BOUGHT WITH THE iNCOMfi FROM THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND THE GIFT OF Henrig HI. Sage AJMQp ip/SliT, Cornell University Library DC 33 .6 .H21R8 Round my house notes of rural life In Fr 3 1924 022 591 998 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022591998 ROUND MY HOUSE NOTES OF RURAL LIFE IN FRANCE IN PEACE AND WAR PHILIP GILBERT HAMERTON AOTHOK OF " THB INTBLLBCTUAL UFB," " A FAINTBR'S CAMP," " TUB SVLVAM VBAB." BTC. uid potea alibi ndere, quod hie non videsT Eece odimi, et tena, a onmU eiemente ■ nam ez istis omnia sunt beta. — De Imitatioae, Lib. L Cap. XX. BOSTON: ROBERTS BROTHERS. 1890. PREFACE. There are two kinds of books about foreign countries, those written by passing travellers and those written by fixed residents. Each of the two kinds has its peculiar merits, and neither of the two can escape its peculiar defects. This book is of the latter species. The fixed resident is certainly the person who ought to write about a foreign country, because, unless he be singularly unobservant, he will know much more about it than the passings traveller, and yet there are peculiar difficulties in his case. Habit, in course of time, makes things seem matters of course to him which would strike the passing tourist as interesting from their strangeness or delightful for their beauty. Every one knows that in course of time we all positively cease to see the pictures and furniture in the room which we constantly inhabit, so that a stranger will have a far livelier sense of theit merits and defects than we can possibly have. This is the great obstacle to writing about what we see con- tinually — the freshness of the eye is wanting, it is gone for ever, and cannot be recovered. It is perhaps for this reason that almost all the books which are written on other countries are the result of, at most, a short vi Preface. residence. After a few months in a place we write about it, after many years we feel a disinclination to WPte, because we know it too well, and yet feel that we ought to know much more before publishing results and conclusions. In many cases there are also reasons of delicacy for not publishing what concerns the manners and customs of a place that one has lived in. Ever}' author is aware that people have a passion for recog- nizing themselves and their neighbours in print, a pas- sion which goes to the most astonishing lengths, for people will select some character as unlike themselves as possible, and then complain of the unfaithfulness of the portrait. The author of the present volume, like everybody who has written a novel, has had some experience of this. The one occupation of all his friends and acquaintances appeared to be the recognition of his characters as portraits, and the same character in the novel was detected by the cleverness of several different correspondents as a likeness of several different origi- nals. Some correspondents even went so far as to recognize themselves in the literary picture, to acknow- ledge that the satire was deserved, and promise amend- ment, although the author had not once thought about them during the composition of his work.* Now, if * I am not sorry to take this opportunity of observing that this ftabit of readers is based upon a completely erroneous conception of an author's mental processes. It is quite true that most ficti- tious characters have been suggested, in some remote way, to begin with, by a living person, but no author with the least imagination stops at portraiture. His imagination plays with the first sugges- tion and develops from it something entirely different It is narrated of a certain painter, celebrated for the beauty of his Madonnas, that he had no other model for them than a wrinkled Preface. v!C people seek and find portraits of themselves and theii" neighbours in novels, how much more ready will they not be to discover such portraits in an avowed descrip- tion of the manners and customs of the particular locality in which they live! The author, it is true, might have recourse to certain artifices, not affecting the substantial truth of his descriptions in matters which it concerned his readers to know, and yet shield- ing individuals. He might, for example, allowably describe a man so as to put his neighbours on a wrong scent, by making the fictitious person live in a new house when the real person lived in an old one, or by giving him red hair when nature had given him black. Still, however skilfully this might be done, it would be better not to excite popular curiosity about people whose privacy ought to be respected. This considera- tion would of itself make a writer hesitate, in certain circumstances, before publishing a book in which there is so much painting from nature as there is in the present volume. It would be wrong in a Frenchman to publish a work of this kind about an English neigh- bourhood, because his book would be read in the neigh- bourhood itself, where people would recognize, or fancy that they recognized, the originals of his descriptions. When M. Taine wrote his " Notes on England " he had this inconvenience continually in view. But we may use much greater freedom in describing a French neighbour- hood where there are no English residents, whm the old man-servant Thisis a very perfect instance of the «irorking fA imagination. It needs some suggestions from the world of reality, but a very remote suggestion is enough. viii Preface. book is addressed to English and American readers only. France is very near to England, but England is as remote from France as some province in the heart of China. A book written in Chinese, or in Egyptian hieroglyphics, or in Babylonian cuneiform characters, would have quite as good a chance of being read in this country " round my house " as a book written in English. It is, therefore, impossible that any persons* alluded to in the volume should be identified by any one. The English reader cannot identify them because the originals are unknown to him, and those who know the persons are ignorant of the language in which they are more or less accurately portrayed. It is as if an English neighbourhood were to be described in Chinese, with the right of translation reserved. The Chinese author might go into detail without hurting anybody's feelings. These observations have appeared necessary because so few English readers are likely to realize the wonder- ful remoteness of England from rural France, and some might be disposed to accuse me of a want of delicacy, when in reality I have been at great pains so to manage matters that no private person alluded to will ever be identified, whilst if such identification were possible, the worst consequence of it would be to reveal some fact which everybody knows, as, for example, that such a gentleman's establishment consists of one woman-ser- vant and two men, or that d^'e&ner is his principal * Except the bishop, but it so happens- that I was able to paint him as he is and yet observe the rule of nil nisi bonum without ever thinking about it. Preface. ix repast. The general impression which the book will produce in England and America will be favourable to my French neighbours, who, whatever may be their faults, have qualities which will bear to be painted truthfully. I offer it as a small contribution to what ought to be the great work of international writers in our time, namely, the work of making different nations understand each other better. It was originally intended that this volume should be illustrated by the author, but as a set of etchings would have greatly increased the price, and as, after many experiments, I remained dissatisfied with the processes which produce blocks to be printed cheaply, the idea of illustrating was at last abandoned. It is likely that the purchaser of the book has lost very little by this de- cision, but as it happened that my American publishers announced it some time ago as " illustrated," I thought something ought to be done to compensate my Ameri- can friends for whatever little disappointment they might feel when the text reached them without any graphic accompaniment. I have, therefore, given them fifty or sixty more pages of text than the quantity originally intended. There is, I think, nothing to regret in this arrangement, for the book does not need illus- tration, and the sketches of a landscape-painter could have added but little interest to its pages. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. VAGI A Tour in Search of a House i CHAPTER 11. The Tour Continued 23 CHAPTER III. The House is Found 44 CHAPTER IV. Country Society in France 63 CHAPTER V. THfi Rural Nobility 81 CHAPTER VI. A».L ABOUT Money Matters 5)7 CHAPTER VII. Manners and Customs of the Rurals iiti xii Contents. CHAPTER VIII. PAGH Households and Servants - i4' CHAPTFR 'X Life in a Little French Town 162 CHAPTER X. French Political Parties . 