The Idler in France Part 18

Conversing with some ladies on this subject last night, they a.s.serted that the infrequency of elopements in France proved the superiority of morals of the French, and that few examples ever occurred of a woman being so lost to virtue as to desert her children and abandon her home.

"But if she should have rendered herself unworthy of any longer being the companion of her children, the partner of her home," asked one of the circle, "would it be more moral to remain under the roof she had dishonoured, and with the husband she had betrayed, than to fly, and so incur the penalty she had drawn on her head?" They were of opinion that the elopement was the most criminal part of the affair, and that Lady ---- was less culpable than many other ladies, because she had not fled; and, consequently, that elopements proved a greater demoralisation than the sinful _liaisons_ carried on without them.

Lady C---- endeavoured to prove that the flight frequently originated in a latent sense of honour and shame, which rendered the presence of the deceived husband and innocent children insufferable to her whose indulgence of a guilty pa.s.sion had caused her to forfeit her right to the conjugal home; but they could not comprehend this, and persisted in thinking the woman who fled with her lover more guilty than her who remained under the roof of the husband she deceived.

One thing is quite clear, which is, that the woman who feels she dare not meet her wronged husband and children, if she dishonours them, will be more deterred from sin by the consciousness of the necessity of flight, which it imposes, than will be the one who sees no such necessity, and who dreads not the penalty she may be tempted to incur.

Lady C---- maintained that elopements are not a fair criterion for judging of the morality of a country; for that she who sins and flies is less hardened in guilt than she who remains and deceives: and the example is also less pernicious, as the one who has forfeited her place in society serves as a beacon to warn others; while she whose errors are known, yet still retains hers, is a dangerous instance of the indulgence afforded to hardened duplicity. It is not the horror of guilt, but the dread of its exposure, that operates on the generality of minds; and this is not always sufficient to deter from sin.

Les Dames de B---- dined with us yesterday. They are very clever and amusing, and, what is better, are excellent women. Their attachment to each other, and devotion to their nephew, are edifying; and he appears worthy of it. Left an orphan when yet an infant, these sisters adopted their nephew, and for his sake have refused many advantageous offers of marriage, devoting themselves to forwarding his interests and insuring him their inheritance. They have shared his studies, taken part in his success, and entered into his pains and pleasures, made his friends theirs, and theirs his; no wonder, then, that he loves them so fondly, and is never happier than with them, taking a lively interest in all their pursuits.

These good and warm-hearted women are accused of being enthusiasts, and romantic. People say that at their age it is odd, if not absurd, to indulge in such exaggerated notions of attachment; nay more, to give such disinterested proofs of it. They may well smile at such remarks, while conscious that their devotion to their nephew has not only secured his happiness, but const.i.tutes their own; and that the warmth of affection for which they are censured, cheers the winter of their lives and diffuses a comfort over their existence unknown to the selfish mortals who live only for self.

They talked to me last night of the happiness they antic.i.p.ated in seeing their nephew married. "He is so good, so excellent, that the person he selects cannot fail to love him fondly," said La Chanoinesse; "and we will love her so dearly for ensuring his happiness," added the other sister.

Who could know these two estimable women, without acknowledging how harsh and unjust are often the sweeping censures p.r.o.nounced on those who are termed old maids?--a cla.s.s in whose b.r.e.a.s.t.s the affections instinct in woman, not being exercised by conjugal or maternal ties, expand into some other channel; and, if denied some dear object on which to place them, expends them on the domestic animals with which, in default of more rational favourites, they surround themselves.

Les Dames de B----, happier than many of the spinsters of their age, have an estimable object to bestow their affections on; but those who are less fortunate should rather excite our pity than ridicule, for many and severe must have been the trials of that heart which turns at last, _dans le besoin d'aimer_, to the bird, dog, or cat, that renders solitude less lonely.

The difference between servitude in England and in France often strikes me, and more especially when I hear the frequent complaints made by English people of the insolence and familiarity of French servants.

Unaccustomed to hear a servant reply to any censure pa.s.sed on him, the English are apt to consider his doing so as a want of respect or subordination, though a French servant does not even dream that he is guilty of either when, according to the general habit of his cla.s.s and country, he attempts an exculpation not always satisfactory to his employer, however it may be to himself.

