preacher or a new fiddler: it is delightful to us, but to the
Parisians it is indispensable. To meet in society and have nothing new
for the _causette_, would be worse than remaining at home.
"This fond desire, this longing after" fresh materials for the tongue
to work upon, is at least as old as the days of Molière. It was this
which made Madelon address herself with such energy to Mascarille,
assuring him that she should be "obligée de la dernière obligation" if
he would but report to her daily "les choses qu'il faut savoir de
nécessité, et qui sont de l'essence d'un bel esprit;" for, as she
truly observes, "C'est là ce qui vous fait valoir dans les compagnies,
et si l'on ignore ces choses, je ne donnerais pas un clou de tout
l'esprit qu'on peut avoir;"--while her cousin Cathos gives her
testimony to the same truth by this impressive declaration: "Pour moi,
j'aurais toutes les hontes du monde s'il fallait qu'on vînt à me
demander si j'aurais vu quelque chose de nouveau que je n'aurais pas
vu."
I know not how it is that people who appear to pass so few hours of
every day out of sight contrive to know so well everything that has
been written and everything that has been done in all parts of the
world. No one ever appears ignorant on any subject. Is this tact? Or
is it knowledge,--real, genuine, substantial information respecting
all things? I suspect that it is not wholly either the one or the
other; and that many circumstances contribute both to the general
diffusion of information, as well as to the rapid manner of receiving
and the brilliant style of displaying it.
This at least is certain, that whatever they do know is made the very
most of; and though some may suspect that so great display of general
information indicates rather extent than depth of knowledge, none, I
think, can refuse to acknowledge that the manner in which a Frenchman
communicates what he has acquired is particularly amiable, graceful,
and unpedantic.
LETTER XLIX.
Trial by Jury.--Power of the Jury in France.--Comparative
insignificance of that vested in the Judge.--Virtual
Abolition of Capital Punishments.--Flemish Anecdote.
Do not be terrified, my dear friend, and fancy that I am going to
exchange my idle, ambling pace, and my babil de femme, to join the
march of intellect, and indite wisdom. I have no such ambition in my
thoughts; and yet I must retail to you part of a conversation with
which I have just been favoured by an extremely intelligent friend, on
the very manly subject of.... Not political economy;--be tranquil on
that point; the same drowsy dread falls upon me when those two
portentous words sound in my ears with which they seem to have
inspired Coleridge;--not political economy, but _trial by jury_.
M. V***, the gentleman in question, gave me credit, I believe, for
considerably more savoir than I really possess, as to the actual and
precise manner in which this important constitutional right works in
England. My ignorance, however, though it prevented my giving much
information, did not prevent my receiving it; and I repeat our
conversation for the purpose of telling you in what a very singular
manner, according to his account, it appears to work in France.
I must, however, premise that my friend is a stanch Henri-Quintist;
which, though I am sure that in his case it would not produce any
exaggeration in the statement of facts, may nevertheless be fairly
presumed to influence his feelings, and consequently his manner of
stating them.
The circumstance which gave rise to this grave discussion was a recent
judgment passed here upon a very atrocious case of murder. I am not
particularly fond of hanging; nevertheless, I was startled at hearing
that this savage and most ferocious slayer of men was condemned to
imprisonment and travail forcé, instead of death.
"It is very rarely that any one now suffers the extreme penalty of the
law in this country," said M. V***, in reply to my remark on this
sentence.
"Is it since your last revolution," said I, "that the punishment of
death has been commuted for that of imprisonment and labour?"
"No such commutation has taken place as an act of the legislature," he
replied: "it rests solely with the jury whether a murderer be
guillotined, or only imprisoned."
I fancied that I misunderstood him, and repeated his words,--"With the
jury?"
"Oui, madame--absolument."
This statement appeared to me so singular, that I still supposed I
must be blundering, and that the words _le jury_ in France did not
mean the same thing as the word jury in England.
In this, as it subsequently appeared, I was not much mistaken.