182 CHAPTER XI. The Peasant- World 209 CHAPTER XII. Details of Peasant- Life 242 CHAPTER XIII. Church and University 286 CHAPTER XIV. The French Clergy 321 CHAPTER XV. Courtship and Marriage 34, CHAPTER XVI. From Peace to War 370 CHAPTER XVII. From War to Peace 3^6 ROUND MY HOUSE. CHAPTER I. A tour in search of a house — Requirements for the picturesque and for convenience — Places not good to live in permanently — The French maison de campagne — Provence — The Rhone — Tournon and Tain — A dirty hotel — A wonderful maison " de campagne — Vienne — M4con — Snugness and openness in landscape — Character of scenery at Micon — A neat and tidy French house — Town dwellings — Dismal places — The Sa&ne — ^Voyage in a steamer — Abrupt termination of the voyage — The Sa6ne near Lyons — CoUonges and Fontaines — Costume of the women of La Bresse. It happened a good many years ago that my wife and I set off on a tour in search of a house. I wanted a fine climate, or at least a climate in which I could count upon fine summers, and scenery interesting enough, and sufficiently varied, for a landscape-painter to work happily in it without going very far from his own home. My wife, on her part, though quite willing to let me have my way in the choice of climate and scenery, ha4 also requirements of her own with regard to house- keeping. We had lived together in a very beautiful but very out-of-the-way place in the Highlands of B House-keeping Difficulties. Scotland, where we were literally twelve miles from a lemon, and forty from the nearest hairdresser ; whilst at certain seasons of the year there was not (in activity at least) such a functionary as a butcher in the whole county. Here we had learned the lesson, which nobody ever does learn except from actual experience, that a too distant retirement from the conveniences of civilized life, far from being favourable to projects of economy (as the inhabitants of large towns sometimes imagine), is on the contrary a cause of incessant expen- diture, as unsatisfactory as it is unavoidable, unless, indeed, you choose to submit to the privations of a Highland shepherd, and live upon oatmeal and diseased meat. I was the more willing to conform to my wife's house-keeping requirements, that I had observed for my own part how a life far from conve- niences invades and breaks up the time of the master of the house, how he has always to be looking after details which a lady can scarcely attend to, and has to sacrifice time in frequent journeys to the distant town, all which may be rather pleasant than otherwise for men who are without occupation, but is vexatious in the extreme to the artist or homme de lettres. In a word, the sort of life which we were determined to' avoid was what may be called the colonial— that life which is led in its full perfection by the holder of a sheep-run in New Zealand. On the other hand, I had never been able to share the spirit of resignation with which so many landscape-painters submit to pass their days in the streets of cities, without ever seeing a blue or purple hill in the distance, or having any more direct Dominant Features of Scenery. impression of sunset splendours than what is to be gained by observing that the chimney-pots of the opposite houses look somewhat redder than usual. Nothing in the lives of landscape-painters whose biographies have been written appears to me more pathetic than a sentence in that of Chintreuil, when, in his penniless student days, literally suffering from hunger, he exclaimed, " Oh, if I had but 150 francs to go and live two months in the real country ! " Yet not all " the country " is suitable ground for a landscape- painter, and what is rich in material for one will be barren land for another. Neither is it the place which seems to him the most strikingly beautiful when he is travelling which will be the best for him to live in year after year. There are so many things to be considered in choosing a place for a long residence ! Some places have a strong dominant feature of a special kind, which is very interesting when the coach stops at the way^ side inn and you have half an hour to go and look about you, but which would be either indifferent or tiresome to a fixed resident. The valley of Chamouni, for examjde, would be a very bad place to choose, because Mont Blanc is far too dominant there ; you cannot get out of its way ; you must either think of hardly anything else in landscape, or else become indifferent to landscape beauty altogether, as the Alpine peasants are. There are natural objects which interfere with the individuality of a painter who lives too near them, and it is as difficult to work independently in their presence as it would be to pursue intellectual labours in the continual presence of sonie overwhelming B 2 A Housii in Glen Coe. human potentate, such as the Czar of Russia, for example. Another great objection to a place is, not to be able easily to get out of it. A perfect country is one which, in a day's drive, or half a day's, gives you an entirely new horizon, so that you may feel in a different region and have all the refreshment of a total change of scene within a few miles of your own home. There are very many places in the world where this Is quite impossible, some dominant characteristic of the' landscape pursues you wherever you go, for thirty or forty miles, and you must undertake a serious journey to get under other influences. There is a house in the middle of Glen Coe, about equally distant froni its two extremities, which seems a very undesirable place of residence, for it is only just possible to get out of the glen and come back again in the course of a summer's day, whilst every excursion, in either direction, must of necessity be in the same scenery. So I suppose that on the plateau out of which rises the great white cone of Chimborazo you may travel for many miles, whilst, for any variety of scenery that you get, you might as well remain quietly under the shadow of one cactus, if a cactus gives any shadow. It is a very amusing, yet at the same time a very fatiguing business, to travel in search of a house, espe- cially when you are not tied down to a limited extent of country. We had the whole of eastern France to explore, south of Sens, and our impression at first was that our only embarrassment would be in having too many delightful residences to choose from, but we soon perceived our error. The house was to be a maison de The " Maison de Campagne." 5 campagne, and the difificulty of finding one to suit our i tastes and purse at the same time will be better under- stood when I have explained what a maison de cam- pagne is. The reader will please observe that I leave the words in the original tongue, without any attempt at transla- tion, and the reason for this is, that a translation would convey quite a wrong idea of the habitation to be de- scribed. Maison de campagne does not mean " country house," nor anything like it. It answers much more to the English shooting or fishing lodge or cottage. It generally belongs to somebody with a moderate income, who lives habitually in a town, but likes to have a little place in the country on his own estate, where he may go and spend a few weeks at a time during the fine weather, and hear the thrushes and the nightin- gales, whilst his children may run about in the fields. A very well-to-do Frenchman told me lately, that he was going to build a mnison de campagne — a "-chclteau," as he laughingly called it — on the most beautiful site on a very beautiful estate which he inherited last year. He has planned it all himself in the most original manner. There is to be a large hall as the general living-room, with cells and cupboards round it, and the hall is to open on a terrace with a glorious view over a rich expanse of country. The dwelling is not to have more than one story. The owner and deviser will arrange everything exactly according to his own fancy, and not at all in obedience to any kind of fashion or conventionalism, so that every time he goes there he may feel as free from the tyranny of " social pressure * We avoid Provence. as Robinson Crusoe in his castle. This is exactly the Frenchman's idea of the maison de campagne. He thinks of it as a place where life is to be rather rough, where he is to sit on cheap chairs, or a hard form per- haps, and sleep anyhow, in a cupboard or on the floor, or at best in a little cell ; but where, as a compensation, he may wear any kind of old clothes, and work in his garden, or roam about in his woods to his heart's con- tent The reader will at once perceive how difficult it is to find a maison de campagne fit to live in all the year round as one's principal or only residence. There is, indeed, another class of country house — the chdteau, which is often roomy enough, though seldom particu- larly comfortable ; but you will not often find a chateau to let, and when you do it is likely to be encumbered with land and gardens, which are a source of expense rather than either pleasure or profit. The sort of house we wanted did not belong to either of these categories. We required more space, and better arrangements, than are found usually in the first, and wanted our house to be more compact and less expensive than the second. Our tour began on the line between Paris and the Mediterranean. I did not intend to go so far south as to get into the dreadfully long, arid summers of Pro- vence. Avignon, for example, was too far south for our taste, though we knew that neighbourhood well. All that Provencal country is delightful before the dry heat sets in, and it is a very rich country for an artist, especially if he has a hearty appreciation of old build- ings, rugged bits of foreground, and clear mountainous distances ; but in summer it is better to be farther My Rhone Scheme. north. My first plan, therefore, was to choose some locality south of Lyons, yet north of Montdlimart, in the immediate neighbourhood of some town upon the Rhone. Of all the French rivers the Rhone is, at the same time, that which is best worth illustrating^ and that which has been least exhausted by artists. It was also the river towards which I felt the strongest per- sonal attraction, which is of the very utmost impor- tance for the interest of artistic work, as no artist can ever interest others in subjects which do not interest himself* My artistic scheme was, therefore, to have easy access to the whole of the Rhone scenery, and in this I counted much upon the assistance of the rail- way line from Lyons to Marseilles, for the railway always keeps within a moderate distance of the river, and so gives access to many points of interest, whilst the interval between one station and another, or be- tween any station and the river, could always be easily traversed on foot, or in the common conveyances of the place. Another