are fit themes for a tragedy or at
least a tragi-comedy. The character of the frenchified Englishman appears
several times on the stage in Beaumont and Fletcher's _Monsieur Thomas_, in
Marston's _What you Will_, in Davenant's _Fair Favourite_. Others, again,
picture the young fop just back from Paris, clad in strange garments,
praising foreign manners, so affected as to disregard his mother-tongue.
About 1609 or 1610, Beaumont and Fletcher sketch the man's character. "The
dangers of the merciless Channel 'twixt Dover and Calais, five long hours'
sail, with three poor weeks' victuals. Then to land dumb, unable to inquire
for an English host, to remove from city to city, by most chargeable
post-horse, like one that rode in quest of his mother-tongue. And all these
almost invincible labours performed for your mistress, to be in danger to
forsake her, and to put on new allegiance to some French lady, who is
content to change language with your laughter, and after your whole year
spent in tennis and broken speech, to stand to the hazard of being laughed
at, at your return, and have tales made on you by the chamber-maids."[107]
As a fervid preacher finds hearers, so the traveller induces some of his
friends to share his mania. The infection spreads in spite of ridicule:
"Would you believe, when you this monsieur see,
That his whole body should speake French, not he?
That he, untravell'd, should be French so much,
As Frenchmen in his company should seem Dutch?...
Or is it some French statue? No: 't doth move,
And stoope, and cringe...."[108]
The most frequent symptom of gallomania in early, as in recent times, is to
use French words in everyday conversation. So Sir Thomas More laughed at
the fop who affected to pronounce English as French but whose French
sounded strangely like English.[109]
In the sixteenth century, as in the Middle Ages, French was as generally
used as Latin. "In England," wrote Peletier, "at least among princes and in
their courts, all their discourses are in French."[110] A few years later,
Burghley advised his son Thomas, then travelling on the Continent, to write
in Latin or in French.[111] In schools, French was taught with great zeal,
and, according to Sylvester, the future translator of Du Bartas, it was
forbidden to speak English, however trivial the matter, under penalty of
wearing the foolscap.
In spite of these stringent methods of education, backward pupils were not
lacking. They were sent to France, but even this desperate remedy was
sometimes unavailing; witness Beaumont and Fletcher's youth whose mother,
asking him on his return to speak French, was shocked at hearing only a few
broken words of abuse.[112]
Yet it was imperative to speak French correctly at Queen Henrietta's Court.
Of course the ladies succeeded. In Blount's Preface to Lyly's plays we read
that "the beautie in court which could not parley euphuisme, was as litle
regarded, as shee which now there, speakes not French."[113]
[Illustration: A COQUETTE AT HER TOILET-TABLE]
What was the distinctive mark of a good education under Charles I., was
equally so under Charles II. "All the persons of quality in England could
speak French." The Queen, the Duchess of York spoke "marvellously
well."[114] There was no need to know English at Whitehall: few French
gentlemen troubled to learn it, but the English unfortunate enough not to
know French had to conceal the defect. These would repeat the same foreign
words or phrases; "to smatter French" being "meritorious."[115] "Can there
be," exclaims Shadwell, "any conversation well drest without French in the
first place to lard it!"[116] In an amusing scene, Dryden shows a coquette
rehearsing a polite conversation: "Are you not a most precious damsel," she
says to her teacher, "to retard all my visits for want of language, when
you know you are paid so well for furnishing me with new words for my daily
conversation? Let me die, if I have not run the risque already to speak
like one of the vulgar; and if I have one phrase left in all my store that
is not threadbare and _use_, and fit for nothing but to be thrown to
peasants."[117]
Fops followed the example set by coquettes. Monsieur de Paris and Sir
Fopling Flutter "show their breeding" by "speaking in a silly soft tone of
a voice, and use all the foolish French words that will infallibly make
their conversation charming."[118]
After an interval of a hundred years, the reproaches of Sir Thomas More
were repeated. If we must credit Shadwell, the youth of England had
forgotten their English through studying foreign languages with too much
application: they return "from Paris with a smattering of that mighty
universal language, without being ever able to write true English."[119]
And, again, "all our sparks are so refined they scarce speak a sentence
without a French word, and though they seldom arrive at good French, yet
they get enough to spoil their English."[120]
From time immemorial Europe has learned from Paris polished manners and the
inimitable art of good tailoring. In the sixteenth-century drama, the
tailors are invariably French. Harrison deplored the introduction of new
fashions, regretting the time "when an Englishman was known abroad by his
own cloth, and contented himself at home with his fine kersey hosen, and a
mean slop, a doublet of sad tawny or black velvet or other comely silk."
