Recollections of Europe Part 17

At Rosay another route is taken, and Lagrange is approached by the rear, after turning a small bit of wood. It is possible to see the tops of the towers for an instant, on the great road, before reaching the town.

It is not certainly known in what age the chateau was built; but, from its form, and a few facts connected with its origin, whose dates are ascertained, it is thought to be about five hundred years old. It never was more than a second-rate building of its cla.s.s, though it was clearly intended for a baronial hold. Originally, the name was Lagrange en Brie; but by pa.s.sing into a new family, it got the appellation of Lagrange Bleneau, by which it is known at present. You are sufficiently familiar with French to understand that _grange_ means barn or granary, and that a liberal translation would make it Bleneau Farm.

In 1399 a marriage took place between the son of the lord of Lagrange en Brie with a daughter of a branch of the very ancient and great family of Courtenay, which had extensive possessions, at that time, in Brie. It was this marriage which gave the new name to the castle, the estate in consequence pa.s.sing into the line of Courtenay-Bleneau. In 1595, the property, by another marriage with an heiress, pa.s.sed into the well-known family D'Aubussons, Comtes de la Feuillade. The first proprietor of this name was the grandfather of the Mareschal de la Feuillade, the courtier who caused the Place des Victoires to be constructed at Paris; and he appropriated the revenues of the estate, which, in 1686, were valued at nine thousand francs, to the support and completion of his work of flattery. The property at that time was, however, much more extensive than it is at present. The son of this courtier dying without issue, in 1726, the estate was purchased by M.

Dupre, one of the judges of France.

With this magistrate commences, I believe, the connexion of the ancestors of the Lafayettes with the property. The only daughter married M. d'Aguesseau; and her daughter, again, married the Duc de Noailles-d'Ayen, [29] carrying with her, as a marriage portion, the lands of Fontenay, Lagrange, etc. etc., or, in other words, the ancient possessions of M. de Lafeuillade. The Marquis de Lafayette married one of the Mesdemoiselles de Noailles, while he was still a youth, and when the estate, after a short sequestration, was restored to the family, General Lafayette received the chateau of Lagrange, with some six or eight hundred acres of land around it, as his wife's portion.

[Footnote 29: Mr. Adams, in his Eulogy on Lafayette, has called the Duc de Noailles, the first peer of France. The fact is of no great moment, but accuracy is always better than error. I believe the Duc de Noailles was the youngest of the old _ducs et pairs_ of France. The Duc d'Uzes, I have always understood, was the oldest.]

Although the house is not very s.p.a.cious for a chateau of the region in which it stands, it is a considerable edifice, and one of the most picturesque I have seen in this country. The buildings stand on three sides of an irregular square. The fourth side must have been either a high wall or a range of low offices formerly, to complete the court and the defences, but every vestige of them has long since been removed. The ditch, too, which originally encircled the whole castle, has been filled in, on two sides, though still remaining on the two others, and greatly contributing to the beauty of the place, as the water is living, and is made to serve the purposes of a fishpond. We had carp from it, for breakfast, the day after our arrival.

Lagrange is constructed of hewn stone, of a good greyish colour, and in parts of it there are some respectable pretensions to architecture. I think it probable that one of its fronts has been rebuilt, the style being so much better than the rest of the structure. There are five towers, all of which are round, and have the plain, high, pyramidal roof, so common in France. They are without cornices, battlements of any sort, or, indeed, any relief to the circular masonry. One, however, has a roof of a square form, though the exterior of the lower itself is, at least in part, round. All the roofs are of slate.