great advantage of the railway was, that if I chose to descend the river in a small boat, the railway would take charge of it on my return. Besides this, an artist living close to the Rhone would have the advantage of the Rhone * Amongst the innumerable doctrines about what artists ought to do which are doubtful and uncertain (their uncertainty being proved by the success of artists who disobey them), a few appear to be confirmed by the general experience, and this is one of them. An interesting picture is always a picture of something which the artist has either passionately loved or at least cared about in earnest. But it is not by any means so sure that the converse is also true. The strongest affection for a place will not enable ua tc T aint it in an interesting manner. Mf Rhone Scheme. steamers, which would stop and land him anywhere at his convenience. If the reader will kindly enter into this project from the artistic point of view, he will at once perceive how much was involved in it. A landscape-painter may be said — in a peculiar sense, of course, yet to him at least in a very real and intelligible sense — to possess the land he lives in, so far, at least, as he can appreciate its beauty ; just as a student who lives near a public library possesses the library, or at least so much of it as he can use and understand. And the longer I live, the more profoundly am I convinced that this kind of pos session is the truest and most satisfying kind of owner- ship ; nay, even that it is the only ownership, which being infinite in its nature, is adequate to our infinite desires. To me, a house by the Rhone, near a railway and steamboat station, meant the possession of the Rhone itself, with all its crags, and castles, and pic- turesque old cities, and those leagues of lovely or noble landscape which lie between one city and another. If the reader will glance at a, map of that part of the country through which the Rhone flows, he will find that, for part of its long journey, it passes between the departments of the Ard^che and the Drdme. The railway follows it all along, on the left bank, and from this great main line there are now two lines to Grenoble, one from St. Rambert, and the other from the Is6re, both in the department of the Drome. Between these two branches, and about fourteen miles north of Valence, there are two little towns exactly opposite each other, with the Rhone flowing between Tournon and Tain. them ; that in the Ard^che is Tournon, that in the Dr6me is Tain. Now it seemed to me that to live somewhere very near there, would be in the highest degree favourable to certain artistic projects, for I should, at the same time, be close to one of the noblest and most interesting rivers in Europe, and have easy access to the most magnificent mountain scenery, by the help of those lines of railway. So the first place we went to was Tain ; that, at least, was the station, but we went to the hotel at Tournon, and that hotel must be mentioned here because it had a very important influence on our destiny. If that hotel had been clean, we should have stayed there patiently and explored the country in every direction, the end of which exploration might possibly have been the discovery of some suitable dwelling ; but the hotel was not clean-^indeed it was so exceptionally dirty, that it required great courage to stay in it a single night. What floors ! what walls ! what a staircase ! and what servants ! There was space enough, the house was not badly built, there was no especial diffi- culty about being clean, and as for water, the Rhone flowed swiftly by ; but the place was given over to uncleanliness, as if it were a foretaste of Italy or Spain. It is scarcely too much to say that the floors inside the house were like the flags in a Manchester street when a fog has saturated the soot ; the walls had not been papered, nor the paint washed for years, and the women were in a state not to be described without an intolerable realism. There was one apron especially — but let me refrain ! It is many years since then, and lO A House by the Rhone. that apron is now purified. It has passed into a higher state of existence ; it has become paper, perhaps the whitest and smoothest of papers in some rich man's hbrary, in an Mition de luxe. Just opposite Tournon rises the world-famous hill of the Hermitage, where the noble wine is grown. As every inch of the ground is of almost fabulous value, the hill-side, which is very steep, has long been arti- ficially cut into terraces supported by walls, which spoil its beauty entirely. Behind Tournon, the road leads up a hill ; we followed it from curiosity, and soon came upon a magnificent view of the course of the Rhone and the snowy Alps of Dauphin^. That was a sight to compensate for the ugliness of the vineyards by the river. But there was no house up there, and if there had been one, the situation would have been particu- larly inconvenient. After much seeking, we discovered at length a genuine " maison de campagne " on the left bank of the Rhone, and a wonderful little building it was. How miserable it looked ! It had the honour, indeed, of being a detached residence, but this only made it look the more wretched as it stood alone in its desola- tion and its nakedness. It was all out of repair, and not a door nor a shutter fitted. I rather think there was a pepper-box turret, which made the owner call it a chiteau, and ask an absurd rent ; but the fact is that all the rooms were so small that the whole mansion together would have gone into a good-sized studio. Then we saw reason to suspect that, during the inun- dations which display so much energy on the shores of the Rhone, the lower rooms had the advantage of being Dirty Hotels. II under water; and we observed also that in the heat of summer, which in those parts is sufficiently intense, the inhabitant of the mansion had not a tree big enough to shelter him, but would have to set up an awning, or a big umbrella, like a negro king. In spring he would be disquieted by his neighbour the Rhone ; and in summer he would dwell in the full glare of a southern sun in a desert of burning sand. The mere idea of living in such a place brought on feelings of depression which made the whole neighbourhood seem dreary to us, and we were in such great haste to get out of the dirty hotel that we were rather glad not to have found a dwelling-place. We received an impression that we were too far south for cleanliness ; and this was confirmed by another remarkably unpleasant hotel at Vienne, where the rooms were stifling and dark, and looked out upon a horrible little yard. I confess to being excessively impressionable by the aspect of places — indeed I am so to a degree which far transcends the limits of what is reasonable. The unpleasant southern hotels really had very little to do with our project of residence, for we did not intend to live in them ; yet they discouraged us, and put us almost into low spirits. The dwellings which we had examined seemed to offer sufficient accommodation for a bachelor with one servant and a cat, but as for lodging a family, and finding room for a library and a studio besides, there seemed to be no way of accomplishing it except building. Still, when I think of that Rhone project, which seemed so magnificently attractive when first indulged in as a dream, I am even yet surprised at the 12 We go to MScon. facility with which it was abandoned. We had ex amined very few places, we had spent very little time In seeking along the river, when we retreated north- wards, as fast as the train would carry us, with a sense of relief, as if we had escaped from danger, or at least avoided committing an imprudence. There were three departments, some distance to the north of Lyons, in which we felt much more at home than in the Ard^che. We had friends in the C6te d'Or, and my wife's father had been connected politically with the departments of Sa6ne-et-Loire and the Daubs, having been a representative for the first and prefect of the second. It does not require very much to determine a preference amongst places one knows very little about, so this bygone political connection gave us a sort of reason for examining these depart- ments rather more particularly. We began with M&con. Lovers of art will remember it because of Turner's beautiful picture of the vintage there, an admirable ideal work, which does not bear the slightest resemblance to the place. Nobody, however, who knows how Turner worked, how he used nature as a suggestion merely, and not as an original to be copied in fac-simile, will ever be so far misguided as to place the least confidence in him as a topographer, nor will he ever feel disE^ppointed because places are not so poetical as Turner represented them to be. Our impressions here were more encouraging than they had been at Tournon and Vienne. We had spacious rooms in a rather large and airy hotel over- looking the river, the servants were clean and attentive. Mont Blanc from Macon. 