PARIS--THE FRENCH CHARACTER AND MANNERS.
We do not by any means consider ourselves as qualified to enter fully
into the interesting subject of the national character of the French;
but we shall venture to state, in this place, what appeared to us its
most striking peculiarities, particularly as it is observed at Paris.
Our stay in the capital was too short, and our opportunities of
observation too limited, to entitle us to speak with confidence; but it
is to be remembered on the other hand, that there is a surprising
uniformity of character among the French, which facilitates observation.
The habit of constant intercourse in society, which constitutes their
greatest pleasure, and has made them, in their own opinion, the most
polished nation on earth, appears not merely to have assimilated their
manners to one another, in the manner so finely illustrated by the
celebrated simile of Sterne[2], but to have engendered a kind of
conventional standard character, by which all those we observe are more
or less modelled.
The most striking and formidable part of their general character is, the
_contempt for religion_ which is so frequently and openly expressed. In
all countries there are men of a selfish and abstracted turn of mind,
who are more disposed than others to religious argument and doubt; and
in all, there are a greater number, whose worldly passions lead them to
the neglect, or hurry them on to the violation of religious precepts;
but a great nation, among whom a cool selfish regard to personal comfort
and enjoyment has been deliberately substituted for religious feeling,
and where it is generally esteemed reasonable and wise to oppose and
wrestle down, by metaphysical arguments, the natural and becoming
sentiments of piety, as they arise in the human breast, is hitherto, and
it is to be hoped will long continue, an anomaly in the history of
mankind.
We heard it estimated at Paris, that 40,000 out of 600,000 inhabitants
of that town attend church; one half of which number, they say, are
actuated in so doing by real sentiments of devotion; but to judge from
the very small numbers whom we have ever seen attending the regular
service in any of the churches, we should think this proportion greatly
overrated. Of those whom we have seen there, at least two-thirds have
been women above fifty, or girls under fifteen years of age. In all
Catholic countries, Sunday is a day of amusement and festivity, as well
as of religion--but it is generally, also, one of relaxation from
business: in Paris, we could see very little signs of the latter in the
forenoons, but the amusements and dissipation of the capital were
visibly increased in the evenings; and the Parisians have some reason
for their remark, that their day of rest is changed to Monday, when the
effect of their last night's dissipation wholly incapacitates them for
exertion.
It is clear, that it is quite absurd to attempt altering the manner of
spending the Sundays at Paris, while the sentiments of the people, in
regard to religion, continue such as at present; but it must be
admitted, on the other hand, that their habits, as to the way of
spending Sundays, re-act powerfully on their sentiments; and that the
minds of the lower orders, in particular, are much debased by the want
of what have been emphatically called "these precious breathing times
for the labouring part of the community."
Frenchmen of the higher ranks seem, at present, generally disposed to
wave the subject of religion; but those of the middling ranks, by whom
the business of the country is mainly carried on, do not scruple to
express their contempt of it;--they applaud with enthusiasm all
irreligious sentiments in the theatres, and seldom mention priests, of
any persuasion, without the epithet of _sacrès_.
We were informed in Holland, that the Frenchmen who were sent to that
country in official capacities, military or civil, manifested on all
occasions the utmost contempt for religion. A French General, quartered
in the house of a respectable gentleman in Amsterdam, inquired the
reason, the first Sunday that he was there, of the family going out in
their best clothes; and being told they were going to church, he
expressed his surprise, saying,--"Now that you are a part of the great
nation, it is time for you to have done with that nonsense."
To an Englishman, who has been accustomed to see the ordinances of
religion regularly observed by the great majority of his countrymen, the
neglect of them by the French people appears very singular, and even
unnatural. When we afterwards visited Flanders, and observed the
manifest respect of the people for religion--when when saw the
numberless handsome churches in the villages, and the frequent religious
processions in the streets of the towns--when we entered the Great
Cathedral at Antwerp, and found vast numbers of people, of both sexes,
and all ranks and ages, on their knees, engaged, with the appearance of
sincere devotion, in the solemn and striking service of vespers, we
could not help saying among ourselves, that this people, for better
reasons than mere political convenience, deserved to be separated from
the French.
