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 NOTES ON ENGLAND 
 
 5^ 
 
 V. 
 
 i 
 
Heprinted, with Jarge Additions, from "The Daily Xews." 
 
NOTES ON ENGLAND 
 
 BY 
 
 H. TAINE 
 
 D.C.L. OXON., ETC. 
 
 TRANSLATED, WITH AN INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER, BY 
 
 W. F. RAE 
 
 ^^.7icAoral\ tjhtel 
 
 STRAHAN & CO., LONDON 
 ADAM, STEVENSON, & CO., TORONTO 
 
 1872 
 
 [..4// n's^Afs reset-vedl 
 
^ 
 
 '^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 A 
 
 '> 
 
 Entered accoiding- to the Act of r;iiliament of Canada, in the year One 
 Thousand Eig]it Hundred and Seventj -Two, by W. F. Rue, in the 
 Office of the Minister of Asricultiire. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 FAOB 
 INTRODlCTOnY CHAPTER, CONTAINIXO — 
 
 1. A SKfiTCH OP M. TAIXE's LirE AND CAuKEli, ix 
 
 2. AN OUTLIXE OP HIS METHOD OP CUITICISM XXX 
 
 3. COMMEXTS UPON HIS OPINIONS AM) AVU III XGS ... Hv 
 CHAPTER • ■ 
 
 I. BOULOGNE TO LONDON imiDOB 1 
 
 II. SUNDAY IN LONDON. THE STREETS AND PARKS ... 9 
 
 III. ST. James's park, Richmond, the docks, axd-east-exd . 2.3 
 
 IV. VISIT TO EPSOM AND TO CREMORNE GARDENS 37 
 
 V. TYPTCAL ENGLISH MEN AND "WOMEN 4? 
 
 VI. ENGLISH GIRLS AND AUTHORESSES 82 
 
 VII. ENGLISH MARRIAGES AND MXRUIED WOMEN 94 
 
 Vin ENGLISH HOUSEHOLDS 109 
 
 IX. ENGLISH SCHOOT. ROYS AND SCHOOL LIFE 120 
 
 X. LIFE AT THE UNIVERSITY 137 
 
 XI. VILLAGES AND FARMHOUSES 153 
 
 XII. LANDE'^ t^ROPRIETORS AND ENGLISH GEXTLEMEN . . . . ICG 
 
 XIII. MAXSIO>S, PARKS, AND GARDENS 177 
 
 XIV. THE CL^.RGY 190 
 
 XV. THE GOVERNING CLASSES AND THE GOVERNMENT .... 19G 
 
 XVI. RAGGED SCHOOLS, HOSPITALS, WORKHOUSES, aND THE 
 
 VOLUNTEERS 205 
 
 XVII. THE CONSTITUTION, THE HOUSES OP PARLIAMENT . . . . 218 
 
 XVIII. THE CLUBS, THE TJIUTISH MUSEUM, THE CRYSTAL PALACE . 229 
 
vi CONTENTS. 
 
 CIIVPTRU TAOK 
 
 XIX. STUEET I'REACURUS AVD UELIOIOUS SEN'TIMENTS .... '1\\\ 
 
 XX. AKISTOCUATIC ASCLXDENCIT 240 
 
 XXI. HOCIETY AS DBriCTED HY "punch " 244 
 
 XXII. Sl'OHTINO, POLITICAL, AND SOCIAL CAUlCATrUES IN "nvcu'' 2')2 
 
 XXIII. IX.N8 OF COUHT, HA11RI8TEUS, AM> JUDGES 2GI 
 
 XXIV. THE THEATUES. LIVING IN LONDON 26(> 
 
 XXV. MANUFACTURES AND ARTISANS 2'?, 
 
 XXVI. MANCHESTER AND LIVERPOOL 270 
 
 XXVII. ENGLISH WORKING MEN 2;)() 
 
 XXVIII. SCENES IN MANCHESTER 300 
 
 XXIX. CHARACTERISTICS OF THE ENGLISH MIND 30(5 
 
 XXX. VUENCH WIT AND ENGLISH HUMOUR 320 
 
 X\XI. ENGLISH PAINTINGS AND ENGLISH PAINTERS 32S 
 
 XXXII. MODERN PAINTERS AND RUSKIN's CRITICISMS 33) 
 
 XXXIII. ENGLISH POETllY AND RELIGION 34 1 
 
 XXXIV. A TRIP THROUGH SCOTLAND 3;5() 
 
 XXXV. RETURN UOMS. TRENCUMEN AND ENQLISHMBN . • • . 309 
 
INTRODUCTORY CIIArTER. 
 
 T AST summer the University of Oxford resolved to 
 '-^ confer upon Dr. Diillinger the honorary degree of 
 Doctor of Civil Law. It was considered fitting that a 
 famous and an accomplished Frenchman should be 
 associated in the exc ptional mark of respect paid to an 
 erudite and illustrious German. Out of the numerous 
 Frenchmen of eminence and reno>vn who might with 
 propriety have been chosen, INI. Taine was unanimously 
 selected. 
 
 Shortly afterwards, the publication of a series of 
 papers, entitled " Notes on England," was begun in 
 the columns of the Paris Tojipa. Wherever French 
 newspapers circulate and the French language is 
 read, these " Notes " attracted attention. They were 
 quoted, commented on, praised, and criticised. Almost 
 contemporaneously, a selection from them, trans-, 
 lated into English, appeared in the columns of The 
 Daily News. "Wherever English is read, these transla- 
 tions furnished matter for talk and discussion ; extracts 
 from them were published by the Press of the United 
 Kingdom, of the United States, of India, of Canada, 
 

 Vlll 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CIIAPTER. 
 
 of Australia ; thoy woro tnado llio tlu'inos of Iciidnifr 
 urll('k>s ; they wero employed to point morals and to 
 cloncli ar^'inncnts. Again and a^ain was tlu* qiu^stion 
 put, " Who is M. Taine, what is his history, how has he 
 learned to treat English topics with so nnicl! intelli- 
 gence and elFect?" The more enlightened and critical 
 reader, whose accpiaintancc with current literature vxn- 
 braces what has been written in the At/wnaufnt, the 
 Satun/ff// licricw, the Spccfnfor, the Kfrfntinrr, the New 
 York Nation, the Ed'nihurgh and IVc'S/nu'nsfrr Rri'icfrfi, 
 could have been at uc loss in returning an answer 
 to this inquiry, and in stating with considerrd)le 
 precision the rank of M. Taine as a writer, and his 
 general character as c. critic and a philosopher. Yet 
 every ncwspjiper reader is neither perfectly well in- 
 formed nor personally laborious in adding to his defective 
 stock of accurate information. Nor, as far as M. Taine is 
 concerned, would a natural or acquired thirst for useful 
 instruction be speedily and completely slaked by taking 
 the recognised short cut to the fountain of knowledge, 
 and turning to a difctionary of contemporary biography. 
 The best modern biographical dictionary contains very 
 meagre and unsatisfactory details about the doings and 
 life of M. Taine. It is my present intention to supply 
 the more interesting and important particulars which 
 are lacking. By weaving them into a brief sketch of 
 M. Taine' s career, and by furnishing an outline of 
 his literary achievements and aims, I hope to supply 
 such an introduction to this volume as may prove ser- 
 viceable to all who, before or after they shall have 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. ix 
 
 pornscfl it, m;iy fool spocliilly (l('sln)ua of foriniiig a 
 closer poi'doiial iiitiiiuicy witli its uutlior. 
 
 I. 
 
 At Vouziors, n sttimII town on tlio frontier of Cham- 
 pagne and Ardunncs, llyppolito-Adolplie Taiuc was 
 born on the 21st of April, 1828. Jfis family belonged to 
 the French middle class ; to that superior class which luis 
 no exact equivalent in this country, which is composed 
 of those who belong to Nature's aristocracy by virtue 
 of intellect and education, who, though never formally 
 ennobled by a monarch, are fully as much respected 
 in France as the lineal descendants of the Crusaders, 
 and the undisputed possessors of the oldest and most 
 renowned historic titles. Ilis father was a solicitor ; 
 his uncles and his cousins were notaries, merchants, 
 civil engineers. His grandfather was sub-prefect at 
 Eocroi during the first Bourbon restoration of an 
 hundred days ; several of his relations, on his father's 
 and his mother's side, held posts of influence and 
 distinction, were deputies in the Lower House of the 
 Legislature during the reign of Louis Philippe, and 
 in the Assembly during the Republic of 1848. They 
 were well-to-do but not wealthy people. His father, 
 who was a man of studious habits and considerable 
 learning, taught him Latin. An uncle, who had resided 
 in America for some time, taught him English. One 
 of his early pleasures was reading English books, more 
 especially the classical works of fiction of the last 
 
t.i 
 
 X INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 century. To him, as to other French schoolboys, light 
 literature was forbidden fruit. Yet ho was permitted 
 to read any English book he pleased, the perusal of 
 works in a foreign tongue being regarded as a species 
 of study which it was right to encourage and commend. 
 To the advantage he took of his opportunities in 
 early youth, is attributable much of the familiar ac- 
 quaintance which he displayed in after j-ears with the 
 immortal works of the best English writers. 
 
 When he was thirteen years old, his father died. 
 His mother took him to Paris at the age of fourteen. 
 For one year he was a boarder in a first-class private 
 school, then he became a pupil at the College of 
 ]3ourbon, an important public school, which, like 
 muny other institutions in France, changes its name 
 when the government changes its form, and was 
 consequently known during the monarchy as the 
 College of Bourbon, during the Hepublic of 1848 
 as the Fourcroy Lyceum, duiing the Second Empire 
 as the Bonaparte Lyceum, and is at present called 
 the Condorcet Lyceum. He had two sisters, whose 
 training and happiness were the objects of his 
 mother's special care and forethought. Neverthe- 
 less, she was naturally unremitting in promoting her 
 only son's welfare and advancement, watching over 
 his studies with tender solicitude, rejoicing in his 
 triumphs as if they were her own, encouraging him 
 amid his difficulties and mortifications, nursing him 
 during long illnesses, keeping house for him in his 
 riper years, and only relinquishing her assiduous ma- 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 xi 
 
 ternal cares when he finally obtained a not less devoted 
 and affectionate companion in the person of a wife. 
 
 When M. Taine w studying at the College of 
 Bourbon, other youths, who afterwards became famous, 
 were pupils also; but none eclipsed him, either in 
 mental precocity, or in successful rivalry for distinction. 
 At the general competition in 1847, he carried off the 
 first prize for the Latin essay in rhetoric, and in 1848 
 he obtained the two second prizes for philosophy. His 
 attainments warranted him in becoming a candidate, 
 in the latter year, for admission to the Normal School. 
 This is a seminary of learning into which none are 
 admitted except those who succeed in passing a severe 
 examination, and in which the pupils qualify them- 
 selves for enrolment among the higher class of teachers 
 in connection with the University, and under the con- 
 trol of the Minister of Public Instruction. Many, how- 
 ever, make use of it as a stepping-stone to a purely 
 literary career. Several Frenchmen of note in the 
 world of letters passed through the Normal School 
 at the same time as M. Taine, acted for a short time 
 as Professors, as he did, and then, severing their con- 
 nection with the department of education, devoted 
 themselves exclusively to cultivating tho field of litera- 
 ture. Four of these men were his comrades and com- 
 petitors. They were the late M. Prevost-Paradol, M. 
 Edmond About, M. Francisque Sarcey, M. J. J. Weiss. 
 The first was junior to him by one year, the second 
 and third were his own age, the fourth was one year 
 his senior. 
 
XI I 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER, 
 
 Of tlic four, M. Prcvost-Paradol was in many respects 
 tte most remarkable. The son of a celebrated actress, 
 he, too, was educated at the College of Bourbon, and 
 distinguished himself there. After passing through 
 the Normal School, he spent some years in private 
 study, prepared a work to which the French Academy 
 awarded the prize for eloquence, took his degree of 
 Doctor of Letters, and then accepted the post of Pro- 
 fessor of French Literature in the college at Aix. 
 He filled this chair for one year only. Tempting 
 offers to enter the ranks of journalism made him 
 not only resign this post, but also withdraw his name 
 from the list of those who desired employment as 
 L^niversity instructors. He was first engaged upon the 
 staff of the Journal dcs Dehats. To this journal, as 
 well as to others, and to the Rerue dcs Deux MondcSy 
 he contributed articles, which excited notice for the 
 delicacy, the point, the polish, the incisiveness of their 
 style. He was a French Junius. He resembled the 
 great unknown English pamphleteer in being a lite- 
 rary irreconcilable, differing from him, however, in 
 wielding a sharp, glittering rapier, instead of a heavy, 
 crushing club. He attacked the Second Empire by 
 his epigrams and allusions with quite as great effect 
 as Junius did when he warred against the policy of 
 George III. and the friends of that monarch by scath- 
 ing sarcasm and unmeasured denunciation. The 
 Courier dii Dimanche, to which he was the principal 
 contributor, became a thorn in the side of the Im- 
 perial Government. Even more annoying than his 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 Xlll 
 
 effective yet indirect onslaughts upon Imperialism, 
 was tlie cleverness with which he avoided a direct 
 breach of the laws prohibiting freedom of discussion. 
 M. Prevost-Paradol's art consisted in saying what 
 he pleased, in such a way as to give the maximum 
 of pain to his opponents, without affording them 
 a legitimate opportunity for putting their fingers 
 upon the passage which rankled in their minds, and 
 stating, with good reason, that the incriminated 
 passage was discourteous, in bad taste, contrary 
 to fact, and a diP9;race to the writer. Nothing was 
 left them but to put themselves wholly in the wrong, 
 by exercising arbitrary repression. As the Courier dii 
 Dimanche could neither be legally prosecuted nor con- 
 clusively answered, it was summarily suppressed. A 
 pamphlet which M. Prevost-Paradol wrote on the " Old 
 Parties" was interpreted by subservient judges as 
 inciting to the overthrow of the Imperial dynasty, and 
 for this hypothetical offence he was fined £40 and im- 
 prisoned for a month. The injustice and persecution of 
 which, in common with the late Count Montalembert, 
 he was the victim, recoiled upon its instigators and 
 perpetrators. 
 
 M. Prevost-Paradol became popular in all inde- 
 pendent circles, and enjoyed the esteem of all un- 
 biassed critics. His admirers were nearly as numerous 
 in this country as in his own. Indeed, an English 
 reader could hardly help thinking favourably of the 
 French writer who constantly held up constitutional 
 government in England as a pattern deserving un- 
 
:1 
 
 XIV 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 grudging praise and careful study. To his political 
 attitude, rather than to the intrinsic value of his 
 writings, he owed it that, at the early age of thirty- 
 seven, he was elected a member of the French. 
 Academy, a body which usually refuses to open its 
 ranks to young men, however promising, who have 
 merely produced a few ephemeral works, unless their 
 authors are Ministers of State, or Archbishops. His 
 highest ambition was now gratified. 
 
 About this time he received the remarkable and 
 gratifying distinction of being asked to contribute to The 
 TimeSi letters on French topics of the day. In common 
 with his brother Academicians, he enjoyed by his posi- 
 tion, and irrespective of his personal achievements, 
 the reputation of being a master of his incompar- 
 able mother-tongue. Many of them doubtless spoke 
 English without hesitation, read it with pleasure and 
 understanding. But how many among them would 
 have ventured upon undergoing the ordeal of satisfying 
 the critical readers of the great English journal ? His 
 own wonderful success, the fluency, ease, grace, and 
 vigour with which he expressed himself in English, 
 formed an additional claim to the admiration and 
 respect of Englishmen. For his own part, he assured 
 his English friends that, never till he had become a 
 contributor to The Times, had he learned the real value 
 of his pen. Despite the liberality with which he was 
 remunerated, he found the support of his family a 
 heavy burden. He had no private means; he had 
 accumulated little, and he was weary of writing at 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 XV 
 
 all and still more weary of writing for gain. Then 
 it was that by him, as by many other patriotic and. 
 eminent Frenchmen, the prospect of the establish- 
 ment of constitutional and parliamentary government 
 was hailed with delight. He unquestionably preferred 
 ordered liberty with the Empire, to the almost 
 inevitable alternative of a revolution accompanied with 
 bloodshed and followed by anarchy. To refuse to give 
 fair play to the new order of things, to reject the 
 repentance of the eleventh hour which promised to 
 be all the more sincere inasmuch as it was based 
 upon irresistible expediency, appeared to him worse 
 than a blunder. He accepted the apparent trans- 
 formation, and did so in good faith. Everything 
 appeared going smoothly and satisfactorily when 
 the astute and unscrupulous M. Rouher ceased to 
 be the first minister of Napoleon III. M. Ollivier, 
 who succeeded him, was known to be vain and ambitious ; 
 but he was supposed to be honest, and was believed to 
 be competent. Along with others who had been in 
 opposition during the evil days, M. Prevost-Paradol 
 became reconciled to the Imperial Government when 
 a happier and brighter era seemed to have dawned 
 upon France. He gave a visible hostage of his con- 
 fidence and expectations by accepting the honourable and 
 coveted post of Minister at Washington. Hardly had 
 he entered upon the duties of his office than he learned 
 that France had challenged Prussia to mortal combat. 
 What his feelings were can be easily surmised. During 
 the year 1867 he discussed in La France Nouvelle the 
 
XVI 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 contingency of a war between Franco and Piussia 
 adding the following significant and memorable reHec 
 lions: "On the supposition that Prussia weio victo- 
 rious, it ift easy to see that such an occurrence would 
 be the death of the greatness of France, though the 
 
 nation would not be destroyed Some rectifica 
 
 tion of our frontier to the advantage of Prussia — the 
 sad prelude to still greater — ^would be the immediatt- 
 
 effect of our reverses Germanic unity, hastened 
 
 and pushed forward by the force and prestige of Prus- 
 sian victories, would be instantly consummated. Yes, 
 France is destined to pay in any event ; with the blood 
 of her sons if she conquers ; with her greatness, and, 
 perhaps, with ber national existence, if she succumbs." 
 Despairing of his country should she prove the victor, 
 or be vanquished, he died by his own hand. More 
 courageous, or more desponding than the members of 
 the dynasty which had duped him, ho surrendered 
 his life as a sacrifice to the intrigues and deceptions of 
 a crooked and baneful Imperialism. 
 
 M. Edmond About has shown himself, on the whole, 
 a very different man from M. Prevost-Paradol. M. 
 About has made money by his writings, and he has not 
 yet been made an ambassador. He has dabbled in 
 politics, and left it an open question whether he has any 
 permanent and rational political convictions. He has 
 written novels, pamphlets, plays; his writings have all 
 been successful, but his plays have not all been applauded. 
 His great distinction is his style ; his great success 
 consists in putting things. When he left the Normal 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 xvii 
 
 School, he obtained admission into the School at Athens, 
 maintained by the French Government with a view 
 to perpetuate and advance the study of Grecian archai- 
 ology. He wrote one lively treatise on an archaeo- 
 logical topic, and then published his work on " Con- 
 temporary Greece," a work which charmed the reading 
 public everywhere save in Greece, and of which the suc- 
 cess determined his vocation. Since then he has been a 
 prolific author, and become a conspicuous notability in 
 literature. The adaptability of his character is as marked 
 as the elasticity of his style. He can write well on any 
 subject ; he imparts freshness to whatever he touches, 
 and he upholds with extreme fervour and with an air of 
 conviction the side which he espouses. If the Germans 
 could be terrified by phrases, he would have put them 
 to flight. His letters as a War Correspondent, at the 
 opening of the campaign, produced a very different im- 
 pression in this country from that produced by " Tolla " 
 and the " Roman Question." In them he exhibited 
 himself as a fire-eater of the most ferocious type. His 
 reputation in France, however, has apparently suffered 
 no abatement. He has narrowly failed being elected a 
 member of the Academy. That he will become an 
 Academician, at least, is hardly doubtful. That he 
 is one of the cleverest writers of the day cannot be 
 denied. 
 
 M. Taine's other two comrades soon abandoned the 
 profession of teaching the young for that of directing 
 the aault through the colimins of the public press. M. 
 
 Sarcey was constantly squabbling with the authorities 
 
 h 
 
' 
 
 XVIII 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 during the seven years that he acted as Professor. 
 Indeed, those who had been the most brilliant pupils 
 of the Normal School, immediately before the advent 
 of the Second Empire, found it impossible to maintain 
 harmonicuii relations with the Imperial adminis- 
 trators. Much of the bitterness which they manifested 
 as journalists was due to the independent principles 
 they hacJ imbibed at school, coupled with the vexatious 
 and inquisitorial conduct of their superiors, who 
 expected that they would become meek and ready 
 tools for the maintenance and glorification of the 
 dynasty which had betrayed and strangled the 
 Republic. As a contributor to popular Parisian 
 journals, M. Sarcey is noted for his effective and 
 spaikling articles. He remained in Paris w^ 1st it 
 was besieged by the Germans; and his account of 
 what occurred is one of the best narratives of the 
 siege that has been produced. M. Weiss continued 
 to act as a Professor rather longer thim any of tho 
 others. He filled with great success the chair of 
 French literature, which M. Prevost-Paradol had 
 occupied and adorned. His lectures tv ore exceedingly 
 able. Since he definitively entered the ranks of 
 journalism, he has become one of its acknowledged 
 ornaments. 
 
 During the regular term of three years that M. 
 Taine was a pupil of the Normal School, the method 
 of instruction which prevailed was well fitted to pro- 
 mote and stimulate intellectual activity. Personally, he 
 required no special incentive to work hard and to excel. 
 
IKTROrUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 XIX 
 
 He was able, by his marveUous quickness and industry, 
 to condense an immense amount of study into a brief 
 spac*^ of time. Sometimes, he performed the tasks of 
 a month in the course of a week. Thus he gained 
 three clear weeks during which to follow his own 
 devices ; and he utilized the time by studying theology 
 and phiiosophy, reading all the authors of note in both 
 departments, and discussing the questions which arose 
 with congenial p^pirits of his own standing. All his 
 fellow-pupils were subjected by him to a personal 
 examination. To use his own phrase he loved to 
 " read " {feuillefer) them ; in other words, to probe their 
 minds and scrutinize their thoughts. Although a Roman 
 Catholic by early training, yet he was no implicit be- 
 liever in Roman Catholic dogmas. With some pupils 
 who were ardently attached to the Church of Rome, 
 as well as with others who partially sympathised with 
 him, he entered into discussions, in which theological 
 doctrines were treated with entire freedom, tried 
 by the touchstone of reason, and subjected to keen 
 logical investigation. Indeed, the school was a theatre 
 of controversy, the pupils openly arguing with each 
 other, and the Professors sanctioning and encourag- 
 ing the most thoroughgoing expression of individual 
 and unfettered opinion. Trained in such an arena, 
 it is no wonder that the pupils became imbued with 
 a strong notion of ir dividual independence, and were 
 ill prepared to brook the slightest intellectual restraint 
 or dictation. 
 
 Shortly before the three years' training of M. Taine 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 ttiid his comrades was ended, the Director of the Normal 
 School, M. Dubois, was constrained to resign the post 
 lie had adorned. M. Michelle, a less enlightened and 
 able man, and a willing ally of the reaetionuiy party, 
 ruled in his stead. ^ mes were unpropitious for 
 
 liberty of thought. The Kmpcror Napoleon had attained 
 the object of his life, and he had to pay the price which 
 the priests claimed for their support. They had served 
 him heart and soul ; he furnished them, in return, with 
 the arm of the flesh requisite for the maintenance of 
 their spiritual pretensions. M. Taine was one of the 
 sufferers from the new order of things. Those who 
 pass a certain examination are appointed to the most 
 easy and lucrative posts. He presented himself for 
 examination, but was rejected on the avowed ground 
 that his philosophical opinions were erroneous in them- 
 selves and mischievous in their tendency. This unfair- 
 ness was resented by several men of eminence who had 
 taken an interest in him, and who had been struck by 
 his talents. Owing to the warm advocacy of M. Guizot, 
 M. Saint Marc Girardin, and the Due de Luynes, ho 
 hoped to procure a post which might compensate by its 
 situation for its inferior character, and he requested, as 
 a special favour, for his mother's sake rather than for 
 his own, that he might be appointed to fill a vacancy 
 in the North of France. The reply was a nomination 
 to a post at Toulon, in the extreme South. Thence he 
 was transferred to Nevers, and from Nevers to Poitiers, 
 remaining four months only at each place. His salary 
 for the first year was £66 ; a sum which, though a 
 
IXTRODUCTORV C If AFTER. 
 
 xsi 
 
 lltllo in excess of that wliercwith Goldsmith's j^ood 
 parson deemed himself passing rieh, was considerably 
 less than that upon which it was possible to live in 
 comfort. However, ho managed to exist by practising 
 the most rip^id economy. 
 
 His spare moments he spent in close study, occupying 
 himself chiefly with the works of Ilegel, and sketching 
 out a comprehensive philosophical work. lie was gene- 
 rally regarded as a suspicious character. It was no 
 secret that his private opinions did not accord with thoso 
 held and approved in official circles. Ilenco the parti- 
 zans of the ruling powers were lynx-eyed and eager in 
 detecting his failings. In France, nothing is easier 
 than to circulate false reports, unless it be the ease in 
 getting them accepted as authentic. Naturally, there 
 was not tho least difficulty in discrediting M. Taino 
 by falsely representing that ho had eulogised Danton 
 in tho presence of his pupils, and held up Paul do 
 Kock to them as a model. This allege^ grave sin cf 
 commission was followed by a still more heinous and 
 perfectly incontestable sin of omission. The college 
 chaplain preferred one of those requests which are 
 equivalent to commands. He gave M. Taine the 
 option of inditing, in honour of the Bishop of tho 
 diocese, either a Latin ode or a French dithyramb. 
 M. Taine declined to praise the Bishop either in 
 prose or verse, either in ancient Latin or modern 
 French. For this irreverent refusal, which was re- 
 garded as confirmatory of the darkest charges and the 
 worst fears, he soon received a letter of censure 
 
xxii 
 
 IXTRODVCTORV CJIAPTKR. 
 
 from tho Minister of Publlo Instruction. Tlio officl il 
 roj)rinKind was coupled with a threat that, shoukl he 
 ofieiul again, he wouhl bo instantly dismissed. Several 
 months afterwards he was appointed to teach a class of 
 little children at Bcsan^on. This was a significant 
 hint that he was regarded as a hlack sheep. He deemed 
 it wise to give up a struggle in whicli ho was certain 
 to he checkmated at every turn. At his own request, 
 he wus placed ujoon the retired list. 
 
 Returning to Paris, he received an advantageous 
 offer to act as Professor in a largo private seminary. 
 He closed with it, and recommenced teaching. JUit 
 even here his sins soon found him out, or rather his 
 enemies did. An order was issued forhiddiug those 
 who were members of the University staff from giving 
 lectures in private institutions. As a last resource he 
 began to give lessons as a tutor, with the view both of 
 earning his daily bread, and of being able to use his pen 
 with entire independence. Moreover, he completed his 
 own education, and enlarged tho sphere of his attain- 
 ments, by attending the courses of lectures at the 
 School of Medicine, the Museum of Natural History, 
 and some of the lectures at the Sorbonne and the Sal- 
 petriere. In 1853 he took the degree of Doctor of 
 Letters. As is customary, he wrote two theses on this 
 occasion, the one in Latin being " De Personis Plato- 
 nicis,*' the other in French being an "Essai sur les 
 Fables de Lafontaine.*' The latter was the reverse of 
 an ordinary University essay. It was the formal enun- 
 ciation of new critical doctrines ; it was the gauntlet 
 
ixrnoDvcTonv ciiArTER. 
 
 XXIJ 
 
 flirown down 1)y a now aspirant for intclloctiuil 
 honours ; it was tho bold niiiintenanco of a modern 
 paradox, illustrated and enforced by examples drawn 
 from Lafontaino. The novelty of tho views advanced 
 was matched by tho freslmess and vivacity, tho vigour 
 and variety of tho lanp:uap^o. By tho public it was 
 received with such favour that it speedily passed into 
 a second edition. 
 
 Tho French Academy having offered a prize in 
 1854 for an essay upon Livy, considered i»8 writer and 
 historian, M. Taino entered tho lists. Among tho 
 works sent in, liis was admitted to be the best, yet the 
 prize was not awarded to it on tho ground that his 
 essny " was deficient in gravity and in a proper degree 
 of admiration for the splendid name and imposing 
 genius of him whom he liad to criticise." lie recast 
 his essay, and submitted it a second time to the judg- 
 ment of tho tribunal. It was now pronounced the best 
 of those presented, and fully entitled to tho prize. In 
 reporting to the Academy the committee's decision, 
 M. Villemain expressed their satisfaction in crowning a 
 ** solid and new work, wherein the sentiment of anti- 
 quity and the modern method w^ere suitably blended, 
 and which skilfully set forth all the questions concern- 
 ing historic certitude, local truth, correct information, 
 dramatic passion and taste to which the Annals of 
 
 Livy had given rise The young and clever man 
 
 of learning, the victor in this competition, has had 
 to produce a fragment of bistory as well as a piece of 
 criticism." After intimating his disagreement with 
 
r" 
 
 i [■ 
 
 XXIV 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER, 
 
 f j 
 
 ; I 
 
 M. Taine In matters of detail, M. Yillemain concluded 
 his report by saying, " Let us, however, congratulate 
 M. Taine upon this noble and erudite first appearance 
 in classical letters, and let us wish for similar candi- 
 dates at our competitions, and similar instructors of 
 youth in our schools." The Academicians smiled 
 at this sarcastic reflection on the authorities for 
 having refused to avail themselves of the teacher's 
 services. 
 
 The prize essay was published with a short preface, 
 which startled some members of the Academy, and 
 made them desire to recall their praises and undo their 
 acts. M. Taine wrote to the effect that, according to 
 Spinoza, man's place in relation to nature, is not that of 
 an empire within an empire, but of a part in a whole ; 
 that man's inner being is subject to laws in the same 
 way as the external world ; moreover, that there is a 
 dominant principle, a ruling faculty, which regulates 
 thought and imparts an irresistible and inevitable 
 impulse to the human machine. Believing these 
 things, M. Taine offered his " Essay on Livy " as an 
 example of their truth. Upon this ths cry was raised 
 that to write in this way was to deny the freedom of 
 the will, and to become the apostle of fatalism. A 
 more cogent objection was the incongruity between the 
 ideas represented by two such names as Spinoza and 
 Livy, and the paradox implied in putting forward the 
 writings of the Eoman historian as confirmatory of 
 the philosophical speculations of the Dutch Jew. Yet 
 the general reader was gratified with the look. Ita 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 XXV 
 
 If lie made 
 
 few 
 
 author's ability was indisputable, 
 converts, he gained admirers. 
 
 A severe affection of the throat compelled him to 
 quit Paris and to seek relief from the famous springs of 
 the Pyrenees. After lasting two years, during which 
 he lost the use of his voice, the malady finally suc- 
 cumbed to the curative action of the mineral waters. 
 It is noteworthy that at this period his favourite 
 book was Spenser's "Faerie Queene," a work which 
 hardly any of his countrymen have read at all, and 
 which few of mine have read through. To M. Taine's 
 intimate knowledge of Spenser is due the splendid 
 and discriminating eulogium passed upon the great 
 Elizabethan poet in the " History of English Litera- 
 ture." His enforced sojourn among the mountains 
 supplied him with fresh material for literary composi- 
 tion. This took the form of a " Journey to the Pyre- 
 nees," a work which became more popular than the 
 "Essay on Livy." The habits of the people and of 
 the tourists are depicted with much point, and the 
 mountain scenery with great vividness ; enough is said 
 about botany, geology, natural history, to give pith to 
 tlie whole, without wearying the reader who understands 
 none of these things, or appearing commonplace to tho 
 reader who is perfectly conversant with them. An 
 edition of this work, with illustrations by M. Gustavo 
 Dore, has since been published. The critic may be 
 puzzled to decide whether the text or the illustrations 
 ought to be singled out for special praise, but \^ can- 
 not hesitate to pronounce the entire work a masterpiece. 
 
.! 
 I 
 
 It, ■!( 
 
 XXVI 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER, 
 
 Another illness, of a still more threatening cha- 
 racter, prostrated him at a latei period. This was the 
 result of over-work, and consisted in total incapacity 
 for mental exertion. For a considerable time he coiild 
 not concentrate his thoughts ; could neither write nor 
 read ; even the perusal of a newspaper was beyond his 
 power. Entire rest wrought a cure which, happily, 
 was lasting as well as complete. 
 
 In addition to the works named above, he wrote 
 numerous articles for the Revue de VImtniction Piih- 
 liquey the Journal dcs Dehats, the Revue des Deux 
 Mondes. These articles have been collected and pub- 
 lished in volumes. A volume whicli attracted niucli 
 attention was partly composed of articles whicli had 
 ai)peared in the first of these journals, and it bore the 
 title of " French Philosophers of the Nineteenth Cen- 
 tury." This work was an attack upon the official 
 philosophy of the day, that rhetorical spiritualism 
 which had the advantage, in the eyes of the autho- 
 rities, of not giving umbrage to the priests, and the 
 drawback, in the opinion of thinkers, of slurring over, or 
 of evading the difficulties which it professed to explain 
 and remove. Against M. Cousin, in particular, M. 
 Taine opened a battery of censure and ridicule. The 
 opponents of the former applauded the attack ; his 
 friends, like friends in general, doubtless relished it 
 inwardly, while condemning it openly, for it was very 
 clever and very telling; and M. Cousin himself re- 
 garded his adversary with more than a professional 
 philosopher's antipathy. 
 
 1! 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 XXVll 
 
 Meanwhile M. Talne was steadily labouring at his 
 most ambitious historical work, " The History of 
 English Literature." It was the fruit of six years' 
 close study. In 18G1, and subsequently, he visited 
 .li]ngland with a view of reading in the British 
 Museiun, and of seeing the country and people face 
 to face. During these visits most of the ** Notes " con- 
 tained in this volume were written. They were revised 
 after his last visit in 1871. Many of the obsei ations 
 appear antiquated and are actually out of date now ; 
 but they have been retained because, in M. Tuine's 
 opinion, they are still substantially true, and represent 
 permanent phases of our national life and character. 
 
 Upon the publication of the " History of English 
 Literature," in 1863, its author's reputation was vastly 
 increased, and his rank among modern writers acknow- 
 ledged to be very lofty. The work was the event of 
 the day, and the illustration of the year. That it 
 should have been singled out by a committee of the 
 Erench Academy, and unanimously recommended as 
 worthy of a special prize, was perfectly natural. The 
 value of this special prize, which is conferred on none 
 but historical works of undoubted merit, is £160, a 
 recompense which renders the honour a substantial as 
 w^ell as an enviable one. At a meeting of the Academy, 
 where it was proposed to confirm the recommenda- 
 tion of the committee, Mon seigneur Dupanloup, th(. 
 Bishop of Orleans, rose and moved the non-confirma- 
 tion of the report. He alleged as reasons for refusing 
 to do honour to M. Taine's history, that the book was 
 
tl'l 
 
 xxviii 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER, 
 
 
 ' \ ■> 
 
 
 I 
 
 impious and immoral; tliat its author liad alleged 
 " virtue and vice to be products like sugar and vitriol ;" 
 that he had denied the freedom of the will ; that 
 he had advocated pure fatalism, had depreciated the 
 ecclesiastics of the Middle Ages, had eulogized the 
 Puritans, had pointedly commended the English 
 Prayer-Book, had shown himself a sceptic in philo- 
 sophy and a heretic in religion. M. Cousin thought 
 the opportunity a favourable one both for showing 
 how entirely he had become reconciled to the Church, 
 and for taking his revenge on his youthful assailant. 
 He seconded the Bishop's motion in a speech re- 
 echoing the Bishop's charges. The success of these 
 notable men was almost secured beforehand. Their 
 hearers the more readily believed all they were told, 
 because they had not read the work against which the 
 attack was skilfully directed. The reporter of the 
 Committee, who ought to have defended the Com- 
 mittee's choice, was only too ready to bow before the 
 censure of the Bishop and the philosopher. Hence, 
 this combined and ardent appeal to the worst pre- 
 judices of an assembly never distinguished for true 
 tolerance and genuine liberality of sentiment, and of 
 which the majority remembered with satisfaction how, 
 during the previous year, M. Littre's candidature for 
 admission into their midst had been rejected, proved 
 altogether irresistible, and the motion was carried. 
 Since then the Academy has been materially changed 
 in composition and spirit. M. Cousin has departed this 
 life in the odour of sanctity. He atoned, long before 
 
 ! 1 
 
IKTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 XXIX 
 
 his decease, for his vouthful leaning? towards iutcl- 
 lectual freedom, by abjectly submitting to the most 
 uncompromising dogmas of a powerful priesthood. 
 His influence perished with him. He holds, and may 
 continue to hold, a place among the literary idols of 
 France, and will receive the more lip-worship because 
 he is no longer believed in as an authority. The 
 Bishop of Orleans has resigned his seat ; M. Littre 
 is a member of the Academy. Is it rash to predict 
 that the illustrious body which, on hearsay and wholly 
 insufficient evidence, refused to acknowledge the real 
 merits of M. Taine's important work will one day 
 regard his accession to a place among them as an 
 addition to their collective strength and glory ? 
 
 Little remains to be said about M. Taine's personal 
 career. For some time he held the post of literary 
 examiner in the military school of St. Cyr. After- 
 wards he was appointed professor of art and aesthetics 
 in the Imperial Academy of the Fine Arts. He has 
 travelled through Italy, and written an excellent ac- 
 count of his observations. He has published several 
 works relating to art in Greece, Italy, and the Low 
 Countries. One of his recent works is a philosophical 
 one of note on " The Intelligence." The mere enu- 
 meration of these titles is a proof of his versatility. 
 More rare still, is the circumstance that everything 
 he has written is both readable and pregnant with 
 matter for reflection. Indeed, all his writings have 
 a flavour of their own which is very pleasant, a stamp 
 of originality which is unmistakable. He always 
 
XXX 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 ■\ 
 
 \\ 
 
 \'\ 
 
 I m 
 
 thinks for himself. ITe occupies a place npart amon^ 
 contemporary authors. Nor docs he ever write at 
 random, and without a special purpose. Every book 
 or detached essay is designed to subserve the object 
 of propagating his views respecting criticism, to ex- 
 pound and illustrate a method of discussing literary 
 works which, if not discovered by him, he has made 
 his own by systematic use and skilful adaptation. 
 
 II. 
 
 A critic is commonly supposed to be a man who, 
 having carefully studied certain subjects, is specially 
 qualified for giving an opinion upon the way in which 
 these subjects have been treated by an author, a 
 painter, an architect, an orator. The critic may either 
 announce his decision after haA^ing applied to the 
 matter in hand certain fixed rules or canonS; or else 
 he may enumerate his own rules and express an inde- 
 pendent judgment. In any case the critique is a 
 reasoned or arbitrary opinion, and nothing more. It 
 may be disputed, if the standard to which the critic 
 appeals has not been fairly and adequately applied. 
 It may be disregarded, if the personal opinion appears 
 to be merel}"- an individual crotchet. To expect that 
 the result could ever be accepted as universally and 
 implicitly as the demonstrations of an authority in the 
 natural sciences, of a botanist and a zoologist, is what 
 no critic of eminence, with one conspicuous exception, 
 has hitherto ventured to do. 
 
 i i) ; 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 XXXI 
 
 That exception is M. Taine. He believes that he 
 has succeeded in removing all ambiguity and fluctua- 
 tion from critical judgments by following a particular 
 method of procedure. He professes to have eliminated 
 chance from ethical products, to have found a clue 
 to the labyrinth of the mind. The ordinary saying 
 that man is a creature of circumstances, he employs as 
 a philosophical formida. The purport of his main con- 
 tention and fundamental proposition is that man is tho 
 unconscious agent and manifestation of unseen forces. 
 In his opicion, these forces may be measured, though 
 they cannot be grasped ; may be classified, though they 
 cannot be directly controlled. He considers it prac- 
 ticable, by duly estimating and carefully determining 
 their nature and effect, to explain why an author, artist, 
 or architect produced a particular book, painting, or 
 edifice ; why an age was distinguished for a particular 
 form of literature, art, or architecture ; what was the 
 mental history of past generations as exhibited in the 
 writings or doings of individuals. In short, M. Taine 
 deciphers the man in the age, and the age in the man, 
 and becomes the historian of the human mind in 
 depicting the events of a particular generation, and 
 in exhibiting the share which the finished work of 
 one era or race has had in moulding the work of the 
 era which has succeeded, or the race which has dis- 
 placed it. For him Raffaelle is no startling pheno- 
 menon, and Shakespeare no inscrutable mystery. Nor 
 has he any difficulty in explaining the reason why 
 the Middle Age was succeeded by the Revival, and 
 
XXXll 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER, 
 
 . i 
 
 
 I m. 
 
 I i 
 
 I 
 
 tlie Revival by tlio Roformatlon ; why Eugland was 
 transformed by tbe Revolution wbieb destroyed Divine 
 Rigbt; why France was emancipated from tbe yoke 
 of feudalism by tbe Revolution wbicb replaced privilege 
 by equality. 
 
 Tbcse are lofty pretensions. It is because all bis 
 writings bave been designed to maintain and advocate 
 them, tbat tbey bave all merited special attention. On 
 more than one occasion I bave endeavoured to expound 
 bis method and w^eigb it in tbe balance.* Many French 
 and English critics of note bave pronounced their 
 opinion upon it, and bave pointed out what they regard 
 as its imperfections or mistakes. The result has been 
 to elicit from hini an exposition of it, which be desires 
 should be accepted as an authoritative and a binding 
 statement of his views and intentions. It is prefixed to 
 the second edition of his "Historical and Critical Essays." 
 As this manifesto has not yet appeared in an English 
 dress, and as it constitutes the case by which M. Taine 
 would like to be judged by bis readers and critics in 
 England, as well as elsewhere, I shall proceed to trans- 
 late it preparatory to offering any comments of my 
 own upon Lis aims and performances : — 
 
 ** Several critics bave done me the honour sometimes 
 to combat, sometimes to approve of what they are 
 pleased to call my system. I am by no means so pre- 
 
 * See the following articles in the Westminster Itcview : — " The 
 Critical Writings and Theory of H. Taine," July, 1861; "Taine's 
 History of English Literature," April, 1864; "Taine's History of 
 English Literature: Contemporary Writers," January, 1865; "H. 
 Taine on Art and Italy," April, 1866. 
 
 I! 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 XXXlll 
 
 tcntious as to liavo a system ; at most, I endeavour to 
 follow a method. A system is an explanation of tho 
 whole, and indicates a work done; a method is a 
 manner of working, and indicates a work to be done. 
 My desire has been to labour in a certain sense and 
 in a certain way — nothing more. Tho question is to 
 learn whether this way is a good one. To do so it 
 must be tried : if the reader will make the attempt, ho 
 will be able to judge for himself In place of refuting 
 refutations, I shall sketch the process in dispute ; those 
 who shall have repeated it will learn for themselves 
 whether it conducts to truths. 
 
 " It is wholly comprised in this remark that moral 
 matters, like physical things, have dcpcndencien and 
 conditions. 
 
 "'I shall suppose that it is desired to verify this 
 maxim, and measure its reach. Let the reader take 
 for example some artist, learned man, or distinguished 
 writer, a particular poet, novelist, and read his works, 
 pen in hand. To read them properly, he will classify 
 them in natural groups, and in each group he will 
 distinguish the three distinct things called the person- 
 ages or characters, the action or intrigue, the style or 
 the manner of writing. Following the custom of every 
 critic, he will note in each c^ these divisions, by a few 
 brief and telling phrases, the su, xent particularities, the 
 dominant traits, the qualities peculiar to the author. 
 Arrived at the end of his first course, if he be somewhat 
 practised in this work, he will see an involuntary 
 phrase flow from his pen, one singularly powerful 
 and significant, which will summarise all the operation, 
 and will place before his eyes a certain kind of tact 
 
 and of talent, a certain disposition of mind or of soul, 
 
 c 
 
(f: 
 
 ii 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHARTER, 
 
 \m : 
 
 a certain array of likes and dislikes, of faculties and of 
 failings, in short, a certain psf/c/iolofjiatl ntatv, rulinj^ 
 and lasting, -wliicli is that of the author. Let him 
 now repeat the same operation in the other portions 
 of the same subject ; let him afterwards compare the 
 three or four summaries which each of these partial 
 analyses have produced ; let him add to the author's 
 writings, his life, I moan his conduct towards men, — 
 his philosophy, that is to say, his manner of regarding 
 the world, — his ethical and ocsthetical code, that is to 
 say, his general views about the good and the beautiful ; 
 let him bring together all these small condensed phrases 
 which are the concentrated essence of thousands of the 
 remarks he has made, and of the hundreds of judg- 
 ments he has passed. If these notations are precise, 
 if he be accustomed to discern sentiments and faculties 
 under the words which designate them, if the inner 
 eye by which we sift and define in a moment the 
 diversities of the moral being is sufficiently exercised 
 and penetrating, he will observe that these seven or 
 eight formulas depend the one upon the other, that the 
 first being given, the others could not difier, that 
 consequently the qualities they represent are inter- 
 chained, that if one vary, the others vary proportion- 
 ately, and that hence they compose a system like an 
 organised body. Not only will he have the vague 
 sentiment of this mutual accord which harmonizes 
 the diverse faculties of a mind, but also he will have 
 the distinct perception of it ; he will be able to prove 
 in logical fashion that a particular quality, violence 
 or sobriety of imagination, oratorical or lyrical aptitude, 
 ascertained as regards one point, must extend its ascend- 
 ency over the rest. By continued reasoning, he will thus 
 bind up the various inclinations of the man he examines 
 
INTRODUCTORY CIIAPTKR. 
 
 XXXV 
 
 inulcr a small number of govornln*^ incHiialions, wlu nco 
 tlioy flow and by which tlioy are explained, and he 
 will provide for himself the .spectacle of the admii'able 
 necessities which unite among each other, the innu- 
 merable, varied, entangled fibres of each human being. 
 " That is the simplest case. I shall now suppose 
 that the reader wishes to make trial of this in a hirger 
 and more complex case, vipon a large school, like that 
 of the English or Spanish dramatists, the Florentine or 
 Venetian ptiinters, upon an entire civilisation like that 
 of ancient Home, upon a race like the Semitic, even upun 
 a distinct group of races like that of the Aryan nations, 
 and to take an example, upon a well-mnrked historic 
 epoch, the age of Louis XIV. To do this it is necessary, 
 in the first place, to have read and observed much ; and 
 probably, out of all the observations, some general 
 impression has remamed in the reader's mind ; I mean 
 to say, the vague sentiment of a badly-defined concord- 
 ance between the heaps of works and of thoughts which 
 have passed before his eyes. But I ask him to go 
 farther, and by surer paths. In this, as in the pre- 
 ceding case and in every accurate search, it is neces- 
 sary, in the first place, to classify the facts, and to 
 consider each class of facts apart : firstly, the three 
 great works of human intelligence, religion, art, philo- 
 sophy ; secondly, the two great works of human asso- 
 ciation, the family and the State ; lastly, the three 
 great material works of human labour, industry, com- 
 merce, and agriculture ; and in each of these general 
 groups the secondary groups into which they are sub- 
 divided. Take but one of them, philosophy ; ^^•hcn the 
 reader shall have studied the reigning doctrine from 
 Descartes to Malebranche ; when after having noted the 
 method, the theory of extension and of thought, the 
 
 EittiasEs.'ES^&s.'.r.;;^'--. 
 
<1 1 
 
 1 1 
 
 } ^1 
 
 '!( 
 
 XXX VI 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 definition of God, of morality, and tho rest, ho will 
 clearly picture to liiniHelf tho point of departure and 
 tho sort of spirit which huvo determined the entire 
 work; when he shall have (riven precision to his idea 
 by keeping in sight the ima ,anative and riotous philo- 
 sophy of tho preceding century, the distinctive and 
 binding philosophy of contemporary England, tlie 
 experimental and sceptical philosophy of tho following 
 century, he will arrive at sifting out from tho French 
 philosophy of the seventeenth century a certain distinct 
 tendency whence proceed, as from a source, its sub- 
 missiveness and its independence, its theological poverty 
 and its logical lucidity, its moral nobleness and its 
 speculative aridity, its leaning towards mathematics 
 and its disdain of experience ; on tho one hand, that 
 mixture of compromise and stiffness which foretells a 
 race better fitted for pure reasoning than for general 
 views ; on the other hand, that mixture of elevation 
 and calmness which foretells an age less enthusiastic 
 than correct. Should a similar operation now be per- 
 formed upon the other contemporary portions of human 
 intelligence and action, should tho summaries bo coin- 
 pared together wherein in a handy aud portable fashion 
 the substance of the work ob : "ved has been similarly 
 deposited; if, by that kinc* of chemistry which is 
 termed psychological analysis, care be taken to recogniso 
 the ingredients of each extract, it will be discovered 
 that elements of a like nature come together in the 
 different phials ; that the same faculties and the same 
 wants which have produced philosophy have produced 
 religion and art ; that the man to whom this art, 
 this philosophy, this religion address themselves was 
 prepared by a monarchical society and drawing-room 
 proprieties to taste and comprehend them; that the 
 
IXTRODVCTORV CHAPTER. 
 
 XXX vii 
 
 stn^o, convorsjition, poodnoss, family mnnnors, flic liior- 
 arcliy of the State, the docility of the Hiibjeet, the iiohle 
 (lomestieity of the <:;reat, the huiiihle donie.stieity of the 
 low-born, all the details of private or publie life, com- 
 bined togetlicr to fortify the rei<»iiin;^ sentiments and 
 faculties, and that not only the diverse parts of this 
 civilisation, so large and so complex, were united by 
 common (IrpcudcncicH, but also that the cause of these 
 dependencies was the universal presence of certain 
 aptitudes and of certain inclinations, always the same, 
 disseminated under diverse figures in the different com- 
 partments wherein the human metal was cast. Between 
 an elm of Versailles, a philosophical and religious argu- 
 ment of INIalebranche, one of lioileau's niaxims in 
 versification, one of Colbert's laws of hypothec, an ante- 
 room compliment at 3Iarly, a sentence of Bossuet on the 
 royalty of God, the distance appears infinite and impass- 
 able ; there is no apparent coimection. The facts are so 
 dissimilar that at first sight they arc pronounced to bo 
 what they appear, that is to say, isolated and separated. 
 But the facts communicate hetwcc:i themselves by the, 
 definitions of the groyps in which they are comprised, like 
 the waters in a basin by the summit of the heights 
 whence they flow. Each of them is an act of that ideal 
 and general man around whom are grouped all the 
 inventions and all the peculiarities of the epoch ; the 
 cause of each is some aptitude or inclination of the 
 reigning model. The various inclinations or aptitudes 
 of the central personage balance, harmonise, temper 
 each other under some liking, or dominant faculty, 
 because it is the same spirit and the same heart which 
 have thought, prayed, imagined, and acted ; because it 
 is the same general situation and the same innate 
 nature which have fashioned and governed the separate 
 
! 
 
 i\ 
 
 I 
 
 ^ii 
 
 )' I 
 
 xxxviii INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 and diverse works ; because it is tlie same seal v/hicli is 
 differently stamped on differing matters. None of these 
 imprints can alter vdthout leading to an alteration in 
 the others, hecause if one change it is owing to a change 
 in the seal. 
 
 "A step remains to be taken. Till now, the con- 
 nection of contemporaneous things was in question ; at 
 l^rosent the connection between successive things must 
 be considered. The reader has been able to prove that 
 moral matters, like physical things, have their dej)eti- 
 dencies; at present he must prove that, like physical 
 things, they have their conditions. 
 
 "You have sought and found the definition of a 
 group ; I mean that small, exact, and expressive phrase 
 which encloses in its narrow compass the essential 
 characters whence the others can be deduced. Let us 
 here suppose that it designates those of our seventeenth 
 century ; compare it with those by which you have 
 designated the preceding epoch and the others more 
 ancient of the same history in the same country ; search 
 now whether the diverse terms of this series do not con- 
 tain some common element. One is to be found, the 
 character and spirit peculiar to the race, transmitted from 
 generation to generation ; the same through the changes 
 of culture, the diversities of organisation, and the 
 variety of products. This character and this spirit, 
 once constituted, are found to be more or less disposed for 
 discipline or personal independence ; more or less fitted 
 for nice reasoning or poetical emotion ; more or les3 
 disposed to the religion of the conscience, or of logic, 
 or of custom, or of the eyes. At a given moment, 
 during a period, they produce a work ; and their 
 nature, joined to that of their work, is the condition of 
 the work which follows ; as in an organised body the 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 primitive temperament, joined to the anterior state, 
 is the condition of the succeeding state. Here, as in 
 the physical world, the condition is sufficient and neces- 
 sary ; if it be present, the work cannot he wanting ; if 
 it be absent, the work cannot appear. From the 
 English character and from the despotism bequeathed 
 by the Tudors to the Stuarts proceeded the English 
 devolution. From the French character and from the 
 aristocratic anarchy bequeathed by the ci\il wars to 
 the Bourbons proceeded the monarchy of Louis XIV. 
 To produce the superb flowering of the arts of design 
 under Leo X. was required the precocious and pic- 
 turesque Italian genius, with the prolonged reign of 
 the energetic manners and the corporeal instincts of 
 the Middle Ages. To produce in the first centuries 
 of our era the astonishing growth of philosophies and 
 mystical religions, the speculative aptitude of our 
 Aryan races was required, at the same time as the 
 crushing of the world, repressed- under a despotism 
 without outlet, and the enlargement of the mind, widened 
 by the ruin of nationalities. Let the reader kindly 
 make trial of this upon any one period ; if he starts 
 from the texts, if he reads and judges for himself, if lib 
 methodically exhausts his subject, if he rises by degrees 
 from the characters which govern the smaller groups 
 up to those which govern the larger groups, if he is 
 careful in constantly rectifying and determining his 
 summaries, if he is accustomed to see clearly -the 
 qualities and the general situations which extend their 
 empire over centuries and entire nations, he will be- 
 come convinced that they depend upon anterior qualities 
 and situations as general as themselves; that the second 
 being given the first must follow ; that they play 
 among them the great game of history ; that they 
 

 ii 
 
 t I > 
 
 : f 
 
 \ I 
 
 xl 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 make or unmake civilisation by their disagreement or 
 their harmony ; that our little ephemeral life is but a 
 wave upon their current, that in and by them we have 
 action and being. At the end of a short time he will 
 embrace with a look the whole which they govern ; he 
 will no longer see them as abstract formulas, but as 
 living forces mingled with things, everywhere present, 
 everywhere operating, veritable divinities of the human 
 world, which hold out hands downward to other powers 
 that are masters of matter as they are of mind, to form 
 together the invisible choir of which the old poets 
 speak, which moves Mcross things, and through which 
 throbs the eternal universe. 
 
 " It will be seen that what is in question here is a 
 form of experiment similar to what scientific men per- 
 form in physiology or in chemistry. In the one as in the 
 other case, a man says to you, * Take that piece of 
 matter, divide it such a way, practise upon it such and 
 such operations, and in such an order ; you will arrive 
 at ascertaining certain dependencies, and at disen- 
 gaging a certain principle. I have done this, in thirty 
 or forty cases, while choosing different circumstances.^ 
 A man's idea cannot be received or rejected till after 
 counter-proof. It is no refutation to tell him, * Your 
 method is bad, for it renders style rigid and unpleasant.' 
 He will reply aloud, 'So much the worse for me.' 
 Nor is it any more a refutation to say, *I reject your 
 forms of procedure ; for the doctrines to which they 
 lead unsettle my moral convictions.' He will reply in 
 a whisper, * So much the worse for you.' Experience 
 alone destroys experience; for theological or senti- 
 mental objections have no hold over a fact. Whether 
 this fact be the formation of tissues observed through a 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 xli 
 
 microscope, an equivalent figure proved by a scale, a 
 concordance of faculties and of sentiments proved by 
 criticism, its value is the same ; tbere is no other 
 superior authority which can reject it at first sight and 
 without previous control ; one is obliged, in order to dis- 
 prove him, to repeat the operation which he has obtained. 
 AYhen a physiologist tells you that the anatomical ele- 
 ments are formed by spontaneous generation in the 
 living individual, and that the living individual is an 
 aggregation of elementary individuals, each endowed 
 with a personrd find distinct life, do you think yourself 
 entitled to protest in the name of the theological 
 dogma of the creation or of the ethical dogma of the 
 human personality? Objections of this sort which 
 could be made during the Middle Ages cannot be made 
 at the present day respecting any science, in history 
 any more than in physiology and chemistry, since the 
 right of regulating human consciences has wholly 
 passed to the side of experience, and since precepts or 
 doctrines, instead of authorising observation, receive 
 from it all their credit. Besides, it is easy to see that 
 objections of this species all proceed from a mistake, 
 and that the adversary is unwittingly the dupe of 
 phrases. He reproaches you with considering national 
 characters and general situations as the sole great 
 forces in history, and he starts from that to decide that 
 you suppress the individual. He forgets that these 
 great forces are but the sum of the tendencies and 
 aptitudes of individuals, that our general terms are 
 collective expressions which bring together under a 
 single glance twenty or thirty millions of souls inclined 
 and acting in the same direction, that when an hundred 
 men move a wheel, the total force which displaces the 
 wheel is but the sum of the forces of these hundred 
 

 f 
 
 1 1' 
 
 xlli 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 men, and tliat individuals exist and operate as well in 
 u people, an age, or a race, as the component units in 
 an addition of which the total figure is alone written 
 down. In like manner again, he reproaches you with 
 transforming man into a machine, making him the sub- 
 ject of some interior machinery, bringing him under 
 the bondage of great surrounding pressure, denying to 
 him independent and free personality, discouraging 
 our efforts by informing us that we are constrained 
 and led without and within by forces which we have 
 not made and to which we must submit. He forgets 
 what the individual soul is, as he forgot a moment since 
 what an historical force was ; he separates the word 
 from the thing ; he empties and puts it aside as a being 
 efficacious and distinct. He ceases to see in the indi- 
 vidual soul, as he did in the historical force, the ele- 
 ments which compose it, a moment since the individuals 
 of which the historical force is but the sum, at present 
 the faculties and tendencies of which the individual 
 mind is but the whole. He does not observe that the 
 fundamental aptitudes and tendencies of a mind per- 
 tain to it, that those it appropriates in the general situa- 
 tion or in the national character are, or become, personal 
 to it in the foremost place, that when acting through 
 theAii it is iloing so by itself, with its own force, spon- 
 taneously, with complete initiative, with full responsi- 
 bility, and that the artifice of analysis by means of 
 which its principal motors are distinguished, the suc- 
 cessive gearings and the distribution of its primitive 
 movement, do not hinder the whole, which is itself, 
 taking from it its impulse and its course — to wit, its 
 energy and its effort. Nor does he observe that re- 
 searches of this kind, very far from discouraging mon 
 by showing him his bondage, have the effect of in- 
 
 .1 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 xllli 
 
 creasing his hopes, by augmenting his power ; tliat they 
 terminate like the physical sciences in establishing the 
 constant dependencies between facts ; that the discovery 
 of these dependencies in the physical sciences has fur- 
 nished man with the means of foreseeing and modifying 
 up to a certain point natural events ; that an analogous 
 discovery in ethical science ought to supply man ^^'ith 
 the means of foreseeing and modifying up to a certain 
 point historical events. For we shall become all the 
 more masters of our destiny when we shall dis- 
 cern more exactly the common ties of things. When 
 we have arrived at knowing the sufT.eient and necessary 
 condition of a fact, the condition of that condition, 
 and so on, wo shall have before our eyes a chain of 
 data, in which to displace one link will suffice to dis- 
 place those which follow ; so that the last, though 
 situated beyond the sphere of our action, will submit 
 themselves by counter-effect as soon as one of the pre- 
 ceding ones comes within our reach. The whole secret 
 of our practical progress, during three hundred years, 
 is embraced therein ;* we have separated and defined 
 couples of facts so bound together that when the first 
 appears the second never fails to follow, whence it 
 occurs that in acting directly on the first we can act 
 indirectly on the second. It is in this manner that 
 accrued knowledge increases power, and the manifest 
 consequence is that in ethical sciences, as in physical 
 sciences, fruitful research is that which, discerning the 
 couples — to wit, the conditions and the dependencies , 
 sometimes permits the hand of man to interpose in the 
 great mechanism, to shift or put right yome small piece 
 of machinery, a piece light enough to be moved by 
 
 * See Mr. J. S. Mill's admirable ** Logic," especially his theory of 
 Induction. 
 
i 
 
 xliv 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 I 
 
 man's hand, but so important ttat its displacement or 
 smooth movement will lead to a mighty change in the 
 working of the machine, and to employ it altogether, 
 wherever it works, here in nature, there in history, to 
 the profit of the intelligent insect by which the economy 
 of its structure shall have been discovered. 
 
 " It is with this aim, and in this sense, that history is 
 being transformed to day ; it is by this sort of labour 
 that from a simple narrative it can become a science, 
 and determine laws after having set forth facts. Already 
 we can perceive several of these laws, all very exact 
 and very general, and corresponding to those which 
 have been found in the sciences of living bodies. In 
 that the philosophy of human history repeats, like a 
 faithful, image, the philosophy of natural history. 
 Naturalists have obscyed that an animal's various 
 organs depend the o^ne upon the other — that, for 
 example, the teeth, the stomach, the feet, the instincts, 
 and many other given quantities, vary together accord- 
 ing to a fixed connection, so much so that the trans- 
 formation of one of them compels a corresponding 
 transformation in the rest.* In the same way historians 
 can observe that the various aptitudes and inclinations 
 of an individual, of a race, of an epoch, are joined the 
 one to the other in such a manner that the alteration 
 of one of these given quantities, noticed in a neigh- 
 bouring individual, in a group at hand, in a preceding 
 or succeeding epoch, determines in them a proportional 
 alteration of all the system. Naturalists have ascer- 
 tained that the exaggerated development of an organ 
 in an animal, like the kangaroo or the bat, leads to the 
 impoverishment or the diminution of the correspond- 
 
 * The Connection of Characters, Cuvier's law. See the developments 
 given by Richard Owen. 
 
 It 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 xb 
 
 ing organs.* Tn like manner, historians can ascertain 
 how the extraordinary clevelopement of one faculty, like 
 moral aptitude in Teutonic races, or the metaphysical 
 and religious aptitude of the Hindoos, leads in these 
 races to the weakening of the opposite faculties. 
 Naturalists have proved that, among the characters of 
 an animal or vegetable group, the one is subordinate, 
 variable, sometimes weakened, sometimes absent ; the 
 others, on the contrary, like the structure or concentric 
 layers of a plant, or the organisation around a chain of 
 vertebne in an animal, preponderate and determine all 
 the plan of its economy. In like manner historians 
 can prove that among the characters of a group, or of 
 a human individual, the one is subordinate and neces- 
 sary, the others like the preponderating presence of 
 images or of ideas, or, better still, the greater or lesser 
 aptitude for more or less general conceptions, dominate 
 ani^ fix beforehand the direction of his life and the 
 nature of his inventions.! Naturalists show that in a 
 class, or even a branch of the animal kingdom, the 
 same plan of organisation is found in all the species ; 
 that the dog's paw, the horse's leg, the bat's wing, the 
 man's arm, the whale's fin, are the same anatomical 
 given quantity fitted by some contraction or partial 
 extension to the different uses. By a similar method 
 historians can show that as regards the same artist, 
 in the same school, in the same age, of the same 
 race, personages the most opposite as to condition, sex, 
 education, character, all represent a common type — to 
 wit, a nucleus of faculties and primitive aptitudes which, 
 diversely contracted, combined, enlarged, supply the 
 
 • G. Saint-Hilaire's Law of Organic Counterbalances, 
 t Eulo as to the subordination of characters, which is 'he principle 
 of classifications in Botany and in Zoology. 
 
 \ 
 
 <!' 
 
 ^1 
 
xlvi 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 I I 
 
 innumerable diversities of the group.* Naturalists 
 establish that in a living species the individuals which 
 are the best developed and reproduce themselves the 
 most surely, are those which a peculiarity of structure 
 best adapts to ambient circumstances; that in the 
 others inverse qualities produce inverse effects ; that the 
 natural course of things thus leads to incessant elimina- 
 tions and gradual improvements ; that this blind pre- 
 ference and dislike operate as a voluntary selection ; 
 that Nature thus chooses in each locality to give being 
 and empire to the species best suited for the locality. 
 By analogous observation and reasoning, historians cun 
 establish that, in any one human group, the individuals 
 which attain the highest authority and the largest 
 development are those whereof the aptitudes and the 
 inclinations best correspond to those of their group ; 
 that the moral position, like the physical position, 
 operates upon each individual by continuous excitations 
 and repressions ; that it renders the one abortive and 
 makes the others bud in proportion to the concordance 
 or disagreement which occurs between them and it ; 
 that this blind travail is a selection also, and that, by a 
 series of imperceptible formations and deformations, the 
 ascendency of the position brings on the scene of history 
 artists, philosophers, religious reformers, politicians, 
 capable of interpreting or accomplishing the thought of 
 their age and of their race, as it brings on thj scene of 
 Nature species of animals and of plants, the best fitted 
 for accommodating themselves to their climate and 
 their soil.f Many other analogies between natural 
 and human history might be enumerated. This is 
 
 * (t. Saint-Hilaire's theory of analogues and unity of composition. 
 Ree the developments made by Eichard Owen, 
 t Darwin's principle of Natural Selection. 
 
 il 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 xlvii 
 
 because their two subjects are similar. In the one, and 
 in the other, natural groups are operated on — to wit, 
 individuals constructed after a common type, divisible 
 in families, in kinds, and in species. In the one and 
 in the other, the object is living — to wit, subjected to a 
 spontaneous and continued transformation. In the one 
 and in the other, the original form i& hereditary, and 
 the acquired form is transmitted in part and slowly by 
 inheritance. In the one and in the other, the organised 
 molecule is not developed save under the influence of 
 its position. In the one and in the other, each state of 
 the organised being has the twofold condition of the 
 previous state and the general tendency of the type. 
 By all these developments the human animal is a con- 
 tinuation of the brute ; for the human faculties have 
 their root in the life of the brain, as well the superior 
 ones whereof rrian enjoys the privilege, as the inferior 
 of which he has not the privilege ; and by this hold the 
 organic laws extend their empire even to the separate 
 domain on the threshold of which natural sciences halt, 
 to permit ethical sciences to rule. It follows from this 
 that a career similar to that of the natural sciences is 
 open to the eihical sciences ; that history, the last comer, 
 can discover laws like its elders ; that it can, like 
 them and within its province, govern the conceptions, 
 and guide the efforts of men ; that, by a train of well- 
 conducted researches, it will end by determining the 
 conditions of great human events — to wit, the circum- 
 stances essential to the appearance, to the duration, 
 or the downfall of various forms of associations, of 
 thought, and of action. Such is the field open to it ; 
 it has no limit ; in a domain like that all the efforts of a 
 single man can only bear it forward a pace or two ; he 
 observes one small corner, then another ; from time to 
 
xlviii 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPITR, 
 
 IM'. 
 
 M ' 
 
 tirao he stops to point out tho way he considers the 
 shortest and the most certain. This is all I have 
 endeavoured to do ; the keenest pleasure of a toiling 
 spirit lies in tho thought of the work which others will 
 perform later." 
 
 Having permitted M. Taino to speak for himself, I 
 may now offer an objection to his method which ap- 
 pears to me so serious as to be almost fatal. It relates 
 to the fundamental difference between the positions 
 occupied by the botanist and zoologist, and the critic and 
 historian. The former have no personal and national 
 bias in favour of the results of their observations. They 
 may prefer, as a matter of taste, one plant or one 
 animal to another, but this does not interfere in the 
 slightest degree with the manner in which they classify 
 and explain either. They do not care whether a group 
 of plants, or of animals, exists in a particular country 
 and under particular conditions. "When a French- 
 man examines a flower or dissects a bat, he thinks 
 nothing about the spot on which the flower grew or 
 the bat was produced. But when a Frenchman deals 
 with an author or artist of a foreign nation, he does 
 not forget, nor will he forget until the millennium 
 shall arrive and human nature shall be transmogrified, 
 that he is a Frenchman, and that the author or artist is 
 a foreigner. Intentionally or unconsciously, he judges 
 the eloquence, the style, the diction, the talent, and the 
 works of the foreigner by a French standard and from a. 
 French point of view. M. Taine himself is a proof of this. 
 No foreigner has written more acutely and instructively 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 zllx 
 
 wiU 
 
 udges 
 
 about England and the English than ho has done, yet, 
 while the result is admired, the remark is made, either 
 aloud or in a whisper : ** Very wonderful, certainly, 
 considering that M. Taine is a Frenchman." Lan- 
 guage, that living expression of a nation's mind, is in 
 its essence a sealed book to him who is not one of 
 the nation. There is a flavour in words which a 
 native of the land wherein they are current can alone 
 detect aiid enjoy. No one but the native of an Eng- 
 lish-speaking country can ever enter into full com- 
 munion with the spirit of Shakespeare ; no one but 
 a Frenchman can ever perfectly appreciate all that 
 is grand in Corneille, pathetic iu Kacine, pointed in 
 Pascal, graceful in Madame Sevignt^, easy and neat in 
 Voltaire ; no one but an Italian can ever be adequately 
 impressed by the might and mystery of Dante ; no one 
 but a Spaniard can heartily appreciate Cervantes ; no 
 one but a German can thoroughly explore and admire 
 the masterpieces of Goethe. Even with all his mastery 
 over our tongue, it is doubtful whether M. Taine can 
 fully enjoy the English of Thackeray, simply as En- 
 glish, or detect the subtle grace and point which impart 
 an inexpressible charm to the English of Hawthorne. 
 "We know that he rates English painting very low; 
 he considers it false art, an appeal to the mind rather 
 than to the eyes. But this opinion is merely due to 
 liis entertaining a particular view of art. When ana- 
 lysed, his decision amoimts to this : " Your painting 
 is not what I call art ; it gi^ 3f. me no pleasure ; conse- 
 quently it is a failure.'* He jays that Gainsborough's 
 
 d 
 
\y 
 
 1 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 I i 
 
 ** ' Blue Boy * already possesses the expressive and 
 wholly modern physiognomy by which a work, falling 
 within the painter's province, oversteps the limits of 
 painting." Ho thinks it a fatal defect in the works 
 of Hogarth, of Reynolds, of Sir Edwin Landseer, that 
 they tell a story which tlie beholder is expected to 
 appreciate quite as much as the colouring and the 
 di'awing. To tell a story in colours is surely no crime, 
 even if it bo treason to art ; the natural rciiection being, 
 Then so much the worse for the art which can be so 
 easily betrayed. When perusing his criticisms upon 
 English painters, the wider applicability of what he says 
 in defence of Raffaelle against the disparaging comments 
 of Mr. Ruskin becomes apparent : " It is easy to con- 
 demn a painter, even a very great one, when something 
 is required of him whereof he never dreamt " (p. 341). 
 Hardly less curious than the sweeping charge brought 
 against English painters, is the assumption that Mr. 
 Ruskin is the accepted exponent of the true English 
 theory of painting. For a time some young artists 
 strove to give practical effect to Mr. Ruskin' s theories ; 
 but the attempt had to be abandoned in despair, for the 
 theories were so often altered, that, despite their author 
 maintaining he was never more consistent than when, 
 to all appearance, he enumerated contradictory pro- 
 positions, no ordinary person could succeed in apply- 
 ing them in a uniform and rational manner. So far 
 from Mr. Ruskin being the supreme authority in 
 England on the subject of the great Masters, the ob- 
 jection which M. Taine offers to his strictures would 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER, 
 
 w 
 
 find gonorul nccoptiinoo iimong Enp;lisli artists and 
 critics. Tho truth is, however, that ^I. Taino vicwM 
 art from a purely French point of view ; he in- 
 terprets it in accordanee with French canons. T do not 
 hlame liim for this. Indeed, he cannot act otherwise. 
 liut how can lie note *' ])syc]iological states," mark the 
 "dependencies and conditions" which affect literary, 
 artistic, or historical productions, if he sttirts witli a set 
 of foregone conclusions, which are alike personal and 
 national, which have no universal sanction, and will 
 not command universal respect ? The case of a fauna 
 or flora is so different, as to ho palpahle to the most 
 superficial ohserver. The system which Linnoous applied 
 to botany and Cuvier to natural history are systems 
 of general ■ pplicability. They can he employed in 
 the true scientific spirit, and made to yield genuine 
 siientific results. 
 
 After examining the results of M. Taine's method, 
 as applied by him to men of note in the world of art 
 and letters, I do not find that these are so conclusive as 
 to reflect glory upon the method itself. His volume 
 about Lafontaine, which contains much exquisite writ- 
 ing, many shrew^d remarks, and displays much dialec- 
 tical skill, merely shows that Lafontaine was a poet. 
 The " Essay on Livy " is designed to prove that Livy 
 was an "oratorical historian." The explanation of 
 Shakespeare is that he hod "a complete imagina- 
 tion ; all his genius lies in that phrase." This is 
 quite as satisfactory as M. Victor Hugo's explanation 
 that *' Shcdcespeare was his intellectual twin brother ;" 
 
 t 'I 
 
lii 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 ;•'. 
 
 ! ! 
 
 ;! ., 
 
 , \ 
 
 W 
 
 but it leaves the matter where it was, and is but 
 ]\I. Taine's way of saying, what other critics have 
 said before him, that the great poet was a man 
 of genius. Indeed, the words talent and genius 
 when properly applied and suitably qualified, serve in 
 reality as formulas like those which M. Taine educes 
 by his method. For his particular method itself, M. 
 Taine exhibits what ^ippears to be a disproportionate 
 affection. He acts with regard to it as Shelley 
 said authors frequently do, resembling mothers in 
 preferring " the children who have given them most 
 trouble." Yet he is noteworthy as a writer not in 
 consequeiioe, but in spite, of his method. Strip off 
 everything relating to it in his several works, and the 
 works themselves will continue to attract and impress ; 
 they will still reflect the beauties of his own mind, and 
 be radiant with the splendours of his brilliant style. 
 Of the metb'xl itself, I may say what Condillac said of 
 rules ; li^*^ the pirapet of a bridge, it may hinder a 
 person from »iiiling into the river, but will not help 
 him on his wriy, "'M. Taine no more requires it to 
 sustain hira than Byron required bladders or corks, to 
 buoy him up when he entered the water, after he had 
 demonstrated his powers by swimming across the 
 Hellespont. 
 
 The expectation which he has of ultimately using 
 history for the purpose of framing laws, and so giving 
 to It a place among the natural sciences, is an expecta- 
 tion which no one can entertain who disagrees with him 
 as to first principles, who contemplates the universe in a 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 liii 
 
 different fashion, who puts a different interpretation upon 
 the word cause. According to hira a cause is a fact ; in 
 my opinion it is a figure of speech. He thinks that a 
 fact can be found of such a kind that from it may be 
 deduced the nature, the relations, and changes of other 
 facts, and that this dominant and generative fact is 
 the cause of the others ; I regard the relations of cause 
 and effect simply as sequences. All that we can know 
 or note is that the one follows the other, and to call 
 the one the cause of the other is merely another way 
 of expressing this succission of continuity. Where 
 he detects " dependencies and conditions," I merely 
 perceive successions and appearances. Where he dis- 
 cerns laws, I perceive nothing but explanations, and 
 explanations, too, of the case as put by him. With him 
 I agree in thinking that the result of a closer observation 
 and more careful estimate of facts will be to render both 
 criticism and history more exact and trustworthy. But, 
 after all, the individual critic and historian will an- 
 nounce his individual opinion. lie will have no right 
 to demand a hearing on any other ground than mas- 
 tery of the subject and freedom from obvious and undue 
 bias. He will, if endowed with M. Taine's industrv, 
 learning, skill in grouping facts, power in stating 
 opinions, talent in manipulating words, be regarded, 
 as M. Taine is deservedly regarded, as a master of his 
 craft, as an authority in his sphere. 
 
 Yet, even if his philosophical views should be esta- 
 blished beyond dispute, an insuperable diflBculty will 
 remain. To interpret the individual, or a course of 
 
li 
 
 IV 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 f y 
 
 historical events, after his fashion would require an 
 investigator so entirely impersonal as to be almost 
 superhuman. A man who had no national leanings or 
 private sympathies might possibly deal with human 
 beings and the^r literary, artistic, or historical concerns 
 in the same scientific fashion that a physiologist deals 
 with human crania, and a botanist with plants and 
 flowers. So long, however, as it remains true that 
 " there is a great deal of human nature in man," so 
 long will the efforts of the profoundest thinkers and 
 most brilliant writers fail to elevate and alter history 
 and criticism to such an extent and in such a way as to 
 make of them sciences fitted to rank in precision and 
 universality with the recognised natural sciences. 
 
 III. 
 
 Inability to advocate all M. Taine*s pretensions does 
 not imply a want of admiration for what he has per- 
 formed. He is greater than his method. His own 
 personality is too marked to be concealed under any 
 formula, however abstract ; his powers are too rare to 
 fail to extort the admiration of those who may differ the 
 n.ost from him on purely speculative points. His cha- 
 racteristic is a passion for facts ; his excellence consists 
 in the skill with which he can turn his facts to the 
 best account. He has a keen appreciation of beauty in 
 every form ; he can convey his impressions to a reader 
 in language of singular felicity. He requires the aid 
 of no method to enunciate conclusions which are very 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 Iv 
 
 plausible and often vciy just. His judgments are formed 
 on so complete an array of evidence, and with such an 
 unquestionable desire to be impartial, that they deserve 
 to be treated with respect, even when they cannot bo 
 implicitly accepted. 
 
 In his "Xotes on England," as in all his works, there 
 is no lack of theories which may be called in question, 
 of explanations which are sometimes partial and one- 
 sided, of general views based upon insufficient data. 
 He is emphatic in connecting drunkenness in this 
 country with the English climate, {ind his theory of 
 the race leads him to maintain that the English 
 people, living in a mui'ky air and beneath unkindly 
 skies, must have an inordinate fondness for strong 
 drinks. The truth is, the vice of drunkenness, which 
 is one of the curses of the United Kingdom, is the curse 
 also of the United States, of Canada, of Australia, 
 where the sky is as bright as in France, where the air 
 is as dry and exhilarating, where the temperature 
 is never less agreeable, and is often more genial. 
 But in these countries, as in ours till recently, strong 
 drinks are cheap, and wine is dear; if wine were 
 everywhere as cheap as it is in France, there might 
 not be less drunkenness, but it would be of a less 
 brutal type than that which shocked M. Taine. He 
 made his first observations at a time when heavy 
 duties imposed Tipon light wines gave to the artifici- 
 ally strengthened wines of Spain and Portugal the vir- 
 tual monopoly of the market. He says : " Their com- 
 mon wines, port, sherry, very hot, very spirituous, are 
 

 ! 
 
 .; I 
 
 Ivi 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER, 
 
 loaded with brandy in addition ; this mixture deprives 
 them of delicacy, yet if they were pure the English 
 would consider them insipid; our Bordeaux wines, 
 and even our Burgundies, are too light for them *' 
 (pp. 57, 58). Since this was written the tariff has been 
 altered, the result being that, for one glass of light 
 wine drunk then, a bottle is drunk now. Moreover, no 
 better recommendation can be given to sherry at the 
 present day than to affirm that it is c« natural wine, 
 and is wholly unfortified by brandy. The Custom- 
 House returns prove the former assertion ; the adver- 
 tisements of wine-merchants uphold the latter. 
 
 More than once M. Taine gives as an explanation of 
 the rich acting in a particular way, that they wish to 
 escape snnui ; this, he maintains, is one of the causes 
 of the hospitality they dispense. However, neither the 
 word nor the thing is known in this country. A person 
 may be ** bored," even " bored to death ; '* but this is 
 very different. To be bored is to be oppressed by 
 something of which there is a desire to get rid ; to feel 
 enmii is to restlessly long for something which cannot 
 readily be procured. Indeed, I believe ennui to be 
 simply a pestilent, yet imaginary disease, engendered 
 by a word, which in France is commonly made the 
 convenient excuse for ladies falling passionately in love 
 with the wrong gentlemen and for gentlemen loving 
 their neighbours* wives too well. It is as much a 
 figment of the imagination as the "spleen," which the 
 French insist is a malady peculiar to this country, 
 but from which no English man, woman, or child has 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 Ivii 
 
 
 been known to suffer for a century, from which no 
 native of Scotland was ever known to suffer at all, 
 and which no native of Ireland can understand. The 
 " spleen" departed from the southern part of the island 
 along with its fashionable companion malady, *' the 
 vapours,'* but it seems to have destroyed its companion 
 during the passage across the channel, and to have 
 arrived in France alone. , 
 
 Other matters of detail might be noticed and cor- 
 rected. When it is said, for instance (p. 113), that 
 the word " governor," as familiarly used by English 
 boys, is a token of the position of authority which their 
 father occupies. in his house, this exemplifies one of 
 those rapid generalisations which are due to an im- 
 perfect apprehension of the facts. Had M. Taine 
 known that the word is a slang one borrowed from 
 the poorer classes, that it has not been in use longer 
 than thirty yenrs, and that it is already becoming 
 obsolete, he would hardly have cited it as confirmatory 
 of his theory. Nor ought he to have chosen the case 
 of a brutal parent whose consumptive son was afraid to 
 return home to die without his father's permission, as 
 being in any respect more typical of English family rela- 
 tions than the well-known instance of the red-haired 
 chambermaid seen by a traveller at a hotel in France, as 
 being indicative of the fact which he noted, that all the 
 women of tho country had red hair. Generally, how- 
 ever, when M. Taine records his own observations, he 
 is alike acuie and correct. Information given him by 
 inexcusably ignorant persons appears to have misled 
 
 »i~aBP«!qiBMBBSI«RS«,'»r-',-^ 
 
li 
 
 
 Iviii 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 him wlieii lie errs the most notahly. Thus his in- 
 formant who told him (p. 241 ) that medical men are not 
 created peers because *'no man who has held out 
 his hands for guineas could take liis place among 
 peers of the realm," must have been strangely un- 
 acquainted with the fact known to every schoolboy 
 that barristers not only take guineas, but accept them 
 willingly, and that the more guineas they receive, owing 
 to the increase of their practice, the better are their 
 prospects of a seat on the woolsack and elevation to the 
 peerage. Moreover, at least one member of the House 
 of Lords entered it not many years ago solely because, 
 as a banker, he had handled the money of his customers 
 so judiciously as to have accumulated an enormous 
 fortune. After all, however, these slips, and others 
 which the well-informed reader will readily detect, 
 are comparatively trivial blemishes. In estimating 
 the work as a whole, it would be well to exchange, 
 what Chateaubriand called the petty and meagre 
 criticism of defects, for the comprehensive and pro- 
 lific criticism of beauties. These "Notes on Eng- 
 land " are really of first-rate quality ; they form 
 an admirable picture of what is truly distinctive and 
 noteworthy. M. Taine approaches so closely to the 
 ideal intelligent foreigner whose advent is so often 
 proclaimed, but whose presence in the flesh we never 
 enjoy ; his general tone is so excellent and his endea- 
 vour to be fair so conspicuous; his qualifications are 
 so exceptional and his actual achievements give him 
 so clear a title to our esteem ; he is so singularly free 
 
 1 t 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 Hx 
 
 from the sins which beset his countrvmen who retail 
 
 ftr' 
 
 their experience after having sojourned in this country; 
 he is so sympathetic without stooping to flattery, and 
 80 candid without lapsing into discourtesy ; he is, in 
 short, such a model traveller, such an acute observer, 
 such a graphic and an artistic narrator, that he merits, 
 what he will doubtless receive, a cordial welcome from 
 all who enjoy reading the opinions of a genial and 
 capable foreign writer upon the social life, the domestic 
 arrangements, the religious sentiments, and the poli- 
 tical constitution of this country. 
 
 W. F. Kae. 
 
 ="*;»i^V^,')'pt«.«*sr*-- 
 
Ijl 
 
 I 
 
I. 
 
 BOULOGNE TO LONDON BRIDGE. 
 
 TT is eleven o'clock; Boulogne recedes, and lessens 
 -*- upon the horizon. The vessels in the harbour, the 
 slender masts are first merged in the vague obscurity; 
 presently the lights diminish, and soon appear nothing 
 more on the verge of the sky than a heap of pale stars. 
 This is a strange and profound sensation ; the sea is 
 still, and a motionless mist broods over it. All has 
 vanished ; alone at the horizon a revolving light from 
 time to time flings its reflection over the passing wave. 
 It seems as if we were entering the kiugdom of silence 
 and of vacancy, the colourless and shapeless world of 
 things which are not. Darkness, vast and vague, en- 
 compasseth us. The ship enters, and becomes lost in 
 it. But a moment ago could still be descried, afar 
 off, from the side of the stern, an uncertain fringe, the 
 distant land ; now, around the vessel, there is nothing 
 but moving blackness. Thus engulfed, it still makes 
 progress, with sure instinct, and opens up an entrance 
 into the unseen. Like a laborious insect, it indefati- 
 gably moves its great iron limbs, and raises around its 
 keel vague phosphorescent appearances. They shine 
 with the changing reflection of opal and mother-of- 
 pearl. One follows their long undulation, which keeps 
 
 B 
 
 
z NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 rising, falling, and developing its soft clearness. Va- 
 riegated diamonds, bounding pearls turn in its hollows, 
 and its fringe of foam makes a border of dead silver, 
 a wrought, winding, waving frame to the nocturnal 
 mirror. 
 
 The sun rose half an hour ago, but one does not 
 see it ; there is only a feeble brightening in the east ; 
 all the remainder is covered with clouds. Towards the 
 east, the sea, as far as the eye can reach, streaks with 
 its distinct line the clear and calm horizon. Right and 
 left of the boat, a slight distant strip rises from the 
 sea ; it is land, and through the mist one begins to 
 distinguish its greenish indentation. "We advance ; but 
 in this enormous estuary, the land, so flat and small, 
 appears but a mass of mud ; humidity bathes the 
 colours ; all the tones are diluted, washed out ; you 
 would take it for a pale water-colour over which a 
 child, with its finger, has drawn drops of water. Upon 
 the right the coast approaches ; this is now the real 
 English landscape which I saw between Newhaven 
 and London last year. Rising ground of a dull green, 
 divided by hedges, strewn with isolated trees ; one 
 enclosed pasturage, then another, then another besides, 
 and untended cattle, penned up permanently ; a 
 Belgium less flat and less uniform than the other, 
 gleaming in the sun, but very dismal and very com- 
 monplace ; the sky is showery, and this sky is fre- 
 quently so. The river is enormous, but dirty, dotted 
 with wan and false tints ; turned back by the rising 
 tide, it oscillates between mountains of mud, which in 
 turn it covers and quits ; under the pestiferous vapour 
 its tiny waves have a lugubrious aspect : thus it rolls 
 along, livid and muddy, but useful ; it is a worker 
 
ipon 
 real 
 aveii 
 |reen, 
 one 
 ides, 
 a 
 her, 
 om- 
 fre- 
 tted 
 Aug 
 in 
 |)our 
 oils 
 fker 
 
 BOULOGNE TO LONDON L^RIDGE, 3 
 
 nnd porter unique of its kind. Sliips now bo<>in to 
 move in bunds along its back, the most of thcni hidcn, 
 hirge, small, of (jvery form and every si/o, ami the 
 sailors climbing in tlie rigging resemble busy spiders. 
 
 Conversation with an Knglishman of the middle 
 class, son of a merchant, I should suppose ; he does 
 not know French, Gernum, or Italian ; he is not alto- 
 gether a gentleman. Twenty- five years of age ; sneer- 
 ing, decided, incisive face ; he has made, for his amuse- 
 ment and instruction, a trip lasting twelve months, and 
 is returning from India and from Australia. Forty 
 thousand miles in all. lie says, ** To understand 
 the people, they must be seen." lie is from Liverpool. 
 A family that does not keep a carriage may live com- 
 fortably there upon three or four hundred pounds 
 sterling. One must marry, that is a matter of 
 course ; he hopes to be married before two or three 
 years are over. It is better, however, i<i remain a 
 bachelor, if one does not meet the person with whom 
 one desires to pass one's whole life. " But one 
 always meets with her ; the only thing is not to let the 
 chance slip." He has met the proper person more 
 than once when quite a young man ; but then he was 
 not rich enough ; at present, being " independent," he 
 will try again. A dowry is unnecessary. It is 
 natural, and even pleasant, to undertake the charge of 
 a portionless wife and of a family. ** If your wife is 
 good, and you love her, she is well worth that." 
 
 It is clear to me that their happiness consists in being 
 at home at six in the evening, with a pleasing, attached 
 wife, having four or five children on their knees, and 
 respectful domestics. In the boat there is a family 
 of four children, of whom the eldest is four and a half, 
 and the mother twenty-three or twenty-four. At the 
 
I 
 
 \ 
 
 4 AVTFS ON ENGLAND. 
 
 sea-sido, on the beach, I have often seen entire broods, 
 the father of the family at their head ; it is not raro 
 to meet with children who mount in steps from tho 
 baby at the breast up to the girl of eighteen. Tho 
 parents do not feel themselves either over-burdened or 
 embarrassed. According to this Englishman, they owo 
 nothing but education to their children ; tho daughters 
 marry without a dowry, the sons shift for themselves. 
 I know a solicitor who makes much money and spends 
 it all, except £JJOO or £400 a year, with which he 
 insures his life in the names of his children ; at each 
 Qew arrival, there is a fresh policy of £2,000, payable 
 to the child at its father's death. In this wav the 
 child is provided for, and besides commerce, industry 
 supplies him with a quantity of outlets which are 
 denied to a young Frenchman. 
 
 Of all tho countries this Englishman has seen, 
 England is the most moral. Still, in his opinion, tho 
 national evil is " the absence of morality." In con- 
 sequence he judges France after the English fashion. 
 '* The women are badly brought up there, do not read 
 the Bible, are too fond of balls, occupy themselves 
 wholly with dress. The men frequent cafes and keep 
 mistresses, hence so many unfortunate households. 
 This is the result not of race, but of education. 
 French women in England, seriously brought up in 
 English fashion, make very good wives here." " Is 
 everything good in your country?" "No; the 
 national and horrible vice is drunkenness. A man 
 who earns 20s. a week drinks ten of them. Add to 
 this improvidence, stoppage of work, and poverty." 
 " But in cases of distress you have the poor-houses, 
 the workhouses ? " " They will not go to them, they 
 prefer to fast, to die of hunger." " Why ? " " For 
 
BOULOGNE TO LONDON BRIDGE, 
 
 three reasons. Because they wish to drink at their 
 case. Because they hate being shut up. Because 
 there are formalities ; they must prove that they belong 
 to the parish, but the most of them do not know where 
 they were born, or find it too difficult to procure the 
 necessary papers." lie is a talkative fellow devoid of 
 affected seriousness. Two other Englishmen with whom 
 I conversed in the boat are like unto him. I have always 
 found this disposition among the English ; probably if 
 they have the contrary reputation, it is because when 
 in a foreign country and obliged to speak another lan- 
 guage, they are silent through bashfulncss, and keep 
 watch in order not to commit themselves. Speak 
 English imperfectly with a bad accent, they are no 
 longer uneasy, they feel themselves your superiors. If 
 you put a question to them politely, gently, or ask 
 them to do you a small service, they are complying 
 and even officious. I discovered this twenty times 
 last year in London and everywhere else. 
 
 Other figures in the boat. Two young couples who 
 remain on deck covered with wrappings under i>m- 
 brellas. A long downpour has begun ; they remain 
 seated ; in the end they were drenched like ducks. 
 This was in order that husband and wife should not be 
 separated by going below to the cabins. Another 
 young wife suffered much from sea- sickness ; her hus- 
 band, who had the look of a merchant's clerk, took 
 her in his arms, supported, tried to read to her, tended 
 her with a freedom and expression of infinite tender- 
 ness. Two young girls of fifteen and sixteen, who 
 speak German and French exceedingly well and 
 without accent, large restless eyes, large white teeth ; 
 they chatter and laugh with perfect unconstraint, 
 with admirable petulance of friendly gaiety ; not the 
 
m 
 
 r 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 I ' 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 I 
 
 slightest trace of coquetry, none of our nice little 
 tricks which have been learned and done on purpose ; 
 they never think about the onlookers. A lady of 
 forty in spectacles beside her husband, in a worn-out 
 dress, with relics of feminine ornaments, extraordinary 
 teeth in the style of tusks, very serious and most 
 ludicrous ; a Frenchwoman, even middle-aged, never 
 forgets to adjust herself — to arrange her dress. Patience 
 and phlegm of a tall dry Englishman, who has not 
 moved from the seat, has taken but a single turn, 
 who has spoken to no one, who suffices to himself. As 
 a contrast, three Frenchmen, who put random ques- 
 tions, make hap-hazard assertions, grow impatient, 
 gesticulate, and make puns or something akin to them, 
 appeared to me pleasant fellows. 
 
 Gradually the clouds have disappeared and the sky is 
 radiant, llight and left we pass small country houses, 
 pretty, clean, and freshly painted. Green grass is 
 seen appearing at the horizon, here and there largo 
 trees well- placed and well- grouped. Gravesend on the 
 left heaps its brown houses around a blueish stoeple. 
 Vessels, warehouses, increase in number. One feels 
 that one is approaching a great city. The small 
 landinp^- stages project fifty paces into the river over 
 the shining mud which the Mien tide leaves dry. 
 Every quarter of an hour, the imprint and the pre- 
 sence of man, the power by which he has transformed 
 nature, become more visible ; docks, magazines, ship- 
 building and caulking yards, stocks, habitable houses, 
 prepared materials, accumulated merchandise ; to the 
 right is seen the skeleton of an iron church which 
 is being prepared here for erection in India. 
 Astonishment ends bv turninn: into bewildei'ment. 
 From Greenwich, the river is nothing but a street a 
 
BOULOGNE TO LONDON BRIDGE. 
 
 es, 
 he 
 
 Ml. 
 