13 and we felt ourselves approaching more nearly to the regions of comparative cleanliness. Here, at any rate, were space and air. The broad Sa6ne flowed slowly beneath our windows, with stately regiments of tall poplars on the other side — rather too orderly to be very entertaining to the eye — and beyond the poplars stretched the plain that goes to the foot of the distant mountain lands of Jura and Savoy. The weather was hazy during our stay at Micon, but it added greatly to the glory of the rooms we occupied to believe the lively landlady when she told us that there was a fine view of Mont Blanc from those very windows. If the reader will only bring himself to believe that Mont Blanc is visible from his own window, he will find that this faith communicates a certain grandeur and dignity to his room, which are well worth having, however illusory. Years afterwards I found that Mont Blanc, under peculiar atmospheric conditions, was indeed visible from Micon, and more impressively than from nearer places. It is wonderful to see that dome of rqsy white suspended in the sky like something that is not of this earth. It seems as if it were a satellite of our planet, like the moon, and one expects it to rise higher and higher as the moon does, till it sails alone amongst the stars, detached from everything terrestrial. All about Micon the country has a certain largeness and openness of aspect, the exact opposite of snugness, but very appreciable also. The reader will at once understand what I mean by snugness in landscape, but I may give an example of this character in Rydal Water a Grasmere where it is to be found in the 14 Sham Architecture. fullest perfection. The opposite character is often very admirable too, as at M^con, and from that town south- wards along the Sa6ne. Everything is large and tran- quil. The slopes of the vine-lands are vast in extent, and gentle in declivity, unlike the abrupt terraces of the Rhone-side, where the hills are cut into huge stairs. The river is broad and quiet, spanned by a bridge of twelve arches. The plain beyond the river is so broad that it seems to have no limits, and when the dome of Mont Blanc is visible it is so remote that, instead of setting limits to the distance, it only makes it more appreciable. The town is on the sloping bank of the river, and the upper houses have wide panoramic views. One of these was to be let, and we went over it. The building was tall and narrow, like a tower, with a number of sham windows painted on the walls, and a strange little stair going down into the garden. Those sham windows are a characteristic of the south, and they begin to prevail on the Sa6ne. As you go south- wards, you find more and more sham architecture painted upon the stucco — Italian cornices, pilasters, medallions, festoons, brackets, balustrades, "and other abominations, all m the most frightful colours that were ever mixed by the ingenuity of a house-painter — intolerable pinks and buffs that would make an artist sick to look at them. Here, however, the evil is in a mild, incipient form, not much worse than I have seen it in some parts of England, where a window would be represented by a slab of stone in place of the glass, on which stone the house-painter would do his worst, and represent, on a black ground, a sash half open, with A Neat and Tidy House. 15 curtains and tassels visible through the imaginary glass, and (supreme triumph of his art !) a vase of flowers in the middle, which no gust of wind would ever dash to the ground, nor any sunshine fade. This tall, narrow house at Mclcon had, however, other charms than its painted windows. It belonged to the new class of French houses, the neat and tidy class, ct I'instar de Paris, in which the old provincial notions of abundant space and the most awkward arrangements, with an incredible roughness in everything, have given place to the most unexceptionable neatness and finish, with such a rigid economy of space that there is scarcely room to turn. The polished oak floors were certainly very pretty — much too pretty to be walked upon in strong boots — but the rooms were so small, and the stairs so narrow, that it was like being in some tiny Parisian apartment. By way of compensation, the garden was very large, and in the most beautiful order. This set me against the genteel residence at once. I have a hearty dislike to gardens of all sorts,* and the only quality which could ever reconcile me to a big one, is its close resemblance to a wilderness. I saw plainly that the owner of the residence was one of those un- fortunates who are afflicted with the garden-madness, and the sequel proved this, for when we began to talk about terms, he asked an absurdly high rent, in the first * Supposing anything bettier to be accessible. There are places so ugly that a garden is very precious, and there are places so shadeless and so poor in foliage that a few trees in a garden are a priceless luxury in summer. But a mile of wild trout-stream is, to my feeUng, worth the gardens of either Chatsworth or Ver- sailles. 1 6 " Appartements" in Mdcon. place, and in the next made it a condition that I was to keep on two servants of his, to take care of the place, whether I liked them on farther acquaintance or not ! As we could hear of nothing suitable in the neigh- bourhood, we decided to look at some apartments in the town itself, more to satisfy our conscience than for any result to be expected from such an exploration. The wonder in those old French towns is, how the people can endure to be lodged so badly. There were generally two decent rooms and a sort of kitchen some- where, after which we asked in vain for the bedrooms. Not quite in vain, perhaps, for the person in charge always answered, with the greatest decision, that nothing was easier than to show them, on which he or she began opening a series of recesses called alcoves, and here and there perhaps some tiny closet, generally quite dark and deprived of all possibility of ventilation. In a word, the " appartements " in question were admirably adapted for a bachelor's lodgings, especially if he had his meals at the hotel, but it would be difficult in the extreme to establish a family therein, except as people do in very little yachts, where the same space has to serve both for day and night, and any berth is big enough which enables its tenant to go to sleep. The most wonderful of all these dwellings deserves to be mentioned separately. There was a fine salon of course, (there always is,) a pretentious drawing-room with gilt mouldings and glistening flowery paper, and alcoves to hide the beds in, and a marble chimney-piece and the rest — a place in which a good deal of vulgar furniture might have been displayed to great advantage. There French and English Dining-rooms. 17 was also a kitchen, a miserable little hole, so gloomy that the poor cook would lose the use of her eyesight in it before long ; and close to the kitchen there was the dining-room, a place presenting as cheerful an appear- ance as the vestibule of a solicitor's office in Lincoln's Inn Fields, about eleven o'clock at night. Not only was it dingy and mean, but it was dark, so dark that the inhabitant could not eat in it at mid-day without a lamp. We asked if the tenant was expected to take his dijeuner by candle-light, it being just noon at the time of our visit. The answer we received was an answer never to be forgotten. "Unfortunately," said the guide, " you have come two hours too late ; but I assure you that at ten o'clock, which is the proper time for d^euner, a ray of sunshine darts into the room as if on purpose, and illuminates it most agreeably." On this I asked if the sun were so good as to come back at dinner-time too. The dining-rooms in these habitations are often no- thing but a pjLssage or entrance, but the inconvenience is not much felt, as even in the poorer middle class in France the dining-room is never inhabited, except during meal-times. In England, as the reader knows, unless he is some very exalted personage who has never been in a middle-class house, it is a very common custom to pass the evening in the dining-room, which accounts for its superior comfort. A Frenchman will dine anywhere if he has only a cheap chair to sit upon, and four bare walls to keep the wind out, but he does not like sitting in an eating-room. I think that in this the Frenchman is quite right. The essential quality of c 1 8 The Saone. a salle d. manger is, that it should be used for that purpose and no other. It is astonishing how uncouth were some of the ap- partements we visited at Micon, and what dismal look- outs they had. One of them, consisting of two or three . very big rooms, looked out upon a dingy old back street with a stagnant ruisseau in the middle of it, or in other words an open sewer, and after this we had enough of seeking, for the present. One of us proposed a voyage on the Sa6ne, from Micon to Lyons, as a steamer passed every day, coming down from ChMon. So we got on ■ board and left behind us the city of Lamartine. The steamer was very long and very narrow, and the deck was so encumbered with merchandise that it was hardly possible to stir. There were also numbers of peasant women with produce for the Lyons market. We sat on a box, and soon forgot the discomfort of the boat, in the lovely river scenery which now passed continually before us. The Sa6ne is a particularly tranquil stream between Chilon and Micon, and also for many miles further south. As you go down it on the steamer, it seems as if you were boating on a long pond which opened into another long pond, and so on, endlessly. The scenery is of the kind which is often described as uninteresting, but, in truth, it is exquisitely beautiful in its own quiet way. I think that scenery is always interesting if only it is in one extreme or another. The mountain-river is delightful (the Orchy, for example, which passes by Dalmally, and enters Loch Awe at Kilchurn), but the broad river of the plain is delightful, too, in its sleepy Trfyoux. 