The approach to the castle is circuitous, until quite near it, when the road enters a little thicket of evergreens, crosses a bridge, and pa.s.ses beneath an arch to the court, which is paved. The bridge is now permanent, though there was once a draw, and the grooves of a portcullis are still visible beneath the arch. The shortest side of the square is next the bridge, the building offering here but little more than the two towers, and the room above the gateway. One of these towers forms the end of this front of the castle, and the other is, of course, at an angle. On the exterior, they are both buried in ivy, as well as the building which connects them. This ivy was planted by Charles Fox, who, in company with General Fitzpatrick, visited Lagrange, after the peace of Amiens. The windows, which are small and irregular on this side, open beautifully through the thick foliage, and as this is the part of the structure that is occupied by the children of the family, their blooming faces thrust through the leafy apertures have a singularly pleasing effect. The other three towers stand, one near the centre of the princ.i.p.al _corps de batiment_, one at the other angle, and the third at the end of the wing opposite that of the gate. The towers vary in size, and are all more or less buried in the walls, though still so distinct as greatly to relieve the latter, and everywhere to rise above them. On the open side of the court there is no ditch, but the ground, which is altogether park-like, and beautifully arranged, falls away, dotted with trees and copses, towards a distant thicket.

Besides the _rez-de-chaussee_, which is but little above the ground, there are two good stories all round the building, and even more in the towers. The dining-room and offices are below, and there is also a small oratory, or chapel, though I believe none of the family live there. The entrance to the princ.i.p.al apartments is opposite the gate, and there is also here an exterior door which communicates directly with the lawn, the ditch running behind the other wing, and in front of the gate only.

The great staircase is quite good, being s.p.a.cious, easy of ascent, and of marble, with a handsome iron railing. It was put there by the mother of Madame Lafayette, I believe, and the General told me, it was nearly the only thing of value that he found among the fixtures, on taking possession. It had escaped injury.

I should think the length of the house on the side of the square which contains the staircase might be ninety feet, including the tower at the end, and the tower at the angle; and perhaps the side which contains the offices may be even a little longer; though this will also include the same tower in the same angle, as well as the one at the opposite corner; while the side in which is the gateway can scarcely exceed sixty feet.

If my estimates, which are merely made by the eye, are correct, including the towers, this would give an outside wall of two hundred and fifty feet, in circuit. Like most French buildings, the depth is comparatively much less. I question if the outer drawing-room is more than eighteen feet wide, though it is near thirty long. This room has windows on the court and on the lawn, and is the first apartment one enters after ascending the stairs. It communicates with the inner drawing-room, which is in the end tower of this side of the chateau, is quite round, of course, and may be twenty feet in diameter.

The General's apartments are on the second floor. They consist of his bed-room, a large cabinet, and the library. The latter is in the tower at the angle, on the side of the staircase. It is circular, and from its windows overlooks the moat, which is beautifully shaded by willows and other trees. It contains a respectable collection of books, besides divers curiosities.

The only bed-rooms I have occupied are, one in the tower, immediately beneath the library, and the other in the side tower, or the only one which does not stand at an angle, or at an end of the building. I believe, however, that the entire edifice, with the exception of the oratory, the offices, the dining-room, which is a large apartment on the _rez-de-chaussee_, the two drawing-rooms, two or three cabinets, and the library, and perhaps a family-room or two, such as a school-room, painting-room, etc., is subdivided into sleeping apartments, with the necessary cabinets and dressing-rooms. Including the family, I have known thirty people to be lodged in the house, besides servants, and I should think it might even lodge more. Indeed its hospitality seems to know no limits, for every newcomer appears to be just as welcome as all the others.

The cabinet of Lafayette communicates with the library, and I pa.s.sed much of the time during our visit, alone with him, in these two rooms. I may say that this was the commencement of a confidence with which he has since continued to treat me, and of a more intimate knowledge of the amiable features and simple integrity of his character, that has greatly added to my respect. No one can be pleasanter in private, and he is full of historical anecdotes, that he tells with great simplicity, and frequently with great humour. The cabinet contains many portraits, and, among others, one of Madame de Stael, and one of his own father. The former I am a.s.sured is exceedingly like; it is not the resemblance of a very fascinating woman. In the latter I find more resemblance to some of the grandchildren than to the son, although there is something about the shape of the head that is not unlike that of Lafayette's.