 It. 
 
 a 
 
 \ 
 
 mile broad and upwards, where ships ascend and 
 descend between two rows of buildings, interminable 
 rows of a dull red, in brick or tiles, bordered with 
 great piles stuck in the mud for mooring vessels, 
 which come here to unload or to load. Ever new 
 magazines for copper, stone, coal, cordage, and the 
 rest ; bales are always being piled up, sacks being 
 hoisted, barrels being rolled, cranes are crocking, 
 capstans sounding. The sea reaches London by the 
 river; it is an inland port; New York, Melbourne, 
 Canton, Calcutta, are in direct connection with this 
 place. But that which carries the impression to its 
 height, is the sight of the canals through which the 
 docks communicate with the sea ; they form cross- 
 streets, and they are streets for ships ; one suddenly 
 perceives a line of them which is endless ; from Green- 
 wich Park where I ascended last year, the horizon is 
 bounded with masts and ropes. The incalculable in- 
 distinct rigging stretches a spiders'-web in a circle 
 at the side of the sky. This is certainly one of the 
 great spectacles of our planet ; to see a similar con- 
 glomeration of erections, of men, of vessels, and of 
 business, it would be necessary to go to China. 
 
 However, on the river to the west, rises an inex- 
 tricable forest of yards, of masts, of rigging : these 
 are the vessels which arrive, depart or anclior, in the 
 first place in groups, then in long rows, then in !i 
 continuous heap, crowded together, massed against 
 the chimneys of houses and the pulleys of warehouses, 
 with all the tackle of incessant, regular, gigantic labour. 
 A foggy smoke penetrated with light envelopes them ; 
 the sun there sifts its golden rain, and the brackish, 
 tawny, half-green, half-violet water, balances in its 
 undulations striking and strange reflections. It might 
 
 A ^ 
 
:i 
 
 ^lil 
 
 r 
 
 II 
 
 I '- 
 
 8 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 be said tliis was the heavy and smoky air of n large 
 hothouse. Nothing is natural here, everything is 
 transformed, artificially wrought from the toil of 
 man, up to the light and the air. But the hugeness of 
 the conglomeration and of the human creation hinders 
 us from thinking about this deformity and this .irtifice; 
 for want of pure and healthy beauty, the swarming 
 and grandiose life remains ; the shimmering of em- 
 browned waves, the scattering of the light imprisoned 
 in vapour, the soft whitish or pink tints which cover 
 these vastnesses, diffuse a sort of grace over the pro- 
 digious city, having the effect of a smile upon the face 
 of a shaggy and blackened Cyclop. 
 
 
 i 
 
large 
 g is 
 il of 
 iss of 
 iders 
 ifice; 
 ning 
 em- 
 oned 
 over 
 pro- 
 face 
 
 •5 
 
 II. 
 
 SUNDAY IN LONDON. THE STREETS AND PARKS. 
 
 SUNDAY in London in the rain : the shops are shut, 
 the streets ahnost deserted ; the aspect is that of 
 an immense and a well-ordered cemetery. The few 
 passers-by under their umbrellas, in the desert of 
 squares and streets, have the look of uneasy spirits 
 who have risen fr^m their graves ; it is appalling. 
 
 I had no conception of such a spectacle, which is 
 said to be frequent in London. The rain is small, 
 compact, pitiless ; looking at it one can see no reason 
 why it should not continue to the end of all things ; 
 one's feet churn water, there is water everywhere, 
 filthy water impregnated with an odour of soot. A 
 yellow, dense fog tills the air, sweeps down to the 
 ground ; at thirty paces a house, a steam-boat appear 
 as spots upon blotting-paper. After an hour's walk 
 in the Strand especially, and in the rest of the City, 
 one has the spleen, one meditates suicide. The 
 lofty lines of fronts are of sombre brick, the exuda- 
 tions being encrusted with fog and soot. Mono- 
 tony and silence ; yet the inscriptions on metal or 
 marble speak and tell of the absent master, as in a 
 large manufotory of bone-black closed oa account of a 
 death. 
 
I 
 
 10 
 
 i\OTi:S ON JCXGLAND. 
 
 A frli^liiful llniiQ^ is tho huj^o palaco in tho Strand, 
 wliicli is callod Somcrsot IFouso. !^^assivo and hoavy 
 pioco of arc'liilot'luro, of wliitdi the hollows arc inked, 
 tho porlicoos bluckoiiod with soot, whoro, in tlio cavity 
 of tho c!iipfy court, is a sham fountain without water, 
 pools of water on tho pavement, long rows of closed 
 windows — what can they possibly do in these cata- 
 combs ? It seems as if tho livid and sooty i'og had 
 even befouled tho verdure of tho parka. ]Jut what 
 most oliends tho eyes arc tho coloimades, peristyles, 
 Grecian ornaments, mouldings, and wreaths of tho 
 houses, all bathed in soot ; poor anticpio architecture — ■ 
 what is it doing in ruch a climate ? The flutings and 
 colunnis in front of cho British IMuseum are bc- 
 grimid as if liquid mud had been poured over them. 
 8t. Paid's, a kind of Pantheon, has two ranges of 
 columns, the lower range is entirely black, tho npper 
 range, recently scraped, is still white, but tho white, is 
 offensive, coal smoke has already plastered it with its 
 leprosy. 
 
 These spots are melancholy, being the deny of iho 
 stone. And these nude statues in memory of Greece ! 
 Wellington as a fighting hero, naked under the drip- 
 ping trees of the park ! That hideous Nelson, stuck 
 on his column with a coil of ropo in the form of a 
 pig-tail, like a rat impaled on the top of a pole I 
 fCvery form, every classical idea is contrary to nature 
 here. A swamp like this is a place of exile tor the arts 
 of ant Iquity. When the Romans disembarked here they 
 must have thought themselves in Homer's hell, in the 
 land of the Cimmerians. The vast space which, in the 
 south, stretches between the earth and tho sky, cannot 
 be discovered by the eye ; there is no air ; there is 
 nothing but liquid fog ; in this pale smoke objects are 
 
SUNDAi' IN LONDON, 
 
 1 1 
 
 r 
 
 but fuel In f^ pliiintoms, Nature luis tho look of a bad 
 dravviiif^ in cliarcoul which Homo ono has rubbed with 
 Ilia sicovo. I liavc just spout lialf-an-liour on Watorhx) 
 Bridge ; tho Houses of I'arliamont, blurred and in- 
 distinct, appear in the distance but a wretclicd pile of 
 scaffolding^ ; iiotliing is discernible, and, more par- 
 ticularly, nothing is living, except a few Htcamboata 
 skimming along the river, black, smoky, unwearied 
 insects; a Greek watching their passengers embarking 
 and disembarking would have thought of tho Styx. 
 Ho would have found that to exist hero was not to 
 live; in fact, life hc'^ is different from what it is in 
 his country ; the ideal has altered with the climate. 
 The mind quits the without to retire within itself, and 
 there create a world. Hero one must have a com- 
 fortable and well-ordered home, clu')s, societies, plenty 
 of business, many religious and moral preoccupations ; 
 above all, instead of abandoning oneself to the in- 
 fluence of exterior impressions, it is necessary to 
 extrude all tho sad promptings of unfriendly Nature, 
 and fill up tho great void wherein melancholy anfl 
 tedium would take up their abode. During the week 
 ono has work, constant, earnest work, wherewith to 
 ward off and arm oneself against the inclemency of 
 things. ]]ut what is to be done on the day of rest ? 
 There is the church or tho pot-house, intoxication or a 
 sermon, insensibility or refection, but no other way of 
 spending a Sunday such as this; in that way, whether 
 in thinking, whether in making a beast of oneself, one 
 is absorbed, one attains forgctfulness. I observe many 
 doors ajar in the spirit vaults, scd faces, worn or wild, 
 pass out and in. Let us visit the churches. 
 
 I visited four, and I heard ivo sermons, the first in 
 a church in the Strand. A naked, cold, and unor- 
 
12 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 } 
 
 namcnted structure, with the exception of two alle- 
 gorical figures at the end ; large wooden pews in 
 which one is ensconced up to the neck. Tlie con- 
 gregation which fills it is composed not of the com- 
 monalty, but of the respectable middle class, very well 
 dressed, and with serious and sensible physiognomies. 
 They come to provision themselves with moral coun- 
 sels, to refresh their principles. The preacher chose 
 for his text, " One mind, one spirit," and thereupon he 
 advised his hearers to hold fast to their principles, yet 
 to be conciliatory towards their fellows. The sermon 
 was good — slightly commonplace, yet solid. When 
 reading the numerous essays in English literature, 
 and at the present day the moralisings of the Sniurday 
 RevieWy one perceives that commonplaces do not weary 
 them ; apparently they consider morality not as an 
 object of curiosity, but as a practical tool, an instru- 
 ment in daily use which must be sharpened every 
 
 Sunday. 
 
 The books displayed on the ledges of the pews are 
 the Psalms and the Book of Common Prayer — the 
 mass book of England. It is marked by much 
 elevation, and a certain Hebraic sublimity in the 
 style of Milton ; yet by no tenderness and outpourings 
 as in the ** Imitation," no flowers of rhetoric or sen- 
 timental namby-pambyness, as in our minor devotional 
 works ; but by an imposing, impassioned, and some- 
 times a lyrical tone. The Liturgy was compiled at 
 the period of the Revival, and retains its accent. A 
 noteworth}^ point is that here the date and origin of 
 each piece are noted, this one being of the sixteenth 
 century ; this passage being taken from the Apocrypha, 
 but retained on account of its elevation. The believer 
 is instructed by these remarks, is informed about 
 
SUNDAY IN LONDON 
 
 »3 
 
 criticism and history ; see the sermons of Tillotson 
 and of Ikirrow at the era of Bossuet, with their Greek 
 texts and discussions about the grammatical inter- 
 pretation. Time being given, this necessarily leads to 
 German exegesis. 
 
 The superb nave, the admirable Gothic architecture 
 of AVestminster Abbey, arc alone adapted to the 
 climate ; this labyrinth of forms, these sweeping and 
 huge mouldings, this profusion of delicate sculptures, 
 are required to fill the dim air and people the void of 
 such sombre interiors. I wandered about looking at 
 the mortuary monuments, the numerous graceful 
 sculptures of the eighteenth century, others of our 
 own age so cold and pedantic, when suddenly the 
 music pealed forth, not the monotonous psalmody of 
 our Vespers, the rude and monkish chants, the verses 
 and responses which seem to be the voices of ailing 
 nuns, but beautiful pieces in parts, grave and noble 
 recitative, melodious outbursts of harmony, the pro- 
 ductions of the best epoch. Then after the reading of 
 a passage about Sisera, the organ and the choristers, 
 children's voices and bass voices, sounded forth a full 
 and rich anthem. Such music as that is the worthy 
 accompaniment to the psalms and to the prayers which 
 I have just perused. Thus understood, worship is the 
 opera of elevated, serious, and believing souls. Nothing 
 is more important ; it is essential that the church and 
 the services should be on a level with the sentiments of 
 a people, not merely of the crowd and of the unedu- 
 cated, but of the select few. 
 
 I visited two other churches in the afternoon. 
 There, too, the music was beautiful, and the edifice 
 was filled with the well-to-do middle class. The large 
 enclosed pews, all the galleries were filled with well- 
 
NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 flresscd persons ; there arc as many men as women, 
 and many gentlemen ; the public was not our public 
 of women, old curmudgeons, servant girls, common 
 people. Of the three clergymen I have seen, one 
 worthy and polite, who spoke to me, had the air of 
 a semi-professor and semi-magistrate. Another re- 
 sembled a Parisian notary, mature and well preserved, 
 who assumes soft tones and a sentimental look, in order 
 to procure the signing of a marriage contract. I saw 
 others laot your in London and the country. With 
 their sh(' r'yyrx, the tone they use in the pulpit, one 
 would take hem lQv judges or chief justices ; by their 
 education, their muii'iage, their manners, their calling, 
 they are laymen slightly graver than the others ; their 
 garb out of church is that of laymen, with the ex- 
 ception of the everlasting white tie ; the moral differ- 
 ence is not much greater than the material difference. 
 This is the essential point ; to place the layman on a 
 par with the priest, or at most separated by one degree 
 only, is in truth the work of the Keformation. 
 
 On returning to my hotel I read the following pro- 
 clamation in Friday's Gazette : — " Victoria 11. : We, 
 most seriously and religiously considering that it is our 
 indispensable duty to bo careful above all other things 
 to preserve and advance the honour and service of 
 Almighty God, and to discourage and suppress all 
 
 vice, profuneness, debauchery, and immorality 
 
 we do hereby strictly enjoin and prohibit all our loving 
 subjects, of what degree or quality soever, from playing 
 on the Lord's-day, at dice, cards, or any other game 
 whatsoever, either in public or private houses, or other 
 place or places whatsoever ; and we do hereby require 
 and command them, and every of them decently and 
 reverently to attend the worship of God on every 
 
 %- 
 
'g 
 
 id 
 
 y 
 
 SUNDAY IN LONDON, 
 
 15 
 
 ■I 
 
 Lord's-duy ;" and the magistrates are enjoined " to take 
 effectual care to prevent all persons keeping taverns, 
 or other public houses whatsoever, from selling wine, 
 beer, or other liquors, or receiving or permitting 
 guests to be or remain in such their houses in the 
 time of Divine service on the Lord's-day." 
 
 This order is not strictly observed ; the tavern doors 
 are closed during service, but the}' can be opened and 
 drinking goes on in the back room. In any case this 
 is a relic of the old Puritanism altogetlier distasteful in 
 Franco. Prohibit people to drink and amuse them- 
 selves on Sunday ? Put to a French workman, and 
 to a peasant, Sunday appears to hi. .e ^een made for 
 nothing else. Stendhal said that } ^re, \a Scotland, in 
 true Biblical countries, religion spoils one day out ol' 
 seven, destroys the seventh part of \ jssible liappiness. 
 lie judges the Englishman, the i: ^n of the North, after 
 the model of the man of the Soutu, whom wine exhila- 
 rates and does not brutalise, who can without incon- 
 venience give way to his instinct, and whose pleasure 
 is poetical. Here the temperament is different, more 
 violent and more combative ; pleasure is a brutish and 
 bestial thing : I could cite twenty examples of tliis. 
 An Englishman said to me, *' When a Frenchman is 
 drunk he chatters ; when a German is drunk he sleeps ; 
 when an Englishman is drunk he fights." 
 
 Other traces of Puritanical severity, among the rest, are 
 the recommendations on the stairs which lead down to 
 the Thames, and elsewhere ; one is requested to be decent. 
 At the railway-station there are large Pibles fastened to 
 chains for the use of the passengers while waiting for 
 the train. A tall, sallow, and bony fellow handed to mo 
 two printed pages on the brazen serpent of Moses, with 
 applications to the present life : ** You, too, oh reader, 
 
i6 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 have been bitten by the fiery serpents. To heal your- 
 self lilt up your eyes to lliiu who has been elevated as 
 the sign of salvation." Other tokens denote an aristo- 
 cratie eountry. At the gate of St. James's Park is the 
 following notice: "The park-keepers have orders to 
 prevent all beggars from entering the gardens, and all 
 persons in ragged or dirty elotliea, or who are not 
 outwardly decent and well-behaved.'* At every step 
 one feels oneself further removed from France. 
 
 The population numbers three millions and a quarter; 
 that makes twelve cities like Marseilles, ten cities like 
 Lyons, two cities like Paiis put together; but words 
 upon paper are no substitutes for the sensation of the 
 eyes. It is necessary to take a cab several days in 
 succession, and proceed straight on towards the south, 
 the north, the east, and the west, during a whole 
 morning, as far as the uncertain limits where houses 
 grow scanty and the country begins. 
 
 Enormous, enormous — this is the word which always 
 recurs. Moreover, all is rich and well ordered ; conse- 
 quently, they must think us neglected and poor. Paris 
 is mediocre compared with these squares, these cres- 
 cents, these circles and rows of monumental buildings 
 of massive stone, with porticoes, with sculptured fronts, 
 these spacious streets ; there are sixty of them as vast 
 as the Hue de la Paix ; assuredly Napoleon III. de- 
 molished and rebuilt Paris only because he had lived 
 in London. In the Strand, in Piccadilly, in Regent 
 Street, in the neighbourhood of London Bridge, in 
 twenty places, there is a bustling crowd, a surging 
 traffic, an amount of obstruction which our busiest and 
 most frequented boulevard cannot parallel. Everything 
 is on a large scale here ; the clubs are palaces, the 
 hotels are monuments ; the river is an arm of the sea ; 
 
THE STREETS AXD PARKS. 
 
 «7 
 
 lU 
 
 id 
 
 le 
 
 the cabs j^o f wi't'O as fast ; the boatmen and the omnibus- 
 conductors condense a sentence into a word ; wonls and 
 gestures are economised ; actio'i? and time are turned 
 to the ntm(>st possible account ; the liuman being pro- 
 duces and expends twice as mucli as among us. 
 
 From Lon(h)n IJridji^o to Hampton Court are eight 
 miles, that is, nearly three leagues of buildings. After 
 the streets and quarters erected together, as one piece, 
 by wliolesale, like a hive after a model, come the count- 
 less pleasure retreats, cottages surrounded with verdure 
 and trees in all styles — (iothic, Grecian, Byzantine, 
 Italian, of the ^liddle Age, or the Revival, with every 
 mixture and every shade of style, generally in lines or 
 clusters of five, ten, twenty of the same sort, apparently 
 the handiwork of the same builder, like so many 
 specimens of the same vase or t^e same bronze. They 
 deal in houses as we deal in Parisian articles. What 
 a multitude of well-to-do, comfortable, and rich exist- 
 ences ! One divines accumulated gains, a wealthy and 
 spending middle-class quite different from ours, so 
 pinched, so straitened. The most humble, in brown 
 brick, are pretty by dint of tidiness ; the window panes 
 sparkle like mirrors ; there is nearly always a green 
 and flowery patch ; the front is covered with ivy, 
 honeysuckle, and nasturtiums. 
 
 The entire circumference of Hyde Park is covered 
 with houses of this sort, but finer, and these in the 
 midst of London retain a country look ; each stands 
 detached in its square of turf iuid shrubs, has two stories 
 in the most perfect order and condition, a portico, a 
 bell for the tradespeople, a bell for the visitors, a base- 
 ment for the kitchen and the servants, with a flight 
 of steps for the service ; very few mouldings and orna- 
 ments ; no outside sun-shutters ; large, clear windows, 
 
1 
 
 T 
 
 i« 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 which h't in plonty ')f lijj^ht ; flowers on Uio sills nnd 
 iit tho ])()rti('o; HtahlcH in a mews apart, in order that 
 their odours and sight may ho kept at a <listancc; all 
 tho external surt'aco covered witli whiter shininj^, nnd 
 varnished stueeo; not a s])(M'k of mud or dust; tho 
 trees, tho turf, tho flow.'rs, tho servants pn^jiiU'ed as it' 
 tor an exhihition of prize products. How well one can 
 picture the inhabitant after see in «i: his sIk^II ! In the 
 tirst place, it is tho Teuton who loves IS'ature, and who 
 needs a reminder of tho country ; next, it is tho 
 iMmlishman who wishes to bo bv himself in his stair- 
 case as in his room, who could not endure tho pro- 
 miscuous existence of our huj^e Parisian ca<^es, and 
 who, even in London, plans his house as a small castle, 
 independent and enclosed, besides, he is simple, and 
 does not desire external display; on the other hand, he 
 is cxactinf^ in the matter of condition aiul comfort, 
 and separates his life from that of his inferiors. Tho 
 number of such houses at the AWst-end is astonishing ! 
 The rent is nearly £oOO ; from five to seven servants 
 are kept ; tho master expends from twelve to twenty- 
 four hundred pounds a year. There arc ten of these 
 fortunes and these lives in England to every one in 
 Franco. 
 
 The impression is the same when visiting the parks; 
 the taste, tho area are quite diil'erent from what is tho 
 case among iis. St. James's Park is a genuine piece 
 of country, and of English country ; huge old trees, 
 real meadows, a large pond peopled with ducks and 
 waterfowl ; cows and sheep, in an enclosed space, feed 
 on tho grass, which is always fresh. There lire even 
 sheep in the narrow green border that eurrounda 
 Westminster Abbey ; those people love the country in 
 their hearts. It is sufficient to read their literature 
 
 I 
 
THE STREETS AM) PARKS. 
 
 »9 
 
 ^rk3 ; 
 
 tho 
 
 |)icco 
 
 rees, 
 
 and 
 Ifeed 
 
 ;ven 
 
 mds 
 in 
 
 :ure 
 
 from Oliauocr to Shakosponro, from Tliomson to ^\''ord8- 
 worth Mild SlicUcy, to find proofs of i\\\». AVliut i\ 
 contrast to tho Tuilcrics, llio (/liain])s Elysro, tlio 
 Luxctiilxmr^j: ! As a rulo, tlio FiTiich p^ardon, tliat 
 of FiOiiis XIV^, is a room or f»;allory in the open air, 
 wliorcin to walk and conviM'so in company; in tho 
 l']n;^lisli <rar(h>n, sudi as tlicy liavc invented and pro- 
 pagated, one is better ahmo; tlio eyes and tho mind 
 converse with natural thin«;s. A\'o have* arranj^cd ii 
 park on this model in the JJois do lioiilo^nc ; but wo 
 have committed tho blunder of placing therein a <j;roup 
 of rocks and waterfalls; tho artifice is discov(>red afc 
 a p^lanee, and offends ; English eyes would have felt it. 
 lleyent's l\irk is laro-er than the Jardin des I'lantcs 
 and tho Luxembourg put together. I have often 
 remarked that our life seems to them cooped np, con- 
 fined ; they need air and space more than we do ; 
 Englishmen whom I knew in Paris left their windows 
 open all niglit ; tlius arises their longing for motion, 
 their horse and foot races in the country. Stendhal 
 justly said that a young English girl walks a greater 
 distance in a week than a young Roman girl in a year ; 
 the Northern man, of athletic temperament, has a need 
 of free respiration and of exercise. This park is in a 
 retired neighbourhood ; one hears no longer the rolling 
 of carriages, and one forgets London ; it is a solitude. 
 The sun shines, but the air is always charged with damp 
 clouds, floating watering-pots which dissolve in rain 
 every quarter of an hour. The vast watery meadows 
 have a charming softness, and the green branches drip 
 with monotonous sound upon the still water of the 
 ponds. I enter a hot-house where there are splendid 
 orchids, some having the rich velvet of the iris, oth '"s 
 a fresh colour of that inexpressible, delicious, mingu^d 
 
20 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 tint transfused with light like palpitating living flesh, 
 a woman's breast ; the hand desires yet dreads to press 
 it; alongside, palm- trees raise their stems in a tepid 
 atmosphere. A strange thing to us is that there are 
 no keepers ; admission is free, and no damage is done ; 
 I can UT^'derstand that they must ridicule cur establish- 
 ments and public festivals, with thc'r accompaniments 
 of municipal guards. It is tlie same at the railway 
 ytations: every one ie free to move about, to stand on 
 the cide of tlie line, to come and meet his friends at 
 the carriage dooi , they are surprised and annoyed to 
 see us caged in our waiting-rooms, enclosed, led like 
 sheep, and always under the c}0 or the hand of an 
 official. 
 
 I returned on foot to Piccadilly ; again the London 
 weather begins — the small and constant rain, the dis- 
 solving mud. F., wdio has spent the winter here, says 
 that there is little snow, not more than in the centre 
 of France ; but, on the other hand, there is perpetual 
 fog, rain nearly every day, and the most execrable 
 muddy streets for pedestrians. As evidences, look at 
 the foot-coverings and the feet of the ladies. Their 
 boots are as large as those of gentlemen, their feet arc 
 those of watermen, and their gait is in keeping. My 
 question continually recurs. How do the English spend 
 their leisure hours, among others, their Sunthiy? They 
 have the Club and often wine. F., in his club, had 
 a neiglibour who, in the reading-room, drank a large 
 glass of wine, then went to sleep, drank a sccoiid half 
 an hour alter wards and went to sleep again, and so on 
 in succession without ever savins: a word. Anotlier of 
 great wealth, a leading merchant, and who has sixteen 
 gardeners at his country seat, is occupied all day wiili 
 h.\% business, returns home in the evening, speaks but 
 
 I 
 
 
THE STREETS AXD PARKS, 
 
 21 
 
 says 
 
 halt' 
 HO on 
 
 or of 
 klcon 
 hviili 
 but 
 
 seldom, lives like an automaton amonp^ lii's eliildrcn ; 
 his daughter amuses herself by travelHnf*" about the 
 entire year with a f^overness, in the family circle he 
 
 V try ' «/ 
 
 merely finds tlie money — this is a common trait of the 
 J^^nglish character, deficiency in expansion and in amia- 
 bility. 
 
 From Regent's Park to Piccadilly the spacious and 
 interminable streets have a funereal aspect ; the road- 
 way is of black macadam ; the rows of buildings, of 
 the same cast, consist of blackened brick, whore the win- 
 dow-panes shine with dark reflections ; each house is 
 separated from the street by railings and »n area. There 
 are few shops, not a single pretty one, no largo jdate- 
 glass windows and engravings ; that would be too 
 dismal for ns ; nothing to attract and gladden the 
 eyes ; lounging is impossible ; it is necessary to do 
 one's work at home, or to take one's umbrella imd go 
 to business or to one's society. 
 
 Hyde Park is the largest of them all, with its small 
 rivulet, its wide green-sward, its sheep, its shady walj<s, 
 resembling a pleasure park suddenly transported to the 
 centre of a capital. About two o'clock the principal 
 alley is a riding-ground ; there are ten times more 
 gentlemen and twenty times more ladies on horseback 
 than in the Bois de Boulogne on its most fr(>(pi(>nted 
 days; little girls and boys of eight ride on ponies by 
 the side of their father ; I have seen ample and worthy 
 matrons trotting along. This is one of their luxuries. 
 Add to it that of having servants. For instance, a 
 I'amily of three persons which I visited keeps seven 
 servants and three horses. The mother and daughter 
 gallop in the park daily ; they often pay visits on 
 horseback; they economise in other things — in thojitre- 
 going, for example ; they go but seldom to the theatre, 
 
 1 
 
 W^ 
 
i 
 
 22 
 
 NOTES OX ENGLAND. 
 
 and wlicn tlicy do it is to a box wlilcli has been pre- 
 sented to tliem. This vigorous exercise appears indis- 
 pensable for health ; young girls and ladies come hero 
 even when it rains. To keep three horses and a 
 carriiigo costs nearly £200 a year. Looking at this 
 crowd of persons on horseback one comes to the same 
 conclusion as after seeing the houses and the staft' of 
 servants. The wcalthv class is much more numerous 
 in England than in France. Another index is the 
 outlay iu linen, clothes, gloves, and dresses always 
 new. Tho climate dirties everything rapidly ; they 
 must be continually renovated. In every newspaper I 
 find the addresses of dealers who come to the house 
 and buy slightly soiled clothes ; the obligation of a 
 gentleman is to be alv/ays irreproachably well dressed ; 
 his coat when shabby is handed over to a man of tho 
 lower class, ends in rags on the back of a beggar, and 
 thus marks the social rank of its possessor. Nowhere 
 else is tlie disparity of conditions so clearly written in 
 the externals of men. Imagine the evening dress of a 
 man of fashion or the rose-coloured bonnet of a lady ; 
 you will find the former again on a miserable wretch 
 squatting on one of the stairs of the Thames, and the 
 latter at; Shadwell on the head of au old woman groping 
 amidst rubbish. 
 
 From five to seven o'clock is the review of ladies' 
 dresses. Beauty and ornamentation abound, but taste 
 is wanting. The colours are outrageously crude and 
 the forms ungraceful ; crinolines too distended and 
 badly distended, in geometrical cones or bunched, 
 green flounces, embroideries, flowered dresses, quan- 
 tities of floating gauze, packets of falling or frizzec. 
 hair ; crowning this display tiny embroidered and 
 imperceptible bonnets. The bonnets are too much 
 
 ^ 
 
THE STREETS AND PARK'S. 
 
 a3 
 
 adorned, the hair, too shiny, presses closely on the 
 temples ; the small mantle or casuquo falls Ibrmlesa to 
 the lower part of the back, the petticoat expands pro- 
 digiously, and all the scaffolding badly joined, badly 
 arranged, variegated and laboured, cries and protests 
 with all its gaudy and overdone colours. In the sun- 
 shine, especially, at Hampton Court the day before 
 yesterday, amongst the shopkeepers' wives, the absur- 
 dity was at its height ; there were many violet dresses, 
 one being of a wild violet clasped round the waist with 
 a golden band, which would have made a painter cry 
 out. I said to a lady, " The toilette is more showy 
 among you than in France." " ]5ut my dresses come 
 from Paris ! " I carefully refrained i'rom replying, 
 " But you selected them." 
 
 Excepting only the highest class, they apparel them- 
 selves as fancy dictates. One imagines heait)iy bodies, 
 well built, beautiful at times ; but they must be 
 imagined. The physiognomy is often pure, but also 
 often sheepish. Many are simple babies, new waxen 
 dolls, with glass eyes, which appear entirely empty of 
 ideas. Other faces have become ruddy, and turned to 
 raw beefsteak. There is a fund of folly or of brutality 
 in this inert flesh — too white, or too red. Some are 
 ugly or grotesque in the extreme; with heron's feet, 
 stork's necks, always having the largo front of white 
 teeth, the projecting jaws of carnivora. As compensa- 
 tion, others are beautiful ir. the extreme. They have 
 angelic faces; their eyes, of pale periwinkle, are softly 
 deep ; their completion is that of a flower, or an 
 infant ; their smile is divine. One of these days, 
 about ten o'clock in the morning, near Hyde l*ark 
 Corner, I was rooted to the spot motionless Vv'ith admi- 
 ration at the sight of two young ladies ; the one was 
 
II! 
 
 H 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 sixteen, the other eighteen years old The}" were in 
 I'usding dresses of white tulle amid a eloi'.d. of lauslin ; 
 ttdl, o^cTider, agile, their shape as perfect as t^ cJr tu^je, 
 of inconiparahle freshness, resembling llio.so inarv< Uous 
 flowers seen in select exhibitions, the whiteness of the 
 lily or orchis ; in addition to all that, gaiety, inno- 
 eence, a superabundance of unalloyed sap and infantiae 
 expression, of laughter, and the mien of birds ; the 
 earlli did not support them. Many of the horsewonen 
 are charming, so simple, and so serious, without a trace 
 of coquetry ; they come here not to be seen, but to take 
 the air ; their manner is frank without pretension ; 
 their shake of the hand quite loyal, almost masculine ; 
 no fri])pery in their attire ; the small black vest, 
 tightened at the waist, moulds a line shape and healthy 
 form ; to my mind, the first duty of a young lady is to 
 be in good health. They manage their horses with 
 complete ease and assurance. Sometimes the father or 
 brother stops and talks business or politics with a 
 friend ; the ladies listen and tlius habituat{^ tliemselves 
 to serious topics. These fatliers and brotliers, too, are 
 a pleasant sight ; expressive and resolute faces, which 
 bear, or have borne, the burden of life; less exhausted 
 than among us less read-" smile and to execute the 
 tricks of politene.'-\>, but li aer and more staid, and 
 who often excite in the onh)oker a vague impression of 
 respect, of esteem at least, and often of trust. Perliaps 
 this is because I am instructed as to their condition ; 
 yet it seems to me that mistake is diiHcult : whether 
 nobles, members of l*arliament, landed proprietors, 
 their manners and their physiognomies are those of 
 !nen accustomed to authority, and who have wielded it. 
 
III. 
 
 sr. James's taiik, hichmond, the docks, and 
 
 EAST-END. 
 
 are 
 lich 
 
 istcd 
 tlie 
 and 
 
 )ii of 
 laps 
 on ; 
 her 
 ors, 
 of 
 
 Hit. 
 
 T IIAYE paid many visits, ami taken several walks. 
 ■*- The thinjj^s which please me most are tlie trees. 
 ]^]vcry day, after leavin<^ the Athenicuin, I go and 
 sit for an liour in St. James's Park ; the lake shines 
 softly beneath its misty covering, while the dense 
 foliage bends over tlie still waters. The rounded 
 trees, tlie great green domes make a kind of arehitei)- 
 turo far more delicate than the other. Tbe eye 
 reposes itself upon these soltened forms, upon «^ho8e 
 subdued tones. These are beauties, but tend- and 
 touching, those of foggy countries, of Holland. Yes- 
 terday, at eight o'clock in the evening, althoug}j the 
 weather was fine, everything seen from the Su^peusioa 
 ]5ridge appeared vapoury ; the last rays disapp'-ared in 
 whitish smoke ; on the right, the remains of redness ; 
 over the Thames, and in the rest of the sky a pale 
 slate tint. I'liere are tones liko these in the landscapes 
 of Kembrandt, in the twilights of Van der Neer ; the 
 bathed light, the air charged with vajiour, the insen- 
 sible and continuous changes of the vast exhalation 
 which softens, imparts a bluish tint to, and dims the 
 
. I 
 
 i 
 
 26 
 
 NOT£^ ON ENGLAND, 
 
 A! > 
 
 contours, the whole profluelug the iin])rossion of a 
 j^rcjit lil'o, vaji^uc, dilFubcd, and niclanclioly — the life of 
 a huniid country. 
 
 At Itichmond, T felt this still better. From the 
 terrace can bo discerned several leajjiies of country : 
 the Thames, which is not larger tlian the Seine, winds 
 through meadows, between clumps of large trees. All 
 is green, of a soft green, almost effaced by the dis- 
 tance ; one feels the freshness and the peace of tho 
 infinite vegetation; the grey sky extends over it a low 
 and heavy dome ; at the horizon arc whitish mists in 
 Moating layers, here and there a darkened cloud, or the 
 violet patch of a shower. From all the ground rises a 
 sluggish mist ; one watches it as if it were a piece of 
 muslin drawn between the interstices of the trees, and 
 gradually the floating gauze of theeartli re-unites with 
 the uniform veil of the sky. How still is the park ! 
 Troops of deer feed in the moist brake ; the hind? 
 approach the fence, and gaze on the passer by without 
 fear. Can a tract of counuy bo better arranged for 
 relaxin;^ tho nerves of tho man who strug'j'les and 
 toils? The oai<s, tho lime trees, the spreading and 
 huge cliestuut Irees, are noble creatures which seem to 
 speak in low tones with majesty and security ; at their 
 feet is thick and tall grass ; the blades of grass, where- 
 on the rain has left its tears, smile with a tender and 
 sad grace. A sort of fond quietude emanates from the 
 air, the sky, and ill things; ^Nature welcomes the 
 soiiV weaT'\ nnd worn with striving. How one feels 
 that tbcii landscape suits them, and why they love it ! 
 Without d'<abt their climate befits trees, and, besides, 
 they have had no invasion or popular rising to mutilate 
 or cut them down ; the national taste has favoured their 
 pvi;8ervation ; olden things have been more respected 
 
RICHMOND. 
 
 27 
 
 nml bettor prcsorved than in Franco, and among thcni 
 must bu niiiuborod the troes. 
 
 Those of AVindsor and of llanipton Court arc as 
 boautlful. From Kow Gardens to Hampton Court 
 extends an alley of gi frantic; cliestnut trees, of which the 
 lar<»'e pink and white bunches resemble girandoles. 
 The foliajje is so thick that underneath it is cool in the 
 height of the sun. Upon the velvet of the grass, con- 
 sttUated with Uowers and bordered by nasturtiums, 
 stand forth clusters of rhododendrons, as tall as two 
 men, entirely covered with rose-coloured flowc rs, amid 
 which bees are humming. There are so numy of them, 
 they are so magnificent, of so tender a tissue and of so 
 fine a tone, they are grouped with such profusion in a 
 single clump wlioUy impregnated with light, (luit one; 
 renuiins dazzled; it is delicious, intoxicating; ahnost 
 beyond Nature. A little way farther, in an enormous 
 hot-house, palms, as large aa oak, spread their curious 
 vegetation, and bananas unfold leaves which would 
 cover a child twelve vears old. This is one of their 
 talents ; they admirably understand the architecture 
 of trees, of grass, and of flowers ; I have not seen even 
 a classical palace or even a poor cottage where it was 
 uncomprehended. Sometimes, indeed, the effect is too 
 strong ; in the sun, it is overpowering ; the incom- 
 parable verdure then assumes tones so rich and intense 
 that they cannot be transferred to canvas ; they wouhl 
 offend, they would be too raw ; it ' necessary to enjoy 
 them with the mind, not with the eyes; tlu^y are a 
 feast, and, as it were, an outburst of delight ; in order 
 to prepare and maintain them, swell and expand the 
 tissues, moisture was required, excessive moisture, the 
 caress and the guardianship of soft vapour; beneath a 
 warmer sky, such flowers would be stiffened and dried ; 
 
 11 
 
28 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 they are not accustomed to bear the full sun ; honco it 
 is tliat they break forth to-day under his blaze. They 
 have tlie tint of a beautiful lady ; they, too, are patri- 
 cians developed, preserved, enibellislied by all the 
 reKnements of art and of luxury; I have had the 
 same impression at a full-dress mornini? party, before a 
 staircase filled from top to bottom svith young laugh- 
 ing ladies in swelling and sweeping dresses of tulle, of 
 fiiik, the head covered with diamonds, the shoulders 
 bare. Tliis was a unique sensation, that of splendour 
 and brilliancy carried to the highest pitch — all the 
 flowers of civilisation and of nature in a single bouquet 
 and in a single perfume, 
 
 Hampton Court is a largo garden in the French 
 style, laid out in the time of AV^illiam III. Our style 
 was then the reigning one in Europe. Yet English 
 taste is discoverable here also: the borders have been 
 j)lanted with standard rosebushes, and these, closely 
 trained along the slight espaliers, form columns of 
 flowers. Ducks, swans swim in all the pieces of water; 
 water-lilies unfold thoir velvet stars. The old trees 
 are pr()])ped up by iron rods. AVhen they die, in order 
 thai, tliey may not be wholly lost, the remainder of 
 their trunks are converted into a kind of huge urn. 
 Clearly, they are cared for and they are loved. There 
 are no fences. I noticed young boarding-school girls 
 M'alkiiig and playing on the grass, but they never 
 pluck a flower. Tlie following notice sufhces to pro- 
 tect the garden: — "It is hoped that the public will 
 abstain from destrovinp: that which is cultivated for 
 tho public gratification." I have seen families of 
 common i)eople taking their dinners on the green 
 sward of Hyde Park ; they neither tore up nor spoilt 
 anything. This is perfect ; the aim of every society is 
 
PRIVATE INCOMES. 
 
 2Q 
 
 that cacli one sliould bo always hia own constable, and 
 end by not liavinj^ any other. 
 
 My Eiif^lish iriends confirm what I had guessed 
 about tho largo number and tho vastness of the private 
 fortunes. "Take a cab from Sydenham; for live 
 miles vou will pass houses wliich indicate an annual 
 outlay of jl'l,-")UO and upwards." According to tlie 
 official statistics of 1<S41, tliero arc one million of ser- 
 vants to sixteen millions of inhabitants. The liberal 
 professions are much better remunerated than on the 
 Continent. 1 know a musician at Leipzig of first- 
 class talent ; he receives os. a lesson at the Academy 
 of Leipzig, (j.v. in the city, and one guinea in London. 
 The visit of a doctor who is not celebrated costs \h. or 
 9«. in Paris, and a guinea here. With us a professor 
 at the College of France recei^-es .t'JiOO, at the 8or- 
 bonne £480, at the School of ^ledicinc £400. A pro- 
 fessor at Oxford, a head of a house, has often from 
 £1,000 to £3,000. Tennyson, who writes little, is said 
 to make £5,000 a year. Tho Head ]\rastcr of Eton 
 has a salary of £0,080, of Harrow £0,280, of llugby 
 £2,900 ; numy of the masters in these establishments 
 have salaries from £1,200 to £1,240 — one of them at 
 Harrow has £2,220. Tho Bishop of London has 
 £10,000 a year, the Archbishop of York has £15,000. 
 An article is paid for at the rate of £8 the sheet in tlic 
 licrue (li'S Dcujc Mondea, and £20 in the liUgUsh 
 Quarterlies. The Times has paid £100 for a certain 
 article. Thackeray, the novelist, has nip.dc £100 in 
 twenty-four hours through the medium of two lectures, 
 the one being delivered in Brigliton, the other in 
 London; from the magazine to which he contributed 
 his novels he received £2,000 a yepr, and £10 a page 
 in addition ; this magazine had 100,000 subscribers ; 
 
I I: 
 
 i i 
 i '■ 
 
 
 30 
 
 XOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 lie estimated liis own yearly cnrnlnj^s at. £4,800. It 
 must bo understood that I put on one side the enor- 
 mous fortunes made in manufactures, those of tho 
 nobility, the protit or revenues of £'JOO,OUO yearly ; 
 their outlay is proportionate. A young en;^ineer, n 
 youn«;er son, and who was obliged to make his fortune, 
 said to me one day, " With £8,000 yearly one is not 
 wealthy in England, one is merely very comfortably 
 off." Another, who spends his summers in the 
 country, added, "look at the family circles of our 
 farmers ; their daughters learn French and to play on 
 the piano ; they dress splendidly.'* The rule is to 
 make much and to S2)end much : an Englishman does 
 not put any tiling aside, does not think of the future, 
 at the most lu insures his life ; in this he is tho 
 reverse of a Frenchman, who is saving and abstemious. 
 
 Whence comes all this money, and how is it dis- 
 tributed ? I shall endeavour to procure the statistics ; 
 meantime, let us examine one of tlio great reservoirs 
 whence gold flows through tho people of all conditions, 
 and over the whole country — the Docks of London. 
 
 I always find that London resembles ancient Kome 
 as Paris resembles ancient Athens. This modern 
 Home, how heavily must it weigh, like the other, upon 
 the labouring class ! For every monstrous <Tection, 
 Babylon, Egypt, imperial Rome, indicates an accumu- 
 lation of efforts, an excess of fatigue. I have never 
 seen a great city, whether a capital or place of manu- 
 factures, without thinking of the nations which have 
 vanished from around the Mediterr; nean under the 
 pressure of the Roman machine. It is i^'ue that to-day 
 there are no more slaves before the law; yet frequently 
 man is a slave in fact, and by the constraint of his 
 condition. 
 
THE DOCKS. 
 
 Tho8o docks aro prodigious, ovcrpoworinf:^ ; there aro 
 BIX of them each of which is a vast port, and aceoin mo- 
 dates a multitude of three-masted vessels. There are 
 ships everywhere, and ships upon sliips in rows, show 
 their lieads and their 8wellin<^ bosoms, like beautiful 
 tish, under their cuirass of coppcM*. One of them has 
 
 ^) r^ 
 
 00 t( 
 
 l)urd( 
 
 arrived from Australia, and is ot '-',')wu tons luirdcn, 
 others arc 5], 000 tons and upwards ; some of i^wwx hail 
 from all parts of the world, this is the trystin<^-plaeo 
 of the globe. For the most part they arc mji^^niilicent. 
 Seen from the keel they arc leviathans, and they arc 
 slender and as elegant as swans. A merchant who is 
 here superintending the arrival of spices from Java, 
 and the transhipment of ico from Norway, tells me 
 that about 40,000 vessels enter every year, and that, 
 on an average, there aro from 5,000 to (3,000 in tho 
 docks or the river at one time. 
 
 In the wine quarter tho cellars contain »i0,00() 
 barrels of port. A crane discharges them. They 
 seem to move of their own accord. When brought ou 
 a little wheeled truck, they slide down an incline to 
 their places, almost without labour. The machines 
 work so well that they appear to be living auxiliaries, 
 voluntary slaves. Note that bridge ; it weighs a 
 hundred tons ; yet one man moves it by means of a 
 screw-jack. There is a quarter for groceric?; a qu.'irter 
 for skins and leather, a quarter for tallow. The cellars 
 and the warehouses are coloosal. Under their arch, 
 equal to that of a large bridge, one beholds tho 
 peopled and profound obscurity recede far away. 
 Rembrandt would have found ready-made pictures in 
 their mysterious distances, in the flickering blackness 
 of their clioked-up air-holes, in these infinite recep- 
 tacles where a hive of men is moving about. They 
 
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32 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 roll the casks without confusion and with calmness. 
 One hears tbe voices of clerks calling out the numbers. 
 In the middle of the cellar a foreman, seated at a small 
 table, makes entries or looks on. The masters, who are 
 grave, and in black hats, walk about superintending 
 in silence. Yet around the capstans are creaking, and 
 sailors in boats are scraping or scrubbing their ship. 
 Thus occupied in their working coats, with their 
 serious air, their phlegmatic or wearied faces, they 
 form a pleasing sight ; one feels that they are in their 
 right places, every living being, animal or man, is 
 beautiful in his proper place. 
 
 I was smoking, seated on a bale, when a man pass- 
 ing along said, without stopping, ''Five shillings 
 fine." " Is it forbidden then ? " « Yes." Nothing 
 more. There is no better way of working or making 
 others work than to be sparing in gestures or words. 
 At Hyde Park Corner there are two policemen 
 whom I have frequently watched for a considerable 
 time ; they never speak ; if there be a block of vehicles, 
 they raise their arm to stop a coachman, and lower it ' 
 as a sign that he may drive on : the coachman in- 
 stantly and silently obeys. Our steward on board the 
 steamboat, many servants, and merchants whom I 
 have seen, do likewise ; when, in giving orders and 
 executing them, chattering, exclamations, tokens of 
 impatience, fumbling, and disorder are thus suppressed, 
 the command and the performance gear into each 
 other as quickly and as surely as two wheels. 
 
 At the end of an hour the mind feels itself over- 
 stocked ; it is requisite to permit the images to group 
 and to arrange themselves. I was at the corner of 
 Shadwell Basin and I gazed upon the slate-coloured 
 river before me shining and exhaling mist ; the 
 
THE EAST' END. 
 
 53 
 
 IS 
 
 ich 
 
 ed 
 
 northern bank winds and bounds the horizon with its 
 blackish fringe mottled with red ; a few vessels descend 
 with the supple and slow movement of a sea-bird; 
 their sombre hulls and brown sails balance themselves 
 upon the water which shimmers. To liorth and south 
 a mass of ships raise their crowded masts. The silence 
 is almost complete ; one hears but the strokes of distant 
 hammers, the vague tinkle of a bell, and the fluttering 
 of birds in the trees. A Dutch painter. Van der 
 Heyden, Backhuysen, would have taken pleasure in 
 beholding this plain of water, the distant tones of 
 brick and tar, this uncertain horizon where stretch the 
 sleeping clouds. I have seen nothing more picturesque 
 in London. The rest is too scrubbed and varnished, or 
 too bustling and too foul. 
 
 Shadwell, one of the poor neighbourhoods, is close at 
 hand ; by the vastness of its distress, and by its extent, 
 it is in keeping with the hugeness find the wealth of 
 London. I have seen the bad quarters of Marseilles, 
 of Antwerp, of Paris, they do not come near to. it. 
 Low houses, poor streets of brick under red-tiled roofs 
 cross each other in every direction, and lead down with 
 a di:mal look to the river. Beggars, thieves, harlots, 
 the latter especially, crowd Shadwell Street. One hears 
 a grating music in the spirit cellars ; sometimes it is 
 a negro who handles the violin; through the open 
 windows one perceives unmade beds, women dancing. 
 Thrice in ten minutes I saw crowds collected at the 
 doors; fights were going on, chiefly fights between 
 women ; one of them, her face bleeding, tears in her 
 eyes, drunk, shouted with a sharp and harsh voice, and 
 wished to fling herself upon a man. The bystanders 
 laughed ; the noise caused the adjacent lanes to be 
 emptied of their occupants ; ragged, poor children, 
 
34 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 harlots — i^ "^^as like a human sewer suddenly discharg- 
 ing its contents. Some of them have a relic of neat- 
 ness, a new garment, but the greater number are in 
 filthy and unseemly tatters. Figure to yourself what 
 a lady's bonnet may become after passing during three 
 or four years from head to head, having been crushed 
 against walls, having had blows from fists ; for they 
 receive them. I noticed blackened eyes, bandaged 
 noses, bloody cheek-bones. The women gesticulate 
 with extraordinary vehemence ; but most horrible of 
 all is their shrill, acute, cracked voice, resembling that 
 of an ailing screech-owl. 
 
 From the time of leaving the Tunnel, street boj^^s 
 abound — bare-footed, dirty, and turning wheels in 
 order to get alms. On the stairs leading to the Thames 
 they swarm, more pale-faced, more deformed, more 
 repulsive than the scum of Paris ; without question, 
 the climate is worse, and the gin more deadly. Near 
 them, leaning against the greasy walls, or inert on the 
 steps, are men in astounding rags ; it is impossible to 
 imagine before seeing them how many layers of dirt 
 an overcoat or a pair of trousers could hold ; they 
 dream or dose open-mouthed, their faces are begrimed, 
 dull, and sometimes streaked with red lines. It is in 
 these localities that families have been discovered with 
 no other bed than a heap of soot ; they had slept there 
 during several months. For a creature so wasted and 
 jaded there is but one refuge — drunkonness. " Not 
 drink ! " said a desperate character at an inquest. " It 
 were better then to die at once." 
 
 A trader said to me, " Look after your pockets, sir,'* 
 and a policeman warned me not to enter certain lanes. 
 
 I walked through some of the broader ones ; all the 
 houses, except one or two, are evidently inhabited by 
 
1 
 
 THE EAST' END. 
 
 35 
 
 more 
 
 estion, 
 
 Near 
 
 on the 
 
 ble to 
 
 f dirt 
 
 they 
 
 imed, 
 
 is in 
 
 with 
 
 there 
 
 d and 
 
 "Not 
 
 "It 
 
 sir," 
 mes. 
 11 the 
 id by 
 
 harlots. Other small stnets, dusty courts, reeking 
 with a smell of rotten rags, are draped with tattered 
 clothes and linen hung up to dry. Children swarm. 
 In a moment, in a narrow court, I saw fourteen or 
 fifteen around me — dirty, barefooted, the little sister 
 carrying a sucking child in her arms, the year-old 
 nursling whose whitish head had no hair. Nothing 
 is more lugubrious than these white bodies, that pale 
 flaxen hair, these flabby cheeks encrusted with old 
 dirt. They press together, they point out the gentle- 
 man with curious and erger gestures. The motionless 
 mothers, with an exhausted air, look out at the door. 
 One observes the narrow lodging, sometimes the single 
 room, wherein they are all huddled in the foul air. 
 The houses are most frequently one-storied, low, 
 narrow — a den in which to sleep and die. What a 
 place of residence in winter, when, during weeks of 
 continuous rain and fog, the windows are shut ! And 
 in order that this brood may not die of hunger, it is 
 necessary that the father should not drink, should 
 never be idle, should never be sick. 
 
 Here and there is a dust-heap. Women are labour- 
 ing to pick out what is valuable from it. One, old and 
 withered, had a short pipe in her mouth. They stand 
 up amidst the muck to look at me; brutalised, dis- 
 quieting faces of female Yahoos ; perhaps this pipe and 
 a glass of gin is the last idea which floats in their 
 idiotic brain. Should we find there anything else than 
 the instincts and the appetites of a savage and of a 
 beast of burden ? A miserable black cat, lean, lame, 
 startled, watches them timidly out of the corner of its 
 eye, and furtively searches in a heap of rubbish. It 
 was possibly right in feeling uneasy. The old woman, 
 muttering, followed it with a look as wild as its own. 
 
 ?''-'"Ti^'*f^ii 
 
3t> 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 She seemed to think that two pounds weight of meat 
 were there. 
 
 I recall the alleys which run into Oxford Street, 
 stifling lanes, encrusted with human exhalations ; troops 
 of pale children nestling on the muddy stairs ; the 
 seats on London Bridge, where families, huddled toge- 
 ther with drooping heads, shiver through the night ; 
 particularly the Haymarket and the Strand in the 
 evening. Every hundred steps one jostles twenty 
 harlots ; some of them ask for a glass of gin ; others 
 say, " Sir, it is to pay my lodging." This is not de- 
 bauchery which flaunts itself, but destitution — and 
 such destitution ! The deplorable procession in the 
 shade of the monumental streets is sickening ; it seems 
 to me a march of the dead. That is a plague-spot — 
 the real plague-spot of English society. 
 
^f meat 
 
 Street, 
 ; troops 
 rs ; the 
 d toge- 
 night : 
 in the 
 twenty- 
 others 
 Qot de- 
 1 — and 
 in the 
 t seems 
 •spot — 
 
 lY. 
 
 VISIT TO EPSOM AND TO CREMOKNE GARDENS. 
 
 EACES at Epsom : it is the Derby day, a day of 
 jollification ; Parliament does not sit ; for three 
 days all the talk has been about horses and their 
 trainers. 
 
 We start from Waterloo Station. The sky is cloud- 
 less, free from mist ; my English neighbours remark 
 that they had never seen such a day in London. All 
 around may be witnessed green husbandry, meadows 
 encompassed with hedges, and the hedge-row is often 
 interspersed with trees. The splendour of this green, 
 the mass and the vigour of lustrous, goldon, bursting 
 flowers, are extraordinary. Velvets constellated with 
 diamonds, watered silks, the most magnificent em- 
 broideries do not match this deep hue ; the colour is 
 excessive, beyond the reach of painting ; but never 
 have the blooming and blossoming of plants, the 
 luxury and the joy of the adorned earth, dazzled me 
 with such bright pomp. 
 
 Epsom course is a large green plain, slightly undu- 
 lating ; on one side are reared three public stands and 
 several other smaller ones. In front, tents, hundreds 
 of shops, temporary stables under canvas, and an in- 
 credible confusion of carriages, of horses, of horsemen. 
 
38 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 of private omnibuses ; there are perhaps 200,000 human 
 heads here. Nothing beautiful nor even elegrnt ; the 
 carriages are ordinary vehicles, and toilettes are rare ; 
 one does not come here to exhibit them, but to witness 
 a spectacle ; the spectacle is only interesting on account 
 of its size. From the top of the Stand the enormous 
 ant-heap swarms and its din ascends. But beyond, on 
 the right, a row of large trees, behind them the faint 
 bluish undulations of the verdant country, make a 
 magnificent frame to a mediocre picture. Some clouds 
 as white as swans float in the sky, and their shadow 
 sweeps over the grass ; a light mist, charged with 
 sunshine, flits in the distance, and the illuminated air, 
 like a glory, envelops the plain, the heights, the vast 
 area, and all the disorder of the human carnival. 
 
 It is a carnival, in fact ; they have come to amuse 
 themselves in a noisy fashion. Everyv^here are gipsies, 
 comic singers and dancers disguised as negroes, shoot- 
 ing galleries wheve bows and arrows or guns are used, 
 charlatans who by dint of eloquence palm off watch- 
 chains, games of skittles and sticks, musicians of all 
 sorts, and the most astonishing row of cabs, barouches, 
 droskies, four-in-hands, with pies, cold meats, melons, 
 fruits, wines, especially champagne. They unpack; 
 they proceed to drink and eat ; that restores the 
 creature and excites him ; coarse joy and open laugh- 
 ter are the result of a full stomach. In presence of 
 this ready-made feast the aspect of the poor is pitiable 
 to behold ; they endeavour to sell to you penny dolls, 
 remembrances of the Derby ; to induce you to play at 
 Aunt Sally, to black your boots. Nearly all of them 
 resemble wretched, hungry, beaten, mangy dogs, 
 waiting for a bone, without hope of finding much on 
 it. They arrived on foot during the night, and count 
 
 "«n 
 
THE DERBY, 
 
 39 
 
 upon dliiinj^ off the crumbs from the great feast. 
 Many are lying on the ground among the feet of the 
 passers-by, and sleep open-mouthed, face upwards. 
 Thr'r countenances have an expression of stupidity and 
 of painful hardness. The majority of them have 
 bare feet, all are terribly diity, and most absurd- 
 looking ; the reason is that they wear gentlemen's 
 old clothes, worn-out fashionable dresses, small bon- 
 nets, formerly worn by young ladies. The sight of 
 these cast-off things, which hiive covered several bodies, 
 becoming more shabby in passing from one to the 
 other, always makes me uncomfortable. To wear 
 these old clothes is degrading ; in doing so the human 
 being shows or avows that he is the offscouring of 
 society. Among us a peasant, a workman, a labourer, 
 is a different man, not an inferior person; his blouse 
 belongs to him, as my coat belongs to me — it has 
 suited no one but him. This employment of ragged 
 clothes is more than a peculiarity ; the poor resign 
 themselves here to be the footstool of others. 
 
 One of these women, with an old shawl which 
 appeared to have been dragged in the gutter, with 
 battered head-gear, which had been a bonnet, made 
 limp by the rain, with a poor, dirty, pale baby in her 
 arms, came and prowled round our omnibus, picked up 
 a castaway bottle, and drained the dregs. Her second 
 girl, who could walk, also picked up and munched a 
 rind of melon. We gave them a shilling and cakes. 
 The humble smile of thankfulness they returned, it is 
 impossible to describe. They had the look of caying, 
 like Sterne's poor donkey, " Do not beat me, I beseech 
 you, — yet you may beat me if you wish." Their coun- 
 tenances were burned, tanned by the sun ; the mother 
 had a scar on her right cheek, as if she had been 
 
 X 
 
40 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 struck by a boot; both of them, tho child in par- 
 ticular, were grown wild and stunted. Tho great 
 social mill crushes and grinds here, beneath its steel 
 gearing, the lowest human stratum. 
 
 However, a bell rings and tho race is about to begin. 
 Tho three or four hundred policemen clear the course ; 
 the stands are filled and the meadow in front of them 
 is but a largo black patch. We ascend to our places ; 
 nothing seems grandiose. At this distance the crowd is 
 an ant-heap ; tho horsemen and the carriages which 
 move forward and cross each other resemble beetles, 
 May-bugs, large sombre drones on a green cloth. 
 The jockeys in red, in blue, in yellow, in mauve, form a 
 small group apart, like a swarm of butterflies which 
 has alighted. Probably I am wanting in enthusiasm, 
 but I seem to be looking at a game of insects. Thirty- 
 four run ; after three false starts they are off ; fifteen 
 or twenty keep together, the others are in small groups, 
 and one sees them moving the length of the ring. To 
 the eye the speed is not very great ; it is that of a 
 railway train seen at the distance of half a league ; in 
 that case the carriages have the appearance of toy- 
 coaches which a child draws tied to a string ; cer- 
 tainly, the impression is not stronger here, and it is a 
 mistake to speak either of a hurricaae or of a whirl- 
 wind. During several minutes, the brown patch, 
 strewn with red and bright spots, moves Steadily over 
 the distant green. It turns ; one perceives the first 
 group approach. " Hats off ! " and all heads are un- 
 covered, and every one rises ; a repressed hurrah 
 pervades the stands. The frigid faces are on fire ; 
 brief, nervous gestures suddenly stir the phlegmatic 
 bodies; below, in the betting-ring the agitation is 
 extraordinary — like a general St. Vitus's dance ; pic- 
 
r 
 
 THE DERUr. 
 
 4» 
 
 m 
 
 turo a mass of puppets rocclvinf^ an electric shock, and 
 gcsticuhitiiif^ witli all their members like mad sema- 
 phores. But the most curious spectacle is the human 
 tide wliich instantaneously and in a body, pours forth 
 and rolls over the course behind tho runners, like a 
 wave of ink ; tho black and motionless crowd has 
 suddenly melted and become molten ; in a moment 
 it spreads itself abroad in vast proportions till tho eye 
 cannot follow it, and appears in front of the stands. 
 The policemen make a barrier in two or three ranks, 
 using force when necessary to guard the square to 
 which the jockeys and horses are led. Measures are 
 taken to weigh and see that all is right. 
 
 There is one imposing moment, when the horses are 
 not more than two hundred paces of; in a second the 
 speed becomes suddenly perceptible, and the cluster 
 of riders and horses rushes onward, this time like a 
 tempest. 
 
 A horse, of which little is known, has won, and very 
 narrowly ; the betting against him was 40 to 1 ; on 
 the contrary, it was 3 to 1 or 9 to 2 against the two 
 favourites; hence there were miscalculations and ex- 
 plosions. The prize, with its accessories, amounts to 
 £6,775 ; bets included, the owner will have won 
 nearly £40,000. We are told of enormous losses — 
 £20,000, £50,000 ; last year a colonel committed 
 suicide after the great race because he saw that he 
 was bankrupt ; if he had awaited the result of the 
 others he would have won enough to pay all. The 
 proprietor of one of the private stands shouted at the 
 moment of departure, " Everything that I have just 
 made on Buckstone." Several cabmen have lost their 
 horses and their vehicles, which they risked in bets. 
 
 To my thinking, these bets are to the mind what 
 
Ill 
 
 42 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 spirits arc to tlio palate — an inclispensalile stimulant 
 for heavy and rough frames ; they require violent 
 impressions, the sensation of a prodigious risk ; add to 
 that tho combative and daring instinct; every wager is 
 a duel, and every largo het a danger. As for the 
 reasons which render the passion for horses and races 
 so widespread and so national, it appears to mo we 
 must seek for them in the gymnastic and rural life ; 
 people in easy circumstances, or who are rich, spend a 
 great part of tho year in the country ; in a miry 
 country locomotion is not pleasant save on horseback ; 
 their temperament necessitates much physical exercise; 
 nil these habits lead to the Jerby day, which is their 
 chosen festival. 
 
 We descend ; there is hastling and crushing in the 
 staircases, at the refreshment counters ; but most of the 
 carriages are provisioned for the day, and the people 
 feast in the open air in small knots. Good humour 
 
 and unreserved merriment ; classes mingle ; P , one 
 
 of our party, has met his usual coachman at table with 
 a gentleman, two ladies, and a child. The gentleman 
 had employed and then invited the coachman ; the 
 coachman introduces P , who is amicablj*^ com- 
 pelled to drmk port, sherry, stout, and ale. In fact, 
 to-day it is hail fellow well met; but this lasts for a day 
 only, after the manner of the ancient saturnalia. On 
 the morrow distinctions of rank will be as strong as 
 ever, and the coachman will be respectful, distant, as is 
 his wont. Another of our friends perceives a gentle- 
 man of his acquaintance, who has come in an omnibus, 
 bringing with him his daughter and his lady acquaint- 
 ances — eight ladies in all ; stopped in passing, we are 
 all obliged to drink and eat ; our reception is frank, 
 jovial, and cordial ; this gentlfeman, who had never 
 
THE DERBY. 
 
 43 
 
 seen me before, invites rao to visit him in the country. 
 Still, over the whole downs, jiiws are at work, bottles are 
 emptied, and towards evening the carnival is in lull 
 swing. Twenty-lour gentlemen triumphantly range 
 on their omnibus seventy-five bottles which they have 
 emptied. Groups pelt each other with chicken-bones, 
 lobster-shells, pieces of turf. Two parties of gentlemen 
 have descended from their omnibuses and engaged in ii 
 fight, ten against ten ; one of them gets two teetli 
 broken. There are humorous incidents : three men and 
 a lady arc standing erect in their carriage ; the horses 
 move on, they 'ill tumble, the lady with her legs in the 
 air ; peals of laughter follow. Gradually the fumes of 
 wine ascend to the heads ; these people so proper, so 
 delicate, indulge in strange conduct ; gentlemen ap- 
 proach a carriage containing ladies and young girls, 
 and stand shamefully against the wheels ; the mother 
 tries to drive them away with her parasol. One of our 
 party who remained till midnight saw many horrors 
 which I cannot describe; the animal nature had full 
 vent. There is nothing exaggerated in Rubens's " Ker- 
 mess " in the Louvre. The instincts are the same, and 
 are equally unbridled ; only, in place of portly, over- 
 flowing, and ruddy forms, picture to yourself faces 
 which remain grave, and well-cut modern garments. 
 The contrast between the natural and the artificial 
 human being — between the gentleman who, by habit, 
 and mechanically, continues grave, and the beast which 
 explodes, is grotesque. 
 
 On our return, the road is hidden by dust ; portions 
 of fields have been reddened by feet ; everybody re- 
 turns frightfully dirty, and powdered with white ; 
 there are drunken people along the whole road ; up to 
 eight o*clock in the evening they might be seen stag- 
 
44 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 gering and sick at Hyde Park Corner ; their comrades 
 support them, laughing, and the spectators' faces do 
 not betoken disgust. To-day everything is allowable ; 
 it is an outlet for a year of repression. 
 
 About eleven o'clock in the evening we proceed to 
 Cremorne Gardens, a sort of Bal Mabille, and where 
 the folly of the day is continued throughout the night. 
 At the entrance is crowding and jostling ; a band of 
 English force their way through, crying, " Make room 
 for the Japanese Ambassadors." Within, especially at 
 the turnings, the crowd is terrible, but one can find 
 breathing space in sombre recesses. All the men are 
 well or properly dressed ; the women are harlots, but 
 of a higher class than those of the Strand ; they wear 
 briglit shawls, white stufis of gauze or tulle, red cloaks, 
 new bonnets ; there is a dress which has cost £12 ; 
 but the faces are rather faded, and sometimes, in the 
 crowd, they raise terrible cries — the cries of a screech- 
 owl. What is most comical, and proves their state of 
 excitement, is their notion of pinching people, particu- 
 larly foreigners. One of our party, who is forty years 
 old, being sharply pinched and otherwise scandalised, 
 leaves the place. Another woman beats a gentleman 
 on the back with her fists for having trodden on her 
 foot ; he laughs, and all the on-lookers are pleased. 
 They are decidedly good-natured folks ; I saw no one 
 lose temper in the scufile ; and they were provoked ; 
 one of my French friends imprudently jeered loudly ; 
 this must be witnessed in order to comprehend the 
 joyous rustic festivals of the sixteenth century, Shake- 
 speare's " Merry England," the. abounding primitive 
 sap of the tree which Puritanism has clipped, pruned, 
 and rendered rigid as well as straight. 
 
 We sat down near three young women at a side- 
 
CREMORNE GARDENS, 
 
 45 
 
 table, and we offered them sherry and beer ; they did 
 not drink too much. Our book-English and their 
 emphasised speech became mixed in a ludicrous jumble. 
 One of them is the gayest and most playful of crea- 
 tures ; I have never seen .mimal spirits equally redun- 
 dant ; another, modest, rather pretty, slightly sad, is a 
 milliner, and lives by her needle; she has a friend who 
 spends the Sundays with her; I looked carefully at 
 her, and saw that she had the mailing of an amiable 
 and honest woman in her like any other. In what lies 
 the chance ? It is impossible to state their number 
 in London ; it has been put at 50,000. Certain houses 
 are filled with them from top to bottom. We escorted 
 them to the gate, and paid for their cabs. Our con- 
 veyance returned through streets, crescents, squares, 
 which I did not recognise. A sepulchral glare illu- 
 mines the empty Babel, and covers the colossal archi- 
 tectures with the whiteness of a winding-sheet. The 
 dense, unwholesome air seems to be still impregnated 
 with human exhalations ; at intervals, we perceive a 
 hungry woman loitering, a poor wretch in rags, the 
 feet covered with cloth. While walking through the 
 nightly procession of the Haymarket, I thought about 
 the Argyll Rooms, a sort of pleasure casino which I 
 had visited the night before ; the spectacle of debau- 
 chery here leaves no other impression than one of 
 misery and degradation. There is no brilliancy, dash, 
 and liveliness about it, as in France ; when a gentle- 
 man wishes to dance, a master of the ceremonies, with 
 a badge and a white tie, goes to find a partner for him ; 
 the two often dance together without exchanging a 
 word. These poor girls are olten beautiful, many have 
 a sweet and honest look ; all dance very properly, 
 emile a little, and do not gesticulate ; they are in low 
 
 I !' 
 
j 
 
 I 
 
 46 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 li 
 
 dresses, but when dancing they keep their cloaks on. As 
 to the men, their external appearance is that of leading 
 merchants, wharfingers, middle-class manufacturers, or 
 their sons, their foremen, who have foresaken their 
 accounts, their commerce, and their coal. They like a 
 gaudy show, an illumination in coloured glass, women 
 in full dress, showy and variegated dresses, white 
 shawls embroidered with red flowers and exotic birds. 
 They have plenty of money ; a bottle of champagne 
 costs twelve shillings ; the price of the evening's 
 amusement may be £6. A tragical thing is that 
 men and women both drink, a-nd begin by intoxication 
 — it is the brutality and destitution which first meet 
 together in traversing unreason, imbecility, and stupor. 
 One returns deeply grieved, with a bitter and profound 
 feeling of human grossness and helplessness ; society is 
 a fine edifice, but in the lowest story, what a sink of 
 impurity ! Civilisation polishes man ; but how tena- 
 cious is the bestial instinct ! I dare not yet pronounce 
 judgment ; however, it seems to me that the evil and 
 the good are greater here than in France. 
 
T. 
 
 TYPICAL ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN 
 
 !i 
 
 A T bottom tlie essential thing in a country is man. 
 -^^ Since my arrival I have made a collection of types, 
 and I class them with those which I had collected last 
 year. As the result of experience, the best method in 
 my eyes is always that of artists and of naturalists ; 
 to note each face or very salient expression, follow its 
 shades, its debasements, and its combinations ; to verify 
 its repetition in several individuals ; to separate in .this 
 way the leading characteristic traits, comparing, inter- 
 preting, and classifying them. Painters and romance 
 writers act thus by instinct, when by means of some 
 personages they furnish us with an epitome of their 
 era and of their society. Botanists and zoologists act 
 thus on system when, choosing some plants or some 
 animals whose characters are well marked, they ex- 
 hibit to us in five or six representative types, all the 
 species of a class. 
 
 Seated on a bench in a public walk, or stationed in 
 the morning at the outlet from a railway-station, 
 French eyes, accustomed to French physiognomies 
 very quickly perceive differences ; the memory keeps 
 them in view, although the intelligence cannot, as yet, 
 clearly comprehend them. One continues to do this 
 
48 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 ■' 
 
 daily at table, in a railway-carriage, in an omnibus, at 
 an evening party, during a visit, in the city, in the 
 country. At the end of some days certain new types, 
 rare in France, common here, arise and stand forth ; 
 week after week, they become distinct, acquire com- 
 pleteness, call forth questions and answers, fit into one 
 another, and end by forming a whole. Now, consider 
 that in order to describe them it is often necessary to 
 exhibit them in all their prominence — that is to say, 
 in their excess, and that the excess is never the rule. 
 The pure type, such as it can be rendered by pen or 
 pencil, is an exception ; in Nature it is almost always 
 more or less changed. But in Nature its degrees and 
 varieties are grouped around, and in accordance with it, 
 while making the requisite deductions, the reader and 
 spectator can picture it to themselves without very 
 great incorrectness. Arranged in groups, the following 
 are those which have struck me the most : — 
 
 I. The robust individual, largely and solidly built, 
 the fine colossus, at times six feet high and broad in 
 proportion. This is very common among soldiers, 
 notably among the Life Guards, a select body of men. 
 Their countenance is fresh, blooming, their flesh mag- 
 nificent ; it might be supposed they had been chosen for 
 an exhibition of human products, like picked prize beets 
 and cauliflowers. They have a fund of good humour, 
 sometimes of good nature, generally of awkwardness. 
 Their foppery is of a special kind. In light scarlet 
 jacket, with a little cane in hand, they strut alon^' 
 displaying their shape and the lower part of their 
 back; the distinct parting in their pomaded hair is 
 seen under their small undress cap. One of them, 
 stationary at a street corner, well set up, the shoulders 
 
ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 
 
 49 
 
 [mag- 
 3n for 
 I beets 
 lour, 
 iness. 
 jarlet 
 ilong 
 Itheir 
 lir is 
 lem, 
 Iders 
 
 down, majestically displays himself to the street boys. 
 In point of mass they are monuments ; but there may 
 be too much of a good thing, and movement is so 
 essential to matter ! Other monuments, rather less 
 tall, but even fresher and more varnished, are the 
 servants of a great house. They wear white cravats 
 with large faultless bows, scarlet or canary-coloured 
 knee-breeches, are magnificent in shape and amplitude ; 
 their calves especially are enormous. In the fashion- 
 able neighbourhoods, beneath the vestibule, about five 
 o'clock in the evening, the butler seated, newspaper 
 in hand, sips a glass of port ; around him, ushers, 
 corded lackeys, footmen with their sticks, gaze with an 
 indolent and a lordly air upon the middle-class passers- 
 by. The coachmen are prodigiously broad-shouldered 
 and developed ; how many yards of cloth must be re- 
 quired to clothe such figures ? These are the favourites 
 of creation, the best fed, the most easy-going, all 
 chosen and picked in order to act as specimens of the 
 nation's physique. In the great houses their clothing 
 is found them ; the two lackeys must be of equal height, 
 like two horses. Each of them states his height in the 
 newspaper advertisements ; 5 feet 9 inches and a half, 
 5 feet 11 inches. So much goes for the size of the 
 calves, so much for the shapeliness of the ancles, so 
 much for the commanding presence ; the ornamental 
 look is worth to them as much as an extra £20 a year. 
 They are taken care of, and they take care of them- 
 selves in consequence. Their table is nearly as well 
 served as that of their masters ; they have several 
 ijcinds of wine and beer, and hours of relaxation. It is 
 necessary that their exterior should proclaim the 
 wealth and style of the house ; they know this, and 
 they are proud of it. However, their stuck-up airs 
 
50 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 have become proverbial. Thackeray has drawn upon 
 them for several characters in his novels, and has 
 made them the subject of one romance. Punch has 
 caricatures on the same subject ; a valet gives his 
 master warning because he has seen his lordship on the 
 top of an omnibus, another because the colour of the 
 livery does not z\vt his complexion. The lackey be- 
 hind a carriage is so fine that he resembles a big doll ; 
 street boys stick pins into h:ls calves to see if they are 
 real or stuffed. 
 
 There is the same athletic and full- fleshed type 
 among the gentlemen; I know four or five specimens 
 among my acquaintances. Sometimes the excess of 
 feeding adds a variety; this was true of a certain 
 gentleman in ray railway-carriage on the Derby day ; 
 large ruddy features, with flabby and pendent cheeks, 
 large red whiskers, blue eyes without expression, an 
 enormous trunk in a short light jacket, noisy respira- 
 tion ; his blood gave a tinge of pink to his hands, his 
 neck, his temple, and even underneath his hair ; when 
 lie compressed his eyelids, his physiognomy was as dis- 
 quieting and heavy as that seen in the portraits of 
 Henry YIII. ; when in repose, in presence of this mass 
 of flesh, one thought of a beast for the butcher, and 
 quietly computed twenty stones of meat. Towards 
 fifty, owing to the effect of the same diet seasoned 
 with port wine, the figure and the face are spoiled, the 
 teeth protrude, the physiognomy is distorted, and turn 
 to horrible and tragical caricature, as, for example, a 
 fat and fiery general at the Volunteer Beview in Hyde 
 Park, who had the air of a bulldog -^nd had a brick- 
 dust face, spotted with violet excrescences. The last 
 variety is sfon among the common people, where spirits 
 take the place of port, among other places in the low 
 
ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN 
 
 51 
 
 streets which border the Thames ; several apoplectical 
 and swollen faces, whereof the scarlet hue turns almost 
 to black, worn-out, blood-shot eyes like raw lobsters ; 
 the brute brutalised. Lessen the quantity of blood 
 and fat, while retaining the same bone and structure, 
 and increasing the countrified look ; large and wild 
 beard and moustache, tangled hair, rolling eyes, trucu- 
 lent muzzle, big knotted hands ; this is the primitive 
 Teuton issuing from his woods ; after the portly animal, 
 after the overfed animal, comes the fierce animal, the 
 English bull. 
 
 All that is rare enough ; these are the extremes of 
 the type. Much more common is the labouring animal, 
 the great bony body, full of protuberances and projec- 
 tions, not well set up, ungainly, clumsy, slightly auto- 
 matic, but of strong build, and as capable of resistance 
 as of effort. It is not less common among gentlemen, 
 clergymen, the liberal professions, than among the 
 people. I have three specimens of it before my eyes. 
 (1.) A tall clergyman, stiff, frigid, and who will never 
 thaw ; gestures of a semaphore, narrow and dogmatic 
 opinions, yet charitable, and who demonstrates his 
 devotedness ; this stout framework was required to 
 endure for thirty years the apostolic profession ; con- 
 stant sermons, visits in noisome lanes, night-watches, 
 long walks on foot in the mud of the suburbs. (2.) A 
 member of Parliament, with the shoulders, feet, and 
 hands of a carman, large white teeth too close together, 
 strong jaws which scarcely op on to speak, irregular 
 and very marked traits, his whole person largely and 
 rudely shaped as if by strokes of a pruning-knife, and 
 insufficiently cut down ; the modern dress, the gloves, 
 the blue cravat, the dazzlingly white linen, are out of 
 place on. these muscles, which might draw a dray, and 
 
52 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 engage in a I oxing match. His eye is dim, his gestures 
 are few, he is sparing of speech, be has no wit, nor, it 
 seems, any ideas ; he is not a leader, he is but a mem- 
 ber of u party, he votes and works. But for the long 
 night sittings, for the scrutiny of blue-books, and the 
 verification of accounts, for meetings, committees, 
 clubs, for wearying and indefinite labour he is well- 
 built and admirable. (3^) The third is an Englishman 
 of the middle-class, whom I met yesterday in an 
 omnibus with his family. He was thirty-two, dressed 
 in new clothes, with an income, I should suppose, of 
 from £480 to £600 a year ; had an air of solidity and 
 of resolution, being a good machine, well mounted, well 
 constructed, well kept, untiring and regular, the true 
 budding paterfamilias ; cold in appearance, correct, 
 motionless, slightly heavy, and dull. At his side, u 
 young wife in black velvet, too phovvy bonnet and 
 finery, innocent and pleasing, always occupied with her 
 baby, whLh is very white, over-abounding in flesh, 
 health, and fat, with stuck- out and embroidered petti- 
 coats which make a bunch and a display. In front is 
 the nurse, thirty-five years old, who strives to please 
 and to smile respectfully. That is a good specimen of 
 an English family; the husband energetically", con- 
 scientiously, and without yawning drags his conjugal 
 chariot ; his happiness must consist in taking tea, with 
 slippers on, at his home in the evening ; he will have 
 many children who, not knowing how to gain a liveli- 
 hood, will emigrate, and who will require to have a 
 constitution like his own to undergo their hardships. 
 Place in this powerful frame of bones and muscles the 
 lucid, calm, active intelligence developed by special 
 education, or by complete education, and you will have 
 the fine variety of the same type, the serious, capable 
 
ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN, 
 
 53 
 
 ?ii of 
 
 \ 
 
 man, worthy of commanding, in whom, during the 
 hour of need, one might and ono ought to phice confi- 
 dence, who will accomplish difficult tasks. In spick- 
 span new clothes, in too light a dress, the disparity 
 between the habit and its wearer is not far from being 
 gn tesque. But fancy him on the bridge of a vessel, 
 in battle, or simply in a counting-house at the head of 
 twenty clerks, on the bench and pronouncing decisions, 
 governing fortunes or lives, he will be beautiful, 
 morally beautif* I. This body can contain the soul 
 without succumbing. 
 
 Many of the women have the same power of growth 
 and structure, more frequently indeed than in France ; 
 out of every ten young girls one is admirable, and upon 
 five or six a naturalist painter would look with pleasure. 
 On horseback especially, and in full gallop, they are 
 amazons, not only by their skill and the firmness of 
 their seat, but on account of their figure and their 
 health. In their presence one thinks of the natural 
 form of life, Grecian and gymnastic. Yesterday one 
 of them in a drawing-room, tall, with well-developed 
 bust and shoulders, blooming cheeks, active, and with- 
 out too much expression, seemed to me to be made to 
 live in the avenues of a park, or in the great hall of 
 a castle, like her sister, the antique statue, in the free 
 air of the mountains, or under the portico of a temple 
 upon the sea-shore ; neither the one nor the other could 
 breathe in our small Parisian dwellings. The mauve 
 silk of the dress follows the form from the neck to the 
 hips, descends and spreads forth like a lustrous wave ; 
 in order i;o depict her as a goddess it would require the 
 palette of Rubens, his rosy red spread over a tint of 
 milk, his large masses of flesh fixed by one dash of the 
 brush ; only here the contour is more severe, and the 
 
I 
 
 54 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 
 \\ 
 
 I i 
 
 head is nobler. Lady Mary "Wortley ^rontngiie, who 
 came to see the Court of the Ilogcnt in France, 
 severely rallied our slim, painted, affected beauties, 
 and proudly held up as a contrast ** the natural charms 
 and the lively colours of the u"" "'^d complexions'* 
 of English women. By way of ^c.ipcnsation one may 
 sometimes lecall this mocking sketch by Hamilton : — 
 ** Madam Wetenhall was properly speaking a beauty 
 wholly English : permeated with lily and roses, with 
 snow and milk, as regards colours : formed of wax 
 with regard to her arms and her hands, her throat and 
 her feet, but altogether without soul or air. Her visage 
 was the tiniest, but it was always the same visage ; one 
 might say that she took it out of the case in the 
 morning and put it back in the evening, without 
 having used it during the day. What else would you 
 expect? Nature had made her a doll from infancy, 
 and the white Wetenhall remained a doll till her 
 death." Yet, even when the physiognomy and the 
 form are commonplace, the whole satisfies the mind ; 
 a solid bony structure, and upon it healthy flesh, con- 
 stitute what is essential in a living creature; the 
 impression is the same as that produced by a house 
 built of well-hewn stone, whereof the plaster and polish 
 are new ; one does not require that it should be archi- 
 tecturally perfect nor even elegant ; it will withstand 
 bad weather, it is comfortable, suits its occupant ; that 
 suffices. 
 
 There are two probable causes. The one, which is 
 of a special character, the hereditary conformation of 
 the race ; the other, which ^'^ the custom of open-air 
 living and bodily exercise. A Review spoke recently 
 about the rude, unfeeling health which slightly startles 
 delicate foreign ladies, and attributes it to riding on 
 
ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 
 
 55 
 
 IV 
 
 
 horseback and the long walks which Enp^lish ladies 
 take in the country. To these advantages arc joined 
 several inconveniences : the fair complexion is easily 
 and quickly spoilt; in the case of many young ladies, 
 the nose reddens early; they have too many cliildren, 
 and this deteriorates them. You marry a blonde, 
 slender, and clear-complex ioned woman ; ten years 
 afterwards you will perhaps have at your side a house- 
 keeper, a nurse, a sitting hen. I have in my mind 
 two or three of these matrons, broad, stiff, and destitute 
 of ideas ; red face, eyes the colour of blue china, huge 
 white teeth — forming the tricolour flag. In other cases 
 the type becomes exaggerated : one sees extraordinary 
 asparagus-sticks planted in spreading dresses. More- 
 over, two out of every three have their feet shod with 
 stout masculine boots ; and as to the long projecting 
 teeth, it is impossible to train oneself to endure them. 
 Is this a cause, or an effect, of the carnivorous regime ? 
 The too ornate and badly- adjusted dress completes these 
 disparities. It consists of violet or dark crimson silks, 
 of grass- green flowered gowns, blue sashc jewellery — 
 the whole employed sometimes to capamon gigantic 
 jades who recall discharged heavy cavalry horses, some- 
 times vast well-hooped butts, which burst in spite of 
 their hoops. Of this cast was a lady, in Hyde Park, 
 one of these days, on horseback, followed by her groom. 
 She was fifty-five, had several chins, the rest in pro- 
 portion, an imperious rnd haughty mien; the whole 
 shook at the slightest trot, and it was hard not to 
 laugh. 
 
 Another specimen is the children. I have seen Eton 
 and Harrow-on-the-Hill. The small ones in the nursery 
 are living flowers — full-blown roses ; in the country 
 especially, the large cherub cheeks, the firmness and 
 
 \i 
 
I i 
 
 ( 1 
 
 S6 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 I I 
 
 ii 
 
 quantity of the flesh proelalm tlio aboundlnpf snp which 
 will afterwards produce a sturdy fellow. About seven 
 and upwards, it in not intellif^ence which predominates, 
 but phyHical and moral energy. The manner is often 
 rude, very unamiable ; one thinks of young* bull-dogs. 
 
 For example, the young ones of II and M , 
 
 sons of great families, seem to be and are simple cubs 
 averse to culture, good only for hunting and school- 
 fights. An observer said to me — " A young English- 
 man is ferocious, unconquerable ; tho blood of the 
 Scandinavian rover is in his veins ; hence the usage of 
 the birch ; in our schools we could not dispense with 
 it." lie is not very precocious and vivacious, but has 
 plenty of daring and tenacity. George Eliot has given 
 a very good specimen of this in tho character of Tom 
 in " The Mill on the Floss." Very often he is a block- 
 head ; the caricatures have represented this trait. A 
 little fellow of eight says to his sister of eighteen, 
 " Charlotte, lend mo your paint-box." " No, sir, you 
 know how you spoiled it the last time." " Very well, 
 then I shall put my guinea-pig on your neck." And 
 he raises tho guinea-pig to perform his threat. Tho 
 animal instincts are too powerful in him, ho is too full 
 of health, he hates books, he neither will nor can learn, 
 lie prefers eating, boxing, playing at cricket, riding 
 on horseback. Owing to another effect of the same 
 instincts, he is brave, patient, hardy, inured to blows 
 and risks of all kinds. The author of " Tom Brown's 
 School-days" says, "It is strange to see how fond 
 nearly all young English boys are of danger ; you 
 will find ten ready to join in a hunt, climb a tree, 
 swim across a stream, if there be a chance of their 
 breaking their necks or drowning themselves ; and out 
 of them you will not find more than one to play at 
 
 1 
 
ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 
 
 57 
 
 ninrLloM, ronuiln on dry land, or bailie within his 
 depth." Younj^ Tom, wlieii going to scliool, piiHses 
 a very cold night on the top of the couch, and, frozen 
 though ho be, ho persists in doing so, because he has 
 the "silent pleasure, so dear to every Juiglishman, of 
 enduring, resisting, and struggling with something, 
 and not giving way." I can call to mind fifty similar 
 minor facts. On tho whole, I am certain that the 
 animal physi(pie, tho primitive man, such as Nature 
 bequeathed to civilisation, is of a stronger and rougher 
 species hero. The following aro some of these minor 
 facts. During these days I have seen farm and draught 
 horses in breweries and in two farms : they resemble 
 elephants ; one of the farmers has twelve of them 
 which cost from £50 to £00. They are the athletes 
 of the species; lustrous hair; reins full of muscle, 
 colossal cruppers. Tho smallest one among them is 
 French, and the farmer says it is tho weakest, the least 
 capable of standing changes of temperature. Now, 
 I have everywhere found this kind of consanguinity 
 between the horse and the human being ; for example, 
 follow it up successively in the Department of the Var, 
 at Orleans, in Normandy, and in England. On the 
 other hand, a skilful physician who prescribes for a 
 Frenchman here does not give him more than half 
 a dose ; the English dose would be too strong for him, 
 and would hurt him ; if you ask a chemist for a purge, 
 he hands calomel to you ; an Englishman often keeps 
 it by him, and takes a pill of it when his head feels 
 rather heavy ; the medicines here might be compounded 
 for French horses. In like manner their common 
 wines, port, sherry, very hot, very spirituous, are loaded 
 with brandy in addition ; this mixture deprives them 
 of delicacy, yet if they were pure the English would 
 
I 
 
 • ^ 
 
 : 
 
 
 58 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 consider tliem insipid; our Bordeaux winos and even 
 our Burgundies are too light for them. Amongst the 
 middle class, ale, stout, or porter are preferred, espe- 
 cially brandy and water, a kind of grog in which the 
 half is spirit ; to please them it is necessary that the 
 beverage should be rough or fiery, their palate must 
 be either scratched or scraped. The same impression 
 is made on trying their cookery, which, excepting that 
 of their very fine clubs, and of the "Continental" 
 English, who keep a French or Italian cook, has no 
 savour. I have purpose^ dined in twenty taverns, 
 from the lowest to the highest, in London and else- 
 where. I got large portions of fat meat and vegetables, 
 without sauce ; one is amply and wholesomely fed, but 
 one has no pleasure in eating. In the best Liverpool 
 eating-house they do not know how to dress a fowl. 
 If you would tickle your palate, there is a cruet filled 
 with pickles, peppers, sauces, and Chili vinegar. I 
 once inadvertently put two drops of it into my mouth. 
 I might as well have swallowed a hot cinder. At 
 Greenwich, having already partaken of plain whitebait, 
 I helped myself to some out of a second dish ; it was 
 devilled, and fitted for skinning the tongue. Lastly, 
 on the coaches and on the bridge of the steamboats 
 many gentlemen, and even ladies, remain out of choice 
 in the wind and rain, exposed to be blown about and 
 drenched ; the inclemencies of the weather please them. 
 In my ojDinion, all these traits denote senses less delicate 
 and a temperament more robust. 
 
 Such a robust frame has vast wants. They consider 
 us sober; yet we ought to consider them voracious. 
 Economists say that on an average a Frenchman eats 
 a sheep and a half yearly, and an Englishman four 
 sheep. At the tables of the eating-houses you are 
 
 .ii^ \ 
 
ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 
 
 59 
 
 sferved with a small piece of bread along with a very 
 large helping of meat. Punch contains caricatures of 
 juvenile gluttons : — " What a horrible life," said a 
 young girl on seeing two enormous pigs which were 
 being fattened, " to do nothing but eat and sleep." 
 Her brother of ten replies, " There is nothing in the 
 world which I should like better." The exaggeration 
 is clear, but it denotes a trait of manners. Yanbrugh 
 in his " Journey to London " had previously depicted 
 the little gluttonous squire, a being unknown in France. 
 From all time they have gloried in being meat-eaters 
 and substantially fed ; in their eyes this was a privilege 
 of their race and an aliment of their courage. Mr. 
 Froude calls them " a sturdy, high-hearted race, sound 
 in body and fierce in spirit, and furnished with thews 
 and sinews which, under the stimulus of those * great 
 shins of beef,' their common diet, were the wonder of 
 
 the age Again and again, a few thousands of 
 
 them carried dismay into the heart of France. Four 
 hundred adventurers, vagabond apprentices from 
 London, who formed a volunteer corps in the Calais 
 garrison, were for years the terror of Normandy. In 
 the very frolic of conscious power thtey fought and 
 plundered without pay, without reward, except what 
 they could win for themselves ; and when they fell at 
 last they fell only when surrounded by six times their 
 number, and were cut to pieces in careless desperation. 
 Invariably, by friend and foe alike, the English are 
 described as the fiercest people in all Europe (the 
 English wild beasts, Benvenuto Cellini calls them), and 
 this great physical power they owed to the profuse 
 abundance in which they lived, and the soldiers' \r In- 
 ing in which every man of them was bred from child- 
 hood." 
 
6o 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 An Englisliraan with whom I conversed at the Derby- 
 was influenced by the same principle in wholly dis- 
 approving of temperance societies : according to him 
 the race required stimulants ; even in India, where he 
 had lived five years, the English would make a mistake 
 in entirely abandoning spirituous liquors. " Our sailors 
 cannot do without their glass of spirits. We are 
 eminently an energetic people ; we require strong meat 
 and drink to sustain our frames ; without them we 
 should have no animal spirits ; it is on account of this 
 regime that our mariners are so hardy and so brave. 
 When they board, after discharging their pistols, they 
 fling them at random on the enemy's deck, saying that 
 they are certain to find them again after the victory." 
 It ife possible that he was right. Certain organisations 
 are prodigal; there are chimneys which draw badly 
 unless the fire be great ; besides, the climate, the fog, 
 the large expenditure of physical and mental labour 
 necessitate copious repasts ; an English workman, who 
 does as much work with his own hands as a Frenchman 
 and a half, and lives amidst the fog of Manchester, 
 is a locomotive of which the boiler produces steam 
 only by using spirits and meat. Pitt did not find two 
 bottles of port wine too large a quantity to take with 
 his dinner ; but I return to my types. 
 
 II. The Phlegmatic : On him impressions are 
 made without inducing expression, or, for a stronger 
 reason, shock, agitation, explosion. This is exactly 
 the opposite of southern petulance and passion. He 
 has a frigid and starched air, the gestures of an auto- 
 maton, motionless physiognomy, he speaks little, or not 
 at all. B — , being introduced to a family, pays a visit, 
 is beginning to chat with the mistress of the house ; 
 
ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN 
 
 6i 
 
 ) Derby 
 lly dis- 
 to him 
 bere lie 
 mistake 
 r sailors 
 We are 
 ng meat 
 hem we 
 ; of this 
 brave, 
 ols, tbey 
 ring tbat 
 victory." 
 .nisations 
 iw badly 
 , the fog, 
 I labour 
 nan, wbo 
 •encbman 
 mcbester, 
 les steam 
 find two 
 take with 
 
 iions are 
 stronger 
 8 exactly 
 3ion. He 
 an auto- 
 ;le, or not 
 ys a visit, 
 e bouse; 
 
 the husband arrives, notices him on entering the door, 
 walks silently across the room, his eyes turned in another 
 direction, sits down, and after the lapse of a minute, 
 says, *' Glad to see you, sir." Nothing more. At the 
 end of five minutes he takes up a newspaper and 
 reads it. This was not churlishness ; he is hospitable 
 and kind. An officer relates that an English admiral, 
 after a long fight, forced the enemy's vessel to sur- 
 render, and received the captain, whom he had made 
 prisoner, on the poop, with the single phrase, " For- 
 tune of war." This was politeness, but abbreviated, in 
 laconic fashion. Here is a portion of a letter from one 
 of my friends, after some weeks' stpy : — " Shall I tell 
 you what has struck me the most in this country ? It 
 is the inertness of the nervous system. The other day 
 I witnessed a game of cricket on Kew Green ; seven 
 or eight English boys were there pitching the ball. Cer- 
 tainly they could not help blundering and missing now 
 and then. Yet, during upwards of an hour and a half 
 there was not a single cry, not a single remark made in 
 a loud voice and in a tone of reproach. They pitched 
 the ball about, changed places, doing it all with the 
 utmost calmness, and generally in silence. You must 
 have remarked that the English speak exceedingly low. 
 An Italian society into which I strayed by chance, 
 actually deafened me ; I had become accustomed to the 
 moderate tone of English voices. My coachman, the 
 other day, thought fit to rattle down a mews at full 
 speed ; he frightened two carriage horses which were 
 being harnessed to the carriage. The groom advanced, 
 took hold of the bits, and calmed the horses. Not a 
 single word passed between these two men. Picture to 
 yourself the same scene in France — the taunts of the 
 lackey, proud of his master ; the blackguardism of the 
 
62 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 ; ( 
 
 jealous menial, &c. That is, my dear friend, what I 
 have seen of most significance in England, and by 
 means of which I figure to myself English liberty. 
 These people have water mixed with their blood, 
 exactly as their cattle are deficient in juice. Compare 
 the gigots of St. Leonard with those of London. That 
 is why they are allowed to combine together, to brawl, 
 to print vhat they please. They are primitive animals, 
 cold-blooded, and with a sluggish circulation." 
 
