THE ADMINISTRATIVE HABITS OF FRANCE BEFORE THE REVOLUTION.
It is impossible to read the letters addressed by an Intendant of one
of the provinces of France, under the old monarchy, to his superiors
and his subordinates, without admiring the similitude engendered by
similar institutions between the administrators of those times and the
administrators of our own. They seem to join hands across the abyss of
the Revolution which lies between them. The same may be said of the
people they govern. The power of legislation over the minds of men was
never more distinctly visible.
The Ministers of the Crown had already conceived the design of taking
actual cognisance of every detail of business and of regulating
everything by their own authority from Paris. As time advanced and
the administration became more perfect, this passion increased.
Towards the end of the eighteenth century not a charitable workshop
could be established in a distant province of France until the
Comptroller-General himself had fixed the cost, drawn up the scheme,
and chosen the site. If a poor-house was to be built the Minister must
be informed of the names of the beggars who frequent it--when they
arrive--when they depart. As early as the middle of the same century
(in 1733) M. d’Argenson wrote--‘The details of business thrown upon the
Ministers are immense. Nothing is done without them, nothing except by
them, and if their information is not as extensive as their powers,
they are obliged to leave everything to be done by clerks, who become
in reality the masters.’
The Comptroller-General not only called for reports on matters of
business, but even for minute particulars relating to individuals. To
procure these particulars the Intendant applied in his turn to his
Sub-delegates, and of course repeated precisely what they told him,
just as if he had himself been thoroughly acquainted with the subject.
In order to direct everything from Paris and to know everything there,
it was necessary to invent a thousand checks and means of control. The
mass of paper documents was already enormous, and such was the tedious
slowness of these administrative proceedings, that I have remarked
it always took at least a year before a parish could obtain leave to
repair a steeple or to rebuild a parsonage: more frequently two or
three years elapsed before the demand was granted.
The Council itself remarked in one of its minutes (March 29, 1773)
that ‘the administrative formalities lead to infinite delays, and too
frequently excite very well-grounded complaints; these formalities are,
however, all necessary,’ added the Council.
I used to believe that the taste for statistics belonged exclusively
to the administrators of the present day, but I was mistaken. At the
time immediately preceding the Revolution of 1789 small printed tables
were frequently sent to the Intendant, which he merely had to get
filled up by his Sub-delegates and by the Syndics of parishes. The
Comptroller-General required reports upon the nature of the soil, the
methods of cultivation, the quality and quantity of the produce, the
number of cattle, and the occupations and manners of the inhabitants.
The information thus obtained was neither less circumstantial nor more
accurate than that afforded under similar circumstances by Sub-prefects
and Mayors at the present day. The opinions recorded on these occasions
by the Sub-delegates, as to the character of those under their
authority, were for the most part far from favourable. They continually
repeated that ‘the peasants are naturally lazy, and would not work
unless forced to do so in order to live.’ This economical doctrine
seemed very prevalent amongst this class of administrators.
Even the official language of the two periods is strikingly alike. In
both the style is equally colourless, flowing, vague, and feeble; the
peculiar characteristics of each individual writer are effaced and
lost in a general mediocrity. It is much the same thing to read the
effusions of a modern Prefect or of an ancient Intendant.
Towards the end of a century, however, when the peculiar language
of Diderot and Rousseau had had time to spread and mingle with the
vulgar tongue, the false sensibility, with which the works of those
writers are filled, infected the administrators and reached even the
financiers. The official style, usually so dry in its texture, was
become more unctuous and even tender. A Sub-delegate laments to the
Intendant of Paris ‘that in the exercise of his functions he often
feels grief most poignant to a feeling heart.’
Then, as at the present time, the Government distributed certain
charitable donations among the various parishes, on condition that the
inhabitants should on their part give certain alms. When the sum thus
offered by them was sufficient, the Comptroller-General wrote on the
margin of the list of contributions, ‘Good; express satisfaction;’ but
if the sum was considerable, he wrote, ‘Good; express satisfaction and
sensibility.’
The administrative functionaries, nearly all belonging to the middle
ranks, already formed a class imbued with a spirit peculiar to itself,
and possessing traditions, virtues, an honour and a pride of its
own. This was, in fact, the aristocracy of the new order of society,
completely formed and ready to start into life; it only waited until
the Revolution had made room for it.