Yet, we do not mean to say that the French are wholly, or even generally
devoid of religious feeling; on the contrary, we believe it may often be
seen to break out in a very striking manner, even in the conversation of
those who are accustomed to think it wise to express contempt for it. A
Frenchman, full of enthusiasm about the glory of his country, who was
talking to us of the deeds and sufferings of the French army in Russia,
concluded his description of the latter with these emphatic words: "Ah!
Monsieur, Ce n'est pas les Russes; C'est _le bon Dieu_ qui a fait cela."
* * *
In point of _intellectual ability_, the French are certainly inferior to
no other nation. They have not, perhaps, so frequently as others, that
cool, sound judgment in matters of speculation, which can fit them for
unravelling with success the perplexities of metaphysics; but their
unparalleled success in mathematical pursuits is the best possible proof
of the accuracy and quickness of their reasoning powers, when confined
within due bounds. We do not refer to the astonishing efforts of such
men as d'Alembert or La Place, but to the general diffusion of
mathematical knowledge among all who receive a scientific education. It
is not, perhaps, going too far to say, that few professors in Britain
have an equally accurate and extensive knowledge of the integral and
differential calculus, with some lads of 17 or 18, who have completed
their education at the Ecole Polytechnique. Unless a man makes
discoveries of his own in mathematics, he is little thought of as a
mathematician by the men of science at Paris, even although he may be
intimately versed in all the branches of that science as it stands.
Under the Imperial Government, it was not considered safe to cultivate
any sciences which relate to politics or morals; but the advancement of
the physical and mathematical sciences in France during that time,
sufficiently indicates that there has been no want of talents or
industry.
It may be remarked as a striking characteristic of the French scientific
works, that they are almost always well arranged, and the meaning of the
author fully and unequivocally expressed. A Frenchman does not always
take a comprehensive view of his subject, but he seldom fails to take a
clear view of it. The same turn of mind may be observed in the
conversation of Frenchmen; even when their information is defective,
they will very generally arrest attention by the apparent order and
perspicuity of their thoughts; and they never seem to know what it is to
be at a loss for words.
Considering the great ingenuity and ability of the French, it seems not
a little surprising that they should be so much behind our countrymen in
useful and profitable arts, and that Englishmen should be so much struck
with the apparent poverty of the greater part of France. This is in a
great measure owing, no doubt, to the policy of the late French
Government, which has directed all the energies of the nation towards
military affairs; and to the abuses of the former government: but we
think it must be ascribed in part to the character of the people. There
is not the same co-operation of different individuals to one end, of
private advantage and public usefulness; the same division of labour,
intellectual as well as operative; the same hearty confidence between
man and man, in France as in England. Men of talents in France are, in
general, too much tainted with the national vanity, and too much
occupied with their own fame, to join heartily in promoting the public
interest. Individual intelligence, activity, and ingenuity, go but
little way in making a nation wealthy and prosperous, if they are made
to minister only to the individual pleasures and _glory_ of their
possessors.
* * *
The _patriotism_ of the French is certainly a very strong feeling, but
it appears to be much tainted with the same vanity and love of shew that
we have just remarked. There can be no doubt, that during the time of
Bonaparte's successes, he commanded, in a degree that no other Sovereign
ever did, the admiration and respect of the great body of the people;
and it is equally certain, that he did this without interesting himself
at all in their happiness. His hold of them was by their national vanity
alone. They assent to all that can be said of the miseries which he
brought upon France; but add, "Mais il a battu tout le monde; il a fait
des choses superbes a Paris; il a flattè notre orgeuil national. Ah!
C'est un grand homme. Notre pays n'a jamais etè si grand ni si puissant
que sous lui." The condition of the inhabitants of distant provinces was
nowise improved by his public buildings and decorations at their
capital; but every Frenchman considers a compliment to Paris, to the
Louvre, to the Palais Royal, or the Opera, as a personal compliment to
himself.