 Among the persons with whom I have associated 
 there are two or three very well instructed, highly 
 educated men, who have written and who talk well. 
 But talking is distasteful to them. They do the 
 honours of their house and take part in the most in- 
 teresting conversations almost without saying anything 
 — not because they are inattentive, wearied, absent ; they 
 listen, that suffices them. If they are addressed directly 
 they summarise their experience in a sentence. That 
 debt discharged, they become silent again, and this ex- 
 cites no surprise ; it is merely said in explanation of 
 their manner, "He is a man of few words." Now, 
 join to this disposition the robust and slightly rough 
 temperament which I have just described, and you 
 will have a particular variety — that is, the sluggish, 
 slow, heavy, dull, material one, unfit for all fine cul- 
 ture, satisfied with its mechanical occupation, the true 
 Flemish boor of Van Ostade. The following is a bio- 
 graphy which exhibits this character, combined with a 
 practical aptitude and a special talent : — 
 
 John S. is the son of a workman in the environs 
 of Bristol ; he has laboured from infancy in his father's 
 small smithy ; possessing a turn for mechanics, he in- 
 vented a species of bolt for affixing the rails to the 
 sleepers ; on that account a wealthy and well-brought- 
 
ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN 
 
 63 
 
 
 up gentleman, who knew him, offered him money for 
 the purpose of establishing a factory. John consulted 
 his father, who had remained a mere workman, nar- 
 row-minded, and who refused to enter into partner- 
 ship. John persevered, studied hard, learned what he 
 required in mechanics, spent much time in practising, 
 received the funds, and established the factory ; last 
 year it returned £20,000 net profit to the partners. 
 At present he is twenty-eight ; he is rich already, 
 and spends the day in the following manner. In the 
 morning he goes to the factory, inspects, supervises, 
 takes a file in hand to show the clumsy workman how 
 to use it properly, returns home frightfully dirty, 
 washes himself, and breakfasts. He does likewise in 
 the afternoon. He dines. In the evening he seats 
 himself in a small neighbouring tavern, drinks six- 
 pennyworth of beer, smokes his pipe, and returns 
 home to go to bed at ten o'clock. For three or four 
 years he has had an intended, and does not marry 
 her; yet she is twenty-four, he loves her, he in- 
 tends to marry — he will marry her ; but he is 
 sluggish ; considers himself comfortable as he is ; this 
 is inertia, moral inertia. As for her, she waits 
 patiently, she is gentle, submissive. He goes to see 
 her on Saturday night, makes short excursions with 
 her, visits friends ; both sleep away from home, return- 
 ing together on Monday. All this is quite proper ; 
 custom permits these freedoms, and no one takes 
 notice of them. Nevertheless he has neither an idea, 
 nor any curiosity ; he can barely spell ; he never reads, 
 his own condition alone interests him ; a shabby coat 
 for work, and a good coat for Sunday ; nothing beyond 
 that ; his circle is traced out ; he rests like a snail in 
 its shell. Yet, on the advice of the gentleman, who 
 
 
 11 
 
64 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 is his partner, he hds just built himself a fine house, 
 but he is not at his ease in it. George Eliot, in her 
 novels, has admirably painted these heavy, narrow- 
 viewed natives so common in England, who remain 
 fixed, and, as it were tethered, in animal, manual, or local 
 life, preserve a tradition, and do not swerve from it 
 except at intervals, as an exception, and only on one 
 point. Witness also the landlord, John Willet, in 
 " Barnaby Rudge," by Dickens, an excellent carica- 
 ture. The personage is half ox, half bull ; in this 
 solid mass of flesh the few and brief ideas are, as it 
 were, congealed, and no new idea gains entrance. On 
 the contrary, when the person is an intelligent and a 
 cultured gentleman, the phlegmatic temperament im- 
 parts to him a perfectly noble air. I have several of 
 them in my memory, with pale complexion, light blue 
 eyes, regular features, constituting one of the finest 
 types of the human species. There is no excess of 
 cavalierism, of glitter, and gallantry, after the style of 
 the French gentleman; one is conscious of a mind 
 wholly self-contained; and which cannot lose its 
 balance. They elevate this quality of their tempera- 
 ment into a virtue ; according to them the chief merit 
 of a man is always to have a clear ar.d cool head. 
 They are right ; nothing is more desirable in misfor- 
 tune and in danger, and this is truly one of their 
 national traits, the gift by which they succeed. A 
 French ofiicer who fought in the Crimea related to me 
 how an English battalion of infantry destroyed two 
 Russian regiments ; the Russians fired incessantly, and 
 did not lose a foot of ground, but they were excited 
 and aimed badly ; on the contrary, the English infantry 
 avoided undue haste, took steady aim, and missed 
 scarcely a single shot. The human being is ten times 
 
ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 
 
 OS 
 
 bouse, 
 in her 
 irrow- 
 eraain 
 r local 
 'om it 
 n one 
 et, in 
 3arica- 
 in this 
 , as it 
 e. On 
 and a 
 nt ira- 
 eral of 
 bt blue 
 5 finest 
 cess of 
 tyle of 
 mind 
 ose its 
 mpera- 
 merit 
 head, 
 [nisfor- 
 their 
 d. A 
 to me 
 d two 
 y, and 
 xcited 
 fantry 
 missed 
 times 
 
 stronger when his pulse continues calm, and when his 
 judgment remains free. The conciquences and the 
 shades of a type are innumerable. If one starts from 
 the principle that in the case of the phlegmatic, move- 
 ment and expression are wanting, rare, or unwonted, 
 one will understand the following figures ; I copy 
 sketches taken on the spot : 
 
 The swell, or dandy of the second class. — Absolutely 
 a cut from a plate of fashions ; everything is bran new, 
 and most exact in his linen and attire ; the whiskers, 
 moustache, and hair come from the hairdresser's hands, 
 and he himself has the air of a hairdresser's puppet ; 
 his clear complexion and his glassy eyes would suit a 
 waxen face ; rigid in attitude, measured in movement, 
 he will not disarrange a fold of his cravat ; his clothes 
 are put on him as if to show them off. The diversified, 
 unexpected movements, the pleasing, gay, an(^ amusing 
 physiognomy which could alone render this specimen 
 endurable, are wholly wanting, and he remains but a 
 stuffed fool. The stiff personage who walks as if he 
 had swallowed a poker. Very common among clergy- 
 men. The large machine, badly put together, whereof 
 the wheels are rusty — witness many tall young folks, 
 and abo men of fifty, who have worked hard — all the 
 parts composing them grate at being together. The 
 gestures and the physiognomy have not the necessary 
 agility, move maladroitly, at the wrong time, and with 
 a discordant explosion. This is chiefly visible in the 
 convulsive movement of the mouth. 
 
 The timid. Finding expression difficult, he exag- 
 gerates its difficulty. If he possess a little cleverness, 
 his habitual silence sinks him still deeper in his inborn 
 silliness ; if he possess much, he becomes moody, ho 
 li^cs lonely in a world of inner sentiments to which 
 
 F 
 
M 
 
 
 66 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 he forbids ingress to any one, and in proportion as be 
 feels himself more a stranger, he concentrates him- 
 self the more. These two descriptions of character 
 are so frequent here that they cannot be noted. Not 
 only young girls, but women of forty, are startled at 
 a new face ; I was told of a lady of the highest class, 
 accustomed to important ceremonies, and who becomes 
 dumb, blushes when ti stranger is introduced to her. 
 There are men well-educated, even learned, having 
 travelled, knowing several languages, who are em- 
 barrassed in company ; one might live six mouths 
 with them without detecting their merits ; they have 
 neither the art nor the desire to display themselves ; 
 to unseal their lips, a great shock, an urgent interest, 
 are requisite. I know one of them who stammers 
 in a drawing-room, and who on the following day has 
 addressed eight meetings with great eloquence. This 
 kind of awkwardness and bashfulness, wholly physical, 
 is a peculiarity of Teutonic nations. On the other 
 hand, an Italian, a Frenchman, speak naturally, with 
 ease and confidence ; the Frenchman still more than 
 the Italian, because he instantly becomes the comrade 
 of his interlocutor. An old historian has remarked this 
 trait, that the Frenchman is he, of all others, who 
 speaks with least hesitation to kings and to princes. 
 Owing to another effect of this temperament, the 
 human being is backward, by no means precocious ; it 
 dares not develop itself, it continues longest in the 
 animal and infantine stage (jf existence ; it is often art- 
 less, innocent, original. The physiognomy remains 
 youthful here much later than amongst us, especially 
 than at Paris, where it withers so quickly ; sometimes 
 it remains open even in old age ; I recall at this mo- 
 ment two old ladies with white hair whose cheeks were 
 
ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 
 
 67 
 
 smooth and softly rosy ; after an hour's conversation I 
 discovered that their minds were as fresh as their com- 
 plexions. Like every trait somewhat general, this one 
 produces grotesques and masterpieces. The dignified 
 stick ; body and mind puffed out ; plenty of principles. 
 The bewildered, who opens the mouth idiotically and 
 has the look of not understanding. The large fat 
 heifer, lymphatic, with white eyelashes. The female 
 gocse, with large silly goggle eyes, long waist badly 
 sec up above expansions of crinoline. The young chit- 
 tish girl, rosy, playful, with sparse locks over the neck, 
 a real bird who incessantly laughs and chirps, and 
 without more ideas than a bird. Dickens has pour- 
 trayed this type in Dora, the child-wife of David Cop- 
 perfield. The blonde maiden with downcast eyes, 
 purer than one of Raffaelle's Madonnas, a sort of Eve, 
 incapable of falling, whose voice is music, adorable in 
 candour, gentleness, and goodness, and before whom 
 one is tempted to lower the eyes out of respect. 
 Since Virginia, Imogen, and the other women of 
 Shakespeare or of his great contemporaries, to Esther 
 and to the Agnes of Dickens, English literature has 
 placed them in the foreground ; they are the most per- 
 fect flower of the land. The purely virtuous woman, 
 calm, serious, and whom temptation has never ap- 
 proached, and whose life is j. nned in such a way as 
 to banish all curiosity, every evil thought, every chance 
 of stumbling. In this class many young Quakeresses 
 are conspicuous ; with poke bonnets, or covered with a 
 white veil, the subdued complexion of a nun. The ex- 
 pression is that of a person who has lived in a moral 
 enclosure without having ever had a notion of leaving it. 
 As dress is a sort of expression, an exterior superim- 
 posed upon other exteriors, it denotes what the physi- 
 
 
li 
 
 
 
 f)8 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 ogiioniy and .gcsture8 have already manifested — to wit, 
 awkwardness, want of skill, of flexibility, of tuct. As 
 a general rule, costume ought to image the body, and 
 here it nearly always does so badly. Two exceptions 
 are the riding dress, the black habit which fits the 
 shape, which is simple, devoid of ornament, and exhi- 
 bits hardihood, strength, physical health ; the travelling 
 dress, the little straw hat with a single ribbon, tlio 
 plain gown, the small boots of solid leather, everything 
 showing the good walker, without trace of coquetry, 
 capable of ascending with her husband the top of a 
 diligence, of being a man's real companion, and not a 
 delicate troublesome doll. With the exception of these 
 two costumes, their showy and overdone style of dr( ss 
 is that of a lorette or an upstart ; one is surprised to 
 see such gear on the back of a young virtuous woman. 
 In Hyde Park, on Sunday, the exaggeration of the 
 dresses' of the ladies or young girls belonging to the 
 wealthy middle class is offensive ; bonnets resembling 
 piled-'^p bunches of rhododendrons, or as white as 
 snow, of extraordinary smallness, with packets of red 
 flowers or of enormous ribbons ; gowns of shiny violet 
 silk with dazzling reflections, or of starched tulle upon 
 an expanse of petticoats stiff with embroidery ; immense 
 shawls of black lace, reaching down to the heels; 
 gloves of immaculate whiteness or bright violet ; gold 
 chains ; golden zones with golden clasps ; hair falling 
 over the neck in shining masses. The glare is terrible. 
 They seemed to have stepped out of a wardrobe, and to 
 march past to advertise a magazine of novelties. Not 
 that even ; for they do not know how to show off 
 their dresses. They have the head firmly set on the 
 neck, like the beadle in a procession ; their hair is too 
 much plastered or too loose; their garments are dis- 
 
ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 
 
 69 
 
 played upon them as upon a wooden puppet. The 
 crinolino is like a tub at the bottom, the cloaks are 
 tucked up behind in clumsj'- and pretentious puffs ; 
 there are not three pretty shapes. The white row of 
 teeth is a crude patch on the red of the lips ; black 
 feet, strongly shod, show themselves below the balloon 
 petticoats. Thus bulged out, they walk along rustling; 
 their dress follows and precedes them like the ticking 
 of a clock. Compared with the supple, easy, silent 
 serpentine undulation of the Spunish dress and bearing, 
 the movement here is energetic, discordant, jerking, 
 like a piece of mechanism. 
 
 III. — The last type is the active, energetic human 
 being, capable of enterprise, of eflbrts, of endurance, of 
 perseverance, and who loves effort as effort. The 
 elements of such a character are numerous, and I have 
 not reduced them to order. Turn, then, to particular 
 instances — to examples. 
 
 One day, when returning from a visit in the country, 
 two young men asked me if I would take them in my 
 fly to the station, offering to pay the half of the fly. 
 Naturally I agreed to the first part of the proposal, and 
 I declined the conclusion. We chatted. They were two 
 brothers, the one nineteen, the other seventeen years 
 of age ; they have ten brothers and sisters, and start 
 for New Zealand ; they count upon being twelve 
 years there, and returning with a fortune, becoming 
 sheep farmers. It is impossible to reproduce the 
 zeal, the ardour, the decision of their gestures and of 
 their accent ; one was conscious of a superabundance 
 of energy and of activity, overflowing animal spirits. 
 They had the look of strong-limbed greyhounds, sniff- 
 ing the air in full hunt. According to the elder, there 
 
 i ' 
 
w 
 
 70 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 arc already cities of ten thousand inhabitants in Kew 
 Zealand. With a capital of £2,000 one may bring 
 back £20,000 at the end of twelve years. " You will 
 be thirty years old then. You will return at the pro- 
 per time to marry." ** Yes, sir." This was uttered 
 with the most powerful tone, with an admirable juve- 
 nile outburst. The first year he would learn his busi- 
 ness ; then he would launch out, shift for himself. 
 There one must be his own labourer. " Build, fell 
 trees, plough, reap, pasture cattle, shear .sheep, all with 
 these hands ! " He laughed with the ruest and 
 most joyous spirits. He has had some training ; he 
 has lived on a farm, he has a slight acquaintance with 
 applied mathematics, with German, but not with 
 French, and he has travelled in France, in Germany, 
 in Switzerland ; his sentences are disjointed, sounding, 
 and, as it were, shot forth : " Obliged to go to the 
 colonies ; large family, you know ; obliged to look 
 out for oneself." These two lively, hardy, enterprising 
 young men pleased me ; that is a fine style of begin- 
 ning life ; one risks much here ; the world is open, 
 and one takes the cream of it. England remains the 
 place to which the return will be mav^e, the treasure to 
 which all gravitates and flows buck. The fortune 
 once made, the zeal continues ; the children of a rich 
 father are bound to work on account of their number, 
 and because the law of inheritance awards the largest 
 share to the eldest. Besides, whether rich or enriched, 
 they find occupation in politics, associations local or 
 general, public life. Labour always appears as the end 
 or aim of labour. Amongst us, a fortune is made in 
 order to retire, to rest, to remain unemployed, and to 
 procure the means for children being so. 
 
 Subtract youth : with calmer externals, the same 
 
ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 
 
 7' 
 
 be 
 
 nany, 
 
 ding, 
 
 p the 
 
 look 
 
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 egin- 
 
 )pen, 
 
 the 
 
 re to 
 
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 rich 
 
 ber, 
 
 gesc 
 
 led, 
 
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 end 
 
 ame 
 
 longing for working and doing subsists in mature ago. 
 On this head witness the story of a life known to mo. 
 
 M. W is the son of a small shopkeeper who bad 
 
 six children. The father caused him to be educated as 
 a practical engineer, and, as soon as the son was 
 eighteen ordered him, not with harshness, but on prin- 
 ciple, to provide for himself. Many parents here think 
 that they are only bound to educate their children. 
 
 AV went to Scotland, procuring a situation at £40 
 
 a year. Some years afterwards he was sent to India to 
 erect a lighthouse ; salary £800 a year. The light- 
 house was well done ; he returned, and erected a 
 second ; salary £400 a year, and a present of £100. 
 On his return, he worked at the construction of a 
 tubular bridge, made reports concerning it ; became 
 secretary to a company in London — fixed salary, £500 ; 
 he married a governess who had not a penny. At pre- 
 sent he is secretary to a large establishment, and gets 
 £G00 a year. He goes there every day, and works at 
 his desk for nine or ten hours at full steam. He writes 
 from thirty to seventy letters, receives nearly twenty- 
 five visits, and inspects an infinity of objects and per- 
 sons. Keturned home, he helps to compile a dictionary 
 of Grecian antiquities. In order to do that, he 
 first perused the classics in translations ; then, aided 
 and counselled by his learned friends, the undertakers 
 of the dictionary, he succeeded in reading them 
 fluently in the originals. He spends a portion of his 
 nights thus ; observe that he has selected the short, 
 troublesome articles, because no one would take them, 
 and to do them somebody was required. The end 
 being the first consideration, he supplied a willing man 
 himself. Besides that, he has found time for acquiring 
 and well understanding German, French, music, for 
 
7» 
 
 Norrcs oiv /cxglaa'D. 
 
 \i 
 
 cducaiinp^ hiius{»lt in every way, for being ubreast of 
 everylluTig. Jle avows tliiit work is a iieceHHity to 
 him, tliut onee having been two days in entire idhniess, 
 lie ahnost t*x[)ired from weariness ; tliat lie likes to 
 travel, beeaiivse every day one gets stalled with facis, 
 with new ideas ; he maintains that need of work to 
 be the English resonree ; the niaehino would grind 
 itself away if it turned in a vacmun. The grandfather 
 of his pleasing young wife, well trained and in- 
 structed, was the carpenter of a college, ller father, 
 the carpenter's son, entered the college by favour, 
 distinguished himself as a student, took honours, left it. 
 a tutor; having taken noblemen to board with him, ho 
 obtained through their influence a euro worth £r>00 ; 
 mo''eover, he was a good pr^^aeher, his sermons sold 
 lurgely. Aided by his reputation, ho came to Ijondon, 
 founded a ehapel with the hel^ of some rich people, 
 and ended by making £1,200 a year. Twice married 
 • — the lirst tinu> to a woman possessing nothing, the 
 second to one well off^ — he has had fourteen children 
 by the former and six by the latter ; his sons are 
 professors, lawyers, clergymen — nearly all in good 
 circumstances ; among the daughters, several have 
 remained at home, others have gone out as gover- 
 nesses, among others Mrs. W , in order " to 
 
 be independent." This last phrase is thoroughly cha- 
 
 racterisl'c, and, in my opinion, admirable. W , 
 
 his wife, ind three children, live comfortably. They 
 rent a cottage in the environs of London for £200 
 a year. Every year they take a trip together. 
 It is evident to me that they expend everything ; 
 if they provide for the future, it is at most by means 
 of a life assurance. A very good specimen of Eng- 
 lish life ; to be thrown early upon one's resources, 
 
ENGLISH MEN AND IIVJ/EN 
 
 73 
 
 Ihttve 
 
 •ver- 
 
 "to 
 
 clia- 
 
 bher. 
 
 ieana 
 Ing- 
 [•ces. 
 
 r 
 n 
 
 marry a woman witliout foriuno, liavo {)l('n<y of chil- 
 (lioii, oxpdnd oikj'm incomf^ Have up iiolhin;^, vvf)rk [)ro- 
 (lif^iou.sly, put one's children to th(; neeiiHsity of workin; 
 also, lay in continuously sforcH of facts and positive 
 information, find distraction from one labour in anotljcr 
 labour, recruit oneself by travel, always produ(M'n«,' and 
 Jilways acquirin*^ ; they dcsiro nothing belter, either 
 ibr themsclv(;s or for tlieir eliildnjn. 
 
 Such a disposition of heart and mind is oxpli(;able 
 by many concurrent causes; the following are those 
 which 1 partially discern : — Tlie law of primogeniture, 
 and the large number of children ; as a consequence, 
 each one is bound to help himself, and acquires, when 
 quite young, the idea that ho must be the architect of 
 his fortune. JJut in order to furnish an explanation of 
 the large number of children, it must be admitted, 
 among other causes, that the parents possess more 
 courage, and, above all, more insensibility than among 
 us ; more courage, because they fear less the em- 
 barrassment of a numerous family, and the obligation 
 of working in their old age ; more insensibility, because 
 they accept beforehand the idea that their children must 
 struggle and toil, that their daughters will quit them 
 for ever, going to settle in India, in Australia. On the 
 contrary, the first desire of a French father is to spare 
 his son the privations which he has undergone himself; 
 he stints himself to dower his daughters, and cannot bear 
 the thought of having half-a-dozen who will be gover- 
 nesses, or of whom he will rid hii-iself by exportation. 
 
 Second cause, the climate ; I always recur to this, 
 because there is no greater power. Consider that this 
 humidity and this fog existed, and even worse, under 
 the Saxon kings, and that this race has lived amid, as 
 far as can be traced, even in its earliest country on the 
 
I 
 
 t 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 ll . 
 
 74 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 coasts of the Elbe and of Jutland. At Manchester, 
 last winter, one of my friends informed me that in the 
 principal hotel of that city it was necessary to keep 
 the gas burning for five days ; at midday it was not 
 clear enough to see to write ; the sixth day the fog 
 still lasted, but the supply of gas was exhausted. 
 During six months, and during several days in the 
 other months, chis country seems to have been made 
 for wild ducks. After having seen London, the country 
 houses, all the luxury and all the comfort, I said to an 
 Englishman — " The drawing-room and the dining- 
 room are perfect ; I hava yet to see the kitchen — the 
 manufactories, Manchester, Birmingham, and Liverpool. 
 How do your working men live down there? They 
 labour ; what else can one do in these streets and in 
 that fog ? " The dismalness and severity of Nature cut 
 off clean and by the root every voluptuous conception 
 of life. The ideal, under this sky, is a dry, clean, well- 
 closed, well- warmed habitation; a chat with a faitnful 
 wife, a good housekeeper, dressed with care ; rosy- 
 cheeked children well washed and in clean clothes ; 
 abundance of furniture, commodities, useful and pleasing 
 knick-knacks nicely ranged and polished, the presence 
 of them recalling to man that he is sheltered against 
 inclemencies of weather and weariness, that provision 
 has been made for all the possible wants of his body 
 and of his mind. On the contrary, in Provence, in 
 Italy, in southern countries, the ideal is lounging in 
 the shade, on a terrace, in the open air, with a mistress, 
 before a noble landscape, amid the perfume of roses, 
 amid statues and the music of instruments. In order 
 to relish delicately the beauty of the light, the balmy 
 air, the delicious fruits, and the configuration of tho 
 landscape, the senses have but to expand themselves ; 
 
ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 
 
 75 
 
 
 here the climate closes them, and, by dint of repressin 
 blunts them. Take an example in little : a poor person 
 at Marseilles, or at Milan, buys a pound of grapes for a 
 halfpenny, worthy of being placed on the table of gods, 
 and thus he acquires the idea of exquisite sensation. 
 How can you suppose that a like idea can be engendered 
 in the brain of one whose palate knows nothing beyond 
 a morsel of meat and a glass of gin or of ale ? Shvit 
 out from this path, the man never dreams of fine and 
 sensual enjoyment , he would not understand how to 
 essay it, he is hardened, stiffened, habituated to the exi- 
 gencies and hardship of his lot. However, his thoughts 
 are turned elsewhere, and this is an obvious necessity, 
 for he would not have time to dawdle, to taste, and to 
 enjoy if he desired it. Cold, rain, mud, bad weather, a 
 barren soil are the foes he is bound to combat without 
 ceasing ; in addition, his frame consumes more, and 
 needs more powerful restoratives ; it could not subsist 
 without spirits and heavy food. A poor person is not 
 wretched in the South ; he obtains the most beautiful 
 and the best things gratis, the necessaries of life for 
 next to nothing, so many things which are necessaries 
 in the North, he does not need : abundance of nourish- 
 ment, artificial light, fire, a well-protected dwelling, 
 warm clothing, frequent changes of linen, and much 
 more. Here he is a painful sight. Nothing can be 
 more horrible than the coat, the lodging, the shirt, the 
 form of an English beggar ; in Hyde Park, on Sunday, 
 when a poor family sits on the grass it makes a stain. 
 Possess £20,000 in the Funds here, or else cut your 
 throat: such is the idea which constantly haunts me, 
 and the omnibus advertisements suggest it still more in 
 informing me that "Mappin's celebrated razors cost 
 only one shilling." They are of the same mind, and 
 
^i 
 
 76 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 say, to excuse themselves, that, very commonly, amonj^ 
 them, poverty debuses. It is partly to uvoid this 
 downfall thiit the English are so eager in quest of 
 wealth. They prize it because, in their eyes, it is the 
 accompaniment, the aliment, the condition of morality, 
 of education, of all the qualities which make a gentle- 
 man. Under the lasa of this perpetual whip each one 
 advances, pulling his car. Now, custom turns into 
 necessity ; even after reaching the end, he continues to 
 pull, and, if his own be lacking, he harnesses himself 
 to that of his neighbour, of his parish, of his association, 
 or of the State. 
 
 Another incentive : he has a longing for rough exer- 
 cise ; he has fighting instincts, consequently the desire 
 to conquer, and to earn the proud testimony that he 
 has performed a difficult task. There are a thousand 
 signs of this. I have previously noted the necessity 
 for physical movement, the long walks of young girls, 
 the general habit of riding ; the moist and cold climate 
 impels the play of the muscles ; add the innumerable 
 pleasure yachts, the dangerous steeplechases, hunting. 
 An ambassador named to me spent the whole summer 
 in Scotland when he was young. During six days of 
 the week he hunted with a companion in the Highlands, 
 slept in the open air, returned home on Saturday 
 evening, started off again at four on Monday morning. 
 A nuiuber of young and grown-up men go every year 
 to fish for salmon in Norway, shoot deer in Canada, or 
 elephants at the Cape. As for journeys full of dangers 
 and hardships, even women brave them, and alone. On 
 this head I have fifty instances ; and besides, their 
 reputation is well known. Applying this longing for 
 action and for struggle to trades and to professions, it 
 will produce the requisite energy for supporting their 
 
ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 
 
 77 
 
 immer 
 
 fatigue and yoke, more especially if we take into account 
 two circumstances which greatly lessen the principal 
 weight of modern toil, I mean weariness. The one is 
 the phlegmatic temperament which represses the springs 
 of ideas, the improvisation, the petty intervening emo- 
 tions, and enables the man to work with the regularity 
 of a machine. The other is the want of nervous delicacy, 
 the acquired insensibility, the being accustomed to dull 
 sensations, which suppress in man the desire for keen 
 and varied pleasure, and hinder him from rebelling 
 against the monotony of his business. I have distinctly 
 seen this in France when following, in a calico-printing 
 establishment, the proceedings of two English workmen 
 among thirty Frenchmen ; long, cold faces, silent, ex- 
 pressionless, without distraction, without haste, giving 
 themselves just the necessary movement, never becoming 
 animated or unbending, and working as well during 
 the tenth hour as during the first. To sum up, there 
 is no other outlet for the faculties save useful action ; 
 the tyranny of numerous wants which labour alone can 
 satisfy, the natural taste for physical effort and moral 
 struggle, no aversion for the monotony of uninteresting 
 toil : in all that there is stuff for forming, in every 
 manual or liberal career, powerful and patient workers. 
 Owing to a very natural consequence, this character 
 has become here the ideal pattern ; for every people 
 hallows and places on a pedestal the type which best 
 exhibits its own faculties, and best supplies its wants. 
 This is why opinion and morality repeat to an English- 
 man, " Labour and compete in some useful undertak- 
 ing ; if you refuse, you are not a man, and have no 
 title to esteem." That is a fresh impetus, which is the 
 reverse of those which precede, but which is none the 
 less distinct from them, and which is of chief import- 
 
I 
 
 I 
 
 t 
 
 78 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 (luce here. For it Is an idea, a mental conviction ; now, 
 among the men of this country pure ideas, convictions, 
 the deliberate opinions of a reasoning brain, are much 
 more dominating and efficacious than elsewhere. 
 Nothing is more rare than this supremacy among the 
 lively and southern races. In my opinion, a French- 
 man argues for the sake of arguing ; it is so agreeable 
 to him to string one idea after another ; if the con- 
 clusion be new and its import great, his delight is 
 extreme ; but he stops there : he has furnished himself 
 with a fine spectacle of a lofty kind ; that suffices him. 
 On the contrary, for a Teutonic head, especially for an 
 English head, the slowly elaborated conclusion is but a 
 starting-point ; it becomes a principle, a spring of 
 action, one of the powp'^s, often the greatest of the 
 powers, governing his coiiduct. He does not act, like 
 the other, by impulse, on the spur of the moment, 
 under the influence of lively passions which reflection 
 lias left intact, and which boil over spontaneously in 
 hot resolves. In his case these impulses retire into 
 the background ; it is his idea which occupies the fore- 
 most place and determines it. Having admitted that 
 a. man ought to strive and render himself useful, he 
 requires no other motive for striving and rendering 
 himself of use. I quoted above the remark of Mr. 
 
 'W ^ relating to the short, wearisome articles 
 
 which he had undertaken in the Dictionary : " It is 
 necessary that they should be done." In like manner 
 Arthur Young, who, during two years visited in suc- 
 cession all the provinces of France on horseback, in the 
 interests of agriculture, could scarcely get the French 
 to whom he told this to understand him ; in their eyes 
 the thing looked well in words ; but to leave his family 
 and his business, undertake such a long task, of such 
 
ENGLTSn MEN AND WOMEN. 
 
 79 
 
 >n ; now, 
 victions, 
 re much 
 se where, 
 long the 
 French- 
 ^reeable 
 he con- 
 Jight is 
 himself 
 ces him. 
 y for an 
 is but a 
 ring of 
 ; of the 
 act, like 
 noment, 
 jflection 
 )usly in 
 re into 
 le forc- 
 ed that 
 3ful, he 
 idering 
 of Mr. 
 articles 
 "It is 
 Qanner 
 n sue- 
 in the 
 French 
 ir eyes 
 family 
 ■ such 
 
 remote return, of so problematical success, all by him- 
 self, without a mission, from personal choice, without 
 other determining motive than a wholly abstract, cold 
 idea, that appeared strange to them. The same causes, 
 as those above-mentioned, explain this power of an 
 idea, especially of a moral idea. In the first place, in 
 a phlegmatic and hardened nature, the rival powers 
 are fewer ; there are fewer spirits, seductions, rashnesses, 
 casting themselves across and breaking the uniform 
 line of conduct. Besides, the attraction of sensible 
 happiness is smaller, less penetrating, and less seduc- 
 tive. In fine, when one voluntarily gives oneself a 
 watchword, when on reflection it is considered noble, 
 when put to the test it is found hard, pride and the 
 spirit of struggling cleave to it unto the end. Such 
 is the sentiment of duty ; the English say that in all 
 degrees it is one of the essential traits of their national 
 character. This being settled, let us review the types. 
 When at eight o'clock in the morning, at the terminus 
 of a railway, one sees people arriving from the country 
 for their daily avocations, or when one walks in a 
 business street, one is struck \n ith the number of faces 
 which exhibit this type of cold and determined will. 
 They walk straight, with a geometrical movement, 
 without looking on either hand ; without distraction, 
 wholly given up to their business, liko automatons, 
 each moved by a spring ; the large, bony face, the pale 
 complexion, often sallow or leaden-hued, the rigid 
 look, all, even to their tall, perpendicular, black hat, 
 even to the strong and large foot-covering, even to the 
 umbrella rolled in its case and carried in a particular 
 style, display the man unsensitive, dead to ideas of 
 pleasure and elegance, solely preoccupied in getting 
 through much business well and rapidly. Sometimes 
 
8o 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 I 
 
 - 
 
 one detects the physiognomy of Pitt — the sh'ght face, 
 impassive and imperious, the pale and ardent eyes, the 
 look which shines like the fixed gleam of a sword ; the 
 man is then of finer mould, yet his will is only the more 
 incisive and the stouter; it is iron transformed into 
 steel. The effect is at its height when this expression 
 is perceived on the countenance of a young girl ; I 
 have seen it several times, and the accent, the words, 
 and the thought were in unison ; at the end of two 
 minutes the cutting of the knife was felt. Probably 
 these are the sort of women who, as if taking a walk, 
 go alone from Alexandria to Khartoum, or, out of 
 philanthropy, conduct bands of women from London 
 to Australia. 
 
 I transcribe a note written at the close of a previous 
 journey, and confirmed by what I have seen during the 
 present one : " If we except the beaux and belles of 
 the public walks, four times out of five the English 
 type is the following : as regards women, a capacity 
 for enduring much, and frequently the physiognomy 
 of a person who has borne much, yet with resigned, 
 worn, or determined air, which excites the remark, 
 * She has made up her mind ; * as regards men, a capa- 
 city for doing much, for long-sustained effort, the 
 imprint of sustained attention, contracted traits, not at 
 all enervated or visionary, the jaw clenched, tie face 
 impassive, steadfast." The excess of this faculty and 
 kind of life is exhibited on all hands, and notably 
 among the poorer classes. A number of faces among 
 the workmen, the day labourers of the country, are 
 hollowed, blanched, spent with fatigue, and recall the 
 screws in the cabs, which stand patiently and inert, 
 the four feet apart, while the rain pours over their old 
 lean flanks. Greyish and straight hair, in scanty 
 
ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 
 
 8r 
 
 locks ; the moiitli remains half open, as if due to an 
 involuntary relaxation of the muscles ; the eye ha.s no 
 longer any meaning. The man moves still, but this 
 seems as if owing to the effect of an imparted 
 movement ; he has become a machine. When a trace 
 of expression returns, he seems to awake out of a bad 
 dream. The consumption, the wear and tear of life, 
 the exhaustion of the being harnessed to a load too 
 heavy, jaded, flurried, is still more visible in the 
 women. Sometimes, during a visit made to them, 
 upon a question being put, their lips endeavour to 
 recall a smile ; but one turns away with a heavy heart 
 when one has seen this attempt to smile. 
 
 The strong, the phlegmatic, the worker ; around 
 these three types group several varieties, according to 
 the differences of class, of education, of employment, of 
 sex, of age, these again being complicated by the dif- 
 ferent degrees of purity and force, which each type 
 may present. But all this is a sketch only ; it must 
 now be verified, corrected, investigated — always in 
 contact with living things. ' 
 
 are 
 
 <* 
 
\\ 
 
 i 
 
 : 
 
 VT. 
 
 ENGLISH GIRLS AND AUTHORESSES. 
 
 NUMBERS of dinners or luncheons in town, walks 
 in the country, with persons belonging to the 
 upper rjiddle class, and with some of the nobility. The 
 drawing-rooms and the dinners are the same as every- 
 where else ; there is a certain level of luxury and of 
 elegance where all the wealthy classes of Europe meet. 
 The only very striking thing at table, or in the even- 
 ing, is the exceeding freshness of the ladies and also of 
 their toilette ; the hue of the skin is dazzling. Yester- 
 day, I was placed beside a young lady whose neck and 
 shoulders resembled snow, or rather mother-of-pearl ; 
 this extraordinary white is so powerful, that, to my 
 eyes, it is not life-like. She wore a rose-coloured dress, 
 wreath of red flowers, green trimmings, and a golden 
 necklace around the throat, like a savage queen : they 
 have rarely a feeling for colours. 
 
 Great reception at a minister's ; the staircase is 
 monumental, and the drawing-rooms are lofty, princely; 
 but this is uncommon ; in general the house is not well 
 arranged for receiving guests. When one has a large 
 company, the two drawing-rooms on the first-floor do 
 not suffice ; very rich people who are obliged to make 
 a display, give their entertainment on two floors ; the 
 
 
 I 
 
EXGLTSIf GIRLS AND AUTHORESSES. 83 
 
 , walks 
 to the 
 jr. The 
 every- 
 and of 
 e meet, 
 even- 
 also of 
 ester- 
 tck and 
 pearl ; 
 to my 
 dress, 
 •olden 
 they 
 
 lase is 
 Incely ; 
 It well 
 large 
 )or do 
 make 
 the 
 
 ladies, for lack of room in order to p;ct air, seat thorn- 
 selves on the steps of the stairs. To-day several dis- 
 tinguished persons were pointed out to me, but I have 
 not the right to describe them. Some young ladies 
 and young girls are extremely beautiful, and all the 
 company are excessively dressed ; many ladies have 
 their hair decked with diamonds, and their shoulders, 
 much exposed, have the incomparable whiteness of 
 which I h'lve just spoken, the petals of a lily, the gloss 
 of satin do not come near to it. But there are many 
 storks in gauze and tulle, many skinny jades, with 
 prominent noses, jaws of macaws ; ugliness is more 
 ugly here than among us. As to the men, their 
 physical typo and their expression badly harmonize 
 with their position ; they are often too tall, too strong, 
 too automatic, with eyes inert or wild, with angular 
 and knotty features. I met again the two Frenchmen 
 belonging to the Embassy ; how agreeable as a con- 
 trast are their intelligent and lively, gay faces ! It is 
 sufficient to be introduced in order to be greeted witli 
 perfect politeness. The French wrongly think that 
 they are privileged in this matter. In this respect, 
 throughout Europe, all well brought up people re- 
 semble each other. 
 
 Another evening at Lady S . One of her 
 
 daughters sang a Norwegian song at the piano, and 
 sang it well, with animation and expression which are 
 not common. According, to the opinions of my musical 
 friends, the English are still worse endowed than we 
 are with respect to music ; however, on this subject, 
 
 all illusions are possible ; Miss B , having pitilessly 
 
 strummed a sonata, finished am.dst general attention; 
 her mother said to me, "She his quite a genius for 
 it.'* Two other young girls are beautiful and pleas- 
 
 1; 
 

 
 V 
 
 I 
 
 84 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 ing ; but too rosy, tind upon this rosineas aro too many 
 udornnients of Htiiring green ^vhieh vex the eye. But 
 as compensation, how simple and affublo iire tlioy ! 
 Twice out of three times wlien one converses hero with 
 a woman, one feels rested, affected, almost happy ; their 
 greeting is kindly, friendly ; and such a smile of gentle 
 and quiet goodness ! No al'ter-thought ; the intention, 
 the expression, everything is opf^n, natural, cordial. 
 One is mucli more at ease than with a Frenchwoman ; 
 one has not the vague fear of being judged, rallied ; 
 one does not feel oneself in presence of a sharpened, 
 piercing, cutting mind, that can quarter you in a trice ; 
 nor a vivid, exacting, wearied imagination which de- 
 mands anecdotes, spice, show, amusement, flattery, all 
 kinds of dainties, and shuts you up if you have no 
 tit-bits to offer her. The conversation is neither a 
 duel, nor a competition ; one may express a thought aa 
 it is without embellishment ; one has the right to bo 
 what one is, commonplace. One may even, without 
 wearying her or having a pedantic air, speak to her 
 about serious matters, obtain from her correct infor- 
 mation, reason with her as with a man. I transcribe 
 some conversation taken down on the spot. 
 
 Dined with Mrs. T ; her two nieces are at table. 
 
 They have the small, plain dresses of boarding-school 
 girls. The eldest never raises her eyes during the 
 repast, or timidly glances around. This is not silli- 
 ness ; after dinner I talked freely for an hour with 
 them. Their silence is mere bashfulness, infantine 
 modesty, innocent wildness of the startled doe. When 
 spoken to, their blood ascends to their cheeks ; for 
 myself, I love that youthfulnfess of the mind ; it is not 
 necessary that a young girl should too early have the 
 assurance and the manners of society ; the French 
 
 I 
 
many 
 ;. But 
 
 ) tlicv ! 
 re with 
 r ; their 
 t* gentle 
 tention, 
 cordial, 
 ivoman ; 
 rallied ; 
 irpened, 
 a trice ; 
 lich de- 
 tery, all 
 aave no 
 either a 
 3ught as 
 Jit to bo 
 without 
 to ber 
 infor- 
 mscribe 
 
 it table, 
 school 
 ms: the 
 ot silli- 
 iur with 
 fantine 
 When 
 cs ; for 
 t is not 
 ave the 
 French 
 
 \ 
 
 L'xarjsn gikls axd authoresses. 85 
 
 girl is a flower too soon in bloom. They spend \\\o 
 winter and tlie summer in the country, twenty miles 
 distant i'rom the city. They talk for at least two 
 hours daily ; then they wo'k in the family circle, 
 wliero they listen to something read aloud. Their 
 occupations are drawing, music, visits to the poor, 
 reading (they are subscribers to a circulating library). 
 They read novels, travels, history, and some sermons. 
 On Sunday there is church, and the school for the 
 poor village children. They do not weary; they have 
 no desire to see company. This winter they came 
 to France, and found Frenchwomen very agreeable, 
 amiable, engaging, and sprightly. But they are sur- 
 prised and hurt at the constant supervision which we 
 keep over our girls. In England they are much more 
 independent. Even in London, each of them may go out 
 alone, or at least with her sister. Yet there is excess ; 
 they censure the fast girls who follow the hounds, treat 
 men as comrades, and sometimes smoke. All is com- 
 monplace in these two young girls, education, mind, 
 character, face ; they are very healthy, they are fresh, 
 nothing more ; they are average girls. But this 
 modesty, this simplicity, this health, this good sense, 
 suffice to make a good 'wue who will be contented with 
 her household, will have children without being sickly, 
 will be faithful to her husband, and will not ruin him 
 in dress. 
 
 The chief point is the absence of coquetry ; I pro- 
 ceed to cite trfling instances, extreme, unfavourable. 
 This winter in a Paris drawing-room where I was, a 
 stout, red -faced, bald man, related to a rather great 
 English personage, entered leading his daughter of 
 sixteen ; pretty gentle face, but what ignorance of 
 dress ! She had dark brown gloves, hair in curls, not 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 til 
 
l' 
 
 it 
 
 86 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 glossy, a sort of badly fitting white casaque, and her 
 waist resembled a log in a sack. All the evening she 
 remained silent, like a Cinderella amidst the splendours 
 and supreme elegances of the dresses and beauties 
 surrounding her. Here, in St. James's Park, at the 
 Exhibition, in the picture galleries, many young ladies, 
 pretty, well dr'^ssed, wore spectacles. I put aside 
 several other traits; but it is clear to me that they 
 possess in a much lesser degree than Frenchwomen the 
 sentiment which ordains that at every moment, and 
 before every person, a woman stands with shouldered 
 arms, and feels herself on parade. However, natural- 
 ness is less r'fjtrained, and breaks forth more freely. 
 Recently, at t'lirty miles from London, we took a long 
 walk with Ihe daughters of the family, and we climbed 
 a rather steep height. Still very young, they are true 
 goats, always leaping, even when ascending, upon the 
 sharp slopes and among the stones. Exuberance and 
 freedom of the circulation, and of the animal forces ; 
 nothing feminine ; in the carriage, before arriving, 
 their noisy battle, e^citedness, their sparkling eyes, 
 above all their e uergy, the emphasis of their pronun- 
 ciation, gave the idea of merry English boys during 
 the holidays. The youngest had bright crimson cheeks 
 like a rosy apple ; both of them had full jaws and large 
 feet. Miss Charlotte, aged fifteen, told me that she 
 could easily walk twenty miles. They first learned 
 German from a nurse ; but they do not know French 
 yet. " Yet you have a French governess ?" " Yes, but 
 when one is stupid ! " Then an outburst of laughter. 
 Certainly, self- love does not constrain them ; they 
 never dream of acting a part; tall and developed as 
 we see. then>, daughters of a nobleman who is wealthy, 
 they are children still ; not one of their ideas, not one of 
 
id her 
 ng she 
 iidours 
 3auties 
 at the 
 ladies, 
 i aside 
 ,t they 
 len the 
 it, and 
 ildered 
 atural- 
 freely. 
 a long 
 jlimbed 
 ire true 
 )on the 
 Lce and 
 forces ; 
 riving, 
 r eyes, 
 ronun- 
 I during 
 cheeks 
 large 
 lat she 
 [earned 
 'ench 
 'es, but 
 ighter. 
 they 
 Iped as 
 ialthy, 
 one of 
 
 ENGLISH GIRLS AND AUTHORESSES. 87 
 
 their gestures, betrays the woman. Neither precocious 
 nor worldly ; these two traits coincide and engender a 
 multitude of others. I can bear the testimony of my 
 eyes to the great freedom which they enjoy ; I see 
 many of them in the morning in Hyde Park who have 
 come to take a turn on horseback, without other com- 
 panion than a groom. Two days after arriving in the 
 country I was asked to give my arm to a young 
 daughter of the family, in order to escort her to a 
 
 place a mile off. S , who has spent a year here, 
 
 considers this loyal and free intercourse charming ; a 
 gentleman to whom he wa£ introduced said, " Come to 
 my house and I will make you acquainted with my 
 daughters." They are more amiable and honest com- 
 rades. One rides with them on horseback, one accom- 
 panies them to archery meetings, one chats familiarly 
 with them on all, or nearly all, subjects ; one laughs 
 without afterthought ; it would be impossible even for a 
 coxcomb to treat them otherwise than as if they were 
 his sisters. At Manchester two of my French friends 
 went to dine at a house. At eleven in the evening 
 they were requested to escort home two young girls 
 who were there. All the four entered a cab, and rode 
 for half-an-hour. They chatted gaily, and without 
 any trouble or embarrassment on either side. Thanks 
 to these manners, the man most inured to the harsh- 
 nesses and villanies of life, must keep a corner of his 
 soul for poetry, for tender sentiments. In this we are 
 deficient ; an Englishman who has travelled among 
 us is astonished and scandalised to see men in Paris 
 staring women in the face, not yielding the pavement 
 to them. It is necessary to have lived among foreigners 
 to know how much our manners, our remarks on this 
 subject are displeasing, and even offensive ; they cou- 
 
88 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 
 I 
 
 sider us bag-men, fops, and blackguards. The truth is 
 that we feel with difficulty the sentiment of respect ; sex, 
 condition, education, do not create as great distinctions 
 among us as among other nations. Moreover, in addi- 
 tion to individuals being more equal among us, they 
 experience the necessity in a higher degree of b'=»\ng 
 sensible of this equality. 
 
 Dined with F . The ladies explained to me the 
 
 training of young girls. In well-to-do or wealthy 
 families they all learn French, German, Italian, in 
 general from infancy, through nurses and foreign 
 governesses. Commonly they begin with French ; 
 nearly all speak it fluently, and several without any 
 accent ; I have cited the sole exception I have encoun- 
 tered. They read Dante, Manzoni, Schiller, and Goethe, 
 our classics, Chateaubriand, and some moderns. Many 
 learn a little Latin; that will be serviceable for the 
 education of their children, or of their young brothers. 
 Several learn natural history, botany, mineralogy, 
 geology ; they have a taste for all natural things ; and 
 in the country, at the sea- side, in their frequent jour- 
 neys, they can see minerals, herbs, shells, form collec- 
 tions. Besides, that suits the English habit, which 
 consists in storing up facts; thus they are more 
 instructed, and more solidly instructed, than among us. 
 Another motive is that many of the young girls never 
 marry, and that it is requisite to prepare an occupation 
 
 for them beforehand. Lady M cited the case of 
 
 a family in her neighbourhood, where there are five 
 unmarried daughters, all beautiful ; the older ones are 
 thirty-five and thirty- six ; this is because they have 
 been brought up in luxury, and have scarcely any 
 dowry. Frequently a father only gives his daughter a 
 sum equivalent to the income of his eldest son and 
 
^ 
 
 ENGLISH GIRLS AND AUTIluRESSES. 89 
 
 s are 
 have 
 
 anv 
 iter u 
 
 and 
 
 /- 
 
 heir; and, moreover, he obliges the gentleman who 
 offers himself, to make a settlement on his daughter of 
 £200, £300, £400 sterling yearly, whereof she will 
 have the entire control when married, and which will 
 be her pin-money. This condition keeps away many 
 suitors; besides, it is granted that one must marry 
 for love, settled liking ; now, it often happens that one 
 does not feel this liking, or that one does not inspire 
 it. Hence many girls miss the chance, and remain 
 spinsters. There are some in almost every family, the 
 position of aunt being very well filled. They help to 
 rear the children, superintend a part of the household, 
 preserve-making or the linen cupboard, make herba- 
 riums, paint in water-colours, read, write, become 
 learned. Many compose moral romances, and some- 
 times very good novels ; Miss Yonge, Miss Kavanagh, 
 Miss Bronte, the author of " John Halifax," Miss 
 Thackeray, and others, are known ; talent is frequent 
 among authoresses, there are some of the first class — 
 Mrs. Gaskell, Miss Evans, Elizabeth Browning; the 
 two last possess genius. Keckon again the trans- 
 lations : numerous German and French works have 
 been translated — and well translated — by women. 
 Others write in magazines, compose small popular 
 treatises, join a society, teach classes of poor children. 
 The constant concern is to find an employment for 
 their faculties, or to acquire a talent which serves as a 
 remedy for weariness. The highest rank is not absolved. 
 Witness the occupations of the Royal Family : the 
 Queen and her daughters send water-colours, engrav- 
 ings, drawings done by themselves, to charity sales ; 
 Prince Albert was one of the most cultivated and most 
 active men in the kingdom; each one thus takes up 
 one or two special subjects, labours at some improve- 
 
 % 
 I 
 
' 
 
 \w 
 
 90 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 ment in agriculture, in science — some beneficent work 
 or institution. 
 
 Thus life is serious, and all, even young girls, 
 know that they must prepare themselves and provide 
 
 themselves for it. N , who comes to England 
 
 every year, visited one of his old friends, wealtiiy, and 
 the father of a family, who said to him — " I am put 
 out ; my daughter Jane is twenty- four, does not marry, 
 frequently shuts herself up in the library, ad reads 
 solid works." " What dower will you give her ? " 
 ** Two thousand pounds sterling." " And your sons ?" 
 "The eldest will have the estate; the second a mine 
 w^hich yields two thousand pounds." " Give five thou- 
 sand pounds to Miss Jane." This phrase opened up 
 vistas to the father; he gave her the five thousand 
 pounds. Miss Jane has been married, she has a baby ; 
 she was made to be a mother ; it would have been a 
 pity to have converted her into a learned, spectacled 
 spinster ; if suitors do not offer themselves it ie because 
 the style of the house is too groat. As for me, what I 
 admire here is the coolness, the good sense, the courage 
 of the young girl who, seeing herself in a blind alley, 
 alters her course without a murmur, and silently sets 
 herself to study. In none of the houses which I have 
 entered in London or in the country have I seen a 
 journal of the fashions. One of my English friends 
 who has sojourned in France informs me that here no 
 well brought up woman reads such platitudes. On the 
 contrary, a special review, " The English "Women's 
 Review," contains in the number of which I am turn- 
 ing over the pages, statements and letters on emigra- 
 tion to Australia, articles on public instruction in 
 France, and other essays equally important ; no novels, 
 neither chit-chat about theatres, nor review of fashions, 
 
1 1 
 
 m's 
 
 ENGLISH GIRLS AND AUTHORESSES. gi 
 
 &c. The whole is serious — substantial ; witness as a 
 contrast in a provincial mansion among us the journals 
 of fashions with illuminated sketches, patterns of the 
 last style of bonnets, explanations of a piece of em- 
 broidery, little sentimental stories, honeyed compliments 
 to female readers, and, above all, the correspondence of 
 the directress with her subscribers on the last page, 
 a masterpiece of absurdity and inanity. It is shameful 
 that a human intellect can digest such aliment. A 
 dress badly made is '^ore bearable than an empty 
 head. I copy the titles of some articles, all written by 
 women in the Transactions of the National Association 
 for the Promotion of Social Science. "Education by 
 Means of Workhouses," by Louisa Twining ; " District 
 Schools for the English Poor," by Barbara Collett ; 
 " Application of the Principles of Education to Lower- 
 class Schools," by Mary Carpenter ; ** Actual State of 
 the Colony of Mettray," by Florence Hill ; " Hospital 
 Statistics," by Florence Nightingale ; " The Condition 
 of Working Women in England and France," by 
 Bessie Parkes ; ** Slavery in America, and its Influence 
 upon Great Britain," by Sarah Redmond ; " Improve- 
 ment of Nurses in Agricultural Districts," by Mrs. 
 Wiggins ; " Report of the Society for Furnishing 
 Employment to Women," by Jane Crowe. Most of 
 these authoresses are not married, several are secretaries 
 of active associations, of which the Review I have just 
 cited is the central organ ; one of these associations 
 supplies women with work, another visits the work- 
 houses, another the sick. All these articles are instruc- 
 tive and useful, the custom of keeping classes, of 
 visiting the poor, of conversing with men, discussion, 
 study, personal observation of facts, have yielded their 
 fruits ; they know how to observe and reason ; they go 
 
 1 !l 
 
92 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 
 ( 
 
 to the bottom of things, and they comprehend the true 
 principle of all improvement. Mary Carpenter says, 
 " It is necessary above all, and as the first aim, to 
 develop and direct the infant's will, enrol him as the 
 principal soldier, as the most serviceable of all the 
 co-operators in the education which is given to him." 
 One cannot be corrected, improved but by oneself, 
 instinctive personal effort, self-government are indis- 
 pensable; the moral rule must not be applied from 
 without, but spring up from within. Whoever has 
 perused English aovels knows with what precision and 
 what justice these authoresses depict characters; fre- 
 quently a person who has lived in the country, in a 
 small set, busied with domestic cares, finds herself 
 obliged to write a novel in order to gain her bread, 
 and one discovers that she understands the human 
 heart better than a professional psychologist. To be 
 instructed, learned, useful, acquire convictions, impart 
 them to others, employ powers and employ them well, 
 that is something ; one may laugh if one likes, say that 
 these manners form schoolmistresses, female pedants, 
 blue- stockings, and not women. As you please ; but 
 contrast this with our empty provincial idleness, the 
 weariness of our ladies, the life of an old maid who 
 rears canaries, hawks scandal, does crotchet-work, and 
 attends every service. This is the more important 
 because in England all are not female pedants. I 
 know four or five ladies or young girls who write ; 
 they continue none the less pleasing and natural. 
 Most of the authoresses whom I have cited are, on the 
 authority of my friends, domestic ladies of very simple 
 habits. I have named two among them who possess 
 genius; a great French artist whose name I could 
 mention, and who has spent several days with each of 
 
ENGLISH GIRLS AXD AUTHORESSES. 93 
 
 them, did not know that they had talent ; not once did a 
 hint of authorship, the need of speaking of oneself and 
 of one's books, occur during twenty-four hours of talk. 
 
 M , being invited to the country, discovered that 
 
 the mistress of the house knew much more Greek than 
 himself, apologised, and retired from the field ; then, 
 out of pleasantry, she wrote down his English sentence 
 in Greek. Note that this female Hellenist is a woman 
 of the world, and even stylish. Moreover, she has 
 nine daughters, two nurses, two governesses, servants 
 in proportion, a large, well-appointed house, frequent 
 and numerous visitors; throughout all this, perfect 
 order ; never noise or fuss ; the machine appears to 
 move of its own accord. These are gatherings of faculties 
 and of contrasts which might make us reflect. In 
 France we believe too readily that if a woman ceases to 
 be a doll she ceases to be a woman. 
 

 
 A 
 
 YII. 
 
 ENGLISH MARRIAGES AND MARRIED WOMEN. 
 
 CONVERSATION with several Englishmen .about 
 marriage ; they have lived abroad, and I think 
 them impartial; besides, their statements agree. A 
 young English girl will not marry unless through 
 inclination ; she weaves a romance for herself, and 
 this dream forms part of her pride, of her chastity ; 
 thus many, and of exalted character, think they have 
 fallen short should they marry without experiencing 
 the enthusiasm suited to an absolute preference. To 
 marry is to abandon oneself wholly and for ever. 
 Witness, with regard to this d^ep sentiment, the 
 novels by ladies — above all, '* John Halifax, Gentle- 
 man," and others by the same authoress. These are 
 the theories of a pure, exclusive mind, which seems to 
 have traversed the whole world without receiving, I 
 will not say a stain, but the shadow of one. 
 
 In this romance of the heart, the young girl con- 
 tinues English, that is to say, positive and practical. 
 She does not dream of outpourings, of sentimental 
 walks, hand-in-hand in the moonlight, but of her 
 share in an undertaking. She wishes to be the helper, 
 the useful partner of her husband in his long journeys, 
 in his difficult enterprises, in all his affairs whether 
 
MARRIAGES AND MARRIED WOMEN. 95 
 
 wearying or dangerous. Such, for example, were Mrs. 
 Livingstone and Lady Baker ; the one traversed. Africa 
 from side to side ; the other went to the sources of the 
 Nile, and narrowly escaped dying in consequence. I 
 have seen an English Bishop of a large island, a 
 country of beasts and cannibals ; his poor wife carried 
 on her countenance the marks of that terrible climate. 
 A young girl of the neighbourhood, rich and of good 
 family, is at this moment making her preparations, 
 packing up her piano, &c. ; the gentleman she is 
 about to marry will take her to Austa'alia ; she will 
 return once only in five or six years to kiss her old 
 parents. Another young lady of twenty-four, ver\ 
 weak and delicate ; her husband is in the Punjaub 
 (£6,000 of salary, £1,200 for the expenses of his 
 establishment) ; she has been for two years in Europe 
 with an afiection of the throat, which will return as 
 soon as she returns to India ; four young children ; 
 they are sent to Europe before they are two years old ; 
 the Indian climate kills them ; there are here entire 
 boarding schools here recruited by these little Anglo- 
 Indians. Yery often a lady, daughter of a marquis or 
 baronet, having a dowry of £3,000 or £3,250, marries 
 a simple gentleman, and descends of her own free will 
 from a state of fortune, of comfort, of society, into a 
 lower or much inferior grade. She accustoms herself 
 to this. The reverse of the medal is the fishery for 
 husbands. Worldly and vulgar characters do not fail 
 in this respect ; certain young girls use and abuse 
 their freedom in order to settle themselves well. A 
 young man, rich and noble, is much run after. Being 
 too well received, flattered, tempted, provoked, he 
 becomes auspicious and remains on his guard. This is 
 not the case in France ; the young girls are too closely 
 
'96 
 
 NOT£S ON ENGLAND. 
 
 \i 
 
 ■t. ' 
 
 watched to make the first advance ; tlierc the game 
 never becomes the sjiort^inan. Commonly, the dowries 
 are very small. I have been told of several families 
 in which the eldest son has one or two hundred thou- 
 sand pounds sterling ; tlie daughters leceive from 
 three to five thousand. Ilovvever, in order to marry, 
 it is necessary that they should feel a passion. Many 
 do not marry in consequence of a thwarted inclination, 
 and continue to live with their eldest brother. Every 
 Englishman has a bit of romance in his heart with 
 regard to marriage ; he pictures a home with the wife 
 of his choice, domestic talk, children ; there his little 
 universe is enclosed, all his own ; so long as he 
 does not have it he is dissatisfied, being in this matter 
 the reverse of a Frenchman, to whom marriage is 
 generally an end, a makeshift. Frequently he is 
 obliged to wait, especially if a younger son, because 
 he has not sufficient as yet wherewith to maintain his 
 wife. He goes to India, to Australia, labours with 
 all his might, returns, and marries ; here the passions 
 arc tenacious and deep. "When an Englishman is in 
 love, one of my entertainers said to me, he is capable 
 of anything. Thackeray has very well marked the 
 intensity and the persistence of this sentiment in his 
 portrait of Major Dobbin, the lover of Amelia, in 
 " Vanity Fair ;" he waits fifteen years without hope, 
 because for him there is but one woman in the world. 
 This causes silent rendings of the heart and long inner 
 tragedies. Numbers of young men experience it ; 
 and the protracted chastity, the habits of taciturn con- 
 centration, a capat'ty for emotion greater and less 
 scattered than among us, carries their passions to the 
 extreme. Frequently it ends in nothing, because 
 they are not beloved, or because the disparity of rank is 
 
MARRIAGES AND MARRIED WOMEX. 97 
 
 too groat, or because they have not money enough where- 
 with to maintain a family — a very costly thing here. 
 Then they become half insane ; travel to distract their 
 minds, proceed to the ends of the earth. One who 
 was mentioned to me, very distinguished, was sup- 
 planted by a titled rival; duri- ac two years apprehen- 
 sions were felt for his reason, lie went to China and 
 to Australia ; at present he occupies a high post, ho 
 has been made a baronet, he presides over important 
 business, but he is unmarried ; from time to time ho 
 steals off, makes a journey on foot, in order to be alone 
 and not to have any one to converse with. 
 
 I have previously noted that young people see and 
 associate together in perfect freedom, without being 
 watched, they can thus study and understand each 
 other as much as they please ; for four months, for 
 five months and more, they ride on horseback and 
 chat together during several successive seasons in the 
 country. When the young man has made up his 
 mind it is to the young girl that he addresses himself 
 first, asking the consent of the parents in the second 
 place ; this is the opposite of the French custom, 
 where the man would consider it indelicate to utter a 
 single clear or vague phrase to the young girl before 
 having spoken to her parents. In this matter the 
 English find fault with us, ridicule our marriages sum- 
 marily settled before a lawyer. Yet C , who is 
 
 English, and knows France well, allows that their 
 love-matches end more than once in discord, and our 
 marriages of arrangement in concord. The wife's 
 dowry is nearly always placed in the hands of trustees, 
 who taLe charge of it on their own responsibility, 
 handing over the interest only to the family; in 
 general this income is the wife's pin-money : with it 
 
 H 
 
I I 
 
 «• 
 
 A'OTES ON ir^GLAND. 
 
 filio must dress hersoir nr, i j 
 
 f"nd secured «ga;„.,t Iho aecwL.I ,"'',P'""''P''^""'"» 
 «» the husband. Thl, L? , "'""'' '""y ''»PPcu 
 -"-d'-ng to ]„,v, u ,^17'"" '■' ""-". beeau'e! 
 -/'-tof the hu/band :,,:„':; Pr^y '■« ™»""'ed 
 «"ter the marnod state deprived I'f T'l "'"' «■«"" 
 common fu„d; .he can holdT'^ "'J ''""•" '" t^o 
 
 ^''° i- a si,„pIo infant in .'"^'"'^^""■"■•'■ght; 
 SueJ. is one of tho eas^ons T,"" "^'^^ ''-"-"d 
 M'« to protest so yC^^ "'^"^'■"g ^r. J. Stuart 
 ^-omen. I„ fo^t they aro t ?'""" """ '"'^■''^'""■°° of 
 'he law, reh-gion, ^a L™ and "" 1"'^""°" ^^^ V 
 than among us Tho u . ""'='' ™oro closelv L 
 often ho accepts tL titi^ " '? ''''^' ^-d- ""d ver^ 
 but littlo moL/t^,''\t^<':7fr; -t''owifebr5 
 «mall share rem^lin"" part h 1r 'r^f ""'^ « i- 
 "«od to say nothing to her abo,.M'"^' ^'™^'='^ ""'ho- 
 '■'»o« *he is unacquainted wJth li'Vr""'- S'""^- 
 fflakes the money which he Zf'T^"^}''' does, how ho 
 -nonthly for the household .''""''' ' '"' ^'^<^» ^ -"uoh 
 "oeount of the rest wttK"'' ""' ^^°<^-« «<> 
 «ol a, or buys, is none of her bn," '^r'""'»' •'"Ms, 
 «--"ves without her bJint ableT'V ^'"'^"^""^ ^"'n 
 "noroly a housekeeper :het ? "'''•"^ ''• ^^<^ » 
 «bout anything save he^ tLT\\ °°' '"'^X herself 
 Most frequently she content" he, r' ''^'- '='''"""• 
 "^^fS to her conscien,e and T ^''"''^ *'"''' P^^t; 
 -d submissive. Neve tie ess o^Tk"" ^''^ '^ ^^ 
 l"ends, this inequality has t ' " '^' ^""^^^ of my 
 husband is often a desDot!„^, 'f onveniences; tho 
 kept all her life in 2n ' ' ^'"'"''^ ''^ die, the wife 
 -Pable,aswith:s,:fX:::;r<' -^ dependence, iTt 
 
 ---•idren,ofrep^;^Tetat^-f— 
 

 JlfJ 'RTAGES AND MARRIED WOMEN, 09 
 
 Marn'iigo is encompasaod with profound respect, and 
 as regards this matter, opinion is unbending; it is quite 
 sufficient to read books, newspapers, especially tb;i 
 writings in which anonymous authors indulge in the 
 greatest license, for example, romances, comic journals; 
 adultery 's never excused ; even in the latitude of inti- 
 mate conversations between man and man, it is always 
 held up as a crime. Breaches occur, of which I 
 shall speak later, among the class of tradesmen ; and in 
 the lower order of the nobility which is fashionable, 
 travels, and copies Continental manners. But, in tho 
 mass of the nation, among well brought up persons in 
 the great world, the wives are almost always faithful. 
 
 C tells me that I might remain here for eighteen 
 
 months, and visit all the drawing-rooms, without meet- 
 ing an exception, one only is cited among the highest 
 class. More such cases occurred fifty years ago, in tho 
 time of Byron and Alfieri ; since then, opinion has 
 become severe, and the Queen has laboured with all 
 her might in this direction, firstly, by her example, 
 secondly by her influence; she excludes ladies of doubt- 
 ful reputation from her Court ; the extreme urgency and 
 pressure of affairs were needed during the Crimean 
 war for her to tolerate under the same roof with her, at 
 Windsor, a statesman known as a profligate. Another 
 guaranty is the dread of publicity ind of the news- 
 papers. On this head our free and rakish manners 
 
 grievously offend them. C related to me that in 
 
 a Parisian circle he heard a man of the w orld observe 
 to another — " Is it true, then, that your wife has got 
 a lover ? " This remark he considers monstrous, and 
 he is right. A book like Balzac's " Physiologic du 
 Mariage" would give great offence; perhaps the author 
 would be prosecuted by the Society for the Suppression 
 
 i 
 
lOO 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 of Vice, and probably it would not have been accepted by 
 any publisher. As regards our ordinary novels, a liberal 
 review, the National, could not find a strong enough 
 expression wherewith to designate them — " nameless 
 ignominy, the morality of stockjobbers and lorettes." 
 They forget three things. In the first place, these 
 irregularities are not habitual among us> excepting in 
 the case of fashionable upstarts ; they very rarely reach 
 the rich or well-to-do middle-class which possesses 
 family traditions. Besides, in the provinces, life goes 
 on openly, and scandal-mongering, which is greatly 
 feared, performs the part of the police. Finally, the 
 Frenchman flaunts that which a foreigner conceals ; ho 
 has a horror of hypocrisy, and he prefers to be a 
 braggart of vice. According to my friends, the good 
 conduct of English ladies is explainable by the follow- 
 ing causes : 1. They are more habituated to take care 
 of themselves, having been free from their infancy. 
 2. They are less accessible to illusion, to enthusiastic 
 dreams, because they have mixed with young men, and 
 had some experience of the world. 3. They have habits 
 of reflection, and a fund of good sense, because they 
 have received a more serious education, having learned 
 several languages, gained a smattering of science, 
 travelled nearly always in England, and often abroad, 
 and heard their father discuss politics and grave sub- 
 jects with his friends. Besides, Protestantism develops 
 habits of reflection and reasoning. Lastly, the novels 
 are always moral ; and in contact with the poor, in 
 charitable societies, they have gathered some know- 
 ledge of real life. 4. They live for eight or nino 
 months of the year in the country, and are there 
 sheltered against temptation. 5. They have many 
 children, who occupy their time ; a full nursery, with 
 
MARRIAGES AND MARRIED WOMEN. loi 
 
 its train of nurses and governesses, requires continual 
 supervision. 6. They give themselves all manner of 
 occupations in addition. Sunday schools, country :.cw- 
 ing classes, visits to the poor, botany, mineralogy, 
 collections of plants and of butterflies, reading. Every 
 family in easy circumstances, when in the country, 
 receives in addition to the Times, in addition to other 
 journals and very solid reviews, numbers of new books 
 sent from the circulating library. Mudie's, which is 
 the principal one, purchases one hundred and fifty 
 thousand volumes yearly ; it took three thousand copies 
 of Livingstone's "Travels in Africa;" two thousand 
 tive hundred of Macaulay's ** History of England." A 
 quantity of serious books arrive in this way, and are 
 renewed monthly on the library table in country seats. 
 .Ymong these books the most common are works of 
 political economyj natural history, history, and, above 
 all, travels. Each year scores of them are published. 
 Next to the pleasure of travelling, the greatest plea- 
 sure for an Englishman is to read a volume of travel ; 
 in this way he augments his store of facts. The ladies 
 have the same taste ; all those with whom I am ac- 
 quainted have visited France, Italy, Germany ; a young 
 wife with whom I dined yesterday will pass the winter 
 in Rome, the spring in Jerusalem ; those who have 
 delicate* chests go to Cairo as readily as we go to Nice. 
 During the journey they take notes, keep a journal ; 
 on their return, some of these are printed, others are 
 communicated to their friends in manuscript. They 
 thus keep the globe perpetually at their finger ends ; 
 and I have seen those who, with a knowledge of the 
 subject, interested themselves in the settlements of 
 Australia, the oil springs of Pennsylvania, the revolt 
 of the Taepings in China, and the annual massacres of 
 
I02 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 Duhomey. Add lastly, the great amount of physical 
 movement and the talents which are cultivated ; there 
 are always one or two painters in water-colour in a 
 family, and every one rides on horseback once a day. 
 By these occupations tlic mind is engaged, the time 
 is filled, and that closes the door against unLialthy 
 ideas. These are the auxiliaries of the moral principle ; 
 but the principh^ itself must also be taken to account. 
 In France it is based on the sentiment of honour ; in 
 England on the idea of duty. Now, the former is 
 rather arbitrary ; its reach varies in different persons. 
 One piques himself upon being rigid on a certain point, 
 and thinks himself free on all the rest ; in the circle of 
 bad actions, he cuts off' a segment from which he ex- 
 cludes himself; but this part varies according to his 
 preferences — for example, he will be truthful in speak- 
 ing, but not in writing, or the reverse. My honour 
 consists of that wherein I place my glory, and I can 
 place it in this as well as in that. On the contrary, 
 the idea of duty is strict, and does not admit of the 
 slightest compromise. The Englishwoman knows that 
 in marrying she has vowed fidelity, and the remem- 
 brance of this remains anchored in her conscience. 
 According to my friends, this anchorage ia so strong 
 that frequently after a slip the wife breaks off" altogether; 
 all her past flows back upon her like a flood, till she is 
 well-nigli choked with shame and sorrow. Besides, 
 she has not the elasticity of mind, the manual dexterity, 
 necessary for harmoniously conducting an intrigue and 
 a household ; ambiguity is repugnant to her decided 
 character ; division revolts her ; the obligation to lie 
 unceasingly is insupportable to her. She insists upon 
 being carried oft' in order to bring about a divorce. 
 I continue to reproduce conversations. I find nothing 
 
MARRIAGES AND MARRIED If OMEN. 103 
 
 more agreeable than an evening spent in this way with 
 one or two sincere, friendly, unprejudiced interlocutors, 
 who have lived and travelled. National self-love does 
 not interfere ; one talks to learn, not to compete or 
 shine. One ventures to give the minor characteristic 
 fact, the precise and genuine detail ; each supplies, as 
 briefly as possible, the cream of his experience, his pro- 
 visions made during a lengthened period, his choice 
 dishes. The following are those of my friends. My 
 mind has never been so fully or so well fed ; I con- 
 tinued questioning and listening to them till one 
 o'clock in the morning. Generally an English woman 
 is more thoroughly beautifrl .nd healthy than a 
 Frenchwoman. The principal cause of this is the 
 hygiene ; the children ride on horseback, are much in 
 the open air, do not dine with their parents, do not eat 
 sweetmeats. Moreover, the nerves ore less excited, 
 and the temperament is calmer, more enduring, loss 
 exacting ; what is the most wearing in these days, are 
 incessant and unsatisfied desires. For example, in the 
 Crimea the French wounded recovered less frequently 
 than the English, because they resigned themselves 
 less rapidly. This is still truer in the cultivated class, 
 notably among the wives ; in their case the uneasy or 
 ardent brain deadens and dries up the springs of life ; 
 in our duy, a wife must accept her condition, if she 
 wishes to be well. On the other hand, the English- 
 woman is less agreeable ; she does not dress for her 
 husband, she does not know how to make a pretty 
 woman of herself; she has no talent for rendering her- 
 self fascinating and enticing at home; she is unac- 
 quainted with a number of fine and delicate graces; 
 she considers it unworthy of her to employ minor 
 means for re-awnkening love n »ndLes9 ; more fre- 
 
 -11 
 i\ 
 
 m 
 
104 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 quently still she is not clever enough to invent them. 
 She puts on handsome new dresses, is most careful 
 about cleanliness, but nothing more; she is not at- 
 tractive ; one soon wearies beside her. Fancy a very 
 beautiful pink peach, slightly juicy, and alongside of 
 it a perfumed strawberry full of flavour. It is the 
 
 same with respect to the other affections. B 
 
 says that they have more charm in France when they 
 are sincere and strong. In all things there is a turn, a 
 manner, a degree ; among the sentiments these consist 
 of forethought, attentions, certain phrases, the tone in 
 which they are uttered, the considerations, the care- 
 takings which constantly renew and diversify the softer 
 emotions. 
 
 According to C , an Englishwoman is incapable 
 
 of presiding in a drawing-room as cleverly as a French- 
 woman ; I mean a drawing-room like those of Paris in 
 which one is amused ; he barely knows two or three 
 marrird ladies oi his country who could do it. The 
 Englishwoman has not sufficient tact, promptitude, 
 suppleness to accommodate herself to persons and 
 things, to vary a greeting, comprehend a hint, in- 
 sinuate praise, make each guest feel that she thinks 
 his presence of much consequence. She is afiable only, 
 she merely possesses kindness and serenity. For my- 
 self, I desire nothing more, and I can imagine nothing 
 better. But it is clear that a woman of the world — 
 that is to say a person who wishes to make her house a 
 place of meeting frequented and valued by the most 
 distinguished persons of every species — requires to 
 
 have a more varied and a more delicate talent. G 
 
 greatly admires the facility with which a young mar- 
 ried lady among us gets to know the world. A month 
 after her marriage she knows how to do the honours to 
 
MARRIAGES AND MARRIED WOMEN. 105 
 
 everybody in her house. In like manner a shop- 
 keeper's wife takes her place at the desk the day after 
 her wedding — understands the tricks of the trade, 
 chats, smiles, retains the customers. I have seen the 
 contrast in a restaurant at Dieppe. The French hus- 
 band, always attentive and smiling, sped around the 
 tables bowing and scraping, and seemed to take 
 pleasure in waiting on the people ; his English wife, 
 stiff and solemn, said in an icy tone to the persons 
 rising from the table, " 'Ave yer paid, sir ? " She 
 never suspected that such a question put in this way 
 could annoy. As a compensation, my friends said that 
 French politeness was but veneer — an ornament ; 
 many foreigners misinterpret it. You have received 
 them well, they think you their friend, and are greatly 
 surprised to be forgotten by you three days afterwards. 
 Our obliging demonstrations are not all the effect of 
 true sympathy, but of natural goodness ; we perform 
 them, owing to education, custom, as a matter of 
 honour, and even a little through egotism. They are 
 a proof of our good breeding; we vaguely feel that 
 the same will be done us in return ; for a quarter of 
 an hour we enter an agreeable atmosphere of respect 
 and mutual civilities ; we lay hold of this pleasant 
 opportunity, and we give ourselves up to it, without 
 its leading to any result in our eyes. A piece of polite- 
 ness is repaid by a piece of politeness, as one anecdote 
 by another anecdote ; I have repaid you ; the ex- 
 change made, we are quits ; I go my way, you go 
 yours ; neither of us has anything more to claim from 
 the other, save at the next meeting a smile and a bow. 
 The Englishman is more thoroughly cordial and ser- 
 viceable. He puts himself to ir. convenience for the 
 foreigner who Is introduced to him ; he goes about 
 
io6 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 il i 
 
 \ 
 
 to serve him ; he gives himself trouble on his behalf. 
 As well as I can decide from my own experience, this 
 judgment is correct. In the first place, I have never 
 found the English selfish and discourteous, as they are 
 represented to be. In London and in the country I 
 I have inquired my way hundreds of times ; every one 
 pointed it out, and several gave themselves trouble, 
 accompanying me far enough to put me in the right 
 path. In an omnibus or in a railway carriage, when I 
 have requested my neighbour to inform me, he has 
 always done so with good grace ; when I attempted to 
 converse, he did not smile at my blunders of speech, 
 and he talked with me in a kindly fashion. One 
 evening lately, when on foot at some distance from my 
 hotel, a gentleman whom I accosted wished to accom- 
 pany me back, spoke in praise of France, asked me 
 what I thought of London, and shook hands with me 
 at parting. Another, on a like occasion, made me 
 enter his carriage and drove me to a cab-stand. The 
 newspapers announcing the arrival of three thousand 
 French Orpheonists, remarked that they must be 
 welcomed with heartiness, in order that they might 
 return home with a good opinion of England. On no 
 single occasion has a policeman, an official, a cabman, 
 or conductor been rude or insolent to me. But what 
 is altogether admirable, and perhaps unique in Europe, 
 is their manner of practising hospitality ; I cannot 
 think without grateful feelings of that which I have 
 received. The person to whom one presents a letter 
 of introduction does not consider himself quits by an 
 invitation to dinner ; he gives you information, acts 
 as your guide, traces out your plan, charges himself 
 with occupying and amusing you, takes you to his 
 Club, introduces you to his friends, takes you to his 
 
MARRIAGES AND MARRIED WOMEN. 107 
 
 parents, introduces you to his set of acquaintances, 
 invites you to visit him at his country house, and 
 gives yo:i other letters of introduction when you take 
 your departure ; you end by saying to him, " This is 
 too much ; I shall never be able to make a return in 
 Paris for what you have done for me here." The like 
 reception is met with among those to whom you have 
 been introduced in the second place, and the same in 
 succession ; sometimes, after an hour's conversation, 
 the gentleman whom you see for the first time books 
 you to come and spend a week at his country seat. 
 Should yon go, you will be treated as a member of the 
 family. Still more striking is the opening of the 
 heart ; frequently at the end of one or two days a 
 gentleman does not hesitate to tell you about his 
 private affairs. I requested information concerning 
 domestic matters. Sometimes my host, in order to be 
 precise, told me the amount of his income, of his 
 expenses, the amount of his rent, the history of his 
 fortune, of his family, of his marriage, a quantity of 
 minor domestic and personal facts. Persons in society 
 are more reticent in France. 
 
 We seek for the causes of this difference ; the 
 following is a summary of them : — The Englishman 
 is hospitable ; 1st. On account of weariness : most 
 of the persons in society live in the country for eight 
 months of the year; sometimes at a distance from a 
 town, and very solitarily ; they have need of con- 
 versation, new ideas. 2nd. As an effect of social 
 customs ; in London they scarcely speak ; thoy livo 
 moving about ; they remain too short a time, some- 
 times less than three months; there is too great a 
 crowd, and too much to do ; the country-house is the 
 true drawing-room, the place for associating together. 
 
ii 
 
 io8 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 3rd. As an eFect of domestic habits ; many children, 
 many servants ; in a well-appointed great house order 
 and a certain reserve are indispensable ; the habitual 
 stoicism of characters and manners operates in the same 
 sense. Then, the presence of a stranger does not have 
 the result, as among us, of interrupting acquaintance- 
 ship, stopping the general impulse, the gaiety, the chit- 
 chat, compelling people to be on their guard, to restrain 
 their familiarity and their heedlessness. There is only 
 another chair filled at table, in the drawing-room, 
 nothing moi, ".li l;one has not changed. 4th. By 
 the arrangeme^ for ^' mfort and the service: the or- 
 ganisation is perfect, and the machine in order ; the 
 domestics are punctual, the rooms ready, the hours 
 fixed ; there is nothing to undo or do over again ; nor, 
 above all, is there any makeshift required to entertain 
 a visitor. 5th. By kindliness, humanity, and even by 
 conscience ; to be useful is a duty, and a foreigner is 
 so thoroughly lost, so little at his ease in the new 
 country where he has landed ! Tie ought to be helped. 
 
VIII. 
 
 ENGLISH HOUSEHOLDS. 
 
 npHIS leads to a consideration of the '^.teriors. Rule 
 -^ and discipline are more 8tronj.;ly felt therein 
 than among us. In this department, is m the others, 
 the meshes of the social net-work are loosened in 
 France and tightly drawn in England. 
 
 I have three households in vit " ; in the one are 
 seven domestics, cook and scullery maid, two house- 
 maids, lady's maid, coachman, valet ; in the second, 
 fifteen ; in the third, eighteen. A man servant has 
 from £40 to £50 wages, and, if he be on board wages, 
 which is common enough in London, twelve shilliLgs 
 a week are added for his board. Each has his post 
 rigorously defined. The work is divided, no one 
 either trespasses on, or trusts to another. For 
 example, in the last of the Iiouses which I have 
 just cited, there is a special man for sweeping, carry- 
 ing coal, lighting and keeping up the fires. There 
 are two classes of servants, the lower and the upper, 
 the latter are responsible and transmit the master's 
 orders ; at their head is the butler for the men, and 
 the head lady's maid for the women ; if a groom 
 should appear with a dirty coat, his master says 
 nothing to him, but reprimands the butler. These 
 
no 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 lv< 
 
 upper servants are a species of sergeants, who bavc an 
 opinion and tho authority of their position : defined 
 distribution of employment, liierarchy of powers con- 
 stitute tho leading traits of a workable organisation. 
 And tho latter traits complete tho former. These 
 servants stand on their dignity ; they will enter none 
 
 but a respectable mansion. S , requiring to add a 
 
 housemaid to his staff, thought of a country girl, who, 
 not having been married, had a child ; but before 
 taking her, he placed the matter before his servants. 
 They consulted together, and, owing to the good 
 character given of her, admitted the poor girl among 
 them. Generally their manners are correct, though 
 many are young, unmarried, and under the same roof; 
 
 in S 's whole life but one accident had happened 
 
 in his house. On the other hand they do their work 
 conscientiously, with perfect punctuality and regu- 
 larity, at the appointed time, without fail; they have a 
 watchword which they obey to the letter. However, it 
 appears as if the machine works of its own accord ; the 
 masters have scarcely any need to interfere; r>n this 
 
 head S maintains again that at bottom, in an 
 
 Englishman, there is the sense of duty, that this senti- 
 ment reigns in the kitchen and the ante-chamber as 
 well as in the ship or the workshop, that none other 
 reconciles the subordinate with subordination. Two 
 circumstances concur in alleviating it. The ser- 
 vants retain their share of independence, and they 
 cleave to it. In London many of them have a club, an 
 association whereof the members agree not to continue 
 longer tlian two consecutive years in the same house ; 
 this is in order to leave less power to the masters. More- 
 over, as their hours are regulated, they are their own 
 masters during the intervals of their service. They 
 
ENGLISH HOUSEHOLDS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 /, an 
 ;inue 
 use ; 
 ore- 
 own 
 ^hey 
 
 liave their liall, a largo room wherein they take their 
 meals and sit. In tho house of which I spoke, their 
 dinner and their breakfast are served half an hour 
 before those of their masters. "^ *iey have a small 
 library for their use, draughts, chess ; after dinner 
 they may go out ; one only is kept to answer tho bell. 
 In order to obtain much, too much must not bo de- 
 manded ; he who commands must provide for tho phy- 
 sical and moral welfare of his subordinates. If ho 
 desire the obedience of the heart, he must bo their 
 leader, a true chief, a general and responsible official, 
 the accepted and authorised governor of their con- 
 duct. In this respect, on Sunday evening, he is their 
 spiritual guide, their chaplain ; they may be seen 
 entering in a row, the women in front, tho men be- 
 hind, with seriousness, gravity, and taking their places 
 in the drawing-room. The family and visitors are 
 assembled. The master reads aloud a short sermon ; 
 next a prayer ; then everyone kneels or bends for- 
 ward, the face turned towards the wall ; lastly, ho 
 repeats the Lord's Prayer, and, clause by clause, the 
 worshippers respond. This done, the servants file off, 
 returning in the same order, silently, meditatively. I 
 have observed them several times — not a muscle of their 
 countenance moved. By this community and direction 
 of the moral sentiment, the master succeeds in filling 
 his true place. In France he is very far from possessing 
 in his house, amongst his servants, and even amongst 
 his children, legitimate authority and entire authority. 
 I note at once the inconvenience, the opposite side. In 
 the habitual commerce of life the English are not easy- 
 going; conditions among them are separated by a bar- 
 rier, and in place of making a passage through it, they 
 strew it with thorns. For example, Mr. N , an 
 
l\ 
 
 I: 
 
 I 12 
 
 NOTES aV ENGLAND. 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 Engllsliman settled in I'ranco, clioso a French tutor 
 for his children. At the end of u month Mrs. N 
 
 ceased to find him to her taste, spoko no more to him, 
 communicated with him by letters only. One evening, 
 
 in the drawing-room, Mr. N went to sleep, and 
 
 Mrs. N begun to read. The young man not 
 
 daring to take up a book, and not being able to con- 
 verse with any one, ended, after many struggles, by 
 going to sleep also. Next day she said to hira, in a 
 dry and arbitrary tone, *' Sir, your conduct last even- 
 ing was very improper; I hope that it will not bo 
 repeated." Some days afterwards a young lady being 
 invited with whom he was acquainted, he went and 
 
 seated himself next to her at table. Mrs. N said 
 
 aloud to him, " Sir, that is not your place ; come and 
 sit beside your pupil." lie refused, left the table, 
 quitted the house, and demanded, according to agree- 
 ment, a year's salary. This was refused. A lawsuit 
 
 followed. Mr. N was defeated. This recalls 
 
 an anecdote of the last century. Lord A-- having 
 
 engaged a French tutor, advised him not to speak any- 
 thing but French to his children. " I am charmed, my 
 lord, to find that you lay such store on that tongue." 
 " Sir, we despise it, but we wish that in France our 
 children should know how to speak as well as the 
 natives." One can picture the smiling, efi'usive air of 
 the Frenchman in quest of a compliment, and the im- 
 movable features, the haughty tone of the Englishman, 
 who returns him a slap in the face. 
 
 The post of governesses in England is not a pleasant 
 one ; witness on this head the novels of Charlotte 
 Bronte. The majority of those I have seen, had 
 assumed a wooden face ; nothing is more surprising 
 when such a face is youthful. The tone, the demea- 
 
ENGLISH HOUSEHOLDS, 
 
 "3 
 
 ich tutor 
 
 I.N 
 
 ) to him, 
 evening, 
 leep, and 
 man not 
 ) to con- 
 ?glc8, by 
 lim, in a 
 ist evcTi- 
 l not bo 
 dy being 
 ^cnt and 
 
 said 
 
 ome and 
 ae table, 
 
 agree- 
 
 1 lawsuit 
 
 recalls 
 
 having 
 ak any- 
 ned, my 
 ongue." 
 ace our 
 
 as the 
 e air of 
 
 he im- 
 shman, 
 
 easant 
 arlotte 
 had 
 )riiing 
 emea- 
 
 nour, the whole is artificial and made to order ; com- 
 posed and nuiintained in such a wiiy as never to give 
 an opening ; even after several dtiys of faniiliiirity, and 
 out of the liouse in which they teach, they remain on 
 the defensive; the habit of self-observation and of 
 control is too strong ; one might scy tlioy were sohliers 
 on parade. As to the servants, their expression of 
 humble and subdued respect greatly surpasses that of 
 those whom we can liave known ; it is even unpleasant 
 to observe this attitude of a man face to face with a man. 
 There is the same fund of stiffness in the inter- 
 course of relations. A son wlien speaking familiarly 
 of his father, says, my governor. In fact, by law and 
 custom, he is the governor of his house, which is his 
 castle, and of the garrison that lodges there. Except 
 in the case of an entail, he can disinherit his children, 
 and it has been seen that his wife is subject to him. 
 
 Mr. W , a ricli landed proprietor, and a gentleman 
 
 of the old school, has, among other children, a son in 
 consumption. Tbe ])oor young man, who returned 
 from Nice and felt himself dying, stopped at Boulogne; 
 he wished to end his days with his father, in the house 
 wherein he was born ; but ho neither durst go thither 
 without being invited, nor even ask permission. His 
 mother, who is ill and wishes to embrace her son again, 
 dare not take upon herself to rejoin him. At length, 
 one of these days, ho received a letter from his father, 
 and ^^etoff on his journey. The inequality of positions is 
 another cause of coldness. Between the eldest son, who 
 will bo a nobleman with an income of £8,000 a year, 
 and the younger son, who will have £200 a year, who 
 inhabits two furnished rooms, and spends the day in a 
 machine shop in order to become an engineer, th(! 
 distance is too great ; real familiarity, fellowship, is 
 
 I 
 
11 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 ! 
 
 I ) 
 
 '! 
 
 I 
 
 8 
 
 114 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 impossible. Even when similarly educated thoy feel 
 
 their separation. Two bi-^thcrs were mentioned to mo 
 
 who were both at the University of Oxford, but the 
 
 elder brother had one hundred pounds sterling a year 
 
 more than tho younger. Final cause of division is the 
 
 independence of the children : a son, a daughter, can 
 
 marry without their parents' consent, and very often 
 
 exercise this right ; hence occur squabbles which last a 
 
 lifetime. Moiintime, tlie father knov/s that his child can 
 
 leave him, run directly counter to his will in tho most 
 
 mtrtifying manner. Frequently he says : " Since you 
 
 have the right, you must take the consequonces." 
 
 Reasoning thus, many, above all those who have a 
 
 legion of children, do not trouble tliomsclves about 
 
 marrying their daughters ; they leave that to them ; it 
 
 is their business, as it is tho business of the sons to 
 
 gain a livelihood. That differs greatly from our homes, 
 
 where the parents give themselves up wholly and 
 
 without restriction to their children, where the elder 
 
 soiis, the younger sons, the brothers and the sisters are 
 
 so equal among each other, and almost on a footing of 
 
 equality with their parents, the familiarity and the 
 
 intimacy being so complete, where each one considers it 
 
 natural to enter, every day and at every hour, by their 
 
 questions and their counsels, into the thoughts, the 
 
 sentiments, the actions of their relatives, where nothing 
 
 is enclosed nor reserved, where every mind is disclosed, 
 
 opened by an hundred thousand apertures to the 
 
 curiosity and to the sympathy of his kindred. 
 
 The English are surprised at this ; S greatly 
 
 admires our sociability in this particular, our kindly 
 character. He has often seen in France two or three 
 families together under the same roof and at the same 
 table, during six months in the country, sometimes 
 
thoy feel 
 led to mo 
 , but tho 
 ig a year 
 m is tho 
 [iter, can 
 n'y often 
 icli last a 
 shild can 
 the most 
 )ince you 
 [uonces.** 
 • have a 
 es about 
 them ; it 
 
 sons to 
 r homes, 
 plly and 
 ho elder 
 sters are 
 oting of 
 and the 
 sidera it 
 by their 
 
 its, the 
 nothing 
 
 sclosed, 
 
 to the 
 
 greatly 
 kindly 
 )r three 
 le same 
 aetimes 
 
 ENGLISH HOUSEHOLDS. 
 
 IIS 
 
 tho entire year in tho country, in town ; at one time 
 two married brothers, at another the parents with 
 their son-in-law and their daughter, or with their 
 sou and their daughter-in-law. Nothing is rarer 
 than this in England. Characters clash; each family 
 rctjuires to possess its independence as well as its 
 abode. We coalos'^e, we hold everything in com- 
 mon ; as for them, even when living together, they 
 maintain distinctions, they draw lines of demarca- 
 tion. Self is more powerful ; each of them preserves 
 a portion of his individuality, his own special and 
 personal nook, a kind of forbidden field, enclosed, 
 respected by every one, even by tho brother and 
 the father, even by the sister, even by the mother ; 
 to enter it would bo an intrusion ; no one gains ad- 
 mission, save perhaps the beloved person, the husband, 
 the wife, to whom all one's life is pledged. This 
 reserved circle is larger or sniallor according to tlic 
 personages. It includes at one time business matters, 
 questions of money and of ambition, at another certain 
 profound sentiments, a hope, a love disappointment, 
 an old and protracted mourning, at anotlier intimuto 
 and lofty ideas, for instance religious beliefs ; some- 
 times it embraces them all ; then the personage is 
 tongue-tied, and does not like to bo spoken to. Uut 
 in every case tho lino he has traced around him 
 remains intact ; he docs not overstep it when unre- 
 served. If over-leapt by any one, it is owing to an 
 indiscretion which cuts him to the quick ; his relatives 
 abstain from doing so as they would from house- 
 breaking. Thus a father or mother is more imper- 
 fectly informed than among us as to the sentiments of 
 their daughter, as to the business and the pleasures of 
 their son. 
 
 •f ;i 
 
i 
 
 I 
 
 w 
 
 ik W 
 
 i 
 
 ii6 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND 
 
 To make this obvious, would require too lengthened 
 detail. I shall cite but one trait. In France a son 
 tells his mother everything, even about his mis- 
 tresses ; the usage is ancient. ]\Iudame de Scvigne 
 received irom her son secrets which she related to 
 her daughter — very improper and very distinct secrets 
 — and which slie was only able to express, owing 
 to her verve, her gaiety, her wonderful liglitness 
 of touch. Kven at the present day, without going 
 so far back, very many young nun nuike similar 
 avowals to their mothers, or at least liint — aUow them 
 to suspect, an affair of galhintry. The motliers are 
 not scandalised at this, they arc too hai)])y to bo made 
 confidants, almost companions. They scold a little, 
 smile faintly, and, lifting the finger, send away tlie 
 naughty fellow, telling him to take care. 15 is 
 
 of opinion that this is impossible in Kngland ; the son 
 would not dare do it, the mother would be shocked 
 or indignant. 80 in other matters; they have no 
 acquaintance with these boundless conversations, these 
 complete outpourings, where the differences in age 
 compensate for the difi'erence of sex, where the son 
 entering the world finds in his mother separating her 
 self from the world his most skilful guide and his 
 most thorough friend. 
 