The administration of France was already characterised by the violent
hatred which it entertained indiscriminately towards all those not
within its own pale, whether belonging to the nobility or to the
middle classes, who attempted to take any part in public affairs. The
smallest independent body, which seemed likely to be formed without
its intervention, caused alarm; the smallest voluntary association,
whatever was its object, was considered troublesome; and none were
suffered to exist but those which it composed in an arbitrary manner,
and over which it presided. Even the great industrial companies
found little favour in the eyes of the administration; in a word, it
did not choose that the citizens should take any concern whatever
in the examination of their own affairs, and preferred sterility to
competition. But, as it has always been necessary to allow the French
people the indulgence of a little licence to console them for their
servitude, the Government suffered them to discuss with great freedom
all sorts of general and abstract theories of religion, philosophy,
morals, and even politics. It was ready enough to allow the fundamental
principles upon which society then rested to be attacked, and the
existence of God himself to be discussed, provided no comments were
made upon the very least of its own agents. Such speculations were
supposed to be altogether irrelevant to the State.
Although the newspapers of the eighteenth century, or as they were
then called the gazettes, contained more epigrams than polemics, the
administration looked upon this small power with a very jealous eye.
It was indulgent enough towards books, but already extremely harsh
towards newspapers; so, being unable altogether to suppress them,
it endeavoured to turn them to its own purposes. Under the date of
1761 I find a circular addressed to all the Intendants throughout the
kingdom, announcing that the King (Louis XV.) had directed that in
future the ‘Gazette de France’ should be drawn up under the inspection
of the Government; ‘his Majesty being desirous,’ says the circular, ‘to
render that journal interesting, and to ensure to it a superiority
over all others. In consequence whereof,’ adds the Minister, ‘you will
take care to send me a bulletin of everything that happens in your
district likely to engage the curiosity of the public, more especially
whatever relates to physical science, natural history, or remarkable
and interesting occurrences.’ This circular is accompanied by a
prospectus setting forth that the new Gazette, though appearing oftener
and containing more matter than the journal which it supersedes, will
cost the subscribers much less.
Furnished with these documents, the Intendant wrote to his
Sub-delegates and set them to work; but at first they replied that they
knew nothing. This called forth a second letter from the Minister,
complaining bitterly of the sterility of the province as to news. ‘His
Majesty commands me to tell you that it is his intention that you
should pay very serious attention to this matter, and that you should
give the most precise order to your agents.’ Hereupon the Sub-delegates
undertake the task. One of them reported that a smuggler of salt had
been hung, and had displayed great courage; another that a woman in his
district had been delivered of three girls at a birth; a third that a
dreadful storm had occurred, though without doing any mischief. One of
them declared that in spite of all his efforts he had been unable to
discover anything worth recording, but that he would subscribe himself
to so useful a journal, and would exhort all respectable persons to
follow his example. All these efforts seem, however, to have produced
but little effect, for a fresh letter informs us that ‘the King, who
has the goodness,’ as the Minister says, ‘himself to enter into the
whole detail of the measures for perfecting the Gazette, and who wishes
to give to this journal the superiority and celebrity it deserves, has
testified much dissatisfaction on seeing his views so ill carried out.’
History is a picture gallery, containing few originals and a great many
copies.
It must be admitted, however, that in France the Central Government
never imitated those Governments of the South of Europe which seem to
have taken possession of everything only in order to render everything
barren. The French Government frequently showed great intelligence as
to its functions, and always displayed prodigious activity. But its
activity was often unproductive and even mischievous, because at times
it endeavoured to do that which was beyond its power, or that which no
one could control.
It rarely attempted, or quickly abandoned, the most necessary
reforms, which could only be carried out by persevering energy; but
it constantly changed its by-laws and its regulations. Within the
sphere of its presence nothing remained in repose for a moment. New
regulations succeeded each other with such extraordinary rapidity that
the agents of Government, amidst the multiplicity of commands they
received, often found it difficult to discover how to obey them. Some
municipal officers complained to the Comptroller-General himself of the
extreme mobility of this subordinate legislation. ‘The variation of the
financial regulations alone,’ said they, ‘is such, that a municipal
officer, even were his appointment permanent, has no time for anything
but studying the new rules as fast as they come out, even to the extent
of being forced to neglect his own business.’