At this moment, it is certainly a very general wish in France, to have
a sovereign, who, as they express it, has grown out of the revolution;
but when we enquire into their reason for this, it will often be found,
we believe, to resolve itself into their national vanity. It is not that
they think the Bourbons will break their word, or that the present
Constitution will be altered without their consent; but after five and
twenty years of confusion and bloodshed, they cannot bear the thoughts
of leaving off where they began; and they think, that taking back their
old dynasty without alteration, is practically acknowledging that they
have been in the wrong all the time of their absence. We have often
remarked (but we presume the remark is applicable to all despotic
countries) that the French political conversation, such as is heard at
caffés and tables d'hôte, relates more to men, and less to measures, and
appears to be more guided by personal attachments or antipathies, than
that to which we are accustomed in England.
The character that appears to be most wanted in France, is that of
disinterested public-spirited individuals, of high honour and integrity,
and of large possessions and influence, who do not interfere in public
affairs from views of ambition, but from a sense of duty--who have no
wish to dazzle the eyes of the multitude, and do not seek for a more
extensive influence than that to which their observation and experience
entitle them. While this character continues so much more frequent in
our own country than among the French, it is perhaps in military affairs
only that we need entertain any fear of their superiority. Englishmen of
power and influence, generally speaking, have really at heart the _good_
of their country, whereas Frenchmen, in similar situations, are chiefly
interested in the _glory_ of theirs.
It must also be observed, that public affairs occupy much less of the
attention, and interfere much less with the happiness, of the majority
of the French than of the English. There is less anxiety about public
measures, and less gratitude for public services. We were often
surprised at the indifference of the citizens of Paris with regard to
their Marshals, whom they seldom knew by name, and did not seem to care
for knowing. The peroration of an old lady, who had delivered a long
speech to a friend of ours, then a prisoner at Verdun, lamenting the
reverses of the French arms, and the miseries of France, was
characteristic of the nation: "Mais, ce m'est egal. Je suis toujours ici."
It is quite unnecessary for us to give proofs of the laxity of _moral
principle_ which prevails so generally among the French. The world has
not now to learn, that notwithstanding their high professions, they have
but little regard either for truth or morality. According to Mr Scott,
"they have, in a great measure, detached words from ideas and feelings;
they can, therefore, afford to be unusually profuse of the better sort
of the first; and they experience as much internal satisfaction and
pride when they profess a virtue, as if they had practised one." Perhaps
it would be more correct to say, that they have detached ideas and
feelings from their corresponding actions. Their feelings have always
been too violent for the moment, and too short in their duration, to
influence their conduct steadily and permanently; but at present, they
seem much disposed to think, that it is quite enough to have the
feelings, and that there is no occasion for their conduct being
influenced by them at all.
They appear to have a strong natural sense of the beauty and excellence
of virtue; but they are accustomed to regard it merely as a sense. It
does not regulate their conduct to others, but adds to their own selfish
enjoyments. They speak of virtue almost uniformly, not as an object of
rational approbation and imitation, and still less as a rule of moral
obligation, but as a matter of _feeling and taste_. A French officer,
who describes to you, in the liveliest manner, and with all the
appearance of unfeigned sympathy, the miseries and devastations
occasioned by his countrymen among the unoffending inhabitants of
foreign states, proceeds, in the same breath, to declaim with
enthusiastic admiration on the untarnished honour of the French arms,
and the great mind of the Emperor. A Parisian tradesman, who goes to the
theatre that he may see the representation of integrity of conduct,
conjugal affection, and domestic happiness, and applauds with enthusiasm
when he sees it, shews no symptoms of shame when detected in a barefaced
attempt to cheat his customers; spends his spare money in the Palais
Royal, and sells his wife or daughter to the highest bidder.