 These habits of reserve lead to a kind of si-oici-sm. 
 Even among their kindred they are not expausive, they 
 are self-restrained. In a family which ha^; lost a very 
 near relative, a father, a son, there are never cries nor 
 outbursts. From the morrow every one comes down, 
 taking their places at table at tho ordinary hour, and 
 in the same manner ; they merely talk rather less than 
 their wont ; it is all very well to feel sorrow, they 
 have to do their work, wliatever it be, as well and as 
 
 >..*4^ *«K»« ^ 
 
igthcncd 
 ce a son 
 his mis- 
 
 Scvigno 
 dilated to 
 it secrets 
 H, owin^ 
 Ifglitness 
 ut goin*^ 
 ; similar 
 low them 
 hers are 
 bo injido 
 
 a little, 
 iwuy the 
 
 • is 
 
 ; the son 
 
 shocked 
 
 have no 
 
 IIS, these 
 
 in ago 
 
 the BOFi 
 [,ing her 
 
 and hid 
 
 iioicii^m. 
 
 jive, they 
 
 ;t a very 
 
 bries nor 
 
 [a down, 
 
 lur, an<l 
 
 L'ss than 
 
 w, they 
 
 and as 
 
 ENGLISH HOUSEHOLDS. 
 
 117 
 
 conscientiously as before. When the Queen, after 
 Prince Albert's death, shut herself up alone and ap- 
 ])eared to havo given up the receptions and other 
 occupations of iier post, the newspapers, after allowing 
 several months to elapse, began to blame her, and 
 declared to lier that a private loss did not absolve any- 
 one from public obligations. A writer in the National 
 Review praises Kugenic de Guerin, so pure and so 
 melancholy ; but, according to liim, she is wrong in 
 giving expression to her sadness and even in being sad. 
 " An Knglisliwoman of right and healthy mind would 
 consider cheerfulness a duty in itself, and would refrain 
 from expressing distaste for life." I have badly trans- 
 lated the word "cheerfulness" (qairtc), being unable 
 to reiuler it ; it means the opposite of dejection, a sort 
 of smiling serenity. Nowliere is this sentiment nobler, 
 more touching to notice than on the face of old ladies. 
 One of tliem, bed-ridden for ten years, was still kindly 
 and composed. The children were taken to her night 
 and morning, slie knew and laid down their daily pro- 
 gramme, exacted an account of the whole family doings, 
 did fancy work, read, and prayed, was never a moment 
 idle ; weariness had iKjt stamped one wrinkle on her 
 brow. Another, seventy-iive, a great-grandmother, 
 ihad the smooth complexion of a nun. Two among 
 them are engraven in my memory like a line Dutch 
 picture. It was in the countrv in a lofty drawing- 
 room papered with white a>id pearl-grey ; the clear 
 (!()lour was softened by the shades of evening. The 
 large central window curved outwards above a flower 
 bed, and, through its shining squares of glass, green 
 fields were seen. On a chair, close to tlir light, a 
 beautiful young girl, intelligent and cold, gravely read 
 a small religious work. In the middle, two old ladies, 
 
! 
 
 " I 
 
 ii8 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 before the tea-table, entertained their guest, i- '.CfcS 
 with lari^c features, serene, determined, e\en corny -^aid- 
 ing; in this single respect, they differed Irom tb-^ 
 Ficniish portraits. For costume they had dresses of 
 black silk in ample folds, lace at the neck and wrists, 
 rich caps of falling gauze, white embroideries at the 
 stomacher as in tlie figures of Mierevelt ; the degree of 
 stiffness and opulence which displeases in the attire ov 
 young ladies was well adapted to their years and to 
 their gravity. All around were the marks of perfect 
 independence, of an undisputed position, of a balanced 
 mind, of a healthy soul, of a worthy life. The one 
 who was seventy and had the look of fifty is un- 
 married ; through her family relations she has mixed 
 with the first spirits of Franco and of England; during 
 the season she goe? to stay v^ith friends, at honu' ^^he 
 reads. Dickens and the moderns appear to her lov/ and 
 strained, she enjoys more the writers who possess eleva- 
 tion and solidity — M. Guizot, M. Mignet, llallam, 
 Macaulay, the last rather less than the others, Arnold, 
 Dean Stanley, others besides v/ho write about morality 
 and religion as respectful lil»erals, just as in France, 
 among the upper middle-clr , 'a the seventeenth cen- 
 tury, the ladies read Du Gue; xiA Nicole. The second 
 has four sons settled abroad, tlie most of them Consuls 
 or Charg^ d'Aflfaires, one in Africa, another in Turkey, 
 another in Sweden ; every two years each of them 
 comes and spends a fortnight with her. She is not 
 melancholy on account of being alone and so far from 
 them ; she is contented, like a Roman mother, to know 
 that they are all " in a position so honourable and so 
 useful to their country." 
 
 Amid all this, I think, two things are visible ; the 
 01' is the native and acquired energy, the force of 
 
 r'-^vjtvw '>otj.iM>.^iiUj<ww j^i^mt Ah wtfl ia 't m tt ia v ^^ Mt&ttSMem 
 
Jt^GLISH HOUSEHOLDS. 
 
 119 
 
 [roiT! tbo 
 
 Iresses of 
 
 1(1 wrists, 
 
 cs at the 
 
 degree of 
 
 attire of 
 
 8 and to 
 
 if perfect 
 
 balanced 
 
 The one 
 
 y is un- 
 
 is mixed 
 
 1; during 
 
 lonu' ahe 
 
 : low and 
 
 JS3 eleva- 
 
 IluUam, 
 
 Arnold, 
 
 moralitj'' 
 
 France, 
 
 nth cen- 
 
 second 
 
 Consuls 
 
 Turkey, 
 
 of them 
 
 is not 
 
 far from 
 
 to know 
 
 and so 
 
 character by which a man mabtcrs 3u:nseir always 
 keeps hims'^lf in chei^k, is self-sufficing, risks and resists 
 misfortune, sorrow, and disappoirtment ; the other is 
 the institution of a hierarchy which, even in j^rivate 
 life, upholds inequality, subordination, authority, and 
 order. But there is the reverse of every medal. As 
 far as I can judge this character and this system of 
 rule prod-cce many tyrants, louts, mutes, down-trodden 
 and eccentric persons. A certain number of homes 
 resemble that of the Ilarlowe family in Richardson; 
 but on that head an observer's mouth is closed. I 
 3end the reader to the pictures of George Eliot, of 
 Dickens, and of Thackeray ; see in particular in 
 Thackeray the portraits of Lord Steyne, of Barnes 
 Newcome, of Lady Few, of old Osborne, and of the 
 step-mother of Clive Newcome. 
 
 )le; the 
 Ibrce of 
 
 m 
 
ii 
 
 *H 
 
 IX. 
 
 ENGLISH SCHOOL BOYS AND SCHOOL LIFE. 
 
 EXCURSION to Ilarrow-on-the-IIill ; I have also 
 seen Eton. Harrow, Eton, Rugby, are the prin- 
 cipal places of secondary instruction, and nearly cor- 
 respond to our large lyceums ; at Eton there are 
 about eight hundred boys, and five hundred in each of 
 the others, from thirteen to eighteen. But, between 
 these schools and our lyceums, the difierence is enor- 
 mous, and no other comparison gives greater pro- 
 minence to the contrast between the two nations. I 
 am told that I may take Harrow as a specimen. 
 
 This is an independent, private establishment, with- 
 out State aid, originally founded by a legacy, and, con- 
 sequently, provided with landed estate and an hereditary 
 revenue. Sometimes the revenue yielded by such a 
 property is very large ; at Ilarrowit is small (£1,100). 
 Large or .^mall, it is administered by a body of trustees 
 who nvii renewed by election. Here there are six, great 
 \oTdii and proprietors of the neighbourhood, who arc 
 empowured to T,»iake considerable changes, and to 
 appoint th" licu^; -master. But the principal part of 
 the machiixe is the staff of under-masters ; each of 
 thero. underiikos a course of study (Greek, Latin, 
 Fr nch, Mathematics, &c.), and, in addition, lodges and 
 
ENGLISH SCHOOL LIFE. 
 
 12 r 
 
 feeds in his house from ten to thirty boarders. When 
 there is but a dozen of them they take their meals at 
 his table with his family ; sometimes, when they are 
 more numerous, tliey lake their meals at two tables 
 presided over by the ladies of the house. Commonly, 
 two occupy the same bedroom ; the oldest have rooms 
 to themselves. Thus, the child transplanted into the 
 school, finds there a likeness to the paternal mansion, 
 the more so because families are so largo in England. 
 He has his room, he dines at three paces from a lady, 
 he is a person among persons, he lives in a natural and 
 complete position, and is not, as among us, subjected 
 to the communism of a barrack. 
 
 Another difference ; among us a lyceum is a large box 
 of stone which one enters through a single hole, furnished 
 with a grating and a porter ; in the interior are some 
 courts resembling yards, sometimes a wretched row of 
 trees, by way of compensation plenty of walls. As the 
 box is always in a great city, the young man who passes 
 without the grating does not find beyond any more than 
 within it, anything but stone and brick. Here the school 
 is in a little town, with a hundred free openings upon 
 the country. At Eton, around the old central quadrangle, 
 I saw roses, ivy, honeysuckle climbing everywhere 
 along the buildings ; in the distance are rich meadows, 
 wherein huge elms spread their venerable branches ; 
 close to them is a green and shining river ; upon the 
 water are swans ; in the islands cattle rur; nate ; the cur- 
 rent winds and disappears towards the horizon amidst 
 foliage. At Harrow, the landscape is less pleasing, but 
 verdure and the open air are not wanting ; a meadow 
 of ten or twelve acres belongs to the school, and sup- 
 plies a ground for crickot. I met the little boys in 
 black jackets, the big ones in black coats, all wearing 
 
122 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 on their head a small straw hat, not only in the town, 
 but without the town, along the hedgerows, on the 
 banks of the pond ; their muddy boots show that they 
 are always on the roads or in damp meadows. Thut?, 
 while among us the season of youth is spent under a 
 bell-glass through which penetrates the moral and phy- 
 sical atmosphere of a capital, among thera it is spent 
 in the open air, without imprisonment of any sort, in 
 the constant companionship of fields, of waters, and of 
 woods. Now it is a great point for the body, the 
 imagination, the mind, and the character to be deve- 
 loped in a position healthy, calm, and conformed to the 
 mute exigencies of their instincts. 
 
 On the whole, human nature is more respected here 
 and more unaffected. Under this education, the chil- 
 dren resemble the trees of an English garden ; under 
 ours, to the clipped and ordered yews of Versailles. 
 For instance, here the children are almost as free as 
 students ; they are bound to attend classes, lessons, 
 dinner, to enter at an appointed hour in the evening, 
 nothing more ; the remainder of the day is their own ; 
 it cari be spent in their own fashion. The sole duty 
 weighing upon these hours of freedom is the obliga- 
 tion to perform the prescribed task ; but they may do it 
 where they please and when they please ; they work in 
 their own rooms or elsewhere. I have seen some study- 
 ing with the librarian, others reading seated on a 
 balustrade. They follow their taste, wander where 
 they like. They are to be seen in the streets, in the 
 pastrycooks, in the cook'^hop ; they scour the country, 
 tish, skate, bathe, go birds'-nesting. They are masters 
 of their time and of their money also, give themselves 
 treats, purchase ornaments for their rooms. It appears 
 that they get into debt, their little private furniture io 
 
 iij. 
 
ENGLISH SCHOOL LIFE. 
 
 »23 
 
 Bold to the liifjhcst bidder. Thcv luivo iiiitiafivo and 
 responsibility ; it is curious to see youths of twelve 
 elevated to the dignity of men. 
 
 Eight hours' work daily is the maximum ; most fre- 
 quently six or seven ; amonj^ us eleven, which is irra- 
 tional. The young have need of physical movement ; it 
 is running counter to nature to oblige thorn to be pure 
 brain, sedentary cripples. Here atliletic games — 
 tennis, football, races, boating, and, above all, cricket, 
 occupy a portion of every day ; in addition, twice 
 or thrice weekly, the classes are suspended in tho 
 afternoon in order to give place to them. Self-love is 
 mixed up with this ; each scho(jl endeavours to surpass 
 its rivals, and sends, to the trial of strength, oarsmen 
 and players carefully trained and chosen. Harrow beat 
 Eton last year, and hopes to win this year also. To- 
 day, eleven of the oldest and best players uphold the 
 reputation of the school against eleven players from 
 London ; two flag-bearers, flag in hand, mark the 
 bounds, hundreds of youths line tho sides, at a distance, 
 and applaud happy strokes. The aff'air is serious ; their 
 opponents belong to a celebrated cricketing club, all 
 being admirably skilled, strong, and cool ; the j'ouths 
 have a right to be passionately fond of an exercise 
 which grown-up men make the principal object of their 
 life. Indeed, there are gentlemen in this country whose 
 ambition and course of living are those of a Grecian 
 athlete ; they subject themselves to a particular diet, 
 abstaining from all excess at table and in drinking ; 
 they develop their muscle, and submit themselves to a 
 wise system of training. When prepared, they proceed 
 and compete for the prizes for boating or cricket at all 
 the great competitions in England, even farther off, in 
 America. I was informed of a cricketing eleven who 
 

 Jill 
 
 1 I 
 
 I 
 
 124 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 went to Australia with tin's design, just as in other 
 days the athletes oi Pontus and lyiarseilles went to 
 Olympus. It is not at all surprising if the youth 
 become enthusiastic for games so much in repute ; 
 the head of the eleven cricketers, the captain of the 
 eight oarsmen, is a more important personage in the 
 school than the best scholar. 
 
 These already constitute germs of association, an 
 apprenticeship in commanding and obeying, since each 
 lot which plays at cricket submits to discuplinc and 
 selects a head. But the principle is still more widely 
 applicable ; youths find young men form together an 
 organised body, a kind of minor State apfirt, having 
 its chiefs and its laws. These chiefs are the boys of 
 the sixth form, more particularly the fifteen monitors, 
 and in each boarding-house the first pupil. They keep 
 order, enforce the rules, and, in general, hold the place 
 of our ushers. They hinder the strong from bullying 
 the weak, are arbitrators in disputes, intervene when a 
 boy has got into a st. ape with a villager or a shop- 
 keeper, punishing the delinquents. In short, here the 
 pupils are governed by pupils, and each one after 
 having submitted to authority exercises it in turn. 
 During the last year he is enlisted on the side of the 
 regulations, he makes them prevail, he feels their 
 utility, he adopts them with all his heart instead of 
 kicking against them, as a PVench schoolboy does not 
 hesitate to do. Hence, when he leaves school and 
 enters life he is less disposed to consider rule absurd 
 and authority ridiculous ; he understands freedom and 
 subordination ; he has more nearly comprehended the 
 conditions of a society, the rights and the duties of 
 citizen. Besides this general preparation, there is a 
 special one. The bigger boys form debating societies 
 
ENGLISH SCHOOL LIFE, 
 
 "S 
 
 amongst themselves, where they dlseuss monil and 
 political topics ; the liead-master is only the honorarv 
 president. Alter the youn«^ speakers have addressed 
 the meeting, the vote is taken, the arguments and 
 the debate are summarised in a report ; it is a par- 
 liament in miniature. In addition, three of the oldest 
 boys edit a review — The 'Triumvirate. Their aim " is 
 to arouse in their comrades (extended ideas of patriotioi.i 
 and to interest them in tlie all'aiis of the country." 
 They belong to the Conservative opposition, argue 
 about the French alliance, about the elections, about 
 the right of election. There are some commonplaces 
 and there is a little inflation, but good sense is not. 
 absent ; for example, with regard to the right of re- 
 presentation which they wish to extend, but up to a 
 certain limit only, they appeal to their young reader's 
 experience ; during the holidays in the country ho has 
 seen that the villagers, the shopkeepers of the proposed 
 class, are suificiently intelligent and educated to vote 
 rightly ; thus the argument is practical, drawn from 
 facts, "xnd not from a pompous theory. I have just 
 read a number of this review ; certainly our students 
 of rhetoric have by no means anything approaching to 
 the same degree of culture and political information. 
 Add another trait still ; all, or nearly all, are religiously 
 disposed ; they would be shocked at an irreverent w ord ; 
 they sing earnestly in chapel. Since Arnold's time, the 
 aim of education has been to produce ChriKtiun genth;- 
 iT' jn ; most of them are professedly religious, take the 
 Sacrament, and pray nightly of their own accord. Thus 
 when they enter the world, they are the upholders, and 
 not the adversaries, of the great ecclesiastical esta- 
 blishment, of the national religion. 
 
 On all hands I arrive at the same conclusion : in 
 
 
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 126 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 England there is not a profound separation between 
 the life of the child and that of the adult ; the 
 school and society are on an equal footing, with no in- 
 termediate moat or wall ; the one leads to and prepares 
 for the other. The adult does not, as among us, leave 
 a hothouse in compartments, an exceptional rule, a 
 special atmosphere. He is not troubled, taken out of 
 his element by the change of air. Not only has he 
 cultivated his mind, but he has also undergone an 
 apprenticeship to life. Not only does he possess ideas, 
 but these ideas are suited to the world which receives 
 him. In politics, in religion, he finds a place quite 
 ready for him at twenty, for which his tastes and his 
 faculties have been adapted beforehand. In this man- 
 ner he most easily escapes scepticism ; he more rapidly 
 settles down ; he experiments less to find an employ- 
 ment for his powers. All those whom I have seen in 
 the class, in the fields, and in the streets, have a 
 healthy and active, decided, and energetic air. Evi- 
 dently, to my eyes at least, they are greater children 
 and more manly ; greater children, that is to say, more 
 addicted to play and less inclined to pass the limits 
 of their years ; more manly, that is to say, more inde- 
 pendent, more capable of governing themselves and of 
 acting. On the contrary, the French schoolboy, above 
 all the inmates of our colleges, is wearied, embittered, 
 rendered acute, precocious, and too precocious ; he is 
 caged up, and his imagination ferments. In all these 
 respects, and in what relates to the formation of cha- 
 racter, English education is superior ; it better prepares 
 for the world and forms healthier minds. 
 
 The author of " Tom Brown's School-days " says, 
 " When I formed the project of writing this book I 
 endeavoured to represent to myself the most common 
 
ENGLISH SCHOOL LIFE. 
 
 127 
 
 type of a little English boy of the upper middle class, 
 such as I had witnessed in my experience ; and I faith- 
 fully maintain this type from the beginning to the end 
 of my story, while merely strivinjg to give a good 
 specimen of the species." The book thus conceived 
 had an enormous success. Youths and adults all re- 
 cognised themselves in the picture, and we can make 
 use of it, in admitting with the author that the portrait, 
 if not flattered, is at least kindly. Neither Tom nor his 
 father cared much for education properly so called. 
 His father asks himself, " Shall I tell him to mind his 
 work, and say he's sent to school to make himself a 
 good scholar ? Well, but he isn't sent to school for that 
 —at any rate not for that mainly. I don't care a straw 
 for Greek particles, or the digarama, no more does his 
 mother. What is he sent to school for ? Well, 
 partly because he wanted so to go. If he'll only 
 turn out a brave, helpful, truth-telling Englishman, 
 and. a gentleman, and a Christian, that's all I want." 
 And when Tom, several years afterwards, asks him- 
 self what he came to school for, he replies : — " I 
 want to be A 1 at cricket and football and all the 
 oiLer ganies, and to make my hands keep my head 
 
 against any fellow, lout or gentleman I want 
 
 to carry away just as much Latin and Greek as will 
 
 take me through Oxford respectably I want 
 
 to leave behind me the name of a fellow who never 
 bullied a little boy or turned his back on a big 
 
 one. 
 
 Remarkable words, and well summarising the ordi- 
 nary sentiments of an English father and child ; science 
 and mental culture occupy the last place ; character, 
 heart, courage, strength, and bodily skill are in the 
 first row. Such an education produces moral and 
 
128 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 'J. I 
 
 physical wrestlers, with all the advantages, but also 
 with all the drawbacks, attached to this direction of 
 the mind and the body. 
 
 Along with other unpleasant effects the rude instincts 
 are developed. An Eton master states that "play 
 takes the first place, books the second." The child 
 makes it his glory, like Tom Brown, to be a good 
 athlete ; he spends three, four, five hours daily in 
 rough and violent exercises. At hares and hounds 
 one flounders for hours in ploughed fields and in 
 muddy meadows, one stumbles in the mud, one loses 
 one's shoes, one picks oneself up as w^ell as possible. 
 At football the sides precipitate themselves upon each 
 other ; the child underneath bears the weight of the 
 entire mass, arms and legs are dislocated, collar-bones 
 broken. At cricket the great heavy ball is thrown 
 with such force that the unskilful wicket-keeper is 
 knocked down, if struck by it. Nearly all the 
 games habitually yield bruises ; pride is taken in 
 not minding them ; and by a natural consequence, 
 there is no more hesitation in inflicting than in sub- 
 mitting to them. The child becomes a fighter, a boxer ; 
 the author of " Tom Brown " says, " To fight with 
 fists is the natural and English way for English boys 
 to settle their quarrels." All the men I have met 
 did so when at school, and this is still common. This 
 kind of duel has its rules, its appointed place, its 
 audience, its witnesses. Each combatant has two 
 seconds who sponge his face, and put forward their 
 knee for a seat during the rounds ; these encounters 
 are renewed, and sometimes prolonged during half- 
 an-hour. The maxim is to go on fighting as long 
 as one can see clearly and stand upright; after the 
 fight there are black eyes, swollen and livid cheeks, 
 
ENGLISH SCHOOL LIFE. 
 
 129 
 
 sometimes a thumb put out of joint, or a lip cut 
 open. 
 
 Unfortunately the school arrangements operate In 
 the same direction ; in addition to impositions, the being 
 kept from play and confinement, the birch is used ; in 
 certain schools, it is enough for a boy to appear three 
 times on the black list, for him to havo to prepare for 
 ft flogging. This morning four were flogged at Harrow 
 (fourteen strokes, not drawing blood). In all the 
 schools it is the head-master to whom this amiable 
 office appertains ; there is hardly a head-master in 
 France who would accept, at such a price, a salary of 
 £6,000. In principle all are liable to the birch, even 
 the bigger boys; yet scarcely any but the younger 
 and smaller ones are subjected to it. A strange thing 
 is that it is not unpopular. Fifty years ago at the 
 Charterhouse the boys, hearing that it was proposed 
 to substitute a fine for it, rebelled, crying, "Down 
 with fines ! hurrah for the birch ! " and on the morrow 
 they renewed acquaintance with the beloved birch. The 
 teachers with whom I have conversed consider that 
 this chastisement is not humiliating, and that it de- 
 velops special courage in the child ; according to them 
 the strokes are a natural form of repression ; it is 
 enough that opinion does not regard them as shameful, 
 and that the sufferer does not feel himself insulted. 
 Under the head-master, the big boys entrusted with 
 maintaining discipline have the right to inflict the 
 same punishment. For this purpose they carry a 
 cane in certain schools, and use it. 
 
 Here a shocking institution must be referred to — - 
 this is " fagging," or the obligation of the little boys 
 to be the servants of the bigger. It has been modi- 
 fied, softened, at Harrow, at Rugby, and in some other 
 
 
 
»30 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 establishments ; but in itself it always continues bad ; 
 for it is a school of brutality, and pushes the English 
 child towards the side to which he inclires, towards all 
 the excesses which the energetic, violent, tyrannical, 
 and hard temperament admits of. A lady whom we 
 know, and who is in truth of foreign extraction, could 
 not bring herself to subject her fon to fagging, and 
 has put him in a Parisian lyceum. According to 
 official inquirers t small boys are valets and slaves. 
 Each big boy has several, who are bound to run errands 
 for him, to sweep his room, to clean his candlesticks, 
 to toast his bread and his cheese, to call him at the ap- 
 pointed time, to help him at his games, frequently dur- 
 ing two or three hours daily, to run after his balls, and 
 return them to him, to be at his orders during all the time 
 he is awake, to endure his caprices. "At Westminster 
 School the life of a foundation scholar for the first year 
 is such an uninterrupted servitude that it is impossible 
 for him to find the necessary time for his studies.'* " I 
 state as a fact," said one witness, " that from the 1st of 
 January to the 31st of December, the young foundation 
 scholar has not a single moment which is not exposed 
 to interruption. At half past three in the morning, 
 two of the younger, chosen in succession, rise to light 
 the fire, boil the water, call up those of the big boys 
 who have ordered this to be done. Frequently, the 
 senior, awakened at four o'clock, does not get up till 
 half-past seven ; he must then be called every half 
 hour. This task falls to each of the small boys two 
 or three times weekly." Add all those of the day, all 
 those of the evening. " The seniors are very fond of 
 tea, th'^y must have it three times in the course of the 
 evening, without saying anything of coffee. Every 
 two minutes the kettles must be filled for them." 
 
ENGLISH SCHOOL LIFE. 
 
 »3» 
 
 One of the witnesses relates that on Saturday night, a 
 holiday at Westminster, when his son arrived home 
 from school he was so thoroughly broken down for 
 want of sleep, that he had no other desire than to go to 
 bed. In order to maintain sueh an exact and minute 
 obedience the big boys use terror. " Boxes on the ears, 
 kicks are mere common pranks of theirs, these not 
 
 counting among the numerous punishments In 
 
 the first degree the real punishments are systematic 
 boxes on the ears ; the offender must keep his hands 
 at his sides and hold his head forward to receive a 
 dozen slaps applied right and left." On other occasions 
 he places the palm of his hand on the table, the back 
 of the hand is then beaten with the blade of a paper- 
 knife till sometimes a gash is made. Caning comes 
 next, then two kinds of tanning. The boy is beaten 
 on the fleshy part of the leg with a racket-bat, which 
 "breaks the skin and makes the blood flow. He places 
 his foot on a sink the height of a table, the executioner 
 then takes a run of two or three paces and kicks the 
 part exposed. The reporter states, " I have heard of 
 two or three cases in which the boys were so cruelly 
 bruised, that they were unable for a long time to join 
 in the games and other exercises.'* Tom Brown was 
 tossed in a blanket, and thrown upwards with such force 
 that he struck the ceiling. One day having refused to 
 sell his lottery- tickets to the big boys, he was seized 
 hold of, held up before the blazing fire, and roasted 
 (literally) and till he was ready to faint. This actually 
 occurred, the romance being but a reproduction of an 
 authentic fact. Besides, in the lives of Cowper, Lord 
 Byron, Sir Robert Peel, other cases, equally revolting, 
 are to be found. Doubtless the instances just cited are 
 the darkest, and, as the English are persevering ia 
 
i i^ 
 
 '3* 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 matters of reform, the picture is becoming brighter. 
 Yet, even supposing the reform completed, the impres- 
 sion continues unpleasant ; for, on the whole, a schoo! 
 conducted in this style is a sort of primitive society, 
 where force reigns almost uncontrolled, all the more 
 so because it is considered a point of honour among 
 the oppressed not to denounce their oppressors. The 
 master interferes as little as possible ; he is not, as 
 among us, the perpetual "epresentative of humanity 
 and justice ; very seldom and in very few schools is an 
 appeal made to him or to the governing body. The 
 weak are left to themselves, they have but to suffer and 
 be patient. Now what a temptation is it for a vigorous 
 youth to possess the power and the right to flog ! It 
 is not a good thing to give the rein to the instincts of 
 domination and of biutality. The use always leads to 
 the abuse ; an incentive to what is unreasonable is 
 given by the irrationality which is practised, to blows 
 by the blows which are given ; a man ought never be 
 allowed the opportunity for becoming a despot and an 
 executioner. On the whole, education thus understood 
 is not destitute of resemblance to that of the Lacede- 
 monians ; they hardened the body and tempered the 
 character, but, as well as I can conjecture, they often 
 ended by producing hunters and louts. 
 
 Naturally, the cultivation of the mind must suffer 
 from such a training. Mr. Farrar writes : " When 
 seeing young men ready to sacrifice everything to 
 cricket, when seeing them devote to it a number 
 of hours and an enthusiasm out of all proportion to 
 that which they give to their work, when seeing that 
 their mind is so emphatically taken up with it that 
 they speak, think, and dream of nothing but cricket, 
 it is not surprising to And many persons attributing to 
 
 um 
 
 J 
 
ENGLISH SCHOOL LIFE. 
 
 ^il 
 
 this affoctation of muscularity the miserable poverty of 
 the intellectual results which we obtain." A vice 
 unknown among us, which is due to this prepon- 
 derance of the physical over the moral faculties, is 
 gluttony, and, above all, the fondness for wine ; hence 
 one of the faults punishable hy flogging is drunke i- 
 ness ; many stuff themselvc^j with eatables, and among 
 them are to be found precocious drur^kards. 
 
 Thfe teaching is not what is requisite for counter- 
 balancing these gross tastes ; there is nothing attrac- 
 tive about it; it can hardly be considered by the young 
 people as other than a task ; it is very slightly literary 
 and altogether technical. The chief aim is to know 
 Greek and Latin well, to write correctly in verse and 
 prose in these two languages ; in fact, by dint of 
 memory and exercises, the most clever succeed in doing 
 so. On one point, the knowledge and the manipula- 
 tion of Greek, they are far superior to the pupils of our 
 lyccums ; I have in my hands prize exercises, in which 
 scenes from Shakespeare are very well translated into 
 Greek iambics in the style of Sophocles. But on other 
 points I consider them inferior. Their Latin, prose 
 and verse, is less elegant and less pure than that of 
 our good compositions of the class of rhetoric. They 
 do not appear to be really acquainted with history ; 
 they rf'oount the legends of Curtius and of Regulus as 
 authenticated facts. They descant on chivalry and the 
 MiiMle Age in vague generalities, as was done in our 
 old University. They do not appear to apprehend the 
 difference of manners, of sentiments, of ideas, of cha- 
 racters which is the result of centuries. They do not 
 seem to have read, like our good scholars, the works 
 of a genuine historian, of a Thierry, of a Michelet, of 
 a Guizot. In general, they have few ideas j if the 
 
11 
 
 ill I 
 
 ! i 
 
 134 
 
 A07'£S ON ENGLAND, 
 
 questions roluting to existing and practical contempo- 
 rary politics are excepted, a student of rhetoric in a 
 Parisian lyceum possesses more. They have read many 
 classical texts ; but the explanation which is given to 
 them is wholly grammatical and positive. Nothing is 
 done to set forth the beauty of the passage, the delicacies 
 of the style, the pathos of the situation ; nor is the pro- 
 cess of the writer indicated, the character of his talents, 
 the turn of his mind ; all that would seem vague. The 
 master does not speak to the pupils as a critic to per- 
 sons of taste; he does not endeavour to refine their 
 literary touch ; he does not comment upon the great 
 writers of their country. It is the same in mathe- 
 matics ; he teaches formulas rather than the spirit ; 
 the manual of geometry is ahvays the text of Euclid 
 learned and said by heart ; reason and reasoning hold 
 but a secondary place. " Too frequently this teaching 
 tends to form Greek scholars and calculators." On 
 the contrary, the young Frenchman of nineteen 
 possesses, if he be intelligent, and if he has been 
 studious, general instruction, a quantity of ideas 
 blocked out, some half ideas of his own, a decided 
 preference for certain authors and a certain form of 
 style, the embryos of theories, vague views about the 
 beautiful, about history, about philosophy, at least the 
 sentiment that there are vast questions of first import- 
 ance on which he requires to form an opinion, a 
 requirement all the more pressing because around him 
 scepticism floats in the air, because, most frequently, 
 he has lost his religious beliefs, because no prevailing 
 doctrine, imposed or accepted, is at hand to arrest his 
 fluctuating mind, and because, if he desires to cast 
 anchor in a port, he is obliged to seek for the port and 
 forge the anchor. Here many distinguished English- 
 
 iarilH 
 
ENGLISH SCHOOL LIFE. 
 
 US 
 
 men whom I have known consider their school and even 
 their university education as a simple preparation, a 
 gymnastic, a training of tho attention and of the 
 memory, nothing more. They said to me, " When 
 linished with that, we havo been obliged to undo, or 
 rather to form, our education; to acquire by personal 
 reading all that wo have succeeded in learning about 
 philosophy, about history, about political economy, 
 about the natural sciences, about art, about literature." 
 A remedy is being found for this defect, the circle is 
 now being enlarged ; but it is still narrow, always 
 having Euclid and Sapphic verse as its centre. In con- 
 sequence, the mind, becoming adult at a later period, 
 arrives later at forming comprehensive views. 
 
 Final detail, aiid a crowning one, marks the dif- 
 ference between the two countries : the average out- 
 lay for keeping a boy at Harrow is £200 yearly. 
 How many fathers among us would be able to expend 
 £200 yearly on their son's education ? In France a 
 functionary, a man attached to one of the professions 
 called liberal, makes most frequently £120 at thirty, 
 and £200 at fifty ; and, commonly, he has for addition 
 the interest on a very small capital. Then, as com- 
 pensation, to keep his son at college costs him £40 
 only, £20 at a minor seminary, and the bursaries 
 given by the State are numerous. It may be calcu- 
 lated, I think, that a classical education is five times 
 cheaper in France than in England. They admit 
 themselves that one of their rational vices is the habit 
 of lavish expenditure. As regards primary instruction, 
 the parliamentary grant merely aids 8,500 schools ; 
 the same grant would maintain 25,000 in France. It 
 would entirely educate 1,500,000 French children in 
 place of 950,000 English. Mr. Arnold estimates that 
 
 c 
 
136 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 ^ 
 
 W 
 
 
 tlie expense of maintaining and administering the 
 French schools, in proportion, is the fourth of that of 
 the English schools. At Oxford, whither I shall go to- 
 morrow, and in the Universities in general, 1^ tella 
 
 me that on an average an undergraduate spends £1300 
 a year; however, £200 yearly are sufficient; some, by 
 dint of economy, live upon £100. The author of 
 " Tom Brown at Oxford " mentions that a very poor 
 student managed with £75, but only because he was 
 lodged gratis, and on condition of being despised. 
 Among us, a student ^f medicine or of law who should 
 have £75 and his lot.gings found him, would consider 
 himself well off; n;any of thum have no more than 
 £60, and it never jiiters into the head of the richest 
 to despise his poor comrade. 
 
 ues 
 
 Mi^^ 
 
II 
 
 X. 
 
 LIFE AT THE UXIVEIISITY. 
 
 TTEIIE am I at Oxford, in the company of a Follow, 
 ■^^ who replies to all my questions with extren?o 
 courtesy. "VVe are in a garden full of flowers ; at the side, 
 separated by a wall, is a fine kitchen garden, the ono 
 and the other are the dependencies of the residence of 
 a professor ; a more pleasant and poetical abode for a 
 studious man cannot be imagined. But I shall return 
 to that ; I now proceed to transcribe our conversation. 
 
 Oxford is a collection of twenty-four colleges or dis- 
 tinct, independent foundations, having each an average 
 revenue of £15,000 ; Magdalen College has £40,000 
 and upwards. In addition, the city contains a Uni- 
 versity of professors, serving as a centre for the col- 
 leges. 
 
 A college is composed (1) of a head, having from 
 £1,000 to £3,000 yearly ; (2) of fellows, having from 
 £200 to £300 ; (3) of tutors, paid in part out of the 
 college chest, in part by the undergraduates, having 
 iVom £400 to £500 ; (4) of scholars, students who 
 have obtained scholarships through merit, having £30 
 and upwards ; (5) of undergraduates who pay, to the 
 number of from forty to eighty. The rest of the 
 revenues of the establishment pays servants — tho 
 
138 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 cooks, the porters, &c. ; and, in addition, the stewards 
 who administer the properties. 
 
 The University is a body of professors analogous to 
 our College of France ; an undergraduate is not 
 obliged to attend their lectures. Most of the pro- 
 fessors have salaries of from £500 to £000 ; two or 
 three chairs yield less than £800 ; as compensation, 
 another yields £1,000, and certain professors of the- 
 ology have as much as £1,600 ; sometimes a canonry, 
 cathedral deanery, is attached to the chair, and yields 
 from £1,000 to £3,000, besides the use of a large 
 house and a garden. 13 ut they are obliged to live 
 handsomely, to display hosj)itality, to contribute to all 
 sorts of subscriptions, &c., so that, like the Bishops 
 and the high public officials, they often expend their 
 whole salary. 
 
 There are about thirteen hundred undergraduates at 
 Oxford, eles'en hundred at Cambridge ; there are also 
 some at London. But, as a general rule, this high 
 linishing place of education is for the aristocracy, for 
 the rich, for the minority ; in the first place because 
 it is expensive (from £200 to £300 yearly, and the 
 temptation to expend more is very great), next because 
 it is a luxury of intelligence (pure mathematics, Greek, 
 Latin), and' retards the entry into lucrative careers. 
 
 The undergraduates have each two or three rooms in 
 a college, and thus form hives. They are obliged to 
 attend chapel at eight, dine in hall at five, to be in- 
 doors by nine; and in general to attend a tutor's class 
 in the morning and a lecture in the afternoon. Breaches 
 of rules are noted and punished, especially if repeated. 
 To return after nine constitutes a fault ; after midnight 
 a grave fault; to sleep out of college a very grave 
 fault. The punishments are, in certain colleges, a fine 
 
LIFE AT THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 '39 
 
 of from 5.S. to £1 ; in others an imposition longer or 
 shorter, more frequently a reprimand from the Head, 
 withdrawal of the ri^^it of going out, temporary expul- 
 sion, and lastly permanent expulsion. This detail is 
 important ; for it is seen that here the schoolboy is 
 freer and the undergraduate less free than among us. 
 The youth, on becoming a young man, does not pass 
 from cloistered discipline to complete independence; 
 the passage is regulated. At school, as regards many 
 of his actions, he has been previously left to himself ; 
 at the University he is not wholly left to himself. 
 Such a precaution is excellent; against the abuse of 
 liberty, the habit of liberty is a moral guaranty, and 
 supervision a physical guaranty. Another check : 
 Oxford and Cambridge are small places. The young 
 man is not, as among us, thrown amidst the tempta- 
 tions of a capital, reduced to sedentary and cerebral 
 life, without the necessary counterpoise of physical 
 exercises, led to seek variety at the theatre, in the cafe 
 on the Boulevards, in the excitement of the world, of 
 conversation, and of pleasure. There is no d<!bauchery 
 at Oxford ; the University officers walk the streets 
 after nine, and can enter every tavern or publichouse. 
 The libertines go to London or to the neighbouring 
 villages ; my friend estimates that the half of the 
 undergraduates is pure. The principal failing is the 
 taste for wine ; fifty j'-ears ago drunkenness prevailed 
 here as among the entire upper class ; at present, here, 
 as among the entire upper class, it has become rare. A 
 last favourable circumstance : the undergraduate, like 
 the schoolboy, remains a good Protestant ; he is reli- 
 gious, or at least he has a respect for religion. Out of 
 an hundred young men whom one of my friends had 
 occasion to examine, two only declared themselves free- 
 
 l ■! 
 
 11: 
 
 \ 
 
 

 f i 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 140 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 thinkers ; seventy belonged to the Broad Church, the 
 others to the two varieties called High Church and 
 Low Church, the one liking fine ceremonies, pompous 
 ritual and approaching Puseyism, the other being alto- 
 gether Calvinistical and slightly iconoclastic. 
 
 The studies last about three years ; during the first 
 year scarcely anything is done but to resume and repeat 
 the lessons learned at school. The first two examina- 
 tions are chiefly grammatical and linguistic ; they 
 comprise two or three Greek and Latin authors, Greek 
 and Latin compositions in prose and verse, some ques- 
 tions about the Old and New Testament. The third 
 comprises the same subjects, but more carefully studied, 
 considered from a new point of view, from the critical, 
 historical, and philosophic point of view. Next, the 
 undergraduate has the choice between three final ex- 
 aminations, the one in mathematics, the other in physical 
 and natural sciences, the other in languages, history, 
 law, and political economy. An undergraduate who 
 has failed enters another college and begins again ; on 
 the second failure he generall)'' quits the University. 
 There are two sorts of undergraduates. The one aspires 
 to honours, which are most useful, and lead to high 
 position in the University, in the Church, and else- 
 where. The other which, as in France, forms the 
 majority, has no other ambition than to obtain a degree; 
 its members scarcely do anything but attend the tutor's 
 class, never the lectures of the Professors, and restrict 
 themselves to the minimum of study. The distin- 
 guished men produced by this education are principally 
 mathematicians (notably at Cambridge) or classical 
 scholars. But for the last ten vears the routine is 
 modified ; contemporary sciences and modern ideas 
 have infiltrated, gained a place. New chairs have been 
 
LIFE AT THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 141 
 
 founded, other chairs have widened their teaching. 
 See the writings of Stanley, of Jowett, the celebrated 
 book styled "Essays and Reviews;" Max Miiller, the 
 Sanscrit scholar, lectures here on the history and phi- 
 losophy of language. 
 
 All that is but the bark ; the thing it is important to 
 know about is always morality, the turn of mind, the 
 dominant inclination of man. How do these young 
 men live, and what do they love ? In order to reply, 
 it would be necessary to reside six months here ; in 
 default of personal experience the following pictures of 
 manners are said by my friends to be correct : " Pen- 
 dennis," by Thackeray; "Tom Brown at Oxford," and 
 a rather lively little romance, illustrated by the author, 
 ** Adventures of Mr. Verdant Green." The first point 
 is that Oxford and Cambridge being the gathering- 
 place for sons of good family, the tone of the place is 
 suited to the character and the position of the residents ; 
 an English University is in many respects a club of 
 young noblemen, or at least of rich men. Many who 
 have acquired wealth send their sons there, solely for 
 the purpose of their making good acquaintances ; certain 
 poor or low-born undergraduates become the toadies of 
 their noble comrades, who later on will be able to present 
 them with a living. The very usages of the University 
 tend to favour this distinction of ranks. In certain 
 colleges the noble undergraduates have a separate table, 
 a particular dress, divers minor privileges. Imagine, 
 if you can, a like system introduced into a great French 
 school ! 
 
 At St. Ambrose, the author of "Tom Brown" in- 
 stances a class of poor students, a kind of semi-bursars, 
 named servitors (who are now abolished), whom their 
 rich or noble comrades look down upon. Among us, 
 
 IN 
 
 'I 
 
 *H 
 
142 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 I 
 
 at the Polytechnic School, the pupils are unaware of 
 the bursars' names ; their names are known only to a 
 committee pledged by honour to silence; such is the 
 delicacy of the spirit of equality. The author of " Tom 
 Brown" says that "tuft-hunting and the worship 
 of money are the most shameful and wide-spread of 
 our vices/* at Oxford, as well as throughout the rest 
 of England. Elsewhere, speaking of his hero, he adds,. 
 " his instinct, again, sad to say, was already teaching- 
 him that poverty is a disgrace to a Briton, and that,, 
 until you know a man thoroughly, you must always 
 seem to assume that he is the owner of unlimited 
 ready money." One of the personages says, " If the 
 Black Prince were here we would change his motto, 
 * Ich dien ' (I serve), into * Je paye ' (I pay)." Many 
 of these young men have £500 a year and upwards, 
 which they regard as pocket-money; moreover, the 
 shopkeepers give them credits They hold it honourable 
 to spend money, to cut a dash ; they keep horses, dogs, 
 a boat; they furnish their rooms with elegance and 
 richness. "London wine merchants furnished them 
 with liqueurs at a guinea a bottle, and wine at five 
 guineas a dozen." " Their cigars cost two guineas a 
 pound; pine-apples, forced fruit, and the most rare 
 preserves figured at their wine parties." " They dined 
 like gourmets; drove tandems, scattering silver in all 
 the taverns of Oxford and the neighbouring roads.'* 
 " They hunted, rode steeple-chases by day, played 
 billiards until the gates closed, and are then ready for 
 vingt-et-un, unlimited loo, and hot drink in their own. 
 rooms, as long as anyone could be got to sit up and play." 
 The appointed task scarcely hampers them ; during 
 the first year especially it is more than trifling. " Twelve 
 lectures of two hours each weekly upon the New Testa- 
 
LIFE AT THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 H3 
 
 ment, the first book of Herodotus, the second of Euclid ; 
 in addition two hours of work daily; everything is 
 over by mid-day, or at one o'clock at the latest ; there 
 is no supplementary exercise in the shape of themes, 
 verses, or other exercises. A moderate scholar does not 
 require to prepare anything ; he has previously studied 
 all that ; he knows beforehand by heart the subject of 
 the lecture." Thus the leisure hours are still more 
 numerous than among us during the first years of law 
 studies. Under such circumstances it is necessary, in 
 order to study, to be naturally very studious or very 
 ambitious, which it is given only to a very small 
 number to be. The others follow their instinct, and 
 it is here that the difference between the English and 
 Trench temperaments is openly exemplified. 
 
 In France the temperament is precocious ; the imagi- 
 nation of a collegian, shut up and sealed, during long 
 hours of weariness, grows heated ; the dangerous atmo- 
 sphere of a great city penetrates to him ; the conversa- 
 tion of seniors, our too free literature has done the rest ; 
 frequently he has the folly to think that it is honourable 
 to be a man before the time. Set free at a stroke, and 
 let loose uncontrolled in a capital, he is there exposed to 
 the contagion of example, to the conveniences of being 
 unknown, and, in all public places, to the temptations 
 which are flaunted before him. Besides, In this respect, 
 opinion is more indulgent ; it speaks to _ him only in 
 the name of prudence and good taste ; it only decidedly' 
 condemns drunkenness, gross debauchery, lasting low 
 alliances which may degenerate into marriages ; it 
 tolerates escapades. A mother said to me, " When my 
 sons go to Asnieres I know it, but I appear not to be 
 aware of it." Have tact, moderation, foresight; in 
 that, as in everything, the morality of the world pre- 
 
144 
 
 XOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 scribes nothing more. The young man does not 
 know that there is no worse diminution of power, 
 that intercourse of this sort abases the heart, that after 
 ten years of such a life he will have lost the one-half 
 of his will, that his thoughts will have an habitual 
 after-taste of bitterness and of sadness, that his inner 
 spring will be weakened or broken. He excuses him- 
 self in his own eyes by saying that a man must handle 
 everything in order to know everything. In fact, he 
 learns life ; but very often also he loses energy, the 
 warmth of soul, the capacity for acting, and at thirty 
 he is merely fit for becoming an official, a provincial, a 
 dilettante, or a fundholder. Here, as far as I can 
 judge, the human being continues mor*^ intact ; in the 
 first place, because he is subject to discipline, is better 
 watched, and less tempted ; next, because written and 
 spoken opinion is more severe. It .vill permit drunken- 
 ness, it will not sanction profligacy. A book like the 
 " Vie de Boheme," by Henry Murger, would be wlaced 
 beside the old free and easy novels, and regarded as the 
 delineation of merry- andrews, perfect scoundrels, and 
 half- sharpers. In the three novels I have cited, the 
 decency is extreme. A phrase in " Tom Brown at 
 Oxford " indicates a group of wealthy loose fish, who 
 have each a mistress hidden in a village ; but they are 
 censured, even by many of their comrades. As regards 
 the three heroes, their hearts are smitten, they expe- 
 rience calf-love for a milliner ; but they stop short, or 
 are stopped in time; and the loose fish themselves 
 admit in principle that the seduction of an innocent 
 girl is the act of a scoundrel. 
 
 Two derivatives are the auxiliaries of these maxims. 
 The first is the precocity of love and of marriage ; they 
 are smitten young, sometimes at twenty, and frequently 
 
LIFE AT THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 145 
 
 they marry a lew years afterwards. The second is the 
 keen, popular, almost universal taste for bodily exercises. 
 In this respect the university is a continuation of the 
 school. To play at cricket, row, steer sailing-boats, 
 keep dogs, set them upon a band of rats, fish, hunt, 
 ride on horseback, drive four-in-hand, swim, spar, 
 fence, and, since a recent period, drill as volunteers, 
 are for them the most interesting occupations. These 
 do not fit in too well with studies ; Plato, a long time 
 ago, in his Dialogues, put in opposition the life of the 
 athlete and that of the thinker. According to a learned 
 foreigner who has much frequented Oxford, if refined 
 philology and the lofty philosophical speculations 
 are acclimatised here with difficulty, it is because the 
 undergraduates eat too much and make too much use 
 of their muscles. 
 
 But sport is an excellent vent for the strong and 
 superabundant sap of youth, and here again, as at 
 school, rivalry serves as a spur. Each college has 
 its boat, its eight oarsmen and coxswain, all selected 
 and exercised with care. Five or six weeks before 
 the races, the training begins. To traverse from ten 
 to twenty miles of the river every day, dine early on 
 stale bread, milk, meat, and very little wine ; to have 
 tobacco rationed ; two pints of beer at the most daily ; 
 no pastry, no ices ; not to sup late, and to go to bed 
 early ; such was the discipline imposed on Tom Brown. 
 During the first days, one is disjointed ; during the 
 last, one is dying of thirst; during the race, the 
 exertion is so enormous, that one runs the risk of 
 brea'iing a blood-vessel, and on arrival many are 
 giddy and cannot speak. All Oxford is there — the 
 University and the townsmen. When the boats start, 
 an excited crowd follows them, running and crying, 
 
 L 
 
146 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 out of breath, leaping ditches, their feet in the water, 
 panting along the bank. The description must be 
 perused in order to conceive the seriousness and the 
 enthusiasni of the crews. The last minute, that which 
 precedes the report of the cannon fired to announce the 
 departure, is solemn. " Short minute, indeed ! you 
 wouldn't say so if you were in the boat, wilh your 
 beiirt in your mouth, and trembling all over like a man 
 with the palsy. Those sixty seconds before the starting- 
 gun in your first race — why they are a little lifetime. 
 .... During the first ten strokes, Tom was in too 
 great fear of making a mistake to feel, or hear, or see. 
 His whole soul was glued to the back of the man before 
 him ; his one thought to keep time, and get his strength 
 into the stroke. . . . Isn't he grand, the captain, as 
 he comes forward like lightning, stroke after buioke, 
 his back flat, his teeth set, his whole frame working 
 fror:. the hips with the regularity of a machine.'* 
 Trumpets sound, acclamations continue swelling forth 
 like thunder, embroidered handkerchiefs are waved. 
 In the evening the victors feast in the great hall of 
 the college ; there are speeches, cheers, toasts, choruses 
 sung in unison, a gorgeous and glorioi s hubbub ; it 
 is clear that such a trium.ph must be almost as greatly 
 desired as the palm of the ancient Olympian Games. 
 The interest is greater still when, in the month of 
 March, the race takes place on the Thames between the 
 crews of the two Universities ; nothing else is talked 
 about in London during two days. 
 
 Doubtless muscular culture thus understood leads to 
 a certain rudeness of manner. Town and gown fight 
 on occasion in the streets. But, as compensation, the 
 gymnastic and athletic life has this twofold advantage, 
 that it blunts the senses and stills the imagination. 
 
LIFE AT THE UNIVERSITY, 
 
 »47 
 
 Moreover, when the moral and mental life is afterwards 
 developed, the mind has for its support a healthier and 
 more robust body. The young men who walk about 
 here in the odd traditional costume (a short black gown 
 and a kind of flat cap) are full of sap and strength, 
 liave a fine and frank deportment, are muscular and 
 strong-limbed, and, in my opinion, have a phsiognomy 
 less perturbed, less worn than those of our students. 
 During twenty years, a gradual reform has been in 
 operation, and many traits in this picture are softened. 
 At present, in each college, several Fellows may marry ; 
 Dissenters and Koman Catholics are admitted to the 
 course of study. The passion for boating is rather 
 less; the undergraduates of diflferent classes are less 
 unequal; in curtain colleges their table expenses are 
 supervised and limited. Oxford is gradually ceasing 
 to be an aristocratic club, an athletic gymnasium, an 
 ecclesiastical and Anglican preserve ; it is on the way 
 to become a modern school, a lay and liberal academy. 
 
 At two o'clock there is a ceremony in the great hall 
 of the University. The costumes are grotesque, like 
 those at the distribution of prizes at our great com- 
 petition ; a Latin speech which recalls the antiquated 
 forms of the Sorbonne ; a piece of English verse, com- 
 posed and read by the student laureate ; its subject is 
 Sir John Franklin ; the verses are rhetorical phrases. 
 Five or six foreigners of distinction receive the honorary 
 title of Doctor of Law, injure cwlli; this is pronounced 
 in ioure ^divdildi. An Englishman quoting Caesar's 
 phrase, Venif vidi, vici, and pronouncing it in the same 
 fashion, Vendi, vdiddi, migdi, my neighbour replied to 
 him, " Caesar could never have pronounced a similar 
 phrase." 
 
 In the evening there is a meeting, with experiments 
 

 w 
 
 j' 
 
 :Rt 
 
 ii. 
 
 'I 
 
 > 
 
 K 
 
 i 
 
 148 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 und lectures on physical and natural sciences, in a 
 museum — a vast building of a somewhat Gothic cha- 
 racter, erected by subscription, and still unfinished. 
 Bands of ladies walk »^^ ' there in staring, showy 
 attire, many, who are y^^-^^ and in low dresses, wear 
 spectacles. But it is certain details only which are 
 disagreeable; the whole — town, buildings, landscape 
 — is admirable. I had previously traversed the town ; 
 I wander about there again at the close of the day. 
 What a number of colleges, each with its chapel and 
 its high surrounding crenellated walls ; these diverse 
 and multiplied architectures of every age, in the Gothic 
 style, in the Tudor style, in the style of the seventeenth 
 century; these large courts, with their statues and 
 central fountain of spouting water; these balusters 
 which cut the tender azure of the sky at the summit 
 of the edifices; these windows latticed with delicate 
 mouldings, or cut into sculptured crosses, after the 
 manner of the Revival ; these pulpits in wrought stone ; 
 at each turning of the street some lofty conical spire ; 
 — what a number of noble forms in a small space ! It 
 is a natural museum, in which are accumulated the 
 works and the inventions of six centuries. The stone, 
 worn, exfoliated, is all the more venerable. One is so 
 well-pleased with any olden things ! The more so, that 
 here they are only old ; not neglected or half ruined, 
 as in Italy, but piously preserved, restored, since their 
 foundation, have been always in the hands of rich, 
 considerate, and intelligent guardians. Ivy covers the 
 walls with its ample drapery; honeysuckle climbs 
 around the pillars ; wild flowers plume the tops of all 
 the walls ; rich turf, carefully kept, extends its carpet 
 up to the arcades of the galleries ; behind the apse of 
 a chapel one sees a garden in flower, thousands of 
 
LIFE AT THE UNIVERSITY, 
 
 149 
 
 blooming roses. One goes onward. At the extremity 
 of the town, venerable trees form a walk ; beneath their 
 branches two living streams flow along ; beyond, the 
 eyes rest delightedly on meadows running over witli 
 plants in bud and flower. It is impossible to imagine 
 a vegetation more magnificent, a verdure more opulent 
 and yet better tempered by the blended tones which 
 the buttercups, the daisies, the wild sorrel, the greyish 
 grasses throw over its dazzling tint. The country is 
 in all the luxury of its freshness. As the sun slightly 
 blinks forth, it smiles with a charming joy ; one might 
 liken it to a beautiful timid virgin, happy under the 
 veil which is being withdrawn. However, the day closes, 
 and indistinct whitenesses ascend above the meadows ; 
 under their soft gauze, the river shines with black 
 reflections ; all is still, excepting the bells which chime 
 melodiously in the chaste tower of Christ Church. 
 One would never believe one's self to be at an hundred 
 paces from a town. How contemplative and poetical 
 is study here ! 
 
 A walk in Magdalen College. I never weary of 
 admiring these old edifices festooned with ivy and 
 blackened by age, these crenellated clock-towers, these 
 muUioned windows ; above all, these vast square courts, 
 of which the arcades form a promenade like that of 
 the Italian convents. In the afternoon, with the 
 exception of one or t^/o passing undergraduates, they 
 are solitary ; nothing is sweeter than this architectural 
 solitude, poetic, intact, where there is never a trace 
 of neglect, of ruin, and of death. Flocks of deer browse 
 peacefully beneath the gigantic elms; a long road, 
 bordered with the finest trees, winds between two 
 rivers. Oxford is in an ancient hollow; hence this 
 softness, this freshness, this incomparable opulence of 
 
 
»So 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 I » 
 
 1 i' 
 
 the verdure. At Worcester College an ample sheet 
 of water, on which swans float, moistens with its slow 
 undulations the green sward constellated with flowers. 
 On every hand cedars, huge yews, ouks, poplars raise 
 aloft their trunks, and expand their foliage; from 
 brunch to branch honeysuckle, Virginia creepers hang 
 and extend. The large gardens of St. John's, the little 
 garden of Wadhara, are masterpieces of a unique sort, 
 beyond art itself, for nature and iime have been the 
 artificers. Can human art produce anything so beautiful 
 as a group of perfect trees three hundred years old ? 
 
 On returning, I recast this judgment in regard- 
 ing the architecture anew ; it also is three centuries 
 old, and seems rooted in the soil by the same right as 
 the trees ; the tint of the stone is accommodated to 
 the climate ; age has imparted to it something of the 
 majesty of natural things. One does not feel there the 
 mechanic?^ regularity, the official imprint; each col- 
 lege has been developed by itself, each age has built in 
 its fashion : here the imposing quadrangle of Christ 
 Church, with its turf, its fountains, and its staircases ; 
 there, close to the Bodleian library, a mass of edifices, 
 sculptured portals, lofty bell-towers, all flowered and 
 embroidered, cupolas circled with small columns. 
 Sometimes the chapel is a small cathedral. In several 
 colleges the dining-hall, sixty feet in height, vaulted, 
 appears the nave of a church. The council - hall, 
 wholly lined with antique wood, is worthy of our 
 venerable old halls. Imagine the life of a Master of 
 Arts, of a Fellow, amid these monuments, beneath 
 that Gothic wainscoting, before the windows of the 
 Revival or of the Middle A^q, in the midst of severe 
 luxury and in the best taste, engravings, copper-plates, 
 admirable books. In the evening, when descending the 
 
LIFE AT THE UNIVERSITV. 
 
 15' 
 
 stair, when the Hp;ht flickers u])()n the larp;c black 
 forms, one thinks that one is walking in a true piece 
 of scenery. 
 
 Nothing is wanting hero, neither the beauties of 
 art, nor the freshneHS of nature, nor tlic great and 
 grandiose impressions of history. A moment since, 
 when going through the colleges, I was told the nam(\s 
 of their ancient occupants, students for ever famous — 
 "WyclifFe, the Black Prince, Sir Walter Raleigh, Pym, 
 Hampden, Archbishop Laud, Ireton, Addison. At 
 each building the guide pointed out the dates and 
 the authors of the foundation, the embellishments, the 
 restorations. All these old men seem living still ; for 
 their work has eurvived them and endures. The 
 wisdom of ancient times remains written in Latin 
 sentences upon the walls ; on a sun-dial, above the 
 hours, this solemn phrase may be read — pereunt et 
 mjmtantur. And this is not a dead city, nor is it asleep ; 
 the modern work completes and increases the ancient 
 work ; the contemporaries, as in former times, con- 
 tribute their buildings and their gifts. When at the 
 Bodleian library one has seen the manuscripts, the 
 precious volumes, the portraits of Vandyck, Lely, and 
 Kneller, one finds further on a recent collection of 
 sketches and original drawings by Raffaelle and Michel 
 Angelo, where the vitality, the sentiment of nudity, the 
 superb Paganism of the Revival, are displayed with in- 
 comparable freedom. The collection cost seven thousand 
 pounds sterling ; Lord Eldon alone contributed four 
 thousand. I have visited two or three professors' 
 houses, the one resembling our old French mansions, 
 the others modern and charming, all possessing gar- 
 dens, flowers, noble or laughing prospects. The oldest, 
 under the portraits of the predecessors, contain every 
 
-^Il> 
 
 152 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 modern comfort. I compared tbem to those of our 
 scholars, resembling cages, to the third-floor in a great 
 city, to the dismal lodgings of the Sorbonne, and I 
 thought of the aspect, so gloomy and confined, of our 
 College of France. Poor Frenchmen, so poor, and 
 who live encamped. We are of yesterday, and ruined 
 from father to son by Louis XIV., by Louis XV., by 
 the Revolution, by the Empire. We have demolished, 
 everything has required to be rebuilt anew. Here 
 the generation following does not break with the pre- 
 ceding one ; reforms are superimposed on institutions, 
 and the present, based upon the past, perpetuates it. 
 
 rS3x;fs^sas^s;sspi(3^s^^s^as3^H^ 
 
XL 
 
 VILLAGES AND FARMHOLSES. 
 
 OHOBT excursions and sojourns at thirty or forty 
 ^ miles from London. It is necessary to endea- 
 vour to see the district, the parish ; one does not com- 
 prehend the social net-work till after one has studied 
 in detail three or four meshes. Moreover, this time 
 again, the courtesy and hospitality of the people are 
 perfect. 
 
 Always the same landscapes ; meadows divided by 
 hedges, where large trees stand up here and there. 
 The country is all verdure; the eyes are satiated, 
 glutted with it ; that is the strongest sensible impression 
 which I brought back from England. From the top 
 of a great height which we cross is a view, it is said, for 
 forty miles in every direction ; nothing but green, no 
 forests, some clumps of scattered trees, beetroot, clover, 
 hops, fields of peas, bushy parks, hollows in which 
 swollen yellow streams meander along, moist meadows, 
 wherein heavy cows browse and ruminate. Fresh plants, 
 continually removed, multiply and superabound ; hence 
 the store of meat, milk. Contrast that with the 1 • ead, 
 the wine, the vegetables, which form the principal 
 nourishment of our peasants ; by this trait, as by many 
 others, the Englishman much more resembles a Dutch- 
 
,' ,r- T— *• 
 
 154 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 man than a Frencbman. A Paul Potter, a Huysdael, 
 would find here subjects for pictures. Beauty is not 
 absent from this curtained sky, full of greyish and 
 almost black clouds, which creep over a background of 
 motionless vapour. Far off on the horizon the view is 
 obscured by a downpour, and all these tints are soft, 
 delicately blended, melancholy. 
 
 We skirt deserted, wild commons, where, at in- 
 tervals, a horse feeds amid the solitude. This was 
 the primitive soil, filled with heaths ; generation after 
 generation it has diminished ; civilisation, like a rising 
 tide, has eaten into it and left fragments only. How 
 much labour was required to cover this with herbage 
 and vegetables, how much patience and effort to fit it 
 for man ! They have succeeded in doing this, and, 
 at each century of their history, have converted into 
 enclosed meadows thousands of acres of uncertain 
 pasturage. It was more beautiful in its first state ; its 
 thorny or rude plants, its dull or blackish tints, the 
 tone of its flowers better suited the aspect of the sky. 
 At present this civilised nature bears too visibly the 
 imprint of industry ; it has too many ordered rows ; its 
 colours are false or discordant ; the turnip leaves have 
 a violet or harsh green ; the light plants shine in the 
 sun with a display too dazzling and too slight; one 
 feels that their presence has been commanded, and 
 that their life is artificial. The country resembles a 
 large manufactory of fodder, the vestibule of a dairy or 
 a slaughterhouse ; from picturesque ideas, one descends 
 to utilitarian ideas. It must be said, however, that the 
 latter are equal to the former ; after all, man lives on 
 chops, and the spectacle of a niggard land transformed 
 into a good nurse is still a fine one. 
 
 A walk in the country and in the villages ; every 
 
VILLAGES AND FARMHOUSES. 
 
 155 
 
 two hours there is a shower. This recalls the English 
 saying, " When it does not rain take your umbrella ; 
 when it rains do as you please." But in the sunshine 
 the effect of this humidity is charming ; this grass has 
 a delicious freshness and novelty. The dropi of run- 
 ning water shine like pearls ; beneath a ray of the sun 
 a meadow instantly glistens, and its trains of vellow 
 and white flowers appear laden with light. However 
 the sky continues spotted with vapour ; here and there 
 the clouds turn to slate, become violet, blend at a 
 quarter of a league. The interchange is perpetutil 
 between the moist sky and the moist earth, and the 
 contrast is curious between the splendid colours of the 
 s'oil and the mixed tones of the air. The eyes follow 
 the changing tints and the vague movements of the 
 universal exhalation which drags and is torn along 
 the hedges like muslin. A feeble breeze inclines and 
 balances the foliage of the great trees, and one hears 
 the slight noise of the drops which descend upon their 
 pyramid. 
 
 Several cottages are very poor, being of clay covered 
 with laths, a thatched roof, the rooms are too low and too 
 narrow, the windows too small, the partitions too thin. 
 Think, of a large family huddled in winter in two of 
 these rooms, with clothes drying, the swaddling clothes 
 of infants, and the chimney roaring ; during the 
 long days of rain and snow, they must live in an un- 
 wholesome air, amid their own vapour. Many of the 
 mothers have a lean face, marked with pimples, a 
 worn-out pinched air ; they have too many children 
 and too much toil. The occupant of one of these 
 thatched huts is a day-labourer, married, the father 
 of six children, who earns twelve shillings a week, 
 being generally employed by the year or by the half 
 
IS6 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 \i 
 
 i\ 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 year; a cottage like his costs from three to four 
 pounds sterling yearly ; his features are delicate, 
 drawn, his physiognomy is sad and humble. I was 
 introduced to all these people with consideration and 
 courtesy ; they were asked with apologies to permit a 
 French gentleman to enter. They instantly consented 
 with civility and a pleasant smile. I remarked that I 
 have seen in France many thatched huts much worse 
 furnished ; whereupon my companion replied that was 
 some consolation. The poor day-labourer did not 
 appear to be of that opinion. 
 
 However, his little house is clean ; the blue pat- 
 terned plates are ranged in good order above a dresser ; 
 the fireplace is of iron and is well constructed. I had 
 previously seen other cottages elsewhere of this stamp ; 
 nearly always, at least in one room, an old carpet 
 covers the floor ; often there is a coloured paper, chairs 
 of polished wood, small framed engravings, always a 
 Bible, sometimes other volumes, religious books, new 
 novels, the art of rearing rabbits, &c., in short, more 
 useful objects than in our very poor thatched huts. In 
 addition, the care taken is greater ; there are no doors 
 off their hinges, hanging shutters, broken panes, 
 stagnant pools, scattered dunghills ; the pavement of 
 the soil is well swept, nothing lies about at random. 
 Probably confusion and uncleanliness are more un- 
 healthy in this climate than in ours, and man is bound 
 to be orderly, prudent, regular as in Holland. 
 
 The village contains but four hundred souls ; yet the 
 little inn is decent, shining with cleanliness ; one would 
 sleep there readily, and one would be comfortable. We 
 visit a carpenter, then a carter's ; they are seated at 
 table by themselves and take tea with butter. Their 
 houses are of brick and covered with red tiles ; one of 
 
rvf 
 
 VILLAGES AND FAR3rH0USES. 
 
 '57 
 
 tliem is flankei with a pretty large garden filled with 
 vegetables, well cultivated, garnished v/ith fine straw- 
 berries, with some bee-hives in a corner ; both of theni 
 have a small flower-garden, roses, ivy, some creeping 
 *, plants, and adornment. The rooms are rather low, 
 but are not wanting in air ; the small panes of glass 
 ' connected by slight triangles of lead allow plenty of 
 '' light to enter ; one goes along a passage of bricks 
 carefully washed to enter the outhouse ; the retiring 
 place, half open, is as well kept as in a middle-class 
 house ; on the first-floor are two bedrooms. Some 
 books, the "Whole Duty of Man," one of Murray's 
 guides, the family Bible, five or six volumes of history. 
 Not a particle of dust on the windows, not a speck of 
 mud on the floors, not a hole in the garments. Many 
 other persons of the same condition pass along the 
 streets, and their clothes are the same ; it is true that 
 to-day is Sunday. But, on the whole, my impression 
 is that they are better provided and more careful than 
 the peasants of France. The glory, the foolish vanity, 
 and the superiority of ours consist in possessing land ; 
 they prefer being abstinent, stinting themselves, and 
 having their acre in the sun ; in order to acquire it 
 they save out of their comfort. But this acquisition 
 is a fund ; in case of sickness or scarcity, they have 
 a sure resource at hand. On the contrary, here 
 every one tells me that a countryman is as much a 
 spendthrift as a workman, as improvident, as exact- 
 ing as far as comfort is concerned. Let an accident 
 occur, and he instantly becomes a burden upon the 
 parish. 
 
 I visit a farmer who cultivates one hundred acres. 
 Here the cleanliness is altogether Dutch ; I never 
 saw anything superior in the environs of Utrecht 
 
 I! 
 
 
 m 
 
 f1 13 
 
 
 % 
 
 ^ 
 
 I 
 
■ III 
 
 iS n 
 
 It 
 
 158 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 and of Amsterdara. The farmer's wife says that 
 every year the walls are whitewashed inside, that every 
 week the paving stones are washed with a sponge; 
 one is ashamed to walk upon them and dirty them. 
 Another farmer, who also tills one hundred acres ; 
 pays the landlord £100, and rates and taxes in addi- 
 tion ; the same cleanliness and the same condition. 
 A third has three hundred acres, and also pays a pound 
 an acre : but this is because his land is bad ; his neigh- 
 bour on the other side of the hill pays £800 for four 
 hundred acres. The interior is as comfortable and 
 agreeable as that of the largest and tha finest farms of 
 the department of the Beauce and of the environs of 
 Paris. His house is old, with a porch in front forming 
 a vestibule ; here and there, in the courtyard, are fine 
 pines, ornamental trees ; a pretty green garden borders 
 one of the wings ; in the large hall is antique furniture. 
 The staircase, of massive wood, and a sideboard date 
 from the sixteenth century. An immense fireplace, 
 capable of containing an entire trunk, a real yule log, 
 with a double wooden screen, which, in summer, closes 
 the opening, and, in winter, is a protection from 
 draughts. Some pretty good engravings, and a rather 
 large number of books, besides the great family Bible. 
 The farmer has twelve huge and superb horses, and 
 a steam threshing machine; among his profits, lie 
 sells eighty fat pigs yearly. A determined face, 
 intelligent, serious, and calm ; he is neither slovenly 
 nor boastful; his wife seems an orderly and under- 
 standing house-keeper. It would be necessary to 
 belong to the country, and live a year here, in order 
 to know what there is in these heads. George Eliot, 
 in " Adam Bede,'* has depicted a farmer and his wife, 
 who are types in high relief, and minute in detail; 
 
VILLAGES AND FARMHOUSES. 
 
 159 
 
 my friend tells me that these are excellent in all 
 points and strikingly correct. 
 
 We go and see the last farm ; six hundred acres, 
 about £600 rent ; I was thunderstruck. We were 
 shown into a large, fresh, and plain drawing-room ; 
 large curtains, supported by gilded poles, two elegant 
 and well- framed mirrors, tasteful armchairs ; in the 
 middle a table, covered with pretty volumes ; in short, 
 the country-house drawing-room of a Parisian who 
 has an income of one thousand a-year. Immediately 
 adjoining is a sort of hot-house, a glazed conservatory, 
 filled with flowers, looking upon the most pleasant 
 landscape, on sloping meadows and distant woods. 
 The farmer's wife entered ; she is a woman of thirty, 
 who looked like twenty-six, in a dress of small-stripod 
 grey silk, with one or two rings on her fingers, per- 
 fectly white hands, pink and cared-for na s, an ad- 
 mirable waist, tall and lithe as a Diana, extremely 
 beautiful, full of gaiety and vivacity, without any 
 embarrassment, and who kept up the conversation very 
 well. I learned later that she rode on horseback, 
 played on the piano, and is none the less a good house- 
 keeper ; she goes to the kitchen every morning, orders, 
 superintends, and sometimes makes a little pastry ; 
 once, having visitors, and the cook being absent, she set 
 to herself, and prepared the dinner. Excepting some 
 shades in manners and talk, she is a lady ; she is 
 wholly so in heart. My guide praised her greatly, 
 but he added that in other cases, which are numerous, 
 this education, these tastes, put a person out of humour 
 with their condition, that at present many farmers' 
 daughters are elegant, profuse, indolent, out of their 
 sphere, and unhappy. 
 
 " Since you have begun," B said to me, " Gon- 
 
 dii 
 
 I 
 
 m 
 
'I 
 
 1 4 
 
 I 
 
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 fl I 
 
 
 I 
 
 160 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 tinue to the end." And, twelve miles from thence, we 
 came to a model farm. No large central court ; the 
 farm is a mass of fifteen or twenty low brick buildings, 
 constructed economically ; as it was intended to furnish 
 a model, it would not do to present a costly edifice as 
 an example. Oxer, pigs, sheep, each in its stall, well- 
 ventilated and well-cleaned ; we were shown a set of 
 stables in which the flooring was open; animals being 
 fattened remain there six months, without moving. 
 Selected and expensive breeds ; a bull and his progeny 
 are Indian, and recall the Buddhist sculptures. Steam 
 machines for all the agricultural operations, and a small 
 railroad for conveying the food to the animals ; they 
 eat sliced turnips, bruised beans, oil-cake; culture, 
 thus understood, is a complicated industry, based on 
 theory and experience, constantly improved, and worked 
 with perfected tools. But I am not competent, and I 
 amuse myself with observing the farmer's face, his red 
 hair, his clear complexion, veined with scarlet like a 
 vine-leaf scorched by the autumn sun, his cold and 
 reflecting physiognomy; in a black hat and black 
 riding-coat, upright, in a court, he gives orders in a 
 dull tone, with few words, without making a gesture, 
 without moving a muscle of his countenance. An 
 admirable thing is that the establishment yields a 
 return, and the great lord who has founded it in the 
 public interest, finds it to his personal profit. I seemed 
 to see in the farmer's attitude, in his apparently positive, 
 applied, well-balanced mind, the explanation of the 
 miracle. 
 
 We returned home, and all around us over the country, 
 night fell. The indistinct trees disappeared in a grey 
 smoke ; strange yellow tones spread over the meadows, 
 the dim air became thicker ; it enveloped even the 
 
VILLAGES AND FARMHOUSES. 
 
 i6i 
 
 hedges of the road, and bathed everything in its soft 
 covering. In this twilight, which resembles a picture 
 by llembrandt, I turned over the things which had 
 struck me the most ; in the foreground stand forth the 
 children's faces, so fresh, so healthy, so vigorous, so 
 chubby, even in the poorest thatched cottages. One of 
 them, in its cradle, slept, stretching forth an arm ; the 
 little turned-up nose was almost transparent in the 
 light ; its mouth seemed a cherry, and the cheeks two 
 full roses ; the dimpled flesh yielded under the finger 
 which touched it ; the petals of a flower, moistened 
 with dew, had not more softness and lustre. To my 
 taste this leaves the types of the south far behind; 
 there man, almost from infancy, is made, finished, 
 stable, set in a fixed design and in a definitive shape ; 
 here one feels, as with Rubens, the continual growth of 
 life, its fragility, its delicacy, and, at the same time, its 
 sap, the inexhaustible and spontaneous replenishment 
 of the human substance. A little boy of four, leaning 
 against a wall, astonished, mute, cast down his great 
 bashful eves, held one finger in his mouth, and suti'ered 
 himself to be caressed without uttering a word ; ah 
 instant afterwards he ventured to raise his eyebrows, 
 and gazed upon us as curious animals ; then instantly re- 
 penting, covered his cherub fn-^.e with his two hands. 
 One sees the emotions pass ove^ these complexions, as 
 one sees the colours change upon their meadows. 
 
 My friends tell me that this village is a good speci- 
 men, that the interior of these farmers' and peasants' 
 abodes exhibits with sufficient exactitude the average 
 of comfort among the class ; that, however, in 
 several districts — for example, on the side of Nor- 
 folk and Lincoln — I shall find finer farms. Since then, 
 and judging from official documents, I have seen that 
 
 M 
 
 J ! . 
 
il 
 
 fl 
 
 '1 
 
 ii 
 
 i6z 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 this view was not correct; the evil is greater, and tlio 
 poor become more and more poverty-stricken. The largo 
 property increases, and the small one diminishes. At 
 the close of the last century, Arthur Young wrote : 
 " I do not know a single cottage to which a piece of 
 land is not attached." Moreover, the poor villagers 
 liad some fowls, and a pig on the common. But, by 
 the Enclosure Acts, the commons are being constantly 
 reduced in size ; hence the peasant has no longer the 
 resource of fowls and pigs ; having sold his bit of land, he 
 can count upon his arms alone, and he lets them for hire. 
 \ti the purely agricultural districts it appears that the 
 wages are from seven to eight shillings a week, and 
 not twelve, as I have found them here. To add to this, 
 the villager lets for hire the arms of his wife and of his 
 children ; one sees bands of them hoeing root-plants, of 
 which the culture extends itself unceasingly. Agri- 
 culture being conducted on a large scale, and having 
 become a scientific form of industry, has had the 
 counter-effect of introducing into the country districts 
 the rule, the monotony, the miseries of manufacture. 
 The children wither, remain ignorant, become vicious ; 
 in a district of Lincolnshire, out of four hundred 
 cottages, two hundred have but a single room wherein 
 the whole family sleep promiscuously. 
 
 I saw one of these days a picture in Punch on this 
 head. A landed proprietor takes Mr. Punch into his 
 stables, which are admirable. " Yes, Mr. Punch," says 
 he, "pretty clean stalls — airy, plenty of light, drainage, 
 perfect ventilation, the best water, and the best pos- 
 sible food, good treatment, that is my plan." One 
 passes to the cottage. A single chamber, almost bare ; 
 three chipped plates on a board ; a bad kettle, two 
 pieces of linen drying ; the distress and the stench are 
 
VILLAGES AND FARMHOUSES. 
 
 163 
 
 terrible. A wretched man in raji^a, with a battered hat, 
 warms himself with a gloomy air before a small fire of 
 brushwood ; the wife, hollow-eyed, lies with two 
 infants on a pallet; on another pullet arc a little girl 
 and a little boy ; on a mattress in the corner is a young 
 man ; they are all emaciated, wild, and Mr. Punch says 
 to the proprietor : " The arrangement of your stables is 
 excellent. Suppose you tried something of the same 
 sort here ? What think you of that Y " Here the 
 disease and the remedy are exhibited together. On 
 the contrary, I can venture to say that, among our four 
 millions of peasant proprietors, the state of comfort, 
 I specially during the last twenty years, is increasing ; 
 the vice of our organisation is displayed in other ills, on 
 the side of politics, by the instability of the Government 
 and by the absence of lasting freedom. But each State 
 lias its hereditary scrofula ; one can only verify the 
 sore, show that it is connected with the organisation, 
 apply a temporary palliative to some parts ; the great 
 surgical operations, which many persons recommend, 
 have seldom any other result than that of still more 
 reducing the patient. 
 
 After a renewed investigation, it seems to me certain 
 that, in this country, the class of agricultural labourers 
 having no land of their own to farm is the most im- 
 fortunate and the most brutalised. A learned man 
 said to me : " As regards intelligence and ideas, the 
 distance is as great between them and mechanics as 
 between mechanics and men like myself" Two persons 
 who have lived in France add that the French peasant 
 is much superior ; they especially praise his frugality, 
 his custom of depending upon himself, his ardour in 
 working, his passion for land. According to them, the 
 English peasant is quite different, improvident, waste- 
 
 - t-, 
 
 il 
 
 ii 
 
 M Ii 
 
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 y 
 
 
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 I 
 
 164 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 ful, always a burden to tho parish or the charitable 
 rich. Even were ho to possess, like ours, a bit of 
 land, ho would not know how to make it yield where- 
 withal to live — in tho first place for lack of economy, 
 because he is heavy, incapable of setting his wits to 
 work ; next, because tho English soil, being of very 
 mediocre quality, requires much manuring, capital, 
 and is suited only for cultivation on a largo scale, for 
 pasturage, for rearing cattle. According to a clergy- 
 man, who has lived in Devonshire and in other counties, 
 tlio wages of a villager are from eight to nine shillings 
 a week ; sometimes he earns ten shillings ; but he 
 requires to bo very strong and skilful to earn twelve. 
 Now he has often six children besides ; it is impossible 
 for eight persons, and even for hvo or six persons, to 
 live upon that sum; he cannot then dispense with 
 public or private help. Besides, a female peasant, and 
 in general every woman of the lower class in England, is 
 lacking in address; she has not, like a Frenchwoman, the 
 talent for keeping house, the spirit of order, the habit 
 of bargaining, the art of making a little go a long way, 
 and of producing something out of nothing ; she does not 
 know how to mend and turn . garment, make one dish 
 serve ; very often she cannot vork. One of our friends, 
 a member of the board of guardians in his district, got 
 a grant of fifteen shillings a week for a family in which 
 there were fourteen children : neither the wife nor the 
 eldest daughter knew How to make soup, a roast, a dish 
 of any sort ; they went to the tradespeople and bought 
 new bread, butter, tea, ham, and always at the highest 
 prices ; every one in this family could hoe a field, not 
 one could cook a chop. Add that, since agriculture 
 has been transformed, the tastes of the stomach have 
 altered. Fifty years ago, meat was a luxury among the 
 
VILLAGES AND FARMHOUSES. 
 
 165 
 
 peasants ; tlioy uto it but onco a week ; in winter, they 
 hud suit mcttt only. Now tlicy require fresh meat 
 every day ; and Enj^land, which produces ao much of 
 it, is oblip^ed, in addition, to procure it from abroad, 
 from Denmark and from IloUand; in 18G1, there 
 entered every week, by the Thames alone, three thou- 
 sand head of living cattle. The conclusion of the 
 whole matter is, that day labourers in the country live 
 partly on alms, and the poor-rates, though they are so 
 heavy, and private charity, though it is so liberal, 
 barely suffice to maintain them. 
 
 ''i; 
 
 i^! 
 
XII. 
 
 LANDED PROPRIETORS AND ENGLISH GENTLEMEN. 
 
 T ET US now see the good which is the countcrpnrt of 
 -^ this evil. I have ah'eadv made two excursions like 
 these to places at forty or fifty miles from London, and 
 there, as here, the number of parks is astonishing. 
 One never ceases to see them along the road ; in certain 
 localities they form a line which continues as far as 
 London. In fact, not only are the old estates main- 
 tained in virtue of the law which gives the real property 
 to the eldest son, but also nearly all the men, who by 
 their talent or by their industry have grown wealthy, 
 have an ambition to acquire an estate, to fix their 
 family on it, and to enter the local aristocracy. It 
 is chiefly in this direction that the hundred millions 
 of annual savings, accumulated in England, flow ; they 
 serve less to solace the poor than to enrich the rich. 
 As compensation, these rich men are natural, bene- 
 volent, and recognised chiefs. In the circle of ac- 
 quaintances of B , two score families are counted 
 
 as forming the society and leading the locality — a 
 marquis, whose park is seven hundred acres, four 
 baronets, a lord, and several members of the House of 
 Commons. The clergyman with whom I took a walk 
 told me that they were " almost fathers of the people." 
 
LANDED PROPRIETORS. 
 
 167 
 
 B himself is the near relation, the heir, of a great 
 
 lord whose lands he administers ; one day he will have 
 an income of £40,000 ; meantime, and for the sake 
 of his relative, he supervises, directs, builds healthy- 
 cottages for the labourers, subscribes to enterprises of 
 public utility, and, while improving the property, 
 renders a service to the country. 
 
 It would be difficult to find one of these landlords 
 who does not give up a portion of his money and of his 
 time to the gene-ral good. They are municipal magis- 
 trates, overseers, justices of the peace, chairmen of 
 committees and of useful societies. One of them, 
 possessing £1,600,000, and whose brother is equally 
 rich, has a share of £40,000 in an undertaking formed 
 to bring potable water to London ; there are forty 
 shares each of the like amount. As a relaxation from 
 Parliament and from business, he has built a church, 
 which we visited, very pretty, in an elaborated Gothic 
 style, with stained - glass windows, wainscoting, a 
 sculptured pulpit — in short, a little gem, bound in 
 evergreen laurels : he has endowed it, and secured an 
 income for the chaplain. Immediately adjoining, he 
 has founded a free school ; among other things, sing- 
 ing is taught there, he has placed a piano in it, little 
 concerts are given ; he amuses himself by making the 
 children sing. As he believes in the good effect of 
 music, he frequently sends the master right and left 
 in the district to further it^ adoption. In another 
 village which I passed through, the gentry have hired 
 a two-storied cottage, to be used by the villagers 
 as a kind of evening club ; out of the fund subscribed, 
 the rent, the books, the newspapers, fire, light, and a 
 woman to keep the house, are paid for. But it is 
 arranged so that this club shall be self-supporting in 
 
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 I 
 
 168 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 the end by means of the contributiona of its fre- 
 quenters. Man is thus made, that he does not ap- 
 preciate a pure gift ; it is necessary that he should 
 bear a fraction of the expense and co-operate freely for 
 his own welfare. In the first room are books and 
 newspapers ; in the second one plays at draughts and 
 chess, one chats, and one smokes. The aim of the 
 founders is to compete with the tavern. They under- 
 stand human nature, they know that they must find an 
 outlet for instinct, a food for wants. The instinct and 
 the wants always satisfy themselves ; strive in order 
 that their satisfaction should be innocent, and, if pos- 
 sible, beneficent. For example, the villagers do not 
 work on Sunday ; when it is cold, dirty, and dark, 
 they naturally pioceed to the place where they find 
 fire, light, amusement, and this place, twelve months 
 out of the year, is the tavern. Give them a tavern, 
 less dear, where, instead of gin, they drink ';ea ; they 
 will thus occupy their leisure hours, and will not 
 return home drunk. For the same reason, one of my 
 friends in London is a member of the society for secu- 
 larising Sunday ; its object is to procure the opening 
 of museums, the authorisation of concerts, public lec- 
 tures ; thus it is that drunkenness is battled with, and 
 more efficaciously than by sermons. 
 
 To this intelligent beneficence join a quantity of 
 respects and attentions. A peer has lent hie park for 
 the last archery meeting, and presides over the festi- 
 val; his little harangue, grave and bantering, his 
 respectful gallantry, were excellent for flattering and 
 gratifying the ladies. "We enter the park of Sir John 
 
 ; it is traversed by a public road open to 
 
 pedestrians ; it may be visited without leave. I have 
 seen that of the Duke of Marlborough at Blenheim ; 
 
LANDED PROPRIETORS. 
 
 169 
 
 !l 
 
 over tlie entrance gate is the following inscription : — 
 " The Duke of Marlborough begs the persons who may 
 walk through the park to keep to the high road, and 
 not to walk on the grass." The gate of this park is 
 open ; the first-comer, an inhabitant of the village, 
 may go and take the air in it with his wife. Sir W. 
 
 B is master of the hunt in the district, and many 
 
 gentlemen of low position and farmers follow the chase. 
 The mistress o ' the house in which I ara staying knows 
 all the good women in the locality ; she graciously recog- 
 nises them, and shakes hands when she enters their 
 cottages with me ; they respond with a cordial and 
 even afiectionate air ; it is easy to see that there is no 
 distrust or hostility betwixt the two classes. The 
 inferior is not envious ; it does not enter his head to 
 long for the place of the wealthy gentleman ; he is 
 rather prone to consider him as his protector, to be 
 proud of him, especially if the family be an old one, 
 and, for seyeral generations, settled in the locality ; in 
 that case it has a place, like the fine trees, among the 
 ornaments and the glories of the country. Lately, in 
 a railway carriage, I chatted with some of the Life 
 Guards, true giants and good fellows ; they said with 
 pride, " all our officers are noblemen." After some 
 questions about their pay, which is two shillings daily, 
 they said that among them about one -third were 
 married men. " Have the widows a claim for pen- 
 sions ?'* " No ; but private subscriptions provide for 
 them." All that is the remains of the good feudal 
 spirit. The chieftain provided for the wants of his 
 vassal, and the vassal was proud of his chieftain. 
 
 This spirit is all the more powerful as the popula- 
 tion in England is distributed, even at the present 
 day, in feudal fashion. Everywhere, in the midst of 
 
 
 
 1, 
 
 il 
 
 (i^ 
 
 'Aw 
 
170 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 ii 
 
 cottages, are one or more country seats, modern, comely 
 houses, which replace the olden castles, and wherein 
 the master plays, under new forms, the part of the 
 olden baron. In every parish, even the most distant, 
 one finds two, three, five, six families who have their 
 hereditary seat there, the favourite place of abode, 
 and whose patronage is accepted, efficient ; this is the 
 ancient patronage of the mailed chieftain, but trans- 
 ferred from physical to moral matters, applied, to things 
 of peace and no more to those of war, exercised by 
 intelligence and no more by the sword, authorised by 
 superiority of education and no more by superiority of 
 armour. In fact, it is no longer a concern to set men 
 in battle against the enemy, but to diminish ignorance, 
 misery, and vice ; for this object as for the other, it is 
 necessary to have local chiefs, proved, accepted, capable, 
 and these chiefs are the gentlemen proprietors of the 
 parish or of the district. Poggio, in his travels, wrote 
 three centuries ago, this sentence so full of truths and 
 of consequences : " Among the English, the nobles 
 think it shameful to sojourn in cities ; they inhabit 
 retired parts of the country among woods and pastures ; 
 they consider him the most noble who has the largest 
 revenue ; they addict themselves to field affairs, sell 
 their wool and their cattle, and do not consider rural 
 profits disgraceful." 
 
 The contrast was great for Poggio between this 
 country life of the English nobility and the city life 
 of the Italian nobility. It is not less for a French- 
 man, and, although among us the Revolution has sent 
 many nobles to their estates, it continues still. The 
 town is not in England, as among us, the chosen abode. 
 Excepting the great manufacturing cities, the country 
 towns, York, for example, are scarcely inhabited by 
 
LANDED PROPRIETORS. 
 
 171 
 
 any one but shopkeepers ; the select few and the cream 
 of the nation are elsewhere, in the country. Londtm 
 itself is but a great gathering place for business ; 
 people come there during three or four months in 
 summer, to converse and get relaxation, to see their 
 friends again, provide for their interests, pass their 
 acquaintances in review. But they are rooted in their 
 country seats ; that is their true country, the loved 
 domestic circle, the family centre, the place where they 
 hunt, where they receive long '^ "sits from guests, 
 where they act effectively, where they find at each step 
 the memorial of their good deeds or of the good deeds 
 of their ancestors, where the familiar faces at a street 
 corner, the accustomed contours of an eminence at the 
 end of a road, leave in the mind the friendly impression 
 of being at home. There one takes an interest in 
 parish affairs, desires to discharge the minor functions. 
 When one obtains them, one exercises them with zeal, 
 conscientiously and with pleasure; during the season, 
 the Saturday evening train transports from London a 
 number of landed proprietors who proceed to a distance 
 of forty, eighty, one hundred miles to deliver a lecture, 
 hold a meeting, fill the unpaid office of magistrate or 
 overseer of the parish or the church. Moreover, they 
 are bound to be first in opening their purses, as the 
 feudal baron was bound to go first into the fight. 
 
 B says that he gives the tenth of his income in 
 
 subscriptions, and that his neighbours do likewise. 
 Count again the poor-rates which here are three 
 shillings in the pound of the estimated territorial 
 return, and which in certain districts are seven 
 shillings. Voluntarily, or in accordance with the law, 
 the propertied classes lend a shouldei with true courage 
 to sustuin the heavy burden of public poverty. 
 
 M 
 
 ' 
 
 \n* 
 
! 
 
 
 172 
 
 AZOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 Naturally, such a circle is closed, and strictly main- 
 tains its limits ; the aristocratic institution has its 
 drawbacks like others. Thackeray, in all his writings, 
 has described and bitterly rallied this system of social 
 enclosures, the effort of the inferiors to break in, and of 
 the superiors to keep them out. For example, a person 
 like the elegant and intelligent farmer's wife of whom 
 I spoke above is not in society; she is not invited 
 
 to archery meetings ; several ladies whom B 
 
 mentioned to me, and whose conduct in this respect he 
 disapproves, refrain from bowing to her, in order to put 
 a stop to the beginning of possible familiarities. Doubt- 
 less the English who have lived abroad, and whose 
 mind is open, are superior to this miserable pride; 
 they frankly acknowle'^ge its folly and excess. But 
 beneath much reticenc^;, it is discernible in the others. 
 At the bottom of their hearts, and perhaps without 
 realising it to themselves, they believe or are tempted 
 to believe that a manufacturer, a merchant, a monied 
 man, obliged to think all day about gain and the 
 details of gain, is not a gentleman, and cannot belong 
 to the world of fashion. He has not the requisite 
 education, the ideas, the language. "What can a 
 tradesman or farmer speak about, except the objects of 
 his trade ? " According to them the sentiments lose 
 something also ; the monied man and the man of busi- 
 ness is inclined to selfishness ; he has not the dis- 
 interestedness, the large and generous views which suit 
 a chief of the country ; he does not know how to sink 
 self, and think of the public. This title alone gives 
 the right to rule ; thus, till the contrary be proved, he 
 is kept apart, and his family cannot be received among 
 the governing families. The latter are at home, and 
 it is they who make the first advance in adopting a 
 
LANDED PROPRIETORS. 
 
 ns 
 
 newcomer. When a ricli man has bought an estate, 
 it is not necessary that he should trouble himself nor 
 inform any one ; if, in mind, in character, and in 
 manners, he is a gentleman, this will be known at the 
 end of a fortnight, and the neighbouring families will 
 of their own accord come and call upon him. But, 
 even when adopted, he will not yet enjoy all the privi- 
 leges of the others ; he will not succeed in being 
 returned to represent them in Parliament; if he become 
 a candidate, the public will say, "He is too little 
 known, he does not belong to the county yet." He 
 is implanted, but he has not taken root. Perhaps his 
 son or his grandson will be elected, but not he. To 
 represent a district one must be connected with all 
 its interests, its customs, be deeply imbued with 
 them for generations through every fibre. The first con- 
 dition of acknowledged command is long residence, and 
 evrry strong aristocracy is local. In like manner, 
 in France, if, during the Revolution, La Vendee alone 
 followed the lead of its gentlemen, it is because, alone 
 in France, the gentlemen of La Vendee, country folks 
 and sportsmen, lived and remained in intimate inter- 
 course with the peasants. 
 