Even when the law itself was not altered its application varied every
day. Without seeing the working of the administration under the old
French Government in the secret documents which are still in existence,
it is impossible to imagine the contempt into which the law eventually
falls, even in the eyes of those charged with the application of it,
when there are no longer either political assemblies or public journals
to check the capricious activity, or to set bounds to the arbitrary and
changeable humour of the Ministers and their offices.
We hardly find a single Order in Council that does not recite some
anterior laws, often of very recent date, which had been enacted but
never executed. There was not an edict, a royal declaration, or any
solemnly registered letters-patent, that did not encounter a thousand
impediments in its application. The letters of the Comptrollers-General
and the Intendants show that the Government constantly permitted things
to be done, by exception, at variance with its own orders. It rarely
broke the law, but the law was perpetually made to bend slightly in all
directions to meet particular cases, and to facilitate the conduct of
affairs.
An Intendant writes to the minister with reference to a duty of
_octroi_ from which a contractor of public works wanted to be exempted:
‘It is certain that according to the strict letter of the edicts and
decrees which I have just quoted, no person throughout the kingdom is
exempted from these duties; but those who are versed in the knowledge
of affairs are well aware that these imperative enactments stand on the
same footing as to the penalties which they impose, and that although
they are to be found in almost every edict, declaration, and decree
for the imposition of taxes, they have never prevented exceptions from
being made.’
The whole essence of the then state of France is contained in this
passage: rigid rules and lax practice were its characteristics.
Any one who should attempt to judge the Government of that period by
the collection of its laws would fall into the most absurd mistakes.
Under the date 1757 I have found a royal declaration condemning to
death any one who shall compose or print writings contrary to religion
or established order. The bookseller who sells and the pedlar who hawks
them are to suffer the same punishment. Was this in the age of St.
Dominic? It was under the supremacy of Voltaire.
It is a common subject of complaint against the French that they
despise law; but when, alas! could they have learned to respect it? It
may be truly said that amongst the men of the period I am describing,
the place which should be filled in the human mind by the notion of
_law_ was empty. Every petitioner entreated that the established order
of things should be set aside in his favour with as much vehemence and
authority as if he were demanding that it should be properly enforced;
and indeed its authority was never alleged against him but as a means
of getting rid of his importunity. The submission of the people to the
existing powers was still complete, but their obedience was the effect
of custom rather than of will, and when by chance they were stirred
up, the slightest excitement led at once to violence, which again was
almost always repressed by counter-violence and arbitrary power, not by
the law.
In the eighteenth century the central authority in France had not
yet acquired that sound and vigorous constitution which it has since
exhibited; nevertheless, as it had already succeeded in destroying all
intermediate authorities, and had left only a vast blank between itself
and the individuals constituting the nation, it already appeared to
each of them from a distance as the only spring of the social machine,
the sole and indispensable agent of public life.
Nothing shows this more fully than the writings even of its detractors.
When the long period of uneasiness which preceded the Revolution
began to be felt, all sorts of new systems of society and government
were concocted. The ends which these various reformers had in view
were various, but the means they proposed were always the same. They
wanted to employ the power of the central authority in order to
destroy all existing institutions, and to reconstruct them according
to some new plan of their own device; no other power appeared to them
capable of accomplishing such a task. The power of the State ought,
they said, to be as unlimited as its rights; all that was required
was to force it to make a proper use of both. The elder Mirabeau, a
nobleman so imbued with the notion of the rights of his order that he
openly called the Intendants ‘intruders,’ and declared that if the
appointment of the magistrates was left altogether in the hands of
the Government, the courts of justice would soon be mere ‘bands of
commissioners,’--Mirabeau himself looked only to the action of the
central authority to realise his visionary schemes.
These ideas were not confined to books; they found entrance into men’s
minds, modified their customs, affected their habits, and penetrated
throughout society, even into every-day life.
No one imagined that any important affair could be properly carried
out without the intervention of the State. Even the agriculturists--a
class usually refractory to precept--were disposed to think that if
agriculture did not improve, it was the fault of the Government, which
did not give them sufficient advice and assistance. One of them writes
to an Intendant in a tone of irritation which foreshadows the coming
Revolution. ‘Why does not the Government appoint inspectors to go
once a year into the provinces to examine the state of cultivation,
to instruct the cultivators how to improve it--to tell them what to
do with their cattle, how to fatten, rear, and sell them, and where
to take them to market? These inspectors should be well paid; and the
farmers who exhibited proofs of the best system of husbandry should
receive some mark of honour.’
