As we had snarled and snapped a little here and there in some of our gambols after the various objects which had passed before us, this young man suggested the possibility of his being de trop in the coterie. “Are you not gênés,” said he, “by my being here to listen to all that you and yours may be disposed to say of us and ours?... Shall I have the amiability to depart?”
A general and decided negative was put upon this proposition; but one of the party moved an amendment. “Let us,” said he, “agree to say everything respecting France and the French with as much unreserve as if you were on the top of Notre Dame; and do you, who have been for three months in England, treat us exactly in the same manner; and see what we shall make of each other. We are all much too languid to suffer our patriotism to mount up to ‘spirit-boil,’ and so there is no danger whatever that we should quarrel.”
“I would accept the partie instantly,” said the Frenchman, “were it not so unequal. But six to one! ... is not this too hard?”
“No! ... not the least in the world, if we take it in the quizzing vein,” replied the other; “for it is well known that a Frenchman can out-quiz six Englishmen at any time.”
“Eh bien!” ... said the complaisant Parisian with a sigh, “I will do my best. Begin, ladies, if you please.”
“No! no! no!” exclaimed several female voices in a breath; “we will have nothing to do with it; fight it out between yourselves: we will be the judges, and award the honours of the field to him who hits the hardest.”
“This is worse and worse,” cried our laughing enemy: “if this be the arrangement of the combat, the judgment, à coup sûr, will be given against me. How can you expect such blind confidence from me?”
We protested against this attack upon our justice, promised to be as impartial as Jove, and desired the champions to enter the lists.
“So then,” said the Englishman, “I am to enact the part of St. George ... and God defend the right!”
“And I, that of St. Denis,” replied the Frenchman, his right hand upon his breast and his left gracefully sawing the air. “Mon bras ... non ...
‘Ma langue à ma patrie,
Mon coeur à mon amie,
Mourir gaiement pour la gloire et l’amour,
C’est la devise d’un vaillant troubadour.’
Allons!... Now tell me, St. George, what say you in defence of the English mode of suffering ladies — the ladies of Britain — the most lovely ladies in the world, n’est-ce pas? — to rise from table, and leave the room, and the gentlemen — alone — with downcast eyes and timid step — without a single preux chevalier to offer them his protection or to bear them company on their melancholy way — banished, turned out — exiled from the banquet-board! — I protest to you that I have suffered martyrdom when this has happened, and I, for my sins, been present to witness it. Croyez-moi, I would have joyfully submitted to make my exit à quatre pattes, so I might but have followed them. Ah! you know not what it is for a Frenchman to remain still, when forced to behold such a spectacle as this!... Alas! I felt as if I had disgraced myself for life; but I was more than spell-bound — I was promise-bound; the friend who accompanied me to the party where I witnessed this horror had previously told me what I should have to endure — I did endure it — but I have not yet forgiven myself for participating in so outrageous a barbarism.”
“The gentlemen only remain to drink the fair ladies’ health,” said our St. George very coolly; “and I doubt not all ladies would tell you, did they speak sincerely, that they were heartily glad to get rid of you for half an hour or so. You have no idea, my good fellow, what an agreeable interlude this makes for them: they drink coffee, sprinkle their fans with esprit de rose, refresh their wit, repair their smiles, and are ready to set off again upon a fresh campaign, certain of fresh conquests. But what can St. Denis say in defence of a Frenchman who makes love to three women at once — as I positively declare I saw you do last night at the Opera?”
“You mistook the matter altogether, mon cher; I did not make love — I only offered adoration: we are bound to adore the whole sex, and all the petits soins offered in public are but the ceremonies of this our national worship.... We never make love in public, my dear friend — ce n’est pas dans nos moeurs. But will you explain to me un peu, why Englishmen indulge themselves in the very extraordinary habit of taking their wives to market with that vilaine corde au cou that it is so dreadful to mention, and there sell them for the mesquine somme de trois francs?... Ah! be very sure that were there a single Frenchman present at your terrible Smithfield when this happened, he would buy them all up, and give them their liberty at once.”
The St. George laughed — but then replied very gravely, that the custom was a very useful one, as it enabled an Englishman to get rid of a wife as soon as he found that she was not worth keeping. “But will you tell me,” he continued, “how it is that you can be so inhuman as to take your innocent young daughters and sisters, and dispose of them as if they were Virginian slaves born on your estates, to the best bidder, without asking the charming little creatures themselves one single word concerning their sentiments on the subject?”
“We are too careful of our young daughters and sisters,” replied the champion of France, “not to provide them with a suitable alliance and a proper protector before they shall have run the risk of making a less prudent selection for themselves: but, what can put it into the heads of English parents to send out whole ship-loads of young English demoiselles — si belles qu’elles sont! — to the other side of the earth, in order to provide them with husbands?”