19 _i reaches, where the tall and graceful trees reflect them- selves in the smooth broad water. You have not here the excitement of the mountains, but what a s.weet repose ! You have scarcely any grandeur, except here and there the grandeur of some noble tree or some huge cumulus cloud that sails slowly across the plain, and reflects its whiteness in the broad water ; but you have beauty, serenity, and a sort of dreamy infinityj for it seems as if such scenery could never have an end. A hundred pictures compose themselves and break up again into fragments as the steamer steadily advances, till at length the mind accepts the illusion that it must be so for ever, that the river will flow on in a boundless plain, infinite as the sky. Our voyage, however, came to an end — and to an un- expected end. After we had steamed for several hours, when it was late in the afternoon, the river began to conduct itself very differently, and the land was no longer the same. The banks rose steeply now, and to a great height, all covered with vines and villages — a rich land. The broad river began to wind about like a mountain-stream, and to ripple and run over its shal- lows. One of the most poetic impressions I ever re- ceived was the view of Trevoux from the river, an old town with a mediaeval castle ; the town on the slope of a steep hill with a curve like an amphitheatre, the towers of the castle on the top, the river flowing at the bottom, and all in the mellow glow of a late afternoon sun, which bathed the rich confusion of old buildings in a warm, strong light like that in the pictures of Adrien Guignet. It was a painter's scene, under a full pictorial C 2 20 Our Steamer runs aground. effect. After that the hilly character of the scenery continued, and at length, when within eight miles of Lyons, we came to a swift rippling shallow in a sharp curve, just such as you will find in any trout-stream, but on a much larger scale, the long steamer ran aground, and our voyage reached a sudden and unexpected termination. This was very like canoe-travelling in the running aground, but it was not at all like canoe-travelling in the difficulty of getting afloat again. The canoeist jumps out, gives his little vessel a shove, then gets in again and paddles away merrily, but our long steamer was not so easily dealt with. The men got very long poles and pushed as hard as they could, the paddle-* wheels revolved and churned the shallow current into foam. As for the peasant-women who were going to the Lyons market, they showed no sign of alarm, but quietly began to eat their own apples, having evidently no expectation of any immediate deliverance. In tidal estuaries, such an accident is of little consequence, because the captain knows that the tide will come to deliver him, and the almanac foretells the hour of his liberation, but in a stream like the Sa6ne the only increase of water occurs in rainy weather, and when we ran aground the barometer was au beau fixe. A hawser was sent to the shore and tugged at by a crowd of people — they might as well have tugged at a church. As the steamer was simply immovable, the captain came to us very politely and expressed his regrets, say- ing that we should do well to leave the boat at once, which we did accordingly. There was a railway station Fontaines and Collonges. 21 very near, but we had an hour or two before train-time, and spent the interval in exploring the beautiful neigh- bourhood of Fontaines and Collonges, which are to Lyons what Richmond is to London, but not nearly so populous, for one of these villages has but a thousand inhabitants, and the other rather less. All this part of the Sa6ne is hilly, and from the heights on the right bank you have magnificent views, bounded by the Alps of Savoy. Iviany rich people at Lyons have houses between this place and the city, either on the banks of the Sadne itself, or in the lovely valleys which come down to it. The region is quite a noble one, but we were discouraged for the present in our house-seeking, and did nothing but enjoy the beauty of the place as simple tourists till we returned to Mdcon. As for the steamer, we left her where she grounded, and what became of her I know not. The captain would no doubt discharge a part of his cargo to lighten her, and let us hope that the peasant- women of La Bresse* got their apples and cheeses to market. They were all the more interesting for that very funny, but not altogether unbecoming, costume of theirs, with its especially re- markable headdress. The reader may perhaps have noticed the one-legged stool which the Alpine herds- men carry fastened behind them when they go to milk the cows on the mountain-sides ; well, the headdress in question is very like that stool wrong side up, with its one leg in the air, the large round disc being flat on the head, with four curtains of black lace hanging from it, * La Bresse is the plain between the Micon country and the Jura. 22 Costume o^ La Bresse. two on each side, and a narrow valence of the same material all round it. The pinnacle, too, is decorated at the top and also close to the disc. Odd as it looks, this headdress is a good invention for a country where the summers are very hot and glaring, and it often saves the women the trouble of carrying an umbrella as a parasol, which they very commonly do elsewhere in the great heats. The rest of the costume is quaint and picturesque, and has a pretty coquettish lobk when it is new, with the short petticoats, neat aprons, and broad bands of velvet on the bodices. Add to this the perfect whiteness of the linen, with its pretty embroidery or plaiting in collar and cap, and you have a traditional dress which may gratify the female anxiety to look nice, whilst, at the same time, it effectually prevents the disastrous vanity of copying the upper classes.* * It is expensive in itself, however. My fellow-traveller, who is a much better judge of these things than I can pretend to be, tells me that in no single instance did she ever detect a bit of imitation lace on one of these headdresses, whilst the gold chains are at least as costly as those worn by ladies, and the costume is not complete without chains. But, however expensive a traditional costume may be, it is far cheaper in the long run than the changing frivolities of the Paris fashions ; and, besides this advantage, it prevents women from thinking incessantly about their dress and studying the gazettes of fashion, such as Le Printemps and La Mode Illuitrie. 23 CHAPTER II. The wine-district of Burgundy — Defects of a wine-country as a place of residence — A forest cMteau^A fancied tragedy and a real one — -The barbarian life — Prosperous wine-growers — Nuits — The battle of Nuits — We go to Besangon — Apparte- ments at Besangon — Appearance of the city — Picturesque old buildings— Belfort — A clean hotel — The fortress — The valley of the Doubs — Beauty of the hills and river — Beaume- les-Dames — An affectionate landlady — Romantic and utili- tarian views about habitations — A picturesque old house — The owner of it — A lonely life — Wonderful chimney— A paradise of utilitarianism — We find the perfect house — A great disap- pointment — Needs of a landscape-painter. The great wine-district of Burgundy had few attrac- tions for me as a place of residence ; indeed I know few regions of equal interest to the passing tourist, which seem so little desirable for permanent habita- tion. Every traveller who has gone by railway from Dijon to Ch41on will remember how the great plain of Burgundy is bounded on the west by a steep and lofty bank of land, precipitous here and there, and almost interminably long, covered with vineyards, and with many rich villages at its base. That steep long bank of stony ground is the famous Cdte d'Or, where the grapes are grown which fill so many cellars with wine and so many pockets with gold. It is a region of well- to-do people, a region where the perennial flow of 24 The Cdte d'Or. gfape-juice, always easily transmuted into money, has made all but the imprudent rich. It is a country of good living', where excellent cooks have transmitted their science from generation to generation, improving it and adding to it incessantly. The inhabitants are manly, frank, hospitable, and good-tempered, though rather hasty ; and as for intelligence, it is not easy to iind a region in all Europe where men's wits are so keen and lively. But, notwithstanding all these recom- mendations, the Cdte d'Or is not a land where I should care to live. You have the CSte and the plain, the plain and the Cote, two great things, but likely to become very wearisome in time. There is no water, with its pleasant life and changefulness ; no hills are visible but the steep Cdte, except on a very clear day, when you get a sight of the distant Jura, like a pale mist far away ; there are no trees, or hardly any, so precious is the land for the wealth-producing vines ; and your only refuge from the wearisome monotony of the scenery is to go up one of the dry narrow rocky gorges which, happily for the inhabitants, penetrate at intervals into the elevated land, where, after winding for a litfle distance like true valleys, they come suddenly to an abrupt termination at the foot of an inaccessible precipice. We stayed with a friend in this region who possessed a very pretty chilet-like house (much more convenient than a real chalet), and therefore we saw the country under a more cheerful aspect than if we had stayed in one of the rough inns ; but my first impression re- mained unaltered, in spite of all that hospitality could do to make things seem agreeable. A vine-land is very A Barbarian Cli&teau. 25 splendid in autumn, for the autumnal colour is beyond all description glorious ; but in summer the dull green is sadly wanting in variety, and in the dreary blaze of unchanging sunshine the low vines offer no shade. Besides, one has no sense of liberty when looking on a French vine country, for it is not a pleasant land to walk over, in the narrow paths between the sticks. In short, the vines may be an agreeable sight for those whom they make rich (most disagreeable, however, even to these in the bad years, which occur so frequently) ; but a landscape-painter, who likes to surround himself with an abundance of natural beauty, does better to avoid them. During our stay in the wine-district, we were taken to see different places in the neighbourhood, and I re- member one of them which was so thoroughly French in character, so unlike anything you will ever meet with in England, that a