General Lafayette never knew his father, who was killed, when he was quite an infant, at the battle of Minden. I believe the general was an only child, for I have never heard him speak of any brother or sister, nor indeed of any relative at all, as I can remember, on his own side, though he often alludes to the connexions he made by his marriage. I asked him how his father happened to be styled the _Comte_ de Lafayette, and he to be called the _Marquis_. He could not tell me: his grandfather was the _Marquis_ de Lafayette, his father the _Comte_, and he again was termed the _Marquis_. "I know very little about it," said be, "beyond this: I found myself a little _Marquis_, as I grew to know anything, and boys trouble themselves very little about such matters; and then I soon got tired of the name after I went to America. I cannot explain all the foolish distinctions of the feudal times, but I very well remember that when I was quite a boy, I had the honour to go through the ceremony of appointing the _cure_ of a very considerable town in Auvergne, of which I was the Seigneur. My conscience has been quite easy about the nomination, however, as my guardians must answer for the sin, if there be any."

I was at a small dinner given by the Comte de Segur, just before we went to Lagrange, and at which General Lafayette and M. Alexander de Lameth were also guests. The three had served in America, all of them having been colonels while little more than boys. In the course of the conversation, M. de Lameth jokingly observed that the Americans paid the greater deference to General Lafayette because he was a _Marquis_. For a long time there had been but one Marquis in England (Lord Rockingham), and the colonist appreciating all other Marquises by this standard, had at once thought they would do no less than make the Marquis de Lafayette a general. "As for myself, though I was the senior colonel, and (as I understood him to say) his superior in personal rank, I pa.s.sed for n.o.body, because I was only a _chevalier._" This sally was laughed at, at the time, though there is something very unsettled in the use of those arbitrary personal distinctions on which the French formerly laid so much stress. I shall not attempt to explain them. I contented myself by whispering to M. de Lameth, that we certainly knew very little of such matters in America, but I questioned if we were ever so ignorant as to suppose there was only one _Marquis_ in France. On the contrary, we are little too apt to fancy every Frenchman a _Marquis_.

There was formerly a regular parish church attached to the chateau, which is still standing. It is very small, and is within a short distance of the gateway. The congregation was composed solely of the inhabitants of the chateau, and the people of the farm. The church contains epitaphs and inscriptions in memory of three of the D'Aubussons whose hearts were buried here, viz. Leon, Comte de Lafeuillade, a lieutenant-general; Gabriel, Marquis de Montargis; and Paul D'Aubussons, a Knight of Malta; all of whom were killed young, in battle.

The General has about three hundred and fifty acres in cultivation, and more than two in wood, pasture, and meadow. The place is in very excellent condition, and seems to be well attended to. I have galloped all over it, on a little filly belonging to one of the young gentlemen, and have found beauty and utility as nicely blended, as is often to be met with, even in England, the true country of _fermes ornees_, though the name is imported.

The third day of our visit, we all drove three or four leagues across the country, to see an old ruin of a royal castle called Vivier. This name implies a pond, and sure enough we found the remains of the buildings in the midst of two or three pools of water. This has been a considerable house, the ruins being still quite extensive and rather pretty. It was originally the property of a great n.o.ble, but the kings of France were in possession of it, as early as the year 1300. Charles V. had a great affection for Vivier, and very materially increased its establishment. His son, Charles VI. who was at times deranged, was often confined here, and it was after his reign, and by means of the long wars that ravaged France, that the place came to be finally abandoned as a royal abode. Indeed, it is not easy to see why a king should ever have chosen this spot at all for his residence, unless it might be for the purpose of hunting, for even now it is in a retired, tame, and far from pleasant part of the country.

There are the ruins of a fine chapel and of two towers of considerable interest, beside extensive fragments of more vulgar buildings. One of these towers, being very high and very slender, is a striking object; but, from its form and position, it was one of those narrow wells that were attached to larger towers, and which contained nothing but the stairs. They are commonly to be seen in the ruins of edifices built in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, in France; and what is worthy of remark, in several instances, notwithstanding their slender forms, I have met with them standing, although their princ.i.p.als have nearly disappeared. I can only account for it, by supposing that their use and delicacy of form have required more than ordinary care in the construction.