Our knight paused for a moment before he answered, and I believe we all shook for him; but at length he replied very sententiously —
“When nations spread their conquests to the other side of the earth, and send forth their generals and their judges to take and to hold possession for them, it is fitting that their distant honours should be shared by their fair countrywomen. But will you explain to me why it is that the venerable grandmothers of France think it necessary to figure in a contre-danse — nay, even in a waltz, as long as they think that they have strength left to prevent their falling on their noses?”
“‘Vive la bagatelle!’ is the first lesson we learn in our nurses’ arms — and Heaven forbid we should any of us live long enough to forget it!” answered the Frenchman. “But if the question be not too indiscreet, will you tell me, most glorious St. George, in what school of philosophy it was that Englishmen learned to seek satisfaction for their wounded honour in the receipt of a sum of money from the lovers of their wives?”
“Most puissant St. Denis,” replied the knight of England, “I strongly recommend you not to touch upon any theme connected with the marriage state as it exists in England; because I opine that it would take you a longer time to comprehend it than you may have leisure to give. It will not take you so long perhaps to inform me how it happens that so gay a people as the French, whose first lesson, as you say, is ‘Vive la bagatelle!’ should make so frequent a practice as they do of inviting either a friend or a mistress to enjoy a tête-à-tête over a pan of charcoal, with doors, windows, and vent-holes of all kinds carefully sealed, to prevent the least possible chance that either should survive?”
“It has arisen,” replied the Frenchman, “from our great intimacy with England — where the month of November is passed by one half of the population in hanging themselves, and by the other half in cutting them down. The charcoal system has been an attempt to improve upon your insular mode of proceeding; and I believe it is, on the whole, considered preferable. But may I ask you in what reign the law was passed which permits every Englishman to beat his wife with a stick as large as his thumb; and also whether the law has made any provision for the case of a man’s having the gout in that member to such a degree as to swell it to twice its ordinary size?”
“It has been decided by a jury of physicians,” said our able advocate, “that in all such cases of gout, the decrease of strength is in
exact proportion to the increase of size in the pattern thumb, and therefore no especial law has passed our senate concerning its possible variation. As to the law itself, there is not a woman in England who will not tell you that it is as laudable as it is venerable.”
“The women of England must be angels!” cried the champion of France, suddenly starting from his chair and clasping his hands together with energy,— “angels! and nothing else, or” (looking round him) “they could never smile as you do now, while tyranny so terrible was discussed before them!”
What the St. Denis thus politely called a smile, was in effect a very hearty laugh — which really and bonâ fide seemed to puzzle him, as to the feeling which gave rise to it. “I will tell you of what you all remind me at this moment,” said he, reseating himself: “Did you ever see or read ‘Le Médecin malgré Lui’?”
We answered in the affirmative.
“Eh bien! ... do you remember a certain scene in which a certain good man enters a house whence have issued the cries of a woman grievously beaten by her husband?”
We all nodded assent.
“Eh bien! ... and do you remember how it is that Martine, the beaten wife, receives the intercessor?— ‘Et je veux qu’il me batte, moi.’ Voyez-vous, mesdames, I am that pitying individual — that kind-hearted M. Robert; and you — you are every one of you most perfect Martines.”
“You are positively getting angry, Sir Champion,” said one of the ladies: “and if that happens, we shall incontestably declare you vanquished.”
“Nay, I am vanquished — I yield — I throw up the partie — I see clearly that I know nothing about the matter. What I conceived to be national barbarisms, you evidently cling to as national privileges. Allons! ... je me rends!”
“We have not given any judgment, however,” said I. “But perhaps you are more tired than beaten? — you only want a little repose, and you will then be ready to start anew.”
“Non! absolument non! — but I will willingly change sides, and tell you how greatly I admire England....”
The conversation then started off in another direction, and ceased not till the number of parties who passed us in making their exit roused us at length to the necessity of leaving our flowery retreat, and making ours also.
LETTER LXVII.
Chamber of Deputies. — Punishment of Journalists. — Institute for the Encouragement of Industry. — Men of Genius.
Of all the ladies in the world, the English, I believe, are the most anxious to enter a representative chamber. The reason for this is sufficiently obvious, — they are the only ones who are denied this privilege in their own country; though I believe that they are in general rather disposed to consider this exclusion as a compliment, inasmuch as it evidently manifests something like a fear that their conversation might be found sufficiently attractive to draw the Solons and Lycurguses from their duty.
But however well they may be disposed to submit to the privation at home, it is a certain fact that Englishwomen dearly love to find themselves in a legislative assembly abroad. There certainly is something more than commonly exciting in the interest inspired by seeing the moral strength of a great people collected together, and in the act of exerting their judgment and their power for the well-being and safety of millions. I suspect, however, that the sublimity of the spectacle would be considerably lessened by a too great familiarity with it; and that if, instead of being occasionally hoisted outside a lantern to catch an uncertain sight and a broken sound of what was passing within the temple, we were in the constant habit of being ushered into so commodious a tribune as we occupied yesterday at the Chamber of Deputies, we might soon cease to experience the sort of reverence with which we looked down from thence upon the collected wisdom of France.