"Among the French," says the intelligent and judicious author of the
Caractere des Armées Europeennes, "the seat of the passions is in the
head--they feel rather from the fancy than the heart--their feelings are
nothing more than thoughts."
Another striking feature of the French character, connected with the
preceding, is the openness, and even eagerness, with which they
communicate all their thoughts and feelings to each other, and even to
strangers. All Frenchmen seem anxious to make the most in conversation,
not only of whatever intellectual ability they possess, but of whatever
moral feelings they experience on any occasion;--they do not seem to
understand why a man should ever be either ashamed or unwilling to
disclose any thing that passes in his mind;--they often suspect their
neighbours of expressing sentiments which they do not feel, but have no
idea of giving them credit for feelings which they do not express.
The French have many _good qualities_; they are very generally obliging
to strangers, they are sober and good-tempered, and little disposed, in
the ordinary concerns of life, to quarrel among themselves, and they
have an amiable cheerfulness of disposition, which supports them in
difficulties and adversity, better than the resolutions of philosophy.
But it is clear that they have very little esteem for the most estimable
of all characters, that of firm and enduring virtue; and in fact, it is
not going too far to say, that a certain _propriety of external
demeanour_ has completely taken the place of correctness of moral
conduct among them. They speak almost uniformly with much abhorrence of
drunkenness, and of all violations of the established forms of society;
and such improprieties are very seldom to be seen among them. Many
Frenchmen, as was already observed, are rough and even ferocious in
their manners; and the language and behaviour of most of them,
particularly in the presence of women, appears to us very frequently
indelicate and rude; yet there are limits to this freedom of manner
which they never allow themselves to pass. Go where you will in Paris,
you will very seldom see any disgusting instances of intoxication, or
any material difference of manner, between those who are avowedly
unprincipled and abandoned, and the most respectable part of the
community. In the caffés, which correspond not only to the
coffee-houses, but to the taverns of London, you will see modest women,
at all hours of the day, often alone, sitting in the midst of the men.
In the Palais Royal, at no hour of the night do you witness scenes of
gross indecency or riot.
To an Englishman, it often serves as an excuse for vicious indulgences,
that he is led off his feet by temptation. To a Frenchman, this excuse
is the only crime; he stands in no need of an apology for vice; but it
is necessary "qu'il se menage:" he is taught "qu'un pechè cachè est la
moitie pardonnè;" he must on no account allow, that any temptation can
make him lose his recollection or presence of mind.
We ought perhaps to admit likewise, that some of the vices common among
the French are not merely less foul and disgusting in appearance, but
less odious in their own nature, than those of our countrymen. We do not
say this in palliation of their conduct. It is rather to be considered
as a benevolent provision of nature, that in proportion as vice is more
generally diffused, its influence on individual character is less fatal.
This remark applies particularly to the case of women. A woman in
England, who loses one virtue, knows that she outrages the opinion of
mankind; she disobeys the precepts of her religion, and estranges
herself from the examples which she has been taught to revere; she
becomes an outcast of society; and if she has not already lost, must
soon lose all the best qualities of the female character. But a French
woman, in giving way to unlawful love, knows that she does no more than
her mother did before her; if she is of the lower ranks, she is not
necessarily debarred from honest occupation; if of the higher, she loses
little or nothing in the estimation of society; if she has been taught
to revere any religion, it is the Catholic, and she may look to
absolution. Her conduct, therefore, neither implies her having lost, nor
necessarily occasions her losing, any virtue but one; and during the
course of the revolution, we have understood there have been many
examples, proving, in the most trying circumstances, that not even the
worst corruptions of Paris had destroyed some of the finest virtues
which can adorn the sex. "Elles ont toujours des bons cœurs," is a
common expression in France, in speaking even of the lowest and most
degraded of the sex. In Paris, it is certainly much more difficult than
in London to find examples in any rank of the unsullied purity of the
female character; but neither is it commonly seen so utterly perverted
and degraded; one has not occasion to witness so frequently the painful
spectacle of youth and beauty brought by one rash step to shame and
misery; and to lament, that the fairest gifts of heaven should become
the bitterest of curses to so many of their possessors.