Notwithstanding, my informer, who was not only a very intelligent
person, but a lawyer to boot, continued to assure me that trial by
jury was exactly the same in both countries as to principle, though
not as to effect.
"But," said I, "our juries have nothing to do with the sentence passed
on the criminal: their business is to examine into the evidence
brought forward by the witnesses to prove the guilt of the prisoner,
and according to the impression which this leaves on their minds, they
pronounce him 'guilty,' or 'not guilty;' and here their duty ends."
"Yes, yes--I understand that perfectly," replied M. V***; "and it is
precisely the same thing with us;--only, it is not in the nature of a
Frenchman to pronounce a mere dry, short, unspeculating verdict of
'guilty,' or 'not guilty,' without exercising the powers of his
intellect upon the shades of culpability which attach to the acts of
each delinquent."
This impossibility of giving a verdict without _exercising the power
of intellect_ reminded me of an assize story on record in Cornwall,
respecting the sentence pronounced by a jury upon a case in which it
was very satisfactorily proved that a man had murdered his wife, but
where it also appeared from the evidence that the unhappy woman had
not conducted herself remarkably well. The jury retired to consult,
and upon re-entering their box the foreman addressed the court in
these words: "Guilty--but sarved her right, my lord." It was in vain
that the learned judge desired them to amend their verdict, as
containing matter wholly irrelevant to the duty they had to perform;
the intellect of the jurymen was, upon this occasion, in a state of
too great activity to permit their returning any other answer than the
identical "Guilty--but sarved her right." I could hardly restrain a
smile as this anecdote recurred to me; but my friend was too much in
earnest in his explanation for me to interrupt him by an ill-timed
jest, and he continued--
"This frame of mind, which is certainly essentially French, is one
cause, and perhaps the most inveterate one, which makes it impossible
that the trial by jury should ever become the same safe and simple
process with us that it is in England."
"And in what manner does this activity of intellect interfere to
impede the course of justice?" said I.
"Thus," he replied. "Let us suppose the facts of the case proved to
the entire satisfaction of the jury: they make up their minds among
themselves to pronounce a verdict of 'guilty;' but their business is
by no means finished,--they have still to decide how this verdict
shall be delivered to the judge--whether with or without the
declaration that there are circumstances calculated to extenuate the
crime."
"Oh yes! I understand you now," I replied. "You mean, that when there
are extenuating circumstances, the jury assume the privilege of
recommending the criminal to mercy. Our juries do this likewise."
"But not with the same authority," said he, smiling. "With us, the
fate of the culprit is wholly in the power of the jury; for not only
do they decide upon the question of guilty or not guilty, but, by the
use of this word _extenuating_, they can remit by their sole will and
pleasure the capital part of the punishment, let the crime be of what
nature it may. No judge in this country dare sentence a criminal to
capital punishment where the verdict against him has been qualified by
this extenuating clause."
"It should seem then," said I, "that the duty of judge, which is
attended with such awful responsibilities with us, is here little more
than the performance of an official ceremony?"
"It is very nearly such, I assure you."
"And your jurymen, according to a phrase of contempt common among us,
are in fact judge and jury both?"
"Beyond all contradiction they are so," he replied: "and I conceive
that criminal justice is at this time more loosely administered in
France than in any other civilised country in the world. In fact, our
artisans have become, since the revolution of 1830, not only judge and
jury, but legislators also. Different crimes have different
punishments assigned to them by our penal code; but it rarely, or I
might say never, occurs in our days that the punishment inflicted has
any reference to that which is assigned by the law. That guilt may
vary even when the deed done does not, is certain; and it is just and
righteous therefore that a judge, learned in the law of the land, and
chosen by high authority from among his fellows as a man of wisdom and
integrity,--it is quite just and righteous that such a one should have
the power--and a tremendous power it is--of modifying the extent of
the penalty according to his view of the individual case. The charge
too of an English judge is considered to be of immense importance to
the result of every trial. All this is as it should be; but we have
departed most widely from the model we have professed to follow. With
us the judge has no such power--at least not practically: with us a
set of chance-met artisans, ignorant alike of the law of the land and
of the philosophy of punishment, have this tremendous power vested in
them. It matters not how clearly the crime has been proved, and still
less what penalty the law has adjudged to it; the punishment inflicted
is whatever it may please the jury to decide, and none other."