Nothing can be more agreeable than the arrangement of this chamber for spectators. The galleries command the whole of it perfectly; and the orator of the hour, if he can be heard by any one, cannot fail of being heard by those who occupy them. Another peculiar advantage for strangers is, that the position of every member is so distinctly marked, that you have the satisfaction of knowing at a glance where to find the brawling republican, the melancholy legitimatist, and the active doctrinaire. The ministers, too, are as much distinguished by their place in the Chamber as in the Red Book, (or whatever may be the distinctive symbol of that important record here,) and by giving a franc at the entrance, for a sort of map that they call a “Table figurative” of the Chamber, you know the name and constituency of every member present.
This greatly increases the interest felt by a stranger. It is very agreeable to hear a man speak with fervour and eloquence, let him be who he may; but it enhances the pleasure prodigiously to know at the same time who and what he is. If he be a minister, every word has either more or less weight according ... to circumstances; and if he be in opposition, one is also more au fait as to the positive value of his sentiments from being acquainted with the fact.
The business before the house when we were there was stirring and interesting enough. It was on the subject of the fines and imprisonment to be imposed on those journalists who had outraged law and decency by their inflammatory publications respecting the trials going on at the Luxembourg. — General Bugeaud made an excellent speech upon the abuse of the freedom of the press; a subject which certainly has given birth to more “cant,” properly so called, than any other I know of. To so strange an extent has this been carried, that it really requires a considerable portion of moral courage to face the question fairly and honestly, and boldly to say, that this unrestricted power, which has for years been dwelt upon as the greatest blessing which can be accorded to the people, is in truth a most fearful evil. If this unrestricted power had been advocated only by demagogues and malcontents, the difficulties respecting the question would be slight indeed, compared to what they are at present; but so many good men have pleaded for it, that it is only with the greatest caution, and the strongest conviction from the result of experience, that the law should interfere to restrain it.
Nothing, in fact, is so plausible as the sophistry with which a young enthusiast for liberty seeks to show that the unrestrained exercise of intellect must not only be the birthright of every man, but that its exercise must also of necessity be beneficial to the whole human race. How easy is it to talk of the loss which the ever-accumulating mass of human knowledge must sustain from stopping by the strong hand of power the diffusion of speculation and experience! How very easy is it to paint in odious colours the tyranny that would check the divine efforts of the immortal mind! — And yet it is as clear as the bright light of heaven, that not all the sufferings which all the tyrants who ever cursed the earth have brought on man can compare to those which the malign influence of an unchecked press is calculated to inflict upon him.
The influence of the press is unquestionably the most awful engine that Providence has permitted the hand of man to wield. If used for good, it has the power of raising us higher in the intellectual scale than Plato ever dreamed; but if employed for evil, the Prince of Darkness may throw down his arms before its unmeasured strength — he has no weapon like it.
What are the temptations — the seductions of the world which the zealous preacher deprecates, which the watchful parent dreads, compared to the corruption that may glide like an envenomed snake into the bosom of innocence from this insidious agency? Where is the retreat that can be secured from it? Where is the shelter that can baffle its assaults? — Blasphemy, treason, and debauchery are licensed by the act of the legislature to do their worst upon the morals of every people among whom an unrestricted press is established by law.
Surely, but perhaps slowly, will this truth become visible to all men: and if society still hangs together at all, our grandchildren will probably enjoy the blessing without the curse of knowledge. The head of the serpent has been bruised, and therefore we may hope for this, — but it is not yet.
The discussions in the Chamber on this important subject, not only yest
erday, but on several occasions since the question of these fines has been started, have been very animated and very interesting. Never was the right and the wrong in an argument more ably brought out than by some of the speeches on this business: and, on the other hand, never did effrontery go farther than in some of the defences which have been set up for the accused gérans of the journals in question. For instance, M. Raspail expresses a very grave astonishment that the Chamber of Peers, instead of objecting to the liberties which have been taken with them, do not rather return thanks for the useful lesson they have received. He states too in this same defence, as he is pleased to call it, that the conductors of the “Réformateur” have adopted a resolution to publish without restriction or alteration every article addressed to them by the accused parties or their defenders. This resolution, then, is to be pleaded as an excuse for whatever their columns may contain! The concluding argument of this defence is put in the form of a declaration, purporting that whoever dooms a fellow-creature to the horrors of imprisonment ought to undergo the same punishment for the term of twenty years as an expiation of the crime. This is logical.
There is a tone of vulgar, insolent defiance in all that is recorded of the manner and language adopted by the partisans of these Lyons prisoners, which gives what must, I think, be considered as very satisfactory proof that the party is not one to be greatly feared. After the vote had passed the Chamber of Peers for bringing to account the persons who subscribed the protest against their proceedings, two individuals who were not included in this vote of reprobation sent in a written petition that they might be so. What was the official answer to this piece of bravado, or whether it received any, I know not; but I was told that some one present proposed that a reply should be returned as follows: —
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 558
