Travels in France during the years 1814-1815 by Patrick Fraser Tytler (beach read book .txt) 📖

Considering the great ingenuity and ability of the French, it seems not a little surprising that they should be so much behind our countrymen in useful and profitable arts, and that Englishmen should be so much struck with the apparent poverty of the greater part of France. This is in a great measure owing, no doubt, to the policy of the late French Government, which has directed all the energies of the nation towards military affairs; and to the abuses of the former government: but we think it must be ascribed in part to the character of the people. There is not the same co-operation of different individuals to one end, of private advantage and public usefulness; the same division of labour, intellectual as well as operative; the same hearty confidence between man and man, in France as in England. Men of talents in France are, in general, too much tainted with the national vanity, and too much occupied with their own fame, to join heartily in promoting the public interest. Individual intelligence, activity, and ingenuity, go but little way in making a nation wealthy and prosperous, if they are made to minister only to the individual pleasures and glory of their possessors.

The patriotism of the French is certainly a very strong feeling, but it appears to be much tainted with the same vanity and love of shew that we have just remarked. There can be no doubt, that during the time of Bonaparte's successes, he commanded, in a degree that no other Sovereign ever did, the admiration and respect of the great body of the people; and it is equally certain, that he did this without interesting himself at all in their happiness. His hold of them was by their national vanity alone. They assent to all that can be said of the miseries which he brought upon France; but add, "Mais il a battu tout le monde; il a fait des choses superbes a Paris; il a flattè notre orgeuil national. Ah! C'est un grand homme. Notre pays n'a jamais etè si grand ni si puissant que sous lui." The condition of the inhabitants of distant provinces was nowise improved by his public buildings and decorations at their capital; but every Frenchman considers a compliment to Paris, to the Louvre, to the Palais Royal, or the Opera, as a personal compliment to himself.

At this moment, it is certainly a very general wish in France, to have a sovereign, who, as they express it, has grown out of the revolution; but when we enquire into their reason for this, it will often be found, we believe, to resolve itself into their national vanity. It is not that they think the Bourbons will break their word, or that the present Constitution will be altered without their consent; but after five and twenty years of confusion and bloodshed, they cannot bear the thoughts of leaving off where they began; and they think, that taking back their old dynasty without alteration, is practically acknowledging that they have been in the wrong all the time of their absence. We have often remarked (but we presume the remark is applicable to all despotic countries) that the French political conversation, such as is heard at caffés and tables d'hôte, relates more to men, and less to measures, and appears to be more guided by personal attachments or antipathies, than that to which we are accustomed in England.

The character that appears to be most wanted in France, is that of disinterested public-spirited individuals, of high honour and integrity, and of large possessions and influence, who do not interfere in public affairs from views of ambition, but from a sense of duty—who have no wish to dazzle the eyes of the multitude, and do not seek for a more extensive influence than that to which their observation and experience entitle them. While this character continues so much more frequent in our own country than among the French, it is perhaps in military affairs only that we need entertain any fear of their superiority. Englishmen of power and influence, generally speaking, have really at heart the good of their country, whereas Frenchmen, in similar situations, are chiefly interested in the glory of theirs.

It must also be observed, that public affairs occupy much less of the attention, and interfere much less with the happiness, of the majority of the French than of the English. There is less anxiety about public measures, and less gratitude for public services. We were often surprised at the indifference of the citizens of Paris with regard to their Marshals, whom they seldom knew by name, and did not seem to care for knowing. The peroration of an old lady, who had delivered a long speech to a friend of ours, then a prisoner at Verdun, lamenting the reverses of the French arms, and the miseries of France, was characteristic of the nation: "Mais, ce m'est egal. Je suis toujours ici."

It is quite unnecessary for us to give proofs of the laxity of moral principle which prevails so generally among the French. The world has not now to learn, that notwithstanding their high professions, they have but little regard either for truth or morality. According to Mr Scott, "they have, in a great measure, detached words from ideas and feelings; they can, therefore, afford to be unusually profuse of the better sort of the first; and they experience as much internal satisfaction and pride when they profess a virtue, as if they had practised one." Perhaps it would be more correct to say, that they have detached ideas and feelings from their corresponding actions. Their feelings have always been too violent for the moment, and too short in their duration, to influence their conduct steadily and permanently; but at present, they seem much disposed to think, that it is quite enough to have the feelings, and that there is no occasion for their conduct being influenced by them at all.