Then he proceeds to inveigh against the "garish colours brought in by the
consent of the French, who think themselves the gayest men when they have
most diversities of jags (ribbons)" and "the short French breeches" that
liken his countrymen "unto dogs in doublets." The dramatists constantly
mention "French hose, hoods, masks, and sticks," thus attesting the vogue
of the Paris fashions. In one of Chapman's plays, two shipwrecked gentlemen
cast ashore at the mouth of the Thames think they have reached the coasts
of France; seeing a couple of natives drawing near, one of them exclaims:
"I knew we were in France: dost thou think our Englishmen are so
frenchified, that a man knows not whether he be in France or in England,
when he sees them?"[121]
The lover of France was a true epicure as well as a fop. In the houses of
the nobility the cooks were invariably French. "I'll have none," says one
of Massinger's characters, "shall touch what I shall eat but Frenchmen and
Italians; they wear satin, and dish no meat but in silver."[122] We must go
to Overbury for the portrait of a French cook "who doth not feed the belly,
but the palate. The serving-men call him the last relique of popery, that
makes men fast against their conscience.... He can be truly said to be no
man's fellow but his master's: for the rest of his servants are starved by
him.... The Lord calls him his alchymist that can extract gold out of
herbs, roots, mushrooms, or anything.... He dare not for his life come
among the butchers; for sure they would quarter and bake him after the
English fashion, he's such an enemy to beef and mutton."[123]
Gallomania quickly spread after the Restoration. The Record Office has
preserved the name of the French tailor, Claude Sourceau, who helped the
Englishman, John Allen, to make Charles II.'s coronation robes.[124] As
early as October 20, 1660, Pepys, dining with Lord Sandwich, heard the
latter "talk very high how he would have a French cooke, and a master of
his horse, and his lady and child to wear black patches"; which was quite
natural, since "he was become a perfect courtier"; and on December 6, 1661,
My Lady Wright declared in Pepys' hearing "that none were fit to be
courtiers, but such as had been abroad and knew fashions." Soon the motto
at Court was to
"Admire whate'er they find abroad,
But nothing here, though e'er so good."[125]
Hamilton tells in his delightful _Memoires de Gramont_ how every week there
came from France "perfumed gloves, pocket-mirrors, dressing-cases,
apricot-jam and essences." Every month the Paris milliners sent over to
London a jointed doll, habited after the manner of the stars that shone at
the Court of the Grand Monarch.[126] According to M. Renan, the dreamy
Breton blue eyes of Mademoiselle de Keroualle conquered Charles II.; but we
feel inclined to think that the monarch appreciated also her brilliant
success as a leader of fashion. As Butler satirically said, the French gave
the English "laws for pantaloons, port-cannons, periwigs and
feathers."[127] Every one spoke of "bouillis, ragouts, fricasses," bordeaux
and champagne were drunk instead of national beer.[128]
[Illustration: THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH AS A LEADER OF FASHION]
The City ladies tried to outdo the Court belles. One of them "had always
the fashion a month before any of the Court ladies; never wore anything
made in England; scarce wash'd there; and had all the affected new words
sent her, before they were in print, which made her pass among fops for a
kind of French wit."[129]
The movement, of course, elicited a violent opposition. Poets and
dramatists were banded together in denouncing the subservience to France of
a portion of English society. At times, these nationalists went perhaps too
far in their praise of old manners and old fashions. Assuredly any
reasonable man will side with Sir Fopling Flutter in preferring the wax
candle, albeit from France, to the time-honoured tallow candle.[130]
Butler's notebooks, which were published a few years ago, reveal in the man
a singularly conservative state of mind. The French are the same, he
thinks, to the English nation as the Jews or the Greeks were to the Romans
of old. Fashions, cooking, books, all that comes from France is to be
abhorred.[131]
One day Evelyn, champion as he was of all generous ideas, determined to
bring his countrymen back to their forefathers' simplicity. He accordingly
wrote an "invective" against the fashions of France and proposed to adopt
in their stead the "Persian costume," "a long cassock fitted close to the
body, of black cloth, and pinked with white silk under it, and a coat over
it, and the legs ruffled with black ribbon." Under the title of _Tyrannus
or the Mode_, the pamphlet was dedicated to the King. Apparently Charles
II. was very idle at the time: the idea pleased him and he donned the
"oriental vest." Several members of the House of Commons, probably by way
of protesting against the dissoluteness of the Court, had forestalled him.