* * *
Having mentioned the French women, we think we may remark, without
hazarding our character as impartial observers, that most of the faults
which are so well known to prevail among them, may be easily traced to
the manner in which they are treated by the other sex. It is a very
common boast in France, that there is no other country in which women
are treated with so much respect; and you can hardly gratify any
Frenchman so much, as by calling France "le paradis des femmes." Yet,
from all that we could observe ourselves, or learn from others, there
appears to be no one of the boasts of Frenchmen which is in reality less
reasonable. They exclude women from society almost entirely in their
early years; they seldom allow them any vote in the choice of their
husbands: After they have brought them into society, they seem to think
that they confer a high favour on them, by giving them a great deal of
their company, and paying them a great deal of attention, and
encouraging them to separate themselves from the society of their
husbands. In return for these obligations, they often oblige them to
listen to conversation, which, heard as it is, from those for whom they
have most respect, cannot fail to corrupt their minds as well as their
manners; and they take care to let them see that they value them for the
qualities which render them agreeable companions for the moment; not for
the usefulness of their lives, for the purity of their conduct, or the
constancy of their affections. Surely the respect with which all women
who conduct themselves with propriety are treated in England, merely on
account of their sex; the delicacy and reserve with which in their
presence conversation is uniformly conducted by all who call themselves
gentlemen, are more honourable tokens of regard for the virtues of the
female character, than the unmeaning ceremonies and officious attentions
of the French.
The female inhabitants of our own country are distinguished of those of
France, and probably of every other country, by a certain native,
self-respecting, dignity of appearance and manner, which claims respect
and attention as a right, rather than solicits them as a boon; and gives
you to understand, that the man who does not give them is disgraced,
rather than the woman who does not receive them. We believe it to be
owing to the influence of the causes we have noticed, that this manner,
so often ridiculed by the French, under the name of "hauteur" and
"fiertè Anglaise," is hardly ever to be seen among women of any rank in
France. And to a similar influence of the tastes and sentiments of our
own sex, it is easy to refer the more serious faults of the female
character in that country.
On the other hand, the better parts of the character of the French women
are all their own. It is not certainly from the men that they have
learnt those truly feminine qualities, that interesting humility and
gentleness of manner, that pleasing gaiety of temper, and native
kindness of disposition, to which it is very difficult, even for the
proverbial coldness of northern critics, to apply terms of ridicule or
reproach.
* * *
It is not easy for a stranger, in forming his opinion of the moral
character of a people, to make allowance for the modification which
moral sentiments undergo, in consequence of long habits, and
adventitious circumstances. There is no quality which strikes a stranger
more forcibly, in the character of the French of the middling and lower
ranks, than their seeming dishonesty, particularly their uniformly
endeavouring to extract more money for their goods or their services
than they know to be their value. But we think too much stress has been
laid on this part of their character by some travellers. It is regarded
in France as a sort of professional accomplishment, without which it is
in vain to attempt exercising a trade; and it is hardly thought to
indicate immorality of any kind, more than the obviously false
expressions which are used in the ordinary intercourse of society in
England, or the license of denying oneself to visitors. That it should
be so regarded is no doubt a proof of _national_ inferiority, and
perhaps immorality; but while the general sentiments of the nation
continue as at present, an instance of this kind cannot be considered as
a proof of _individual_ baseness. An Englishman is apt to pronounce
every man a scoundrel, who, in making a bargain, attempts to take him
in; but he will often find, on a closer and more impartial examination,
that the judgment formed by this circumstance alone in France, is quite
erroneous. One of our party entered a small shop in the Palais Royal to
buy a travelling cap. The woman who attended in it, with perfect
effrontery, asked 16 francs for one which was certainly not worth more
than six, and which she at last gave him for seven. Being in a hurry at
the time, he inadvertently left on the counter a purse containing 20
gold pieces of 20 francs each. He did not miss it for more than an hour:
on returning to the shop, he found the old lady gone, and concluded at
first, that she had absented herself to avoid interrogation; but to his
surprise, he was accosted immediately on entering, by a pretty young
girl, who had come in her place, with the sweetest smile
imaginable,--"Monsieur, a oubliè sa bourse--que nous sommes heureuses de
la lui rendre."