 I endeavour rightly to comprehend the epithet 
 so essential, "a gentleman ;'* it constantly recurs, and 
 comprises a mass of ideas wholly English. The vital 
 question in the case of a man is always put thus : " Is 
 he a gent-^man ?" Similarly in the case of a woman : 
 "Is she a lady?" In these two cases, one means to 
 say that the person in question is of the superior class ; 
 this class is recognised in fact ; a workman, a peasant, 
 a shopkeeper does not try to step over the line of 
 demarcation. But how is it recognised that a person 
 belongs to the superior class? In France we have 
 
 f: 
 
 ili 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
174 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 V 'vl 
 
 ■^1 SI 
 
 not the word because we have not the thing, and these 
 three syllables, as used across the Channel, summarise 
 the history of English society. The gentlemen, the 
 scjuires, the barons, the feudal chieftains have not 
 become, as under Louis XV., simply privileged persons, 
 ornamental parasites, hurtful in the end, unpopular, 
 odious, outlaws, then, badly reinstated, with antiquated 
 minds, being henceforth without influence, and main- 
 tained in the State rather as a tolerated memorial than 
 as an effective moving power. They have continued in 
 communication with the people, the^'' have opened their 
 ranks to men of talent, they have taken recruits from 
 among the cream of the untitled, they have continued 
 commanding or directing personages, or at least influen- 
 tial in the parish and the State. For that purpose they 
 have accommodated themselves to their age and their 
 part ; they have been administrators, patrons, promoters 
 of reforms, good managers of public affairs, diligent, in- 
 structed, capable men, the most enlightened, the most 
 independent, the most useful citizens of the country. 
 After this pattern has been formed the idea of a 
 gentleman, quite different from that of the French 
 (fcntilhomme. Gcntilhomme awakens ideas of elegance, 
 delicacy, tact, exquisite politeness, tender honour, 
 cavalier turn, prodigal liberality, brilliant valour : 
 these were the salient traits of the superior class in 
 France. In like manner "gentleman" incli>des the 
 distinctive traits of the superior class in England ; in 
 the first place, the most apparent, those which strike 
 dull eyes, are, for example, an independent fortune, the 
 style of the house, a certain exterior appearance, 
 habits of luxury and ease ; very often, in the eyes of 
 the common people, especially in the eyes of lackeys, 
 
the 
 
 ss m 
 
 the 
 
 ; in 
 
 Itrike 
 
 I, the 
 
 nice, 
 
 58 of 
 
 peys, 
 
 LANDED PROPRIETORS. 
 
 »75 
 
 these externals sudice. Add to them for more cultivated 
 minds, a liberal education, travel, instruction, good 
 manners, knowledge of the world. But, for real judges, 
 the essential part of the personage is the heart. When 
 
 speaking to me of a great lord, a diplomatist, B 
 
 said to me, " He is no gentleman." Dr. Arnold, when 
 travelling in France, wrote to his friends, " What 
 strikes me here is the total absence of gentlemen, and 
 of all persons having the education and the senti- 
 ments of a real gentleman there are very few 
 
 persons here who have the appearance and manners of 
 
 one A real English Christian gentleman, of 
 
 juanly heart, enlightened mind, is more, I think, than 
 Guizot or Simondi could be able to comprehend; no 
 other country could, I think, furnish so fine a specimen 
 of human nature." Strip off these exaggerations of 
 national self-love, instructive testimony will remain. 
 For them, a real gentleman is a real noble, a man 
 worthy of commanding, upright, disinterested, capable 
 of exposing himself and even of sacrificing himself for 
 those whom he leads, not only an honourable man, but 
 a conscientious man, in whom generous instincts have 
 been confirmed by straightforward reflection, and who, 
 acting naturally well, acts still better upon principle. 
 In this ideal portrait, you recognise the accomplished 
 chief ; add to it the English varieties, empire over self, 
 continuous coolness, perseverance in adversitj''; natural 
 seriousness, dignity of manner, the shunning of all 
 affectation or boasting; you will have the model 
 superior who, copied closely ^or vaguely discerned, 
 here rallies all who aspire or who will serve. A 
 novelist has depicted him under the name of ** John 
 Halifax, Gentleman ;" the subject is a poor abandoned 
 
 M 
 
 1 i 
 
 uti 
 
 ' 
 
 5:1:1 
 
 I 
 
 I ■■ i 
 
\ 
 
 i! 
 
 ( » 
 
 I 
 
 176 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 child who ends by becoming the respected loader of his 
 district. A single phrase will show the tone of the 
 book : when, after great misadventures, John attains 
 independence, buys a house and keeps his carringe, his 
 son exclaims, " Father, we are gentlefolks now 1 " 
 " We always were, my son." 
 
 
xyii. 
 
 MANSIONS, PARKS, AND GARDENS. 
 
 T ET US look, however, at tlic outsldes ; they are in- 
 
 -^ dexcs. B , ray cntertuiiier. who has been 
 
 married a year, wished to have a cottage. This cottage 
 is charming, even elegant, fiirnislied with all the refine- 
 ments of neatness, of comfort and luxury, it is of brown 
 brick, with several turrets, slanting roof, being nearly 
 altogether enveloped in ivy. Around is a little park 
 with the velvet hi>vn rolled daily, two or three superb 
 clumps of flowering rhododendrons, ten feet high, 
 thirty in length and breadth ; on the grass are garlands 
 of exotic flowers of vivid hues, groups of trees well 
 arranged, a covered hedgerow forming a lovers' walk 
 for a young newly-married pair ; then, beyond the 
 hedges, a horizon of largo trees and glimpses of views 
 over the everlasting verdure. A real nest for a 
 married couple : within, pink and white paper-hang- 
 ings, light painting, in 'ilac or light yellow ; delicate 
 tiled floors and many lozenge-paned windows which 
 recall the Middle Ages. In the drawing-room, an excel- 
 lent piano, and several fine books which are wedding 
 gifts, Tennyson, a Pray'f>r-BooxC and others bound 
 in blue velvet, in wood with carving, in gilded 
 morocco, illustrated with care, vith the neatness of 
 
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 178 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 poncil which is poculliir to English nrti.sffl, somo orna- 
 mented on each pago wiiii paintings and coloured 
 arabesques. Not un ohject which docs not denote an 
 exquisite and even fastidious taste. Everywhere are 
 flower-stands filled with rare flowers; without, within, 
 flowers abound ; this is the fullest detail of luxury, and 
 they understand it as those who really delight in it. 
 
 This understanding and this care are manifested in 
 everything. There is not an object which fails to 
 exhibit forethought and calculated comfort. There aro 
 earpets and long oilcloths from top to bottom of tlio 
 liouse : the carpet serves for warmth ; the oilcloth on 
 which one treads may be washed and kept as clean as 
 a carpet. In my bedroom is a table of rosewood ; 
 upon this table a slab of marble, on the marble a round 
 straw mat ; all this to bear an ornamented water-bottle 
 covered with a tumbler. One does not simply place 
 one's book upon the table ; upon the table is a small 
 stand for holding it. One does not have a plain can- 
 dlestick, which one blows out before going to sleep; the 
 candle is enclosed in a glass cylinder, and is furnished 
 w^ith a self-acting extinguisher. Other details aro 
 still more striking ; a moment's reflection is required 
 in order to comprehend their nse. Sometimes all 
 this apparatus hampers ; it involves too much trou- 
 ble for the sake of comfort. In like manner, on a 
 journey, I have seen Englishmen supplied with so 
 many glasses, opera-glasses and telescopes ; with so 
 many umbrellas, canes, and iron-tipped sticks ; with so 
 many overcoats, comforters, waterproofs, and wrappers ; 
 with so many dressing-cases, flasks, books, and news- 
 papers, that were I in their place I should have stayed 
 at home. From England to France, and from France 
 to Italy, wants and preparations go on diminishing. 
 
MAXS/OXS, PARKS, AXD GAIUILXS. 170 
 
 liifo is more slniplo, aiul, if T may sdv so, more naked, 
 mere given up to chance, less encumbered with incom- 
 juodious eommoditios. 
 
 FifLoen Imndred pounds of incomo, ilirco to four 
 horses, two carriages, six servants, a gardener. 'J'lio 
 Fame stylo of living would re(piirc nearly the same 
 outlay in France. 
 
 "We have visited five or six parks, large or of the 
 nvcragosize, nearly all are beautiful, two or three being 
 admirable. The intact and well-kept meadows sparkle 
 in the sun, abounding with daisies and buttercups. 
 The oaks are old, often enormous. At the bottom of 
 the 'valleys, rivulets, properly disposed, form little lakes 
 in which svvim foreign ducks ; here and there, in a zone 
 of glittering water, an islet covered with rhododen- 
 drons rears ' s pink tuft. Along the woods rabbits 
 speed off beneath our feet, and at each winding of the 
 road the undulating plain, strewn with clumps of trees, 
 sets forth its verdure varied, mellowed, as far as the blue 
 distances. What freslmess and what silence I One 
 feels in a state of repose ; this nature welcomes one with 
 a tender, discreet, intimate caress ; she is some one ; she 
 has her accent, the aff'-.tionate accent of domestic hap- 
 piness, like a beautiful bride who has adorned herself 
 for her husband, and advances in front of him with a 
 soft smile. Every original work — a garden, like a 
 book or a building — is a secret which unveils deep- 
 seated sentiments. In my opinion this one, more 
 than any other, shows the poetic dream of an English 
 soul. It is not so with their dwellings — huge ma- 
 chines, partly Italian or partly Gothic, without distinc- 
 tive character. One sees that they are spacious, com- 
 fortable, well-kept — nothing more. These are the 
 houses of the rich, who understand comforts, and who, 
 
 ' tj 
 
I' 
 ft 
 
 1 80 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 S 
 
 '{f K 
 
 i 
 
 
 sometimes rather unfortunately, have had architectural 
 fancies ; many elegant cottages, covered and encum- 
 bered with turrets, seem playthings in glazed paste- 
 hoard. All their imagination, all their national and 
 personal invention, have been expended upon their 
 parks. 
 
 This one of seven hundred acres contains trees which 
 two or three men could noi encircle with their outspread 
 arms — oaks, limes, plane-trees, cypresses, beeches, 
 which have freely developed the amplitude and fulness 
 of their forms. Isolated or in groups upon the mellow 
 and rich meadow, their rich pyramids, their vast 
 domes expai^d at will, and descend to the grass with a 
 largeness of expansion such as cannot be imagined. 
 They have been tended like rich children ; they have 
 always enjoyed perfect liberty and perfect satisfaction ; 
 nothing has lessened their luxuriance or hampered 
 their growth ; they respire the air and use the soil 
 like great lovd& to which the soil and the air belong by 
 right. In the oenti'> of so many living emeralds is a 
 still more prcious jewel — the garden. Clumps of 
 rhododendrons twenty f<!et high there display tliem- 
 selves, with all their flowers in bloom ; their petals, 
 which are red or of pale violet, shine softly in the 
 sun, beneath the humming hosts of bees. Bushes of 
 azaleas, tufts of full-blown roses, beds of flowers with 
 pearl, azure, velvet, or flesh tints, dainty and winding 
 borders form indistinguishable circles — one walks 
 environed with perfumes and colours. AYise art has 
 regulated the succession of the plants in such a way 
 that those which bloom late replace those which bloom 
 early, and that, from oiie end of the season to the other, 
 the vast flower-bed is always blooming. At intervals 
 a sycamore of noble port, a foreign beech of copper- 
 
 - yafiwfilii^iWTfjpil-r," '"; ■ 
 
MANSIONS, PARKS, AND GARDENS. i8i 
 
 coloured foliage, sustain with their grave note or with 
 their sudden resonance this too-long-drawn-out concert 
 of delicious impressions. Verily this is a concert for 
 the eye, and like a magnificent and full-toned sym- 
 pliony, which the sun, that powerful leader * of the 
 orchestra, causes to swell in unison beneath tlio stroko 
 of his bow. As far as the distant places of the park, 
 i'arther off still, in the woods, on the common, one 
 feels them near at hand. ]>eautiful phmts have 
 climbed over the walls, and suddenly, amidst wild firs, 
 one meets with a pink rnd smiling rhododendron, like 
 an Angelica of Ariosto in the midst of the forest of the 
 Ardennes. All these distances are agreeable ; the land 
 rises and falls under a thick covering of brusliwood ; 
 here and there ferns, witli their vivid and charming 
 green, relieve the uniformity of their tint; in several 
 places ferns abound, and one sees them meandering, 
 twisting about, marking rose-windows on the large 
 russet carpet. At the extremity a line of pines bounds 
 the horizon, and the undulations of the ground are 
 developed by insensible stages in the pale warmish 
 mist, transpierced with light. 
 
 The house is a largo mansion, rather commonplace, 
 solid in ajipearance, arranged in modern style; the 
 furniture of the ground floor and of the fii'st floor, 
 recently renewed, cost four thousand pounds. Three 
 rooms or drawing-rooms, sixty feet long, twenty high, 
 are furnished with large mirrors, good pictures, excel- 
 lent engravings, with bookcases. In front is a glazed 
 conservatory, where one passes the afternoon when the 
 weather is bad, and where, even in winter, one can 
 fancy that it is spring. Bedrooms for the young 
 ladies who come as visitors ; fresh, clear, virginal, 
 papered in blue and white, with an assortment of pretty 
 
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 182 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 feminine objects and fine engravings, tliey are well 
 fitted for their amiable occupants. As for the rest, the 
 picturesque sentiment of decoration and of the arrange- 
 ment of the whole is less keen than among us ; for 
 example, the objects and the tones are rather placed in 
 juxtaposition than in accord. But there is grandiosity 
 and simplicity ; no fondness for crowding and for old 
 curiosities. They readily submit to large bare piano 
 surfaces, empty spaces ; the eye is at ease, one breathes 
 freely, one can walk about, one has no fear of knocking 
 against the furniture. Attention is given to comfort, 
 notably to what relates to the details of sleeping and 
 dressing. In my bedroom, the entire floor is carpeted, 
 a strip of oilcloth is in front of the washing-stand, 
 matting along the walls. There are two dressing- 
 tables, each having two drawers, the first is provided 
 with a swing looking-glass, the second is furnished 
 with one large jug, one small one, a medium one for 
 hot water, two porcelain basins, a dish for tooth- 
 brushes, two soap-dishes, a water-bottle with its 
 tumbler, a finger-glass with its glass. Underneath is 
 a very low table, a sponge, another basin, a large 
 shallow zinc bath for morning bathing. In a cup- 
 board is a towel-horse with four towels of difierent 
 kinds, one of them thick and rough. Another indis- 
 pensable cabinet in the room is a marvel. Napkins 
 are und(T all the vessels and utensils ; to provide for 
 such a service, when the house is occupied, it is 
 necessary that washing should be always going on. 
 Three pairs of candles, one of them fixed in a small 
 portable table. "Wax-matches, paper spills in pretty 
 little holders, pin-cushions, porcelain extinguishers, 
 metal extinguishers. Whiteness, perfection, softest 
 tissues in every part of the bed. The servant comes 
 
MANSIONS, PARKS, AND GARDENS. 183 
 
 four times a day into tlie room ; in the morning to 
 draw the blinds and the curtains, open the inner blinds, 
 curry off the boots and clothes, bring a large can of hot 
 water with a fluffy towel on which to place the feet ; 
 at midday, and at seven in the evening, to bring water 
 and the rest, in order that the visitor may wash before 
 luncheon and dinner ; at night to shut the window, 
 arrange the bed, get the bath ready, renew the linen ; 
 all this with silence, gravity, and respect. Pardon 
 these trifling details; but they must be handled in 
 order to figure to oneself the wants of an Englishman 
 in the direction of his luxur}^; what he expends in 
 being waited upon and comfort is enormous, and one 
 may laughingly say that he spends the fifth of his life 
 in his tub. 
 
 Several of these mansions are historical ; they must 
 be seen in order to understand what inheritance in a 
 large family can bring together in the form of treasures. 
 One was mentioned to me where, by a clause in the 
 conditions, the possessor is bound to invest every year 
 several thousand sterling in silver plate ; after having 
 crowded the sideboards, in the end, a staircase was made 
 of massive silver. We had the opportunity of seeing 
 in the retrospective exhibition an entire collection of 
 precious curiosities and works of art sent by Lord 
 Hereford. In 1848, he said to one of his French 
 friends, greatly disquieted and a little put out, ** I have 
 a mansion in Wales which I have never seen, but 
 which I am told is very fine. Every day dinner for 
 twelve is served there, and the carriage drawn up at 
 the door in case I should arrive. The butler eats the 
 dinner. Go thither, make yourself at home ; you see 
 that it will not cost you a farthing." Naturally, fine 
 things accumulate in these wealthy hands. Uaroness 
 
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 184 
 
 iV^(97:£'5 OiV ENGLAND, 
 
 Burdett Coutts, Lord Ellesmere, the Marquis of "West- 
 minster possess picture-galleries which would do honour 
 to a minor State. Lord Ellesmere has in three rooms, as 
 lofty as the gallery of the Louvre, a number of Pous- 
 sins, the best Elemish painters, above aH three Titians 
 of medium size, " Diana and Acteon," " Diana and 
 Calypso," "Venus leaving the AYaters," of a warm 
 amber colour, of '^^q richest and m- ^t lively beauty. 
 The Marquis of "Westminster has, in i,\/o galleries and 
 four enormous rooms, an hundred and eighty-threo 
 pictures, with an accompaniment of busts, statues, 
 bronzes, enamels, malachite vases, six large E-u^ ms, 
 three Titians, one Raffaelle, two Rembrandts, a number 
 of ClaiT-des, chosen from among the finest. Theso 
 palatir.l mansions are but samples, and it would require 
 too much space to mention them all. In another tour, 
 I saw Blenheim Palace, near Woodstock, belonging to 
 the Duke of Marlborough. This is a sort of Louvre, 
 formerly presented by the nation to the great captain, 
 built in the style of the period, much ornamented. 
 Several rooms are as lofty as the nave of a church, the 
 library is an hundred feet long, an inner chapel contains 
 the monument of the founder, one gallery displays the 
 family portraits, another contains porcelain, several 
 others paintings. The park is two miles in circumfer- 
 ence, magnificent trees, a large stream of water, crossed 
 by an ornamental bridge, a column bearing the statue 
 of the first duke, a private cabinet containing, under 
 Titian's name, twelve copies, being the loves of the gods, 
 voluptuous figures of life-size, presented by the princes 
 of Italy to the conqueror of Louis XIV. ; in the apart- 
 ments are works by Beynolds, five or six large por- 
 traits by Vandyck, a Madonna by Raffaelle, two 
 Rubens, where sensuality, passion, audacity, genius, 
 
MANSIONS, PARKS, AND GARDENS. 185 
 
 overflow like a river in splendours and enormities. 
 Two are bacelianals ; one gigantic female fawn is lying 
 on the ground, curved upon her pendent breasts, and 
 her two little ones, turned on their backs, fastened to 
 the udder, suck eagerly in a mass of quivering flesli 
 above ; the torso of a dark Silenus forms a contrast to 
 the dazzling whiteness of a wanton and twining 
 nyraph ; close by, another copper-coloured, liuge 
 Silenus, heartily danv.cs, with a drunken laugh which 
 shakes his paunch, whilst a beautiful \oung woman, 
 bent upon the hip, sets forth the soft undulations of her 
 side and throat. I dare not describe the third picture, 
 the most pungent of all, of a sublime crudity, all the 
 sap and all the flower of an indomitable temperament, 
 all the poetry of abandoned wickedness, and of bestial 
 gourmandising, " Lot and his two Daughters." But I 
 have forgotten myself, these memories return upon mo 
 like a hot gust. All that I wish to say in conclusion 
 is, that these large hereditary fortunes are conservatories 
 prepared to be stocked with all fine things. At the 
 end of several generations a mansion, a park become 
 a jewel case. 
 
 Several consequences flow from this, some, which arc 
 evil, affect the individual ; others, which are good, 
 concern the State. 
 
 According to S , who is cosmopolitan and well 
 
 connected here, the law of primogeniture, especially in 
 the case of noblemen, has many unpleasant results. 
 Very often the eldest son, having his head turned from 
 his college days with servility and flattery, is a foolish 
 spendthrift or lunatic ; he travels without learning 
 anything, brings back with him the worst of Conti- 
 nental customs, or wearies. If the aristocracy were not 
 
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 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 recruited by men of talent among commoners, its mem- 
 bers would soon become useless, narrow-minded, and 
 even pernicious, as frequently happens elsewhere. More- 
 over, the inequality of the children leads to bitter 
 contrasts. Here I speak less of noblemen who cau 
 procure the advancement of their younger sons in the 
 army, the Church, or the administration, than of the 
 simply rich men; in these families the younger son 
 bitterly experiences the constraint which casts him 
 naked or supplied with a trilling patrimony among the 
 chances and the battles of life, which sends him abroad, 
 postpones his marriage, condemns him during ten or 
 twenty years to subordination, striving, to privations, 
 whilst his brother, independent and rich from birth, 
 has but to occupy the mansion and park prepared for 
 him. However, this notion distresses him less than 
 we should imagine ; he is accustomed to it from child- 
 hood ; as the usage is old, legal, and national, he 
 submits to it, ant] even accepts it on the same footing 
 as a natural necessity. Besides, by temperament, he 
 does not dread hardship, and pride whisj)ers to him. 
 that it is best to shift for himself by working. 
 
 That being admitted, let us trace the advantages. 
 An Englishman has nearly always many children, the 
 rich as well as the poor. The Queen has nine, and sets 
 the example. Let us run over the families we are ac- 
 quainted with : Lord has six children ; the Marquis 
 
 of , twelve; Sir W , nine; Mr. S , a judge, 
 
 twenty-four, of whom twenty-two are living ; several 
 clergymen five, six, and up to ten and twelve ; a certain 
 Church dignitar}'' has only four sons, but he expends 
 in keeping up his position and in charities his two 
 thousand pounds of salary. The Bishops, many of the 
 high officials or landed proprietors, act likewise. In 
 
"' \\ 
 
 3 mem- 
 j(l, and 
 More- 
 > bitter 
 ho cau 
 3 in the 
 of the 
 g-er son 
 its him 
 ong the 
 abroad, 
 r ten or 
 A^ations, 
 a birth, 
 ared for 
 2SS than 
 m ehild- 
 mal, he 
 footing 
 ent, he 
 to him. 
 
 mtages. 
 •en, the 
 md set3 
 
 are ac- 
 l^larquis 
 
 judge' 
 , several 
 
 certain 
 [xpends 
 
 lis two 
 of the 
 
 se. In 
 
 Jl/AXSIOXS, PARKS, AXD GARDENS. 187 
 
 general one saves little here ; a medical man, a lawyer, 
 a landlord has too many public or private claims upon 
 him, taxes, subscriptions, the education and travels 
 of his children, hospitality, horses, servants, comforts. 
 One knows not how to keep within bounds, one wishes 
 to have every enjoyment, to make a figure; one prefers 
 to add to the task rather than diminish the style of 
 living ; in place of retrenching, one scatters abroad ; 
 at the close of the year the utmost is to make both ends 
 meet. Too much toil and too great outlay, that is 
 admitted by my English friends to be the English 
 shortcoming. Now consider these younger sons, well 
 brought up, well trained by a general education and by 
 a special education, informed from their earliest years 
 that they must count upon themselves ; accustomed to 
 comfort, followed by the memory of the paternal 
 country-seat ; can there be a sharper spur ? They have 
 a stimulus to work. Not to reascend to their father's 
 position is to fall lower ; they feel bound to rival the 
 fortune of their eldest brother. In this fashion the 
 law of primogeniture, combined with the experience of 
 what is comfortable, is a system of emulation ; they rush 
 to the Indies, to China, to Australia, take the cream off 
 the world, and return to found a family. In London there 
 is a quarter called the Australian, inhabited by people 
 who have made fortnnes in Victoria, in Melbourne. 
 The weak succumb under this system; but the spirit of 
 enterprise, initiative, energy, all the forces of human 
 nature are brought into full play. The individual 
 is braced by the struggle, the select few of tho 
 nation is renewed, and gold flows in torrents over the 
 country. 
 
 Another advantage, but which appears to be one only 
 in the eyes of a philosopher and of an artist ; however, 
 
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II 
 
 i88 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 it is an advantage. "Without an aristocracy, a civili- 
 sation is not complete ; it wants largo, independent 
 lives, emancipated from all mean care, capable of 
 beauty like a work of art. Some one has said, " War 
 to castlos, peace to cottages." I think it would be 
 better to suy, ** Peace to cottages and to castles." 
 Proudhon wished to see France covered with neat 
 little houses, in each house a half-country half-city 
 family, and round about a small field and a garden, the 
 whole soil being thus parcelled out. From the his- 
 torian's point of view, this is the desire of a market- 
 gardener; if there were nothing else in it than vegetables, 
 the country would be very ugly. I have no park, and 
 yet my eyes are satisfied with beholding one — only 
 it must be accessible and well-kept. It is the same 
 with the lives of the great ; they perform the functions 
 of parks among the garden plots and tilled fields. 
 The one furnishes venerable trees, velvet greenswards, 
 the delicious fairy-land of accumulated flowers and 
 poetic avenues ; the other maintains certain elegancies 
 of manners and certain shades of sentiments, renders 
 possible a cosmopolite education, supplies a hotbed for 
 statesmen. One of the first manufacturers in England, 
 a Padical and supporter of Mr. Bright, said to me, with 
 regard to electoral reform, " We do not wish to over- 
 throw the aristocracy ; we consent to their keeping the 
 government and the high ofiices. ' As members of tho 
 middle class we believe that specially-trained men are 
 required for the conduct of affairs — trained from 
 father to son for this end, occupying an independent 
 and commanding station. Besides, their title and their 
 genealogy are a gilt feather ; a troop is more easily led 
 when its officer wears a plumed hat. But we absolutely 
 require that they should fill all the places with compe- 
 
 y> -.'i /5i^&_j^J/t-*_ti"4s%«d^ 
 
JILLYSIONS, PARKS. AND GARDENS. 189 
 
 a clvili- 
 >pendent 
 ptiblo of 
 1, " War 
 ,^ould bo 
 ca!?tles." 
 ith neat 
 half-city 
 rden, the 
 the his- 
 market- 
 getables, 
 )ark, and 
 le — only 
 the same 
 functions 
 ^d fields, 
 nsvvards, 
 rers and 
 egancies 
 renders 
 tbed for 
 n gland, 
 ne, with 
 over- 
 ing the 
 of the 
 en are 
 from 
 endenb 
 d their 
 sily led 
 olutely 
 icompe- 
 
 tentmen. Nothing for mediocrities ; no nepotism. lict 
 them govern, provided, hovvover, that they have talent." 
 They have profited by their recent experience. They 
 Jcnow that during the Crimean campaign the flood of 
 public anger nearly swejjt them away. They have felt 
 that they must emerge from negligence and disorder ; 
 they have yielded to opinion, they have ended by 
 directing reforms. It may be affirmed that during 
 thirty years they have governed, not in the interest of 
 their class, but in the interest of the nation. Since 
 1832 they have ceased to prey upon the public funds ; 
 they are rich or well-to-do persons, who pay the heavier 
 share of the taxes; the principal transformations of 
 the Budget have had the effect of relieving the people. 
 On the whole, England is becoming a ICepublic, for 
 which the aristocratic institution fabricates the required 
 contingent of ministers, representatives, generals, and 
 diplomatists, as a polytechnic school furnishes the 
 indispensable quota of engineers. Many are incompe- 
 tent ; let them remain out of service, and let them 
 occupy themselves in spending their income. But the 
 necepsary staif may be picked out of the mass ; and 
 nolhing is more precious than a good staff. 
 
 I 
 
 ] 
 
 
xiy. 
 
 CHARACTER AND TOSITION OF THE CLERGY. 
 
 H 
 
 r 
 
 A LONGSIDE of him who conducts affairs, there is 
 •^-*- another who governs consciences, instituted on 
 the same principle, and leading to the same result — I 
 mean to say the governance exercised by the most 
 worthy, respected, stable, and perfectible. This refers 
 to the clergy ; in the first place, however, let us see 
 the sentiments which support them. 
 
 It is Sunday ; the domestics are excused waiting at 
 table ; each guest helps himself ; the Sabbath day is 
 respected as much as possible. These biblical traits 
 are encountered at every step ; for example, newspapers 
 do not appear on Sundays ; one train excepted, the 
 railway traffic ceases ; in Scotland, the Duchess of 
 
 , who was going to see her dying mother, could 
 
 not get the special train on Sunday, for which she 
 would have paid. 
 
 "VYe go to church for afternoon service ; tlie prirson, 
 a tall, thin man of forty, takes as his text the life of 
 St. John the Baptist in the New Testament, briefly 
 narrates this stor}, and extracts the fitting applications 
 from it with good sense and calmness. Good pro- 
 nunciation, gravity, no emphasis ; solid and clear argu- 
 ment, developed in a serious tone, is always useful teach- 
 
she 
 
 THE CLERGV, 
 
 191 
 
 inj^- for tlio public, especially for tlio vi*11;iq;c p\il)lIo. 
 liuloro, and ul'tcr, ho reads the service, and the small 
 congregation sings the psalms, accompanied by (ho 
 organ. Excellent behaviour and general attention. 
 The music is a grave recit five, rather monotonous, 
 but never clamorous or bellowing, like our churcli 
 singing. This liturgy, those psalms, translated or 
 arranged from the Hebrew, are truly eloquent, elevated, 
 imposing; the Hebraic style, with its abruptness and 
 sublimity, runs well in English. It has been softened, 
 rendered lucid in the translation ; but the English 
 tongue, among all others, is the most capable of sus- 
 taining its grandeur and of adapting itself to its jerks ; 
 for it can express concentrated and powerful emotions, 
 impassioned and profound veneration. For example, the 
 words " Mon Dieu " are inexpressive and almost devoid 
 of accent in French ; the same English words, "My God," 
 are an intense cry, or sigh of aspiration and of solemn 
 anguish. The more I read the " Book of Common 
 Prayer," the more beautiful and appropriate to its pur- 
 pose do I find it. Whatever be the religion of a country, 
 church is the place to which men come, after six days 
 of mechanical toil, to freshen in themselves the senti- 
 ment of the ideal. Such was the Grecian temple under 
 Cymon ; such the Gothic cathedral under St. Louis. 
 In accordance with the dift'erencos of sentiment, the 
 ceremony and the edifice differ ; but the important 
 point is, that the sentiment should be revived and forti- 
 fiod. Now, in my opinion, that occurs here ; a day 
 labourer, a mason, a seamstress who leave this service 
 carry ./ith them noble impressions, suited to the 
 instincts of their race, a vague notion of an august, I 
 know not what, of a superior order, of invisible justice. 
 Moreover, a cultivated man can seat himself beside 
 
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 192 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 them ; lie is not rc])ello(l by too baso superstitions. No 
 potty dccoriitions, painted images, cliildisli})anide, postur- 
 ing?, set marclics, and antiquated ceremonies, ^vliereof 
 tlio congregation have forgotten the meaning. Tho 
 "Nvalls arc nearly bare; the liymns and words are in tho 
 vulgar tongue ; the ofliciating clergyman docs not mako 
 genuflexions ; his bearing is that ot'a magistrate ; except 
 tho surplice, he has tho garb of one, and, according to 
 the saying of Joseph de Maistre, he may bo defined as 
 u gentleman charged with liolding forth worthy dis- 
 courses to you. Tho ceremony is a moral gathering, 
 where the chairman speaks in a pulpit, in i)lacc of 
 speaking from a platform. IJesidcs, in his discourses 
 as in his worship, dogma is always put in tlie back- 
 ground ; before everything else, the art and will to live 
 rightly arc considered, lleligion itself, with its emotions 
 and its great vistas, is scarcely anything but the poetry, 
 and the far beyond, of morality; the prolongation into 
 the infinite of a luminous and sublime idea- — that of 
 justice. A reflecting mind can accept the whole, at least 
 in guise of symbol. In this fashion, and without re- 
 nouncing his jiersonal interpretation, he remains in com- 
 munication and in communion with the simple who aro 
 near him. On the fundamental point, which is the 
 moral emotion, all are agreed, and, in consequence, all 
 reunite to surround with assiduous respect, visible and 
 unanimous, the Church and the pastor. 
 
 Thus he possesses authority. Note, moreover, that he 
 is a gentleman, frequently by his birth and by his for- 
 tune, nearly always by his education. The Bishop of 
 London has £10,000 a year; one of the two Archbishops, 
 £15,000 ; a certain dignitary of Cambridge, £7,000 ; 
 the Dean of St. Paul's, £2,000 ; that of Westminster, 
 £3,000. Literature and science are passports to these 
 
THE CLERGY, 
 
 »03 
 
 ns. No 
 
 postur- 
 wliorcof 
 ^ The 
 3 in the 
 )t niuko 
 except 
 lliij^ to 
 incd as 
 liy (lis- 
 licring, 
 lace of 
 icoiirscs 
 D back- 
 . to live 
 [notions 
 poetry, 
 on into 
 lliat of 
 it least 
 Hit ro- 
 ll com- 
 lio aro 
 is the 
 ce, all 
 and 
 
 pat lie 
 lis for- 
 |op of 
 ^hops, 
 1,000 ; 
 pster, 
 these 
 
 liigh ofTiees ; one attains a bishopric through Greek ; 
 us was the case of Dr. Thirlvvall, author of a very 
 good history of Greece. The average of all the salaries 
 put together and divided by the number of incumbents 
 is £1 10; generally a euro or living is worth i)200 or 
 £'i00 a year, the smallest are £80 ; one is said to be 
 worth £10,000. The Lord Chancellor has seven 
 hundred in his gift, the others are in the gift of pri- 
 vate persons, inheritors or founders. In addition, and 
 not unfrequently, tho incumbents have fortunes of 
 their own. Several good families have a son in holy 
 orders ; he brings with hira his share in the estate, 
 sometimes a large income, or the fortune of his wife ; 
 many pious and well-born girls like to marry a clergy- 
 man. In fine, the ecclesiastical profession is a career 
 very similar to that of the magistracy among us, com- 
 prising marriage, a serious life, moral pre-occupations, 
 select education, elevated sentiments, but not an ascetic 
 system, a solitary hearth, and passive obedience. 
 
 The majority have been at Oxford or Carabridgf^ ; 
 those of my acquaintance all read French, and pos- 
 sess a solid foundation of appropriate study, Greek, 
 Latin, mathematics, general instruction. They have 
 read Shakespeare and Tennyson ; they are not unac- 
 quainted with the different points of view of interpre- 
 tation, with the history of this Church. One of them 
 gave me particulars about the successive versions of the 
 Prayer-Book, and said that it would have been better 
 to have retained the first. Another was tolerant in 
 the matter of Dissenters, and only blamed the haughty 
 disposition which leads each to form a doctrine for 
 himself. On this subject, witness the tone of their 
 orthodox reviews : it is firm, but not violent. An 
 entire fraction of the Church holds broad views. 
 
 o 
 
 nfqpit;.| 
 
 
 ' f 
 
 
 'H 
 
 1 \ ilp 
 
 !| 
 
 ' \ 
 
 i 'in 
 
 i ■ % 
 
 , 1 i| 
 
 !''| 
 
 Mil 
 I If 
 
I 
 
 I 
 
 194 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 Liberals, like Milman, independent investigators, bold 
 coramcntators, like Stanley, have been tliougbt worthy 
 of the highest posts, Deans in the capital. All that 
 denotes a rather lofty average of education and spirit, 
 very lofty, if we compare it with the correspondinii; 
 grade in France. As to their manners and externals, 
 they are those of a gentleman, of a gentleman of inde- 
 pendent means, if the living bo large enougli, or if the 
 incumbent have private fortune ; besides, a wife always 
 imparts comfort and enjoyment to the house which she 
 nianag' s. Many of them keep houses, a carriage, 
 several servants. In the case of one, his cottage, tlio 
 small park, the style of the house, were as well looked 
 
 after as in that of Mr. B , my entertainer. In that 
 
 of a second, six miles from this place, the style is not 
 inferior. I know not whether it be accidental or not, 
 but it has never seemed to me that they are prudish 
 in their tone or their manners. Lately, at Venice, I 
 dined at table with a gentleman, his four daughters, 
 and his wife ; he was not saerious, like most English- 
 men ; on the third day he told me he was a clergyman, 
 and we went to the theatre together to see Manj Stuart, 
 Thus by their ideas, their conduct, their education, 
 their manners, sometimes too by their fortune and their 
 birth, they can mingle with the local aristocracy. They 
 are not peasants with the rust badly rubbed off at col- 
 lege, fed upon antiquated theology, set apart from the 
 v/orld by their profession, their celibacy, their defi- 
 ciency in experience, but are relatives, equals, men of 
 the same sphere. The clergyman at table alongside the 
 landlord is the director of morals, alongside of the poli- 
 tical leader, both of them allied together, are visibly the 
 superiors of those they lead, being accepted by them as 
 such, and are generally worthy of being so accepted. 
 
 
THE CLERGY, 
 
 195 
 
 When I walk to the village with the clcrgynian, ho 
 enters the houses, pats the little ones on the head, gets 
 information about their progress, admonishes the bud 
 boys, speaks against drunkenness, chats with the people 
 about their concerns ; ho is their natural counsellor. 
 His wife teaches the poor children ; the indigents come 
 to the parsonage to seek help, a bottle of good wine, 
 some delicacies for a sick person. Another clergyman 
 whom I knew in London, recently took the ragged- 
 school children into the country. There were two 
 thousand of them ; it was at once a festival and an 
 autumn procession, with flags, music, &c. They re- 
 mained away from seven in tlie morning till the even- 
 ing ; they ate aud drank ; the cost of the wliole was 
 about two hundred pounds, supplied by voluntary con- 
 tributions. The object was to give a day's pleasure in 
 the open air to these poor little ones who dwell in dirty 
 holes or on the pavement. Spiritual guides and tem- 
 poral guides ; on both sides the superior class fulfils its 
 task ; and in local lif- as in general life, its ascendency 
 is merited and undisputed. 
 
 II H' 
 
 Mil 
 
 
 V\ 
 
 Ji 
 
Ill 
 
 
 m 
 
 XV, 
 
 THE GOVERNING CLASSES AND THE GOVERNMENT. 
 
 T) ETURN to London : I have vainly striven to pro- 
 ■^^ cure precise information, some figures about the 
 fortunes and number of the persons who compose this 
 disseminated and local aristocracy. In 1841, accord- 
 ing to Porter, in England and Wales there were 
 123,000 males and 322,000 females enjoying an inde- 
 pendent fortune, the population was 16,000,000 ; now, 
 in 1861, it is 20,000,000, and wealth has largely in- 
 creased. In 1849, the number of persons keeping 
 riding and carriage horses was 140,000, of whom the 
 half kept two horses and upwards. In 1841 the num- 
 ber of persons having male servants was 120,000, of* 
 whom the half had two men servants and upwards. 
 Now, my friends toll me, that to keep a horse and a 
 man servant denotes an outlay of £800 to £1,000 a 
 year. I suppose that, in accordance with these figures, 
 the number oi rich or well-to-do families of the 
 country may be estimated at about one hundred and 
 twenty thousand. 
 
 Observe the supports of such a constitution ; it is 
 based on the number, the distribution, the fortune, the 
 antiquity, the capacity, the residence, the probity, the 
 utility, the authority of the entire upper class, one 
 
THE GOVERNMENT. 
 
 197 
 
 h unci red thousand families. All the rest is secondary. 
 For eighty years our publicists have reasoned them- 
 selves blind concerning constitutions ; I know one 
 among the most eminent who would transport that of 
 Englana or the United States to France, and asks two 
 years only for rendering the nation accustomed to it. 
 One of them said to me, " It is the locomotive ; it is 
 enough to bring it across the water, and instantly it 
 will replace the diligence." In fact, nearly all Europe 
 has essayed or adopted the English system — monarchy 
 more or less tempered, Lower House and Upi^or House, 
 elections, &c. Consider how grotesque the result 
 has been in Greece, lamentable in Spain, fragile in 
 France, uncertain in Austria and in Italy, insuthcient 
 in Prussia and in Germany, successful in Holland, in 
 Lelgium, and in the Scandinavian States. To import the 
 locomotive is not everything : to make it run, a line is 
 requisite. Or, rather, one ought to put aside all com- 
 parisons drawn from mechanical things ; the constitu- 
 tion of a State is an organic thing like that of a living 
 body, it pertains to the State alone ; another cannot 
 assimilate it, the outside merely can be copied. Under- 
 neath institutions, charters, written laws, the official 
 jdmanack, there are the ideas, the customs, the character, 
 the condition of classes, their respective position, their 
 reciprocal sentiments ; in short, a ramified network of 
 deep-seated, invisible roots beneath the visible trunk 
 and foliage. It is tliey which feed and sustain the 
 tree. Plant the tree without roots, it will languish, 
 and will fall at the first gust. AVe admire the stability 
 of the English Government ; this is due to its being the 
 extremity and ritural unfolding of an infiniiy of living 
 fibres rooted in the soil ove^ *:. ^^q surface of the 
 country. Suppose a riot like that of Lord Gordon's, 
 
 'ki''A 
 
 
 I i 
 ! I 
 
 i^i 
 
 in 
 
I 
 
 in 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 198 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 but better conducted and fortified by socialistic proclama- 
 tions ; add to this, what is contrary to all probability, a 
 gunpowder plot, the total and sudden destruction of the 
 two Houses and of the Hoyal Family. Only the peak 
 of the Government would be carried off, the rest would 
 remain intact. In each parish, in each county, there are 
 families around which the others would group them- 
 selves ; important personages, gentlemen and noblemen, 
 who would take the control and make a beginning, 
 who are followed, who are marked out beforehand by 
 their rank, their fortune, their services, their education, 
 and their influence ; born captains and generals who will 
 rally the dispersed &> Idiers, and instantly re-form the 
 army, quite the 023posite of France, where the middle- 
 class citizen and the workman, the noble and the pea- 
 sant, are distrustful and at variance, where the blouse 
 and the coat rub shoulders with rancour and fear, 
 where the so^e chiefs are nnknown functionaries, 
 movable, provisional, to whom exterior obedience is 
 paid but not close deference, and who are submitted to 
 without being accepted. 
 
 Thus their Government is stable, because they possess 
 natural representatives. It is necessary to reflect in 
 order to feel all the weight of this last word, so simple. 
 What is a representative ? To represent a person or 
 a society, great or small, it matters not of what kind, 
 is to render it present in a place where it is not, to 
 decide, to order, to do in its stead and for it, that which 
 through absence, ignorance, insufRciency, or any other 
 hindrance, it cannot do except by substituting for its 
 own incompetent will the competent will of its repre- 
 sentative. He is like a manager, i\ proxy, like a captain 
 entrusted with the guidance of a ship, or an engineer 
 employed to construct a bridge. Thus, in public affairs 
 
THE GOVERXMEXT. 
 
 109 
 
 as In private affairs, my true roproscntativc is ho whoso 
 docisions are based on my firm support. AVhother that 
 support be manifested or not by a vote matters litth^ ; 
 votes, counted suffrages, are simple signs. The essential 
 tiling is that the support exists and subsists, written 
 or not, noisy or silent. It is a constant mental state, 
 being an energetic and persistent disposition of the 
 mind and of the heart; here, as in all the moral sciences, 
 it is the interior that must be regarded. Now observe 
 that the legal indexes by which this is thought to be 
 determined are not infallible; universal suffrao-e or auv 
 other electoral combination may concentrate on a list 
 or a name the majority of votes, this majority does not 
 ])rove firm support. Compelled to choose between two 
 lists or two names, about which he has not a decided 
 and personal opinion, an ignorant person has not really 
 made a choice, and nearly all the nation is composed 
 of ignorant persons. The twenty thousand peasants, 
 workmen, members of the lower middle-class, who are 
 led to each in-n, go thither like a flock ; they do not 
 know the candidates except by hearsay, scarcely by 
 sight. Wo are acquainted with some who vote at 
 random, and say, '* The one's as good as the other." 
 In every case their preference is faint, consequently weak 
 and vacillating. They may abandon, leave the person of 
 their choice, whom they prefer so slightly, in the lurch ; 
 hence their government, whatever it may be, wants 
 root. A current of opinion, a street riot m.ay over- 
 throw it, setting up another in its place. The thing 
 done, many will repeat again, " The one's as good as 
 the other." This waning affection is most frequently 
 merely commonplace toleration, i,nd never stiffens into 
 a settled choice. Thus all our establishments, Kepublie, 
 Empire, Monarchy, are provisional, resembling the great 
 
 s 
 
 
 W 
 
 
)it 
 
 m 
 
 200 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 drop-scenes which in turn fill an empty stage, disappear- 
 ing or reappearing on occasion. We sec them descend, 
 reascend, with a sort of indifference. Wo are incon- 
 venienced on account of the noise, of the dust, of the 
 disagreeahle countenances of the hired applauders, but 
 we resign ourselves ; for what can we do in the matter ? 
 Whoever hai)pen to be our official representatives, in 
 whatever fashion chance or election gives them to us, 
 the public will does not unite itself in a lasting way to 
 their will. They are not our effective and true repre- 
 sentatives, and our society does not allow of better 
 ones ; let us retain these, lest we meet with worse. 
 The upper class docs not supply them, since among us 
 levelling envy accepts but sulkily the rich and the noble. 
 As for the imitation of America and the installation 
 of an intelligent democracy where a mason, a peasant, 
 shall possess an amount of instruction and of political 
 views which are now possessed by a country school- 
 master, a notaryj^to arrive at that point, will require a 
 centur}'" and upwards. Meantime, and as a preparation, 
 one might try the double vote, the first for the Com- 
 mune, the second for the chief place of the arrondisse- 
 ment ; yet these are but distant experiments and dubious 
 expedients. 
 
 On the contrary, in a country like this one, the 
 representatives, being natural, are effectives ; the sup- 
 port which maintains them is not slippery, but firm. 
 They .ae really the persons which the public desire 
 to have at the head of affairs, and not others ; 
 and it desires them without hesitation, determinately, 
 with a resolution which lasts. Each parish or dis- 
 trict is acquainted with those of itc choice, a day-labourer 
 distinguishes them as easily as a cultivated man would 
 do. Thev are like to the five or six lar":e trees of the 
 
THE GOVERNMENT, 
 
 201 
 
 locality, rccop;in'sablo by their boarin<T and circum- 
 ference ; everybody, down to the children, hus reclined 
 under their shadow and benefited by their presence. 
 In default of enlightenment and nice discernmenl, 
 interest, custom, deference, and sometimes gratitude, will 
 Buflico to ensure votes for them; for these arc holds 
 as tenacious as those of tradition, of sentiment, and of 
 instinct ; attachment is the strongest fastening. They 
 are thus marked out for government, and in this respect 
 the written vote or the raised hand does nothing but 
 confiim the tacit assent. Even in the davs of rotten 
 
 «r 
 
 boroughs. Parliament then represented the public will. 
 It represents it to-day, although the number of electors 
 is small. It will still represent it ten years hence, should 
 the lleform Bill extend the suffrage.* In my opinion 
 these legislative changes do nothing but perfect details 
 without touching what is fundamental. The important 
 point is always the assent of the public. Now, voters 
 or non -voters, the day-labourer and the shopkeeper 
 wish as a leader a man of the better class. Whether 
 they have or have not the legal means for expressing 
 this approval, and of giving effect to it in the case of 
 this or til at individual, it is gained for the class. The 
 leader once elected, whether by them or by others, they 
 faithfully follow him, and by this sil-^nt support he be- 
 comes their member by a more solid title than among 
 us where their voices are counted. 
 
 By a more solid title and also by a better title. For 
 it does not suffice to be appointed leader in order to 
 know how to lead ; the election which confers the 
 power does not in any wise confer capacity. A 
 long preparation, special education and studies are re- 
 quired to bo a lawyer or an engineer ; they are 
 
 * This was written before the passing of the laf^* Kcform Lill. 
 
 r 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 i!^' 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 
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 J ■ 
 
 
 
 
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 ■ 
 
 ' 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 
 K 
 
 * 'ill 
 
hi 
 
 !i 
 
 i 
 
 202 
 
 NOTES aV ENGLAND. 
 
 required for a stron<>or reason to constitute a states- 
 man, to vote v.ith discernment upon great public 
 interests, to sift tlie opportune and the possible, to con- 
 template the whole from afar, to have a reasoned and 
 valid opinion as to the degree of extension which 
 it is fitting to accord at a given moment to the 
 suffrage, about the transformation which is suited for 
 tenant-right and property in Ireland, about India, 
 about the Uirited ►States, about the various powers of 
 Europe, '' jui the chances and the future of commerce, 
 of indust , o. 'ho finances, and the rest. Success is 
 not attained in thcoO matters by abstract principles, by 
 newspaper phrases, by vague notions brouglit from 
 college or from a school of law, which among us 
 constitute the ordinary luggage of a politician. Such 
 optical instruments are of no avail, or are deceptive. 
 The advocate's education, the routine of the head of 
 a department, limited, local, and technical experience, 
 add nothing to their reach. It is not thus that ex- 
 tended views are obtained. They are not procured save 
 at great cost. One is bound, in order to procure them, 
 to travel, to know languages, to meet abroad learned 
 men and make political acquaintances, to acquire 
 terms of comparison among foreigners, to mark on the 
 spot foreign manners, institutions, governments, pub- 
 lic life, and private life. Many members of Parliament 
 make no other nse of their holidays than to pro- 
 ceed to the Continent and institute an inquiry for 
 a fortnight or for six weeks. They come to France, 
 to Spain, to Italy, to Germany, in order to refresh, 
 rectify, deepen their previous impressions, not once, 
 but five, six, and ten times. They wish to keep them- 
 selves abreast of what is going on, follow the fluctuations 
 of public opinion. In this manner, their judgment is 
 
 SSIS^^ 
 
rilE GOVERXMEXT, 
 
 203 
 
 never beliiiul-lmnd, aiirl its clinnoos of l)ein<> oorroot ;iio 
 increased. Let a black spot form in Denmark, in INjland, 
 at Home, in the United States ; almost immediately 
 they are there, and brinj:^ back precise information. 
 Abroad, tliey get introduced to eminent or special 
 men, invite them to their residences, turn them over 
 and read them like volumes, frequently notini^ all the 
 details of their conversation, and on their return coni- 
 numicating the manuscript to the persons of their circle. 
 I have read such manuscripts; nothing more instructive. 
 To this information they add inspectio of tilings. One 
 of them goes to our farms, cxjimines th manure, tlio 
 implements, the cattle, makes a colk jfion of statistics, 
 and, on his return, 2)rints or delivers a series of lectures 
 on the state of agriculture in France. Anotlier one 
 surveys the Paris manufactories, "lilst his wife visits 
 the professional schools. Below the statesman, nearly 
 all the rich or merely well-off people do likewise. I 
 know one who, having several children, and making 
 some £000 a year, annually deducts from this moderate 
 income £40 for an excursion. Kot one voUiM'- 
 man of good family does not make the round of the 
 Continent; every complete education includes travels 
 and a residence abroad for a longer or shorter time. 
 During the vacation, barristers, lawyers, professors 
 visit Germany in hundreds. JNIanv observe but the 
 outsides of things; a vessel cannot liold more than its 
 capacity; yet all bring back with them some ideas, or, 
 at the least, notions less false, and prejudices less gross. 
 All this information combined forms a moreeidightened 
 public opinion on great subjects, less incompf^tent in 
 political matters, more sensible, nearer the truth, more 
 open to good counsel. As a consequence, the states- 
 man who has discerned the riglit putli is sustained. 
 
 ■:i \\ 
 
I 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 204 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 encouraged. Tho crew elects the captain by acclama- 
 tion ; frequently, indeed, opinion seeks Lim out, and 
 loads him to tho helm. 
 
 A thing more essential still is that such an education 
 is tho surest means for forming him. Spread over tlio 
 whole upper class, it inevitably descends upon the great 
 si)irits as upon the minor spirits of the class. If one 
 of them be well endowed, he does not miscarry for lack 
 of sufficient and appropriate culture ; he receives that 
 wliich develops it, and his talent or his genius at- 
 tains its full growth. As, moreover, his situation, his 
 fortune, and his connections exempt him from too 
 lengthened an apprenticeship and the potty troubles 
 about money, he can yield his fruits at an early period. 
 Thus it was with the second Pitt, Canning, Sir llobert 
 Peel, Lord Palmerston ; at tho present day with Mr. 
 Gladstone and Lord Derby. Doubtless it is unfortunate 
 that hereditary riches and premature importtnco should 
 serve unjustly to crown an entire class, and, in con- 
 sequence, some rascals, several brutes, and a quantity 
 of mediocrities. But it is at this price thai a select 
 few can be formed. The institution resembles a stud ; 
 out of one hundred animals you get six good racers ; 
 out of a thousand, a racer of the first class. Consider 
 tliat, without competent chiefs, a State cannot prosper, 
 and that there are cases where, for want of a great 
 man, a State falls ; can you pay too dearly for a certain 
 contingent of competent chiefs, and the frequent chance 
 of a great statesman ? 
 
Dclama- 
 ut, und 
 
 ucati'on 
 vov tlio 
 
 great 
 If one 
 or lack 
 es that 
 ius at- 
 oll, his 
 (in. too 
 mublcs 
 period. 
 Robert 
 ;h Mr. 
 'tunate 
 should 
 
 1 coii- 
 antitv 
 
 select 
 
 stud ; 
 leers ; 
 isider 
 osper, 
 
 great 
 )rtain 
 
 lanco 
 
 XVI. 
 
 RAGGED SCHOOLS, HOSPITALS, WORKHOUSES, AND THE 
 
 VOLUNTEKllS. 
 
 T ET US see the macliine at work. The Edinbut'fih 
 ■^ Review for July, 1801, says : " It is a distinctive trait 
 of this country, and a trait of which we are proud, that 
 we manage our affairs ourselves, and without the inter- 
 vention of the State.'* For example, in twenty-ono 
 years, out of £13,200,000 expended in national educa- 
 tion, the State has contributed only £4,200,000 ; the 
 rest has been supplied by subscription. Private societies 
 abound : societies for saving lives from drowning, for 
 the conversion of the Jews, for the propagation of the 
 Gospel, for the advancement of science, for the pro- 
 tection of animals, for the repression of vice, for render- 
 ing working men possessors of freeholds, for building 
 good dwellings for them, for producing funds for their 
 savings-banks, for emigration, for the propagation of 
 economic and social knowledge, for the right observance 
 of Sunday, against drunkenness, for founding a scliool 
 for female teachers, &c. It is sufficient to walk 
 through the streets and turn over the newspapers or 
 reviews, to divine the number and the importance of 
 these institutions. My friends tell me that they are 
 nearly all conducted seriously and conscientiously. The 
 
 I 
 
 m 
 
 li 
 
 \i 
 
206 
 
 XOTES Oy ENGLAND, 
 
 
 Eunllslnnan does not sever hiTnarlf from public nlTairs: 
 they arc Ills (iflhirs; lie desires to si ui re in tlieir inuiinjj;(»- 
 Tiient. He does not live upurt ; lie eonsidors lilniself 
 bound to contribute in one way or otlier to the common 
 ^ood. In like manner, •nnon<^ us an ordinary lionest 
 niiin considers himselt' bound to go regidarly to liis 
 office or his counter, tlicro to inspect matters or to 
 bibour ; lie would lose all esteem for himself, lie would 
 rejj^ard liimself as an odd fish, or, what is more, a fool, 
 if lie entrusted this to another, if he suffered himself 
 to be jjut in a bad way, to bo duped, to bo robbed by 
 a representative. 
 
 C took mo to a meeting for the education and 
 
 the reform of young vagabonds. The association 
 maintains about ono hundred youths from tliirteen to 
 twenty, some having been convicted, the others intro- 
 duced by very poor parents, who place them in charge 
 to prevent them keeping company with rascals, and to 
 liinder them from becoming thieves. They are lodged, 
 they are clothed, they are fed, they are taught a trade 
 (shoemaking, printing, toy and furniture-making, &c.). 
 Those in the second category have the privilege of 
 belonging to a brass band, which plays in the cou'^'t 
 before the proceedings begin. Their faces are dull, 
 and not very pleasing ; they have a special uniform, 
 grey and blue ; a penitentiary, even a private one, even 
 well-kept, is never a place of pleasure. The establish- 
 ment was founded by Mr. Bowyer, a sort of lay St. 
 Vincent de Paul; it bears this name, ** Preventive and 
 Iteformatory Institution." Contributions are askod from 
 those who enter, and a little pamphlet is handed to 
 them. I there read th.it "the cost of maintaining 
 eaeii youth in the establishment is on an average about 
 £17 a year, whilst the cost for maintaining each 
 
RAGGED SCHOOLS, 
 
 207 
 
 and to 
 
 odgcfl, 
 
 trudo 
 
 &c.). 
 
 go of 
 
 coir't 
 
 dull, 
 
 3d to 
 ining 
 ibout 
 eooh 
 
 t'vlinhijil In irollowuy Prison Is equlvulont to a curate's 
 salary (i'TO), and that tho thol'ts of a London pick- 
 pocket are not cstniiated at anytliing less than I'JiOD 
 u vcar." Conclusion : it is nioro economical to nay 
 hero i'or a young vagabond, than to let hini grow up 
 outside. J^nglish charity justilies itself by iigures. 
 
 Fifteen of them leave to-dav lor Australia, of their 
 own choice; their passage is paid ; to-day's mooting is 
 on account of their departure. 
 
 They aro in the middle of tho audience, on three 
 
 benches, and they listen. Lord , member of tho 
 
 Upper House, and a wealthy landed })roprietor, is 
 chairman, and opens tho meeting. Timid air, snudl 
 slirill voice, largo pointed collar sticking up from a 
 badlv-mado coat; ho has rather the mien of a retired 
 shopkeeper than of a great lord. After some halting 
 phrases, ho reads several very proper letters from tho 
 youths who have left tho institution. One of them, a 
 woodcutter in tho virgin forest, thought at first that 
 it would bo impossible for him to become used to tho 
 solitude ; now ho labours, without being weary, from 
 the rising to tho going down of tho sun. Yet ho can 
 speak to no one, save for a quarter of an Lour to tho 
 woman who brings hira his food daily. 
 
 Another speech, that of an oratorical Bishop, and 
 who makes similar ones every day : *' You have been 
 supported here, sheltered from temptations, like plants 
 Uider glass; this was in order to allow your good 
 instincts time to take root. Now you aro about to be 
 transplanted into tho open air, left to yourselves ; it 
 is necessary that your roots should implant themselves 
 and live. For that do not have eonlidenco in yoi;?, • 
 selves, but in Jesus Christ, who is your only fricn;;, 
 who will be your help in solitude, ;tmid temptations." 
 
208 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 i 
 
 
 Good delivery, paternal and grave, without emphasis 
 or book phrases ; he adapted liis language to the listen- 
 ing minds. Beside.s, the Protestant religion is effica- 
 cious in such a case ; the Bible of Robinson Crusoe 
 is the compuiiiou of the squatter alone amidst desert 
 WOO! Is. 
 
 Third speech by Mr. S , a member of the Ilouse 
 
 of Crmnions, who especially addressed himself to the 
 audience. During an experience of twenty-five years 
 he h?'S Aerified the extreme usefulness of transplanta- 
 tion ; in the first place, because it removes the youths 
 from the contagion of bad example ; next, and above 
 all, because it induces the development of English 
 qualities — energy, habits of self-reliance, fondness for 
 striving, all the inclinations which, having no outlets 
 on the London pavement, are turned at homo against 
 society and in favour of evil. Good reasoning, very 
 l)crtinent, free from rhetoric ; that is rare in France. 
 Tie endod by proposing thanks to the Bishop, and 
 the whole audience, the ladies and the young girls 
 too, raised their hands to vote the than!:s. 
 
 Thence wo went to visit a raffored-school. This is 
 a large brick building, in which the rooms arc very 
 airy [ind wtll-kept ; I silently contrasted them with tho 
 narrow chambers of a corresponding school in Paris. 
 Unfortunately they were empty; the children had a 
 holiday to-day, and the friend who brought mo was 
 obliged to go away. He said, " That does not matter ; 
 there is another ragged-school close by, in Brook Street; 
 go and see it." "All alone, without introduction?'* 
 ** Certainly, and they will bo very polite.'* I went 
 thither, and, in fact, a gentleman who was about to 
 leave, made me enter, introduced mo to the master, and 
 conducted me through the whole establishment, which 
 
RAGGED SCHOOLS. 
 
 209 
 
 emphasis 
 e liston- 
 18 offica- 
 1 Crusoo 
 st desert 
 
 le ITousG 
 f to the 
 ve years 
 isplanta- 
 e youths 
 id above 
 English 
 iness for 
 ) outlets 
 ) against 
 ig, very 
 1 France, 
 op, and 
 g girls 
 
 This is 
 
 ro very 
 
 vith the 
 
 Paris. 
 
 had a 
 
 tno was 
 
 nnttcr ; 
 
 Street ; 
 
 Ition?" 
 
 went 
 
 )out to 
 
 r, and 
 
 which 
 
 is very complete, and, in addition to the school, includes 
 a nursery, an asylum, workshops, &c. ; on the upper 
 floor, dormitories for the elder ones. During the day, 
 the beds are turned against the wall; during the 
 night, by means of machinery it would take too long 
 to explain, they can be isolated and carefully 
 watched. 
 
 In the shops, the young boys worked at basket- 
 making, at preparing small wooden models for draw- 
 ing-schools ; they were made to sing, close up, march 
 before me. Assuredly it is right to occupy and in- 
 struct them in this way; for their faces arc disquieting, 
 and resemble those of j'oung prisoners. The large 
 room for the very young children was nearly full, and 
 yet had no bad smell. Nearly all had shoes, and they 
 were not too ragged. Several little girls held a suck- 
 ling in their arms. The most skilful and docile of the 
 band are monitors over the others ; they receive a few 
 pence weekly. Every one is taught to read, to write, 
 to reckon, to sing, to go through drill. The mistress 
 teaches sewing to the girls ; she is a young and pretty 
 person, full of spirit, good humoured, whose joyous 
 mien nnd cordial manners are excellent in such a place ; 
 she earns twelve shillings a week, and the master 
 twenty-five. In my opinion, an establishment like 
 this, especially in a poor nei<^libourho()d, is a moral 
 disinfecting apparatus; indeed, documents show that in 
 London the numbers of the youthful delinquents, which 
 were 10,101 in 185G, had fallen to 7,850 in 18GG. It is 
 calculated there are twenty-live thousand children in 
 the London ragged-schools, three hundred thousand in 
 those of all England. Three among them alone are 
 aided by the Government ; all the others are entirely 
 supported by private persons. They fool that the 
 
 il 
 
 '• s 
 
210 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 
 
 school, like the police, and better than the police, con- 
 tributes to the security of the streets. 
 
 Conversations in the evening about various analogous 
 societies ; too many were named to me, I can but 
 mention some of them. An establishment has boon 
 founded, a sort of club, where governesses, ladies of 
 good character, having good certificates vouching for 
 them, can find, when they come to London to make 
 purchases or to give lessons, a dinner, fire, a library, tea, 
 persons of their acquaintance. Another private esta- 
 blishment contains about eighty poor young women ; 
 this is to remove them from temptations ; they are 
 furnished with work, and, besides, living in common is 
 less expensive. The cost for each of them is about ten 
 pounds a year. There is a society for selling liibles ; 
 they are sold instead of being distributed, because, 
 if given away, they would not be valued. The ladies 
 of the association, being too far apart from the people, 
 liad no hold over them ; they devised as intermediaries 
 poor, honest, zealous women who act as their repre- 
 sentatives, carry the Bible into the worst neighbour- 
 hoods, make friends with the working men's wives, 
 assemble them in a room at niglit, teach them sev/ing, 
 housekeeping, &c. At this moment, an hundred of 
 these Bible-women are on duty ; one of them, last 
 year, sold 419 Bibles and 501 New Testaments. Tem- 
 perance associations ; there are some througliout all 
 England. I recently saw, in the street, young wives who 
 belonged to these societies ; there wore ten caniagcs ; 
 they were going to a meeting. They pledge them- 
 selves never to drink spirits ; some of them through 
 scruples have refused to take tlie potion prescribed by 
 the doctor, or even the sacramental wine. A yjlucard 
 intimates that the " Total Abstinence Association " 
 
RAGGED SCHOOLS, ETC. 
 
 211 
 
 will hold its meeting at a certain place, and gives the 
 programme of tlie proceedings : several hands of music, 
 tea ut. four o'clock, walking in the park, exhihition of 
 a collection of carpets, divine service in a pretty 
 churcli, speeches hy the principal memhers, admission 
 at reduced prices for the memhers of all the temperance 
 associations. This ahsurd mixture of purposes and 
 opposite attractions is truly English. Many of these 
 societies correspond or act in concert ; for exami)le, 
 most of the mechanics' institutes and the rafftrcd- schools 
 are in comhination with a savings-hank ; this is to 
 teach saving and its advantages to children and young 
 people. AVhen one of these societies is important, it 
 has its journal, its review, magazine, its special puhlica- 
 tions : that is the case in the Wesleyan Association, the 
 Ptagged-Schoolo Union, the Society for tlie Difiusion of 
 Social Science, the large society wliich multiplies and 
 distributes liibles, &c. I do not speak of the leagues 
 which have for object some legal reform, which arc 
 transitory like their object ; the most celebrated of 
 these was the Ant i- Corn Law League, of which Cob- 
 den was the chief. Details concerning it will be found 
 in the works of our Bastiat : enormous subscriptions, 
 meetings, itinerant lecturers, public lectures, small 
 popular tracts, big learned works, a universal and in- 
 cessant propaganda ; the machine is admirable for 
 rousing and altering opinio^'. Here, let a man have 
 a good id(^a ; he comm micates it to his friends ; 
 many of them tliink it good. Together they find the 
 money, publish it, solicit support and subscriptions. 
 Sympathy and subscriptions flow in, publicity in- 
 creases. The snow-ball goes on increa ang, strikes 
 against the door of Parliament, pushes it partly open, 
 and ends by opening or breaking througli it. Such 
 
 ^ 
 
 ■1 
 
 i 
 
 \ 
 
 I m 
 
212 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND 
 
 
 It \\v 
 
 ill 
 
 ■ if 'if! 
 
 ■ hi i\ 
 
 is tb'"» mechanism of reforms ; it is thus tbut or i pei- 
 forms ine'a v^ork onrself, and it must be said tlat o.ur 
 all the soil of England there are pellets of snow on the 
 way to become balls. Many break the one against the 
 other, or melt by the way ; but new ones are always 
 being formed out of their fragments, and to see th j 
 human ant-heups determined to push them along is 
 a fine spectacle. 
 
 To explain this zeal, we find the following reasons : 
 1. The Englishman has need of action; when he has 
 done his own business, a surplus of energy remains 
 which is expended in public affairs. Besides, many 
 persons being independent, and possessing leisure, have 
 no other outlet ; it is the same need of action which 
 produces their travels and a quantity of painful enter- 
 prises ; for example, Miss Nightingale was neiiJier a 
 devotee nor a mystic after the manner of a Sister of 
 Charity, when she went to organise the hoapitals in 
 the Crimea ; her whole incentive consisted hi the idea 
 of humanity and a very active mind. 2. The I'^iigllsh- 
 man is rich, and, in addition, when he provides for the 
 future, it is in another way than the Frenchman — by 
 his expenses, not by hvsL :, ings. For instance, he 
 prefers to leave less to hi., cuildren, and to give them 
 a better education ; he consents to work an extra hour 
 daily in order not to forego an excursion. Owing to 
 the same motive, he can give, and he gives willingl}-, 
 a portion of his time and of his means to consolidate 
 and improve the society whicli protects him and will 
 protect his property. A man who rightly understands 
 his interests upholds the roofs of tlio great national 
 mansion as carefully as those of his private house. 
 ♦}. Jjy tradition, the antiquity of self-government, the 
 diffusion of economic knovledge. The Englishman is 
 
HOSPITALS, 
 
 215 
 
 accustomed to lool: far into political and social matters ; 
 he knows the inconveniences ol an unraendod roof, the 
 effect of water coming through, the danger of a rotten 
 beam. Being sensible, reflecting, docile to rational 
 reasoning, he inspects his rafters and tiles every morn- 
 ing, he pays the slater without hesitation. 4. He can, 
 without wearying, perform all wearisome things, attend 
 meetings, examine accounts, &c. He has less need of 
 amusement than a Frenchman. 
 
 Visit to St. Lartholomow's Hospital. It has an 
 income of £40,000, in addition to special donations. 
 A number of hospitals bear the inscription " Supported 
 by public subscription." The council meets once a 
 week ; the treasurer, so burdened with work, is not 
 paid. Six hundred patients ; eight hundred could be 
 accommodated. The edifice is very vast, and includes 
 a library, collections, an anatomical museum. The 
 young doctor who took me over it, and had lived in 
 France, said to me that here a student can see the 
 patients all day, and that among us, if he be not an *n- 
 tern or extern, he cannot visit them after ten o'clocic. 
 in the morning. The beds are separated by a disl :,( 
 of five or six icoif and are much more roomy than 'u 
 France. Perfect cleanliness ; everything seems to be 
 well appointed and kept; enormous kitchen, where U 
 is cooked by gas ; a spacious room is arranged as a 
 larder. In addition to the female attendants, there 
 are nurses who superintend them, who had themsolvos 
 been female attendants, all of them being generally of 
 mature age and respectable ; they do not watch. They 
 get from fifteen to twenty shillings a week ; they aro 
 not found in food. They may be hired, like our Sisters 
 of Charity ; hence the lay conscience can replace reli- 
 gious fervour. 
 
 ' I ii 
 
«>+ 
 
 AO'/'Ks OX /:x(;/..\xn. 
 
 Mirny fiiU'lun^M, jiii.l u <|uiinti(y <>i' very inpi^iiIouM 
 nH|>!irMlus for N\i|>p»>r(in^ 11»o liinl), lor HiH)|)or(iu^ it ho 
 ihiit \\\o nir iMrcnlMfcH, nlloniiifx it, (MMlnin inovcmrnlH 
 wilhojil (IcliinuMil. (o ilw* lormalioii of cullus. hut 
 abovo iill, ii <m!inlily of ooxul^in, ncM'vons nUci^HntiH, 
 HiTofulu, Mllriltu(jil)l(> to impurilirN in (lie l»l(»o(I, to IhkI 
 nom*islun(Mjt, to the* iiu]>ov('riMlim(M»t of'tlio Ininum 
 Niibstuin'o. 'Vho nalliil, (liliipidaltMl, cxliinislcd luccHaro 
 lnni«M>lMl)l(\ 'Vho yoiiuj^ doctor admitH that, an rxiM^HS 
 of labour and of gin in iMiglaud (Mjonnously inulliidioH 
 idiots and hinatics. 'I'lio |>ati(M\ts Ium'o <1o not. drcani of 
 ])ayin^ in ordcM* to (\s('aju> diHsortion, wliirli '\h their 
 p^roat |)nMUvn|)a(ion anionj*' us; tho nH(> nuuhM)!' tlioir 
 l)otli(\s is ooni'oah'd iVoni tluMn ; Ixvsidi^s, th(»y uro Htiipo- 
 lioil. worn out. So i',s it with (In^ ntroi't j4:irls ; a. I''roncli 
 
 d 
 
 nnnd is nioro o 
 
 last 
 
 u", an< 
 
 1 roli 
 
 lins its s[)rin;j^ lon;^(n 
 
 The diu'tor ])>it mo into iho hands of u chM'gynian 
 who was ono ol' his iViiMids, a ])hilanthro|)ist, and an 
 inst7\u'{((l man, who took n.vj to St. Luko's WorkhouHO. 
 KvorvlHidv knows that a workhouso is an asyhnu a 
 
 • • • 
 
 littlo liki^ a prison: in conjunction with the ])oor- 
 ratos, it t'orms ono of the distinct ivi> traits of tlio 
 Mniilisli constitution. Il is an Mnjj;lish ])rinciplo that 
 the indi'X(Mit, by givinj]^ up their freedom, havi» a rijj^lit 
 to be suppi>rted. Society pays the cost, but shuts them 
 up and sets thoni to work. As this condition is repu<^- 
 nant to them, ilioy avoid iho workhouso as much as 
 pcss^'do. 
 
 r\\\s cac i ontaina at present five to six hundred old 
 people, chJidicii who have been deserted or wlio have 
 no rosourees, men and wome 
 The hist class is the least numcr 
 
 out of employment, 
 ous, thirty or forty 
 women anu a dozen of men; in winter there will be 
 xaoro oi them. lu addition, the establishment gives 
 
\Vi)/a{//()i'si':s, 
 
 2.S 
 
 <m(-(lo(ir hIm'T ntj(1 Jil, iMirin' ; iIiIm w«.nk if, fmnlHUid 
 in timl. way 1,011 porHoriw. VVitliiii jIootm IImi oulluy 
 hy I.Imi li"ii(l \h \\\vi'v, or lour Hliilliiij^H a wwk. 
 
 VVr went (»vrr Hixl V to <'iK''ty rooiriH, cliarnhcrH, unrl 
 (M)tii|nirl,iri(MilH ; wiimIiIkmiho, l»n!W(!ry, luikfljouH*-, HliopH 
 ior (Miip(!iit('rin^, for Hli(M'rriiikiiif^, lor (»;iknrri-pi(l<injr, 
 iiurHory lor all tlio yoiui^ infuritH, hc.Iioo! for j^irln, 
 rooiMH lor flio old rridii, rooniH for flio olrl women, 
 rooniH lor llio Hick women, roorriH for confinementH, 
 rooTnH lor niek irM-n, lor nick (jliildren, for lunalicH; 
 «lormitori<!H, nifee-tories, parloiirH, places for faking 
 (ixerc-im!, iSc(!. All He(;mH Hnflicienlly (;l(!an arifl ln^altliy, 
 l)u(, it (ippearH fJiaf, oilier workliouHOH would 1k> rniieli 
 lin(>r H[)eeimenH. 'I'lie elnldrnn Hing out of tune, but 
 look very well. Ah for ili(^ lunat,i(;H, tlio hiek, ilio 
 ap^d, I find ili(!n\ to Ixs, as f always do, nioro worn- 
 out than in lf,aly or in Kraneo ; ilie human tc>iler is 
 more pifialdo in Holland, in (jlermariy, in England, 
 than in iho Latin countrioH. Jlowever, I connider 
 tluiui well (snou^h cared for; ihreo meals a day; meat 
 throo tim(!H W(;(!kly, and daily for tlie siek ; cxeelhint 
 bread ; tlio kif,e,)»cn and the proviaionH liavo a comfort- 
 ables appearance. The Hhects are changed every fort- 
 night. The roonifl arc airy, and there Ih a fire in each 
 of them. The old people get tea, Hugar. Home newH- 
 paperH. Hiire and. there one observes a book of 
 natural liiHtory, of piety or morality, CJuuuhcni a 
 Journal, a IJiblc, and upon the waiis, texts out of 
 the Scriptures. Touching detail, on the table is a 
 pot of fresh flowers. But it would require here a 
 specialist who had time to make a stay, and I am only 
 a curious inquirer who passes by. I have seen enough, 
 however, to feel how much this society occupies itself 
 about its poor. With regard to workhouses and useful 
 
 ■ ,-' 
 
 j;i^ 
 
 i ti 
 
 il 
 
 u 
 
I 
 
 I 
 
 
 216 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 P 
 
 I 
 
 institutions the public mind is always kept on the alert 
 by collateral associations, by newspapers and reviewfl, 
 and oven by romances, which then become the sum- 
 maries of inquiries, and the means of popularising 
 them. I have read some about prisons and prison 
 life; all that serves a purpose. For example, last 
 week Pentonvillo was shown to me, a prison of pro- 
 bation, where the convicts remain nine months before 
 being transported, and, according to the character of 
 their behaviour, obtain a greater or lesser reduction 
 of their punishment. This is nn admirable iron 
 hive, so ingeniously constructed and arranged, that 
 it might bo placed in an exhibition among model 
 machines. 
 
 This afternoon, I received tickets for the review 
 of the volunteers, another spontaneous, free institution, 
 and based upon tho love and understanding of tho 
 public good. ** In the event of invasion, England will 
 not have soldiers enough. Let us supply the soldiers, 
 to wit, ourselves, and soldiers equipped, embodied, 
 drilled." Following this reasoning, they have en- 
 ro»hd, clothed, armed themselves at their own cost, 
 without intervention or help from the central power, 
 and in six months they numbered one hundred and 
 thirty thousand, and they count upon reaching two 
 hundred thousand. A painter and a barrister among 
 my friends are, the one a private, the other a captain. 
 On an average they drill for an hour and a half daily. 
 For some time back, in addition to the morning's hour 
 and a half, they have had three hours' drill in the 
 afternoon as preparation for the grand review. Often 
 they get wet, but they joke about their fatigues. A 
 Crimean officer whom I know says that they are 
 already sufficiently taught to begin a campaign. 
 
he alert 
 •eviewa, 
 10 sum- 
 lariying 
 
 prison 
 Ic, Irist 
 of pro- 
 \ before 
 ictcr of 
 [luction 
 lo iron 
 d, that 
 
 model 
 
 VOL UNTEERS. 
 
 217 
 
 Private subscriptions have flowed in ; the great help 
 
 the small ; the Duke of has despatched to the 
 
 review, by special train, two thousand of his miners. 
 Nearly all the rich or well-to-do young men have 
 put their names down ; their club bears the title " For 
 Hearth and Home," and the ladies encourage them. 
 
 It is in Hyde Park that the evolutions take place. 
 An immense stand surrounds the enclosure ; around, 
 the windows of the houses are crowded with spectators, 
 even the roofs are covered ; boys have climbed the trees, 
 and hang there in clusters, singing with a sharp voice. 
 The Horse Guards keep the ground, and the Queen in 
 her carriage is welcomed with loud hurrahs. As far as 
 can be seen red uniforms stand out upon the verdure, 
 and at last is seen the grey line of the new militia. 
 As well as I can judge they go through their move- 
 ments well; at all events, they are equipped in a 
 practical manner, without luxury or frippery, not to 
 make a show, but to do work. What this institution 
 has given rise to in the shape of meetings, discussions, 
 letters published in the newspapers cannot be described ; 
 to me it is clear that self-government, among other 
 advantages, has the privilege of bringing into play at 
 every moment all the thinking faculties of the nation. 
 
 I ii 
 
 are 
 laign. 
 
 1 
 
XVII. 
 
 THE CONSTITUTION. TllE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT. 
 
 i I 
 
 rjlIIE better I become informed and the more I reflect, 
 -■- the more it seems to me that the mainspring of this 
 government is not this or that institution, but certain 
 very energetic and very widely diffused sentiments. If 
 it be solid and is upheld, it is because of the universal 
 and profound respect entertained for several tilings. 
 If it be active and advanced, it is because, thcpo ^^ings 
 excepted, all the rest is thrown open to individual dis- 
 cussion, control, and initiative. 
 
 One of my friends knew Vincent, a journeyman - 
 printer, whom the trades-union^ sent during the 
 elections to harangue the people. Vincent sum- 
 marised his oratorical experiences thus : *' T can utter 
 all that comes into my head, attack it matters not 
 whom or wha^ except the Queen and Christianity ; if 
 I spoke against them my hearers would throw stones 
 at me." In addition to these two inviolable sanctuaries, 
 public respect covers, though in n lesser degree, the 
 two great edifices whereof they are the centre. Chris- 
 tianity is respected, so is the Church, the clergy, the 
 pastor. The Queen is respected, so is the Constitution, 
 the hierarch}'-, the nobility, the gentry. Doubtless, 
 many working men are secularists, imbued with doc- 
 
 wiSSi 
 
 e-.'iifcj.iJ_i.-^'4Je, 
 
THE COXSTITUTIOX, 
 
 2iq 
 
 trincs analoj^ous to those of ^I. Comto, irritated at tho 
 morslrous inequality between profits and fortunes. 
 But, on tho whoh% the nation is conservative, and 
 lends itself to reform without yielding itself to re- 
 volution. 
 
 Classes arc not divided among themselves as in 
 France ; there is no unexpected blow to be dreaaed, 
 neither from on hijj^h, on tho part of tho throne, nor 
 from beneath on the part of the street ; there arc no 
 available and spare systems which any one dreams of 
 8ubstitutin<T for the existing system. Every one is 
 agreed about the whole, and before tho law each one 
 bows the head. Out of an hundred examples in proof 
 of this, I shall cite two from both ends of the ladder. 
 The Queen and the late Prince Consort confined them- 
 selves to their parts as constitutional rulers, and never 
 dreamed of overstepping them ; they consented to be 
 merely simple moderators, to follow tho bent of Par- 
 liament and of opinion. They had no party in Par- 
 liament, they never intrigued against a minister, not 
 even against him whose person and whose ideas were 
 distasteful to them, they loyally supported him to the 
 very end. On the other hand, here is a street scene 
 which was narrated to me by one of my friends who 
 came from Manchester. A girl in a rage had thrown 
 a stone through a pan e of glass, a policemr.n arrives, 
 takes her gently by th j arm, and persuades her to go with 
 him to the station, "Come along with me, don't resist, 
 you will only be locked up for the night." She refuses, 
 sits down on the pavement, then lies down, saying, 
 " Drag me if you like." A crowd gathers, all her 
 companions come and advise her. " Go then, Mary, 
 my girl, don't be quarrelsome ; go with him, you were 
 in the wrong." The policeman calls his companions, 
 
 il 
 
 i '■ ^i 
 
 
^>. 
 
 
 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 
 
 t/ 
 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 ■^|2j8 |2.5 
 
 150 ■^" MHB 
 
 ^ 1^ 12.2 
 
 [If |2£ 
 
 LB. 
 
 IL25 i 1.4 
 
 1.6 
 
 Photographic 
 
 Sciences 
 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, N.Y. )4S80 
 
 (716) 872-4503 
 
^0 M^ 
 
220 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 'I: 
 
 Mary is carried ojff ; neither tumult nor outcries, no 
 one resisted ; it was felt reasonable to obey the law. 
 My friend added that here when a man who is arrested 
 begins to argue, the onlookers make inquiries, and 
 that should they find the policeman in the right, they 
 give him their help. It is the same in case of out- 
 breaks, every class supplies volunteer constables. In 
 short, they support their government, and we submit 
 to ours. 
 
 An establishment so firmly based can bear attacks ; 
 speeches, meetings, leagues, will not overturn it. Con- 
 sequently, criticism has the right to be continuous, 
 energetic, and even violent. The solidity of the Con- 
 stitution authorises full freedom of control. Indeed, 
 this control is exercised without ceasing and without 
 sparing ; every home or foreign question is probed to 
 the bottom in fifty articles, handled and turned over in 
 every sense, with a force of reasoning and an abun- 
 dance of evidence which one cannot help admiring. 
 
 To estimate this it is necessary to read the principal 
 journals during several months : The Times, The 
 Saturday Review, The Daily Netcs, The Standard, and 
 the political or economic *.sction of the great quarter- 
 lies. Very often they attain high eloquence : good 
 sense and manly reason, complete information, verified 
 and drawn from the best sources, entire frankness 
 carried to the verge of rudeness, the lofty and hard 
 tone of militant conviction, cold and prolonged irony, 
 the vehemence of concentrated and reflective passion ; 
 indignation and scorn well from the fountain-head in a 
 full stream. A similar polemic among us would in- 
 fallibly end in duels and in risings. Here, the cool- 
 ness of the temperament modifies the too hasty im- 
 pression. It is admitted that invective, even when 
 
THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT. 221 
 
 personal, does not extinguish a politician, and that no 
 one should fight about a sheet of inked paper. It is 
 understood that the clamour and tocsin of the Press 
 never terminate in the taking up of arms, but only in 
 meetings, in protests, and in petitions. The day of my 
 arrival in London, I Siiw board-men in the streets carry- 
 ing placards before e,r»d behind with the following 
 phrases on them : " Great usurpation of the rights of 
 the people. The Lords add four hundred and fifty 
 thousand pounds to the budget without the nation's 
 consent." (They had made this addition by altering 
 the budget voted by the House of Commons.) " Fellow 
 countrymen, petition." Some days afterwards, being in 
 a distant neighbourhood, at Clerkenwell, I read in a 
 local journal the announcement of a meeting on that 
 subject. Nothing more ; but this open speaking and 
 these perpetual meetings suffice. It may be said that, 
 by newspapers and by meetings, one great universal 
 Parliament and many minor parliaments disseminated 
 over the country, prepare, control, and complete the 
 task of the two Houses. 
 
 We proceed to the Houses of Parliament ; as a whole 
 the architecture constantly repeats a rather poor idea 
 and does not show great invention, it has the merit of 
 being neither Grecian nor Southern ; it is Gothic, 
 accommodated to the climate, to the requirements of 
 the eye. The palace magnificently mirrors itself in 
 the shining river; in the distance, its clock-tower, 
 its legions of turrets and of carvings are vaguely 
 outlined in the mist. Leaping and twisted lines, 
 complicated mouldings, trefoils and rose -windows 
 diversify the enormous mass which covers four acres, 
 and produces on the mind the idea of a tangled forest. 
 In default of genius, the architects have had good sense ; 
 
 •J 
 I? - 
 
 A : 
 
 [ ' 
 
 Iff 
 
 r 
 
'I 
 
 .;. 
 
 !, 
 
 ! 
 
 222 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 they have recalled the Flemish town-halls, the lofty 
 chapter rooms, alone capable, by the variety, by the 
 elegance, by the audacity, by the delicacy, and mul- 
 tiplicity of their forms, to satisfy northern minds and 
 modern minds. One of these halls, Westminster Hall, 
 which serves for great State trials, is immense and of 
 the greatest beauty. One hundred and ten feet in 
 height, two hundred and ninety in length, sixty-eight 
 feet in breadth ; the rough wooden ceiling which over- 
 hangs and sustains the roof, dates, it is said, from the 
 eleventh century. In all the other chambers, carved 
 wainscoting eight feet high covers the walls with its 
 dun facing; above is gilded leather, red and brown 
 hangings, stained glass ; from the ceiling descend 
 lamps suspended from lustrous chains. The effect of 
 the whole is rich and grave ; for want of sun and light, 
 they have recourse to colour like Rembrandt, to the 
 contrast of light projections and sombre recesses, to 
 the power of red and black tones, to the gleaming of 
 leather and wainscoting, to glass which exaggerates 
 and diversifies the daylight. 
 
 The Lords* chamber is fine, comfortable, and well- 
 adapted for its purpose. Seats in red leather, deep and 
 rich wainscoting, Gothic gilding in dull gold ; an 
 impression of serious opulence is produced by this. The 
 members present are not numerous ; I was told there 
 are sometimes five or six ; save on great political 
 occasions they stay away ; besides, discussion is fre- 
 quently useless, each vote being known before hand. 
 The leading members were named to me, and I heard 
 enormous fortunes mentioned, the largest are £300,000 
 a-year. The Duke of Bedford has an income from 
 landed property of £220,000 ; the Duke of Richmond 
 has 300,000 acres in one holding; the Marquis of 
 
THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT. 
 
 223 
 
 le lofty 
 
 by the 
 id mul- 
 ids and 
 Br Hall, 
 
 and of 
 feet in 
 :y-eiglit 
 sh over- 
 rom the 
 
 carved 
 ^^ith its 
 
 brown 
 descend 
 effect of 
 d light, 
 , to the 
 isses, to 
 ning of 
 [gerates 
 
 id well- 
 
 eep and 
 
 d ; an 
 
 s. The 
 
 i there 
 
 political 
 
 is fre- 
 
 hand. 
 
 ' heard 
 
 00,000 
 
 from 
 
 hmond 
 
 juis of 
 
 Westminster, proprietor of a district of London, will 
 have a revenue of £1,000,000 on the expiration of the 
 long leases. The Marquis of Breadalbane, it is said, can 
 ride on horseback for thirty leagues in a straight line 
 without quitting his estate ; the Duke of Sutherland 
 possesses an entire shire of that name in the north of 
 Scotland. Three Bishops in white surplices occupy 
 their places. But the outsides of the assembly are 
 scarcely imposing. One peer has the face of an old 
 diplomatic machine, another that of an amiable and 
 worn-out librarian ; the minister who rises resembles 
 an intelligent attorney. Some young peers are dandies 
 and have their hair parted in the middle ; others, 
 hugely bearded, remind one of commercial travellers. 
 
 Lord C alone has the fatigued, penetrating, and 
 
 fine physiognomy of an artist. Their ways are very 
 simple ; they might be called ordinary men at their 
 club; they keep their tall chimney-pot hats on their 
 heads, speak from their places, without fuss, in a con- 
 versational tone. This absence of stiffness is excellent ; 
 an embroidered uniform like that of our senators or of 
 our peers is a pomp and a superfluity which re-acts 
 within from without and renders the thought as arti- 
 ficial as the appearance. These persons do business and 
 do not make phrases. 
 
 In the House of Commons from ten o'clock till mid- 
 night. There is still greater freedom from constraint ; 
 the House is full, and all have their hats on their heads ; 
 some wear them far back and pressed down. Several 
 wear white hats, fancy trousers and coat, are leaning 
 back, half-lying on their seats, one 01 them is entirely 
 lolling on his, and two or three are rather free and 
 easy. They enter, go out, talk with a wearied and 
 unceremonious air ; certainly a club in which one were 
 
 111 
 
 |: 
 
 -'! 
 
 I\ 
 
 ,M 
 
m 
 
 
 I 
 
 '- 
 
 l/i 
 
 ' 
 
 i I 
 
 
 224 
 
 NOTFS ON ENGLAND. 
 
 to behave in this style v^cvld be moderately respect- 
 able. 
 
 The ministers were pointed out to me — Lord Pal- 
 merston, Mr. Milner Gibson, Lord John Russell, Sir 
 Charles Wood, Mr. Gladstone. Alongside of us, in 
 the gallery, several members of the Upper House came 
 and seated themselves, one young immensely rich 
 duke, all had bad cravats, and he had a shabby coat. 
 Below us there is silence. The members, tightly 
 packed on their benches, have not even a desk on 
 which to write. They take notes upon their knees, 
 drink a glass of water which they afterwards put on 
 their seat. Each one speaks standing in his place, in 
 a natural tone and with few gestures. Certainly a 
 chamber arranged in this way, and so narrow, is in- 
 commodious, and even unhealthy, too warm in summer 
 and for the night sittings; a man must be quickly 
 worn out there. But this simplicity denotes a business- 
 like people, who suppress ceremonial in order to get 
 through their task. On the contrary, a raised tribune, 
 isolated like ttat of our Legislative Assembly, leads to 
 theatrical eloquence. 
 
 The businesfj of the day related to the encroachment 
 of the Lords, who had voted a money bill without the 
 assent of the Commons ; the debate, it is said, is one 
 of the most important of the year ; the House is full 
 and attentive. After Mr. Seymour, Mr. Horsman 
 rises. Very distinct pronunciation, a perfectly just 
 and convinced tone, energy without emphasis. His 
 thesis is that the Lords are not a body of simple, 
 privileged personages ; though not elected, they repre- 
 sent the people. They are country gentlemen, like 
 the others, holding lands and shares like the others, 
 having the same interests, the same education, the 
 
THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT. 
 
 225. 
 
 respect- 
 
 )rd Pal- 
 isell, Sir 
 I us, in 
 ISC came 
 Bly rich 
 )by coat. 
 
 tightly 
 desk on 
 r knees, 
 I put on 
 place, in 
 tainly a 
 w, is in- 
 
 summer 
 
 quickly 
 jusiness- 
 r to get 
 
 tribune, 
 leads to 
 
 ichment 
 lout the 
 is one 
 is full 
 orsman 
 ly just 
 His 
 simple, 
 jr repre- 
 en, like 
 others, 
 ■on, the 
 
 s. 
 
 same ideas, being as well situated as themselves to de- 
 cide about the common interests. Election is but one 
 means only for naming the representatives of the 
 nation ; there were others, for example the possessioio 
 of a certain dignity, which is the case of the Bishops, 
 inheritance, which is the case of the Queen and of the 
 lay Lords. Besides, since 1832, the Commons have had 
 a marked preponderance ; the control of a second body 
 is required, without which they would fall into pure 
 democracy, &c. Rather long, he repeated himself; how- 
 ever, he made an impression ; cries of " hear, hear " 
 arose at nearly every sentence. After him, and in the 
 opposite sense, spoke Mr. Bright, an accomplished 
 orator. But I had seen too many things these days ; 
 my nerves are not as strong as those of a member of 
 Parliament, and I left the House. 
 
 How do they get admitted to it ? B , who has 
 
 an important place in the Government, nevertheless 
 avows that the electoral machinery is rude, often foul. 
 The candidate hires an hotel or a tavern, there keeps 
 open table, hangs out flags, pays for drink, brings the 
 electors in carriages, hires musicians, roughs, election 
 agents, tap-room orators who make speeches in his 
 behalf, sometimes prize-fighters who use their fists and 
 throw apples at his opponent. The scene is tumul- 
 tuous, often brutal ; the popular bull feels himself 
 half loosened. It is admitted that an election is costly ; 
 Parliament allows certain expenses, and does not think 
 there has been corruption so long as these are below a 
 certain figure — four or five hundred pounds. For 
 this purpose a party can raise funds ; the Duke of 
 Buccleuch was cited to me as having once sent forty 
 thousand pounds sterling for the election expenses of 
 his party. But, beyond the authorised Cipenses, there 
 
 Q 
 
 i I 
 
 i I 
 
 i :iP 
 
' 
 
 1 
 
 226 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 arc oUicrs j^rcatcr still. It Is cptimntcd \\u\i an election 
 costs often lour, five, six thousand pounds sterling and 
 upwiu'ds. To induce the ck^ctor to trouble himselt' by 
 coming to vote, something of a positive kind must be 
 given him — a place, the promise of a place, several 
 good dinners, unlimited ale and wino, sometimes cash 
 down. Tlui result of an inquiry was to show that Mr. 
 