"And what is the effect which this strangely assumed power has
produced on your administration of justice?" said I.
"The virtual abolition of capital punishment," was the reply. "When a
jury," continued M. V***, "delivers a verdict to the judge of
'Guilty, but with extenuating circumstances,' the judge dare not
condemn the criminal to death, though the law of the land assign that
punishment to his offence, and though his own mind is convinced, by
all which has come out upon the trial, that instead of _extenuating
circumstances_, the commission of the crime has been attended with
every possible aggravation of atrocity. Such is the practical effect
of the revolution of 1830 on the administration of criminal justice."
"Does public opinion sanction this strange abuse of the functions of
jurymen?" said I.
"Public opinion cannot sanction it," he replied, "any more than it
could sanction the committal of the crime itself. The one act is, in
fact, as lawless as the other; but the populace have conceived the
idea that capital punishment is an undue exercise of power, and
therefore our rulers fear to exercise it."
This is a strange statement, is it not? The gentleman who made it is,
I am sure, too much a man of honour and integrity to falsify facts;
but it may perhaps be necessary to allow something for the colouring
of party feeling. Whatever the present government does, or permits to
be done, contrary to the system established during the period of the
restoration, is naturally offensive to the feelings of the
legitimatists, and repugnant to their judgments; yet, in this case,
the relaxation of necessary power must so inevitably lead to evil,
that we must, I think, expect to see the reins gathered up, and the
command resumed by the proper functionaries, as soon as the new
government feels itself seated with sufficient firmness to permit the
needful exertion of strength to be put forth with safety.
It is certain that M. V*** supported his statement by reciting so
many strong cases in which the most fearful crimes, substantiated by
the most unbroken chain of evidence, have been reported by the jury to
the judge as having "extenuating circumstances" attached to them, that
it is impossible, while things remain as they are, not to feel that
such a mode of administering justice must make the habit of perjury as
familiar to their jurymen as that of taking their oaths.
This conversation brought to my recollection some strange stories
which I had heard in Belgium apropos of the trial by jury there. If
those stories were correct, they are about as far from comprehending,
or at least from acting upon, our noble, equitable, and well-tried
institution there, as they appear to be here--but from causes
apparently exactly the reverse. There, I am told, it often happens
that the jury can neither read nor write; and that when they are
placed in their box, they are, as might be expected, quite ignorant of
the nature of the duty they are to perform, and often so greatly
embarrassed by it, that they are ready and willing--nay, thankful--to
pronounce as their verdict whatever is dictated to them.
I heard an anecdote of one man--and a thorough honest Fleming he
was--who having been duly empannelled, entered the jury-box, and
having listened attentively to a trial that was before the court,
declared, when called upon for his verdict, that he had not understood
a single word from the beginning to the end of it. The court
endeavoured to explain the leading points of the question; but still
the worthy burgher persisted in declaring that the business was not in
his line, and that he could not comprehend it sufficiently to give any
opinion at all. The attempt at explanation was repeated, but in vain;
and at length the conscientious Fleming paid the fine demanded for
the non-performance of the duty, and was permitted to retire.
In France, on the contrary, it appears that human intellect has gone
on so fast and so far, that no dozen of men can be found simple-minded
enough to say 'yes' or 'no' to a question asked, without insisting
that they must legislate upon it.
In this case, at least, England shows a beautiful specimen of the
_juste milieu_.
LETTER L.
English Pastry-cook's.--French horror of English
Pastry.--Unfortunate experiment upon a Muffin.--The Citizen
King.
We have been on a regular shopping tour this morning; which was
finished by our going into an English pastry-cook's to eat buns. While
thus engaged, we amused ourselves by watching the proceedings of a
French party who entered also for the purpose of making a morning
goûter upon cakes.