* * *
It is certainly incorrect to say, that the _taste_ of the French is
decidedly superior to that of other nations. Their poetry, on the whole,
will not bear a comparison with the English; their modern music is not
nearly so beautiful as their ancient songs, which have now descended to
the lower ranks; their painting is in a peculiar and not pleasing style;
their taste in gardening is antiquated and artificial; their
architecture is only fine where it is modelled on the ancient; their
theatrical tastes, if they are more correct than ours, are also more
limited. We have already taken occasion more than once to reprobate the
general taste of the French, as being partial to art, and brilliant
execution, rather than to simplicity and beautiful design.
But what distinguishes the French from almost every other nation, is the
_general diffusion_ of the taste for the fine arts, and for elegant
amusements, among all ranks of the people. Almost all Frenchmen take not
only a pride, but an interest, in the public buildings of Paris, and in
the collections of paintings and statues. There is a very general liking
for poetry and works of imagination among the middling and lower ranks;
they go to the theatres, not merely for relaxation and amusement, but
with a serious intention of cultivating their taste, and displaying
their critical powers. Many of them are so much in the habit of
attending the theatres when favourite plays are acted, that they know
almost every word of the principal scenes by heart. All their favourite
amusements are in some measure of a refined kind. It is not in drinking
clubs, or in sensual gratifications alone, that men of these ranks seek
for relaxation, as its too often the case with us; but it is in the
society of women, in conversation, in music and dancing, in theatres and
operas, and caffés and promenades, in seeing and being seen; in short,
in scenes resembling, as nearly as possible, those in which the higher
ranks of all nations spend their leisure hours.
While the useful arts are comparatively little advanced, those which
relate to ornaments alone are very generally superior to ours; and the
persons who profess these arts speak of them with a degree of fervour
that often seems ludicrous. "Monsieur," says a peruquier in the Palais
Royal, with the look of a man who lets you into a profound secret in
science, "Notre art est un art imitatif; en effèt, c'est un des beaux
arts;" then taking up a London-made wig, and twirling it round on his
finger, with a look of ineffable contempt, "Celui ci n'est pas la belle
nature; mais voici la mienne,--c'est la nature personifiée!"
One of the best proofs of the tastes of the lower ranks being, at least
in part, cultivated and refined, is to be found in the songs which are
common among the peasantry and soldiers. There are a great number of
these, and some of them, in point of beauty of sentiment, and elegance
of expression, might challenge a comparison even with the admired
productions of our own land of song. The following is part of a song
which was written in April 1814, and set to the beautiful air of Charles
VII. It was popular among the description of persons to whom it relates;
and the young man from whom we got it had himself returned home, after
serving as a private in the young guard.
LE RETOUR DE L'AMANT FRANCAIS.
De bon cœur je pose les armes;
Adieu le tumulte des camps,
L'amitiè m'offre d'autres charmes,
Au sein de mes joyeux parents;
Le Dieu des Amants me rapelle,
C'est pour m'enroler à son tour;
Et je vais aupres de ma belle,
Servir sous les lois de l'amour.
Aux noms d'honneur et de patrie,
On m'a vu braver le trepas;
Aujourd'hui pour charmer ma vie
La paix fait cesser les combats.
Le Dieu des Amants, &c.
After all that we had heard, and all that is known over the whole world,
of the unbridled licentiousness and savage ferocity of the French
soldiers, we were not a little surprised to find, that this and other
songs written in good taste, and expressing sentiments of a kind of
chivalrous elevation and refinement, were popular in their ranks.