The ruins of Vivier belong to M. Parquin, a distinguished lawyer of Paris. This gentleman has a small country-house near by, and General Lafayette took us all to see him. We found him at home, and met, quite as a matter of course, with a polite reception. M. Parquin gave us much curious information about the ruin, and took us to see some of the subterraneous pa.s.sages that he has caused to be opened.

It is thought that some of these artificial caverns were prisons, and that others were intended merely as places for depositing stores. The one we entered was of beautiful masonry, vaulted with the nicest art, and seemed to communicate with the ruins although the outlet was in the open field, and some distance from the walls. It might have been intended for the double purpose of a store-house and an outlet; for it is rare to meet with a palace, or a castle, that has out, more or less, of these private means of entrance and retreat. The Tuileries is said to abound with them, and I have been shown the line of an under-ground pa.s.sage, between that palace and one of the public hotels, which must be fully a quarter of a mile in length.

Dulaure gives an extract from a report of the state of the Chateau of Vivier, made about the year 1700, with a view to know whether its conditions were such as to ent.i.tle the place to preserve certain of its privileges. In this doc.u.ment, the castle is described as standing in the centre of a marsh, surrounded by forest, and as so remote from all civilization, as to be nearly forgotten. This, it will be remembered, is the account of a royal abode, that stands within thirty miles of Paris.

In the very heart of the French capital, are the remains of an extensive palace of one of the Roman Emperors, and yet it may be questioned if one in a thousand, of those who live within a mile of the spot, have the least idea of the origin of the buildings. I have inquired about it, in its immediate neighbourhood, and it was with considerable difficulty I could discover any one who even knew that there was such a ruin at all, in the street. The great number of similar objects, and the habit of seeing them daily, has some such effect on one, as the movement of a crowd in a public thoroughfare, where images pa.s.s so incessantly before the eye, as to leave no impression of their peculiarities. Were a solitary bison to scamper through the Rue St. Honore, the worthy Parisians would transmit an account of his exploits to their children's children, while the wayfarer on the prairies takes little heed of the flight of a herd.

As we went to Lagrange, we stopped at a tavern, opposite to which was the iron gate of a small chateau. I asked the girl who was preparing our _gouter_, to whom the house belonged. "I am sorry I cannot tell you, sir," she answered; and then seeing suspicion in my face, she promptly added--"for, do you see, sir, I have only been here _six weeks_." Figure to yourself an American girl, set down opposite an iron gate, in the country, and how long do you imagine she would be ignorant of the owner's name? If the blood of those pious inquisitors, the puritans, were in her veins, she would know more, not only of the gate, but of its owner, his wife, his children, his means, his hopes, wishes, intentions and thoughts, than he ever knew himself, or would be likely to know. But if this prominent love of meddling must of necessity in its very nature lead to what is worse than contented ignorance, gossiping error, and a wrong estimate of our fellow-creatures, it has, at least, the advantage of keeping a people from falling asleep over their everyday facts. There is no question that the vulgar and low-bred propensity of conjecturing, meddling, combining, with their unavoidable companion, _inventing_, exist to a vice, among a portion of our people; but, on the other hand, it is extremely inconvenient when one is travelling, and wishes to know the points of the compa.s.s, as has happened to myself, if he should ask a full-grown woman whereabouts the sun rises in that neighbourhood, he is repulsed with the answer, that--"Monsieur ought to know that better than a poor garden-woman like me!"

We returned to Paris, after a pleasant visit of three days at Lagrange, during which we had delightful weather, and altogether a most agreeable time. The habits of the family are very regular and simple, but the intercourse has the freedom and independence of a country-house. We were all in the circular drawing-room a little before ten, breakfast being served between ten and eleven. The table was French, the morning repast consisting of light dishes of meat, _compotes_, fruits, and sometimes _soupe au lait_, one of the simplest and best things for such a meal than can be imagined. As a compliment to us Americans, we had fish fried and broiled, but I rather think this was an innovation. Wine, to drink with water, as a matter of course, was on the table. The whole ended with a cup of _cafe au lait_. The morning then pa.s.sed as each one saw fit. The young men went shooting, the ladies drove out, or read, or had a little music, while the general and myself were either walking about the farm, or were conversing in the library. We dined at six, as at Paris, and tea was made in the drawing-room about nine.