short description of it may possibly be read with interest. The place was a chateau be- longing to some old noble family, a wild and lonely mansion far above the level where the vines grow, sur- rounded by broad dreary fields, which, in their turn, were entirely hemmed in by the densest forest. From the windows of that house nothing was to be seen but this opening of rough pasture, with the ring of close dark forest all round it ; no other human dwelling was visible, nor any landscape save one or two slight un- dulations of the forest-land. The house itself was surely the roughest place ever inhabited by a gentleman. There was not the faintest pretension to finish in any part of it. Even in the interior the floors and stairs were composed of rough-hewn blocks of stone, which 26 A Barbarian Ckdteau. looked as if they just came fresh from the quarry. A certain wild picturesqueness about the place gave me a sort of grim satisfaction for an hour or two. It was full of character, with its big stables, and dog-kennels, and everything necessary for a French hunting estab- lishment. One could easily imagine it filled with men — ^jolly strong fellows, spending their days in the chase and their evenings over the wine-flagons on the rude oak table in the dining-room ; but no stretch of fancy could imagine ladies there as inhabitants — the place was too rough for them. The floors were made, as it seemed, for big strong boots, and not for pretty thin dancing- shoes. It is not possible to imagine any dwelling more utterly opposed to the sentiment of the modern draw- ing-room. It was not a Philistine residence, not bourgeois in the least — from that vice it was safe indeed, it was thoroughly and grandly barbarian — a place where you might utterly ignore and forget the modern world, with all its refinements and aspirations, and live only to hunt boldly, eat with a hunter's appetite, and drink like a rich Burgundian. As for that dreary, sad sentiment which appeared to reign about the lonely place, no doubt some feeling of that kind would invade the mind of any delicate lady or thoughtful gentleman who might live in such a situation alone for months together, but the merry huntsmen would bring with them another temper to the place. To them the dreary forest would be nothing but so much excellent cover for tho deer and the wild boar— to them the cheerless- looking rude old halls of the castle would be gay in the evenings with their own gaiety. I can even fancy just A Tragedy. 27 so much of art about the place as this — I can fancy some painter of sylvan sports setting up his easel for a month or two in one of the big uninhabited rooms, and painting there some picture of a stag-hunt or a boar- hunt that he had just recently seen and shared in. Or, on the other hand, I can well imagine some novelist* dwelling there through the wild months of winter, when the wolves come out of the forest, and composing some fearfully tragic story, enough to make every reader shudder, and cause his own blood to run cold as he sat imagining and writing it. Indeed, so strongly impressed was I with the appropriateness of the chiteau as a scene of tragedy, that I communicated the idea to the friend who had taken us there, and he answered — not in the least to my surprise — " There is no need to imagine any unreal horrors for the place, since what really occurred here is enough." " Has there been a murder here, then, really ?" "You see that small pool of water on the terrace just before the perron at the front door. Well, the house was inhabited by two brothers, who suspected their sister and the gardener of a mutual attachment, so to put an end to it they simply went and drowned him in that little ornamental pool, holding him down in the shallow water till life was quite extinct." So this is what the barbarian sentiment of the place had led to, and quite in recent times ! These two young noblemen had been leading the true barbarian life there, slaying every day in the wild forest, and quite beyond all civilizing influences ; so the mere apprehen- sion of a possible mesalliance made them capable of 28 Return to the Vine-Lands. anything to remove the danger. They might have dis- missed the gardener, but such a course did not seem so effectual as that httle plan of holding him down in the shallow water until he breathed no longer. Passion and self-will develop themselves very freely in the noble barbarian life. The reader njay remember the case of a young nobleman in Brittany who murdered his own brother from jealousy about a servant-girl. All this is in the true middle-age spirit, which lingers still in the old families — ^that spirit which looks upon inferiors as its natural prey, and removes whatever comes between a desire and its accomplishment. When we got down again into the comfortable money-making wine district, the change from that half- savage chateau amongst the woods was like passing from the fifteenth to the nineteenth century in a single afternoon. How rich, and safe, and prosperous every- thing looked there ! The snug mansions of the wine merchants and growers (most of the growers are mer- chants also), the great clusters of buildings belonging to the rich peasants, all slept in the sunshine surrounded by their vines and gardens. Along the firoad good road which passes from hamlet to hamlet, from village to village, you would meet at that time hardly anything but great long carts with enormous wheels, and barrels piled to a giddy height above, held tight by cords stretched with a windlass, or else the safer-looking four-\7heeled waggon, laden with the same inevitable barrels. That was in the piping times of peace. In the winter of 1876 the same region was the scene of the most furious fighting in Burgundy. We were The Fighting at Nuits. 29 staying at a house very near the famous Clos Vougeot, and ] remember going on foot one day to the little town of Nuits, having a pleasant walk, enlivened by an occasional chat with some peasant on the way, and with the shopkeepers in the place, where everything seemed so sleepy and quiet that the wonder was how the shops ever found any customers. I like an intensely dull little town, where the people never seem to be in a hurry, but can lounge and gossip in the evening about their doors, or stay inside when the sun is hot at noon. Such a place was Nuits, at that time ; but when the war-tide rolled over the country it so happened that this cosy little place was the scene of one of the bloodiest battles fought during the whole campaign. In its one street there occurred a hand-to-hand struggle with bayonet, sword, and revolver, which quite literally covered it with dead or wounded men. And then the hostile forces took to fighting in the houses — men stabbing each other in staircases, and fighting duels in narrow passages and amongst the furniture of bed- rooms. Jt is difficult to imagine anything in warfare more terrible than a conflict in houses. It is like a massacre, and much of it is sure to be little better than downright murder. Either in the town itself or along the line of railway, near the station, the Prussians alone lost a number of men equal to twice the population of the place. Amidst all these horrors occurred one very ludicrous incident. A cowardly mobile, wishing to get out of harm's way, hid himself in a closet, but a frag- ment of shell burst through the door and wounded hira rather severely. 30 Besanqon. The monotony of the district, and the absence of water, had decided me against it from the first, so we took the train for a much more beautiful region — the valley of the Doubs above Besangon. We made that city our head-quarters. My wife had rather a tenderness for the place, from pleasant recollections of the time when her father had been prefect there, and of the kind sympathy of the inhabitants when he resigned the prefecture for reasons of political honour, and quitted them. I suspect, too, that there may have been lingering sentiments of regret for certain charming and very tasteful rooms at the palais, which is one of the handsomest in France. We had leisure to walk about the town, which I had not before seen, and although ladies are not generally very accurate topographers, my guide showed me everything of interest. Our plan was not to take anything within the walls of Besangon, yet, by way of precaution, we looked at every possibly suitable tenement that was to be let. This was a repetition of our experience at Mdcon, with the difference that at Besangon the appartements were better-finished and more showy than at M&con, but less roomy. I remember one of them especially, with a. particularly well-finished salon, just like a large bon- bonnikre, the good taste of which was very pleasing to me ; but then there was nothing else except closets. In an English country town you would have had a con- venient house with good bedrooms for the same rent. The patience with which the French submit to unen- durable inconveniences about their dwellings is another thing which still surprises me, though I ought to be Besanqon. 