A French master listens to the explanation patiently, or at least without any demonstration of anger, unless he finds it is not based on truth, when he reprehends the servant in a manner that satisfies the latter that all future attempts to avoid blame by misrepresentation will be unavailing. French servants imagine that they have the right to explain, and their employers do not deny it; consequently, when they change a French for an English master, they continue the same tone and manner to which they have been used, and are not a little surprised to find themselves considered guilty of impertinence.

A French master and mistress issue their orders to their domestics with much more familiarity than the English do; take a lively interest in their welfare and happiness; advise them about their private concerns; inquire into the cause of any depression of spirits, or symptom of ill health they may observe, and make themselves acquainted with the circ.u.mstances of those in their establishment.

This system lessens the distance maintained between masters and servants, but does not really diminish the respect entertained by the latter towards their employers, who generally find around them humble friends, instead of, as with us, cold and calculating dependents, who repay our _hauteur_ by a total indifference to our interests, and, while evincing all the external appearance of profound respect, entertain little of the true feeling of it to their masters.

Treating our servants as if they were automatons created solely for our use, and who, being paid a certain remuneration for their services, have no claim on us for kindness or sympathy, is a system very injurious to their morals and our own interests, and requires an amelioration. But while I deprecate the tone of familiarity that so frequently shocks the untravelled English in the treatment of French employers to their servants, I should like to see more kindness of manner shewn by the English to theirs. Nowhere are servants so well paid, clothed, fed, and lodged, as with us, and nowhere are they said to feel so little attachment to their masters; which can only be accounted for by the erroneous system to which I have referred.

---- came to see me to-day. He talked politics, and I am afraid went away shocked at perceiving how little interest I took in them. I like not political subjects in England, and avoid them whenever I can; but here I feel very much about them, as the Irishman is said to have felt when told that the house he was living in was on fire, and he answered "Sure, what's that to me!--I am only a lodger!"

---- told me that France is in a very dangerous state; the people discontented, etc. etc. So I have heard every time I have visited Paris for the last ten years; and as to the people being discontented, when were they otherwise I should like to know? Never, at least since I have been acquainted with them; and it will require a sovereign such as France has not yet known to satisfy a people so versatile and excitable. Charles the Tenth is not popular. His religious turn, far from conciliating the respect or confidence of his subjects, tends only to awaken their suspicions of his being influenced by the Jesuits--a suspicion fraught with evil, if not danger, to him.

Strange to say, all admit that France has not been so prosperous for years as at present. Its people are rapidly acquiring a love of commerce, and the wealth that springs from it, which induces me to imagine that they would not be disposed to risk the advantages they possess by any measure likely to subvert the present state of things.

Nevertheless, more than one alarmist like ---- shake their heads and look solemn, foretelling that affairs cannot long go on as they are.

Of one thing I am convinced, and that is, that no sovereign, whatever may be his merits, can long remain popular in France; and that no prosperity, however brilliant, can prevent the people from those _emeutes_ into which their excitable temperaments, rather than any real cause for discontent, hurry them. These _emeutes_, too, are less dangerous than we are led to think. They are safety-valves by which the exuberant spirits of the French people escape; and their national vanity, being satisfied with the display of their force, soon subside into tranquillity, if not aroused into protracted violence by unwise demonstrations of coercion.

The two eldest sons of the Duc and d.u.c.h.esse de Guiche have entered the College of Ste.-Barbe. This is a great trial to their mother, from whom they had never previously been separated a single day. Well might she be proud of them, on hearing the just eulogiums p.r.o.nounced on the progress in their studies while under the paternal roof; for never did parents devote themselves more to the improvement of their children than the Duc and d.u.c.h.esse de Guiche have done, and never did children offer a fairer prospect of rewarding their parents than do theirs.

It would have furnished a fine subject for a painter to see this beautiful woman, still in the zenith of her youth and charms, walking between these two n.o.ble boys, whose personal beauty is as remarkable as that of their parents, as she accompanied them to the college. The group reminded me of Cornelia and her sons, for there was the same cla.s.sic _tournure_ of heads and profiles, and the same elevated character of _spirituelle_ beauty, that painters and sculptors always bestow on the young Roman matron and the Gracchi.

The Duc seemed impressed with a sentiment almost amounting to solemnity as he conducted his sons to Ste.-Barbe. He thought, probably, of the difference between their boyhood and his own, pa.s.sed in a foreign land and in exile; while they, brought up in the bosom of a happy home, have now left it for the first time. Well has he taught them to love the land of their birth, for even now their youthful hearts are filled with patriotic and chivalrous feelings!