I was glad to hear from General Lafayette, that the reports of Americans making demands on his purse, like so many other silly rumours that are circulated, merely because some one has fancied such a thing might be so, are untrue. On the contrary, he a.s.sures me that applications of this nature are very seldom made, and most of those that have been made have proved to come from Englishmen, who have thought they might swindle him in this form. I have had at least a dozen such applications myself, but I take it nothing is easier, in general, than to distinguish between an American and a native of Great Britain. It was agreed between us, that in future all applications of this nature should be sent to me for investigation.[30]

[Footnote 30: Under this arrangement, two or three years later, an applicant was sent for examination, under very peculiar circ.u.mstances.

The man represented himself to be a shopkeeper of Baltimore, who had come to England with his wife and child, to purchase goods. He had been robbed of all he had, according to his account of the matter, about a thousand pounds in sovereigns, and was reduced to want, in a strange country. After trying all other means in vain, he bethought him of coming to Paris, to apply to General Lafayette for succour. He had just money enough to do this, having left his wife in Liverpool. He appeared with an English pa.s.sport, looked like an Englishman, and had even caught some of the low English idioms, such as, "I am agreeable," for "It is agreeable to me," or, "I agree to do so," etc. etc. The writer was exceedingly puzzled to decide as to this man's nationality. At length, in describing his journey to Paris, he said, "they took my pa.s.sport from me, when we got _to the lines_." This settled the matter, as no one but an American would call a _frontier_ the _lines_. He proved, in the end, to be an American, and a great rogue.]

LETTER XXI.

Insecurity of the Bourbons.--Distrust of Americans.--Literary Visitor.

--The Templars.--Presents and Invitations.--A Spy--American Virtue.

--Inconsistency.--Social Freedom in America,--French Mannerists --National Distinctions.--A lively Reaction.

To R. COOPER, ESQ. COOPERSTOWN.

We all went to bed, a night or two since, as usual, and awoke to learn that there had been a fight in the capital. One of the countless underplots had got so near the surface, that it threw up smoke. It is said, that about fifty were killed and wounded, chiefly on the part of the populace.

The insecurity of the Bourbons is little understood in America. It is little understood even by those Americans who pa.s.s a few months in the country, and in virtue of frequenting the _cafes_, and visiting the theatres, fancy they know the people. Louis XVIII. was more than once on the point of flying, again, between the year 1815 and his death; for since the removal of the allied troops, there is really no force for a monarch to depend on, more especially in and around the capital, the army being quite as likely to take sides against them as for them.

The government has determined on exhibiting vigour, and there was a great show of troops the night succeeding the combat. Curious to see the effect of all this, two or three of us got into a carriage and drove through the streets, about nine o'clock. We found some two or three thousand men on the Boulevards, and the Rue St. Denis, in particular, which had been the scene of the late disorder, was watched with jealous caution. In all, there might have been four or five thousand men under arms. They were merely in readiness, leaving a free pa.s.sage for carriages, though in some of the narrow streets we found the bayonets pretty near our faces.

An American being supposed _ex officio_, as it were, to be a well-wisher to the popular cause, there is, perhaps, a slight disposition to look at us with distrust. The opinion of our _travellers'_ generally favouring liberty is, in my judgment, singularly erroneous, the feelings of a majority being, on the whole, just the other way, for, at least, the first year or two of their European experience; though, I think, it is to be noticed, by the end of that time, that they begin to lose sight of the personal interests which, at home, have made them anything but philosophers on such subjects, and to see and appreciate the immense advantages of freedom over exclusion, although the predominance of the former may not always favour their own particular views. Such, at least, has been the result of my own observations, and so far from considering a fresh arrival from home, as being likely to be an accession to our little circle of liberal principles, I have generally deemed all such individuals as being more likely to join the side of the aristocrats or the exclusionists in politics. This is not the moment to enter into an examination of the causes that have led to so singular a contradiction between opinions and facts, though I think the circ.u.mstance is not to be denied, for it is now my intention to give you an account of the manner in which matters are managed here, rather than enter into long investigations of the state of society at home.