31 used to it by this time. We were recommended at Besan§on to go and see a very eligible apartment with a good view of the hills, and when we got there we made the discovery that the only way of getting in and out would be through a public caf^. Who would put up with such an intolerable inconvenience as that ? Certainly no Englishman would unless he were abso- lutely forced to it, but in France it will not prevent the owner of the building from finding some respectable tenant. To any traveller who is not house-hunting, Besangon must appear a very well-built city. The houses look very roomy and substantial from the outside, and are strongly constructed of good stone. There are plenty of picturesque old houses by the river-side, which an artist would be glad to paint, with all their ins and outs of gables and odd corners faithfully reflected in the Doubs ; but if he were wise he would be sorry to live in one of them. Picturesque old mediaeval buildings are a great attraction to sketchers, but they are not salu- brious, and the modern town-councils are excusable when they clear them away, Besan^on is situated on an elevated piece of land that is all but islanded by the Doubs, which flows almost entirely round it. The town is grimly guarded by very strong forts on neighbouring heights of rock, and has altogether the rather prison- like aspect which makes all fortified towns undesirable places of residence, unless, like Paris, they are so big that you can forget all about the fortifications. We went up the valley of the Doubs as far as Bel- fort, It is not a long journey, yet quite long enough 32 Belfort. to carry the traveller from one set of national habits to another. Near Belfort we passed a building which, though it was called a ckAtecCu, was in reality a German schloss, and when we got to our hotel, we were charmed with a degree of cleanliness very different from the state of things which had put us so completely out of humour with the Rhone. The floors of the rooms were prettily arranged in squares of white wood, bordered with dark, and as clean as possible, so that the two kinds of wood (white pine and walnut) showed the con- trast of their natural colours to perfection ; in the south they would have been confounded together utjder one uniform crust of dirt. The people, too, were cleanly and agreeable, so that, during our short stay at Belfort, we could see things with unprejudiced eyes. The great fortress there is apparently one of the strongest in France (in modern fortification the strength is not always apparent to a civilian) ; and I distinctly remem- ber how we said to each other what a terrible struggle the siege of such a place would be — little thinking that so short a time would elapse before the bo|nb-shells would be shattering themselves against those mighty ramparts, and the heroic defence of Belfort would be one of the very few bright pages in a gloomy and disastrous chapter of French history. Little, too, did we think that all the stretch of country visible to the eastward would so soon become Prussian territory, and Belfort would only be preserved to France by the patriotic obstinacy of one old man passionately plead- ing before an irresistible conqueror, for ten hours at a time. He had his reward later, there in Belfort itself. The Valley of the Doubs. 33 when the people gave him such a reception as any sovereign might emy, but only the most beloved of sovereigns could command. Here, however, it was plain that we had either gone too far to the eastward, or not far enough ; that we had left behind us the beautiful valley of the Doubs, and had not yet gone far enough eastwards for the interesting scenery of the Upper Rhine, especially that portion of it which divides Baden from Switzerland, the country of Rheinfelden, Lauffenburg, &c., beloved of Turner. All that lay due east of us now, and not at any great distance, but it was out of France, and my wish was to keep within the frontier. We therefore determined to explore the valley of the Doubs more in detail, and see if some suitable house could be found there. All that Valley is beautiful down to Besangon. The lines of the nills are especially graceful, and well worth studying. At that time my great interest in landscape was in the beauty of mountains, so that a region of this kind was rich in the material that I most desired to study. The river, too, charmed me by its purity, and a sort of tran- quil grace appreciable even from the railway, but which would no doubt have been infinitely more delightful from a boat on the river itself, and this I very well knew. The most beautifully situated place in the whole valley appeared to be Beaume-les-Dames, so we stayed there to explore. Here we established ourselves at an inn kept by an elderly lady, who immediately took the most maternal interest in both of us, treating us with a degree of kindness which made us inclined to believe that she must be an unknown aunt of ours, o 34 -^w Affectionate Landlady, or grandmother, if such a thing were possible. Beaume-les-Dames is celebrated for a particular kind of goody made from quinces, a sort of sticky paste served at dessert, and which certainly does (when it is properly made) retain ail the perfume of the fruit TYyiS'p&te de coings was in perfection at our inn, and m> wife praised it, to the delight of our affectionate land- lady, who must needs teach her to make it. Our search for a dwelling interested the old lady exceedingly, and she did all in her power to help us. Am I heart- less enough to laugh at her for her kindness .? Cer- tainly not. We could not help being a little amused by it, because it was unexpected and incongruous, and so entirely undeserved ; but we were not ungrateful. What a difference between that good-natured interest in our proceedings, that eagerness to teach us to make quince paste, and the icy indifference of the " adminis- trateur " of a huge hotel, who does not care whence you come or whither you go, provided only that you have money in your purse ! There was one point on which the superior practical sense of my fellow-traveller more than once |)reserved me from error. I have a weakness for antiquity and the picturesque in houses, and should like very much to nestle in a corner of some dilapidated old mansion or castle, and gradually get the rest of it into a state of simple repair (not fanciful " restoration " of that which had never been) ; arranging perhaps two rooms every year, till the whole building became habitable once again. This would be my fancy, but I have always been happily prevented from carrying it into execution A Romantic Habitation. 35 by the practical spirit of my fellow-traveller, who can- not endure untidiness in any shape, and could never bear to feel responsible for the half-ruinous state of an old building. Her ideal of a house is that it should be just big enough for convenience, yet not too big to be easily kept in order; that it should be perfectly " distributed " so that all the rooms be just where they are wanted, and that there should be every imaginable facility for carrying on smoothly and regularly that mysterious and very comprehensive business which is called " house-keeping." She became rather seriously alarmed, however, at Beaume-les-Dames, because I mani- fested that dangerous passion for a romantic habitation which so recklessly sets aside every consideration of utility. There was one old house with a crumbling tower in the courtyard, excellent for a sketch, and we ascended to the upper apartments by a genuine Gothic corkscrew stair, like the stair in a church steeple. One or two of the rooms were wainscoted with old oak that had been painted grey, but then how easy it would be to remove the paint and repair the carving wherever necessary! I felt a certain attraction to this ancient dwelling, which looked as if it were haunted by the ghosts of former generations. The owner of it lived up on the hills, so we took a carriage and drove to his habitation. During our journey the driver volunteered an account of the man we were going to see, and a con- temptuous account it was, but the effect of it was very different from anything that the narrator intended, o. was capable of imagining. The more- contemptuous he became, the more sympathy and respect did I feel D 2 36 The Solitary. for the owner of the old house. His history in brief was this : Instead of adding franc to franc, and field to field, as the small French proprietor generally does, by denying himself all liberal life and culture, this man had narrowed his fortune in the pursuit of knowledge. He had travelled much, bought books, indulged in the habits and tastes of a cultivated man, and so neglected his pecuniary interests, until he had finally reduced himself to a mere pittance. I am far from wishing to imply that men ought to ruin themselves in the pursuit of knowledge, or even that they can do so blamelessly, and I much more warmly approve the conduct of those who manage to conciliate culture with frugality, for they add to their intellectual strength the moral strength of self-denial ; but the passion for knowledge is so rare in the provincial mind — it is so rare to find a provincial proprietor who will give five francs to know anything, that when we do meet with such a passion, even in excess, we cannot but feel for it a certain grave respect, a deep and earnest sympathy. I shall never forget the meeting with that lonely man. It would be difficult to imagine loneliness more complete. On a dreary table-land, high up in the Jura, in a little hamlet inhabited by illiterate peasants, in a thatched cottage with the usual puddle at the door, he lived with the remnant of his books. The old ruinous house at Beaume-les-Dames was the only source of income left to him, and it was not easy to let. I was welcomed with an eager politeness, as a possible tenant. The reader will suspect me of inventing for artistic effect when I describe the inhabitant of the cottage, The Solitary. 