While Evelyn was gravely congratulating himself on the good effect of his
pamphlet, the King, in the vein of irrepressible "blague" that was his
characteristic trait, remarked that the "pinking upon white made his
courtiers look like so many magpies." A few days after, upon hearing that
the King of France had caused all his footmen to be put into vests, Charles
II. quietly reverted to the French fashion, "which," as Guy Miege wrote
after the Revolution, "has continued ever since."[132]
Though beaten in that particular instance, the nationalists were to carry
the day, thanks to the power of tradition and the strong individualism of
the English nation. For a hundred years at least, it had been recognised as
an assured principle that an Englishman ran the risk of depravation if he
ventured abroad.[133] What could the fancy of a few courtiers avail against
universal consent? All the satirical poets--Wyatt, Gascoigne, Bishop Hall,
Butler--had successfully declaimed against foreigners and frenchified
Englishmen. Even Charles II. applauded Howard's comedy, _The English
Monsieur_. Then, as now, for the average Englishman, Paris was
pre-eminently the pleasure-city. It was even worse at times: if gentlemen
fought private duels, it was to copy the French.[134] A man as
well-informed as the Earl of Halifax feared that the famous poisoning cases
in which the Marquise de Brinvilliers and the woman Voisin were concerned,
might find imitators in England, "since we are likely to receive hereafter
that with other fashions."[135] As the Chinese in modern America, so the
Frenchman was looked upon as a suspicious character; not altogether without
cause: the cooks, tailors, and valets, the adventurers of the Gramont type
lurking about the Court, were redolent of vice. Pepys, who had nothing of
the saint about him, could not hide his aversion for Edward Montagu's
French valet, the mysterious Eschar, most probably a spy. The great ladies
had the habit, which seems so strange to us, to be waited upon by valets
instead of maids. When the valet came from France, the pretext for scandal
was eagerly seized upon.[136]
If anglomania was unknown to France in the seventeenth century, yet
Frenchmen were found who appreciated England. Some lived at Court, during
Louis XIV.'s minority and later, when the King of England was in the pay of
his cousin, the Grand Monarch. No doubt English literature did not profit
by those good dispositions, for the simple reason that none of those
Frenchmen knew English.
Both Cardinal Mazarin and the Grande Mademoiselle caused horses to be
imported from England, but Colbert found them rather expensive. When he
received instructions to build Versailles, the minister had to be resigned
to extravagance. Henrietta of England stood in high favour with the King,
and all that came from England proved acceptable; overwhelmed with work,
responsible for the national finances, the navy and public prosperity, the
great minister was compelled to discuss trivial details; the same year as
the Treaty of Dover was signed, he corresponded with Ambassador Colbert de
Croissy about the purchase for the canal at Versailles of two "small
yachts." The boats were built in Chatham dockyard, sent to France, and
workmen were dispatched to carve and gild the figure-heads.[137]
[Illustration: POPULAR REPRESENTATON OF AN ENGLISHMAN
_After Bonnart_]
When Locke visited Paris in 1679, he found some admirers of England. He was
told that Prince de Conti, then aged seventeen, proposed to learn
English.[138] No wonder the princes of the blood were anxious to know all
about the allies of France. The King himself had shown as much curiosity as
his exalted station allowed. He had asked his envoys to forward him reports
on the government and institutions of the newly-discovered land, on the
state of arts and sciences there, on the latest Court scandals. In the
Colbert papers may be found reports on the state of the English navy, by
superintendent Arnoul, a learned disquisition on the origin of Parliaments,
and amusing bits of information, such as the following, about Charles II.'s
Queen: "She is extremely clean and takes a bath once every six weeks,
winter and summer. Nobody ever sees her in her bath, not even her maids,
curtains being drawn around."