It would be fortunate, indeed, for the King of France if he had many such men as the Duc de Guiche around him--men with enlightened minds, who have profited by the lessons of adversity, and kept pace with the rapidly advancing knowledge of the times to which they belong.

Painful, indeed, would be the position of this excellent man should any circ.u.mstances occur that would place the royal family in jeopardy, for he is too sensible not to be aware of the errors that might lead to such a crisis, and too loyal not to share the perils he could not ward off; though he will never be among those who would incur them, for no one is more impressed with the necessity of justice and impartiality than he is.

CHAPTER XVI.

The approach of spring is already visible here, and right glad am I to welcome its genial influence; for a Paris winter possesses in my opinion no superiority over a London one,--nay, though it would be deemed by the French little less than a heresy to say so, is even more damp and disagreeable.

The Seine has her fogs, as dense, raw, and chilling, as those of old Father Thames himself; and the river approximating closer to "the gay resorts" of the _beau monde_, they are more felt. The want of draining, and the vapours that stagnate over the turbid waters of the _ruisseaux_ that intersect the streets at Paris, add to the humidity of the atmosphere; while the sewers in London convey away unseen and unfelt, if not always unsmelt, the rain which purifies, while it deluges, our streets. Heaven defend me, however, from uttering this disadvantageous comparison to Parisian cars, for the French are too fond of Paris not to be proud even of its _ruisseaux_, and incredulous of its fogs, and any censure on either would be ill received.

The gay b.u.t.terflies when they first expand their varicoloured wings and float in air, seem not more joyous than the Parisians have been during the last two days of sunshine. The Jardins des Tuileries are crowded with well-dressed groups; the budding leaves have burst forth with that delicate green peculiar to early spring; and the chirping of innumerable birds, as they flit from tree to tree, announces the approach of the vernal season.

Paris is at no time so attractive, in my opinion, as in spring; and the verdure of the foliage during its infancy is so tender, yet bright, that it looks far more beautiful than with us in our London squares or parks, where no sooner do the leaves open into life, than they become stained by the impurity of the atmosphere, which soon deposes its dingy particles on them, "making the green one"--black.

The Boulevards were well stocked with flowers to-day, the _bouquetieres_ having resumed their stalls; and many a pedestrian might be seen bargaining for these fair and frail harbingers of rosy spring.

How exhilarating are the effects of this season on the spirits depressed by the long and gloomy winter, and the frame rendered languid by the same cause! The heart begins to beat with more energetic movement, the blood flows more briskly through the veins, and the spirit of hope is revivified in the human heart. This sympathy between awakening nature, on the earth, and on man, renders us more, that at any other period, fond of the country; for this is the season of promise; and we know that each coming day, for a certain time, will bestow some new beauty on all that is now budding forth, until glowing, laughing summer has replaced the fitful smiles and tears of spring.

And there are persons who tell me they experience nought of this elasticity of spirits at the approach of spring! How are such mortals to be pitied! Yet, perhaps, they are less so than we imagine, for the same insensibility that prevents their being exhilarated, may preclude them from the depression so peculiar to all who have lively feelings.

"I see nothing so very delightful in spring," said ---- to me, yesterday. "_Au contraire_, I think it rather disagreeable, for the sunshine cheats one into the belief of warmth, and we go forth less warmly clad in consequence, so return home chilled by the sharp cold air which always prevails at this season, and find, as never fails to be the case, that our stupid servants have let out the fires, because, truly, the sun was shining in the cold blue sky." ---- reminds me of the man mentioned in Sterne's works, who, when his friend looking on a beautiful prospect, compared a green field with a flock of snowy-fleeced sheep on it, to a vast emerald studded with pearls, answered that _he_ could see nothing in it but gra.s.s and mutton.

Lord B---- set out for London to-day, to vote on the Catholic question, which is to come on immediately. His going at this moment, when he is far from well, is no little sacrifice of personal comfort; but never did he consider self when a duty was to be performed. I wish the question was carried, and he safely back again. What would our political friends say if they knew how strongly I urged him not to go, but to send his proxy to Lord Rosslyn? I would not have consented to his departure, were it not that the Duke of Wellington takes such an interest in the measure.