* * *
The last peculiarity in the French character which we shall notice, is
perhaps the most fundamental of the whole; it is their _love of mixed
society_; of the society of those for whom they have no regard, but whom
they meet on the footing of common acquaintances. This is the favourite
enjoyment of almost every Frenchman; to shine in such society, is the
main object of his ambition; his whole life is regulated so as to
gratify this desire. He is indifferent about comforts at home--he
dislikes domestic society--he hates the retirement of the country; but
he loves, and is taught to love, to figure in a large circle of
acquaintance, for whom he has not the least heartfelt friendship, with
whom he is on no more intimate terms than with perfect strangers, after
the first half hour. If he has acquired a reputation in science, arts,
or arms, so much the better; his _glory_ will be of much service to him;
if not, he must make it up by his conversation.
In consequence of the predilection of the French for social intercourse
of this kind, it is, that knowledge of such kinds, and to such an
extent, as can be easily introduced into conversation, is very general;
that the opportunities of such intercourse are carefully multiplied;
that all arts which can add to the attractions of such scenes are
assiduously improved; that liveliness of disposition is prized beyond
all other qualities, while those eccentricities of manner, which seem to
form a component part of what we call humorous characters, are excluded;
that even childish amusements are preferred to solitary occupations;
that taste is cultivated more than morality, wit esteemed more than
wisdom, and vanity encouraged more than merit.
It is easy to trace the pernicious effects of a taste for society of
this kind, on individual character, when it is encouraged to such a
degree as to become a serious occupation, instead of a relaxation to the
mind. When the main object of a man's life is distinction among his
acquaintances, from his wit--his liveliness--his elegance of taste--his
powers of conversation--or even from the fame he may have earned by his
talents; he becomes careless about the love of those with whom he is on
more intimate terms, and who do not value him exclusively, or even
chiefly, for such qualities. His domestic affections are weakened; he
lives for himself and enjoys the present moment without either
reflection or foresight; with the outward appearance of an open friendly
disposition, he becomes, in reality, selfish and interested; that he may
secure general sympathy from indifferent spectators, he is under the
necessity of repressing all strong emotions, and expressions of ardent
feeling, and of confining himself to a worldly and common-place
morality; he learns to value his moral feelings, as well as his
intellectual powers, chiefly for the sake of the display which he can
make of them in society; and to reprobate vice, rather on account of its
outward deformity, than of its intrinsic guilt; gradually he becomes
impatient of restraints on the pleasure which he derives from social
intercourse; and the religious and moral principles of his nature are
sacrificed to the visionary idol to which his love of pleasure and his
love of _glory_ have devoted him.
Such appears to be the state of the minds of most Parisians. They have
been so much accustomed to pride themselves on the outward appearance of
their actions, that they have become regardless of their intrinsic
merits; they have lived so long for _effect_, that they have forgotten
that there is any other principle by which their lives can be regulated.
Of the devotion of the French to the sort of life to which we refer, the
best possible proof is, their fondness for a town life; the small number
of chateaux in the country that are inhabited--and the still more
remarkable scarcity of villas in the neighbourhood of Paris, to which
men of business may retire. There are a few houses of this description
about Belleville and near Malmaison; but in general, you pass from the
noisy and dirty Fauxbourgs at once into the solitude of the country; and
it is quite obvious, that you have left behind you all the scenes in
which the Parisians find enjoyment. The contrast in the neighbourhood of
London, is most striking. It is easy to laugh at the dulness and
vulgarity of a London citizen, who divides his time between his
counting-house and his villa, or at the coarseness and rusticity of an
English country squire; but there is no description of men to whom the
national character of our country is more deeply indebted.