When Gilbert Burnet visited Paris in 1685, he was asked on behalf of the
Archbishop if he would write in English a memoir of Louis XIV. From which
significant fact it may be inferred that in official circles the state of
public opinion in England was beginning to be taken into account.[139]
In all these manifestations of gallomania and incipient anglomania, there
is ample matter for ridicule. We should gladly give up the imitation of
French fashions and French cooking and the passion for English horses and
yachts, just to have once more an instance of the noble spirit of rivalry
that Spenser showed when, after reading Du Bellay's poems, he exclaimed:--
"France, fruitful of brave wits."
Yet efforts were being made during the whole seventeenth century to bring
about an understanding between the two neighbouring nations. Unluckily the
methods pursued were calculated to make France most unpopular with the
larger section of the English public.
FOOTNOTES:
[106] See on the subject Sir Sidney Lee, _French Renaissance in England_;
Upham, _French Influence in English Literature_, Charlanne, _L'influence
francaise en Angleterre au XVIIe Siecle_.
[107] _Scornful Lady_, Act I. Sc. 1.
[108] Chalmers, _English Poets_, v. p. 506.
[109]
"Et Gallice linguam sonat Britannicam,
Et Gallice omnem, praeter unam Gallicam,
Nam Gallicam solam sonat Britannice."
_Thomae Mori Lucubrationes_ (Basil, 1563), p. 209.
[110] _Dialogues de l'orthografe_, p. 60 (1550).
[111] _State Papers, Dom._, Eliz. xix. No. 35; see also _The Travels of
Nicander Nucius_ (Camden Soc.), p. 13; Paul Jove, _Descriptio Britanniae_,
Venice, 1548. "Aulae et foro Gallicus sermo familiaris."
[112] _The Coxcomb_, Act IV. Sc. 1 (1610)
[113] _Six Court Comedies_, 1632.
[114] Mauger, _French Grammar_, pp. 189, 217, 234.
[115] Butler, _On our Ridiculous Imitation of the French_.
[116] _Bury Fair_, Act II. Sc. 1.
[117] _Marriage a la Mode_, Act III. Sc. 1.
[118] Etheredge, _Man of Mode_, Act II. Sc. 1.
[119] _Virtuoso_, Act I. Sc. 1.
[120] _True Widow_, Act II. Sc. 1.
[121] _Eastward Hoe_, Act II. Sc. 1 (1605).
[122] _City Madam_, Act I. Sc. 1 (1632).
[123] _Characters_, p. 144 (1614).
[124] _State Papers, Dom._, 1665-1666, p. 481.
[125] Butler, _op. cit._
[126] _Spectator_, No. 277.
[127] _Hudibras_, iii. 923.
[128] "Put about a cup of ale, is this not better than your foolish French
kickshaw claret."--Shadwell, _Epsom-Wells_, Act I. Sc. 1.
[129] _True Widow_, Act I. Sc. 1.
[130] "How can you breathe in a room where there's grease frying? Advise My
Lady to burn wax lights."--_Man of Mode_, Act IV. Sc. 1.
[131] _Characters_, pp. 419, 424, 469.
[132] See Evelyn, _Diary_, 18th-30th October 1666; Pepys, _Diary_,
15th-17th October, 22nd November 1666; Miege, _New State of England_, ii.
p. 38; _State Papers, Dom._, 1666, p. 191.
[133] Ascham, _The Schole-master_, 1570, pp. 26 _ssq._; Nash, _The
Unfortunate Traveller_, 1587 (_Works_, ii. p. 300)
[134] Beaumont and Fletcher, _Little French Lawyer_, Act I. Sc. 1.
[135] _Savile Correspondence_, p. 143.
[136] Etheredge, _Man of Mode_, Act IV. Sc. 2.
[137] _Lettres, Memoires et Instructions de Colbert_, v. p. 322.
[138] King, _Life and Letters of Locke_, p. 83.
[139] Clarke and Foxcroft, _Life of Burnet_, p. 210.