Not long after my arrival in France, a visit was announced, from a person who was entirely unknown to me, but who called himself a _litterateur_. The first interview pa.s.sed off as such interviews usually do, and circ.u.mstances not requiring any return on my part, it was soon forgotten. Within a fortnight, however, I received visit the second, when the conversation took a political turn, my guest freely abusing the Bourbons, the aristocrats, and the present state of things in France. I did little more than listen. When the way was thus opened, I was asked if I admired Sir Walter Scott, and particularly what I thought of Ivanhoe, or, rather, if I did not think it an indifferent book. A little surprised at such a question, I told my _litterateur_, that Ivanhoe appeared to me to be very unequal, the first half being incomparably the best, but that, as a whole, I thought it stood quite at the head of the particular sort of romances to which it belonged. The Antiquary, and Guy Mannering, for instance, were both much nearer perfection, and, on the whole, I thought both better books; but Ivanhoe, especially its commencement, was a n.o.ble poem. But did I not condemn the want of historical truth in its pictures? I did not consider Ivanhoe as intended to be history; it was a work of the imagination, in which all the fidelity that was requisite, was enough to be probable and natural, and that requisite I thought it possessed in an eminent degree. It is true, antiquarians accused the author of having committed some anachronisms, by confounding the usages of different centuries, which was perhaps a greater fault, in such a work, than to confound mere individual characters; but of this I did not pretend to judge, not being the least of an antiquary myself. Did I not think he had done gross injustice to the n.o.ble and useful order of the Templars? On this point I could say no more than on the preceding, having but a very superficial knowledge of the Templars, though I thought the probabilities seemed to be perfectly well respected. Nothing could _seem_ to be more true, than Scott's pictures. My guest then went into a long vindication of the Templars, stating Scott had done them gross injustice, and concluding with an exaggerated compliment, in which it was attempted to persuade me that I was the man to vindicate the truth, and to do justice to at subject that was so peculiarly connected with liberal principles. I disclaimed the ability to undertake such a task, at all; confessed that I did not wish to disturb the images which Sir Walter Scott had left, had I the ability; and declared I did not see the connexion between his accusation, admitting it to be true, and liberal principles.

My visitor soon after went away, and I saw no more of him for a week, when he came again. On this occasion, he commenced by relating several _piquant_ anecdotes of the Bourbons and their friends, gradually and ingeniously leading the conversation, again, round to his favourite Templars. After pushing me, for half an hour, on this point, always insisting on my being the man to vindicate the order, and harping on its connexion with liberty, he took advantage of one of my often-repeated protestations of ignorance of the whole matter, suddenly to say, "Well, then, Monsieur, go and see for yourself, and you will soon be satisfied that my account of the order is true." "Go and see what?" "The Templars." "There are no longer any." "They exist still." "Where?"

"Here, in Paris." "This is new to me: I do not understand it." "The Templars exist; they possess doc.u.ments to prove how much Scott has misrepresented them, and--but, you will remember that the actual government has so much jealousy of everything it does not control, that secrecy is necessary--and, to be frank with you, M. ----, I am commissioned by the Grand Master, to invite you to be present at a secret meeting, this very week."

Of course, I immediately conjectured that some of the political agitators of the day had a.s.sumed this taking guise, in order to combine their means, and carry out their plans.[31] The proposition was gotten rid of, by my stating, in terms that could not be misunderstood, that I was a traveller, and did not wish to meddle with anything that required secrecy, in a foreign government; that I certainly had my own political notions, and if pushed, should not hesitate to avow them anywhere; that the proper place for a writer to declare his sentiments, was in his books, unless under circ.u.mstances which authorized him to act; that I did not conceive foreigners were justifiable in going beyond this; that I never had meddled with the affairs of foreign countries, and that I never would; and that the fact of this society's being secret, was sufficient to deter me from visiting it. With this answer, my guest departed, and he never came again.