 X , at Z , had paid £JiO for ono vote, and £40 
 
 for another; a third elector, desiring to cloak his 
 doings, sold to him a hair-brush for i*40, which was 
 worth 3s. The legal expenses of this election were 
 £401, and the secret ones £'J,700. At another elec- 
 tion, the electoral agent, seated in ono room, received 
 the electors, agreed as to the price, made them go into 
 another room,, where a second agent paid them the sum 
 agreed upon ; the bargain and the payment being thus 
 separated, each agent could declare that he had never 
 performed the twofold operation called bribery. But 
 painters alone know how to give the life-like details ; 
 on this subject read the account of two elections, the 
 ono by Thackeray in the " Newcomes,*' the other 
 by George Eliot in " Felix Holt the Radical." On 
 the whole, local influence is the great prime-mover, and 
 is chiefly based upon the ownership of the soil and 
 upon wealth, upon antiquity of residence and of the 
 family, upon the extent of the patronage exercised, 
 upon the notoriety and the social position of the candi- 
 date. After all I have seen of the upper class, it seems 
 to me that these roots are good, healthy, living, despite 
 the mud and worms among which they spread them- 
 selves like every human plant, although it "will still 
 require much drainage to purify the mud, much super- 
 vision to destroy the worms. 
 
 The machine works well. It does not break down. 
 
rilE HOUSES OF PARLhXMENT. 
 
 "7 
 
 slcction 
 ng and 
 Holf by 
 iiiist be 
 several 
 cs cabli 
 lial Mr. 
 nd £40 
 jak his 
 ich was 
 (II wero 
 or elec- 
 rcceived 
 go into 
 the sum 
 ng thus 
 id never 
 Bat 
 details ; 
 ons, the 
 other 
 On 
 ver, and 
 oil and 
 of the 
 ercised, 
 candi- 
 t seems 
 despite 
 I them- 
 dU still 
 1 super- 
 
 : down, 
 
 >> 
 
 
 nor does it llireaton to break down. It operates, and, 
 in addition, it accomrnodateH itself to the times, renew- 
 ing its wIkk'Ls. 3Iorc than tluit, by the way in which 
 it operates, one feels that it is eapuble of thorough 
 renoviillon. It will pcrliaps be able later to permit of 
 tlie indefinite extension of the suffrage, the diminution 
 of tlie pivrogativc!S of the Lords, the supprjssion of the 
 monopoly of the Church ; all that without outbreak or 
 dislocuti(»n, by a gradui'.-\ careful adaptation of the 
 ancient parts to new uses. The governing classes are 
 becoming informed, they take soundings at every 
 momeiit to measure and ascertain the direction of the 
 popular currents, they have an exact notion of what is 
 necessary and possible. I was present lately at a 
 sitting of a committee of the House; the business was 
 to decide whether the British Museum, which is at 
 once a library, a museum, and a collection of natural 
 history, should continue as it is, or whether a portion, 
 of it should be removed to another locality. Seven or 
 eight members were before a table in a lofty room which 
 was open to the public. They questioned men of special 
 knowledge ; the first the secretary of a natural history 
 society, then the Crown Architect, then the Director of 
 tho South Kensington Museum, and others besides ; 
 meanwhile they took notes. The tone was simple, 
 moderate, sometimes there were smiles ; the proceed- 
 ings might be called an instructive conversation ; in 
 fact, it was nothing else. The questions were ex- 
 ceedingly minute and precise, relating to the way 
 of arranging collections of animals, to the number of 
 specimens possessed, to the advantage of exhibiting 
 together the male, the female and the young, to the 
 number of visitors, to their age and condition, to the 
 days when they were most numerous, to the number 
 
228 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 I 
 
 of square feet contained in the building, to the interior 
 arrangements, &c. This is how one obtains informa- 
 tion, by inquiry and counter-inquiry, with figures, 
 details, certainty, acquisition of positive and appli- 
 cable evidence. Recently Lord Derby made a speech 
 about India, conceived in the like spirit, wholly founded 
 upon the statements and decisions of generals and ad- 
 ministrators of the country, textually cited, so that this 
 speech summarised the experience of thirty or forty 
 eminent and competent lives. What a guide and what 
 a corrective is experience ! How much good sense is 
 needed to trust to it alone ! How much art and care are 
 wanted to face it, repeat it, limit it, rectify it, rightly 
 apply it! And how far off are we from this good 
 political education I 
 
 \ 
 
 -^h-.y 
 
XVIII. 
 
 THE CLUBS, THE BRITISH MUSEUM, THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 
 
 T HAVE been elected member of the Athenaeum Club 
 -*- for a month. This club is a select and central place 
 of meeting, where one can dine and study. It is almost a 
 palace, and is surrounded by similar palaces, reminding 
 one of our Place Louis XV. It has a peristyle, looks 
 upon a garden, and has very spacious rooms. The ser- 
 vants in livery are numerous, attentive, quiet. Every 
 modern and desirable luxury is found there. The library 
 contains 40,000 volumes; the reading-room is splendid, 
 containing all the reviews, in all languages ; every new 
 publication ; easy-chairs, as comfortable in summer as 
 in winter. At night, sun-burners in the ceiling diffuse 
 a subdued light over the sombre woodwork. Every 
 want is provided for ; all the senses are soothed by a 
 multitude of trifling attentions due to skilful, com- 
 prehensive, and perfect forethought. Close at hand is 
 another place — the Travellers' Club — of a similar 
 character. How veil they know how to organise 
 comfort ! Yesterday evening I read in the Athenaeum 
 Club an essay by Macaulay, who names Galileo, Locke, 
 and Bentham, as the three originators of the greatest 
 modern ideas ; instead of great, put fruitful, and the 
 paradox becomes a manifest truth. It is by recourse 
 
 J !. 
 
 ^- I 
 
 I ■■ 
 
 I 
 

 }' 
 
 230 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 to experience, it is by the liking for fuct nnd nilnuto 
 observation, it is by the advent and reign of induction, 
 that man has been able to become master of Nature, to 
 reform society^ to ameliorate his condition, to adjust 
 things to his wants, to establish a society, the institu- 
 tions, the masterpieces of good arrangement and of 
 ordered comfort, such as I enjoy at this moment. 
 
 I have letters of introduction and a ticket of ad- 
 mission to the British Museum. About the Grecian 
 marbles, the original Italian drawings, about tho 
 National Gallery, tho Hampton Court galleries, tho 
 pictures at Packinghara Palace and "Windsor Castle, 
 and the priv ito collections, I shall say nothing. Still, 
 what marveis and what historical tokens arc all theso 
 things, five or six specimens of high civilisation mani- 
 fested in a perfect art, all differing greatly from that 
 which I now examine, and so well adapted for bring- 
 ing into relief the good and tho evil. To do that 
 would fill a volume by itself. The Museum library 
 contains six hundred thousand volumes ; tho reading- 
 room is vast, circular in form, and covered with a 
 cupola, so that no one is far from the central office, and 
 no one has the light in his eyes. All the lower stage of 
 shelves is filled with works of reference — dictionaries, 
 collections of biographies, classics of all sorts — which 
 can be consulted on the spot, and are excellently 
 arranged. Moreover, a small plan placed on each 
 table indicates where they are placed and the order in 
 which they stand. Each seat is isolated ; there is 
 nothing in front but the woodwork of the desk, so 
 that no one is annoyed by the presence of his neigh- 
 bour. The seats and the tables are covered with 
 leather, and are very clean ; there are two pens t-o 
 each desk, the one being a steel, the other a quill pen ; 
 
 v1S»S9^«»T.^W«PS»»5"' 
 
THE BRITISH MUSEUM. 
 
 231 
 
 thcro is nlso a small stnnd at tho side, upon v, \\\ 11 
 second volunio, or tho voiumo from wliicli exiratts aro 
 being copied, may l)o placed. To procure a book, tho 
 title is written on a form, which is liandod to tho 
 central ofHcc ; tho attendant hringa the book to you 
 himself, and does so without delay : I have made trial 
 of this, even in tho case of works seldom asked for. 
 The holder of the book is responsible till he has 
 received back the form filled up when lie applied for it. 
 For ladies a place is reserved, which is a delicate piece 
 of attention. "What a contrast if we compare tliis with 
 our great library at the Louvre, with its long room, 
 with half of the readers dazzled by the light in their 
 eyes, the readers being packed together at a common 
 table, the titles of the books being called out in loud tones, 
 the long time spent in waiting at the central office. 
 The French Library has been reformed according to 
 the English model, yet without being rendered as con- 
 venient. Nevertheless, ours is the more liberally con- 
 ducted ; its doors are open to all comers. Here one 
 must be a " respectable " person ; no one is admitted 
 unless vouched for by two householders. This is said 
 to be enough ; as it is, those gain admission who are 
 worse than shabby — men in working clothes, and some 
 without shoes ; they have been introduced by clergy- 
 men. The grant for buying new books is seven or 
 eight times larger than ours. When shall we learn 
 to spend our money in a sensible way ? 
 
 In other matters they are not so successful, such 
 as the Crystal Palace at Sydenham, for instance, 
 which formed the building for the Great Exhibition, 
 and which is now a sort of museum of curiosities. It 
 is gigantic, like London itself, and like so many things 
 in London, but how can I pourtray the gigantic ? All 
 
232 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 I 
 
 ,H». 
 
 ■m 
 
 the ordinary sensations produced by size are intensified 
 several times here. It is two miles in circumference 
 and has three stories of prodigious height ; it would 
 easily hold five or six buildings like our Palace of 
 Industry, and it is of glass ; it consists first of an im- 
 mense rectangular structure rising towards the centre 
 in a semicircle like a hothouse, and flanked by two 
 Chinese towers; then, on either side, long buildings 
 descend at right angles, enclosing the garden with its 
 fountains, statues, summer-houses, strips of turf, groups 
 of large trees, exotic plants, and beds of flowers. The 
 acres of glass sparkle in the sunlight ; at the horizon an 
 undulating line of green eminences is bathed in the 
 luminous vapour which softens all colours and spreads 
 an expression of tender beauty over an entire landscape. 
 Always the same English method of decoration — on 
 the one side a park and natural embellishments, which 
 it must be granted are beautiful and adapted to the 
 climate ; on the other the building, which is a monstrous 
 jumble, wanting in style, and bearing witness not 
 to taste but to English power. The interior consists of 
 a museum of antiquities, composed of plaster facsimiles 
 of all the Grecian and Roman statues scattered over 
 Europe ; of a museum of the Middle Ages ; of a 
 Revival museum ; of an Egyptian museum ; of a 
 Nineveh museum ; of an Indian museum ; of a repro- 
 duction of a Pompeian house ; of a reproduction of the 
 Alhambra. The ornaments of the Alhambra have been 
 moulded, and these moulds are preserved in an adjoining 
 room as proofs of authenticity. In order to omit nothing, 
 copies have been made of the most notable Italian 
 paintings, and these are daubs worthy of a country 
 fair. There is a huge tropical hot-house, wherein are 
 fountains, swimming turtles, large aquatic plants in 
 
THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 
 
 233 
 
 flower, the Sphinx and Egyptian statues sixty feet high, 
 specimens of colossal or rare trees, among others the 
 bark of a Sequoia California 450 feet in height and 
 measurini 116 feet in circumference. The bark is 
 arranged and fastened to an inner framework in such a 
 manner as to give an idea of the tree itself. There is 
 a circular concert room, with tiers of benches as in a 
 Coliseum. Lastly, in the gardens are to be seen life- 
 size reproductions of antediluvian monsters, mega- 
 theriums, deinotheriums, and others. In these gardens 
 Blondin does his tricks ai the height of a hundred feet. 
 I pass over half tho things; but does not this con- 
 glomeration of odds and ends carrry back one^s thoughts 
 to the Rome of Caesar and the Antonines ? At that 
 period, also, pleasure-palaces were erected for the 
 sovereign people ; circuses, theatres, baths wherein were 
 collected statues, paintings, animals, musicians, acrobats, 
 all the treasures and all the oddities of the world ; pan- 
 theors of opulence and curiosity ; genuine bazaars 
 where the liking for what was novel, heterogeneous, 
 and fantastic ousted the feeling of appreciation for 
 simple beauty. In truth, Rome enriched herself with 
 these things by conquest, England by industry. Thus 
 it is that at Rome the paintings, the statues, were 
 stolen originals, and the monsters, whether rhinoceroses 
 or lions, were perfectly alive and tore human beings to 
 pieces ; whereas here the statues are made of plaster 
 and the monsters of goldbeater's skin. The spectacle 
 is one of the second class, but of the same kind. A 
 Greek would not have regarded it with satisfaction ; he 
 would have considered it appropriate to powerful bar- 
 barians who, trying to become refined, had utterly 
 failed. 
 
 ii 
 
 ' i-1 
 
 ■■('; 
 if 
 
 !. 
 
 t < 
 
 \ V, 
 
I 
 
 XIX. 
 
 STREET PREACHEKS AND RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 
 
 
 T AST Sunday and the preceding Sunday open-air 
 ■^ preachers, with their Bibles and umbrellas, were 
 plying their mission in Hyde Park ; these were laymen 
 who felt impelled to communicate their religious impres- 
 sions to the public. On another Sunday I saw two 
 men in frock coats and black hats singing psalms on 
 the green of a village forty miles from London. I was 
 told this was no uncommon sight, especially when 
 the afternoon sermon had been good, as the hearers 
 brought away with them overplus of fervour which 
 required vent. They had long lean bodies, nasal voices, 
 upturned eyes ; they were surrounded by twenty per- 
 sons improving themselves by the performance. Zeal 
 is very keen, particularly among the Dissenters ; their 
 youths have duties assigned to them ; one occupies 
 himself on Sunday in distributing tracts at an appointed 
 corner; another holds a meeting of bargemen on 
 Thursday, and expounds the Bible to them. Even at 
 the present day female Methodist preachers may be 
 heard ; it is said that one of the most notable authoresses 
 of the age began life in this vocation. In Paris itself 
 we sometimes experience the operation of this eccentric 
 form of piety. For instance, the Rev. Reginald 
 
 ■i-^-^p^aimv'qww^ 
 
STREET PREACHERS, 
 
 235 
 
 NTS. 
 
 pen-air 
 
 IS, were 
 
 laymen 
 
 mpres- 
 
 iw two 
 
 1ms on 
 
 I was 
 
 when 
 
 learers 
 
 which 
 
 voices, 
 
 y per- 
 
 Zeal 
 
 their 
 
 cupies 
 
 ointtd 
 
 en on 
 
 ven at 
 
 ay be 
 
 presses 
 
 itself 
 
 ntric 
 
 advertised his sermons with the invitation printed in 
 large type, " Come to Jesus.'* Indeed, the maxim of 
 this sect is that the most hardened sinner may be 
 instantaneously converted by an act o^ grace. The 
 
 Rev. Reginald ascended the pulpit, gave out his 
 
 text, and then presented one of his flock, a healthy and 
 stout young man, as an example and visible token of 
 success. The latter opened his lips and said, " Yes, 
 my brethren, I have been a vile sinner ; but the grace 
 of God has touched me," &c., &c. This is a truly 
 English method of procedure ; it consists in producing 
 the document, the tangible proof, the living specimen, 
 after the fashion of a zoologist, to uphold a spiritual 
 doctrine. 
 
 Another Sunday, at eight o'clock in the evening, in 
 a University town, I saw two gentlemen and a member 
 of the middle class preaching in the public highway. 
 They do this every Sunday. The first, a young man of 
 twenty, is openly affected, tries to conquer his bashful- 
 ness, uses much gesticulation. He says, " Jesu3 Christ 
 came for sinners like us, he took pity upon us, miserable 
 sinners," &c. After this beginning the second opens 
 his Bible and reads a passage about the inhabitants of 
 Jerusalem besieged and famished by the King of 
 Assyria ; the latter being terrified by the Angel of the 
 Lord, precipitately retreats ; two lepers who were the 
 first to venture without the walls, find the tents filled 
 with provisions, and eat and drink with delight. This 
 is typical of the Christian who has but to rid himself of 
 sin to find entire satisfaction in the Lord. Christ is 
 our consolation, our asylum, our protector. In relation 
 to this a story was told of a sailor going to sea, 
 who replied to a gentleman speaking about the risk he 
 rtn, "It is true that my father was drowned, that my 
 
 i|; 
 
•i«^ 
 
 236 
 
 NOTES 6N ENGLAND. 
 
 brother was drowned, and that my grandfather was 
 drowned also." " Then, why do you go to sea ? " 
 '*Sir, where did your father die?" "In his bed." 
 "And your grandfather?" "In his bed." "And 
 your other relations ? " " In their beds." " Yet you 
 are not afraid to lie down in bed, and with good reason. 
 For a Christian, whether on sea or land, the only 
 assurance is to know Christ." The last of the three 
 
 a 
 
 thin young man, lantern-jawed, and with a grating voice 
 — appeared moved by the spirit ; but, as his theme was 
 the same, I went off at the end of a quarter of an hour. 
 The audience consisted of about fifty persons, men and 
 women, well-dressed for the most part ; at intervals some 
 of them whispered and smiled ironically, but the majority 
 of the men and all the women listened attentively, and 
 appeared to be edified. I heartily approve of these 
 proceedings. In the first place they provide a vent for 
 a consuming passion, for an intense conviction which 
 for lack of an outlet would degenerate into madness, 
 melancholy, or sedition. In the second, they are 
 moralising and may do much good to many consciences. 
 In the third, they keep alive among the public the 
 belief that there are noble ideas, genuine convictions, 
 perfectly zealous souls ; for man is only too ready to 
 fancy that indifference and amusement are the end of 
 life. 
 
 These are relics of the old Puritan spirit, the stunted 
 remains of a grand fauna which has become fossilised. 
 Yet the essence is altogether religious. According to 
 
 G , who has finished his studies here, most of the 
 
 young men, including those whose intellects are active, 
 have never had a twinge of infidelity ; that which is the 
 rule with us being the exception with them ; they throw 
 their whole soul into the service at church. Three- 
 
 
 1 
 1 
 
 1 
 ( 
 
STREET PREACHERS. 
 
 237 
 
 her was 
 3 sea?" 
 is bed." 
 "And 
 Yet you 
 I rcasoD. 
 he only 
 hree — a 
 ng voice 
 erne was 
 m hour, 
 nen and 
 als some 
 najority 
 ely, and 
 )f these 
 vent for 
 1 which 
 ladness, 
 ley are 
 ciences. 
 )lic the 
 ictions, 
 eady to 
 end of 
 
 stunted 
 
 isilised. 
 
 ing to 
 
 of the 
 
 active, 
 
 is the 
 
 throw 
 
 iThree- 
 
 fourths of the newspapers and books denounce, with an 
 air of conviction, " French scepticism and German 
 infidelity," that is to say, the heresy which denies, and 
 the heresy which affirms. As for grown-up men, they 
 believe, though lukewarmedly, in God, in the Trinity, 
 Hell. The Protestant dosrma chimes in with 
 
 in 
 
 the serious, poetic, and moral instincts of the race ; 
 they require no effort to retain hold of it ; they could 
 not reject it without much effort. An Englishman 
 would be exceedingly mortified if he had no faith in 
 another life ; in his eyes it is the natural complement 
 of the present one ; in every important crisis his 
 thoughts grow solemn, and turn towards the vista 
 beyond the grave. In order to image to himself the 
 mysterious country which attracts the aspirations of 
 his soul, he has a sort of antique map, which is Chris- 
 tianity explained by a highly revered body of geogra- 
 phers, who are the clergy. The map admits of many 
 explanations, and the official geographers permit a 
 certain latitude to individual views. Being unfettered, 
 he is not dissatisfied; never dreams of distrusting either 
 his geographers or his map. On the contrary, he would 
 be displeased with the meddlers who should endeavour 
 to unsettle the opinions he holds on this head. They 
 are formed, fixed, rooted ; they constitute a part of his 
 education, of his traditions, of the great public body 
 whereof he forms a unit. He accepts Protestantism 
 and the Church as wholes, along with t^ ) English 
 Constitution. He sees in Protestantism a rule of con- 
 duct, a command to do justice, an appeal to internal 
 self-government. The Church he regards as an auxi- 
 liary of the State, an institution of moral hygiene, a 
 good government for souls. All these reasons combine 
 to make respect for Christianity alike a duty and a 
 
 I ^ 
 
 v 
 
238 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 matter of propriety. It is very reluctantly admitted 
 that an unbeliever can be a good Englishman and an 
 honest man. Censure is passed upon tliose viio, having 
 become sceptics themselves, try to shake the faith 
 of others. ** Intellectual poltroonery," says the Edin- 
 burgh Revieic for April, 1848, " is the only species of 
 cowardice which is common in this country, but it 
 prevails to a lamentable extent. Most of our writers 
 have scruples and fears about the tendency of their 
 works. The social penalties attached to unorthodox 
 opinions are so severe and unmercifully inflicted, that 
 among us philosophical criticism end science itself 
 mysteriously hint at matters which ought to be pro- 
 claimed from the house-tops." Not only are the lofty 
 flights of the intelligence impeded, but in many cases 
 an extreme strait-lacedness checks conversations and 
 even actions. M. Gu?zot relates in his " Memoirs," 
 that having said in company, " Hell is paved with 
 good intentions," he was taken to task by a lady, who 
 told him that the word " Hell " was too serious a one 
 to be introduced into general conversation. Particular 
 oaths, such as "Dieu me damne," are odious, and 
 nothing is accepted as an excuse for employing them. 
 A young Frenchman of my acquaintance here, when 
 rowing some persons in a boat, made a false move, 
 whereby he fell backwards, letting slip the forbidden 
 oath. The ladies of the party were astounded, and 
 gazed intently upon the water ; one of the gentlemen 
 laughed outright, while the two others blushed like 
 young girls. This religious prudery often leads to 
 hypocrisy. I am acquamted with a London merchant 
 who visits Paris twice yearly on business ; when he is 
 there he is very jovial, and amuses himself on Sunday 
 as freely as any one else. His Paris host, who visited 
 
STREET PREACHERS, 
 
 239 
 
 idmittod 
 . and an 
 , having 
 le faith 
 le Edin- 
 )ecies of 
 , but it 
 writers 
 of their 
 rthodox 
 ed, that 
 e itself 
 be pro- 
 be lofty 
 ly cases 
 »ns and 
 moirs," 
 d with 
 y, who 
 \ a one 
 ticular 
 % and 
 them. 
 , when 
 move, 
 bidden 
 
 and 
 lemen 
 
 like 
 ids to 
 'chant 
 he is 
 inday 
 isited 
 
 hxiii at his house in London, where he was made tho- 
 roughly welcome, going down-stairs on Sunday to the 
 room where there was a miniature billiard-tuble pushed 
 vhe balls about on it. The merchant in alarm begged 
 him to stop at once, saying, ** The neighbours will be 
 scandalised should they hear this." When next he 
 visited Paris he took hio wife and daughters with him ; 
 this time there was no more gaiety, good fellowship, or 
 plea sure- trips on Sunday; he was stiff, starched, a per- 
 fect pattern of propriety. His religion was a court 
 dress. Such is the cant which disgusted Lord Byron. 
 During the past twenty years it has diminished ; 
 Comte's philosophy, German exegesis, the conclusions 
 of geology and the natural sciences, make their way 
 slowly but continuously; free inquiry re-assumes its 
 sway, and opens the doors without breaking the 
 windows. 
 
 
 ia 
 
XX. 
 
 ARISTOCRATIC ASCENDENCY. 
 
 A S observations multiply they converge. There is no 
 ■^^ greater pleasure when travelling than to see the 
 new facts fit in to those already collected, and group 
 themselves like the traits where the tor :8 of a painting 
 begin. The following are those of this week with 
 regard to the aristocratic ascendency and the senti- 
 ments it inspires. 
 
 A middle- class lady, but polished and distinguished 
 in appearance, entered a cheesemonger's shop in 
 Brighton. The shopkeeper asks her, in his soft, obse- 
 quious tone, " What kind of cheese, ma'am, do you 
 patronise?" It is honourabje for merchandise to 
 obtain aristocratic approval. In proof of this one sees 
 on tins of biscuits and pots of pomade the inscription, 
 " Adopted by the nobility and gentry.'* 
 
 B — came to France during the Exposition, and 
 
 was surprised at the familiarities of the soldiers with their 
 officers. When a captain of the Guides was looking at 
 a picture in a shop window, two soldiers standing 
 behind him bent forward, and looked over his shouxder. 
 
 B said to me, "Such conduct would not be tolerated 
 
 with us ; we have distincaons of rank." Dr. Arnold, 
 in the notes of his trip made in 1839, made a similar 
 
 
ARISTOCRATIC ASCEIVDEXCV. 
 
 24.1 
 
 3re 18 no 
 see the 
 i group 
 Daiuting 
 >k with 
 e senti- 
 
 guished 
 hop in 
 fc, obse- 
 do you 
 iiee to 
 )ne sees 
 ription, 
 
 )n, and 
 ;h their 
 iing at 
 anding 
 ouxder. 
 lerated 
 mold, 
 nmilar 
 
 remark at Calais : " I observe here a mixture of classes 
 which may be good, but that I cannot tell. Well- 
 dressed men converse familiarly with persons who 
 certainly belong to the lowest class." For my own 
 part, as a Frenchman, I cannot help feeling slightly 
 surprised when hearing, as I did yesterday, a gentleman 
 of forty years of age, a man of worth and position, 
 saying "My lord '* to a little boy of ten, a dunce and 
 a Ibol, but the son of a marquis. 
 
 I dined recently in the great hall of Trinity College, 
 Cambridge. Three hundred persons were at table — 
 everything was served on silver. There was a small 
 side table for the undergraduates, who are noblemen, 
 who wear a distinctive costume. At the universities, 
 and even the public schools, the young nobles are 
 surrounded by tuft-hunters, students of low birth, who 
 strive by their services and their servility to make their 
 fortunes. A nobleman has always a living or a situa- 
 tion in his gift, and this he afterwards presents to his 
 toady as a piece of charity. 
 
 It is customary to confer baronetcies on three or four 
 of the most distinguished medical men of the country. 
 During the last reign there was a medical man of 
 exceptional distinction whom it was desired to elevate 
 to the peerage, but who declined the honour. An 
 Englishman who told me this added, " He was right ; 
 no man who has held out his hand for guineas could 
 take his place among peers of the realm." As a 
 Frenchman, I am of the contrary opinion ; yet the 
 fact and its commentary are none the less charac- 
 teristic. 
 
 A novelist whb was a good observer, and whose 
 writings I have just been reading, says that *' in Eng- 
 land the people are far too much inclined to adopt the 
 
y 
 
 ■J 
 
 242 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 opinions of those above them, and to be governed by 
 them " It \% exactly the opj)osite in Frunee. 
 
 I had a conversation with Thackeray, whoso name I 
 mention beer ; is dead, and because his ideas and 
 
 his conversati'ju are to be found in his books, lie con- 
 firmed orally all that he liad written about the snobbish 
 spirit. I told him a trivial circumstance of which I was 
 eye-witness. At a charity meeting the speaker set forth 
 to the audience the importance of the work undertaken 
 
 by remarking that the Marquis of , " a person in 
 
 such a situation," had kindly consented to take the chair. 
 Thackeray assured me that platitudes like these are 
 common ; he said that he admired our equality greatly, 
 and that great people are so habituated to see people 
 on their knees before them, that they are shocked when 
 they meet a man of independent demeanour. " I my- 
 self," he added, " am now regarded as a suspicious 
 character." 
 
 Stendhal wrote that, "talent and wit lose twenty-five 
 per cent, in value on reaching England." In truth, 
 the aristocracy of birth or fortune has secured the lead- 
 ing place; artists and authors remain in the second 
 rank, with the exception of five or six of note who are 
 admitted into the drawing-rooms of the nobility, but 
 only as lions and curiosities. A few, on account of the 
 moral or political nature of their writings, are more 
 highly esteemed and considered ; such men are of the 
 class represented by Stuart Mill, Macaulay, Carlyle, 
 Dickens, Thackeray, Tennyson, and who all contribute 
 to exercise an influence over the most important of all 
 works, that which concerns the guidance of national 
 afiairs or popular sentiments. But, according to what 
 my friends tell me, the position of the others is lower 
 than with us. The able journalists who write masterly 
 
ARISTOCRATIC ASCENDENCl'. 
 
 H3 
 
 ii'iicd by 
 
 I nnmo I 
 ;leas und 
 
 ]lc con- 
 snobbish 
 ich I WHS 
 ' set forth 
 idertaken 
 person in 
 the chair, 
 these are 
 y greatly, 
 ee people 
 ked when 
 
 " I my- 
 Buspicious 
 
 leading articles three or four times monthly do not sign 
 their articles, and are unknown to the public. I'roperly 
 speaking, they are literary hacks. Their article is read 
 at breakfast, as one swallows the bread and butter 
 which is eaten with tea. One no more asks who wrote 
 the article than one asks who made the butter. If 
 next month the article and the butter are of inferior 
 quality, one changes one's newspaper and butterman. 
 No journalist becomes Member of Parliament or rises 
 to be a Minister of State, as in Franco after 1830. Yet 
 in this matter, as in religion, an insensible change is in 
 progress, the end of which will be that the leading 
 place will belong to intellect. 
 
 !' 
 
 enty-five 
 |ln truth, 
 the lead- 
 e second 
 who are 
 ility, but 
 nt of the 
 lare more 
 e of the 
 Carlyle, 
 lontribute 
 tnt of all 
 national 
 to what 
 is lower 
 masterly 
 
( :■ 
 
 XXI. 
 
 M 
 
 SOCIETY AS DEPICTrD IIY " TUNC JI." 
 
 rilURN over the pages of the volumes of Punch, which 
 -■- is the first of English satirical journals, and com- 
 pare it with the French journals of the same sort; the 
 contrast is most instructive. 
 
 Punch has not a single picture of the lorettcs, who 
 form the subject of innumerable pictures in our journals, 
 this being one of our errors ; far better is it not to 
 make a parade of vermin. Gavarni said, "I hate 
 the harlot because I love woman,'* and yet he drew 
 hundreds of sketches of girls of loose character, all of 
 whom, however, he made to look charming. Though 
 his raillery only causes a smile, yet, when one sees 
 such pictures in the shop windows during several years 
 one unconsciously retains an unhealthy impression, I 
 pray the reader to pardon this moral phrase ; my 
 excuse is that it is true. Every spectacle, every emotion, 
 leaves a lasting trace on us, and these trifling impres- 
 sions multiplied together compose that distinct impres- 
 sion which we call our character. At the end of ten, 
 twenty, or thirty years, we possess, so far as gallantry 
 is concerned, a fund of weakness, of curiosity, or at 
 least of tolerance, and a vague belief that it is in the 
 nature of things that there should be spots on the sun. 
 
SOCIiriT AS DEPICTED BY '' PUXCIir 245 
 
 Tn Punch not a fii'nj^lo skctcli Is to bo found of \ni- 
 fiiitlil'ul wives or hiisbaiulM. Wo all know how commonlv 
 thoHO .subjects wore treated in France fifteen years ago ; 
 at present there is a diminution, but they are de »lt 
 with still. Jloro, on the contrary, marriage is held iu 
 honour ; its pleasures, charms, and inner poetry are 
 depicted. Take, for instance. Punch's picture, " Satur- 
 day Evening : arrival of the Husbands' IJoat." The 
 pier ia covered with wives, young for the most part, 
 whoso faces are radiant with happiness; the children 
 dance for joy. "What a welcome ! Turn, by way of 
 contrast, to the eamo subject treated by a French artist, 
 the husbands' train arriving at Treport or Trouvillo. 
 The husbands are there represented as repulsive trades- 
 men, as snarlors and cuckolds. In the conjugal scenes 
 the same sentiment predominates. Augustus, during 
 the honeymoon, is shown trying to make the tea. The 
 scene is laid at the sea-coast in a pretty cottage ; he 
 and his young wife, half-embracing each other, go to 
 the window to admire the calmness of the sky and the 
 beauty of the evening. Meantime, the tea-urn explodes, 
 the dog howls, and the frightened servant rushes to 
 see the cause of the noise. Then follows a gentle 
 scolding — the artist evidently envies the cares of the 
 happy couple he represents. 
 
 In place of illicit love, permissible love-making 
 remains to be dealt with. This opens up a wide field 
 which our artists never cultivate. Numbers of Punch's 
 pictures represent situations wherein parts are filled by 
 a girl and j^oung man who half understand each other's 
 views on the marriage question. We have no such 
 sketches in France, because we have no such subjects. 
 At the sea-side Theodore and Emily, sheltered behind 
 the harbour crane, think themselves out of sight, and 
 
 hf 
 
 'J 
 
 if ^1 
 
 I 
 
 I. ! 
 
 I >J 
 
I 
 
 1 1 
 
 246 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 Theodore, on his knees, flattens his tender and snubby 
 nose upon the white hand which is yielded to him. 
 They are both unaware that the mirror of a camera- 
 obscura, which has been directed towards them for ten 
 minutes, reproduces the scene for the amusement of 
 spectators. In another picture, Edwin and Angelina 
 have appointed to meet each other at the end of the 
 pier, but the one has taken the right and the other the 
 left branch of it. Arrived at the end, they find them- 
 selves an hundred feet apart, and have to walk three 
 miles before they can meet. Another represents a 
 young lady, a good horsewoman, who has leaped hedges 
 and ditches, and left her rival lagging fur behind. 
 ** Now, I hope I am rid of Miss Georgina, and I am in 
 the same field with Augustus." Indeed, a horseman 
 is seen in the background. Two lovers on horseback 
 are exhibited on the Brighton sands ; the air there is 
 far superior to the fogs of London — '* At least, that is 
 their opinion." The irony is well intentioned ; it is 
 clear the artist said to himself, " Would that I were in 
 their place." Thus he makes his personages as elegant, 
 well-dressed, well-bred as possible. The young girls 
 are especially fascinating ; Punch depicts himself as a 
 lover looking in rapture upon their fair hair falling 
 frer ly over their shoulders ; his heart beats ; he is over- 
 come, he thinks them too charming. Here is a covey, 
 eighteen in all, in a cove on the sea-coast, in various 
 attitudes, some leaning over their sketches, others doing 
 embroidery, others picking up specimens, all smiling ; it 
 is the "Sirens' grotto." Remark that they are all inno- 
 cent of evil, and that the drawing is as much so as them- 
 selves ; during the rides on horseback, during the gusts 
 of wind on the pier, there is no exposure ; if the wind 
 strikes their petticoats it is to keep them down. For a 
 
IS over- 
 
 SOCIETF AS DEPICTED BY '' PUNCHr 247 
 
 like reason the gallantry is respectful, the lover holds 
 his sweetheart's skein of worsted, gives his pocket- 
 handkerchief to her little brother ; :ie is not a conqueror, 
 hut is under subjection ; he submits himself to his fate. 
 Sometimes the girls make the first advance ; in this 
 the " Fast Girls " furnish scope for satire ; one of them 
 is exhibited at croquet stepping aside to speak to the 
 object of her admiration ; another contrives to get a 
 private talk over a game of chess. If need be, Mater- 
 familias begins negotiations. A worthy matron is 
 shown fishing in ecclesiastical waters, surrounded by 
 her three daughters ; she casts the line towards a young 
 clergyman, rich and of good family, who is on a visit. 
 She says, " I am very happy, dear Mr. Cecil Newton, 
 to find that you are orthodox ; I need hardly tell you 
 that I hope j'-ou will not lapse into the sad heresy 
 which enjoins the celibacy of the clergy." As for him, 
 with his embarrassed manner, his edifying and senti- 
 mental grin, and his side- glance at the three pretty 
 baits, he presents a most comical appearance. In every 
 case, in these pictures as in the novels, at the end of the 
 road, upon the horizon, marriage is always to be 
 beheld ; no one would suspect that there were any 
 intermediate stations ; now, to use Shakespeare's words 
 —"All's well that ends well." 
 
 Here are the married folks : look at the domestic 
 scenes. They are not unpleasing, bitterly satirical ; 
 no brokcn*'down husbands or wretched, bad-tempered 
 and spoilt children, like those which M. Daumier 
 represents so frequently and with so open a hatred, 
 are to be met with here. The artists liere nearlv 
 always regard infancy as something charming and 
 beautiful. There is a noise in the nursery caused by 
 two processions, each composed of four little boys and 
 
 : ! 
 
 . (: 
 
 ! 
 
 
l:i 
 
 248 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 girls, who march to the sound of a trumpet ; all their 
 cheeks are rosy, and they are all enjoying themselves 
 heartily. Two little girls in the garden gravely come 
 and ask grandmamma to play with the skipping-rope. 
 Another has found the scissors, and is solemnly engaged 
 in cutting her little brother's hair, because he wishes 
 to be bald like grandpapa. On Christmas night xhere 
 is dancing in a large room decorated with holly, where 
 grandpapa smilingly acts as vis-d-vis to his little grand- 
 daughter of six, who holds her frock and makes her 
 curtsey with an air of gaiety and coquetry. These are 
 the incidents, sometimes the accidents ; but always 
 there predominates the quiet and lasting felicity of 
 family life. 
 
 It is true that the ftither has quite enough to do 
 with his six, eight, or ten children who Sometimes 
 come in annual succession ; he is fifty years old, his 
 head is getting bald, his proportions are becoming 
 aldermanic, and his youngest has just been weaned. 
 They are as plentiful as rabbits. Another is coming, 
 which may not be the last, nevertheless a host of aunts 
 invades the crowded house. Paterfamilias, turned out 
 of the room, take his dinner on the stairs. A Frencli- 
 man would have perspired at the very prospect ; so 
 much happiness would be a misfortune. And, then, 
 the trouble of such a flock ! The father must take 
 it to the sea-side, lodge it, provide everything, food, 
 clothing, education, health, amusement, and, above all, 
 must maintain discipline and peace. Indeed, such a 
 family, including servants, constitutes a small ntition, 
 of which the father is bound to be the head, the magis- 
 trate, and the despotic ruler. I know a family which, 
 living in the country six miles from any town, consists 
 of thirty persons in all. Add to this fifteen or twenty 
 
i! i 
 
 SOCIETY AS DEPICTED BY '' PUNCIir 240 
 
 tenants whose houses are close at hand, twelve horsra 
 in the stables, a farm adjoining, the moat consumed 
 being produced by animals reared and killed on the 
 property ; under such conditions as these a modern 
 gentleman does not differ greatly from his ancestor, 
 the ancient feudal baron. It is true this is a rare case ; 
 vet in the families of the middle class in London the 
 father t.:hibits traces of the same authority. Ho is 
 neither weak nor is he reduced to the second 
 place, as in our French illustrated books. He feels 
 that he is responsible ; he directs ; he governs. For 
 instance, he has resolved to introduce hydropathy : one 
 by one the poor children are shown approaching the 
 cold shower-bath in their long shirts and oil-skin caps, 
 shivering and sorrowful, whilst their father brandishes 
 the flesh-brush. Winter has arrived ; it is ordered 
 that the family shall be shod in cheap boots, and the 
 shoemaker is represented under the father's eye fitting 
 hu^e stout boots on his daughter's small feet. Pater- 
 familias has resolved upon spending a week at the sea- 
 side ; disliking to go to a hotel, the caricature repre- 
 sents him installed on the sands ; two bathing-machines 
 serve as bedrooms, while the dinner is cooked in the 
 open air with the assistance of the aunts, mamma, and 
 the children, all of whom do something, the eldest son, 
 cigar in mouth, being set to prepare the vegetables. 
 Paterfamilias, standing up with a sarcastic and satisfied 
 air, supervises and controls ; to look at him, it is clear 
 that no opposition will be made to his w'll ; his broad 
 shoulders, his expression, his hands crossed behind his 
 back, or stuck in his pockets, his gravity, his coolness, 
 the scantiness of his gestures and his words, all mani- 
 fest that he is inspired by the sentiment of a legitimate 
 and unchallenged authority. I grant you that this is 
 
 < 
 

 m 
 
 250 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 an exaggeration, that it is a fiction, that it is a carica- 
 ture ; yet the document is none the less instructive ; it 
 furnishes a glance at one side of the life of an English 
 family. From it one divines why they have and how 
 they control half or a whole dozen of children. 
 
 Then come the sketches of servants. As this class is 
 a large one, and an English well-to-do family has 
 several servants, the artist represents them frequently. 
 On the one hand, he pourtrays their troubles. In an 
 aristocratic society their place is a low one, and they 
 are made to do strange duties. A solemn and imposing 
 old lady walking in the park, accompanied by her dog, 
 and followed by her footman, says, " John Thomas." 
 " Yes, my lady." ** Carry Beauty ; poor thing, she 
 is getting tired." A similar scene between a girl of six- 
 teen and her maid. The latter is already carrying two 
 dogs, one under each arm, yet the little patrician 
 exclaims, " 0, Parker, you ought to carry Puppet, too, 
 he will get his feet wet." It is raining in torrents ; a 
 miserly nobleman, well sheltered in his carriage, says 
 to his servants, who are dripping wet on the box, 
 " Good heavens, have you umbrellas there ? " " 'No, 
 my lord." " Theil hand me your new hats in here." 
 Judging from many of these trifling circumstances, I 
 should think that they have fewer comforts in France, 
 but that they are treated more considerately, At all 
 events, they are not kept at arm's length ; the human 
 being is more perceptible, and does not altogether di*i- 
 appear under the livery. The fundamental difterence be- 
 tween an aristocratic and a democratic country always 
 making its influence felt. On the other hand, the 
 artist pourtrays their affectations. As a consequence of 
 aristocratic institutions, every class in society sees one 
 which it regards as superior, keeps the boundL.y line 
 
it 
 
 :, she 
 
 )f 
 
 y line 
 
 SOCIETY AS DEPICTED BY 'TUNCIir 251 
 
 clearly drawn, and never mixes with that below it. 
 Thackeray has sharply depicted this caprice; it was 
 that of the Court when Louis XIV. was King. Here it 
 is in as lively operation among the flunkeys as among 
 the gentlemen ; now, nothing is more ludicrous than a 
 valet's pride. One man-servant gives his master warn- 
 ing because he has seen his lordship on the knife- 
 board of an omnibus. Another consents to carry the 
 coal-scuttle to the nursery, " if his mistress asks it as a 
 favour, but hopes that his mistress will not mistake 
 him for a housemaid." They consider themselves 
 gentlemen because they are fine-looking, well- clothed, 
 well-fed, and have plenty of leisure. They are fasti- 
 dious, are vain of their appearance, and stri o to ape 
 good manners. One of them consults his betting book 
 in the carriage. Another, who has been asked to 
 mount behind, languidly stretches himself and refuses, 
 *' If my lady does not find it too hot for her, I find it 
 too hot for me." A young married lady says to her 
 maid, " Jane, I was surprised that none of you rose 
 when I entered the kitchen." The maid, tossing her 
 head, replies with an impertinent air, '* Indeed, ma'am, 
 we were certainly surprised at your entering the 
 kitchen when we were at dinner." But the faces, 
 the gestures themselves, must be seen; when I seek 
 for words other than English ones wherewith to trans- 
 late them, I entirely fail. The language of the country 
 alone seems to interpret the things of the country ; for 
 example, the puckered face of the servant who has 
 remained single on account of her ugliness, the self- 
 satisfaction, the gravity, the majesty, and the servility 
 of the footman, who knows himself to be a fine-looking 
 fellow. 
 
 U 
 
 
XXII. 
 
 SPORTING, rOIJTIC'AI., AND SOCIAL CARICATURES IN 
 
 (< 
 
 PUNCH. 
 
 )> 
 
 "jVrEAHLY all the amusements are of an atliletic cast. 
 -^^ It is sufficient to turn over the pages of the 
 volumes of Punch to see how thoroughly national is 
 the liking for horses and for rough sports. Every 
 number out of three contains representations of eques- 
 trian mishaps and adventures. Nervous or unskilful 
 horsemen are continuously jeered at ; jokes are cracked 
 about distinguished foreigners who shrink from a leap, 
 or who fear to break their necks. Little boys and 
 girls mounted on ponies join in the fox-hunts which 
 take place during the chilling fogs of winter. The 
 young girls, tall, slim, firmly seated in their saddles, 
 leap hedges, ditches, five-barred gates, dash through 
 the underwood, gallop over the marshes, and come in 
 at the finish with a rush, carrying their horses over 
 every obstacle, putting inexperienced fox-hunters to 
 the blush. Heavy, broad-shouldered matrons trot 
 along with the party under the care of the riding- 
 master. Entire families, from the grandfather of 
 seventy to the maiden of six, ride along the sands 
 like a band of centaurs. Miss Alice, who is eight years 
 old, mounts her father's horse and offers her pony to 
 
CARICATURES IN '' PUNCH r 
 
 253 
 
 her mamma, who is slightly nervous. It is clear that 
 they are all the better for vigorous open-air exercise. 
 In a journey among the mountains old and young ladies, 
 wrapped in their waterproofs, sit on the outside of the 
 coach alongside of the gentlemen, the inside being con- 
 sidered fitted only for the dogs, who take their ease 
 there. At the seaside both sexes promenade on the 
 pier during a gale, the wind which whistles in 
 their hair, the torrents of rain which deluge them, 
 seeming to delight them ; this betrays a primitive 
 instinct like that of the greyhound and the racehorse; 
 they need muscular exertion and the rigours of the 
 open air to put their blood in circulation. At Paris 
 I have seen young Englishmen every night leaving 
 their windows open during ihe entire night in winter. 
 This enables us to comprehend their fondness for 
 open-air sports, for cricket, for fishing and shooting. 
 The rain pours down in to i rents and the whole 
 country is like a lake ; an old gentleman in his water- 
 proof actively handles his fishingTrod. When the 
 river is frozen over, he may be seen letting down 
 his line in the hope of catching a fish through a hole 
 'in the ice made by a labourer with a pick. No ob- 
 stacles, expense, or danger stop them ; they make a 
 journey of two hundred miles to the Highlands in order 
 to fish for salmon, shoot grouse or deer ; amateurs start 
 from London for the meet, taking their horses with 
 
 them in the train. B • tells me that a pheaiiant 
 
 carefully watched and fed during the winter costs its 
 owner from thirty shillings to two pounds. One out 
 oi? every three sportsmen has a limb broken before he 
 dies. The jokes on this head are endless. A gentle- 
 man on horseback informs a neighbour that his animal 
 is rather restive : ** Oh, the animal is well known, it has 
 
 
 1; 
 I 
 
25 + 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 been the means of breaking more collar-bones than any 
 other in England." A little swell going stag-hunting 
 says to a robust friend on arriving at the railway 
 station, " Will you take a single or a return ticket ? " 
 The latter replies, " I mean to take a return because I 
 know all a^out the horse I shall mount ; but I advise 
 you to take a single ticket and an insurance one as well." 
 Tlie prospect seems unpleasant. But it is not always 
 so. For persons of a particular temperament, difficulty, 
 trouble, and danger are incentives. ]Many English 
 take delight in exerting, hardening, or forcing them- 
 selves to surmount obstacles ; the Alpine Club and 
 other associations are proofs of this. The qualities of 
 the athlete and the equestrian contribute in their eyes 
 to constitute manliness. Thus general opinion upholds 
 instinct, and affectation is the complement of nature. 
 In India, Jacquemont saw them fill themselves with 
 meat and spirituous liquors, then gallop for two hours 
 under a broiling sun, and do this out of bravado, as a 
 matter of habit or of fashion, in order not to let it be 
 thought that they were effeminate or cowardly, even 
 hazarding their lives in the attempt and losing them. 
 
 Most of the youths have the same dispositions. The * 
 artist depicts them as being precocious in a manner 
 different from ours, showing not the precocity of for- 
 wardness or malice, the precocity of the senses, but that 
 of hardihood and daring. The small and puny street boys 
 are not allied to the Parisian Gavroche ; they are more 
 handy with their fists than with their tongues ; a good 
 joke pleases them less than a display of skill. Two of 
 these manikins are shown in winter trying to block up 
 a doorway with a snow-ball twice as large as them- 
 selves, and though half- frozen are contented and happy. 
 Nor are the rich less venturesome and hardy than the 
 
CARICATURES IN ''PUNCHY 
 
 255 
 
 lany 
 iting 
 ilway 
 et?" 
 use I 
 idvise 
 .veil." 
 Iways 
 culty, 
 aglish 
 them- 
 b and 
 bies of 
 r eyes 
 pliolds 
 lature. 
 8 with 
 hours 
 as a 
 it it be 
 even 
 [hem. 
 The" 
 anner 
 ,f for- 
 t that 
 et boys 
 e more 
 good 
 wo of 
 ick lap 
 them- 
 jhappy. 
 an the 
 
 poor. Witness two boys unmooring a boat in order to 
 go to sea by themselves. Their pleasures are rough and 
 boisterous ; they wade about bare-logged in the pools of 
 water, they fisli for jelly-fish, which they bring into 
 the drawing-room on a stick. While mere urchins they 
 learn to box, and they box with gloves in presence of their 
 mamma. When their father visits the school and asks 
 how they are getting on, he is told, *' Oh, pretty well ; 
 there are three fellows whom I can lick, and Fred, 
 here, can lick six, including me." Another seated on 
 a pony as large as a Newfoundland dog, prepares to 
 leap a brook, and replies to the servant making objec- 
 tions, "Both my horse and myself can swim." B 
 
 assured me that, from childhood upwards, they are 
 told, " You must be a man." They are trained to 
 think that they ought never to cry or show any signs 
 of weakness, and that they ought to be brave, enter- 
 prising, and protectors of the weaker sex. A little boy 
 says to a big lady, frightened at a h vd of cattle, 
 " Don't be afraid, shelter yourself behind me." 
 Another, aged six, seated on his shaggy Shetland 
 pony, cries to his grown-up sisters on the balcony, 
 " Halloa, girls, if any of you wish to take a ride along 
 the sands, I'm your man." On the other hand, 
 gluttony is the vice of these boys, which the artist 
 satirises most ct ''ally. Emily has tried to amuse one 
 of them in every possible way ; she has given him hei* 
 paint-box, has played on the piano, has shown him 
 picture-books, yet he is discontented. "I don't call 
 that amusement. I want figs and ginger-bread, or a 
 large bit of toffy. That's what I call amusement." As 
 a matter of course, the draughtsman conforms the 
 physical type to the moral tendency. He does not 
 represent them as refined, but sturdy and robust. 
 
 i u 
 
 
 "to^SSTil 
 

 . i 
 
 256 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 ^lorcover, lie even loves to exaggerate their natiual 
 courage. Two children on a doiilcey wish to leap u 
 ditch before which a gentleman on horseback hesitates. 
 A youngster of live, his hands in his pockets, says to 
 his uncle, a stout gentleman well mufHed up, who is 
 going out at night, and who is apprehensive about 
 robbers, " I say. Uncle Charles, if you are afraid to go 
 home alone, I'll escort you to your door." Separate 
 i'rom these caricatures the salient and exaggerated 
 points, the residue is what the English themselves 
 see or believe to be essential. This granted, and sub- 
 ject to the necessary rectifications and modifications, 
 one can perceive the fact as it actually exists. 
 
 The proofs which demonstrate the temperament, the 
 I'ace, and the dispositions, are of all grades. The 
 common people, particularly the peasants, the sailors, 
 the farmers, and even the squires of this country, are 
 either jolly fellows or hulking monsters ; their outer 
 man bears testimony to their brute force. It is appa- 
 rent that they glory in guzzling. An old country 
 gentleman has the air of a fat pig, who has a recollec- 
 tion of his grandfather the wild boar. Close at hand 
 is the portrait of an English juryman ; he is about to 
 go to court stuffed to the throat, bloated out, having 
 iVid like an ogre, and, in. addition, his wife fills his 
 pockets with eatables. This is due to the rule that 
 juries are not allowed to separate till they are agreed; 
 hunger makes them unanimous in the end ; for such a 
 stomach as this, nothing is more terrible than a 
 vacuum. There is a holiday in the coal districts, at 
 which fisticuffs are the principal attraction ; a daughter 
 is represented leading away her father, whose arm has 
 been broken, and telling her lover, a country lout, to 
 go and take part in the fight. Two sailors at Bala- 
 
CARICATURES IN '' PUNCIir 
 
 257 
 
 ituiol 
 t'up u 
 itutes. 
 lys to 
 vlio is 
 about 
 [ to go 
 parute 
 •erated 
 [iselvcs 
 L(l sub- 
 lations, 
 
 'nt, ibe 
 i. The 
 sailors, 
 ry, are 
 r outer 
 appa- 
 ouiitry 
 collec- 
 t hand 
 out to 
 Ihaving 
 lis his 
 e that 
 greed ; 
 such a 
 han a 
 icts, at 
 lughter 
 rm has 
 [out, to 
 Bala- 
 
 clavn, imposing and vigorous fighting animals, square- 
 shouldered, and well filled-out, npproaeh tlieir com- 
 manding oflicer, and deferentially say, ** JJeg your 
 pardon, sir, but may not John Grampus and me havo 
 a day on shore to go to the trenches and do some 
 firing with the soldiers ? " Yet the most noteworthy 
 personngo of all is John Bull, the typical Englishman, 
 such as he is depicted in political caricatures; he is tho 
 representative whom they themselves have chosen. In 
 this portrait, which they regard as an abridgment, are 
 shown tho essence and foundation of tho national 
 character. AV^hon young lie resembles one of those 
 jovial blades of Hubcns, or rather of Jordaens, who, in 
 addition, has the gruffness of a watch-dog. II3 is 
 adult and resembles a butcher ; he is fifty years old, is 
 broad-shouldered ; his stomach is prominent under his 
 open breasted waistcoat; he wears top-boots, a low- 
 crowned hat, and carries a cudgel in his hand. But yeaia 
 have not lessened his energy; he is onpable of standing 
 his ground against the most vigorous adversary even 
 when it comes to blows. Picture a type of distinction 
 and then the exact opposite ; the latter impression is 
 that which he makes; his neck is short, his chin large; 
 his jaws are solid ; the entire masticating raachiiery is 
 perfectly developed ; a stiff collar rises half way above 
 his shaven chin, and his whiskers are of the mutton- 
 chop pattern : thus the lower part of his face resembles 
 that of M. Prudhomme. But his twinkling or angry 
 eyes, his beetle-brows, the entire expression of his 
 countenance, betray marked animal characteristics and 
 the choleric temperament. Ilis forehead is small, his 
 intellect barren ; his ideas are few and petty, those 
 which he possesses being the ideas of a tradesman or a 
 farmer. By way of compensation, he is gifted with 
 
 8 
 
258 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 
 : 
 
 good 80T180 nnd energy, a fund of good temper, loyalfy, 
 perseverance, and determination ; that firmness of 
 character, in short, by means of which a man gets on 
 in the world, and renders himself, if not lovable, at 
 least useful. There is something superior to this in 
 England, yet wc sliall not err greatly in taking this 
 type and its counterparts to represent the aptitudes 
 and the inclinations of the average of the nation. 
 
 At the opposite i)olo tlie artistic type is belield. "We 
 all know how in Frencli sketches the artist is raised 
 above the citizen ; here, oddly enough, the reverse 
 occurs. Musicians arc represented as salaried monkeys, 
 who come to make a noise in a drawing-room. Painters 
 arc bearded artisans, unkempt, shabbily-dressed, badly- 
 educated, conceited, hardly one degree raised above 
 photographers. These are workmen who cannot speak 
 English, and who merely form food for ridicule. 
 Thackeray frequently struggled against the common 
 opinion with respect to artists ; Clive Newcome, one 
 of his personages, who is a painter and the son of a 
 colonel, remarks with surprise that in Paris artists are 
 on a par with the leadei s of society, and that Delaroche 
 and Horace Verne l ..re invited to dine at Court. A 
 French moralist weald never have occasion to demon- 
 strate that the palnter'^s art is as liberal a profession aa 
 that of Medicine or law. Probably, in the eyes of the 
 burly John Bull, whom I have just described, a painter 
 cannot be a gentleman, seeing that he works with his 
 hands. He is not " respectable " because he has 
 no fixed income ; besides, it is said that his studio is 
 always in disorder. He is a journeyman who wants 
 method ; he ranks with his neighbour, the mechanic, 
 who works at home, and is the oracle of the pot-house. 
 
 The political caricatures appear to have been drawn 
 
oyaltv, 
 ess of 
 jets oil 
 iblo, lit 
 tbis ill 
 
 (titudc'S 
 
 I AVe 
 
 3 raised 
 reverse 
 oiikoys, 
 ?aiiitcrs 
 , badly- 
 l above 
 3t speak 
 ridicule, 
 r'ommon 
 me, one 
 on of a 
 ists are 
 arocbe 
 urt. A 
 demon- 
 ssion as 
 of tbe 
 painter 
 ith bis 
 be bas 
 tudio is 
 wants 
 ecbanic, 
 t-bouse. 
 drawn 
 
 ^v 
 
 CAR!CATCRi:S IN '' PiWCIir 
 
 259 
 
 by Jobn Bull liiniself; tbe drawing is sllflf, correct, 
 wltbout ease or gra(;e, tbe pb>asantry being barsb and 
 bard; tbe buniour is tbat of a dog. ^loreover, overy- 
 tbing is subordinated to a practical object ; tlio inten- 
 tion is to liken an affair of state, a war, a cbango in 
 tbe ^linisfry, a jxditical situation, to a faniiiiar incident 
 of daily life, so tbat tbe most obtuse bead may under- 
 stand wbat is meant. In tbe sketcbes of manners tbe 
 typos are well cbosen, clearly defined, and tbey power- 
 fully express tbe moral trait by tbe pbysique. In 
 all tbeso respects tbe artists are Hogartb's suc- 
 cessors. On tbe contrary, in tbe frontispieces and tbe 
 bordcrings of eacb Almanack, tbe play of fancy, tbe 
 spirit of burlesque, tbe odd and interminable wealtb of 
 imagination, tbe mountebank scenes, tbe ludicrous pro- 
 cessions, tbe fascinating sbai)cs, or tbe monstrosities, 
 tbe originality, tbe sentiment, tbe comicality of inven- 
 tion, abound to an extent as to remind us of Dickens, 
 and sometimes even of Sbakespeare. 
 
 In order to complete our examination of tbis collec- 
 tion, let us note two tragical caricatures : tbe subject is 
 pauperism, wbereof tbe traces, at least, are every wbere 
 visible in England. 
 
 Tbe agricultnral labourer bas been competing for a 
 prize. The miserable wretcb in rags, witb clasped 
 bands, balf-starved, deferential, is kneeling, and is 
 crowned witb roses. Bebind bim stand bis wife and 
 six cbildren in a row, looking as wretcbed as bimself. 
 Tbe stcut and well-dressed President of tbe Association 
 solemnly bands bim bis prize, consisting of a bammer 
 and a stone. He is free to break tbe stone and distri- 
 bute tbe fragments to bis famisbing cbildren. Tbe 
 spectators smile ; tbe gentlemen and fine ladies wbo 
 are present gaze witb a frigid curiosity, as if be were 
 
¥i 
 
 b 'i ' 
 
 i 
 
 / ( 
 
 I 
 
 260 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 an animal of an inferior and unknown species, upon 
 the pitiable brute who produces their bread. 
 
 Another subject is cheap clothing. Twenty skele- 
 tons are sewing on a table ; their employer, a stout 
 middle -class citizen, stern -eyed and heavy -jowled, 
 watches them while smoking a cigar. 
 
 These two pictures produce the same eflPect when 
 seen among the others as the sight of one of the 
 squalid lanes near Oxford Street when beheld after a 
 long walk amidst the palaces, the hotels, and the com- 
 fortable mansions of the West- end and the City. 
 
 ^m. 
 
upon 
 
 I 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 INNS OF COURT, BAERISTEES, AND JUDGES. 
 
 HAVE been introduced to John II- 
 
 — , a young 
 and very obliging barrister. lie lives in the Temple, 
 a sort of nest of lawvers and law students, in which 
 the multitude of chambers remind one of a Quartier 
 Latin and of a law corporation. The institution is 
 composed of four Inns of Court, each of which possesses 
 a Hall wherein the members dine, the student's chief 
 duty being to eat six dinners here every term for three 
 years. A year's attendance in a barrister's chambers 
 entitles the students to be called to the bar without 
 attending lectures. The professors are six in number, 
 and attendance at a final examination is optional. 
 There is no resemblance between this and an important 
 Law School like ours, founded to teach the theory in 
 the first instance. In like manner there is no Poly- 
 technic school here ; he who wishes to become an 
 engineer enters an engineer's office, where he learns by 
 practice, like a painter's assistant. This deficiency in 
 high-class and systematized instruction, this omission 
 in the matter of preliminary lectures on the theory of 
 a profession, is very noteworthy, and is thoroughly 
 English. Besides, it would be no easy thing to 
 deliver a course of lectures on English law. The law is 
 
 1 % 
 
 t 
 
 I '^ 
 
 I 
 
' 
 
 I 
 
 262 
 
 NOTES OX EKGLAND. 
 
 not codified, as in France, upon accepted pliilosoplucal 
 principles, but consists of a mass of statutes and prece- 
 dents, more or less incongruous, and sometimes contra- 
 dictory, which the future jurist must himself digest 
 after long study. On the other hand, there is no 
 historical school, as in Germany, characterised by 
 delicate tact and comprehensive views, and capable of 
 explaining, first, the gradual adaptation of law to cus- 
 tom, and, secondly, its origin, its bearing, and its 
 limits. The compensation for the lack of philosophical 
 theories and historicr.i treatment is found in practice, 
 and frequently in routine. Some of these lawyers, 
 barristers, solicitors, or attorneys, have incomes of 
 £20,000 a year ; one was named to me whose income 
 was from £30,000 to £35,000. 
 
 Let us attend a sitting of the Courts at Westminster. 
 In civil as in criminal causes a jury is employed, its 
 duty always consisting in settling questions of fact, 
 as distinguished from points of law. But a jury is 
 employed in civil causes only at the request of the 
 parties, who have to pay the jurymen certain fees. "We 
 were present at three trials. One was a divorce case, 
 in which the wife was the petitioner ; this right has 
 ceased to be an aristocratic and most costly privi- 
 lege ; it can now be exercised for the sum of £25 or 
 £30, and is thus brought within reach of the humblest 
 purse. Moreover, the reports of these divorce cases, 
 which frequently appear in the newspapers, deserve to 
 be read, because they unveil one of the failings of 
 English households — the tyranny and brutality of the 
 husbands. The duty of counsel is very noteworthy, and 
 is very different from that of French advocates. They 
 examine witnesses as well as plead. At the hearing, 
 the plaintiff, the defendant, and each witness are exa- 
 
opliical 
 
 prece- 
 contra- 
 
 digest 
 3 is no 
 scd by 
 table of 
 
 to cus- 
 and its 
 iopbical 
 )ractice, 
 awyers, 
 mes of 
 
 income 
 
 ninster. 
 
 )yed, its 
 
 of fact, 
 
 jury is 
 
 of the 
 
 s. We 
 
 ce case, 
 
 ht has 
 
 privi- 
 
 £25 or 
 
 mblesfc 
 
 cases, 
 
 erve to 
 
 igs of 
 
 of the 
 
 anc 
 
 They 
 learing. 
 Ire exa- 
 
 BARRISTERS. 
 
 263 
 
 mined and cross-examined by counsel. The two 
 counsel turn their man inside out in succession, try to 
 trip him up, to disconcert him, to make him contradict 
 himself. Certainly it is not at all pleasant to be a 
 witness in England, the quarter of an hour passed in 
 the box being most trying. As a consequence, the 
 burden of the trial is borne by the counsel, the judge's 
 function consisting merely in supervising, forbidding 
 certain questions, tempering the ardour of the cham- 
 pions in court, as the Queen tempers the ardour of 
 parties in Parliament. Such an active and varied part as 
 that played by counsel largely contributes to heighten 
 their importance and sharpen their wits. Among 
 us they are too often phrase - spinners who plunge 
 into rhetoric, and whom the judge has to silence; here, 
 they are qualified, like our *' Juges d'Instruction," to 
 fathom and control men's minds. Three or four of 
 them, with their piercing eyes, clear and thrilling 
 accents, rapid and decided gestures, appeared to me to 
 be first-rate foxes, into whose clutches I should not like 
 to fall. The wife whom I saw under examination stood 
 in a little railed box at the side, but was visible to 
 every one ; my guide told me that her condition was 
 low, her language vulgar, and her clothes hired for tho 
 occasion. Yet her replies were marked by that concen- 
 tration and indomitable energy which I have so often 
 noticed in this country. Every minute she had a 
 desire to weep, and restrained her tears. She was 
 asked if she had not beaten her husband with the 
 tongs — if she had not sometimes begun the quarrel ? 
 She did not pour forth a torrent of negatives, as a 
 southern woman would have done, but she bent down 
 her head, reflected for half a minute, and then, assured 
 that her memory served her faithfully, after considera- 
 
 1. 
 
264 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 tion and with confidence ishe replied, " No ; never." 
 She spoke with an accent of conviction, the word 
 " never '* heing firmly uttered. 
 
 The reports of criminal trials must be perused in 
 order to understand to what a degree the judge's part 
 is dignified and honourably filled. Never can there be 
 detected in him any traces of the spirit of persecution, 
 the sentiments of a policeman, the desire to inflict 
 vengeance on behalf of society, the instincts of a hunter 
 warmed with the chase, and intent upon securing his 
 prey. A passage which I translate says " that the prin- 
 ciple of English law is, that a man must be held to be 
 innocent till he has been proved to be guilty ; the 
 burden of proof rests altogether upon the prosecution." 
 Contrary to the French rule, the prisoner may keep 
 his mouth closed ; he is not bound to incriminate him- 
 self; no officer of justice of whatever degree is entitled 
 to extract his secret from him under any pretext what- 
 ever. 
 
 Conformably to this rule of law, when the judge 
 pronounces sentence, he does so with the authority and 
 with the impartiality of a mind thoroughly convinced. 
 He neither declaims nor indulges in invective. He 
 neither conceals the weak points of the evidence nor 
 exaggerates the points beyond dispute. He weighs his 
 words, translating his carefully-formed opinion into 
 clear language, and when he adds moral condemnation 
 to the legal sentence, the gravity and nobleness of his 
 tones are worthy of all praise. More than once I have 
 thought that if Justice herself had a voice, she would 
 speak thus. The man liimself is transformed into 
 the simple organ af truth and of rectitude. The 
 prisoner at the bar cannot help bowing before such 
 a power as this, and assenting to the justice of hia 
 
» 
 
 JUDGES. 
 
 265 
 
 sentence. I know no other spectacle whicli can as 
 solemnly imprint in men's hearts veneration for 
 the law. Yet in this, as in other cases, the bad and 
 the good commingle. I am told that the result of the 
 English form of legal procedure is to protect the indi- 
 vidual at the expense of society, that it is too difficult 
 to obtain legal proof, and that many guilty persons go 
 unpunished. 
 
 I 
 
 )e nor 
 :hs his 
 into 
 ation 
 of his 
 have 
 ould 
 into 
 The 
 such 
 f his 
 
XXIV. 
 
 THE THEATRES. LIVING IN LONDON. 
 
 
 /^OOD society docs not go to ihc theatres, with the 
 ^ exception of the two opera houses, which arc tlio 
 cxotir and hot-house phmts of luxury, and in which tho 
 prices of admission arc enormous and evening dress is 
 imperative. As to the others, the audience is recruited 
 from among the lower middle class. Tliero is no longer 
 a national comedy in England : playwrights translate or 
 adapt French ^)ieces. This is very extraordinary, for 
 they have still living manners fitted for Representation 
 on tho stage. In addition, tlieir novels prove how well 
 tlicy can depict characters. Satiric humour they havo 
 always had in abundance ; during the last century they 
 had excellent comic dramatists and performers. How 
 comes it, then, that in London there is no comedy, and 
 that in Paris there is one ? Is it because there is a 
 scarcity of droll personages in England ? It appears 
 to me that they abound more than elsewhere, seeing 
 tliat types are theie more sharply defined and are 
 developed even to excess. Is it because prudery of 
 manners taboos laughter? There is no hindrance to 
 decent merriment, improper joking being alone forbid- 
 den. Is it because English reserve has suppressed 
 immoderate gesticulation, spontaneous and free expres- 
 
THE THEATRES. 
 
 267 
 
 sion of feelln;^.s? But the source of Interest Ilea in flio 
 situation, and grave personages can play a part in tho 
 most exciting performance. Tlio whole matter is a 
 puzzle, especially for the reader who has just turned 
 over the pages of a novel by Dickens or of an album by 
 John Leech. 
 
 This evening I went to tho Olympie, a small house, 
 corresponding in some measure to our Palais Jloyal. 
 Tho opening piece was a burlesque on the Merchant of 
 Vcnicp, filled with puns and jokes ; but to enjoy such 
 tomfooleries one must bo a native of tho country. Tho 
 other piece, Dcavcd 3Iamma, is based on La Hrlln-Mh'o 
 ct le Gcndrc. Addison, one of the actors, plays the part 
 of an old undo with surprising spirit and fidelity. 
 Imagine to yourself a large, bald, and hearty gentle- 
 man, rotund, with his coat closely buttoned, thoroughly 
 enjoying life, well pleased to bo a widower and unat- 
 tached, uniformly good-tempered, wholly concerned in 
 preserving " his equilibrium ;" who eats his six repasts 
 and. takes his three constitutionals daily, who hums 
 tunes on all occasions, who winds up his sentences with 
 a whistle like that of an old blackbird, who drops off to 
 sleep in every easy-chair, and who, hardened by the 
 tempests of wedded life, wags his head, and ends by 
 snoring comfortably when ho is being soundly rated. 
 The type is complete, both morally and physically ; it 
 is original and sympathetic, very comical and very 
 natural, and is perfectly rendered. 
 
 Shakespeare is played at intervals ; I have seen IMr. 
 Macready in Macbeth, in which he showed himself 
 powerful and dramatic, especially in the scene where 
 Banquo's ghost appears, and where, breathless with 
 fear, and with a hoarse cry, he casts himself on the 
 ground like a maddened bull. The public still laughs 
 
 ; f1 
 
 I 
 
 
 li 
 
268 
 
 NOTFS: niV ENGLAND. 
 
 when Hftinlet says In the churchyard that the nohlo 
 dust of Alexander might now be used to stop a bun<^- 
 hole. Our eyes have been too much changed by 1 abit ; 
 we have lost the inexperience of the sixteenth century ; 
 the illusion is destroyed by the too frequent shifting of 
 tlie scenery ; we cannot now believe in armies repre- 
 sented by six combatants, and in battles fought upon 
 the stage. Even in England educated persons would 
 be disgusted to witness Cornwall publicly plucking out 
 Gloucester's eyes. To my mind the effect of reading 
 Shakespeare's works is far greater now than that made 
 by representing them ; at least I do not realise his 
 personages so well when they are placed before me 
 tnrough the medium of an actor. 
 
 "When one is satisfied with the necessaries of life, 
 living in London is not excessively dear. A young 
 engineer with whom I am acquainted spends Ss. ^d. 
 daily ; his dinner, consisting of roast beef, potatoes, 
 asparagus, sweets, and cheese, and beer, costs him 2s. ; 
 his lodging, which is very clean, consists of a bedroom 
 
 and sitting-room. B , who has come here to read 
 
 Arabic manuscripts, has a fine room close to the British 
 Museum, for which he pays a guinea a week, break- 
 fast and attendance included. Both of them would 
 pay more in Paris. One may rei\t an entire house in 
 the neighbourhood of llegent's Park for £100 a year. 
 On the other hand, the expense of luxurious living is 
 prodigious. Four Frenchmen occupying a first-class 
 hotel for thee days had to pay a bill amounting to £72. 
 In another hotel, situated in a fashionable locality, a 
 sitting-room, bedroom, and dressing-room, candles, and 
 
 attendance, cost eighteen guineas a week. Lord S 
 
 smiled with incredulity on hearing my friend Louis 
 
 isnrrrTT- 
 
3 noblo 
 I bung- 
 ' l.abit ; 
 jutury ; 
 'ting of 
 repre- 
 t upon 
 I would 
 ng out 
 •eading 
 t made 
 ise his 
 )re me 
 
 of life, 
 
 young 
 
 is. 4cL 
 
 tatoes, 
 
 n 2s. ; 
 
 droom 
 
 read 
 
 British 
 
 3reak- 
 
 would 
 
 ise iu 
 
 year. 
 
 ling is 
 
 -class 
 
 £72. 
 
 ty, a 
 
 5, and 
 
 Louis 
 
 LIVING IN LONDON 
 
 269 
 
 T , a Frcncliman, relate that during the preced- 
 ing year he had killed thirty-six dcor in a park of 
 which the rent was £80. Here all the pleasures of 
 luxury, the opera, sporting, entertaining, are reserved for 
 the possessors of large fortunes, and this constitutes a 
 new line of demarcation between the poor and the rich. 
 
 My linen was not sent home on the appointed day, 
 nor till three days after, when it came at last, but 
 unwashed, the reason given by the washerwoman being 
 that two consecutive holidays had fallen in that week, 
 and that all the workpeople had been intoxicated for 
 eight days. 
 
 Since my arrival I have seen three drunken women 
 in broad daylight ; two of them, whom I saw in a fine 
 street near Hyde Park, were evidentl}'- low characters ; 
 they had tattered shawls, boots down at the heels, an 
 idiotic smile, tottering logs, and loosened tongues. 
 The third, respectably dressed, and about fifty years of 
 age, staggered in the midst of a crowd, saying with a 
 curious smile that she was drunk, and that the reason 
 "v7as that she had taken too much at the Exhibition. I 
 believe that among well-educated women this vice is 
 exceedingly rare, yet it may sometimes be occasioned 
 by extreme lassitude or grief. George Eliot has 
 depicted it in "Janet's Repentance." The following 
 advertisement in The Times for 23rd November, 1870, 
 furnishes material for curious speculations : " A lady 
 in the vicinitjr of London, who takes great interest in 
 the recovery of ladies from habits of intemperance, 
 continues to receive into her family one lady from the 
 higher classes, requiring help in this respect. A 
 vacancy now occurs. Address, Hon. Sec. of the Ladies' 
 Total Abstinence Association, &c." 
 
 I'l'i 
 
 n 
 
270 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 Among the people, however, the vice is frightful. 
 During three diiys I have twice visited Chelsea, 
 and each time I have seen men lying in the gutters 
 dead-drunk. My friend, who lives in this neighbour- 
 liood, often sees working men in this state and position. 
 A philanthropic clergyman tells rae that out of ten 
 workmen eight are drunkards. They get high wages 
 in London, as much as from one to two pounds sterling 
 a week ; when once they have paid for their provisions 
 they have a drinking bout of three or four days' dura- 
 tion, imbibing gin, brandy-and- water, and other strong 
 liquors. The intoxication produced by these spirits 
 stupefies a man, rendering him melancholy and often 
 mad. Hence the prevalence of delirium, tremens and 
 other alcoholic maladies. According to a number of 
 the Ragged Schools Magazine, London had in 1848 
 eleven thousand sellers of spirits and only four thou- 
 sand butchers and bakers. Thirty thousand persons 
 are arrested during every year on the charge of being 
 drunk and incapable. It has been calculated that 
 200,000 persons enter the fourteen principal gin palaces 
 every week. In Glasgow there is one whisky shop to 
 every ten houses. Statistics show that in Manchester 
 the working class expends nearly a million sterling 
 every year in drinks ; p.s regards Glasgow, the amount 
 is about the same ; in Newcastle it is £400,000 ; in 
 Dundee £250,000. One hundred and forty-one work- 
 men having been watched at Preston, it was found that 
 the average proportion of their outlay for spirits was 
 22 per cent, of their earnings — a little more than 
 £11 10s. yearly ; that forty-one expended from 25 to 
 75 per cent, of their earnings, and that twelve were 
 teetotallers, and abstained from strong drink. Such is 
 the effect of the remedy, and one understands alike the 
 
Iglitful. 
 
 ^Jbelsea, 
 
 gutters 
 
 ;'libour- 
 
 osition. 
 
 of ten 
 
 wagos 
 
 itcrling 
 
 ►visions 
 
 ' dura- 
 
 stroDg 
 
 spirits 
 
 i often 
 
 ns and 
 
 iber of 
 
 1 1848 
 
 • thou- 
 
 )ersons 
 
 being 
 
 i tbat 
 
 Dalaces 
 
 lop to 
 
 Hester 
 
 ;erling 
 
 mount 
 
 0; in 
 
 work- 
 
 d tbat 
 
 s was 
 
 tban 
 
 25 to 
 
 were 
 
 iich is 
 
 :e the 
 
 LIVING IN LONDON. 
 
 *7» 
 
 energy of the propaganda and the utility of these 
 associations. In many streets I saw illustrations pub- 
 lished by them, where the drunkard is represented 
 prone and helpless, surrounded by little demons, who 
 remove his heart and brain piece by piece, whilst tlio 
 Devil himself looks on, holding a bottle of gin, with 
 the punning inscription, " My best spirits." 
 
 m 
 
XXY. 
 
 MANUFACTURES AND AUTISANS. 
 
 STAIITED for Manchester. During the journey I read 
 various newspapers and reviews, and among others 
 three or four articles upon France, directed against its 
 despotic Government, which does not permit private 
 individuals to take any part in public affairs. The 
 writer argues as if Frenchmen were Englishmen ; he 
 unconsciously pictures himself in France ; he supposes 
 how uncomfortable he would be there, how his feelings 
 would be shocked, how our administrative system 
 would hamper his actions. Yet these shackles, which 
 appear so serious to him, are trifles in our eyes ; the 
 majority of the citizens would be much more sensitive 
 to the opposite system. To take part in public affairs 
 is to increase one's toils ; to be member of five or six 
 committees ; to prepare or hear reports ; to listen to 
 a dozen speeches every fortnight on the same subject ; 
 to digest statistics, and make investigations, are all 
 wearisome occupations. AVe hand over these mt*uters 
 to the Government ; if it be a despot, it is also a 
 steward. It trammels us in many respects, but it 
 saves us from much worry. "We permit it to cut 
 and carve like a steward possessed of full powers, 
 openly criticising its doings, and privately whisper- 
 
y I read 
 y others 
 linst its 
 private 
 }. The 
 len ; ho 
 upposes 
 feelings 
 system 
 which 
 es ; tho 
 ensitivo 
 afifairs 
 I or six 
 isten to 
 lubject ; 
 are all 
 mu, liters 
 also a 
 but it 
 to cut 
 powers, 
 ^hisper- 
 
 MAXUFACTURES AND ARTISAXS, 273 
 
 ing that filioulcl it become unbearable, wo have alwavH 
 the opti(m of turning it out of doors. Tlio truth 
 is, howevci', tluit this calculation is faulty ; for after 
 years of (luiot and indifference wo suddenly find that 
 wo are ruined, and have concluded bad bargains. 
 Besides, tho forcible expulsion always leads to : loting. 
 Moreover, as tho master cannot get on without a 
 steward, ho is compelled, after each disturbance, to 
 select tho first comer, the misfortune being that he is 
 often worse than his predecessor. 
 
 For tho first hundred miles the landscape is flat and 
 tamo ; after this the hills begin, and the country 
 acquires an expression. The undulating hill-tops are 
 bathed in mist ; sometimes, when the sun shines forth, 
 a feeble light rests, like a smile, on the pale green ; 
 tais fleeting smile, amid tho general mourning of 
 sodden fields, is most affecting and sad. 
 
 We now enter the coal and iron country; every- 
 where are marks of manufticturing life ; the cinder 
 heaps form mountains; the earth is seamed with 
 excavations ; tall furnaces belch forth flames. We are 
 nearine: Manchester. In the bronzed sky at sunset a 
 strangely- jnpcd cloud hangs over the plain ; under 
 this motionless covering are hundreds of bristling 
 chimneys, as tall as obelisks ; a huge and black mass 
 is next distinguishable, then endless rows of buildings, 
 and we enter the Babel of bricks. 
 
 Walked through the city ; seen close at hand, it 
 is still more dismal. The air and the soil appear 
 charged with fog and soot. Manufactories with their 
 blackened bricks, their naked fronts, their windows 
 destitute of shutters, and resembling huge and cheap 
 penitentiaries, succeed each other in rows. A large 
 bazaar for the sale of low-priced goods, a work- 
 
 T 
 
 ^'1' 
 
t ' 
 
 274 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 hoiiac to accommodate four hundred thousand persons, 
 a prison for convicts condemned (o penal servitude 
 — such are the ideas created by the spectacle. One 
 of tliese buildings is a rectangle of six stories, in 
 each of which are forty windows ; it is there that, lit 
 up by gas, amid the deafening noiso of looms, thou- 
 sa.iils of workpeople, cabined, classified, immovable, 
 mechanically drive their machines every day from 
 moriiing to night ; can any form of existence bo more 
 opposed to, and at variance with, the natural instincts 
 of man ? About six o'clock a bustling, noisy crowd 
 pours from the mills into the streets ; men, women, 
 lU'A children flock along in the open air ; their clothes 
 are filthy ; many of the children are bare-footed, the 
 faces of all are pinched and gloomy ; several halt at 
 the gin-palaces ; the others scatter and hasten towards 
 their hovels. We follow them ; what wretched streets ! 
 Through the half-open window may be seen a miserable 
 room on the ground-floor, sometimes below the level of 
 \he tiamp pavement ; at the threshold a group of white, 
 fat, and untidy children breathe the foul air of the 
 street, less fc il, however, than that of the room. A 
 strip of carpet may be perceived, and clothes hung up 
 to dry. We continue our walk in the direction of the 
 suburbs ; there, in a more open space, rows of small 
 cheap houses have been erected as a speculation. The 
 black street is paved with iron slog ; the low red- tiled 
 roofs stand forth in lines against the prevailing grey 
 sky ; yet each family dwells apart, and the fog it 
 breathes is not too impure. These are the select, the 
 happy few. And the time is summer, the finest season 
 of the year ! One asks oneself what sort of life do 
 they lead in winter, when the fog bathes, chokes, 
 engulfs all nature, and one feels how heavily man is 
 
)ersoiis, 
 rvitudc 
 !. One 
 rics, in 
 that, lit 
 I, thou- 
 lovttblc, 
 y from 
 )o moro 
 nstincts 
 r crowd 
 women, 
 clotlics 
 ted, the 
 hult at 
 towards 
 streets ! 
 iserablo 
 level of 
 |f white, 
 of the 
 )m. A 
 |ung up 
 of the 
 If small 
 The 
 id-tiled 
 ig grey 
 fog it 
 jct, the 
 season 
 llife do 
 3hoke8, 
 ■man is 
 
 
 MANUFACTURES AND ARTISANS. 275 
 
 oppressed by this pitiless climate and this industrial 
 system. 
 
 Drives and visits in the wealtliy quarter. Here and 
 at Liverpool, as at Tjondon, the English character is 
 manifested in the buih^ings. The City man does his 
 utmost to cast liis city skin ; ho strives to have his 
 country seat and country surroundings at the outskirts ; 
 he feels the necessity of being by himself — of feeling 
 that he is alone, monarch of his family and his servants, 
 of having around him a piece of park or a garden as 
 a relaxation from the artificial life of town and of busi- 
 ness. Hence have been constructed vast silent streets 
 in which there jire no sliops, and in which each house, 
 surrounded by a patch of green, is detached and is 
 occupied by a single family. In addition, beyond 
 jMiinchester stretches IJowdcn — a sort; of public villa, 
 with the splendid park which Lord Stamford throws 
 open for the enjoyment of the multitude, and in which 
 there are magnificent trees, fine turf, and herds of tame 
 deer lying amid the ferns. How one must enjoy the 
 charm and the repose of these natural beauties after 
 leaving the mill and the counting-house ! For there 
 are no other beauties. Even a walk through the quarter 
 of the rich is depressing. Ten, fifteen, twenty houses 
 in succession have been built in the same style, and 
 they succeed each other with the mechanical regularity 
 of draughts on a draught-board. The trim lawns, the 
 small gates, the painted fronts, the uniformity of the 
 compartments, make one think of painted menageries, 
 of neat play-things. The ornamentation shows bad 
 taste, capitals, Grecian pillars, railings, Gothic roofs, 
 and other forms have been copied from divers ages and 
 places, the whole being fresh and inharmonious, the 
 display is ginger- bread and trumpery, like that of a 
 
 ^ I 
 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
2 7^1 
 
 A'()'/V':s OA' JuXCLAM). 
 
 
 \\\[\\\ wlio, luivlnjr su(l<]«'nly brronio n'cli, lu'dfzoTiH, \n 
 \\\o lu'lirT \\\\\i ho is iidoniiu^ liiinsidr. It in a i^^ood 
 <liiin>' to work, und it is n jrood tiling (o bo wealthy ; 
 but to work nnd bo rich nro not. Hullioiont. 
 
 'rh(\v WYO powcM'I'nl, th.'H is thoir oonipoiiHution. The 
 lil(i» ol' onc^ of th(* h(\'idM of thoso ininndiioturinj^ or 
 oominoroiid housi^H iniiv bo likonrd to tlint of ii minor 
 priiiO(\ Thc^y Imvo th(» i'undf^, tho vust d(\Mijj;?iH, tJio 
 roBpo'isibility, th(^ risks, tlio iin])ortMnoo, nnd, it is Hni<l, 
 tho pri(K» of !i |)otontuto. Liko In'in thoy liuvo tJioir 
 (Mnissarii^s .-nid roj)r(\sontMtivoH in tlio four (puirtorH of 
 tlu> globt^ ; tb(\v un^ bound to k<'('p tluMUsolvoH vorsod 
 daily in tho oondition and nvsouroos of noi^hlxuirin;;' 
 and distant oountrios; they havo to control and Hatislv 
 a host of work[)(M)j)lo ; tluy liavo th<^ powor to boconio 
 iho bonotactorH ol' thousands ol' nion ; thoy uro tho 
 H'onorals aiul u^oviM'Uors «>!' human industry. A quurtor 
 of !i million stxn'linj^, half a million stcrliu}^, thoso uro 
 th(^ phrasos ono Invars usod with rogard to thoir ontor- 
 prisos, th(M*r sab^s or ])urohas(\s, \\\{}^ froi<»;hl8 in thoir 
 ships, th(^ j^oods in thoir warohoust^s. Tluy dospatob 
 aufonts to oxamim> particular districts of tho globe; 
 thoy discover outlets {ov couHuorc<^ and nuirki^ts foi' 
 purchases in .lapan, (^hiua, i\ustralia, My-ypt, and Now 
 Zealand ; they oxpiM'inuMit about rearing sluvp, grow- 
 ing tea, or cidtivating cotton in a new and untried 
 country. This style of conduct inir business brlny-s all 
 tho faculti(\s into play. Tho warehouses of textile 
 fabrics are l^abyU)nian mcunnnonts, the front of ono 
 boinu' r)()0 foot long, and tho bales b(M*ng raised by 
 steam -p(nver. A C(U'tain cotton mill contains l{()0,()0() 
 spindles. A friend of mine, an engineer, informs mo that 
 authentic statistics show the protits of eotton-spinning 
 iu the Manchester district to have anuuinted during 
 
 I 
 
nns, in 
 
 'iilthy ; 
 
 . Thv 
 in J): or 
 . minor 
 ns, \]\r 
 in Hni<l, 
 o ilK'ir 
 
 •1(M'H of 
 
 vrrH(Ml 
 )()urin};- 
 
 wiiiHiy 
 l)(H'on»o 
 iro iho 
 (|ii!irUM' 
 
 OHO lU'o 
 
 ' ont(T- 
 m tluMr 
 
 H|)lltoh 
 
 :»lol)0 ; 
 ta I'oi' 
 1 Now 
 j>r()\v- 
 iinlriod 
 m^'H all 
 loxtilo 
 of ono 
 sod by 
 ()(),0()() 
 no tliiit 
 inninij: 
 (luring 
 
 MAh'VFACrURKS AND ARTISANS. 277 
 
 two y(f(irH <() ,i:'-*0,000,()()(l irionilily, iind flmf. nl prrscnf. 
 (ho ]>n>(il in us nnioli hh XH,0()0,()(M). Wo visilcd tlio 
 ('HlMl)li,sliirionlH of Slinvv find I'luM., Ilio 0110 a coMon- 
 ^»)iniior, flio nllior a nKinuf'fu'J.uror of M|»iiidl('H. I'lnll. 
 inakoH 2-{,(l(M) HpindloH w(M'lJy, and lin Iiuh niado an 
 many a,s 1)5, 000 ; ]io (iiiiployH 'l,.SOO worl<[K'(»|»Io, nrid 
 dooH a. buHJnoH.s ainoiiniing io a niillion and a liall 
 annually, ol' wliioli Ih'h prolilH in ono yoar liavo iMMtn 
 (!Hl.iina(o(l af, X'JOO,000. On ontoring ilioHo worksliopH 
 on(5 iH Hiruok willi ainazomont — tin; wliolo is a ^M/^antic 
 and onhu'od oliaoH, a lal)yrin(Ji ol' wIiooIh, gearing, ro- 
 volving loatlior bandH, a living and moving struoturo, 
 wln^nun I'roiri floor to coiling and from Hlory to Htory 
 work goos on at u giddy paco, as if tlio wliolo w(^ro an 
 unw(<ariod and indid'atigablo automaton. In a Hpacioun 
 ;;li(;(i, (lamo oiglit(!on forges, <'a.oli flank(!d by two Hmall<:r 
 onoH; a liiv(5 of workmen labourH in tlio gloom intor- 
 sporsod witli lurid flamc^s. In Sliarjj'w looomotivo 
 faotory from Kovon to oiglit liundrt^d workmen turn out 
 an bundrod looomotivoH annually, (sach worth .lj'>,000. 
 Ono must oomo hero in order to loarn th(5 j)uiHsanoo of 
 firo and water ; what wo hoo uro melting moulds, roH(!m- 
 bling truidcs of trees; slotting macdiinoH which tear off 
 (dirods of iron ; drilling maobines whicib j)ieroo hohjs 
 throngb iron plates as thick as one's thumb as easily 
 as tbrougb butt(;r ; Ktojmi-bummors of OOOilis. wr;ight, 
 wbiob aro ho completely undcjr control that they will 
 crack u nut without crusbing the kernel; monster 
 sboars, gigantic forges. Eigbt men, ranged in a row, 
 pusb a troo of rod-hot iron, and as lai-go as one's 
 body, into ono of those flaming furnaces. Here man is 
 but an insect ; tbo bost of machines alone attracts 
 attention. 
 
 AVben gazing npon those oddly-sbaprin creatures of 
 
 1;! 
 
 t'J 
 

 f. 
 
 ^ 
 
 278 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 steel, so laborious and industrious, amid the grindings 
 and thunderings of their headlong speed, one recalls 
 the subterranean dwarfs and giants of Scandinavian 
 mythology, the deformed monsters who in mountain 
 caves forged ornaments and a.-mour for the gods. At 
 the present day they labour for the insect ; he is their 
 master, and sometimes, on seeing the disproportion 
 between ' ^e labourers and *\qiv head, one forgets on 
 what terms he governs them. 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
11 clings 
 recalls 
 navian 
 untain 
 8. At 
 3 their 
 )ortion 
 ets on 
 
 XXVI 
 
 r 
 
 
 MANCHESTER AND LIVERrOOL. 
 
 f\^ examining a geological map, a large space, 
 ^ coloured black, is seen around Manchester ; this 
 is the coal district. Towns spring up there like 
 gigantic mushrooms ; around Manchester there are 
 seven or eight new ones with populations of from 
 40,000 to 45,000 persons, such as Oldham, for in- 
 stance, which I have just visited. My friend, the 
 French engineer, informs me that 1,000 lbs. of coal 
 cost from 5s. to 85. here ; that the same quantity costs 
 19s. 2(1. at Paris ; at Bordeaux from 12s. Qd. to 15s. ; 
 and in the department of the Vosges from 1/. 8s. to 
 11. 15s. Around Birmingham and Glas<?ow there are 
 the same black marks and the same results. In 
 addition there is clay suited for making bricks ; and 
 here, as at London, there is a vast estuary, an outlet, 
 the natural port of Liverpool, capable of holding entire 
 fleets. Add to this a persevering and prolific labour- 
 ing population, and you will realise this astounding 
 collection of products, of human beings, aid of build- 
 ings. My friend adds two f^cts \7hich, in his opinion, 
 explain the prosperity of these vast establishments. 
 On the one hand, the gross capital employed is enor- 
 mous, and, in the industrial rivalry of different nations 
 
 i 
 
 1-. ? 
 
28o 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 victory is always on the side of largo battalions. On 
 the other, the organisation is excellent, the workman 
 is industrious, and faithfully copies the pattern placed 
 before him ; the foreman is attentive, and is always at 
 his post to the minute ; the machines are of superior 
 quality, and the amount of work they will perform can 
 be calculated with precision. AYorkmen, foremen, 
 machines, clerks, representatives, all perform their 
 duties with regularity and constancy, like a well- 
 poised and well-lubricated wheel. The master spends 
 four hours daily in his counting-house and workshop, 
 supervising the whole; that is enough. The c^'sci- 
 pline and harmonious action of his subordinates suffice 
 for what remains. 
 
 We started for Liverpool. Its name denotes an old 
 pond, and, in truth, the flat damp country, bathed in 
 sea-mist and covered with stagnant water, seems less 
 adapted for men than for wild-duck. Now and then 
 the land appears primeval ; untilled downs and sandy- 
 bogs are to be seen ; the region, unenclosed, terminates 
 at the horizon in a faint streak of pale verdure. Heavy 
 violet- tinted clouds, exhalations of the sea and the soil, 
 as in Holland, fill and dim the space which stretches 
 beneath the low canopy of sky and the limitless plain. 
 
 At the entrance to the city there is a huge Grecian 
 building, a sort of temple with gilt panels, and pillars 
 in imitation jasper, and serving as a concert-hall. In 
 it a frightfully harsh-toned organ makes a din. On 
 the opposite side, in front, is a library which cost 
 £50,000, the legacy of a private individual. This is 
 not the place to seek beauty and elegance. Liverpool 
 is a giant, like Manchester ; the shops and warehouses 
 are on a vast scale ; the streets are vast, and the houses 
 which line them resemble those of London in being 
 
 
MANCHESTER AND LIVERPOOL. 
 