They had all of them more or less the air of having fallen upon a
terra incognita, showing many indications of surprise at sight of the
ultra-marine compositions which appeared before them;--but there was a
young man of the party who, it was evident, had made up his mind to
quiz without measure all the foreign dainties that the shop afforded,
evidently considering their introduction as a very unjustifiable
interference with the native manufacture.
"Est-il possible!" said he, with an air of grave and almost indignant
astonishment, as he watched a lady of his party preparing to eat an
English bun,--"Est-il possible that you can prefer these
strange-looking comestibles à la pâtisserie française?"
"Mais goûtez-en," said the lady, presenting a specimen of the same
kind as that she was herself eating: "ils sont excellens."
"No, no! it is enough to look at them!" said her cavalier, almost
shuddering. "There is no lightness, no elegance, no grace in any
single gâteau here."
"Mais goûtez quelque chose," reiterated the lady.
"Vous le voulez absolument!" exclaimed the young man; "quelle
tyrannie! ... and what a proof of obedience I am about to give you!...
Voyons donc!" he continued, approaching a plate on which were piled
some truly English muffins--which, as you know, are of a somewhat
mysterious manufacture, and about as palatable if eaten untoasted as a
slice from a leathern glove. To this _gâteau_, as he supposed it to
be, the unfortunate connoisseur in pâtisserie approached, exclaiming
with rather a theatrical air, "Voilà donc ce que je vais faire pour
vos beaux yeux!"
As he spoke, he took up one of the pale, tough things, and, to our
extreme amusement, attempted to eat it. Any one might be excused for
making a few grimaces on such an occasion,--and a Frenchman's
privilege in this line is well known: but this hardy experimentalist
outdid this privilege;--he was in a perfect agony, and his spittings
and reproachings were so vehement, that friends, strangers,
boutiquier, and all, even down to a little befloured urchin who
entered at the moment with a tray of patties, burst into
uncontrollable laughter, which the unfortunate, to do him justice,
bore with extreme good humour, only making his fair countrywoman
promise that she would never insist upon his eating English
confectionary again.
Had this scene continued a minute longer, I should have missed seeing
what I should have been sorry not to have seen, for I certainly could
not have left the pastry-cook's shop while the young Frenchman's
sufferings lasted. Happily, however, we reached the Boulevard des
Italiens in time to see King Louis-Philippe, en simple bourgeois,
passing on foot just before Les Bains Chinois, but on the opposite
side of the way.
Excepting a small tri-coloured cockade in his hat, he had nothing
whatever in his dress to distinguish him from any other gentleman. He
is a well-looking, portly, middle-aged man, with something of dignity
in his step which, notwithstanding the unpretending citizen-like style
of his promenade, would have drawn attention, and betrayed him as
somebody out of the common way, even without the plain-speaking
_cocarde tricolore_. There were two gentlemen a few paces behind him,
as he passed us, who, I think, stepped up nearer to him afterwards;
but there were no other individuals near who could have been in
attendance upon him. I observed that he was recognised by many, and
some few hats were taken off, particularly by two or three Englishmen
who met him; but his appearance excited little emotion. I was amused,
however, at the nonchalant air with which a young man at some
distance, in full Robespierrian costume, used his lorgnon to peruse
the person of the monarch as long as he remained in sight.
The last king I saw in the streets of Paris was Charles the Tenth
returning from a visit to one of his suburban palaces, escorted and
accompanied in kingly state and style. The contrast in the men and in
the mode was striking, and calculated to awaken lively recollections
of all the events which had occurred to both of them since the last
time that I turned my head to look after a sovereign of France.
My fancy flew to Prague, and to the three generations of French
monarchs stationed there almost as peaceably as if they had taken up
their quarters at St. Denis!
[Illustration: Drawn & Etched by A. Hervieu.
LE ROI CITOYEN.
London. Published by Richard Bentley. 1835.]