It seems no difficult matter to ascribe most of the differences which we
observe between the English and French character to the differences in
the habits of the people, occasioned by form of government and various
assignable causes: and the French character, in particular, has very
much the appearance of being moulded by the artificial form of society
which prevails among the people. Yet, it is not easy to reconcile such
explanations with the instances we can often observe, of difference of
national character manifested under circumstances, or at an age, when
the causes assigned can hardly have operated. The peculiarities which
appear to us most artificial in the Parisian character and manners, may
often be seen in full perfection in very young children. Every little
French girl, almost from the time when she begins to speak, seems to
place her chief delight in attracting the regard of the other sex,
rather than in playing with her female companions. "In England," says
Chateaubriand, "girls are sent to school in their earliest years: you
sometimes see groups of these little ones, dressed in white mantles,
with straw hats tied under the chin with a ribband, and a basket on the
arm, containing fruit and a book--all with downcast eyes, blushing when
looked at. When I have seen," he continues, "our French female children,
dressed in their antiquated fashion, lifting up the trains of their
gowns, looking at every one they meet with effrontery, singing love-sick
airs, and taking lessons in declamation; I have thought with regret, of
the simplicity and modesty of the little English girls."
It is the opinion of some naturalists, that the acquired habits, as well
as the natural instincts of animals, are transmitted to their progeny;
and in comparing the causes commonly assigned, and plausibly supported,
for the peculiarities of national character, with the very early age at
which these peculiarities shew themselves, one is almost tempted to
believe, that something of the same kind may take place in the human
species.
* * *
In what has now been said, no reference has been made to the influence
of the revolution on the parts of the French character on which we have
touched. On this point we have of course, the means of judging with
precision; but most of the peculiarities which appeared to us most
striking certainly existed before the revolution, and we should be
disposed to doubt whether the leading features are materially altered.
The influence of the writings of the French philosophers on the
religious and moral principles of their countrymen, has certainly been
very great, and has been probably strengthened, rather than weakened, by
the events of the last twenty-five years.
The general diffusion of a military spirit; the unprincipled manner in
which war has been conducted, and the encouragement which has been given
to martial qualities, to the exclusion of all pacific virtues, have
promoted the growth of the French military vices, particularly
selfishness and licentiousness, among all ranks and descriptions of the
people, and materially injured their general character, even in the
remotest parts of the country. During the revolution, and under the
Imperial Government, men have owed their success, in France, almost
exclusively to the influence of their intellectual abilities, without
any assistance from their moral character; in consequence, the contempt
for religion is more generally diffused, and more openly expressed than
it was; and although loud protestations of inviolable honour are still
necessary, integrity of conduct is much less respected. The abolition of
the old, and the formation of a new nobility, composed chiefly of men
who had risen from inferior military situations, has had a most
pernicious effect on the general manners of the nation. The chief or
sole use of a hereditary nobility in a free country, is to keep up a
standard of dignity and elegance of manner, which serves as a model of
imitation much more extensively than the middling and lower ranks are
often willing to allow, and has a more beneficial effect on the national
character, than it is easy to explain on mere speculative principles.
But the manners of the new French nobility being the very reverse of
dignified or elegant, their constitution has hitherto tended only to
confirm the changes in the general manners of a great proportion of the
French nation, which the revolutionary ideas had effected. There are
very few men to be seen now in France, who (making all allowances for
difference of previous habits) appear to Englishmen to possess either
the manners or feelings of gentlemen.
The best possible proof that this is not a mere national prejudice, in
so far as the army is concerned, is, that the French _ladies_ are very
generally of the same way of thinking. After the English officers left
Toulouse in the summer of 1814, the ladies of that town found the
manners of the French officers who succeeded them so much less
agreeable, that they could not be prevailed on, for a long time, to
admit them into their society. This is a triumph over the arms of
France, which we apprehend our countrymen would have found it much more
difficult to achieve in the days of the ancient monarchy.
On the other hand, it must be admitted, that the revolution, has had the
effect of completely removing from the French character that silly
veneration for high rank, unaccompanied by any commanding qualities of
mind, which used to form a predominant feature in it. Yet it seems
doubtful whether the equivalent they have obtained is more likely to
promote their happiness. They have now an equally infatuated admiration
for ability and success, without integrity or virtue. Their minds have
been delivered from the dominion of rank without talents, and have
fallen under that of talents without principle.