How times are changed! and how much is due to those statesmen who yield up their own convictions for the general good! There is no action in the whole life of the Duke more glorious than his self-abnegation on this occasion, nor is that of the Tory leader of the House of Commons less praiseworthy; yet how many attacks will both incur by this sacrifice of their opinions to expediency! for when were the actions of public men judged free from the prejudices that discolour and distort all viewed through their medium? That which originates in the purest patriotism, will be termed an unworthy tergiversation; but the reward of these great and good men will be found in their own b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I am _triste_ and unsettled, so will try the effect of a drive in the Bois de Boulogne.

I was forcibly reminded yesterday of the truth of an observation of a clever French writer, who says, that to judge the real merit of a cook, one should sit down to table without the least feeling of appet.i.te, as the triumph of the culinary art was not to satisfy hunger but to excite it. Our new cook achieved this triumph yesterday, for he is so inimitable an artist, that the flavour of his _plats_ made even me, albeit unused to the sensation of hunger, feel disposed to render justice to them. Monsieur Louis--for so he is named--has a great reputation in his art; and it is evident, even from the proof furnished of his _savoir-faire_ yesterday, that he merits it.

It is those only who have delicate appet.i.tes that can truly appreciate the talent of a cook; for they who devour soon lose the power of tasting. No symptom of that terrible malady, well named by the ingenious Grimod de la Reyniere _remords d'estomac_, but vulgarly called indigestion, follows my unusual indulgence in _entrees_ and _entremets_, another delightful proof of the admirable skill of Monsieur Louis.

The English are apt to spoil French cooks by neglecting the _entrees_ for the _piece de resistance_, and, when the cook discovers this, which he is soon enabled to do by the slight breaches made in the first, and the large one in the second, his _amour-propre_ becomes wounded, and he begins to neglect his _entrees_. Be warned, then, by me, all ye who wish your cooks to retain their skill, and however your native tastes for that English favourite dish denominated "a plain joint" may prevail, never fail to taste the _entree_.

_a propos_ of cooks, an amusing instance of the _amour-propre_ of a Parisian cook was related to me by the gourmand Lord ----, the last time we dined at his house. Wishing to have a particular sauce made which he had tasted in London, and for which he got the receipt, he explained to his cook, an artist of great celebrity, how the component parts were to be amalgamated.

"How, mylord!" exclaimed _Monsieur le cuisinier_; "an English sauce! Is it possible your lordsip can taste any thing so barbarous? Why, years ago, my lord, a profound French philosopher described the English as a people who had a hundred religions, but only one sauce."

More anxious to get the desired sauce than to defend the taste of his country, or correct the impertinence of his cook, Lord ---- immediately said, "On recollection, I find I made a mistake; the sauce I mean is _a la Hollandaise_, and not _a l'Anglaise_."

_A la bonne heure_, my lord, _c'est autre chose_; and the sauce was forthwith made, and was served at table the day we dined with Lord ----.

An anecdote is told of this same cook, which Lord ---- relates with great good humour. The cook of another English n.o.bleman conversing with him, said, "My master is like yours--a great _gourmand_."

"Pardon me," replied the other; "there is a vast difference between our masters. Yours is simply a _gourmand_, mine is an epicure as well."

The Duc de Talleyrand, dining with us a few days ago, observed that to give a perfect dinner, the Amphitryon should have a French cook for soups, _entrees_ and _entremets_; an English _rotisseur_, and an Italian _confiseur_, as without these, a dinner could not be faultless.

"But, alas!" said he--and he sighed while he spoke it--"the Revolution has destroyed our means of keeping these artists; and we eat now to support nature, instead of, as formerly, when we ate because it was a pleasure to eat." The good-natured Duc nevertheless seemed to eat his dinner as if he still continued to take a pleasure in the operation, and did ample justice to a certain _plat de cailles farcies_ which he p.r.o.nounced to be perfect.

Our landlord, le Marquis de L----, has sent to offer us the refusal of our beautiful abode. The Duc de N---- has proposed to take it for fourteen on twenty-one years, at the same rent we pay (an extravagant one, by the bye), and as we only took it for a year, we must eithor leave or hire it for fourteen or twenty-one years, which is out of the question.

Nothing can be more fair or honourable than the conduct of the Marquis de L----, for he laid before us the offer of the Duc de N----; but as we do not intend to remain more than two or three years more in Paris, we must leave this charming house, to our infinite regret, when the year for which we have hired it expires. Gladly would we have engaged it for two, or even three years more, but this is now impossible; and we shall have the trouble of again going the round of house-hunting.