CHAPTER VI. - 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.
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.
Dieses Kapitel ist Teil des Buches TRAVELS IN FRANCE, DURING THE YEARS 1814-15.