Agricultural inspectors and crosses of honour! Such means of
encouraging agriculture never would have entered into the head of a
Suffolk farmer.
In the eyes of the majority of the French the Government was alone
able to ensure public order; the people were afraid of nothing but the
patrols, and men of property had no confidence in anything else. Both
classes regarded the gendarme on his rounds not merely as the chief
defender of order, but as order itself. ‘No one,’ says the provincial
assembly of Guyenne, ‘can fail to observe that the sight of a patrol is
well calculated to restrain those most hostile to all subordination.’
Accordingly every one wanted to have a squadron of them at his own
door. The archives of an intendancy are full of requests of this
nature; no one seemed to suspect that under the guise of a protector a
master might be concealed.[32]
Nothing struck the émigrés so much on their arrival in England as the
absence of this military force. It filled them with surprise, and often
even with contempt, for the English. One of them, a man of ability,
but whose education had not prepared him for what he was to see, wrote
as follows:--‘It is perfectly true that an Englishman congratulates
himself on having been robbed, on the score that at any rate there
is no patrol in his country. A man may lament anything that disturbs
public tranquillity, but he will nevertheless comfort himself, when he
sees the turbulent restored to society, with the reflection that the
letter of the law is stronger than all other considerations. Such false
notions, however,’ he adds, ‘are not absolutely universal; there are
some wise people who think otherwise, and wisdom must prevail in the
end.’
But that these eccentricities of the English could have any connection
with their liberties never entered into the mind of this observer. He
chose rather to explain the phenomenon by more scientific reasons.
‘In a country,’ said he, ‘where the moisture of the climate, and the
want of elasticity in the air, give a sombre tinge to the temperament,
the people are disposed to give themselves up to serious objects. The
English people are naturally inclined to occupy themselves with the
affairs of government, to which the French are averse.’
The French Government having thus assumed the place of Providence, it
was natural that every one should invoke its aid in his individual
necessities. Accordingly we find an immense number of petitions which,
while affecting to relate to the public interest, really concern
only small individual interests.[33] The boxes containing them are
perhaps the only place in which all the classes composing that society
of France, which has long ceased to exist, are still mingled. It
is a melancholy task to read them: we find peasants praying to be
indemnified for the loss of their cattle or their horses; wealthy
landowners asking for assistance in rendering their estates more
productive; manufacturers soliciting from the Intendant privileges
by which they may be protected from a troublesome competition, and
very frequently confiding the embarrassed state of their affairs to
him, and begging him to obtain for them relief or a loan from the
Comptroller-General. It appears that some fund was set apart for this
purpose.
Even the nobles were often very importunate solicitants; the only mark
of their condition is the lofty tone in which they begged. The tax of
twentieths was to many of them the principal link in the chain of their
dependence.[2] Their quota of this tax was fixed every year by the
Council upon the report of the Intendant, and to him they addressed
themselves in order to obtain delays and remissions. I have read a host
of petitions of this nature made by nobles, nearly all men of title,
and often of very high rank, in consideration, as they stated, of the
insufficiency of their revenues, or the disordered state of their
affairs. The nobles usually addressed the Intendant as ‘Monsieur;’ but
I have observed that, under these circumstances, they invariably called
him ‘Monseigneur,’ as was usually done by men of the middle class.
Sometimes pride and poverty were drolly mixed in these petitions. One
of the nobles wrote to the Intendant: ‘Your feeling heart will never
consent to see the father of a family of my rank strictly taxed by
twentieths like a father of the lower classes.’ At the periods of
scarcity, which were so frequent during the eighteenth century, the
whole population of each district looked to the Intendant, and appeared
to expect to be fed by him alone. It is true that every man already
blamed the Government for all his sufferings. The most inevitable
privations were ascribed to it, and even the inclemency of the seasons
was made a subject of reproach to it.
We need not be astonished at the marvellous facility with which
centralisation was re-established in France at the beginning of this
century.[34] The men of 1789 had overthrown the edifice, but its
foundations remained deep in the very minds of the destroyers, and on
these foundations it was easy to build it up anew, and to make it more
stable than it had ever been before.
FOOTNOTES:
[32] See Note XXVI., Additional Patrols.
[33] See Note XXVII., Bureaux de Tabac.
[34] See Note XXVIII., Extinction of Loyal Activity.