 281 
 
 ns. On 
 orkman 
 I placed 
 [ways at 
 superior 
 jrin cau 
 oreiueii, 
 u tlicir 
 a well- 
 ' spends 
 )rkshop, 
 e c^isci- 
 s suffice 
 
 8 an old 
 
 thed in 
 
 Jins less 
 
 id then 
 
 sandy- 
 
 minates 
 
 Heavy 
 
 ;lie soil, 
 
 retches 
 
 plain. 
 
 jrrecian 
 
 pillars 
 
 11. In 
 
 n. On 
 
 h cost 
 
 This is 
 
 verpool 
 
 houses 
 
 houses 
 
 being 
 
 overladen with arcades, pillars, and pilasters, the effect 
 produced on the beholder being an impression of crowd- 
 ing and heaviness. The inhabitants number 500,000, 
 and the port is the most frequented after that of 
 London. 
 
 Along the docks the cotton warehouses form a kind 
 of cyclopian, endless and monotonous rampart ; nearly 
 all the cotton of the world is housed here. But the 
 appearance of the docks themselves effaces every- 
 thing. The Mersey, as large as an arm of the sea, 
 stretches towards the west, carrying vessels away and 
 bearing them home. For a distance of six miles along 
 its bank these vessels pass through canals into basins 
 lined with stone, resembling watery streets and squares, 
 multiplied and ramified, wherein they are repaired or 
 discharge their cargoes. Their closely-packed masts 
 appear like a forest in winter, extending as far as the 
 eye can reach, and blocking up the entire horizon 
 towards the north. Yet the spacious and numerous 
 docks do not suffice to contain the multitude of ships ; 
 they a^e crowded together in rows and masses at the 
 entrances, awaiting their turn to pass in ; at Birken- 
 head, on the opposite bank, new docks are being built 
 for their accommodation. 
 
 I believe this spectacle to be one of the grandest in 
 the world. Some of the vessels are 3,500, others 4,000 
 tons burden. A steamer is upwards of ^00 feet in 
 length. A vessel at anchor, the Great Britain, is about 
 to carry 1,200 emigrants to Australia. If one descends 
 the dry docks to the keels of the ships, one perceives 
 that the hull is from forty to fifty feet in height. The 
 swelling and copper-sheathed sides have the fine curves 
 of a sea-bird about to slumber upon the waves. 
 
 The view from Birkenhead commands the harbour, 
 
282 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 and the vast reach of the river ; it is rather agi- 
 tated, and gleams with yellow lustre, amid a slight 
 haze. The steamboats ascend and descend, cross and 
 re-cross, with stiff mechanical movements, like black 
 crabs. Sailing ships, lightly heeling over, skim along 
 like beautiful swans. The George, a man-of-war carry- 
 ing 86 guns, arrives in lordly style, all the other.> 
 making way for her. On the other side the bound- 
 less row of masts and rigging lines the sky, while the 
 huge city is massed behind. 
 
 We visit several workshops, among others, the es- 
 tablishment of Messrs. Laird, the builders of iron ships. 
 It is said that within the last thirty years they have 
 built two hundred and fifty ; they employ fifteen hun- 
 dred workpeople, have gigantic furnaces and machines, 
 and have stocks, to which water is brought through 
 canals. At present the hull of a paddle steamer is on 
 the stocks, its length is 350 feet, and it is designed to 
 make the passage between England and Ireland at the 
 speed of twenty miles an hour. It will cost from 
 £80,000 to £100,000, will be completed in six months ; 
 the iron compartments which contain the eight boilers 
 are composed of metal beams as large as a man's body. 
 
 The same impression is always produced, that of 
 hugeness. Yet do labour and power suffice to render a 
 
 man happy ? M. B , a leading merchant, sits for 
 
 three hours after dinner with his guests drinking port 
 wine in silence. Another, whenever he can get away, 
 rushes off to his country seat to brace up his nerves ; 
 he is enthusiastic about breeding pigs. When man is 
 dissatisfied with his lot he seeks for compensation in 
 dream-land. I was shown a spot where four or five 
 preachers — Methodists for the most part — come to 
 address a crowd on Sunday in the open air ; the idea 
 
MANCHESTER AND LIVERPOOL. 
 
 283 
 
 
 of tlie Kingdom of God, of th'j loving Christ, of the 
 uU-powerful and tender friend, is one refuge for dis- 
 tressed minds. 
 
 Another refuge is intoxication. The authoress of a 
 " Life for a Life " writes : — '• This Liverpool is an 
 awful town for drinking. Other towns may be as bad ; 
 statistics prove it ; but I know no place where intoxi- 
 cation is so open and shameless. Not only in bye 
 streets and foul courts, where one expects to see it, 
 but everywhere. I never take a short railway journey 
 in the after part of the day but I am liable to meet at 
 least one drunken * gentleman ' snoozing in his first- 
 class carriage ; or, in the second class, t.v^o or three 
 drunken * men,' singing, swearing, or pushed stupidly 
 about by pale-faced wives. The sadness of the thing 
 is that the wives do not seem to mind it, that every-' 
 body takes it quite as a matter of course. The * gentle- 
 man,' often grey-haired, is but * merry,* as he is accus- 
 tomed to be every night of his life ; the poor man 
 has only * had a drop or two,' as all his comrades are in 
 the habit of taking whenever they get the chance ; 
 they see no disgrace in it, so they laugh at him a bit, 
 and humour him, and are quite ready to stand up for 
 him against all incomers who may object to such a 
 fellow-passenger. They don't ; nor do the w^omen 
 belonging to them, who are well-used to tolerate 
 drunken sweethearts, and lead about and pacify 
 drunken husbands." 
 
 It is now six o'clock, and we return through the 
 poorer quarter. What a sight ! In the vicinity of 
 Leeds Street there are fifteen or twenty streets across 
 which cords are stretched and covered with rags and 
 linen, hung up to dry. Bands of children swarm on 
 every flight of steps, five or six are clustered on eacli 
 
 .1 
 t 
 
m'l 
 
 1 1 
 
 284 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 1).! 
 
 step, the eldest holding the smallest ; their faces are 
 pule, their light hair in disorder, their elothes are in 
 tatters, they have neither shoes nor stockings, and they 
 are all shockingly dirty ; their laces and hands appear- 
 ing to bo encrusted with dust and soot. Perhaps two 
 hundred children romp and wallow in a single street. 
 On nearer approach one sees one of the mothers and a 
 grov7n-up sister, with little more covering than their 
 chemises, crouching in the dusky passage. What in- 
 teriors ! They contain a little piece of worn oil-cloth, 
 sometimes a shell ornament, one or two plaster orna- 
 ments ; in the one corner is seated the idiot grand- 
 mothei ; the wife is busied in mending the wretched 
 rags of clothing, the children push each other about. 
 The smell resembles that of an old rag- shop. The 
 ground-floor of nearly every dwelling is a flagged and 
 damp basement. Can one imagine what life in these 
 cellars must be during winter ? Some of the younger 
 children are still fresh and rosy, but their large blue eyes 
 are painful to behold ; their good blood will deter- 
 iorate ; as they grow older they will waste away, the 
 ilesh becoming flabby and of an unhealthy pallor ; many 
 of their faces are scrofulous, being marked with small 
 sores covered with plaister. As we proceed the crowd 
 is more dense. Tall youths seated or half-crouching 
 at the side of the pavement play with black cards. 
 Old, bearded hags come out of the gin-shops ; their 
 legs totter ; their dull looks and besotted smile are 
 indescribable : it appears as if their features had been 
 slowly eaten away by vitriol. The rags which* they 
 wear arc falling to pieces, displaying their filthy skins ; 
 these were once the fashionable dresses of fine ladies. 
 X shocking detail is that these streets are built with 
 regularity, and have a modern aspect ; probably this is a 
 
MANCHESTER AND LIVKRrOor. 
 
 2S5 
 
 
 qufirtor Tiiodcmisod and rendered more airy by a bene- 
 ficent municipality; such, then, is the best tliat can be 
 done for the poor. The imiforni row of buihlinn;s and 
 pavements borders the two sides of the way, inchwini^ 
 in its mathcmat'"al lines this teeming heap of horrors 
 and human wretchedness. The air is close and oppres- 
 sive, the light wan and dim ; there is not a tint of 
 a shape on which the eye can rest with pleasure ; 
 Rembrandt's beggars were far better off in tbeir pic- 
 turesque holes. And I have not yet seen the Irish 
 quarter! The Irish abound here; it is supposed tliev 
 number 100,000 ; their quarter is the lowest circle of 
 Ilell. Not so, however ; there is a still worse and 
 lower deep, particularly, I am informed, at Belfast, 
 in Ireland, where, in the evening, on leaving the 
 factories, girls without stockings, shoes, or shifts, in 
 their grey working-dress, loiter on the pavement to 
 add a few pence to their day's earnings. 
 
 11 
 
 18 a 
 
xxvir. 
 
 KNGI-TSTI WOKKIXO MEN. 
 
 
 
 J. 
 
 VFTER careful observation, it appears to me that the 
 types of workmen whicli are most prominent, and 
 round which the largest number of varieties may be 
 grouped, arc as follows : — 
 
 First, the athletic and well-fed type. The trunk is 
 square-set, the frame is huge, the breech enormous ; 
 porter is said to be the agent in thus developing their 
 muscles. These broad backs, brawny chests, massive 
 shoulders, constitute a superb spectacle. Some of the 
 men are giants of six feet and upwards. This type is 
 most frequently met with in the iron manufactories ; 
 a placid colossus may be there seen placing and turning 
 monster pieces in the forge. My friends tell me that 
 I shall meet with still finer specimens in Yorkshire. 
 
 Secondly, the phlegmatic ; this is found everywhere, 
 but chiefly in the cotton mills, and, in truth, nearly 
 all the faces blend into this type. The colour of those 
 belonging to it is pale, their eyes are dull, their ex- 
 pression is cold and fixed, their movements are correct, 
 regular, and under control ; they expend no more than 
 the minimum of exertion, and hence it is that they 
 are first-rate workers, being mere machines adapted 
 for guiding machinery. 
 
 5SA^SSSi^^«iW»i?ww--'- 
 
ENGLISH WORKIXG MEN. 
 
 »87 
 
 IS 
 
 that 
 
 French munufuclurcrs tell irc tlmt ill Franco n 
 workman is very diligent during the first hour, less 
 ao during the second, still less so during the third, and 
 80 on in diminishing ratio, till ho becomes good for 
 nothing during the last. Ilia muscular power gives 
 way, and his attention becomes relaxed. Here, on the 
 contrary, tho workman labours as well during tho last 
 as during tho first hour, besides, his working day is 
 but ten hours, whilo that of tho French workman is 
 twelve. As a consequence of his more uniform atten- 
 tion, an Englishman can accomplish more work. In 
 Shaw's mill, a man and two children arc able to 
 manage 2,400 spindles ; in Franco, two men and three 
 or four — sometimes more — children are required to 
 perform the samo task. IJy way of compensation, the 
 French workman is more neat-handed in some respects; 
 tho weavers of the Vosges, for example, produce stuffs 
 far neater and prettier than any produced in this 
 country. Tho difFercnco between tho two races is 
 always tho same. The Frenchman appreciates and 
 instinctively discovers harmony and el«\9;ance ; he has 
 a tasto for them. A Parisian ironmonger told me that, 
 after the conclusion of tho Treaty of Commerce, a 
 quantity of English tools, such as files, awls, and 
 planes, was imported into France. These tools were 
 of good quality, the handles were solid, the blades 
 excellent, their prices were moderate — nevertheless 
 they were unsaleable. The Parisian workman exa- 
 mined them, handled them, and ended by saying — 
 ** These don't please the eye ;" he never bought any. 
 An excellence always engenders a defect, and recipro- 
 cally. This delicacy of sense and these exigencies of 
 the imagination hinder the French workman from 
 being steady, persevering, unyielding, when the task 
 
288 
 
 AOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 i^. 
 
 t, 
 
 
 is monotonous ; ho doos not nnflcratnnd liow to tread 
 llio appointed round liko a cart-horso ; lie stops now 
 and then, p;ocs on tit redoubled paee, becomes sick of 
 bis work, is tempted to tryji new method, and to follow 
 ihe bent of his I'aney. 
 
 How do the l]n<^lish workmeTi live, and what are 
 their receipts and (»xj)enses ? On this head I poSvSesf; 
 n^cent statist leal works — amoni:!^ others the work oi' 
 !\[r. (■hadwiek, but more especially the information 
 j^iven to me by en«i^ineerinj^ and mfmufacturinp^ 
 friends. In iron man u factor i(\s, the j^ood workmen 
 earn from \\\\x. to tUl.v. weekly; the others from l'5.s'. to 
 206*. In eott(m mills a m.an earns from IH.s'. to 28.s'. a 
 week; a woman, a younj^ o-irl, or boy, fi'om Ts*. to 12.9. ; 
 thus, a wife and children help to swell the family 
 earnlnp^s. It is estimated that the avcraf^c wage in 
 Lancaf?hire is 2().s'. for an adult, and that ho can live 
 upon lOv. ; that if ho have a wife and four children, 
 he must expend f'M).s. ; and that in general his receipts 
 and his expenses exactly balance each other. He swimr, 
 on the top, and with difficulty; it is the skilled and 
 superior workman who can alone command his price. 
 The lot of the others is very hard when an accident, 
 an illness, or a suspension of business occurs. Five 
 causes of misery weigh upon them. 
 
 Firstly, as the climate is very bad, they are obliged 
 to expend much in coal, light, spirits, meat, and they 
 have to wash and cliango their clothes at short in- 
 tervals. In addition, workmen in general are thriftless, 
 and the English workman in particular. At Oldham he 
 takes four meals a day — tea, coffee, a bottle and a half 
 of ale, butter, cheese, and has meat three times. At 
 Manchester the working classes are notorious for 
 getting the first of the early vegetables. ►Secondly, 
 
ENGLISH WORKING MEN. 
 
 289 
 
 as 
 
 compi 
 
 ^tit, 
 
 vcrv severe, 
 
 caeh 
 
 bound to 
 
 and 
 ice. 
 
 'Tit, 
 
 ive 
 
 2;ed 
 ley 
 in- 
 less, 
 he 
 lalf 
 At 
 for 
 
 one 
 lauour 10 llio ulinost 01 iiiH Hireiigiu ; more exertion 
 is required here tlian elsewhere to keep one' lieud 
 above water ; at the sliglitest symptom of exhaustion 
 one sinks to tlie bottom, and the bottom is truly 
 terrible. Thirdly, they have elilldren in droves — 
 four, live, more frequently six and upwards. One of 
 my friends knows families in which there are fif'ttH^n 
 and eighteen. Count tlie cost of pregnancy, of the 
 confinement, of ^ho baby clothes, of the illnesses of 
 the children and of the mother ; besides, a child has 
 to bo maintained, and earns nothing up to tlie age of 
 ten years. If four survive out of the whole number, 
 it is imperative either that the industry of the country 
 should double itself every tliirty years, or that one- 
 half of the population should emigrate. Fourthly, 
 under the rule of the industrial system dull seasons 
 are inevitable. Sometimes you are deprived by a rival 
 nation of a market upon which you counted ; some- 
 times it is closed by scarcity, war, or the changes of 
 fashion. Add to this strikes, and hundreds of thou- 
 sands of working men turned into the streets without 
 work to do or food to eat. Fifthl)-, they arc prone to 
 drunkenness, and of all curses this is the most awful. 
 The climate disposes them to it, because it is really 
 needful for them to warm themselves, to cheer up, and 
 to enjoy themselves, forgetting for the moment the 
 gloom and strain of their lives. I have just read the 
 annual reports made by a clerg3''man to a charitable 
 society ; from this point of view they are tragical. 
 
 The effect of these causes combined is that few 
 workmen rise to be independent, becoming fundholders, 
 or small shopkeepers. A person who is in constant 
 association with them, and who has lived here for 
 
290 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 twenty-six years, calculates that the proportion of 
 these fortunate ones is five in every hundred, or one in 
 twenty. Most of the others die in hospitals, in work- 
 houses, or are maintained in their old age by their 
 children. As a rule, the industrial system deteriorates 
 a population ; the population of Manchester, for in- 
 stance, is more stunted than that of Oldham, a new 
 town. As the majority of English workmen is 
 engaged in manufactures, and as agriculture is hero 
 a manufacture also, it is necessary, if we would compare 
 the average of happiness in France with the average 
 of happiness in England, to contrast the life of an 
 English working man with that of a French peasant. 
 The latter is frugal, follows beaten paths, and moves 
 within a narrow sphere ; yet he is nearl} always the 
 possessor of a piece of land or on the way to acquire 
 it, that is to say, capital in a tangible shape, a secure 
 means of subsistence, which puts his mind at ease and 
 over which he gloats in imagination ; moreover, the 
 agricultural system and peasant culture are compatible 
 with the most natural and the least constrained form 
 of existence. By way of compensation, the English 
 workman, especially in the cities, possesses more ideas 
 and notions of all kinds, more intelligence in social, 
 political, and religious matters ; in short, his horizon 
 is more extended. He hears important interests dis- 
 cussed and the affairs of difierent countries ; he reads 
 the newspapers, and collects curiosities, llecently an 
 itinerant lecturer delivered two lectures on Macaulay 
 here, the price of admission was Is. Ot^/., and the hall 
 was filled with working men. In London gratuitous 
 and public lectures on the utility of geology had to be 
 established. There is another reason for development. 
 A working man who is a unit in a large organisation 
 
ENGLISH WORKING MEN. 
 
 291 
 
 on of 
 me in 
 work- 
 their 
 orates 
 or in- 
 a new 
 len is 
 3 hero 
 impare 
 verage 
 of an 
 easant. 
 moves 
 lys the 
 icquire 
 secure 
 ise and 
 Br, the 
 patible 
 i form 
 *]nglish 
 ideas 
 social, 
 orizon 
 ts dis" 
 e reads 
 tlv an 
 caulay 
 le hall 
 tuitous 
 to be 
 Ipracnt. 
 isation 
 
 feels how greatly he is dependent upon others, in con- 
 sequence of this he associates with his comrades, and 
 
 thus escapes from a life of isolation. A narrated 
 
 to mo the history of twenty-five working men who, 
 having each saved thirty pounds sterling, formed an 
 association some years ago in order to manufacture 
 engines. For several months they had no orders. 
 Taking counsel together they resolved to persevere and 
 reduce the outgoings of each to 3.s. 6^/. weekly — that 
 is to say, they fasted, they and their families. A cus- 
 tomer appeared, became interested in them, bought an 
 engine, and invitea the public to come and see it ; the 
 engine turned out very well, and their credit was thus 
 secured ; they prospered, and, after giving them com- 
 pensation, they expelled twelve of their number, who 
 were not industrious or skilful enough, reorganising their 
 society on a new basis. At first each one was manager 
 in turn ; now, the most capable is chosen to be the 
 permanent manager. He distributes several pounds 
 annually in dividends, but devotes the greater portion 
 of the profits to extend the business. The present 
 value of the business is from £5,000 to £6,000. The 
 labours of the manager are performed gratuitously, all 
 the members work with their hands or superintend 
 tho workshops ; not one dreams about retiring and 
 living in idleness on his gains. 
 
 Visiting Oldham, we found the working men keeping 
 holiday in honour of the society to which they belong. 
 They walked in procession, carrying flags — on one 
 flag, that of the brickmakers, were the portraits of the 
 founders ; in the centre was a luminous eye surrounded 
 with mottoes, to the effb'*-t that tLcy asked for justice, 
 and nothing but jr^tr', Tlie excitement was great; 
 women and children walked alongside, forming an 
 

 292 
 
 NOTES GN ENGLAND. 
 
 % 
 
 (i 
 
 escor*^^. The women were neither pale nor slim ; they 
 had fine plump naked arms, broad shoulders, ample 
 bosoms ; their trunks were badly set up, but their 
 frames were substantial ; even the slender ones had 
 powerful skeletons. They remained congregated out- 
 side the doors while their husbands feasted within. 
 
 Here, as in all the other manufacturing towns, the 
 aim of the society is to keep wages at a certain level, 
 and to increase them. All these societies are in corre- 
 spondence, and have their head-oflSce in London. When 
 one of them goes on strike its members arc maintained 
 out of the jcal funds, and by the central funds also, 
 should the central committee consider the object praise- 
 worthy. To meet these expenses each workman sub- 
 scribes a shilling weekly ; in addition he pledges him- 
 self not to work for less than a particular wage. As 
 compensation, during illness, or when work is slack, 
 he is paid so much a day out of the common fund. 
 Meetings are held once a week ; these meetings, as 
 well as the regulations, are kept secret. The presidents, 
 treasurers, and other officers, are elected ; their duties 
 are performed gratuitously ; each workman fills one of 
 the posts in turn. Thus constituted, these societies are 
 very powerful ; their capital amounts to seveial millions 
 of francs ; they have been able to continue strikes 
 for six months, and even for a year, sometimes with 
 success. Every woikman who leaves the union, or 
 refuses to join it, is regarded as a black sheep ; he is 
 sent to Coventry, no one speaks to him, no one answers 
 him, he is condemned to moral isolation. The result 
 of investigations recently made has been to show that 
 to these means of intimidation are added violence, 
 sometimes robbery, and even murder ; a secret com- 
 mittee, or kind of Vchm Gericht, pronounces and 
 
ENGLISH WORKING MEN. 
 
 293 
 
 1 ; they 
 , ample 
 Lt tlieir 
 aes had 
 ;ed out- 
 bin. 
 
 vns, the 
 n level, 
 n corre- 
 . When 
 intained 
 ids also, 
 t praise- 
 lan sub- 
 res him- 
 ,ge. As 
 LS slack, 
 )n fund, 
 jngs, as 
 esidents, 
 \y duties 
 s one of 
 eties are 
 millions 
 3 strikes 
 les with 
 nion, or 
 D ; he is 
 answers 
 ic result 
 low that 
 violence, 
 t-et corn- 
 ices and 
 
 executes the sentence. Associations of this kind 
 naturally lead to the establishment of a dictatorship. 
 It is noteworthy that these societies do not lose sight 
 of their special object. They have no other aim than 
 the increase of wages, they never think of attacking 
 the Government, as thev would assuredlv do in France, 
 They are not political ; they are not even social ; they 
 entertain no Utopian schemes, never dream about re- 
 constituting society, suppressing interest, abolishing 
 inheritance, equalising incomes, making the State a 
 joint-stock company, in which every individual is a 
 shareholder. Manufacturers tell me here that in this 
 country there is nothing of that sort : " Our working 
 men do not generalise Tike yours; besides, they have a 
 smattering of political economy ; above all, they have 
 too much common sense to pursue chimeras. A strike 
 is what we have to fear, and not a socialistic move- 
 ment." I have just read a very fine novel written by 
 a person who lived here, and who was an acute observer, 
 "North and South," by the late Mrs. Gaskell, in 
 which the character of a working man is depicted and 
 the history of a strike is narrated. If the portrait is 
 as faithful as I believe it to be, then the men of that 
 class are possessed of a large store of reason and fair- 
 ness. They are perpetually at variance with the 
 masters, but the struggle is restricted to the question 
 of supply and demand. In this enclosed field each one 
 is armed with the same weapon, the refusal to give or 
 undertake employment, a refusal as hurtful to the one 
 as to the other. Each one persists in his refusal in 
 proportion to his courage and strength, the work- 
 ing man fasting and the master being ruined ; 
 th IS the struggle is at once fair and lawful. While 
 awaiting the result the law is respected, and there is 
 
r ^ 
 
 m> 
 
 294 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 no resort to force ; opinion is a neutral power which 
 the working man must gain to his side by dis- 
 
 playing wisdom and patience, 
 advice with rejrard to strikes. B- 
 
 Such is lligden's 
 tells me that 
 
 he is acquainted with many working men who follow 
 this lino of conduct. They admit that a dispute 
 between master and workman is a matter of private 
 concern ; society may remain apart ; in any case, sociv^ty 
 has the right not to be disturbed by the strife, while 
 master and workman have both their rights, the one to 
 dispute about his price, the other to defend his interests 
 in his own fashion. B engaged a skilled work- 
 man at high wages for his manufactory in France, but 
 did so subject to the condition that his waf^es would 
 be diminished by one-half should he mention their 
 amount to his new comrades. ** I understand, sir," 
 the workman replied, " it is proper that the masters 
 should make their own bargains." According to 
 
 B , a French working man would not be able to 
 
 forget himself in this way, and consider the matter 
 coolly and abstractedly. Transported into an out-of- 
 the-way village, this man has worked very hard ; his 
 life is not lively, he does not know a word of French, 
 and is unable to converse with his fellows. But he 
 has his little son, with whom he diverts himself greatly. 
 
 B sends him an English newspaper three times a 
 
 week, and exchanges a few words with him when 
 inspecting the manufactory. These things suffice for 
 him ; he has lived more than a year in this way, silent 
 and respected. 
 
 Nevertheless the situation has had its effect, and it 
 cannot be denied that the workman regards his master 
 as his natural enemy. The masters make very great 
 and very praiseworthy efforts with a view to lessen this 
 
ENGLISH WORKING MEN. 
 
 195 
 
 which 
 y dis- 
 igden's 
 le that 
 follow 
 dispute 
 private 
 society 
 5, while 
 J one to 
 aterests 
 [ work- 
 ice, but 
 } would 
 >n their 
 d, sir," 
 masters 
 ling to 
 able to 
 matter 
 out-of- 
 rd; his 
 French, 
 But he 
 greatly, 
 times a 
 m when 
 ffice for 
 y, silent 
 
 j> 
 
 t, and it 
 8 master 
 ry great 
 ssen this 
 
 feeling of hostility. They found or become trustees of 
 savings-banks and of penny banks, in which the work- 
 man may deposit his smallest saving. They build and 
 let houses to them on a system which, tlirough the 
 operation of a sinking fund, enables the workmen to 
 become owners of them after the lapse of a certain 
 number of years. They establish rugg'>d schools and 
 mechanics' institutes. When the Queen paid a visit 
 to Manchester, sixty thousand Sunday-school children 
 were ranged before her, and sang ** God save the 
 Queen." 
 
 The masters are obliged to send to school for two 
 hours daily all the children from twelve to fifteen 
 years of age who work in their factories. The prin- 
 ciple involved is at once a question of interest and 
 philanthropy ; all these institutions are designed to 
 diminish improvidence, which is said to be the capital 
 vice of the English working man. Here the animal 
 nature is too strong ; the reasonable and reasoning 
 faculty can with difficulty come to the surface. Its 
 flame is smothered beneath the thick and heavy smoke 
 of the instincts, nor does it flash forth spontaneously, 
 keenly, lightly, as in the Southern races. It must be 
 fanned, fed with suitable material, before it waxes 
 strong enough to vanquish the gross matter which 
 obscures it. When this occurs it is all-powerful ; but 
 nowhere is the civilisation of the human being a matter 
 more urgent and indispensable. 
 
 We visited several establishments for instruction 
 and public recreation. We went first to Peel's Park, 
 a sort of large English garden, situated in the heart of 
 the city, where the poor may seat themselves amid 
 trees and flowers. It was founded by means of a 
 private subscription amounting to £35,000, and in- 
 
 '■m\ 
 
I 
 
 296 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 eludes in addition a museum and a library. The 
 museum contains a gallery of first-rate paintings and 
 drawings, which, the owners have lent for six months ; 
 a room of natural history, containing collections of 
 birds, serpents, butterflies, &c. ; a room filled with old 
 or foreign fabrics ; a room filled with industrial pro- 
 ducts, such as cotton, hemp, madder — in short, an 
 array of objects to instruct the mind and please the 
 •^ e. Our guide, who was a leading merchant, said to 
 ui?, : ' A.11 these things address the senses, and do so in 
 an inter-' Ling manner ; they all attract the working 
 men, and impart ideas to them ; it is indeed necessary 
 that they should have something to distract their 
 thoughts ; moreover, every hour spenf here is so much 
 time abstracted from the public-house.'* Ho called 
 our attention to the fact that there were no keepers in 
 the rooms, they being under the protection of public 
 honesty and good sense ; not a single article has been 
 stolen, injured, or even handled, and the average num- 
 ber of daily visitors is 2,550. 
 
 Thence we proceeded to the free library, also esta- 
 blished by private subscription, and chiefly used 
 by working men. It contains 25,000 volumes. Tho 
 librarian said that there are 10,000 readers a month ; 
 newspapers are to be found there also. Whoever is 
 introduced by two respectable persons may borrow 
 books ; from 1,200 to 1,400 persons are regular bor- 
 rowers. I learn from the register that the lives of 
 Nelson and Wellington are chiefly in request, and that 
 even theological works find readers. According to our 
 guide, many of these working men are well informed, 
 and make collections ; one was mentioned who knew 
 the names and appearance of 900 species of beetles. 
 Natural history and the natural sciences in general are 
 
ENGLISH WORKING MEN, 
 
 num- 
 
 
 297 
 
 greatly to their liking ; they are fond of facts, and of 
 proofs established by experiment, and are often led far 
 beyond the IJiblo to the very depths of Positi ' in ; the 
 Secularists get many recruits from among t^cir num- 
 ber. On the other hand, they read treatises on political 
 economy, and newspapers ; now English newspapers, 
 even those of a smuU town, are instructive, filled with 
 correspondence, with circumstantial and accurate in- 
 formation. It seems to me that one of these working 
 men, who does not drink, and who reads for an hour a 
 day, must have a well-fiU 1 and healthy head. 
 
 Another institution, the \- chanics' Institute, is also 
 founded and maintainea by subscription. It has six 
 hundred pupils, both girls and boys, above the age of 
 ten years. There are two sorts of classes : in the one, 
 French, Gerraaii, draA ng, music, and mathematics are 
 taught to pupils who pay a small fee, and who are 
 generally tradesmen's children. The other classes are 
 free ; reading, writing, lineal drawing, and arithmetic 
 are taught. Many factory boys and girls, in ragged 
 clothes, attend them, being sent by their employers. The 
 principal object of the instruction given is to impart a 
 knowledge of lineal drawing and of mathematics ; in 
 the upper class, where the pupils are from thirteen to 
 sixteen years of age, the sixth book of Euclid is 
 taught ; it is necessary that they should understand 
 their machines. Generally, the master appoints one of 
 his class to act as monitor. There is a library adjoin- 
 ing, containing a thousand volumes, and a room con- 
 taining newspapers and reviews, which the pupils are 
 allowed to read. At present there is one or more of 
 these schools, specially adapted for the working class, 
 in all the manufacturing towns, and the good results 
 yielded by them are highly spoken of. The funda- 
 
 . 1 
 
 i 
 
 % 
 
 
i' 
 
 21)8 
 
 NOTHs OX i':N(irAxn. 
 
 monlal nwixim on wliidi \\\vy Imvo a('t<»(l in, lluit iinloHS 
 li nation lu> oduniled it will IxTonio un;j^()V('niMl>l(\ 
 llcli^ion uidH tluMU in lliis undorlakin^ ; u ProloHtiint 
 niiiHt Irurn to ivad Imh Uihle. Many hcIiooIs wvo ut- 
 
 « 
 
 tuchod to tho churcluvs, nioro 0H]HTinlIy to DisHcntitiji^ 
 u ironenil lulo tho church onircndci'H the 
 
 118 
 
 chapch 
 8chool. 
 
 1 infinilcly adnurc tlio spirit of all thoH(^ institutions, 
 tho pMKrous initiative and sensible conduct of tlic 
 ])rivate individuals who freely, and at their own cost, 
 bestow a bem^iit on the ])ublic at hirp^(\ und enj^age in 
 aHairs of IState without State aid. Here largo sums 
 are usefully bestowed. To act by onescdf, with purso 
 or otherwise, to give the impetus and not wait till it 
 has been given, is (]uito natural to them. Many bur- 
 dt^ns to which we submit they would <leem insupport- 
 able ; they have a horror of anything savouring of 
 chissitication and the barrack. For instance, there are 
 no compartments wherein passengers are herded to- 
 gether at the railway stations; th'^v wait for tho train 
 on the plat term. Luggage is not registered ; each one 
 puts his luggage where he pleases, and finds it again if 
 he can. Yesterday an omnibus was turned from its 
 regular line of route into a side street to oblige two 
 ladies who had obtained the consent of the passengers. 
 Moreover, as it rained, the conductor permitted three 
 persons in excess of the number to stand inside. Last 
 Sunday, in a square, a poor fanatical wretch, a sort of 
 bearded Ihmyan, with an old hat and shabby surtout, 
 mounted a post, tho New Testament in his hand, and 
 began to lecture : — " You see that the Apostles did not 
 venture to bury our Lord, it was Nicodemus, a rich 
 man and a gentleman, who did it, and this was neces- 
 sary in order that the prophecy of St. John might be 
 
KNCI.ISII WORKING Ml IN. 
 
 299 
 
 iiu 
 
 fulfilled." Tli(T<Mi|)(m ]i« roiul \\\v projjiiccy. " Tlicn 
 you ()u;^Iit not to tru" . tnulilion, \)\\\, Iwllc^vo in \\\v 
 Scn'ptunsH." IIo (Ui.lt'd by <»ncrin«^ u[) a prayer in a 
 coiitriio i()ii(% his oycvs ttirnrd to licavitn. IIi'h aiidic^iicc 
 numbered about tliirty ; Hovcnil boyH played f riciItH and 
 tliHiW liiH liut down, l)ut liv(5 or nix per.sonM wilh Hteru 
 or wanted countenanecjH liHiciiied to biin witli utttintion. 
 Ono of Iho liearorH said to nio tbat it wan wroii'' lo 
 torment tbo mnn, tbat \m n(!itb(!r oHl'iKbul nor in.sulted 
 uny one, tljut lio bad tlio rij^bt to Hpeak as lii.s (;on- 
 Hciouco dietated. For my own part, wbat Htruck nui 
 waa Im'h HorionHneHS and biw courage; lie waH unmoved 
 by ridicule; bo W(;nt forward; bavinj:^ Homotliin^ to 
 say, bo uttered it, and cared notbin^ for wliat 
 Hii^bt bappon. Sclf-lndp i'h always tbo wutcliword, 
 and is one b'tfb) understood in Franco; from tb<5 
 samo interior Kourcn issue fortb tbo Hocicti(!S, the 
 institutions wliicb abound l)ero, amon^ otbers tbe 
 municipal institutions ; Maneli(!stor administers her 
 own alfairs, pays and appoints bor police;, governs ber- 
 self almost witbout tbe intervention of tbc; Govern- 
 ment. Consecjuently tbo social edifice rests upon 
 thousands of independcmt columns, and not like ours, 
 upon a single one ; accidents, catastrophes, like our 
 revolutions of 1830, of 1818, of 1852, are impossible 
 hero. 
 
 rich 
 
il i 
 
 xxviir. 
 
 
 SCENKS IN MANCIIESTKR. 
 
 /^UR friond, tlio merchant, took us to a liirp^e work- 
 ^ houso outsido tho city. Tlicro is another in the 
 city containinp^ 1,200 paupers; this one, however, can 
 accommodate 1,000, but at present it contains 350 only. 
 It cost £75,000 ; tho annual expenses of the two 
 amount to £55,000 raised by tlio poor-rate ; the 
 master's salary is £200, tho doctor's £170. Each 
 superintendent receives £20, exclusive of board, lodf^- 
 ing, and washing ; a master shoemaker receives £1 
 a week for teaching his trade. The guardians give 
 their services gratuitously. The building is spacious, 
 perfectly clean, well kept ; it has largo courts, gardens 
 are attached to it, looks upon fields and stately trees ; 
 it has a chapel, and rooms of which the ceilings are 
 twenty feet high. It is evident that the founders and 
 managers had made it a matter of conscience to pro- 
 duce a work which should be beautiful, correct, and 
 useful. There is no smell anywhere ; the beds are 
 almost white, and are furnished with figured coverlets ; 
 the most aged and feeble women have while caps and 
 new clothes. Everything has been considered and 
 arranged to maintain a pleasing effect. One room is 
 set apart for the lunatics, another for the female idiots ; 
 
 
SCKNF.S IN MANCHESTER, 
 
 30' 
 
 the Irtttor do iKMullo work for roiiki hoiirH daily ; durni;; 
 the poriod of nicioutioii thry diinco toj^titlior to the 
 HouiidH of u fiddle. Thoy inuko s(niii;^o ^riiiiiKJOM, yet 
 they uil seem healthy and not at all Had. \n another 
 room the ehildren are tuiij^ht their leM.sons, uwv of th(5 
 ehler ehildren aetinf^ as monitor. The kitchen is 
 monnmental. Kij^ht or ten eauldrons aro Het in solid 
 masonry, some to cook the oatmeal p^rinil, which is \\\v. 
 principal article of I'ood. The daily ration of each 
 inmate consists of two jmunds of this oatmeal and a 
 pound and a half of potatoes ; four times a week th(; 
 allowance is increjised by four ounces of pio or of meat 
 without bone. The drink is water, except durin*^ ill- 
 ness. AV^o were astounded; tliis was a palace compared 
 with the kennels in which the poor dwell. One of us 
 seriously asked our friend to reserve a place for him 
 here during his old a«i;o. llecoUect that a ^Mancdiester 
 or Liverpool labourer can scarcely j)rocure meat once 
 a week by work in «^ ten hours a day! Jlere an able- 
 bodied pauper works about six hours, has newspapers, 
 the IJible, and some j^ood books and reviews to read, 
 lives in a wholesome air, and enjoys the sight of trees. 
 Nevertheless there is not an able-bodied inmate of this 
 workhouse at this moment ; it ia almost empty, and 
 will not bo filled till the winter. When a working 
 man out of employment applies for help to the authori- 
 ties ho is commonly told, " Sliow us that you wish to 
 work by entering the workhouse." Nine out of ten 
 decline. Whence this dislike r' To-day at a street- 
 corner I saw an old woman groping with her skinny 
 hands in a heap of rubbish, and pulling out scraps of 
 vegetables ; probably she would not gi up her drop 
 of spirits. But what of the others? .^ am informed 
 that they prefer their home and their freedom at any 
 
 
 I Hi 
 
 Mi i 
 
h 
 
 302 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 % 
 
 PI 
 
 ^■B ( 
 
 SI 
 
 pj 
 
 kI 
 
 H 
 
 hI 
 
 H 
 
 mm 
 
 V 
 
 Wm 
 
 B 
 
 
 1 
 
 price, that they cannot bear being shut up and sub- 
 jected to discipline. They prefer to be free and to 
 starve. But the children, these little ones, with their 
 white skulls sprinkled with flaxen hair, crowded in a 
 room uround a pale mother ; how is their father able to 
 witness such a spectacle? lie does support the sight ; 
 he will not separate himself from those of his house- 
 hold, abandon his position as head of the family, and 
 be cabined alone in a compartment ; he thinks that, if 
 he submitted to this, he would cease to be a man. The 
 workhouse is regarded as r prison ; the poor consider 
 it a point of honour not to ^o there. Perhaps it must 
 be admitted that the system of administration is fool- 
 ishly despotic and worrying, that is the fault of every 
 administrative system ; the human being becomes a 
 machine ; he is treated as if he were devoid of feeling, 
 and insulted quite unconsciously. In " Our Mutual 
 Friend," Dickens has depicted the distaste for the 
 workhouse while siding with the poor. 
 
 I spent the evening at BcUevue to see the popular 
 amusements. This is a sort of dancing hall, surrounded 
 by a garden, in which there are shows, curiosities, 
 trumpery works of art. The siege of Badajoz was 
 represented on a stage ornamented with the portrait 
 of AVellington, and this patriotic performance was 
 greeted with loud applause. Shortly afterwards there 
 were fireworks. In the gardens bands of working men 
 and small shopkeepers ate and drank, and played at 
 kiss-in-the-ring. Inside, in a spacious room, working 
 men danced with great energy and vigour, but without 
 indecency, and thus compensated thenisolves for the 
 deprivation of exercise during the week. J\Jany have 
 a rough and surly air ; not one of them has an air of 
 roguery and swagger. The athlete, the relation of tho 
 
8ub- 
 nd to 
 
 their 
 
 in a 
 bie to 
 iight ; 
 louse- 
 y^, and 
 hat, if 
 . The 
 nsider 
 t must 
 s fool- 
 
 every 
 imes a 
 eeling, 
 Vlutual 
 or the 
 
 opular 
 mnded 
 osities, 
 was 
 ortrait 
 was 
 there 
 
 SCENES IN MANCHESTER. 
 
 i^'i 
 
 \Q 
 
 jj men 
 yed at 
 Diking 
 {hout 
 or the 
 have 
 air of 
 of the 
 
 bull and the watch-dog, always appears instead of the 
 witty rascal, the relation of the spaniel and the mon- 
 key. The price of admission is a shilling ; the ball costs 
 sixpence extra. As liellcvuo is some little way off, 
 being at the extremity of a quarter of the city, the 
 expense of transport must be added ; indeed there were 
 plenty of omnibuses and cabs at the gate, llcckon also 
 the refreshments, and remember that, as the workman 
 generally brings his sweetheart with him, he must pay 
 for two. Now, a spinner's wage is about 2fis. weekly. 
 
 Such is a specimen of English extravagance. B 
 
 savs that a workman who earns 5s. a dav often spends 
 4s. on food and drink. Some of the men filling sub- 
 ordinate posts in the iron factories can make as much 
 in good years as £150, £200, and even £300. They 
 expend the whole, and put nothing in the savings- 
 bank. B maintains that an Englisli workman 
 
 who is industrious and thrifty, is certain, unless hin- 
 dered by accident or illness, to prosper, or at least to 
 gain a livelihood. But the people are not thrifty. 
 
 From ten o'clock till midnight two policemen, whom 
 our friends introduced to us, led us through the dis- 
 reputable quarters. There are six hundred policemen 
 in Manchester, and each gets about 1/. weekly. Those 
 who went with us were detectives. One of them had 
 been twenty-six years in Manchester: the other had 
 been employed in several largo towns. Both were 
 serious, sensible, prudent men ; they made no parade 
 of their talents, they spoke but little, and their answers 
 were to the point. With their impassive countenance 
 and their meditative expression, they ins])ired con- 
 fidence and had an air of dignity. They corroborated 
 what wo had heard about the aversion of the poor for 
 the workhouse ; in their opinion the workhouse itself 
 
V' 
 
 ,§■:■ 
 
 21 
 
 
 ^^Hl 
 
 'iK- 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 li 
 
 304 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 was good for nothing, and merely encouraged idleness. 
 A family and three children can live upon '60s. a week ; 
 and they make this amount. But most of the men 
 marry young, often at eighteen ; at thirty they have 
 six children ; they drink much and save nothing ; 
 the wife becomes a bud housekeeper in becoming a 
 good factory hand. As a rule, when a workman dies 
 he does not leave enough to pay for his funeral. 
 
 We inspected the night lodging-houses, where, in a 
 low and un ventilated room, four to five hundred beds 
 were occupied. A whole bed costs fivcpence, the half 
 twopence-hulfi)cnny. A husband and wife were in one 
 of the beds. The man's face was thin and pitiful — 
 pallid, sallow, and sunken, as if by illness ; it had the 
 look of an old mask in wax. In a casino we found 
 five hundred persons, poverty-stricken in appearance, 
 crowded on greasy seats in front of a platform whereon 
 danced two slender girls in pink gauze. Twopence is 
 the price of admission ; the company drank gin and 
 smoked ; the atmosphere, loaded with human ex- 
 halations, was suffocating. AYe entered a house of 
 ill-fame. The policeman told us that its inmates are 
 chiefly recruited from the factories. They were col- 
 lected in a low room, and were decently clad ; many 
 were thin, and their vulgar faces had a savage cast. 
 Close to an oily mulatto woman, the pretly form of a 
 young, delicate, and intelligent girl was pensively 
 seated before a blazing fire. The season was July, 
 yet a fire in the evenings is necessary. It was the 
 same in the thieves' kitchen. We visited twenty or 
 thirty of these haunts. A huge mass of coal was 
 burning for cooking purposes and for drying clothes. 
 The men smoked and played dominoes, and, without 
 uttering a word, they gazed upon us with their fixed 
 
SCENES IN MANCHESTER. 
 
 30$ 
 
 llencss. 
 I week ; 
 le men 
 iy have 
 )thing ; 
 ming a 
 an dies 
 
 jre, in a 
 ed beds 
 tlic hair 
 in one 
 itii'ul— 
 had the 
 e found 
 earance, 
 whereon 
 pence is 
 gin and 
 nan ex- 
 bouse of 
 lates arc 
 ere col- 
 ; many 
 o-e cast. 
 )rin of a 
 )ensivelv 
 IS July, 
 was the 
 venty or 
 oal was 
 clothes, 
 without 
 leir fixed 
 
 and gleaming wild-animal looking eyes. The eflfect of 
 the flaring gaslight on these countenances was horrible. 
 I have seen similar quarters and similar dens in Paris, 
 Bordeaux, and Marseilles, but nowhere has the im- 
 pression made been as strong. It resembles that pro- 
 duced by a nightmare or one of Edgar Poe's tales. 
 The gaslight does not wholly illumine the darkness of 
 the heavy, choking air, impregnated with unknown 
 exhalations; nothing is more startling than this black- 
 ness dotted with flickering lights. The symmet- 
 rical streets resemble the skeletons of streets me- 
 chanically ranged in motionless rows. Unfortunates 
 wearing soiled bonnets drag along their frippery and 
 their smiles ; as they pass, one feels inclined to start 
 back as at the approach of a spectre or of a troubled 
 spirit. Every ten minutes we enter a different den ; 
 on our exit, the low room, blazing fire, flaring gas, the 
 filthy band of haggard, beseeching, or dangerous faces, 
 made us think about a vent-hole of Hell. Certainly the 
 horrible and the unclean are worse here than else- 
 where. 
 
 il 
 
XXIX. 
 
 I i 
 
 m I 
 
 (HAKVl IKIUSTICS OF TIIK r.NfilJSH ^IINP. 
 
 TT siHMMs to mo thai T ho^^In tn undoratand llio form 
 of the ICni>li.sli mind, so dilfrront from that of tbo 
 Kroncli mind. \\'hon 1 icv\ a notion of fluit sort 
 dawninj^ upon mo I im])art it to two or three Mnj^lisli 
 IVicMids wlio liavo travelled; I Hubmit it to tlicir judj:;- 
 ment, wo <liiK'uas it t()«;ellier ; at tlie close of the 
 discussion tlie notion is et>rrefttd or devidoptul, and 
 siicli as it is I eommit it to writing on the following 
 day. 
 
 The interior of an Kn<>lis]i head may not unaptly 
 be likened to r of jMurray'a " lltmd-books," which 
 contains mair acts and few ideas ; a (]uantity 
 of useful and pre(Mse information, short statistical 
 abrid«j;ments, numerous iigures, correct and detailed 
 m!i])s, brief and dry historical notices, moral and 
 prt)litable counsels in tlie guise of a preface, no view 
 of the subject as a whol(\ none of the literary p^raecs, 
 a simple collection of well-authenticated documents, a 
 convenient memorandum for personal ji^uidanco durinji; 
 a journey. A Frenclunan requires that everythin<i; 
 and every piece of writing? shoidd be cast in a pleasin<2^ 
 forr>; an Knglishman is satisfied if the substance bo 
 useful. A Frenchman loves ideas in and for them- 
 
 J 
 
r. 
 
 77//; j:xrrrjsif mixo. 
 
 ■ t 
 
 ho form 
 ,t of tho 
 hut sort 
 
 Kn«!;lish 
 3ir jiul}Jj- 
 of the 
 ptul, uiul 
 
 bUowing 
 
 unnptly 
 ^," whit'h 
 
 quantity 
 statist icjil 
 (U^taikMl 
 loral and 
 no viow 
 ly pjraccs, 
 nnonts, a. 
 during 
 icrything 
 pU\asing 
 It unco bo 
 Ir them- 
 
 Hclvofl; m\ FiHglishTnan eniphjys thoin aa insirr^i nf^ 
 of iniu'iuonicH or of p' ovision. I an\ about to ei* - two 
 Hmall facts whioli will 8orv« as Hpeciriicns. Step i tik( r, 
 iho groat engineer, was asked how ho had in.eriled 
 his nuK^hincs, and tho locomotive among olhcrs. lie 
 replied that H was duo to a power of imagining and 
 conceiving with tho utmost precision the dilferent 
 parts, their forms, sizes, and connections, tlieir possible 
 movements, and tho entire series of changes which the 
 alteration of a part, u size, or of a connection would 
 introduce into their combined working. Thus his 
 mind resembled a worksliop, in which all the articles 
 were numbered and (rhissified ; ho took them in turn, 
 arranged them, mentally set them going, and, by dint 
 of trying, he hit upon tho practical combination. As 
 a contrast, ]jeon Foucault tohl mo that, having one day 
 discovered a proposition of speculative mechanics ndiich 
 Iluyghcns and Lagrange hud overlooked, he w(/;ked 
 it out to its linal consequences, and thes'^ led him to 
 the idea of his governor. In general t» /'Vctk I man 
 'arrives at tho comprehension of a thing ' v mci.ns of 
 classiiicutions and by tho deductive metho i, wliile the 
 Englishman does so by induction, by dial of I'oncen- 
 tration and reniembrancc, tlianks to the ckiir and 
 persistent representation of a quantity of separa^;; facts, 
 by tho indeiinite accumulation of documents, either 
 isolated or placed in juxtaposition. 
 
 ]5earing upon this point is a letter in Curlyle's 
 " Life of John Sterling," with which I have always 
 been struck. Sterling was at the Island of St. Vincent, 
 in tho West Indies, wliDn he wrote it. A hurricane 
 had devastated the island ; he and his wife, who was 
 pregnant, had a narrow o^capc. ilc relates to his 
 mother the story of what occurred. Note that the 
 
J « t jf . ■ - * !^ '* " 
 
 
 '^^sflB 
 
 I 
 
 s 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 H 
 
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 '^M 
 
 
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 i 
 
 iIb 
 
 ! 1 
 1 1 
 
 308 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 narrator is a man of letters, and a poet, that he has 
 received a thorough education, and is a master of his 
 native tongue. Yet in this case, as in all similar cases, 
 the first care of an Englishman is to transmit to 
 another a true, an exact, and a graphic account. His 
 description is a pure statement of facts : — " My dear 
 Mother, .... Nearly all the property, both of Susan 
 and myself — the very house we lived in — was suddenly 
 destroyed by a visitation of Providence far more ter- 
 rible than any I have ever witnessed. When Susan 
 came from her room to breakfast, at eight o'clock, I 
 jDointcd out to her the extraordinary height and 
 violence of the surf, and the singular appearance of 
 the clouds of heavy rain sweeping down the valleys 
 
 before us A very few minutes after the closing 
 
 of the windows I found that the shutters of Tyrrell's 
 room, at the south and commonly the most sheltered 
 end of the he .e, were giving way. I tried to tie 
 them, and I found in pushing at the leaf of the 
 shutter that the wind resisted more as if it had been a 
 stouc wall or a mass of iron than a mere current of air. 
 The rain on my face and hands felt like so much small 
 shot from a gun. There was great exertion necessary 
 to shut the door of the house. About nine o'clock the 
 panes of glass were smashed by the mere force of the 
 
 gale, without anything having touched them 
 
 The front windows wore giving way with successive 
 crushes, and the floor shook as you may have seen a 
 c'lrpet on a gusty day in London. I went into our 
 bedroom, where I found Susan, Tyrrell, and a little 
 coloured girl of seven or eight years old ; and I told 
 them that we should probably not be alive in half im 
 hour. The house was under two pandlol roofs ; and 
 the one next the sea, which sheltered the other, and 
 
THE ENGLISH MIND, 
 
 309 
 
 lie baa 
 ir of his 
 ar cases, 
 isinit to 
 nt. His 
 My dear 
 of Susan 
 suddenly 
 nore tcr- 
 3n Susan 
 3'clock, I 
 iglit and 
 irance of 
 e valleys 
 le closing 
 Tyrrell's 
 sheltered 
 ed to tie 
 if of tlie 
 id been a 
 3nt of air. 
 ich small 
 necessary 
 clock the 
 ce of the 
 in. • • • • 
 successive 
 jQ, seen a 
 into our 
 Id a little 
 lid I told 
 half un 
 hofs ; and 
 ithor, and 
 
 us who were under the other, went off, I suppose about 
 ton o'clock. After my old plan, I will give you a 
 sketch, from which you may perceive how we were 
 situated.'* And, in fact, he draws a plan, or rather 
 two geometrical plans, with letters and indications. 
 ** In plan No. 1, « r/ are the windows that were first 
 destroyed ; h went next ; my books were between the 
 windows h and on the wall opposite to them. The lines 
 c and d mark the directions of the two roofs ; c is the 
 room in which we were, and 2 is a plan of it on a 
 larger scale. Look now at 2 : ff is the bed ; c c the 
 two wardrobes ; h the corner in which we were. I 
 was sitting in an arm-chair, holding my wife ; and 
 Tyrrell and the little black child were close to us. We 
 had given up all notion of surviving, and only waited 
 the fall of the roof to perish together. Before long 
 the roof went. Most of the materials, however, were 
 carried clear away ; one of the large couples was 
 caught on the bed-post marked dy and held fast by the 
 iron spike, while the end of it hung over our heads ; 
 had the beam fallen an inch on either side of the bed- 
 post it must necessarily have crushed us. The walls 
 did not go with the roof; and we remained for half an 
 hour, alternately praying to God, and watching thera 
 as they bent, creaked, and shivered before the storm. 
 .... The old cook made five attempts to get to us, 
 and four times he was blowL down. The fifth time ho, 
 and the negro we first saw, reached the house. The 
 space they had to traverse was not above twenty yards 
 of level ground, if so much.'* The style continues to 
 be the same to the end, correct, plain, and, in appear- 
 ance, cold. It is the method of Defoe and of Swift ; 
 nothing ca.n be less literary or more instructive. 
 
 The impression produced is the same if we consider 
 
t: 
 
 1 
 
 ^1 
 
 Vi 
 
 \ ' 
 
 310 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 in turn the journals, the reviews, and the oratory of 
 the two nations. The special corresponclent of an 
 English journal is a sort of photograj)lier who for- 
 wards proofs taken on the spot ; these are published 
 untouched. Sometimes, indeed, there are discrepancies 
 between the arguments in the leading articles and the 
 fitatements in the letter. The latter are always ex- 
 tremely lengthy and detailed ; a Frenchman would 
 abridge and lighten them ; they leave on him a feeling 
 of weariness ; the whole is a jumble ; it is a badly- 
 hewn and unwieldy block. The editor of a French 
 journal is bound to help his correspondent, to select 
 from his miuerials what is essential, to pick out from 
 the heap the three or four notable anecdotes, and to 
 sum up the whole in a clear idea, embodied in a telling 
 phrase. Nor is the dill'eronce less perceptible if their 
 great quarterlies and our reviews are contrasted. An 
 article in ours, even an article on science or political 
 economy, must possess an exordium, a peroration, a 
 plan. Every one in the liovue den Deux Mondes com- 
 mences with an exposition of general ideas. With 
 them facts, figures, and technical details predominate ; 
 their articles are exceedingly heavy, excepting in the 
 hands of a Macaulay ; they are excellent quarries filled 
 with solid but unsliapen stones, requiring additional 
 workmanship in order to fit them for general use. 
 Moreover, in Parliament and public mectin<]:s, English 
 eloquence is hampered by documents, while French 
 eloquence evaporates in theories. 
 
 English education tends to produce this result. 
 
 In the principal school in London B had as 
 
 a friend a very distinguished young man who had 
 taken the second place in mathematics, the first in 
 literature, who was thoroughly versed in Latin 
 
itory of 
 i of an 
 ho for- 
 iblisbed 
 jpancics 
 and the 
 ays ex* 
 L would 
 I fecHnj> 
 badly - 
 
 Fnmch 
 ;o select 
 lut from 
 , and to 
 a tellinj* 
 
 if their 
 pd. An 
 
 political 
 •ation, a 
 
 lc'8 com- 
 With 
 
 minate ; 
 in the 
 
 les filled 
 
 Iditional 
 
 ^rul use. 
 Knglish 
 French 
 
 ro.sidt. 
 
 had as 
 
 ho had 
 
 I first in 
 
 Latin 
 
 TI/E EXGLISII MIXD. 
 
 3»» 
 
 authors, and in Catullus amonp^ the rest. In his 
 eyes Catullus was tlic most exquisite of poets. lie 
 knew every lino by heart, wa^ acquainted with tho 
 various readings, had studied the commentaries, and 
 was almost qualified for producing an edition of this 
 author. Yet, if asked to give a general view of him, 
 to write a condensed sketch in six pages, he eoukl 
 not possibly do this, and he candidly acknowledged 
 it. At Dxford and Cambridge studious undergradu- 
 ates read all the Latin authors, even those of the 
 silver age — Statins, Claudian, IManilius, Mncrobius, 
 Aulus Gellius ; they are thoroughly versed in Greek 
 also; and they have made Greek verses from tlie time 
 of leaving school. But they are drvoid of ideas, they 
 know the dry bones of anti(|iuty, but are unable to 
 feel its spirit; they do not picture to themselves its 
 civilisation as a whole, the special characteristic of a 
 southern and polytheistic spirit, the sentin?ents of an 
 athlete, of a dialectician, of an artist. Look, for 
 example, at Mr. Gladstone's extraordinary commen- 
 taries on Homer. Nor has Mr. Grote, in his great 
 " History of Greece," done anything more than write 
 the history of constitutions and political debates. 
 Twenty years ago the Universities were the nurseries 
 of Greek, Latin, mathematics ; were very exclusive, 
 and maintained the exclusiveness very strongly ; 
 were extremely indisposed to afford free scope to 
 human intelligence; the natural sciences, and pliilo- 
 sophical history, and English composition were all 
 uncultivated. Hecently, however, new discoveries 
 and continental methods of education have gained 
 entrance ; still, oven at this day, the system of edu- 
 cation is better fitted for streniitheninj? than for 
 expanding the mind ; graduates leave the Univer- 
 
 A 
 
 
 i 
 
 ii 
 
 1 
 
 M- V' 
 
 , r 
 
JIl 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 |i 
 
 
 sities ns they leave a course of gymnastics, bringing 
 away with them no conception whatever of man or 
 the world. Besides, there is one ready made, and 
 very acceptable, which a young man has no diffi- 
 culty in adopting. In France no fixed limit bounds 
 liis thoughts; the Constitution, ten times altered, has 
 no authority ; the religion is that of the Middle Ages ; 
 the old forms are in discredit, the new are merely 
 chalked out. From the ago of sixteen he is assailed 
 by doubt ; he oscillates ; if he has any brains, his 
 most pressing need is to construct for himself a body 
 of convictions, or at least of opinions. In England 
 the mould is prepared ; the religion is almost rational, 
 and the Constitution almost excellent ; awakening in- 
 telligence there finds the broad lines of future beliefs 
 already traced. The necessity for erecting a complete 
 habitation is not felt ; the utmost that appears want- 
 ing relates to the enlargement of a Gothic window, 
 the cleansing of a cellar, the repair of a staircase. 
 English intellect, being less unsettled, less excited, 
 is less active, because it has not scepticism for a 
 spur. 
 
 To the education of the youth nnd the ;;Oung man, 
 add that of the adult and the man ox experience. 
 In the first place, all written or spoken iiti iture con- 
 spires to furnish the latter with facts rather than theo- 
 ries ; I have already indicated the character of English 
 journals, reviews, and oratory ; that of the books 
 is like unto it, not of the solid works alone, but also 
 of the novels, so full of details, so circumstantial, so life- 
 like, these novels being in literature what Dutch art is 
 in painting. It is also necessary to note and place in 
 the foreground the travels which are the complement 
 of education, the occupation of a holiday, a custom, a 
 
 ^-^f . 
 
THE ENGLISH MIXD. 
 
 3'3 
 
 man or 
 ade, and 
 no diffi- 
 t bounds 
 ercd, has 
 llo Ages ; 
 3 merely 
 I assailcMl 
 'ains, his 
 f a body 
 Enghind 
 ; rational, 
 ening in- 
 re beliefs 
 complete 
 ars want- 
 I window, 
 staircase. 
 
 excited, 
 m for a 
 
 ing man, 
 leriencc. 
 ure con- 
 an theo- 
 English 
 18 books 
 but also 
 1, so lifc- 
 ch art is 
 place in 
 plement 
 ustom, u 
 
 pleasure, almost an affectation, and, as a consrquonco, 
 the tasto for reading works of travel. Mr. Murray 
 paid Livingstone i)9,()0() for his travels; judging from 
 the price paid, one can imagine what the sale must 
 have been, and from the sale one can estimate the 
 curiosity of the public. In fine, it is necessary to take 
 into account the experience of business, as it is hero 
 understood, the information which each person collects 
 from reports of the proceedings, and from the meetings 
 of the association to which he belongs, the figures, 
 documents, statistics, and comparative tables which lie 
 must study and understand in order to act elHcaciously 
 and with success in the larger or smaller circh^ of his 
 private or public interests. Through all these chan- 
 nels, open from infancy to the close of life, exact infor- 
 mation flows into an English head as into a reservoir. 
 Jjut the proximity of these waters does not yet suffice 
 to explain their abundance ; there is a slope which 
 invites them, an innate disposition peculiar to the race 
 — to wit, the liking for facts, the love of experiment, 
 the instinct of induction, the longing for certitude. 
 Whoever has studied their literature and their philo- 
 sophy, from Shakespeare and iiacon to the present 
 dav, knows that this inclination is hereditary, and 
 appertains to the very character of their minds — that 
 it is bound up with their manner of comprehending 
 truth. According to them the tree must bo judged by 
 its fruit, and speculation proved by practice ; they do 
 not value a truth unless it evokes useful applications. 
 Beyond practical truths lie only vain chimeras. Such 
 is man's condition; a restricted sphere, capable of 
 enlargement, but always walled in ; a sphere within 
 which knowledge must be acquired, not for its own 
 sake, but in order to act — science itself being valuable 
 
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 NOTES ON EAGLAND. 
 
 only to the office which verifies it and for the purpose 
 which it serves. 
 
 That being granted, it appears to me that the ordi- 
 nary furnishing of an English head becomes discern- 
 ible. As well as I can judge, an educated Englishman 
 possesses a stock of facts three or four times in excess 
 of that possessed by a Frenchman of corresponding 
 position — at least fn all that relates to language, geo- 
 graphy, political and economical truths, and the per- 
 sonal impressions gained in foreign parts by contact 
 with men and living objects. On the other hand, it 
 frequently happens that the Englishman turns his big 
 trunk to less account than the Frenchman does his 
 little bag. This is perceptible in many books and 
 reviews ; the English writer, though very well in- 
 formed, being limited in his range. Nothing is rarer 
 among them than free and full play of the soaring and 
 expanding intellect. Determined to be prudent, they 
 drag their car along the ground over the beaten track ; 
 with two or three exceptions, not one now makes 
 readers think. More than once, when in England, 
 after having conversed with a man, I was surprised at 
 his store of knowledge, alike varied and sound, and 
 also to find him so deficient in ideas. At this moment 
 I can recall five or six who were so largely endowed 
 as tc Ve entitled to take general views. They paused, 
 however, half way, arriving at no definite conclu- 
 sion. They did not even experience a desire to co- 
 ordinate their knowledge in a sort of system ; they 
 possessed only partial and isolated ideas ; they did not 
 feel either the inclination or the power to connect 
 them together under a philosophical conception. Their 
 language bears the beet witness to this, it being 
 extremely difficult to translate somewhat lofty abstrac- 
 
THE ENGLISH MIND. 
 
 315 
 
 B purpose 
 
 the ordi- 
 discern- 
 glishman 
 in excess 
 spending 
 age, geo- 
 the per- 
 y contact 
 hand, it 
 8 his big 
 does his 
 Doks and 
 well in- 
 \ is rarer 
 iring and 
 ent, they 
 3n track ; 
 (V makes 
 England, 
 prised at 
 md, and 
 moment 
 endowed 
 paused, 
 conclu- 
 to co- 
 rn ; they 
 did not 
 connect 
 Their 
 being 
 abstrac- 
 
 e 
 
 1. 
 
 t 
 
 tions into English. Compared with French and, above 
 all, with German, it is what Latin is to Greek. In 
 French nothing is more natural than the formula, 
 ** the beautiful, the good, and the true ;" if it be literally 
 rendered in English, it has a repulsive and uncouth 
 appearance ; if it be expressed in the common terms, 
 the version becomes unfaithful. Their library of words 
 is wanting in an entire row of compartments, namely, 
 the upper ones ; they have no ideas wherewith to fill 
 them. 
 
 Some drawbacks and several advantages flow from 
 this. General ideas are frames divided into compart- 
 ments ; once they have been formed by the mind it is 
 merely necessary to apply them in order at a glance to 
 grasp a subject as a whole and in its parts. The conse- 
 quence is that the mentnl processes are simplified and 
 accelerated, and if the step be taken from speculation 
 to practice, the power of organisation is facilitated. 
 The word to " organise," which dates from the Revolu- 
 tion and the First Empire, exactly summarises the 
 faculties of the French mind, the success of well- 
 ordered and distributive reason, the vast and happy 
 effects of the art which consists in simplifying, classi- 
 fying, subtracting. Thinkers of the eighteenth century 
 cultivated it in their closets ; it was put in practice 
 by their successors in active life who belonged to the 
 Assembly and the Councils of State. Its memorials 
 are the Civil Code, the University, the military, eccle- 
 siastical and judicial organisations, our great admini- 
 strative systems, the principal parts of our social 
 machinery. Every nation which does not possess it is 
 destitute also of its results. In place of a legal code, 
 it will have a bundle of legal precedents, and, in place 
 of a School of Law, Inns of Court governed by routine. 
 
 I 
 
 ri 
 
''\ 
 
 \i '• i 
 
 .^-6 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 I have heard the English lament manv such deficien- 
 cies. Their legislation is so shrouded in obscurity, 
 that before they can purchase a piece of land, they 
 must consult one or two lawyers as a preliminary, who 
 may occupy a month in examining the vendor's title, in 
 order to determine whether the purchase will not give 
 
 occasion for legal proceedings. C tells me that 
 
 many of the Government Departments, and the Admi- 
 ralty in particular, are in a sad state. Complaints are 
 made of confusion, sinecures, expenses disproportioned 
 to results, procrastination, and the clashing of authori- 
 ties. The mechanism is in a muddle, because no prin- 
 ciple has been followed in its construction. In all 
 things they advance, and correct defects, only by grop- 
 ing their way ; they gain a knowledge of affairs only 
 by dint of attention, of toil, and of businesslike grind- 
 ing ; they are as empirical in their procedure as the 
 Chinese. 
 
 On the other hand, when the acquisition of the 
 power of generalising is easy and rapid, the mind runs 
 the risk of becoming sluggish, and this is the case with 
 the French. Frequently on leaving college, nearly 
 always before they are five- and- twenty, they have 
 learned to indulge in generalisations, and as they find 
 them very handy, they apply them to all subjects ; 
 thenceforward they cease co learn an5^thing, believing 
 themselves to be sufficientlv well stocked with inforraa- 
 tion. They confine themselves to reasoning, and they 
 often reason in a vacuum. They are not informed as 
 to the point at issue, they have acquired no specific and 
 conclusive fpots ; they are unconscious of their short- 
 comings, they never seek for what they require, and 
 they retail the phrases of an old newspaper. They 
 forget that it is necessary to be always versed in the 
 
THE ENGLISH MIND. 
 
 3»7 
 
 deficien- 
 obsciiritv, 
 and, they 
 nary, who 
 r's title, in 
 [1 not give 
 s me that 
 the Admi- 
 plaints are 
 oportioned 
 [)f authori- 
 se no prin- 
 a. In all 
 y by grop- 
 iffairs only 
 like grind- 
 ure as the 
 
 on of the 
 mind runs 
 e case with 
 ge, nearly 
 they have 
 3 they find 
 subjects ; 
 , believing 
 h informa- 
 ', and they 
 nformed as 
 pecific and 
 heir short- 
 equire, and 
 )er. They 
 sed in the 
 
 things of the hour, to be always ad'ding to the mental 
 heap, so as never to be taken at unawares, and to be 
 always ready for any event. Not only are mediocre 
 minds among us tainted with this defect, but the very 
 highest intellects are not exempt from the reproach ; 
 I know but two who, having passed forty, continue 
 their researches, and have succeeded in renewing their 
 intellectual youth. On the contrary, according to 
 
 C , the culture of the English is almost unlimited ; 
 
 even in mntur? years they travel, gain new information, 
 complete and rectify their acquirements ; they strive, 
 especially in economic and political matters, to main- 
 tain their views on a level with the fluctuations of 
 things. They are pleased with facts as such, are satis- 
 fied to note, and are careful to retain them. Accumu- 
 ♦ lated in this wise, they form a continuous deposit at 
 the bottom of the mind of an Englishman, constituting 
 a solid stratum of good sense ; for, disjointed and half 
 visible though they be, yet tliey are there, they make 
 their weight felt, they will influence the resolutions 
 he may take. Even though limited in range and 
 destitute of ideas, he will guard himself, as if by 
 instinct, from committing very serious blunders ; he 
 will vaguely feel that what is desirable lies on one 
 side, not on the other. The scattered items of infor- 
 mation he has collected about the United States, India, 
 China, the efiect of universal sufi'rage or of commercial 
 freedom, will dispose him beforehand to adopt the 
 wisest course, and free public discussion will end in 
 inclining him towards the most sensible conclusion. 
 Thus fortified, he approves of an expedition like that 
 to Abyssinia, while he would never have sanctioned 
 an expedition like that to Mexico; he desires the 
 gradual extension of the sufiVage, but would protest 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
^ • ."^ •■r 
 
 318 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 against the s..aaen enfranchisement of the mob. In 
 this way he is protected against casualties and theories ; 
 his constitution never falls into the hands of specu- 
 lators, nor his affairs into the hands of desperadoes. 
 Such are the effects of public good sense, resembling so 
 many rivulets, which fertilise the several fields through 
 which they flow. "We have beheld its fountain-head ; 
 it is a deep and dark basin, constantly full, and con- 
 stantly expanding with new additions — I mean of 
 actual facts, which, accumulated and filtered drop by 
 drop, form an inexhaustible reservoir, and spread 
 themselves in an hundred small, aalutary streams over 
 the whole domain of action. 
 
 When praising the fondness of the English for facts, 
 it must be noted that this applies to ethical as well as 
 physical facts, they are ardent observers of what 
 passes within their minds as well as what passes with- 
 out. On this head I happen to have in my hand two 
 long letters addressed to a friend by two brides a month 
 after their marriag?. I regret that good taste forbids 
 their publication. They both appear to have been 
 written in order tc show the innate custom and the 
 inherited talent of accurate observation as applied by 
 the one to materia, concerns, and by the other to ethi- 
 cal facts. The one minutely describes her husband's 
 person, his figure, the colour of his hair, his complexion, 
 his country seat, the several rooms and their arrange- 
 ment, the furniture, the park, the carriage drives, 
 adding statistics of his income, the family connections, 
 and the neighbours whom it is right to visit. The 
 other develops as exactly and in detail all her states 
 of feeling from the day when, at an archery meeting, 
 she first met her future husband. Both conclude in 
 almost the same terms : — " And now I am the hap- 
 
THE ENGLISH MIND. 
 
 319 
 
 mob. In 
 theories ; 
 of specu- 
 jperadoes. 
 rabliiig so 
 Is through 
 ain-head ; 
 , and con- 
 mean of 
 1 drop by 
 id spread 
 earns over 
 
 1 for facts, 
 as well as 
 of what 
 isses with- 
 1 hand two 
 s a month 
 ;e forbids 
 have been 
 a and the 
 pplied by 
 er to ethi- 
 husband's 
 )mplexion, 
 arrange- 
 e drives, 
 nnections, 
 isit. The 
 her states 
 meeting, 
 nclude in 
 the hap- 
 
 piest woman in the world." The one is commonplace, 
 the other refined ; the one can use her eyes, the other 
 can use her heart. But, in the delicate examination of 
 the conscience, as in the heavy descriptive catalogue, 
 there is the same lucidity and absence of fine writing. 
 Nothing is recounted except iacts ; there are no general 
 reflections ; in the psychological narrative and in the 
 statistical exposition, everything is documentary. It 
 is clear to me that their sole desire was to inform their 
 correspondent, the one about her social status, the 
 other about her private feelings, and that any addition 
 or development would have appeared idle talk to both 
 alike. In default of these letters, let the reader peruse 
 the contempoiary English novels, which are pervaded 
 by the same spirit. They are compact packets of 
 trivial material and ethical facts, the latter abounding, 
 and often being of great value. No other literature 
 contains examples of sentiments more clearly set forth 
 and elaborated, of the hidden labour whereby character 
 is formed, of the gradual formation of a passion, a 
 vice, or a virtue, of the insensiblji gradation whereby, 
 year after year, the mind is moulded. The writers of 
 these works have alone understood the infant, and the 
 manner in which the infant becomes a man. In proof 
 of this read the novels of George Eliot. Since the time 
 of Locke, psychology has been indigenous in England ; 
 it goes hand in hand with statistics and political 
 economy. The two means for attaining a prevision 
 almost correct, and an almost sure management of 
 human affairs, are perfect acquaintance with all the 
 external marks which betoken man, and an accurate 
 divination of the inner marks which constitute man. 
 
 \>i 
 
 : i 
 
 H 
 
 ' 
 
ih'^ 
 
 ['> 
 
 I* 
 V. ' 
 
 ' 
 
 XXX. 
 
 FUEXCn WIT AND ENOMSH HUMOUTl. 
 
 fYS this ricli soil flourish many original varieties of 
 ^ talent, all differing in aspect from what they have 
 among us, the one sort being of larger growth, th« 
 other being stunted and distorted. Let me first speak 
 of the variety of talent which is most commonly attri- 
 buted to the French. I mean wit. This is the art 
 of stating things in a pleasant way. My English 
 friends think that it forms part of the French tempera- 
 ment. Sir Henry Bulwer writes in his "France: 
 Social, Literary, and Political *' : — " I asked twc little 
 village boys, one seven the other eight years old, what 
 they meant to be when they were men ? Says one, 
 • I shall be the doctor of the village ;' * And j^ou, what 
 shall you be ? ' said I to tho other ; * Oh ! if brother's 
 a doctor, I'll be cur^. He shall kill the people, and 
 I'll bury them — so we shall have the whole village 
 between us.' " At Besan9on I once heard two soldiers 
 who were lying on a slope talking together ; the one 
 rising up said : " Come, it is time to begin work 
 again." His comrade answered, " Pooh, lie quiet, our 
 coppers will come, all the same." A German general 
 relates in his memoirs that after a day's skirmish a 
 French hussar, who was brought in prisoner, had a 
 
FRENCn WIT AND ENGLISH HUMOUR. 321 
 
 arietios of 
 they have 
 rowth, thtf 
 first speak 
 only attri- 
 is the art 
 kr English 
 I tempera- 
 ** France : 
 twc little 
 old, what 
 |Say8 one, 
 you, what 
 brother's 
 eople, and 
 le village 
 o soldiers 
 the one 
 gin work 
 quiet, our 
 n general 
 kirmish a 
 er, had a 
 
 lni2^o Hlnsh across his face. The gonoral said, " ITavo 
 you received a sabre cut, my poor fellow?" " I'ooli, 
 I was shaved too clo.Holy this iMornin;^," was the reply. 
 An ancient writer remarked that the two qualities 
 most in fasliion am(>ng tlie Gauls were courage and 
 wit,* and his Latin sentence exactly defines tlie spirit 
 of conversation, the talent for coining apothegiiis, the 
 liking for short, sliarp, neat, :*nipromptu, and hiq)py 
 ph ruses, launched with gaiety or malice. Foreigners 
 great iy admire this gift ; they say that it is accom- 
 panied with taste, and that both of them are universal 
 and developed among us. A little work-girl dresses 
 well, has nice ways, and a pleasing address ; a soldier 
 and a workman are wide awake, circumspect, prepos- 
 sessing in appearance, and they can take and give a 
 joke ; this is the Southern " ingegno," spontaneous, 
 easy, brilliant. That of the North is far more hampered 
 and backward. In England a man belonging to the 
 people is a lout, being a sensible lout at the best ; while 
 the members of the lower middle class are but guys 
 clad in gaudy apparel, a long course of training being 
 necessary in order to refine them. Civilisation here is 
 not natural, but acquired, and neither elegance, nor 
 beauty is to be found except among the upper class. 
 Among us a trace of it is perceptible in all classes, and 
 that diffuses much pleasure and embellishment over 
 human existence. 
 
 80 far as I can judge, the English do not know how 
 to amuse themselves by means of conversation. A 
 Frenchman accounts the happiest moment of lils life 
 the period after supper in the private society of well- 
 educated and intelligent men. The brains of all pre- 
 
 * D\{as rcH tndustriosissimi pcrscqidtKr gens Callorum, rem militanm 
 et ai'i/uie loqui. 
 
 t 
 
 . i i 
 
 j ; 
 
n mm m 
 
 
 322 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 sent are then in a state of agitation and cficrvcsccnce. 
 They converse and think in unison about the most 
 exalted subjects, skipping from one to another in 
 short, pithy phrases, and their general ideas, briskly 
 launched, flutter like a swarm of insects. In the space 
 of two hours the untrammelled talk has made the tour 
 of the globe. Each one contributes a condensation of 
 his thoughts in a jesting or serious style, with exag- 
 geration, a dash of paradox and play of fancy, without 
 meaning his sallies to be literally interpreted, and 
 seeking anything else than a relaxation for his mind. 
 Philosophy, science, morals, art, literature, all the 
 treasures of the human intellect are there handled, not 
 in heavy ingots, or in large sacks, but in pretty port- 
 able golden coins, beautifully engraved, and sparkling 
 and jingling with a cheerful clink, as they are lightly 
 manipulated by delicate fingers. It seems to me that 
 these coins are rare in England, and that, in addition, 
 they are not current. They are regarded as too thin ; 
 their alloy gives rise to suspicions. Far more readi- 
 ness is shown in handling the rough and ponderous 
 metal of which I have already spoken. The conversa- 
 tion indulged in is chiefly instructive ; most frequently 
 there is no conversation at all. Several inconveniences 
 arise from this, and tedium is one of them ; the mind 
 w^ants entertainment. In Italy there are the opera 
 and love-making, in Germany philosophy and music, 
 in France the intellectual fireworks just described. 
 Here, nothing is to be found except conscientious 
 labour and useful production, assured and agreeable 
 comfort. Happiness is not complete, however, when 
 one enjoys a fine carriage, a well-appointed house, 
 regular occupation, a seat in Parliament, and the pros- 
 pect of a seat in Paradise; for amid all these good things, 
 
rvcsccnce. 
 the most 
 nollier in 
 as, briskly 
 L the space 
 le the tour 
 insation of 
 mih cxag- 
 ;y, without 
 n-etcd, and 
 : his mind, 
 re, all the 
 andled, not 
 Dretty port- 
 1 sparkling 
 are lightly 
 to me that 
 lin addition, 
 is too thin ; 
 more readi- 
 L ponderous 
 le conversa- 
 frequently 
 |onveniences 
 the mind 
 the opera 
 and music, 
 described, 
 ►nscientious 
 agreeable 
 ever, when 
 ted house, 
 .d the pros- 
 •ood things, 
 
 FREXCII WIT AXD EXCLISII HUMOUR. 323 
 
 there are times wlicn one yawns and feels depressed. 
 Then the luggage is got ready, one steps on board u 
 steamer, and proceeds in quest of eliange, of something 
 to distract one's thoughts, of a gUmpso of the sun. 
 
 As a compensation, the English make better after- 
 dinner speeches than wo do. Some of them may bo 
 read every week in the newspapers ; several are de- 
 livered at every dinner where politicians, geographers, 
 political economists, and men of science meet together ; 
 at the dinners of the Corporation, at dinners given in 
 honour of distinguished personages or of illustrious 
 foreigiiers. I can recall one at which, although un- 
 worthy of the honour, I was present in company of ono 
 of my Frenr>h friends, a celebrated traveller. After 
 dinner, the chairman first proposed the Queen's health, 
 and then the healths in turn of several persons present, 
 saying, " I have the honour to propose the health of 
 our eminent guest," so and so ; then added a few 
 sentences of praise, uttering the whole with grave cor- 
 diality, enlivened here and there with humour. For 
 my part, I greatly admired the happy way in which 
 he spoke, and especially the avoidance of what might 
 weary his hearers. After the guest's health had been 
 drunk, he rose and replied, " I thank the gentlemen 
 present and our worthy chairman for the flattering 
 distinction,'* e^c. Then followed some details, varying 
 with the traveller's experience. The explorer of the 
 Nile promised to join the first expedition sent forth to 
 discover the sources of that river. The Arctic traveller 
 said that his capacity for wintering amid ice had been 
 developed by the hardy system of English education, 
 and by early devotion to field-sports. The colonist 
 from Western Australia remarked that the place was 
 well adapted for an English colony. Moreover, each 
 
 I 
 
 
/ 
 
 '/ 
 
 324 
 
 KOTKS OX J-XGLAXD, 
 
 gave vont to a little pnnan o\or tlio onern;y of tlio Saxon 
 race, tho spread of Mn^lisli civili.sation, the future of 
 liummiity, tho advance of science. All present ap- 
 jdauded by beating tho table M'ith their knives or 
 hands; some cries of " hear, hear," were uttered ; and 
 one, two, three, four hurrahs were raised ; sonio slood 
 on their cluiirs and saluted the speaker by raising their 
 glasses; tho feeling of good-fellowship became conta- 
 gious, and the excitement wns at its height. To this 
 rather loud orchestra tho successive speeches formed 
 appropriate sohis; tho common-places of which they 
 were composec! were not misplaced ; they did not repel 
 by their coavseness, weary by their heaviness, nor 
 shock by their solemnity — at least, the English table- 
 companions were attuned to the occasion, ^fy friend, 
 the French travollcr, would not join in the cliorus ; ho 
 whispered a request in tho chairman's ear to be dis- 
 pensed from muking a speech. I asked him, ** Why 
 do you shirk your turn ?" Because cither they would 
 think what I should saj'' was in bad taste, or else I 
 should think so myself." lie disliked spun-out sen- 
 tenccb ; thinking it affectation to indulge in them, 
 especially at dessert ; he preferred to launch a neat 
 phrase, to carry on a jesting conversation witli his 
 neighbour, smilingly and in an undertone, to shadow 
 forth his ideas. Here one docs not hint a thing, but 
 gives a detailed explanation ; one likes to have it 
 developeu and emphasized ; even at table one submits 
 to the labour and burden of this. I suppose that they 
 derive pleasure from having their nerves braced and 
 their wills influenced by a collective excitement ; a 
 dinner of this sort is akin to a meeting, and ends more 
 or less formally in resolutions, subscriptions, in a pro- 
 paganda and in action. 
 
FREi\Cn WIT A,\D ICXGLISII lUJMOVR. ^r*? 
 
 tlio Saxon 
 future of 
 cscnt ap- 
 kiiivos or 
 orc'.l ; and 
 onio stood 
 L.sin^ thoir 
 inic conta- 
 To this 
 cs formed 
 hich tliey 
 1 not repel 
 'ill ess, nor 
 jlifsh la\)le- 
 ^Fy friend, 
 iliorus ; lio 
 to bo dis- 
 ni, " AVhy 
 ley would 
 or else I 
 n-out sen- 
 in them, 
 eh a neat 
 with his 
 to shadow 
 thing, but 
 have it 
 le submits 
 that thev 
 ■aced and 
 ement ; a 
 nds more 
 in a pro- 
 
 A shisliinpf journal afTirms that no ono can speak 
 French widiout lyin^;; the tonj^uo cxaj^j^erutes, "A 
 thousand tlianks," "I am enchanted with it," "A 
 cliarniinpf num." It is forfj^otten, liowever, that tlio 
 h(;arer takes off the necessary discount. The truth is, 
 that our speech and our written stylo are tilled with 
 indications, half-expressed meaninp^s, and nice distinc- 
 tions. It seems to mo tluit Lafontaino, iiladamo do 
 Sevi^ne, Voltai.v, ^[ontesquieu, and Courier cannot l)o 
 perfectly translated into English. Their perfume 
 evaporates, their grace fades, their vivaeily becomes 
 lieavy. A reviewer lately found fault with Ilenan's 
 ** Vie do Jesus" on account of the "beautiful am- 
 biguous sentences which appeared to express a point 
 delicately, and expressed two contradictory things." 
 lyiany English do not understand these refinements, 
 and they charge our literature with falsity because 
 their literary sense is obtuse. Wc can reply to them, 
 in turn, that they cannot discuss without threatening 
 ono another with their fists. Their literary disputes 
 are conducted with extraordinary virulence ; in Franco 
 the same style of discussion would lead to daily duels. 
 Happily, they consider that duelling is absurd, and that 
 no defamatory piece of writing justifies an appeal to 
 arms. Their debates resemble their boxing-matches ; 
 the combatants, having in turn mauled and kno(;ked 
 each other down, shake hands and bear no malice. 
 After several months of reading of this kind, one 
 becomes accustomed to it, and ends by finding that the 
 plainness of the language is fully counterbalanced by 
 the frankness of the accent, by the strength of the 
 conviction, by the solidity of the reasoning, by tho 
 sincerity of the indignation, by tho manly and sus- 
 tained tone of the eloquence. It matters not if French 
 
 I?! 
 
r 
 
 -'/ 
 
 
 326 
 
 KOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 wit be wanting ; they have a form of it for tlieir own 
 use, which is indeed far from agreeable, but is entirely 
 original, is powerful, poignan|, and even slightly bitter 
 in taste, like their national Iseverages. They call it 
 " humour ;'* generally it is the pleasantry of a man 
 who, though joking, maintains his gravity. It abounds 
 in the writings of Swift, Fielding, Sterne, Dickens, 
 Thackeray, and Sydney Smith ; and in this particular 
 the "Book of Snobs " and " Peter Plymley's Letters** 
 are masterpieces. Much of it, more racy of the soil and 
 rougher in quality, is to be found in Carlyle. Some- 
 times it leads to buffoonery, sometimes to studied sar- 
 casm. It powerfully affects the nerves, and becomes 
 lastingly imprinted on the memory. It is the product 
 of imaginative drollery, or of concentrated indignation. 
 It delights in striking contrasts and in unexpected 
 disguises. It clothes madness in the garments of 
 reason, or reason in the garments of madness. Hein- 
 rich Heine, Aristophanes, Rabelais, and Montesquieu, 
 at times, are those out of England who have been most 
 largely endowed with it. StilL there is a foreign 
 element which must be abstracted from the three last. 
 French sprightliness, joy, gaiety is a kind of good 
 wine only grown in the lands of the sun. " In its insular 
 and pure state it always leaves an after-taste of vinegar. 
 The man who jests here is seldom kindly and is never 
 happy ; he feels and forcibly censures the inequalities 
 of life. This yields him no amusement, for he suffers 
 inwardly and is irritated. In order to study oddities 
 carefully, and deliberately sustain a piece of irony, it 
 is necessary to be continuously affected by sadness and 
 indignation. Perfect examples of this style must be 
 sought for in the works of great writers, yet it is so 
 indigenous that it is daily met with in ordinary con- 
 
tlieir own 
 , is entirely 
 ^litly bitter 
 'liey call it 
 r oi B, man 
 It aboimds 
 e, Dickens, 
 s particular 
 ''s Letters '* 
 the soil and 
 yle. Some- 
 studied sar- 
 ,nd becomes 
 the product 
 indignation, 
 unexpected 
 varments of 
 less. Hein- 
 ontesquieu, 
 e been most 
 a foreign 
 three last, 
 nd of good 
 n its insular 
 ( of vinegar, 
 nd is never 
 inequalities 
 3r he suffers 
 idy oddities 
 of irony, it 
 adness and 
 ^le must be 
 et it is so 
 Idinary con- 
 
 FRENCH WIT AND ENGLISH HUMOUR, 327 
 
 versation, in literature, in political discussions, and it 
 is the current coin of Punch, The following is a 
 specimen take at random from an old number. It is 
 a " Letter from the Secretary of the Treasury to a 
 member of Parliament." " House of Commons Library. 
 — Dear Sir, — Lord P. has handed me the letter in 
 which you inform him ihat the session is drawing to a 
 close, that you have given to his lordship's policy a 
 support alike judicious and unceasing, and that your 
 services merit a recompense in the shape of a place. 
 In reply to your letter, I beg leave to remark that 
 your first proposition is the only one about which her 
 Majesty's Government has the pleasure to agree with 
 you ; and for my own part, I have the honour to be, 
 dear sir, your very faithful and obedient servant." 
 
 Do you like ale ? Drink it, your palate will become 
 habituated to it ; as a beverage it is wholesome, and, 
 on the whole, strengthening. So is English humour. 
 
t^am 
 
 XXXT. 
 
 ENGLISH PAINTINGS AND ENGLISH PAINTERS. 
 
 VISITED the Kensington Museum, the National 
 Gallery, and afterwards the Exhibition. All 
 English art, both ancient and modern, is collected 
 there ; moreover, I have seen two exhibitions at Paris 
 of contemporary English paintings. No evidence is 
 more abundant and instructive for exhibiting the tastes 
 of the English mind as regards physical beauty, the 
 following being the most conspicuous traits : 
 
 Examples of high art painting, of nude figures, 
 or of those draped in the classical or Italian style, are 
 few and feeble; there are some very artificial sacred 
 pictures, and some large sentimental and historical, but 
 unsubstantial productions, such as " Edith and the 
 Monks finding the Body of Harold," by Hilton, and 
 the " Death of General Wolfe,'^ by West. The great 
 and noble classical school of painting, the sentiment 
 of a fine form as understood and loved, after the man- 
 ner of the Revival, the correct and learned Paganism 
 which David and M. Ingres have perpetuated in France, 
 have never taken root among it 3m. Their school is 
 a branch of the Flemish School, a gnarled and stunted 
 branch, which ends by dropping off, but in an entirely 
 original manner. 
 
 They descend from Yandyck, through Lely and 
 
 
PAINTINGS AND PAINTERS. 
 
 32Q 
 
 i:RS. 
 
 National 
 )n. All 
 collected 
 at Paris 
 idence is 
 :he tastes 
 luty, the 
 
 figures, 
 
 tyle, are 
 
 sacred 
 
 deal, but 
 
 and the 
 
 on, and 
 le great 
 3ntiraent 
 he man- 
 aganisra 
 
 France, 
 school is 
 
 stunted 
 
 entirely 
 
 lely and 
 
 Kneller. In the eighteenth century many of them, 
 like Gainsborough and Reynolds, preserved a vivid 
 sentiment of Flemish colouring and flesh in their great 
 portraits and in their landscapes. They are men of 
 the North who, following the Antwerp masters, persist 
 in understanding the man, nature, and physical poetry 
 of a humid country. Among Gainsborough's works 
 are "Nancy Parsons," "Lady Dunstanville," the "Blue 
 Boy," and other portraits, the " Watering Place," the 
 " Market Cart," and sea pieces ; in these the carnations 
 are soft and clear, the tones of the blue or pule yellow 
 silk are smooth and blended, the whites of the creased 
 collars harmonise with those of the face, the distances 
 melt into indistinct vapour, relief is given to objects, 
 not by precision of contour but by gradation of tint ; 
 they gradually stand forth from the murky air. The 
 artist is endued with all the riches, all the sadnesses, 
 all the refined sensualities^ all the penetrating and 
 studied charms of colour. Among the works of 
 Heynolds are "Miss Price," "Lady Elizabeth Forster," 
 "Miss Boothby," " Georgina Spenser," "Duchess of 
 Marlborough," " Marquis of Hastings," " Marquis of 
 Rockingham," "Mrs. Stanhope," " Lord Heathfield," 
 the "Banished Lord," the "Holy Family," the 
 "Graces;" he belongs to the same school, and also in 
 part to that of Rembrandt, only modernised. The 
 excellent engravings in black style, whfcrein so many 
 portraits of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries 
 have been reproduced, also exhibit the Dutch sentiment 
 of light and shade combined by masses of vague darks. 
 There is something of Flemish colouring in Hogarth's 
 pictures, less harsh and matter of fact than his engrav- 
 ings, and the traces of it may also be found in Constable, 
 "Wilkie, Lawrence, and Turner. 
 
33^ 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 
 V W 
 
 But, from its very origin, the English vigour pene- 
 trated the Flemish surface, and made known its presence 
 by effects more or less marked. The painter ceuied to 
 be a painter merely ; the soul, the thought, the invisible 
 interior received as much of his attention as the living 
 body itself; he soon gave the former the preference, 
 and exhibited sometimes the moral tendency, sometimes 
 the shade of melancholy, sometimes profound pensive 
 reverie, sometimes the distinction of aristocratic haughti- 
 ness. Gainsborough's "Blue Boy" already possesses 
 the expres'dve uiid wholly modern physiognomy by 
 which a work falling within the painter's province 
 oversteps the limits of painting. Ills "Musidora" has 
 such delicate I'-et and so intelligent a head that she is 
 no simple girl bathing, but a lady. In the same way 
 Keynolds Is a descendant, though a remote one, of Van- 
 dyck, but he is so much refined and spiritualised as to 
 appear to be separated from his ancestor by an entire 
 world. His " Three Graces " have nothing artless and 
 primitive about them ; we recognise that they are ladies 
 by something stiff and patrician in their attitude and 
 their appearance, and we vaguely feel that, in spite of 
 being draped as goddesses, each of them possesses a 
 carriage, a steward, and fifteen footmen in yellow stock- 
 ings. His "Banished Lord" is a sentimental elegy, 
 and after the manner of Young. His great noblemen 
 are no longer easy-going and well-dressed cavaliers, 
 who are equallj'^ ready for a combat or a ball, but are 
 not good for anything else ; such simplicity of pure 
 and genuine painting does not satisfy him ; he has set 
 his wits to work, has sounded the depths of the inner 
 man, has said to himself that "one never puts into 
 another's head more than is contained in his own," and 
 fortified by that reflection, he has pourtrayed reflecting 
 
PAIXThYGS AND rAINTERS. 
 