They appear to have a strong natural sense of the beauty and excellence of virtue; but they are accustomed to regard it merely as a sense. It does not regulate their conduct to others, but adds to their own selfish enjoyments. They speak of virtue almost uniformly, not as an object of rational approbation and imitation, and still less as a rule of moral obligation, but as a matter of feeling and taste. A French officer, who describes to you, in the liveliest manner, and with all the appearance of unfeigned sympathy, the miseries and devastations occasioned by his countrymen among the unoffending inhabitants of foreign states, proceeds, in the same breath, to declaim with enthusiastic admiration on the untarnished honour of the French arms, and the great mind of the Emperor. A Parisian tradesman, who goes to the theatre that he may see the representation of integrity of conduct, conjugal affection, and domestic happiness, and applauds with enthusiasm when he sees it, shews no symptoms of shame when detected in a barefaced attempt to cheat his customers; spends his spare money in the Palais Royal, and sells his wife or daughter to the highest bidder.

"Among the French," says the intelligent and judicious author of the Caractere des Armées Europeennes, "the seat of the passions is in the head—they feel rather from the fancy than the heart—their feelings are nothing more than thoughts."

Another striking feature of the French character, connected with the preceding, is the openness, and even eagerness, with which they communicate all their thoughts and feelings to each other, and even to strangers. All Frenchmen seem anxious to make the most in conversation, not only of whatever intellectual ability they possess, but of whatever moral feelings they experience on any occasion;—they do not seem to understand why a man should ever be either ashamed or unwilling to disclose any thing that passes in his mind;—they often suspect their neighbours of expressing sentiments which they do not feel, but have no idea of giving them credit for feelings which they do not express.

The French have many good qualities; they are very generally obliging to strangers, they are sober and good-tempered, and little disposed, in the ordinary concerns of life, to quarrel among themselves, and they have an amiable cheerfulness of disposition, which supports them in difficulties and adversity, better than the resolutions of philosophy. But it is clear that they have very little esteem for the most estimable of all characters, that of firm and enduring virtue; and in fact, it is not going too far to say, that a certain propriety of external demeanour has completely taken the place of correctness of moral conduct among them. They speak almost uniformly with much abhorrence of drunkenness, and of all violations of the established forms of society; and such improprieties are very seldom to be seen among them. Many Frenchmen, as was already observed, are rough and even ferocious in their manners; and the language and behaviour of most of them, particularly in the presence of women, appears to us very frequently indelicate and rude; yet there are limits to this freedom of manner which they never allow themselves to pass. Go where you will in Paris, you will very seldom see any disgusting instances of intoxication, or any material difference of manner, between those who are avowedly unprincipled and abandoned, and the most respectable part of the community. In the caffés, which correspond not only to the coffee-houses, but to the taverns of London, you will see modest women, at all hours of the day, often alone, sitting in the midst of the men. In the Palais Royal, at no hour of the night do you witness scenes of gross indecency or riot.

To an Englishman, it often serves as an excuse for vicious indulgences, that he is led off his feet by temptation. To a Frenchman, this excuse is the only crime; he stands in no need of an apology for vice; but it is necessary "qu'il se menage:" he is taught "qu'un pechè cachè est la moitie pardonnè;" he must on no account allow, that any temptation can make him lose his recollection or presence of mind.

We ought perhaps to admit likewise, that some of the vices common among the French are not merely less foul and disgusting in appearance, but less odious in their own nature, than those of our countrymen. We do not say this in palliation of their conduct. It is rather to be considered as a benevolent provision of nature, that in proportion as vice is more generally diffused, its influence on individual character is less fatal. This remark applies particularly to the case of women. A woman in England, who loses one virtue, knows that she outrages the opinion of mankind; she disobeys the precepts of her religion, and estranges herself from the examples which she has been taught to revere; she becomes an outcast of society; and if she has not already lost, must soon lose all the best qualities of the female character. But a French woman, in giving way to unlawful love, knows that she does no more than her mother did before her; if she is of the lower ranks, she is not necessarily debarred from honest occupation; if of the higher, she loses little or nothing in the estimation of society; if she has been taught to revere any religion, it is the Catholic, and she may look to absolution. Her conduct, therefore, neither implies her having lost, nor necessarily occasions her losing, any virtue but one; and during the course of the revolution, we have understood there have been many examples, proving, in the most trying circumstances, that not even the worst corruptions of Paris had destroyed some of the finest virtues which can adorn the sex. "Elles ont toujours des bons cœurs," is a common expression in France, in speaking even of the lowest and most degraded of the sex.