[Footnote 31: Since the revolution of 1830, these Templars have made public, but abortive efforts, to bring themselves into notice, by inst.i.tuting some ceremonies, in which they appeared openly in their robes.]

Now, the first impression was, as I have told you, and I supposed my visitor, although a man of fifty, was one of those who innocently lent himself to these silly exaggerations; either as a dupe, or to dupe others. I saw reason, however, to change this opinion.

At the time these visits occurred, I scarcely knew any one in Paris, and was living in absolute retirement--being, as you know already, quite without letters. About ten days after I saw the last of my _litterateur_, I got a letter from a high functionary of the government, sending me a set of valuable medals. The following day these were succeeded by his card, and an invitation to dinner. Soon after, another person, notoriously connected with court intrigues, sought me out, and overwhelmed me with civilities. In a conversation that shortly after occurred between us, this person gave a pretty direct intimation, that by pushing a little, a certain decoration that is usually conferred on literary men was to be had, if it were desired. I got rid of all these things, in the straight-forward manner, that is the best for upsetting intrigues; and having really nothing to conceal, I was shortly permitted to take my own course.

I have now little doubt that the _litterateur_ was a _spy_, sent either to sound me on some points connected with Lafayette and the republicans, or possibly to lead me into some difficulty, though I admit that this is no more than conjecture. I give you the facts, which, at the time, struck me as, at least, odd, and you may draw your own conclusions.

This, however, is but one of a dozen adventures, more or less similar, that have occurred, and I think it well to mention it, by way of giving you an insight into what sometimes happens here.[32]

[Footnote 32: A conversation, which took place after the revolution of 1830, with one of the parties named, leaves little doubt as to the truth of the original conjecture.]

My rule has been, whenever I am pushed on the subject of politics, to deal honestly and sincerely with all with whom I am brought in contact, and in no manner to leave the impression, that I think the popular form of government an unavoidable evil, to which America is obliged to submit. I do not shut my eyes to the defects of our own system, or to the bad consequences that flow from it, and from it alone; but, the more I see of other countries, the more I am persuaded, that, under circ.u.mstances which admit but of a choice of evils, we are greatly the gainers by having adopted it. Although I do not believe every other nation is precisely fitted to imitate us, I think it is their misfortune they are not so. If the inhabitants of other countries do not like to hear such opinions, they should avoid the subject with Americans.

It is very much the custom here, whenever the example of America is quoted in favour of the practicability of republican inst.i.tutions, to attribute our success to the fact of society's being so simple, and the people so virtuous. I presume I speak within bounds, when I say that I have heard the latter argument urged a hundred times, during the last eighteen months. One lady, in particular, who is exceedingly clever, but who has a dread of all republics, on account of having lost a near friend during the reign of terror, was especially in the practice of resorting to this argument, whenever, in our frequent playful discussions of the subject, I have succeeded in disturbing her inferences, by citing American facts. "Mais, Monsieur, l'Amerique est si jeune, et vous avez les vertus que nous manquons," etc. etc. has always been thought a sufficient answer. Now I happen to be one of those who do not entertain such extravagant notions of the exclusive and peculiar virtues of our own country. Nor have I been so much struck with the profound respect of the Europeans, in general, for those very qualities that, nevertheless, are always quoted as the reason of the success of what is called the "American experiment." Quite the contrary: I have found myself called on, more than once, to repel accusations against our morality of a very serious nature; accusations that we do not deserve; and my impression certainly is, that the American people, so far as they are at all the subjects of observation, enjoy anything but a good name, in Europe. Struck by this flagrant contradiction, I determined to practise on my female friend, a little; a plan that was successfully carried out, as follows.