How like a series of conjurer's tricks is their history! Think of
this Charles the Tenth in the flower of his youth and comeliness--the
gallant, gay, and dissolute Comte d'Artois; recall the noble range of
windows belonging to his apartments at Versailles, and imagine him
there radiant in youth and joy--the thoughtless, thriftless cadet of
his royal race--the brother and the guest of the good king who
appeared to reign over a willing people, by every human right, as well
as right divine! Louis Seize was king of France; but the gay Comte
d'Artois reigned sovereign of all the pleasures of Versailles. What
joyous fêtes! ... what brilliant jubilees!... Meanwhile
"Malignant Fate sat by and smiled."
Had he then been told that he should live to be crowned king of
France, and live thus many years afterwards, would he not have thought
that a most brilliant destiny was predicted to him?
Few men, perhaps, have suffered so much from the ceaseless changes of
human events as Charles the Tenth of France. First, in the person of
his eldest brother, dethroned and foully murdered; then in his own
exile, and that of another royal brother; and again, when Fortune
seemed to smile upon his race, and the crown of France was not only
placed upon that brother's head, but appeared fixed in assured
succession on his own princely sons, one of those sons was murdered:
and lastly, having reached the throne himself, and seen this lost son
reviving in his hopeful offspring, comes another stroke of Fate,
unexpected, unprepared for, overwhelming, which hurls him from his
throne, and drives him and his royal race once more to exile and to
civil death.... Has he seen the last of the political earthquakes
which have so shaken his existence? or has his restless star to rise
again? Those who wish most kindly to him cannot wish for this.
But when I turned my thoughts from the dethroned and banished king to
him who stepped on in unguarded but fearless security before me, and
thought too on the vagaries of his destiny, I really felt as if this
earth and all the people on it were little better than so many
children's toys, changing their style and title to serve the sport of
an hour.
It seemed to me at that moment as if all men were classed in their due
order only to be thrown into greater confusion--knocked down but to be
set up again, and so eternally dashed from side to side, so powerless
in themselves, so wholly governed by accidents, that I shrunk,
humbled, from the contemplation of human helplessness, and turned from
gazing on a monarch to meditate on the insignificance of man. How vain
are all the efforts he can make to shape the course of his own
existence! There is, in truth, nothing but trusting to surer wisdom,
and to surer power, which can enable any of us, from the highest to
the lowest, to pass on with tranquil nerves through a world subject to
such terrible convulsions.
LETTER LI.
Parisian Women.--Rousseau's failure in attempting to
describe them.--Their great influence in Society.--Their
grace in Conversation.--Difficulty of growing old.--Do the
ladies of France or those of England manage it best?
There is perhaps no subject connected with Paris which might give
occasion to such curious and inexhaustible observation as the
character, position, and influence of its women. But the theme, though
copious and full of interest, is not without its difficulties; and it
is no small proof of this, that Rousseau, who rarely touched on any
subject without persuading his reader that he was fully master of it,
has nevertheless almost wholly failed on this. In one of the letters
of "La Nouvelle Héloïse," he sketches the characters of a few very
commonplace ladies, whom he abuses unmercifully for their bad taste in
dress, and concludes his abortive attempt at making us acquainted with
the ladies of Paris by acknowledging that they have some goodness of
heart.
This is but a meagre description of this powerful portion of the human
race, and I can hardly imagine a volume that I should read with
greater pleasure than one which should fully supply all its
deficiencies. Do not imagine, however, that I mean to undertake the
task. I am even less capable of it than the sublime misanthrope
himself; for though I am of opinion that it should be an unimpassioned
spectator, and not a lover, who should attempt to paint all the
delicate little atoms of exquisite mosaic-work which constitute _une
Parisienne_, I think it should not be a woman.
All I can do for you on this subject is to recount the observations I
have been myself led to make in the passing glances I have now the
opportunity of giving them, supported by what I have chanced to hear
from better authority than my own: but I am aware that I can do little
more than excite your wish to become better acquainted with them than
it is in my power to make you.
It is impossible to be admitted into French society without
immediately perceiving that the women play a very distinguished part
in it. So, assuredly, do the women of England in their own: yet I
cannot but think that, setting aside all cases of individual
exception, the women of France have more power and more important
influence than the women of England.