 33t 
 
 XV pene- 
 prcscnco 
 iea^od lo 
 Invisible 
 le livin<^ 
 jference, 
 imetinies 
 pensive 
 haughti- 
 possesses 
 lomy by 
 province 
 ora" has 
 lat she is 
 ame way 
 , of Van- 
 Lsed as to 
 m entire 
 tless and 
 ire ladies 
 ude and 
 spite of 
 ssesses a 
 3W stock- 
 al elegy, 
 loblemen 
 avaliers, 
 but are 
 of pure 
 e has set 
 le inner 
 )nts into 
 
 (vn, 
 
 i> 
 
 and 
 
 •eflecting 
 
 souls. By degrees the moral element becomes subordl- 
 nutcd to tlie physical ; painting will bo converted into 
 a system of psychology ; the sensation of the eyes will 
 bo treated as an accessory, and the painted canvas will 
 bo but the foreground, a curtain beliind which the 
 intelligence and the soul perceive in the distance ideas, 
 purposes, lessons, studies of character and of manners. 
 
 Ilogartli was the first who set forth this theory and 
 put it in practice. According to him it is indispensable, 
 in order to impart interest to a physical type, that it 
 be the expression and the counterpart of a moral type. 
 In fact, ho treated painting as a moralising novelist, in 
 the manner of Defoe and Eichardson, and his pictures 
 are sermons against vice. "When we gaze upon them 
 we forget the painting and become spectators of a 
 tragedy or of a domestic comedy. Figures, costumes, 
 attitudes, all the accessories, are summaries of characters, 
 biographical abridgments. They form a concerted series, 
 they compose a progressive history, they are the illus- 
 trations of a text half revealed ; under the surface, 
 chapter by chapter, we read the text itself. Note in 
 the "Marriage a la Mode" the sorrowing gesture of 
 the old steward, who foresees the ruin of the house, and 
 deprecates with uplifted hands the gross and sensual 
 folly of the bridegroom. The mind follows the prece- 
 dents and the consequences, comprehends their necessity, 
 and arrives at a conclusion as after hearing a sermon. 
 ,y»Less conclusive but not less literary in character are 
 the works of Wilkie — the " Village Festival," the 
 *' Blind Fiddler," the "Parish Beadle," " Blindman's 
 Buff," " A Wedding." He is a painter of humble life, 
 a Teniers, if you will, but a reflecting, observing, think- 
 ing Teniers, who is in quest of interesting types and 
 moral maxims. His pictures abound in ingenious 
 
 Ji 
 
!( 
 
 iij 
 
 
 33^ 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 designs, happy satires, instructive points, like Scott's 
 " Antiquary " and Eliot's " Adam Bode." He furnifshes 
 matter for thought and amusement; but outside the 
 sphere of painting and around him many others are 
 writers and poets, who have mistaken their vocation, as 
 he has done. 
 
 Among the artists who have gone astray. Turner is 
 one of the greatest and the most mistaken. Nowhere 
 can we more clearly discern the error of a man of talent, 
 who, being qualified for addressing the senses, under- 
 takes to address himself to the intelligence and the 
 soul. The collection of his works fills three rooms. 
 There are some very beautiful, simple, and imposing 
 landscapes by him, wherein may be found a profound 
 and, I venture to add, an exalted, appreciation of 
 living nature, such as *' Knighton Bank," " Frosty 
 Morning," " Bligh Sands," "- Cattle in Water," " St. 
 Mawes, Cornwall;" but these are in his earliest style. 
 By degrees the sensation of the eye, the optical effect, 
 appeared to him of secondary importance ;. the emotions 
 and reveries of the speculative and reasoning brain 
 obtained the empire over him ; he felt a wish to paint 
 gigantic, and philosophic, and humanitarian epics ; he 
 believed himself to be the first of painters, and I have 
 been told that he died insane. In any case, his paint- 
 ing degenerated into lunacy, much in the same way as 
 the prose and poetry of Victor Hugo. " Apollo killing 
 the Python," " Snowstorm — Hannibal and his Army 
 crossing the Alps," "The Deluge," "The Destruction 
 of Sodom," "Light and Colour," "The Morning after 
 the Deluge,'' "Rain, Steam, and Speed — the Great 
 "Western Railway,'* "A Snowstorm — Steamboat off" a 
 Harbour's Mouth,'* and thirty or forty others, care- 
 fully collected by himself, and arranged according to 
 
PAINTINGS AND PAINTERS. 
 
 333 
 
 te Scott's 
 furuifshes 
 itside the 
 ►thers are 
 cation, as 
 
 Turner is 
 Nowhere 
 L of talent, 
 es, under- 
 I and the 
 ee rooms, 
 imposing 
 profound 
 iciation of 
 ' "Frosty 
 ter," "St. 
 [iest style, 
 ical effect, 
 5 emotions 
 ing brain 
 to paint 
 epics; he 
 nd I have 
 his paint- 
 ne way as 
 llo killing 
 his Army 
 estruction 
 ling after 
 he Great 
 boat off a 
 lers, care- 
 ;ording to 
 
 his instructions in a place apart, compose an extra- 
 ordinary jumble, a sort of churned foam, a wonderful 
 litter in which shapes of every kind are buried. Place 
 a mun in a fog, in the midst of a storm, the sun in his 
 eyes, and his head swimming, and depict, if you can, 
 his impressions upon canvas; — these are the gloomy 
 visions, the vagueness, the delirium of an imagination 
 which becomes deranged through overstraining. 
 
 At the present day the centre of gravity which kept 
 art in position has been displaced by the growing 
 exaggeration of mental and cerebral life. English 
 painters have an affinity to the Dutch masters in some 
 external particulars, by the small size of their canvases, 
 by the choice of their subjects, by the taste for reality, 
 by the exactness and minute treatment of details. But 
 the spirit has changed, and their painting is no longer 
 picturesque. Compare, for example, the animals of 
 Potter with the carefully wrought and studied animals 
 of Landseer, more particularly his deer and his dogs. 
 The English painter does not love the animal for its 
 own sake, as a living creature, nor yet on account of 
 its form standing out in relief, or of its coloured 
 shape harmonising with the surroundings ; he looks 
 deeper; he has meditated, and he refines. He humanises 
 his animals ; he has philosophic, moral, and sentimental 
 ends in viev;-. He desires to suggest a reflection ; he 
 acts the part of a fabulist. His painted scene is a 
 species of enigma, of which the key is written below. 
 For example, "Peace and War,'* "Dignity and Im- 
 pudence," " Low Life and High Life," " Alexander 
 and Diogenes," a "Dialogue at Waterloo," are all 
 explained by types and attitudes of dogs. The pro- 
 cedure of the figure-painters is the same. In their 
 opinion the essential thing is the anecdote, the little 
 
MMH 
 
 mmmm 
 
 
 334 
 
 A'OTFS ON ENGLAND, 
 
 / J 
 
 romance, the literary story, the aspect of manners they 
 take for thoir subject; the charm, the harmony, the 
 beauty of the outlines and the tones are ranked as 
 uccet: series ; this applies to Maclisc, Leslie, Hunt, and 
 to one of the most famous among them, Mulready. I 
 have seen twenty pictures by him — ** First Love,'* the 
 "Wolf and the Lamb," "Open your mouth and sh'.ifc 
 your eyes," the " Battle Interrupted," the " Younger 
 Brother," the " Vicar of Wakefield's Wife." Nothing 
 could be more expressive, greater efforts have never 
 been expended in addressing the mind through the 
 medium of the senses, in giving a good illustration of 
 an idea or of a truth, in collecting within the compass 
 of twelve square inches a larger heap of psychological 
 observations. What patient and penetrating critics ! 
 What judges of man ! What a variety of ^^liilful com- 
 binations ! What aptitude for rendering the moral 
 feeling by the physical appearance ! What capital 
 vignettes they would make for an edition of Sterne, 
 Goldsmith, Crabbe, Thackeray, and George Eliot. 
 Here and there I perceive masterpieces in this style ; 
 for instance, Johnson's "Lord and Lady Russell taking 
 the Sacrament." Lord Russell i. about to mount the 
 scaffold, his wife looks him full in the face to see if he 
 be reconciled with God. This ardent gaze of the wife 
 and the Christian is admirable ; she is now at ease, and 
 assured of her husband's salvation. Yet what a pity 
 that, instead of using the pen, they have determined to 
 employ the pencil I 
 
 
1 11 era they 
 nony,, the 
 ranked as 
 EEunt, and 
 ready. I 
 jove/* the 
 
 and sb'.ifc 
 * Younger 
 
 K^otiiing 
 ave never 
 'ough the 
 jtration of 
 e compass 
 chological 
 g critics ! 
 ilful com- 
 the moral 
 at capital 
 )£ Sterne, 
 Eliot. 
 
 lis style ; 
 ell taking 
 nount the 
 
 see if he 
 the wife 
 
 ease, and 
 
 at a pity 
 
 mined to 
 
 XXXIT. 
 
 MODERN PAINTERS AND RUSK1N*S CRITICISMS. 
 
 OWING to the attention being wholly concentrated 
 upon the moral element in man, the optical sensi- 
 bility of English painters is blunted and unhinged. I 
 do not iihink that paintings more displeasing to the eye 
 have ever been produced. It is hard to imagine more 
 crude effects, more exaggerated and violent colouring, 
 more extreme and glaring dissonances, a falser and 
 more abrupt commingling of tones. In Hunt's " Two 
 Gentlemen of Verona," blue-tinted trees stand forth 
 against the brown earth and scarlet clothes ; ** Christ, 
 the Light of the World," is set in a greenish-yellow 
 atmosphere, resembling that perceived on ascending to 
 the surface of turbid water after a plunge. In Millais' 
 " Daughters of Noah leaving the Ark," the violet of 
 the dress, and the manner in which it is relieved by its 
 surroundings, is a thing to be seen. In Crowe's " Pope 
 presented to Dryden" are light blue waistcoats and red 
 velvet coats, while the accessories are brought into full 
 and harsh relief, apparently for a wager. Mulready's 
 "Bathers" seem to be made of porcelain. In the 
 " Eve of St. Agnes " of Millais, a lady in a low-bodied 
 evening dress is represented through the medium of a 
 studied effect of twilight, as having the appearance of 
 
336 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 a corpso-Hkc greon, a;i(I tlio clmrnbor is of tlic samo 
 line. On every liand tlioro tiro lundseapcs in which 
 LU)o(l-rtil p()[)i)ic8 arc sot in grass of tlio tint of a j^rccn 
 l)arrot ; a])ph) trees lOHsoni, whereof the staring 
 
 white of the petals against tlic dark brnnclies is ])ainfiil 
 to tlio sight; u green ehurehyard in tho sunlight, 
 where each blade of grass shows its brightness like 
 the blade of a penknife ; sunsets which might certainly 
 bo taken for di8])lay8 of fireworks. Indeed, tho con- 
 dition of their retina is peculiar. In order to com- 
 ])rehend this, recourse must bo had to analogies, and 
 ihey may be found in twenty details of daily life, in the 
 red and violet, the lees of wine, tho raw- green, tints with 
 which their children's books are coloured, in tho flaunt- 
 ing and overdone dresses of their women, in tho aspect 
 of their nieadows, their flowers, their landscapes beheld 
 under a sudden gleam of sunshine. Perhaps it must be 
 admitted that in every country tho external appearances 
 of things educate the eye, that its customs form its 
 tastes, that there is a secret affinity between tho 
 arrangement of its artificial decorations and the colours 
 of its natural sights. Here, in fact, the brilliancy, the 
 freshness, the opulence of the style of dress recall the 
 splendours, the youthfulness, the magnificence, the 
 contrasts and appearances of the vegetation. Resem- 
 blances may be detected between their mauve and violet 
 silks and the changing colours of the distances and the 
 clouds, between their gauze scarfs, their fleecy lace 
 shawls, and tho pale or splendid haze of their horizons. 
 Yet a number of ejOfects which are harmonious in nature, 
 are displeasing when painted ; they are unfit for repre- 
 sentation on canvas, at least they should not be repro- 
 duced in all their nakedness. In the latter state they 
 produce discord, in default of the surroundings with. 
 
 II 
 
 I' i' 
 
PAINTERS AND CRITICISMS. 
 
 337 
 
 which tlicy htirmoniso. For nature has many resources 
 at her (U.spoHul which are wanting in painting — among 
 othera, the full sun, real light, the sparkle of daylight 
 on water, the scintillation of sunbeams upon a green 
 leaf. These are the supremo values which dominate all 
 the others, and relieve them of their excessive crude- 
 ness ; deprived of this atmosphere, the others produce 
 as unpleasant an effect as a chord from which the leading 
 note is omitted. They must, therefore, be transposed in 
 order to be expressed. No painter, no artist, is a pure 
 copyist. He invents, even while he confines himself 
 to translating ; for that which Nature executes through 
 the medium of one system of means and values, he is 
 obliged to render by another system of values and means. 
 Herein is the mistake of contemporary English painters. 
 They aro faithful, but literally so. After seeing their 
 country, it is obvious that the majority of their effects 
 are truthful. This picture really represents a piece of 
 English turf vivified by a recent shower. This other 
 one represents the white mornibj^* sky ; the glittering 
 pands at low water ; the bright green or violet hue of 
 undulating waves. This one represents the ears of corn 
 against the pale-yellow hue of the sheaves, the ruddy 
 purple heaths under the sun on a lonely common. On 
 reflection the exactitude of all this cannot be denied ; 
 better still, wc recall that the sight of the real land- 
 scape gave pleasure, and wo experience surprise at 
 feeling dissatisfied in presence of the painted landscape. 
 This is because the translation is nothing but a tran- 
 scription. It is because, desiring to be faithful in one 
 thing, they have misrepresented the whole. "With the 
 patience of fastidious workmen, they have put on can- 
 vas one by one the unmodified sensations of their eyes. 
 Meanwhile they meditated, moralised, following as 
 
 z 
 
i 
 
 it 
 
 338 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 poets tho soft or sad oraotions which the real landscape 
 awakened in their souls. Between the workman and 
 the poet the artist has had no place. Their patience 
 commands applause. We feel that we should be 
 touched in the presence of the original ; their copy, 
 however, is but a memorandum, and we gladly turn 
 away from it because it is ugly. 
 
 A man has arisen among them to justify and elevate 
 their practice into theory, namely John Kuskin ; an 
 admirer and a friend of Turner, an earnest, impassioned, 
 and original writer, perfectly competent, very studious, 
 very popular, and possessing a thoroughly English 
 intellect. Nothing is more precious than personal, 
 independent, and well-ordered impressions, especially 
 when, like his, they are boldly expressed ; they lead 
 us to reconsider our own. There is no one to whom 
 Ruskin's works, such as " Modern Painters," and the 
 ** StoL .'S of Venice," fail to suggest topics for thought. 
 His first principle is that the literal truth and the 
 characteristic detail must be loved with enthusiasm : 
 " Every class of rock, earth, and cloud must be known 
 by the painter with geologic and mcteorologic accu- 
 racy." " When there are things in tho foreground 
 of Salvator of which I cannot pronounce whether they 
 be granite, or slate, or tufa, I affirm that there is in 
 them neither harmonious union nor simple effect, but 
 simple monstrosity.*' Titian worked with the most 
 laborious botanical fidelity. " Witness his * Bacchus 
 and Ariadne,* in which the foreground is occupied by 
 the common blue iris, the aquilegia, and the wild rose." 
 "The foreground of Raffaelle's 'Miraculous Draught of 
 Fishes ' is covered with plants of the common sea cole- 
 wort." And all these plants are painted with scrupu- 
 lous accuracy. But truth is only a means to produce 
 
 
i(l8cape 
 lun and 
 laticnce 
 Duld bo 
 ir copy, 
 ly turn 
 
 elevate 
 ;kin; an 
 assioned, 
 studious, 
 Englisli 
 personal, 
 jspecially 
 :liey lead 
 to whom 
 ' and the 
 thought, 
 and the 
 husiasm : 
 le known 
 lo-ic accu" 
 Ireground 
 jther they 
 icre is in 
 effect, but 
 Ithe most 
 Bacchus 
 bupied by 
 lild rose." 
 raught ot 
 sea cole- 
 |i scrupu- 
 produce 
 
 PAINTERS AND CRITICISMS. 
 
 539 
 
 beauty : art goes further still ; its proper object is to 
 awaken lofty emotions. Nor is it sutisHod with produc- 
 ing sensible pk^asure. ** This pleiiHuro may well be tlio 
 base of the impression, but it must also be combined 
 with a feeling of joy, next with a feeling of love for the 
 object painted, next with a perception of tho bounty of 
 a higher intelligence, and tinally with an outburst of 
 gratitude and veneration for this intelligence. No 
 impression can in anywise bo regarded as an impres- 
 sion of beauty unless it bo composed of these emotions ; 
 in like manner we cannot say that we have an idea of 
 a letter, if we only perceive its perfume without under- 
 standing its contents and its purport." This is, indeed, 
 the ajsthetic system of a man of tho North, an idealist 
 and a Protestant, and all his judgments are in the same 
 vein. He cares little for picturesque painting ; a sen- 
 sation pleasing to the eye has no value for him. " Tlio 
 old landscape painters only exhibited mechanical and 
 technical qualities. I refer only to Claude, Gaspar 
 Poussin, Salvator Rosa, Cuyp, Berghem, Both, Ruys- 
 dael, Ilobbima, Teniers (in his landscapes), P. Potter, 
 Canaletti, and tho various Van somethings and Bach 
 somethings, more especially and malignantly those who 
 have libelled the sea." " The object of the great body 
 of the professed landscapists of the Dutch school is 
 merely to display manual dexterities of one kind or 
 another ; and their effect on the public mind i& so 
 totally for evil, that though I do not deny the advan- 
 tage an artist of real judgment may derive from the 
 study of some of them, I conceive the best patronage 
 that any monarch could possibly bestow upon the arts 
 would be to collect the whole body of them into one 
 gallery, and burn it to the ground." On this head many 
 persons will hope that Mr, Ruskin may never be 
 
V'^ \, 
 
 ^11 
 
 't-K 
 
 340 
 
 NOTSS ON ENGLAND. 
 
 appointed king under any pretext whatsoever. He is 
 equally hard upon Italian painting, upon its spirit, 
 upon its worship of the athletic and perfect human 
 form. According to him, the mythological and nude 
 subjects which compose one-half of it have been pro- 
 duced in order to gratify sensuality, and take rank with 
 opera ballets. In early times, " art was employed in 
 the display of religious facts;*' in Raffaelle's time 
 "religious facts were employed by him to give the 
 display of art." "The crowned Queen- Virgin of 
 Perugino sank into a simple Italian mother in Eafiaelle's 
 * Madonna of the Chair.' " Was this, then, a healthy 
 change ? No. It would have been healthy if it had 
 been effected " with a pure motive, and the new truths 
 would have been precious if they had been sought for 
 truth's sake. . . . , He could think of the Madonna as 
 an available subject for the display of transparent sha- 
 dows, skilful tints, and scientific foreshortenings — as a 
 fair woman forming, if well painted, a pleasant piece of 
 furniture for the corner of a boudoir, and best imagined 
 by combination of the beauties of the prettiest conta- 
 dinas. . . , . . It was thus that Raffaelle thought of the 
 Madonna." Shortly afterwards Mr. Ruskin depicts 
 with faith and awe the apparition of Jesus showing 
 Himself to His disciples at the lake of Galilee ; and he 
 contrasts Iiaffaelle's cartoon of the " Charge to Peter " 
 with the actual occurrence. "Note the handsomely- 
 curled hair and neatly«tied sandals of the men who had 
 been out all night in the sea-mists and on the slimy 
 decks. Note their convenient dresses for going 
 a-fishing, with trains that lie a yard along the ground, 
 and goodly fringes, all made to match — an apostolic 
 fishing costume. Note how Peter especially (whose 
 chief glory was in his wet coat girt about hingi and 
 
PAINTERS AND CRITICISMS. 
 
 341 
 
 naked limbs) is enveloped in folds and fringes, so as to 
 
 kneel and hold the keys with grace The whole 
 
 group of the apostles, not round Christ, as they would 
 have been naturally, but straggling away in a line, 
 that they may all be shown." " Beyond is a pleasant 
 Italian landscape, full of villas and churches." " The 
 simple truth is that the moment we look at the picture, 
 we feel our belief of the whole thing taken away. . . . 
 It is all a mere mythic absurdity, and faded decoction 
 of fringes, muscular arms, and curly heads of Greek 
 
 philosophers Whatever ihey could have fancied 
 
 for themselves about the wild, strange, infinitely stern, 
 infinitely tender, infinitely varied veracities of the life 
 of Christ, was blotted out by the vapid fineries of 
 Baflfaelle." It is easy to condemn a painter, even a 
 very great one, when something is required of him 
 whereof he never dreamt. Rafiaelle's design was to 
 represent fine and serious men — well shaped, well 
 posed, well grouped, well clad, and he never thought of 
 doing anything else. Mr. Ruskin reproaches him for 
 having represented St. Paul as a meditative Hercules, 
 leaning upon a conqueror's sword, and he adds that no 
 artist has yet painted the real St. Paul. Better is it 
 that he has not been painted : " the ugly little Jew," 
 to use M. Kenan's phrase, was beautiful as to his mind 
 only, and his mind is in his Epistles. Raffaelle was 
 right ; in contradistinction to literature, painting has 
 the living body for its object, and does not depict the 
 soul except indirectly and as an accessory. Mr. Ruskin 
 calls upon the latter art to perform the functions of the 
 former. ** The principal object in the foreground of 
 Turner's * Building of Carthage,' is a group of children 
 sailing toy boats." That, according to him, is one of 
 the most elevated of thoughts, worthy of epic poetry. 
 
 B' I 
 
 r 
 
34« 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 
 for these infants at play manifest the maritime aptitude 
 and the future greatness of Carthage. On the contrary, 
 "Claude, in subjects of the same kind, commonly 
 introduces people carrying red trunks with iron locks 
 about, and dwells with infantine delight on the lustre 
 of the leather and the ornaments of the iron." What 
 if the red suit and the burnish act as a set-off, as com- 
 plements, as useful values for arresting, retaining, or 
 preparing the vision, resembling the scale of a horn or 
 hautboy in a symphony ; he who omits the scale has 
 no ear; can he who omits the burnish and the red 
 have eyes ? 
 
 Thus the fact, the actual thing, the material and 
 physical object, is to be studied for its own sake, is to 
 be placed intact and faithfully upon canvas, with its 
 own physiognomy and all its detail, is to be so per- 
 fectly rendered and framed that a special scientific man, 
 botanist or geologist, will find a trustworthy record in 
 the picture ; nothing being allowed for ornamentation, 
 for the gratification of the senses, for the secret exigen- 
 cies of the eye ; beyond that, and as a contrast, are 
 the impressions of the moral personality, the silent 
 communing of the soul with Nature, the dull and pro* 
 longed re-echoing of a deep-seated ego, full of vibrating 
 fibres, a great inner harp which responds with unlooked- 
 for sounds to all exterior strokes ; such is the object of 
 art. To them, this powerful ego is the principal person- 
 age of the world. Unseen it dominates and encompasses 
 the things which appear ; their worth consisting in hav- 
 ing a meaning for it, in corresponding in some respects 
 to it, in drawing out from or completing in it some 
 latent emotion. The spiritual being is the centre to 
 which the rest gravitates. To secure this leading place, 
 it was essential that it should be extremely strong and 
 
PAINTERS AND CRITICISMS, 
 
 343 
 
 as corn- 
 
 absorbent. It is so, in truth, and one perceives this 
 upon considering the principal traits of the English 
 character, the need of independence, the power of 
 initiating, the energy and obstinacy of the will, the 
 strength and ruggedness of the concentrated and con- 
 trolled passions, the rough but unheard working of the 
 interior machinery, the vast and tragic spectacle which 
 a compact soul furnishes to itself, the ^abit of intro- 
 spection, the seriousness with which they have always 
 regarded human destiny, their moral and religious pre- 
 occupations, all the remains of faculties and instincts 
 which were formerly displayed by the hand of Shake- 
 speare and in the heari, of the Puritans. Confining 
 oneself to the moderns, one may say that in every 
 Englishman there is a trace of Byron, "Wordsworth, 
 and Carlyle — three minds entirely dissimilar, and yet 
 resembling each other in a point which is at once a 
 strength and a weakness, and which for lack of other 
 terms I shall venture to style the hypertrophy of the 
 ego. • 
 

 II !? 
 
 1 1 I 
 / 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 ENGLISH POETRY AND RELIGION. 
 
 rpO a mind thus attuned, the true medium of expres- 
 -*- sion is poetry. In proportion as the English are 
 inferior in the other arts, is their superiority in this 
 one. To my thinking there is no poetry which equals 
 theirs, which makes a stronger and sharper impression 
 on the mind, of which the words are more charged with 
 meaning, or which more faithfully reproduces the strug- 
 gles and aims of the inner being, of which the grasp is 
 more effective and firm, and which moves the indivi- 
 dual and deep-seated fibres within us so as to draw forth 
 from them such splendid and far-reaching harmonies. 
 On this head it would occupy too much space Tvere I to 
 pass their literature in review ; I content myself with 
 citing only one recent poem, "Aurora Leigh," by 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning, an extraordinary work, 
 which is also a masterpiece ; I repeat that space fails 
 me in order that I may state, after having pi rused it 
 twenty times, how beautiful I consider it to be. It 
 contains the confession of a generous, heroic, and 
 impassioned spirit, one superabounding in genius, of 
 which the culture has been complete, of a philosopher 
 and a poet dwelling amid the loftiest ideas, and sur- 
 passing the elevation of her ideas by the nobility of her 
 
ENGLISH POETRY AND RELIGION. 345 
 
 instincts, wholly modern by her education, by her high- 
 mindedness, by her daring, by the perpetual vibration 
 of her strained sensibility, wound up to such a pitch 
 that the slightest touch awakens in her a vast 
 orchestra and the most wonderful symphony of con- 
 cords. It is all soul, and the inward monologue, the 
 sublime song of a young girl's and artist's great heart, 
 attracted and irritated by an enthusiasm and a pride as 
 strong as her own ; the sustained contrast of the mas- 
 culine and feminine utterance, which, amid the out- 
 bursts and the variations on the same theme, continually 
 become separated and opposed in greater measure, till 
 at last, suddenly combining, they unite in a prolonged, 
 mournful, and exquisite duo, of which the strain * jo 
 lofty and so penetrating as to be wholly unsurpassable. 
 Formerly, an epic poem turned upon the foundation and 
 destruction of cities, and the strife of gods ; this one 
 turns on the struggles of ideas and passions, on the 
 transformations of characters ; its author having drawn 
 her materials, not from the outer, but from the inner 
 life ; and large though the epic framework is, the inner 
 life is still ample enough to fill it. The vicissitudes of 
 a soul so redundant and full of life are as important as 
 the encounters of armies. In default of legends and 
 divine apparitions, it has forecasts of the infinite, 
 dreams and aspirations which comprise the world, a 
 wild or luminous conception of beauty and of truth, its 
 hell and its heaven, dazzling visions, ideal vistas which, 
 unlike those of Homer, do not open upon a tradition, 
 nor, like those of Dante, upon a dogma, but upon the 
 highest peaks of modern ideas, in order to reunite at a 
 still loftier eminence around a sanctuary and a God. 
 There is nothinj^ official in this God ; he is the God of 
 the soul, of a fervid and fruitful soul, in which poetry 
 
 !l 
 
 n 
 
 j 
 1 
 
 ^ 
 
 I 
 

 346 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 becomes piety, which develops its noble instincts ail 
 around, and diffuses over infinite nature its sentiment 
 of holy beauty. The whole is set forth in a style 
 almost unique, which is less a style than the most 
 daring, most sincere, and most faithful notation, cre- 
 ated at every moment and in every variety for the 
 purpose, so that one never thinks about the words, 
 beholding directly, and, as it were, face to face, the 
 living thought leap forth with its quiverings, its sur- 
 prises, its soarings suddenly checked, its unheard-of 
 flights from sarcasm and familiarity up co ecstasy ; a 
 strange language, but true down to the minutest 
 details, the only one fitted for translating the heights 
 and depths of the inner life, the approach, the arrival, 
 and the turmoil of inspiration, the sudden concentra- 
 tion of a crowd of ideas, the unexpected outburst of 
 imagery, and the endless illuminations which, like the 
 aurora borealis, successively flash forth in a lyrical 
 imagination. 
 
 " Never flinch, 
 But still, unscrupulously epic, catch 
 "Upon the burning lava of a song, 
 The full- veined, heaving, double-breasted age : 
 That when the next shall come, the men of that 
 Maj touch th»» impress with reverent hand, and say, 
 ' Behold — behold the paps we all have sucked ! 
 This bosom seems to beat still, or at least 
 It sets ours beating ; this is living art, 
 Which thus presents and thus records true life.' " 
 
 A style like that is the natural complement of such 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Let us think 
 Of forms less, and the external. Trust the spirit, 
 As sovran nature does, to make the form ; 
 For otherwise we only imprison spirit 
 And not embody. Inward evermore 
 To outward — so in life, and so in art, 
 Which BtiU is Ufe." 
 
 ^ 
 
acts ail 
 atiment 
 a style 
 le most 
 on, cre- 
 for the 
 
 words, 
 ace, the 
 its sur- 
 leard-of 
 jtasy; a 
 aiuutest 
 heights 
 arrival, 
 Qcentra- 
 burst of 
 like the 
 
 lyrical 
 
 ay, 
 
 )f such 
 
 ENGLISH POETRY AND RELIGION 347 
 
 Poetry, thus understood, has but one personage, the 
 inner being, and but one style, the cry of a triumphant 
 or broken heart. 
 
 The more I reflect upon this conformation of the 
 English mind, on their habit of introspection, on the 
 pre-eminence of the moral being, the necessity for 
 regarding nature through the eyes of the moral being 
 from first to last, the more clearly do I arrive at an 
 understanding of the strong and innumerable roots of 
 that serious poem which is here called religion. In 
 order to comprehend with exactness its value and 
 authority, it is essential to distinguish two things — on 
 the one hand the wording of the editor, on the other 
 the sentiment of the reader. 
 
 This wording varies according to the views of the 
 difierent sects — Quakers, Presbytorians, Wesleyans, 
 Unitarians, Anglicans ; but that of the last is the most 
 commonly accepted. And with reason, for the Church 
 of England has on her side antiquity, her alliance with 
 the State, her privileges, her endowments, her bishops 
 seated in the House of Lords, her preponderance in the 
 Universities, her mean position between two extremes, 
 between the faith, the dogma, and the spirit of the 
 Puritans, and the faith, the dogma, and the spirit of 
 the Roman Catholics. In the first place, she is an old 
 and legal compromise, and this suits the majority, 
 which everywhere loves compromises, willingly follows 
 tradition, and is obedient to the law. Moreover, she is 
 rich, she is a power in the State, she has ties among 
 the aristocracy, she has good connections, she is one of 
 the organs of the Constitution, and, in virtue of all 
 these titles, she finds favour among statesmen, among 
 Conservatives, among men of the world, among all 
 those who wish to be considered "respectable." To 
 
348 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 Ml 
 
 , ■' 
 
 i ' 
 
 crown all, her Prayer-Book is very beautiful, her ser- 
 Tices are noble and impressive, her conduct is semi- 
 tolerant, she permits some play to the free judgment 
 of the individual. Thus accredited, she proposes and 
 imposes her version, and it may be said that this ver- 
 sion is general^'- admitted. There are thr»^e distinct 
 parties in this State Church : one, which is the more 
 aristocratic, leans more upon authority, has the greater 
 fondness for ritual, i» called the High Church ; the 
 other, which is more popular, more ardent, more eager 
 to make conversions and renovate the her.it, is called 
 the Low Church party. Both of them, being rather 
 narrow and inflexible, leave scope for the operations of 
 a Liberal party, the Broad Church, which includes the 
 minds that are the most eminent and conciliatory, 
 and the best qualified for reconciling science and faith. 
 Thanks to the latter party, the gulf which separates 
 lay thought from ecclesiastical tradition has ceased to 
 be impassable. 
 
 Among several other polemic and dogmatic treatises, 
 I have just read Alford's " Greek Testament," one of 
 the most authorised commentaries on the Scriptures. 
 He does not go so far as the German critics ; his his- 
 torical judgment is burdened by foregone conclusions, 
 yet his concessions are sufficiently large to satisfy com- 
 mon sense. According to him the Evangelists are not 
 in perfect accord ; sometimes even, more especially as 
 regards chronology, they contradict each other. ** This 
 is because they were not mere speaking-trumpets, 
 channels of the Holy Ghost, but simple, holy men in- 
 spired by it." They had common materials from which 
 to write, to wit, tradition and some imperfect texts, 
 but these materials were " subject to all the varieties of 
 diction, arrangement, omission, and addition which a 
 
ENGLISH POETRY AND RELIGION: 349 
 
 her ser- 
 18 semi- 
 udgment 
 )oses and 
 this ver- 
 I distinct 
 the more 
 e greater 
 rch ; the 
 3re eager 
 is called 
 g rather 
 ations of 
 Ludes the 
 ciliatory, 
 ,nd faith, 
 separates 
 jeased to 
 
 reatises, 
 " one of 
 jriptures. 
 his his- 
 ilusions, 
 ify corn- 
 are not 
 lially as 
 " This 
 umpets, 
 en in- 
 which 
 texts, 
 eties of 
 hich a 
 
 narrative admits of when it is the offspring of several 
 individual minds and several different places." Each 
 narrator, according to the nature, the defects, and the 
 compass of his information, his memory, his imagina- 
 tion, and his sentiment, left his mark upon it. The 
 whole is true, but it is true as a whole only. Now, 
 between the divine kernel and the human covering, 
 the dividing point is not clear ; each person may cut 
 off more or less, and even in the Church itself many 
 persons cut off a large portion. According to Dean 
 Stanley, being a Christian does not consist in believing 
 in particular events in the life of Jesus, in particular 
 dogmas revealed by Jesus, but in Jesus Himself, in the 
 moral and religious spirit with which the Gospels are 
 inspired. He explains the gift of tongues in the same 
 way as M. Benan. He admits, like the German theo- 
 logians, that the Gospels, such as we have them, were 
 composed long after the Epistles of St. Paul. His 
 comments on these Epistles are in the style of modern 
 criticism, being marked by the details, the judgment, 
 the independent and piercing forecasts which now-a- 
 days distinguish a commentary on Dante or Pascal. 
 He depicts Corinth, with its sea and its temples, after 
 Pausanias, after the reports of travellers, after the ex- 
 perience of his own travels. He exhibits St. Paul dic- 
 tating to Sosthenes, a, ' 'sciple who sits beside him, and 
 who stops every now and then to remind him of an 
 omission. " We can imagine that the letter to which 
 St. Paul replied was unrolled before him in such a 
 manner that he could see at a glance the difificulties 
 suggested, raise objections in turn, sometimes citing 
 them in the very words employed, and sometimes in 
 his own language." He effectively describes and ex- 
 plains St. Paulas style, a style as powerful and wonder- 
 
 ' ij 
 
 
350 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 ful as the matter itself; a stylo jerky and forced, owing 
 to the interior emotion, wholly composed of outbursts 
 or of rough fragments of burning thoughts leaping 
 and clashing like pieces of lava amid flame and smoke ; 
 he likens it in some respects to that of Thucydides, 
 better still to that of Cromwell. He shows the Hebraic 
 temperament and the Oriental imagination of the 
 Apostle, apropos of which he recalls the state of mind 
 characteristic of the Prophets and the Psalmists, and 
 he goes the length of pointing out the relics of a 
 similar form of mental exaltation among the Maho- 
 metan dervishes. In short, according to him, in order 
 to understand the era of the Evangelists it is neces- 
 sary above all to form a conception of enthusiasts aiid 
 of the scenes of enthusiasm such as formerly occurred 
 among the Puritans, and may now be found in the 
 " shoutings " of America. Mr. Jowett carries criti- 
 cism farther still. When reading the New Testa- 
 ment he puts the common version un one side, 
 and takes that of Lachmann, the first being to the 
 second what the Sophocles and Thucydides of the 
 Bevival are to those of Dindorf and of Becker, or 
 what the " Pensees " of Pascal, published by the Port- 
 Royal, are to the same " Pensees " edited by M. Feu- 
 gere. The faith of the early Christians did not 
 exactly resemble ours. " They believed that the end 
 of the world and the second coming of Christ were at 
 hand;'* transported with their conversion they lived 
 in a species of " ecstasy ;" their faith was simple and 
 child-like, " it was the belief of men who did not try 
 to penetrate the designs of Providence, and who had 
 never dreamed about the perspectives of the future ; 
 it was the sentiment of men who thought about the 
 coming of Christ as we think about the return of a 
 
 \ 
 
ENGLISH POETRY AND RELIGION. 351 
 
 I, owing 
 utbursts 
 leaping 
 smoke ; 
 cydides, 
 Hebraic 
 
 of the 
 of mind 
 [sts, and 
 ics of a 
 
 Maho- 
 in order 
 
 e 
 
 lost friend, many of them having seen him upon earth, 
 and being unable to believe that he had been taken 
 away for ever." Regarding the outside only, and from 
 the world's point of view, they left the impression 
 which would now be made by a sect of Dissenters, 
 poor dreamers whom the men of the world would con- 
 sider fanatical, narrow-minded, eccentric, and even 
 dangerous. Their language bears marks of their 
 mental disposition. The words justice, faith, charity 
 are much more vague as used by St. Paul than by us ; 
 they correspond to a more excited frame of mind, to a 
 less definite play of ideas. When he says that Adam's 
 sin is imputed to us, ho is moved by an outburst of 
 passion, ho writes in the style of the Hebrews ; this 
 merely means " that we are all as one man by the com- 
 munity of our evil nature," and by this community, 
 and not otherwise, are we all united in Adam's trans- 
 gression. The excitement and the imagination of the 
 Apostle and the Oriental are manifested by his fre- 
 quent use of ** very nearly," and his figures of speech 
 are not formulas. When he speaks of redemption and 
 sin offering, he alludes to a Jewish custom. Between 
 this stormy and inspired spirit, which comes out of 'he 
 Synagogue, speaks in ejaculations, thinks in blocks, 
 and the lucid, exact, discursive modern intellect, which 
 separates and follows, one by one, the mass of precise 
 ideas, the difference is enormous. It would be absurd, 
 and horrible in addition, to elevate local metaphors 
 into philosophical doctrines. The reader sees for him- 
 self the consequence of principles like these — to wit, 
 the advent of philology, of criticism, of psychology, 
 the renovation of theology, the transfiguration of 
 dogma. The effect of this is visible already. Distin- 
 guished men, historians, clergymen, have resigned 
 
 \<. 
 
35* 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 1 
 
 their positions in the University and in the Church 
 because their consciences ' no longer assented to the 
 Thirty-nine Articles. Bishop Colenso, of Natal, when 
 questioned by converts about the Old Testament, and 
 asked to pledge his word of honour that it was all true, 
 fell into deep reflection, began to study the subject, 
 read the German explanations, and ended by publish- 
 ing a book which relegated the Biblical stories to the 
 rank of myths. One of my friends, who is very well 
 informed, estimates that out of twenty- four bishops 
 there are four who favour the liberal criticisms ema- 
 nating from Oxford ; moreover, these find support 
 among a large number of influential and respected 
 laymen, who approve of them. The modem spirit 
 filters through other fissures — by geology and natural 
 history — for which the English have groat apti- 
 tude, by the experimental psychology which they 
 have always cultivated. In truth, an Englishman 
 chiefly loves demonstrated facts, either external or in- 
 ternal — the incontestable and existing facts of which 
 every one can at any moment gain experience either 
 within him or without. This disposition may give 
 birth to theories and even to a system of philosophy, 
 to tjieories like those of Lyell, of Huxley, of Darwin, 
 and of Tyndall, to a philosophy like that of J. S. Mill 
 and Herbert Spencer. "Where such a taste predo- 
 minates, it leads the mind towards one of the forms 
 of positivism, and indeed, under diverse forms, espe- 
 cially among men of science, positivism is no rarity 
 here. 
 
 Among contemporary nations, among the French, 
 for instance, these things, in difierent proportions, are 
 very much alike. There, too, we find a symbol, a text 
 accepted by the majority, comprehensive or narrow in- 
 
ENGLISH POETRV AND RELIGION 353 
 
 Churcli 
 L to the 
 al, when 
 Lent, and 
 all true, 
 subject, 
 publish- 
 ies to the 
 i^ery well 
 bishops 
 sms ema- 
 support 
 respected 
 m spirit 
 d natural 
 eat apti- 
 ich they 
 lishman 
 al or in- 
 f which 
 e either 
 lay give 
 llosophy, 
 jDarwin, 
 S. MiU 
 predo- 
 |e forms 
 3, espe- 
 rarity 
 
 i'rench, 
 
 ms, are 
 
 a text 
 
 row in- 
 
 terpretations admitted by several small groups, a scien- 
 tific scepticism to suit some free-thinkers and several 
 men of science who devote themselves to a special pur- 
 suit. In uU these things the points of resemblance are 
 striking, but they are merely superficial. The inner 
 emotion remains to bo considered, the attitude of the 
 reader in presence of the accepted symbol ; it is in 
 this particular that the two nations differ irreconcile- 
 ably. An P^nglishman is naturally influenced by the 
 sentiment of the far-boyond. For him, beyond human 
 experience prolonged as far as it is possible to imagine, 
 there is an abyss, a vast we know not what, whether 
 blankness or brilliancy ; and in this matter the most 
 determined votaries of pure experience are at one with 
 the believers. Beyond attainable things Herbert Spencer 
 expressly places something unattainable, the " unknow- 
 able," the infinite basis, whereof we can touch but a 
 portion and the surface. If J. S. Mill dare not affirm 
 this infinity which oversteps all limits, ho at least 
 admits it as a possibility. An expanse of darkness, 
 empty or peopled, enveloping the narrow circle wherein 
 flickers our little lamp, such is the common impression 
 made upon the sceptics as well as upon the faithful by 
 the spectacle of things. Such an impression puts the 
 mind in a solemn attitude ; it does not proceed without 
 a tincture of terror ; the human being is in presence of 
 an incommensurate and overwhelming spectacle ; he is 
 inclined to wonder and awe. As he is reflecting, prone 
 to moralise, he has no difiiculty in recognising the far- 
 bey ond in the moral, as in the material world. He 
 speedily feels that his power is limited, his vaticination 
 short, his undertakings uncertain, that he resembles a 
 leaf carried away in a vast and angry current. During 
 days of sorrow, at the funerals of his relations, in sick- 
 
 A A 
 
354 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 ness or in peril, wlien his dependence and ignorance 
 stand before him in sharp and dread outlines, this emo- 
 tion becomes poignant. lie turns his eyes towards the 
 great universal movement, towards the obscure and 
 imposing government of the whole. By dint of medi- 
 tating, he tries to image it to himself, and, in default 
 of another image, he pictures it as the government of 
 some one, as the result of an intelligent and deter- 
 minate guidance, as the work of a power and a mind to 
 which nothing is wanting of those things in which he 
 himself is deficient. Yet another step. If, amidst the 
 imperfections he discovers in himself, the gravest in his 
 eyes are his evil inclinations, if he is chiefly concerned 
 with ideas about the just and the unjust, if his con- 
 science is awake and active, the primitive emotion 
 guided, rendered clear, and completed, terminates in 
 the conception of a moral Deity. Thomas Arnold 
 wrote to a person troubled with doubt, " Begin by re- 
 garding everything from the moral point of view, a.id 
 you will end by believing in God." Upon the struc- 
 ture thus reared, at the summit of all these converging 
 pillars, this belief comes of itself and takes its place 
 there as the kej'stone of the arch. The mysterious, 
 the infinite, the far-beyond, becomes the mysterious 
 Providence, and the texts of Scripture and the Liturgy 
 are simply mediums for exprefcii>ing the inarticulate 
 yearning of the heart. 
 
 Such is the soundless preparation, the inner ferment, 
 whereby the conception of God is formed and deve- 
 loped. The child receives it from without like a graft. 
 But, in order that this graft should take hold, and 
 should not remain a piece of dead matter in the mind, 
 it is necessary that the mind should adapt itself, and 
 cling to it and impart its sap to it. This is not per- 
 
ornorance 
 this emo- 
 wsLvds the 
 ;cure and 
 , of medl- 
 Ln default 
 rnment of 
 nd deter- 
 a mind to 
 which he 
 imidst the 
 vest in his 
 concerned 
 f his con- 
 e emotion 
 ninates in 
 as Arnold 
 gin by re- 
 view, a^id 
 the struc- 
 |on verging 
 its place 
 ysterious, 
 ysterious 
 e Liturgy 
 articulate 
 
 ferment, 
 Ind deve- 
 te a graft, 
 (hold, and 
 the mind, 
 tself, and 
 inot per- 
 
 ENGLISH POETRY AND RELIGION. 355 
 
 formed but after tedious, hidden, and unconscious 
 labour. It ordinarily takes years for the junction to be 
 made and the foreign cutting to become transformed into 
 an acquired branch. As far as I can judge, this is done 
 naturally and successfully in an English mind, accord- 
 ing to the process I have described, by the conception 
 of the infinite powers which overwhelm us, by the con- 
 centration of these shadowy powers in one person, and 
 by the installation of this personage on the throne of 
 the moral world. In this manner religion ceases to be 
 an official formula which men repeat, and becomes a 
 living sentiment which men feel. In order to be con- 
 vinced of this the reader has but to study the details 
 of daily life in the correspondence, in the biographies, 
 in the poems, in the romances, in all the spontaneous 
 evidences which cannot be suspected of hypocrisy. 
 Some time ago the newspapers published a letter which 
 a poor sergeant, slain at Petropaulowski, wrote to his 
 wife Alice, on the eve of the engagement ; nothing 
 could be nobler, more touching, more profoundly ear- 
 nest ; it was the testament of a soul. Among three 
 novels taken at random there are two in which at a 
 momentous crisis we perceive the intervention if not of 
 prayer at least of the solemn emotion of the human 
 being who feels that above his own head and every 
 head reigns infinite Justice. The doctrine may be dis- 
 cussed ; in presence of the sentiment itself we can but 
 bow the head ; it is sublime. 
 
 
 I'M 
 III 
 
 II 
 
]''■ 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 t 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 T TiKVT T\rmio]\osl(M' for ninsp^ow at two in ilio 
 -^ morning. At. (Inybroak 1 mwv tlio iinviiriod 
 I'iUgHsh landsonpo, oomposiMl of a imvulow and a IumIjtc- 
 row on a soil not naturally rich and fortilo, jjm in 
 I'Mandors, but lalH>rlously tilled, and foriMnl by luimau 
 inilustrv to yiold its inoroaso. lioyond Oarlislo tbo 
 
 • • • 
 
 ground is undulating, witli long and high slopos which 
 sorvo iov grazing groujul ; it is a solitude, noithor troos 
 nor cultivated iiehls being visible; hero and there is 
 11 house ; sheep dot with white points tho lingo green 
 oniinenees. This everlasting green, always moist and 
 always pale, produces a. cnrious impression. 
 
 Nearing Glasgow there are innumerable chimneys, 
 flaming blast-furnaces ; I counted as many us sixteen 
 in a heap. Glasgow, like ^lanchester, is a city of 
 iron and coal. It, too, is situated in the district v/hich 
 is colonred black in the maps, and the ("^lyde nuikes of 
 it a port, connwting it with the ocean. One is inclined 
 to see in tho p/hysical charactcristica of the locality tho 
 forecast of its history : the green land, tho flocks, the 
 dairy produce, the damp and cold climate, tlio barren 
 soil, engender a carnivorous, an energetic, a stubborn, 
 and an industrious creature; tho coal, the iron, tho 
 
/f riar riiRoran scotlaxd. 
 
 3W 
 
 iro in ilio 
 iinviiriiHl 
 (1 Ji IhmI^o- 
 filo, UvS in 
 by huintiu 
 tirHulo iho 
 opoa wliicli 
 (lior ircos 
 id (horo is 
 lugo green 
 moist und 
 
 eliimnoys, 
 UH sixteen 
 
 u city of 
 rict v/liich 
 
 nuil<':'8 of 
 18 inclined 
 )cality the 
 flocks, the 
 
 ho barren 
 
 stubborn, 
 iron, the 
 
 proxJinlly to llje Hrn, llin rivcrM ndiiplrrl (or porfR, 
 tempt liiiM to becomn u. niimurnctiin'r jukI u incn'lKmt. 
 ^X\\{> |)i)piil!ili<)i] ninnb(M'M ncnrly liiilf w. million. \\\\\, 
 tlie Nijrlit of tlioHo vdHt liivcH iM iihvMyH piiiiiCiil ; l)(ir»'- 
 footcMl cliildrcti cnivvl in llie n»u(I ; women in riu'-H, nud 
 whoHo lorn i^ownH <'Xp()M(^ tb(M'r perHonn, nit iit Hircu^fc 
 <M>rnerM sncklinfr t.lieir inrunts. 'IMie clinjito in worso 
 tluin nt MiinclirHlcr. ft is now \\\v. end of tlnly, nnd 
 the sin i*- Hln'ninij;', ntill I do not lind my ovenMurt too 
 heavy. Hnppijy, tln^ liunmn IVnnm can adopt itHcIf to 
 ils Hnrroundinjrs. (ji-own-np \(\v\n^ h)llinnr upon llxj 
 gniHH, liav(^ n(Mlli('r ntixdiin^.s nor hIiooh; litth? boys are 
 balhinji^ In the river. IhvsidoH, jijirlicnlnr tniitH of 
 morn! ('Iitu*act<'r yield a rompensnlion. i am Htayin;j^ 
 in a hotel (Ve(pi(Mit(>d by eomTrien'iid trjivelleiM, and 
 (hiring the twenty-i'onr Iioui'h, eHpeeinlly af, tabh', I hoo 
 scores of tliein. Tbeir ])!iyHi();jjnomy in ii, cotnbinulion 
 of landed proprlc^tor, ])r()reHM()r, and Hlioenudcer, tliat 
 of o\ir eonnnercinl tiM,V(>nerH Ixiing a mixture of tlio 
 wa,cr niid tlie soldier. Now, in matters of business and 
 eomnieree tlie former eliaraeter succeeds mucli Ix.'ttcr 
 than the latter; and tliis distinction i« not mc^t with 
 among tho connnercial travellers of the two countries 
 ah)ne. 
 
 In tho luminous morning mist, amid a lino of mnsts 
 nnd rigging, tlio steamboat sailed down the Clyde to 
 the sea. We proceeded along tlie indente<l and rugged 
 coast from one bay to another. These bays, being almost 
 entirely closed in, resend)le lakes, and tlio large sheets 
 of water mirror an amphitheatre of green hills. All 
 tlie corners and windings of tho shore are strewn with 
 white villas ; the water is crowded with ships ; a height 
 was pointed out to me whence three hundred sail may 
 often be counted at a time ; a three-decker floats in 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 !' 
 
358 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 
 the distance like a swan among sea-mews. This vast 
 space spread forth and full of life, dilates the mind, 
 one's chest expands more freely, one joyfully inhales 
 the fresh and keen breeze. But the effect upon the 
 nerves and the heart does not resemble that of the 
 Mediterranean ; this air and country, instead of pre- 
 disposing to pleasure, dispose to action. 
 
 We enter a small vessel drawn by three horses, 
 which transports us along the Crinan canal, between 
 two banks of green turf. On the one side are rocks 
 covered with brushwood ; on the other, steep declivities 
 of a grey or reddish tinge ; this, indeed, is colour at 
 last, a pleasure for the eye, well mingled, matched, and 
 blended tints. On the bank and amid the bushes are 
 wild roses, and fragile plants with white tufts smile 
 with a delicate and charming grace. 
 
 At the outlet from the canal we go on board a large 
 steamer, and the sea opens out wider than ever. The 
 sky is exceedingly clear and brilliant, and the waves 
 break in the sunlight, quivering with reflections of 
 molten tin. The vessel continues her course, leaving 
 in her track a bubbling and boiling path ; sea gulls 
 follow unweariedly behind her. On both sides, islands, 
 rocks, boldly-cut promontories stand in sharp relief in 
 the pale azure ; the scene changes every quarter of an 
 hour. But on rounding every point the infinite ocean 
 reappears, mingling its almost flat line with the curve 
 of the white sky. 
 
 The sun sets, we pass by Glencoe, and Ben Nevis 
 appears sprinkled with snow ; the bay becomes narrower, 
 and the mass of water, confined amid barren mountains, 
 assumes a tragic appearance. Human beings have come 
 hither to little purpose ; Nature remains indomitable 
 and wild ; one feels oneself upon a planet. 
 
A TRIP THROUGH SCOTLAND. 
 
 359 
 
 i. This vast 
 s the mind, 
 ully inhales 
 ct upon the 
 that of the 
 ;ead of pre- 
 
 bree horses, 
 lal, between 
 le are rocks 
 ip declivities 
 is colour at 
 latched, and 
 e bushes are 
 tufts smile 
 
 oard a large 
 ever. The 
 
 I the waves 
 flections of 
 se, leaving 
 sea gulls 
 les, islands, 
 ^p relief in 
 
 larter of an 
 
 inite ocean 
 
 the curve 
 
 Jen Wevis 
 
 narrower, 
 
 lountains, 
 
 Ihave come 
 
 Idomitable 
 
 We disembark near Fort William ; the dying 
 twilight, the fading red rays on the horizon, enable 
 us to get a glimpse of a desolate country ; acres of 
 peat-bog, eminences rising from the valley between 
 two ranges of huge mountains. A bird of prey screams 
 amid the stillness. Here and there we sec some wretched 
 hovels ; I am told that those on the heights are dens 
 without windows, and from which the smoke escapes 
 tlirough a hole in the roof. Many of the old men are 
 blind. "What an unpropitious abode for man ! 
 
 On the morrow we voyaged during four hours on the 
 Caledonian canal amidst solitudes, a monotonous row of 
 tree-less mountains, enormous green eminences, dotted 
 here and there with fallen stones. A i(^yff sheep of a 
 dwarf breed crop the scanty herbage on the slopes ; 
 sometimes the winter is so severe that they die ; in the 
 distance we perceive a shaggy ox, with savage eyes, the 
 size of a small ass. Both plants and animals perish, 
 or are stunted. In order to make such a land vield 
 anything it must first be replanted with trees, as has 
 been done in Sutherlandshire ; a tree renews the soil, 
 it also shelters crops, flocks and herds, and human 
 beings. 
 
 The canal terminates in a series of lakes. Nothing 
 is more noble than their aspect, nothing more touch- 
 ing. The water, embrowned by the peat, forms a vast 
 shining plain, surrounded by a circle of mountains. In 
 proportion as we advance each mountain slowly grows 
 upon us, becomes more conspicuous, stands forth with 
 its form and physiognomy ; the farther blue peaks melt 
 the one behind the other, diminishing towards the 
 horizon, which they enclose. Thus they stand in 
 position like an assemblage of huge, mournful beings 
 aiound the black water wherein they are mirrored, 
 
,1 
 
 360 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 i 
 
 
 while abovs them and the lake, from time to time, the 
 sun flashes through the shroud of clouds. 
 
 At last the solitude becomes less marked. The 
 mountains are half-wooded at first, and then wholly 
 so ; they dwindle down, the widening valleys are 
 covered with harvest ; the fresh and green verdure of 
 the herbage which supplies forage begins to clothe the 
 hollows and the slopes. "We enter Inverness, and we 
 are surprised to find at almost the extreme north of 
 Scotland, on the border of the Highlands, a pretty and 
 lively modern town. It stretches along the two banks 
 of a clear and rapid river. Many houses are newly- 
 built ; we note a church, a castle, an iron bridge. In 
 every part are marks of cleanliness, forethought, and 
 special care. he window-panes shine, the frames 
 have been painted ; the bell-handles are of copper ; 
 there are flowers in the windows ; the poorest houses 
 are freshly white- vashed. Well-dressed ladies and 
 carefully-dressed gentlemen walk along the streets. 
 Even a desire to possess works of art is shown by 
 Ionian pillars, specimens of pure Gothic, and other 
 architectural gimcrackery, and these" prove at least the 
 search after improvement. The land itself is clearly 
 of inferior quality ; industry, order, economy, and 
 labour have done everything. How great the contrast 
 between all this and the aspect of a small town on the 
 shores of the Mediterranean, so neglected and filthy, 
 where the lower middle -class exist like worms in a 
 worm-eaten beam ! 
 
 I spent eight days in the neighbourhood with a 
 friend. Nearly all the cottages are well-kept, or 
 renovated. The small farms and the labourers' huts 
 are surrounded with honeysuckle, and have gardens 
 attached, filled with blooming roses. It is true these too 
 
time, the 
 
 'ked. The 
 len wholly 
 i'^alleys are 
 verdure of 
 clothe the 
 ss, and we 
 e north of 
 pretty and 
 two banks 
 ire newly- 
 iridge. In 
 ought, and 
 bhe frames 
 of copper; 
 'est houses 
 ladies and 
 e streets, 
 shown by 
 and other 
 least the 
 is clearly 
 my, and 
 contrast 
 n on the 
 d filthy, 
 rms in a 
 
 with a 
 [kept, or 
 lers* huts 
 
 gardens 
 Ithese too 
 
 A TRIP THROUGH SCOTLAND. 
 
 361 
 
 low-built dwellings have often only a ground floor, and 
 are narrow, because the cost of building materials is so 
 high. It is also true that the ill- ventilated bed occu- 
 pies an enclosed space in the wall because of the 
 extreme cold in winter. Yet these drawbacks of soil 
 and climate have been a spur to man. Everywhere, in 
 the lowliest cottages, there are books — the Bible in the 
 first place, in addition a few biographical works, books 
 of travel, guides to health, hand-books of fishing, 
 agricultural treatises, from eight to twenty volumes in 
 all. Nearly all the Scotch peasants can read and 
 write. Our entertainers shook hands with all the 
 honest women and young girls, telling us to do like- 
 wise ; the latter showed no signs of embarrassment. 
 Each peasant considers himself master in his home, 
 independent in spiritual as in temporal things, charged 
 with his salvation, and this imparts to him a natural 
 dignity. The rich and the gentry do not keep them- 
 selves to themselves, nor remain apart out of distrust, 
 dislike, selfishness, as in France ; they deliver public 
 lectures, they expend some of their income on public 
 works. A church built by one of them was pointed 
 out to me ; another, who has erected a suspension 
 bridge, requests the passengers in a notice to walk 
 their horses across it. The wall round his park is but 
 two feet in height ; every one may enter, to injure 
 anything being alone forbidden. 
 
 Between Keith and Aberdeen I met an excursion 
 train, in which all the carriages were crowded. Their 
 occupants were going to a religious meeting, a gather- 
 ing for edification, and the expression .f Protestant 
 emotion ; a Revival which many celebrated preachers 
 were to address. The crowd is so great that it is neces- 
 sary to telegraph for more carriages, and yet in many 
 
 
 . * 
 
 S \ 
 
I 
 
 y(l 
 
 A()77':s ox i:x(ir.Axn. 
 
 ('■■irr ill <;•('« yoiitip; ^Ii'Im iiwiy 1)p h(hmi silllnp; upon nuMi's 
 KiUTM. My iu'ijj;hl)(>ur Hnys {\mi iwonly IIioummikI ])(«r- 
 H(MiH will 1)0 proHont ; houio of t Ikmii coino fVotn ^rcnt 
 (lisfanooM, from iifly lo Hixly iiiiloH. During flio Hlop- 
 ]);i;4;o of tho train, tl»o wojncn Im^^j^iui to sin^ n ])Hiilni 
 with nn air of HinciM'ity and conviction ; tlic Hacn-d 
 nuisii* hero is always };-rav(^ and swcc^t, and n(»V(M* fails 
 to alh>rd n»c ph^asuro. Tho carriaj^cs aro third-class, 
 and th(M'r orcu[)antH aro sliopktM'ptM's, workmen, a<rri- 
 cultural lal)our(>rs, all of thom diuvsscd liko our Iowct 
 middle class ; their clotlu\s, made of grey or brown 
 clolh, art^ chvni and ol'ten mnv ; their ])hysio<^nomioH 
 are li<.(dy Jvnd intidliij^ent ; the rac(Mip])ears nn)rea(^tiv(», 
 more astute than in l*]n;4:land. Thes(» an^ the common 
 l)eople, but they arc ch>arly better cultured than our 
 villa ::^era. 
 
 On arriviuij; at the h(>tel, which was a temperance 
 one, T found on the landlady's tabl(\ amid numv moral 
 romances and books of devotion, a tract contaim'nj^ an 
 apolop^y for Revivals. In it tho exclamations, the 
 faintings, and tho impassioned numi testations aro jus- 
 tiiled. " In the higliest circh^s, a mother, a father, Jiro 
 beside tliomsclvos for joy when a son returns whom 
 tliey had given up for lost, and no ono condemns their 
 conduct as irratioiud ; how nuioh more natural is it to 
 act likewise when tho soel suddenly fools that it is 
 saved, being redeemed by grace ? " A clorgyman 
 censures Sir AValtor Scott in a newspaper for having 
 brought the Covenantors into disfavour by his novels. 
 To mo it seems that tho Presbyterian form of IVotos- 
 tantism is the appropriate poem hero, sad, grandiose, 
 limited in range, excellently fitted for leading man to 
 look inwards, for rendering him inclined to labour, and 
 for makine: him cnduro tho burden of life. 
 
yf TRIP riiRorair srorrAxn. 
 
 3^? 
 
 upon mm s 
 louMimd p(<r- 
 
 ( frOMl ^TCIlt 
 1^ Iho Htop- 
 iii^ It ])Miilin 
 ; llu» HjKM'cd 
 iu»V(M* (nilH 
 ^ iliii'd-clnHM, 
 rkiiMMi, M«^ri- 
 (> our lower 
 'Y or brown 
 iVHio}^noini(>H 
 1 nior(» n(i(iv<>, 
 llio cotnmon 
 2(\ tluui our 
 
 tomporanco 
 
 min»v moral 
 Tilainliijr an 
 
 uitioiiH, iho 
 >]is jiro juH- 
 I, fjitlior, (iro 
 urna whom 
 omns tlioir 
 liral 1*8 it to 
 that it is 
 clorf^-yman 
 br liavin<^ 
 lis novels, 
 of l^rotes- 
 grandiose, 
 jg man to 
 ibour, and 
 
 At service, on Siiiidny, there are no pnlntlnf^s, 
 slalueH, or inHtnmieMtnl miiHic. 'i'lie eliurcli is a piiiiri 
 nieetinfr-honse, Hii])pli(vl witli seals, rurnlHlied wifli a 
 giilN'ry on \\\v lirHJ-Moor, very well Julnpied lor ])nl)lie, 
 lec^lures; in trutli, divines service? h(U'(i is nothing hut a 
 moral lecture. The ininisl(>r tnkes lor his text, " Wo 
 must work out our own salvation," must not wait for 
 \\v\\) from otluM's, must mak(< an (^dort, must act hy 
 ourselves; (lod will help us, grant us His grace, not 
 heeause of our c^xcu'tions (it luMiig given gratuitously), 
 hut in ])ropor<.ion to our (exertions. TIk; sermon was 
 well deliver(>(l, soherly and judiciously, heing devoid of 
 sot phrases or ejacida lions. Tliough ratlu^r ahstract, 
 tho ])r(u;e])t is practi<;ai and may awak(;n rfjflections 
 and individual reasoning in some heads, more (!specially 
 in winter or when rain falls. To follow (jontinuously 
 such argumenlation wilh tho help of th(5 Old or New 
 Testament text is an occu])ation elevating to tho mind 
 and provocative of work for tho consci(!nce. ]*esid(;s 
 tho sermon, ilie service consisted of reading certain 
 passag'^s of Scripture, especially from St. I'aul ; of 
 prayers in prose spoken aloud, psalms and hymns sung 
 by the congregation. The prayers and the hymns wcao 
 correctly insipid and wholly modern ; no on(5 has really 
 known how to address (jlod since the great lit(!rary ago 
 of Shakespeare and Milton. l>ut tho psalms, thougli 
 fecibly rendered, are sustained by the strength of tlieir 
 sentiment and spirit; even at this day a soul in 
 trouble, conscious of its responsibility, can enter into 
 their meaning ; they arc tho dialogue of tlic I.^.nan 
 heart and tho J^]ternal Judge alone and face to ffice. 
 IJy means of them, amidst controversial theology, dry 
 preaching, and monotonous labour, the moral sentiment 
 expands into a poetical flower. It is not too much to 
 
 i 
 
 
 1 
 
iH 
 
 Aorrs ox /:x(,'rAxn. 
 
 luiv(» one llow(M\ OIK* only, in u rrlIi>ion of wliicli ilio 
 nsMg(»H jmd \\\o <l(»^ina.s h^scmjjMo ii (hicUcf ol' brliiiH. 
 TluM'on^n^jviiiion WMH v(M'y nM('nliv(*; 1 n.m told fluit 
 SiM>(liui(l is ovon nioro rdi^iouM thnn Mn;^liui(l ; jiu» 
 inosl. rio;i«l Pn^sbylcM'iMiii.sni Iimh not Iummi consitli^nMl in 
 ^('oIImiuI (o 1)0 Nnlllt>i(Millv ri<»:id. In ISI^l, ninnv ])or- 
 sons tlionjj^l'.t iliMt. flio pnvscMilnlion of niinistoiH hy a 
 ]>»1ron WHS confrjiry <o i\w liiw of (lod; Ikmico wns 
 TornKMl \]\o Vroo Cluircli, wlnCli is nuiinliiinj'd by ilio 
 volunl.'iry subscriptions of its nuMubors. Slio bocanio 
 the equal of the lOsfabb'sluMl (Miurcli williin tb<^ space 
 of a lew years. At pn^j-tMit hIk* lias an ineonie of 
 i!.'i()(), ()()() sterlinu;'; sin* has IbundiMl TOO sebools ; she 
 lias adluM'ents ii; every villaj^e. From tbo Irilliii}^ 
 ini]iorlanee oi' tin* point in disj)uje, from ilie lliorouf^li- 
 ness* o( lb(» st^paration (hat was rflrctcd, iVom the 
 ]>n>niplilud(% llie vasjness, and the cost of the work 
 whieh was aeeoniplisluMl, may bo esliiuated the theo- 
 h)p;ieal susee])tibility and the zeal of the eontributors. 
 The like remark appli(\s to Sinuhiy observance ; eom- 
 l>ared willi that of Edinburgh, a London (Sunday is 
 pleasant. 
 
 The surroundlnp^ landscape is very neat and very 
 pretty ; the soil a])peara to bo mediocre ; but the tillage 
 is loss rog'idar tlian in l^iUp^hnid. A ruder Nature 
 lends horsilf inore reluctantly to discipline; the sur- 
 face is undulating and would please a painter. I'lowers 
 abound, tliey are delicate and dainty, more particularly 
 the wild roses, which bloom along all the road-sides. 
 Small, clear, and murmuring streams meander through 
 the meadows. On the slopes the violet heatlis are 
 spread like a silken carpet under the scanty firs. 
 Higher still are large patches of evergreen wood, and, 
 as soon as the mountain is approached, a brown circle 
 
A TRIP riiRovcii scorr.AM). 
 
 .1<'5 
 
 nf wln'cli flin 
 i<'f' of Ihi'mih. 
 «»M <(»I(l flint 
 !n«»l(m(l ; (iio 
 'onsidc^rcd in 
 '{, inimy ))(>r- 
 
 • 
 
 ; honco wjiH 
 
 ilM(l 1)V tlio 
 
 \\\ ill(^ N|)!IC(> 
 
 n incomo oC 
 
 n(Oh)(»Ih ; slio 
 
 <lio <rl(lin<r 
 
 H> fliorouo-li- 
 
 I, iVoiM tlio 
 
 (if tlio Avork 
 d tlio flico- 
 
 onlribuiorH. 
 
 .•moo; coin- 
 (Sunduy is 
 
 and very 
 
 Oio till{io;o 
 |lor Ndtiiro 
 ; tlio 811 r- 
 '. I*'lowcra 
 liird'cularly 
 road-sidrs. 
 T tln-oup^li 
 lioatlis nro 
 'anty firs, 
 ood, and, 
 •wu circlo 
 
 of barren onnnMicrH may bo dl«c<'rrn'd fowardn IIk? 
 b(>riz(m. At ibc <'nd (if an lioiir tbo dc.s«>rt begins; 
 tbo (dirniit.o i'h iniiiiical to bic, oven to ibai. of pIuiitH. A 
 tarn, tlin tint of l)iirnt topaz, b'<'M coldly and Hiidly 
 bi't\v(M.>n Htony hIojich wbonon a low tnl'tH of lorn and 
 boatbor j^row bon? ami tbor(\ llnlf a bji^uf? bi^brr in 
 a H(M!()nd (urn, wbicb a|)[)oiirH hd'll irioro dismiil in tbo 
 rininii^ iiiiHt. Around, ixitcboH of Hnow aro Hpriid<b'd on 
 tbo pcakH, and tb(!Ho doHoondinf:^ in rivubifs produco 
 nioraNHCH. Tlio Hinall country poiiiciH, witb a Hur»? 
 iuHtinot, Rurniount tbo bog, and wo firrivo at an 
 elovatioii wbonco tbo (^yo, a.^ u\.v as it (Min rcuicb, 
 cmbiu(30,s nolbinp^ but an anipliitb(;atro of doHoliitf?, yot 
 grcon HunnnitH ; owin^jp to tli(^ doHtruction of tbo tiirdujr, 
 ovorylbinj^ olw; bnH poriHbcid ; a Hoono of ruinod naturo 
 ifl far nioro niolanclioly a Hpoctaolo tban any burnan 
 ruiiiH. On our roturn acroHH tbo lako, u baf^-i)ipnr 
 played on bis instruniont. Tbo muHic m ntrango and 
 wild, its ollbcts liaririoniHinf^ witli tbo anpoct of tbo 
 bubbb'ng streams, veined witb striking or sombro re- 
 flections. Tbo sumo simple note, a kind of danc(? 
 music, runs tbrougli tlie wbolo piece in an incorrect 
 and odd manner, and continually recurs, but it is 
 always harsh and rough ; it might bo likened to an 
 orange shrivelled with the cold and rendered hitler. 
 
 These aro tbo Highlands. From IJraernar to l*erth 
 wo journey through them for many long miles. It is 
 always a solitude ; sometimes five or six valleys in 
 succession aro wholly bare, and one may travel for an 
 hour without seeing a tr^^o ^ then for another hour it is 
 rare merely to see in the distance a wretched twisted 
 birchen-tree, which is dying or is dead. It would be 
 some compensation if the rock were naked, and ex- 
 hibited its mineral structure in all its fulness and 
 
 I 
 
 tr 
 
.,r.r, 
 
 NoT/:s ox rxcr.Axn. 
 
 ru«?^('(lm\sH. l^if, (Im\so UKumlaliiH, of no prnit clc- 
 vnlioii, MM' l)ul. l)().sM(<M \\\[\\ lliihhy onlliiM'H, tlu'y Imvt) 
 i'iill(<n to |)i(>('(<M, and iin^ nIoiio lu>npN, rfsciiiMinp^ <)io 
 mimiiiM of II (|uiirry. In ^viiilcr, (orrcntH of water 
 uproot tlio Iiratlicr, Icavinnr on tlio nlopcM a IcprouN, 
 >vhlt(MU'(l Near, badly tiiitiMl l>y tlu^too f»'(«l)h> Nun. Tlio 
 Hiunnntsaro tnincati'd, and want. Im»1(Im('hn. I'atchcH of 
 niisiMaMc vi'rdnrt> H(>ani tluMr MidcM an<l mark tliooo/in^ 
 of iMprino;8 ; tho rcMnainder is covered with brown isli 
 lu»athi<r. Helow, at- tlie very bottom, ti torrent, ob- 
 Mtriieted by ^stones, Htru^^b's alonjj^ its chann(>l, or 
 linLrtMvs in Nta;4nant. ])ools. Ono sonietini's discerns u 
 liovel, with a stnnted cow. The* ^r(>y, h)W-lyin^ tsky, 
 conjphM(>s tlu> impression of h»;jfid)ri(mH nu)notony. 
 
 (>iir convevanco ascends tlie hist monntain. At 
 len«;tli we sih> a steep (U'clivity, a «j;nMit rocky wall; 
 but it is nni(pie. Wo descend a/^ain, and enter a 
 habitable tract. Cultivation occurs lirst on tlio lower 
 parts, tlien on the slopi^s; the declivities are woodtul, 
 and tlien entire mountains ; forests of ilrs spread tluMr 
 sombre mantle over the crests ; iieldsof oats and barley 
 extend on all sides ; we perceive pretty dumps of trees, 
 houses surrounded by gardens and llow(*rs, and then 
 c'rlturoof all descriptions upon tho lessening hills, hero 
 and there a park and a modern mansion. Tho sun bursts 
 forth and shines merrily, but without heat; tho fertile 
 plain expands, abounding in promises of convenienco 
 and pleasure, and we enter Perth thinking about tho 
 historical narrations of Sir Walter Scott, and tho con- 
 trast between the mountain and the plain, the revilings 
 and scorninors interchanged between the inhabitants of 
 the Highlands and tho Lowlands. From Perth to 
 Edinburgh the landscape continues attractive and 
 varied. More undulating, more fragmentary, poorer 
 
 li ■....„. 
 
A TKir THROUGH SCO'/'LAXI). 
 
 Vn 
 
 no «:n'at (.Ic- 
 H'N» llM>y Iiavo 
 
 •itN of WJitrr 
 
 l)Io NIJII. Tim 
 
 . iNilclirHof 
 I'k tli« ()()ziii«»- 
 illi hrowiif.sli 
 
 torivnt ob- 
 
 clumiicl, or 
 rs (liNccriis a 
 ^y-\ym\; nky, 
 riofony. 
 niitain. At 
 rocky >viill ; 
 ind (Mif(»r (I 
 II tlio low(>r 
 J«ro W()o(l(>(I, 
 iproml tluM'r 
 
 Jiiid burliy 
 lips of triHvs, 
 I, and then 
 r 111 I la, hero 
 3 sun bursts 
 
 tho fertile 
 onvcnieneo 
 
 about tho 
 id the con- 
 e revilinjrs 
 tibitauts of 
 V VoYth. to 
 ictive and 
 ry, poorer 
 
 ' 
 
 tliaii Mii'^laiid, S(M)ilaii(l Is tiiorn picturcHcpie ; Nnfun*, 
 h;HH uniloriM and Ichh inutlabh), is nut there u nttro 
 nianiii'iiclory of milk and meat. . 
 
 »S() In i'l(liiil)iir<.;ii (Mimpnred with ljon(h)n. IiiHtcad 
 of u r(';.Mdar, mo(U'rn, and Hat city, tlie centre of ba>i- 
 ncHH, ol' comfort, and of luxury, w«5 find an old < ity 
 rich in (lontraMts, extendiiifj; over thr(!<i valleyM and 
 Hevi'ral eminrnites, wlu^re Hteep HtnjetM, tall Iioumch, llio 
 in(dti[)lied impi'intM of the ])aMt, afford unexpe(;ted 
 vi(^\VH. A feudal ejiHtle crowns one of tho liei^dits. 
 Thence, in <h;MC(!ndinj^ towards Holyrood, alonj^ th(! 
 sides of the street, old-fashioned alh^ys [)lun^e abruptly 
 towards the bottom ; th(>so are tlie wynds and closes, 
 ^(Miuiiuj dens of the middhj aj^cs, wher(!of the walls 
 blackened by rain and smoke; have retained tluiir 
 lepiosy duriti;jf four hundred years. Hound or K(|uaro 
 towers clinj^ tof^ether and han<»; over. Narrow, odd- 
 looking aiul ill-shapen windows are barred like tho 
 air holes of a prison. IStone stairs, with low and slimy 
 steps, wind in the obscurity of tho interior, amidst 
 creepin<r shadows of which a ray of li^^ht makes us 
 feel tlie depth. On the steps are crowds of infants, 
 with bare feet, white skulls, and crouching men taking 
 food, recalling the lantastic figures, the semi-glooms, 
 the strange guests which people the cellars of Item- 
 brundt. 
 
 Quantities of statues, of Gothic and chiefly Grecian 
 monuments, and two picture galleries. The Calton 
 Hill, with its colonnade and two or three temples, 
 aspires to be an Acropolis, and the erudite, lettered, 
 and philosophical city styles itself the Northern 
 Athens. But how greatly out of place is antique 
 architecture here ! The pale haze, scourged by the 
 wind, floats and spreads itself in all directions. A 
 
 ,1, 
 
 ! n 
 
1! 
 
 368 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 vapoury veil lingers on the declivity of the Calton Hill 
 and winds around its columns. The climate is at 
 variance with these forms of a dry and warm country, 
 and the wants, the tastes, the habits of the people here 
 are more at variance still. For example, in this place 
 the prevailing temptation is to give way to drunken- 
 ness ; end temperance societies oppose it by a mixture 
 of Biblical maxims and utilitarian arguments. Con- 
 cerning this subject, I saw placards on which two 
 expressive figures are pour tray ed, the one representing 
 " a man," the worker, the other " a thing," the 
 drunkard; while appropriate precepts are written 
 under v'oaih. Sixpence a day for ale and tobacco 
 make oo much at the year's end, and it is proved by 
 staastics that with this sum so many articles of bedding 
 or of furniture, so many pairs of shoes, so many shirts 
 may be purchased along with the indispensable Family 
 Bible. This calculation and this mention of the Bible 
 are traits of character. On entering the picture gallery 
 afterv ards, and looking at the three or four great 
 works ty Var iyck, one by Garafolo, one by Veronese, 
 and espe vially two sketches of women by Tintoret, I 
 felt as if transported to the opposite side of the globe. 
 
lie Calton Hill 
 climate is at 
 ^arm country, 
 le people here 
 in this place 
 7 to drunken- 
 by a mixture 
 ments. Con- 
 a which two 
 representing 
 thing," the 
 are written 
 and tobacco 
 is proved by 
 3S of bedding 
 many shirts 
 sable Family 
 3f the Bible 
 ;ture gallery 
 four great 
 y "Veronese, 
 Tintoret, I 
 the glebe. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 RETURN HOME. FRENCHMEN AND ENGJ-ISIIMEN. 
 
 LEAVING- Edinburgh on the left, one beholds the 
 sea, surrounded by distant mountains, which 
 gradually diminish in height, and form a delicate and 
 carefully-wrought border to the great shining deep. 
 Berwick is passed, looking lively and picturesque, with 
 its red-tiled houses and tranquil harbour, in which lie 
 a few vessels. Farther on comes Newcastle, where the 
 coal descends directly into ships for the supply of the 
 coast towns of the North Sea, a city of coal and manu- 
 factories, black, smoky, and gloomy as a prison. Along 
 the whole route the country is flat, and almost entirely 
 destitute of trees or hedges ; at intervals, however, a 
 small wooded cove shelters a hamlet. But from one end 
 to the other of this journey the sea is in sight, and the 
 train skirts the coast, now being encompassed by, and 
 now overhanging, a belt of rocks. The heart dilates 
 before this vast shimmering sheet of water ; the indis- 
 tinct, even line, merges into the lower edge of the 
 sky ; tiny hillocks of foam fleck its azure with white 
 spots. Two or three ships flit like birds in the dis- 
 tance ; overhead, the great pale sky curves its vault, 
 and we forget the troubled spectacle of the human ant- 
 heap in reflecting afresh upon the calmness, the sim- 
 plicity, and the divine immutability of things. 
 
 B B 
 
 i 
 
370 
 
 ^OTES ON mOLANO. 
 
 river shines softly betwe™ ^^''''■"' "'«' *ar 
 
 farther off is a briL a Tl T^ °^ ^''*''' ^"'-^-^ ; 
 the waterinaferJ-boat-S f'' '""'''' ^« «'•<'« 
 
 the air reaches our cheats aV "f^^ '"^ *« «'^««t» ; 
 
 We pass by oM-fasht i Csts'of " ):'\*^ r °*^y' 
 overiaps the one below it . "? ' , ^^^''^ ""^^ story 
 
 doors studded w.th Wge' ZZ a '^''''^''^' ^"^ 
 interstices of the pavement '' ^"'^^ '" ^^e 
 
 cathedral, trees, cenSoM' '° ! t''"""" ""^^^ t^e 
 All is green, el an, Tererfuf l^'^^I^ *«'■• l^afy domes. 
 
 as in a Flemish citl tI ^ f T"^ "^ °'*'^" *'■»«■«• 
 forms an addition to the! m ^"""'"''"^ "^thedrai 
 *is Gothic colos^rfa ; Sfe ^'>^' without. 
 Clous than Notre-Dame ^l ^ "" ^""^ ""'^ spa- 
 the three towers which ;o:fit"TtV'°T' ""'^^ 
 clasts of the Reformation Zl I ■ ,*'"' *« ^eono- 
 -ashed, naked, and tomal jh "T' "' '' '^ '^J'"- 
 old ornamentation is the enMnl °°7/^""iant of the 
 rinth of carving, of 1(^0^1 /f*' "'"'''••' ^ 1%- 
 sculpturedpulpif ;^tt. "n* '•°7™^'"^^' "^ ™all 
 delicate and en^dle s fanttr h"^ \*"^ '°^'»« '^'^l' 
 quiet old cities ! BuTin L h ".^"""'"^ "^^ ^ese 
 
 spectacles flit before the ^5","/ °f the journey such 
 scenery. ""^ """d like so many pieces of 
 
 forml7to''tt°nd''°itm;rn^^ ^7 duty must be per- 
 fo-- -.ine hours, in ord ^ t„ ^" ' '"''^•"'"'^ ^'''"^^e 
 commonalty. Thp *„„ ° ''^^'^ " good Tiew of the 
 
 I have prfvioust let 12 ''T' ''^'' "« *- 
 -d the worn-ou't Tndividtr hr'^'-V"""^^'*-' 
 figure and broad shoulders of nn.u"' ^'^'"^ *« 
 Ple^ion, red whiskers eyes of !\" , '*'' ™'^'^y <'°'»- 
 
 - grufl^ or threateni;r™sion ' 'T^!" ^"'"'•^'• 
 
 " expression, yet turning at 
 
 1^^ >«wv 
 
RETURN HOME. 
 
 3V 
 
 times to kindliness when a smile lights it up or he is 
 spoken to politely ; the other having twinkling eyes, 
 compressed features, his neckcloth tightened to the 
 verge of strangulation, at once worn out and starched. 
 Looking at the country people, I note that none have 
 the form and mien of our peasants — that shrewd, 
 defiant, yet astonished look which proclaims another 
 species, a descendant of the labourers under compulsion, 
 an ancient fellah, an intelligent yet uncultured race, 
 still bound to the soil on which his heart is set, and 
 which is the limit of all his thoughts. The villagers 
 who enter at the intermediate stations have more the 
 appearance of workmen or of small tradespeople ; in 
 truth an English farm is as much a manufactory as any 
 other, giving employment to day labourers and bailiffs. 
 From York to London the landscape confirms this idea. 
 A square of verdure enclosed by a hedge, then another, 
 and so on in succession, always of large extent, of 
 monotonous regularity, without any of the varieties 
 which denote small properties and peasant culture. 
 In the same carriage with me is a Newcastle family, 
 the husband, the wife, and her mother, small trades- 
 people, pretty well dressed and in new clothes. They 
 are going to Venice for pleasure, and yet they are not 
 rich, seeing that they travel third-class. Journeying 
 so far in so uncomfortable a way, and at a cost neces- 
 sarily considerable, manifests a very strong passion for 
 travel. Families by no means well-to-do, with which 
 I am acquainted, expend all their surplus in the 
 same fashion ; with their forty or fifty pounds of sav- 
 ings they go to the Continent every year — to Holland, 
 to Norway. They put nothing aside ; each year has to 
 provide for its wants and suffice for its labour. My 
 three fellow-passengers prepare themselves conscien- 
 
37* 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 tiously ; they have their Murray, a manual of Italian 
 phrases, a special guide-book filled with figures for the 
 passage over the Alps. The mother wearing spectacles, 
 respectable, silent, resigned, sits bolt upright with the 
 patience of a stoic upon the hard wooden seat. The 
 wife cons Italian phrases, and looks up the words in a 
 pocket dictionary. Her husband is qualified to fight 
 the battle of modem existence ; active, energetic, a face 
 pitted with small -pox, earnest and a lent eyes. What 
 strange visitors to Venice ! Nevertheless, they are 
 sensible folks, capable of learning, and who, if they do 
 not appreciate painting, will bring back with them all 
 kinds of information and useful notions. Since 1 iving 
 Glasgow I have conversed with numbers of my fellow- 
 passengers of the middle or lower class, a commercial 
 travGiier, a house-painter, shopkeepers, tavern-keepers. 
 They never indulge in empty chatter ; they have not 
 too absurd ideus about foreigners ; they are by no 
 means hasty in speech ; they are never boasters ; I have 
 always found that they possess a fund of upright and 
 rational ideas. 
 
 London, Dover, and the Steamer in the rain. — From 
 liondon to Dover in the first-class, a would-be gentle- 
 man proposed a game of cards to his neighbours, at 
 which bets were made, every stake being five pounds. 
 At first they refused, then they sufiered themselves to 
 be persuaded, and naturally they lost. I calculate that 
 in an hour the card-player gained one hundred and 
 fifty pounds. What struck me were the players* faces ; 
 not one wrinkle, not one gesture, not a single exclama- 
 tion ; concentrated and suppressed pride ; but I divined 
 the attraction, the dull and strong passion, the obsti- 
 nacy, the determination to conquer. One of them, a 
 stout and big man with the face of an immovable ox, 
 
FRENCHMEN AND ENGLISHMEN. 
 
 Zll 
 
 of Italian 
 res for the 
 spectacles, 
 t with the 
 seat. The 
 vords in a 
 d to fight 
 3tic, a face 
 >8. What 
 
 they are 
 if they do 
 
 them all 
 ce 1 iving 
 ly fellow- 
 >mmercial 
 i-keepers. 
 have not 
 'e by no 
 s ; 1 have 
 ight and 
 
 — From 
 
 gentle- 
 
 bours, at 
 
 pounds. 
 
 selves to 
 
 late that 
 
 red and 
 
 s' faces ; 
 
 xclama- 
 
 divined 
 
 3 obsti- 
 
 )hem, a 
 
 ble ox. 
 
 constantly doubled his stake, drawing out his bank- 
 notes with the air of a combatant in a boxing-match. 
 The risk pleases them, and produces the same effect on 
 their minds that spirits do upon their palates. 
 
 One of my friends returned at the same time as 
 myself, and we compared the result of our observations. 
 Which of the two forms of civilisation is the more 
 valuable, that of England or that of France ? That is 
 too vague ; we must divide and distinguish. Three 
 things are superior in England. 
 
 The Political Constitution. — It is stable, and is in 
 no danger, like ours, of being forcibly overturned 
 and remodelled every twenty years. It is liberal, 
 and permits individuals to take part as actors or 
 assistants in public affairs, instead of regarding 
 them with mere curiosity; it confides their guidance 
 to the upper class, which is best qualified to direct 
 them satisfactorily, and which finds in so doing their 
 natural occupation, in place of withering or being cor- 
 rupted for want of something to do, as with us. It 
 lends itself without perturbations to continued improve- 
 ments, and tends in practice to good government, that 
 which pays the most respect to individual initiative, 
 and confides power to the most worthy. Thu Eng- 
 lish Three per Cents, are at 94 ; the citizens speak and 
 form associations at pleasure : no Press in the world is 
 equally well informed, nor are any assemblies equally 
 competent. 
 
 Religion. — It subordinates rites and dogmas to mo- 
 rality. It inculcates self-government, the supremacy 
 of conscience, the cultivation of the will. It leaves a 
 sufficiently large space to interpretation and to indivi- 
 dual sentiment., It is not actually hostile to the spirit of 
 modern science, nor to the tendencies of modern times. 
 
37+ 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND. 
 
 I I 
 
 Its ministers are married ; it founds snhools ; it approveB 
 of action ; it does not counsel asceticism. Thus asso- 
 ciated with the laity, it has authority over them; a 
 young man entering life, the adult providing for his 
 career, are restrained and guided up to a certain point 
 by a collection of ancient, popular, and fortifying 
 beliefs, which furnish them with rules of conduct and 
 an exalted idea of the world. Among us a young man 
 of twenty, being obliged to frame this rule by and for 
 himself does not succeed in doing so till late, some- 
 times does so impcrfectl}'-, or never does it at all. 
 
 The Greatness of the Acquired Wealthy combined with 
 the Increased Power of Producing and Amassing. — 
 Every useful work executed centuries ago, is trans- 
 mitted and accumulated without loss ; England has not 
 been invaded for eight hundred years, and has had no 
 civil war for two centuries. At the present day her 
 capital is several times larger than that of France. 
 The tokens of comfort and opulence are more numerous 
 there than in any other country of the world. Examine 
 the statistics, the calculations of her commerce, of her 
 industry, of her agriculture, of her annual profits. This 
 is true of moral as well as of physical matters; not 
 only does England understand better than France how 
 to manage her public and private affairs, enrich her 
 soil, improve her cattle, superintend a manufacture, 
 clear, colonize, and turn to account distant countries ; 
 but she knows still better how to cultivate herself. If 
 we consider but the select few, we shall find, it appears, 
 minds iu France of equal calibre, except where politics 
 are concerned, to the most notable minds of England, 
 perhaps even a few superior minds, of wider and more 
 philosophic range, at once more comprehensive and of 
 finer mould. But the majority of those with an average 
 
it approves 
 Thus asso- 
 f them; a 
 ng for his 
 ptain point 
 
 fortifying 
 nduct and 
 oung man 
 by and for 
 ate, some- 
 ull. 
 
 lined mth 
 %asmig. — 
 
 is trans- 
 id has not 
 as had no 
 ' day her 
 France, 
 lumerous 
 Examine 
 
 ', of her 
 its. This 
 ers; not 
 
 nee how 
 rich her 
 ifacture, 
 
 untries ; 
 
 lelf. If 
 
 appears, 
 politics 
 ngland, 
 id more 
 ! and of 
 iverage 
 
 FRENCHMEN AND ENGLJStfMEN 375 
 
 intellect, a country gentleman, an ordinary clergyman, 
 is endowed here with more extensive and more solid 
 knowledge. Assuredly, his head is better furnished, 
 his intellectual furniture being less old-fashioned and 
 less incomplete. Above all, the number of persons 
 adequately informed and capable of forming an opinion 
 in political matters is much greater. Compare one of 
 our English clergymen and English gentlemen with 
 the bourgeois and cures of France; or, better still, 
 examine in turn the daily food of their intellects, the 
 English newspaper and the French newspaper, espe- 
 cially a French gazette of a small town and an English 
 gazette of a small town ; the distance is prodigious. 
 ]Nrow, it is not the select few, it is the average majority 
 which gives the tone, inspires opinion, conducts affairs. 
 On the other hand, three things are better in France. 
 
 The Climate. — This is self-evident; yet without 
 personal experience and prolonged reflection it is hard 
 to imagine the effect of six or eight degrees of latitude 
 at the least, in warding oft' bodily suffering and mental 
 sadness. 
 
 The Distribution of Wealth. — There are four or five 
 millions of landed proprietors in France, and properties 
 after death are divided in equal portions among the 
 children. On the whole, then, our institutions, our 
 instincts, our habits combine to provide that no one 
 has too large a slice, and that every one has a small 
 one. Many live poorly, but nearly all can exist with- 
 out too great difficulty. The wretched are less wretched ; 
 the labourer, entirely dependent upon the work of his 
 hands, does not feel that beneath him yawns a dreadful 
 abyss, a black and bottomless pit, in wliich, owing to 
 an accident, a strike, an attack of sickness, he and 
 his family will be engulfed; having fewer wants and 
 
376 
 
 NOTES ON ENGLAND, 
 
 fewer children he beara a Hc^hter burden; besides, want 
 debuses him less, and he is loss drunken. 
 
 Domcstit' and Social Life — Several circumstances 
 render it more cisy and more enjoyable. In the 
 lirst place, the natural temperament is gay, more 
 open, and more neighbourly. Then the absolute, or 
 nearly absoUito, equality established by law or by 
 custom between parents and children, between the 
 eldest son and his younger brothers, between husband 
 and wife, between the noble and the commonor, 
 between the rich and the poor, suppresses much con- 
 straint, represses much tyranny, prevents much super- 
 ciliousness, smoothes many asperities. In France, in 
 the narrow domestic circle, the members open their 
 hearts, enter into the spirit of the moment, combine to 
 liva together freely and aflbctionately ; in the large 
 social circle, they chat, display a half-confidence, meet 
 together in order to pass an hour freely and pleasantly. 
 There is less constraint at home and in society ; kindli- 
 ness and politeness supplant subordination with advan- 
 tage. To my mind a human being among us feels less 
 frequently and less heavily the pressure of another 
 rough and despotic human being's hand upon his head. 
 Final cause of expansion : one may say everything in 
 conversation, tell a story and uphold a theory to the 
 end. Romances, criticism, art, philosophy, violent 
 curiosity, have not to submit to the trammels which 
 religion, morality, and oflicial propriety impose upon 
 them across the Channel. At Paris we think with 
 more independence, with a more entire disinterested- 
 ness, in a wholly abstract style, without pre-occupying 
 ourselves about the consequences, without standing in 
 dread of the thunders of public reprobation. 
 
 In fine, all these difierences contribute to render the 
 
i r 
 
 osidos, want 
 
 rcumslanccs 
 0. In the 
 guy, more 
 ibsoluto, or 
 law or by 
 lotwccn tho 
 en husband 
 commoner, 
 much con- 
 nuch super- 
 Franco, in 
 open their 
 combine to 
 a the hirgo 
 den CO, meet 
 pleasantly. 
 ty ; kindli- 
 ith advan- 
 s feels less 
 f another 
 his head, 
 y thing in 
 |ory to the 
 , violent 
 els which 
 ose upon 
 ink with 
 terested- 
 ccupying 
 nding in 
 
 nder the 
 
 FRKNCirMEN AND ENGUSITMEN. 377 
 
 EnglJHhman more powerful and tho Frcnciu-'un happier. 
 The costume of tho former is more substantial, that of 
 the latter more comfortable. The former lias reason 
 for enlarging his garment which cramps him at tho 
 corners, tho ialtor would act wisely in avoiding those 
 hasty movement s which may rend his flimsy material. 
 But it appears to me that each of them has the style 
 of dress which he prefers. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 I 
 
 
 I 
 
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Stcond Edition, with a tnw Introductory Chapltir, Pout Octavo, with 
 
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 WESTWARD BY RAIL: 
 
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