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The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre filmds d des taux de rdduction diff^rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul clichd, il est filmd A partir de i'angle sup^rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas. en prenant le nombre d'images n6cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m6thode. by errata led to ent jne pelure, fagon d 1 2 3 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 S^^-S3T iHciHafidet Wnibettfitp libratp from tK6e Cutate ot tfie late §^ix 9otn laiexastber 9opli ■f c ^ '-^Jytf"^ ^ *t' ~ "^ .^ i 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. \ 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, im- 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 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 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(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 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 ising egin- )pen, the re to une rich ber, gesc led, i or 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('nn ; 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, anid 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