37 but the description is simply faithful. I found him study- ing a noble old folio volume, with other such goodly companions lying on the plain deal table before him. The student himself looked grey and worn, the sur- roundings were those of an anchorite, and without the books I know not what must have become of him. Day after day, night after night, from year's end to year's end, he lived with these, and had not a soul to speak to who could understand him. I knew from the driver's contemptuous tone what the people thought of the strange solitary being who lived amongst them. A fool who had spent hi^ money, a useless wreck of a man who was always idling over books — this was the popular decision. Had he been born irremediably vulgar, with a natural keenness after money, hardening into avarice in early manhood, the neighbours would have respected him. He returned with us in the carriage, that we might examine the old house together. My fellow- traveller, as the reader knows already, was not enthusiastic about the house, but regarded it rather with a cool disposition to criticize, from the utilitarian point of view. The owner, on the other hand, had much to say in its favour. His eloquence seemed to remove every difficulty. All inconveniences vanished before his description of changes which were not only possible but delightfully easy. When the workmen had been in the place three weeks we should not know it again. There was one rather large wainscoted room which I fixed upon as the future studio. It had a firt- place which looked very capable of smoking. Vvf: 38 A Paradise of Utilitarianism. inquired if it smoked. " Yes, it does," was the frank reply. " I admire your candour," I said ; " you are the very first house-owner I ever met with who would admit that a chimney smoked." " I cbnfess the truth. The chimney does smoke, but only one day in the year — the twenty-ninth of March ! " We laughed very heartily at the ide* of the chimney which kept an anniversary, but why it had fixed upon this particular date, whether from some political motive, or some private grief, we were at a loss to imagine. I suggested that if the chimney had chosen the twenty-ninth of February as its smoking- day it would have been still more judicious. Utilitarianism carried the day against romance, and we sought elsewhere. Then we found a perfect paradise of utilitarianism — a mansion built quite recently, with all modern conveniences. Every floor in it was of the neatest oak parquetry, waxed and polished ; every chimney-piece locked as if it had come from Paris ; not an inch of the whole house was out of repair. There was plenty of room in it, too, and it was " distributed " on scientific principles — the passage and staircase just in the middle, and rooms most neatly arranged on each side, with two stories above the ground-floor, and commodious attics. There was a very tidy garden too, excessively bourgeois, and easy to keep in order. " Is not this perfection ? " I asked, rather sarcastically. " It is perfection from a housekeeper's point of view." We should certainly have taken this conveiiient residence if the rent had been rather more moderate, but the owner had spent a great deal upon it and wanted interest for hi? money. There is a grim satisfaction in knowing A House by the Doubs. 39 that a place you only half like is ju3t beyond your means, because that ends your doubts and settles the question. So we went back to Besan§on, having gained nothing by our expedition except the art of making quince paste. At Besan5on we heard of a country-house by the Doubs, a few miles above the town, and so drove to see it. The back of this house was near the road, just as Abbotsford is near the road on which you drive from Melrose ; but between the house and the river was a large well-arranged lawn, very English in appearance, with plenty of finely-grown trees for shade, and the lawn ended on the margin of the beautiful river itself, which flowed quietly by in all clearness and purity — the very ideal of a river to swim in and boat upon. Beyond the river were the picturesque heights on the other side of the valley, and behind the house was a delightful rocky ravine with a mountain rivulet in it, coming down from the lofty pine forest. All this suited me exactly, for it was exactly adapted to the work and play of my life. I could write and paint in such a house as that all day long without being disturbed by noise ; for even the road behind it was but a country road, little fre- quented, and the smooth Wver swept by silently. In summer I could work happily in a shady bower near the water, or find some nook in the wild ravine behind. But the garden seemed attractive, even to me who dis- like gardens, for it was merely a sort of very smooth meadow with beds of flowers and clumps of trees scattered about it. For physical health and recreation there were the river, one of the loveliest in Europe, and 40 A Great Disappointment. the noble hills with their recesses of inexhaustible beauty. As for convenience, we had Besangon within easy reach — Besangon with its fine public library and museum, its good shops, and its society. The rent of the house was moderate, the size of it sufficient, so fancy and utilitarianism were of one mind about it, and it was quite decided that this should be our future home. The owner of the property was a noble lady, but she con- fided her interests to a gentleman in Besangon, whom I saw. There appeared to be no difficulty whatever, we could have immediate possession, "nevertheless," said the lady's representative, " I think I should like to con- sult the owner herself, and get her answer before giving up the keys ; it is just possible that she may have changed her mind." On being consulted, the lady began to hesitate, thinking that possibly at some vaguely future time it might be pleasant to her to have the place for little summer excursions. During the next two days her hesitation increased, and the end of it was that she decided not to let. Here was a vexatious ending to our quest! the annoyance was that the house so exactly suited us, and (now that we could not have it) seemed more beautiful and more desirable than ever. We had fixed our home there, mentally, already. Imagination had outstripped the slow advance of time, and had already taken possession, with her furniture in the rooms and the keys in her pocket. And now, poor disappointed Imagination had to be turned out. The consequence was that we took a sudden disgust to the whole neigh- bourhood, and quitted it. Ever since then we have General Discouragement, 41 reverted with a regretful feeling to that house by the beautiful river ; but consolation came at last, in the war- time. That lovely valley was not a pleasant residence for anybody in the winter of 1870. Between the fortresses of Belfort and Besangon — one of them in the heat and fury of conflict, the other with guns shotted and gates closed, expecting the enemy daily — a country house was very like a little yacht that finds itself by ill-luck in the midst of a naval engagement — with the difference that the yacht can move, and the house is unfortunately a fixture. These three tours on the Rhone, the Sa6ne, and the Doubs (I omit the wine district, as that did not suit us from the first) had left a general impression of dis- couragement. During all our wanderings we had only found two habitations that suited us, and only one that suited us in all respects. It is so difficult to combine several different conditions, especially when one of them is moderation in expenditure ! The critical reader may think that we were difficult to please ; but it was not much a question of pleasure, we wished to combine the convenience of practical life with convenience for the studies of a landscape-painter; and nobody who has not tried it knows the difficulty of such a combination. Most places which seem pretty at first sight are sure to be exhausted in one summer. It is true that a land- scape-painter maj/ live anywhere ; he may live even in the heart of London or Paris, and work always from sketches taken during his excursions — many do so, and paint very good pictures ; yet, even when you do not care to paint directly from nature, it is an immense con- 42 The Study of Painting. venience to have good and abundant natural material within your reach for immediate reference. It is like the convenience of living near the British Museum for a student of history. He does not wish to copy the books word for word, but he likes to be able to refer to them whenever his work requires. And here it may not be out of place to say something about the value and utility of a neighbourhood as a book of reference for a landscape-painter. When once he has learned the art of using nature, he is no longer bound down to the unintelligent copyism of .the scene before him, but acquires the power of extracting the knowledge which he needs from material which does not show it obviously on the surface. I can make this clearer by an example. Suppose the case of a painter of Venetian subjects, obliged by circumstances to live, let us say, in Lanca- shire. There is no town in Lancashire with the peculiar beauty of Venice, and it may be thought that our painter, amongst the unlovely seats of the cotton manu- facture, would find no material for study which could possibly strengthen him in his art. Yet a clever artist, so situated, would be able to get very much help and teaching out of the Leeds and Liverpool Canal, with the factories on its banks, and the barges on its muddy waters. The light strikes a factory or a barge exactly as it strikes a gothic palace or a gondola, the reflections of bridge and boat in the canals pf Lancashire are exactly the same as those in the equally impure canals of Venice, and there is not a town in Lancashire so ugly that a painter might not acquire much knowledge of Venice there, provided only that a canal passed Nature as a Book of Reference. 43 through the middle of it. It would be easy to give many other illustrative examples, but this one is enough to show how material, apparently most different from that which an artist is actually painting, may be full of instruction for him if he has the opportunity of con- stantly referring to it. And this is why I like to be so situated, that I may have easy access to several different things from which knowledge is to be gained. A river like the Doubs is not, for me, one river only, for it con- tains many elements which are common to all rivers ; one good group of poplars can give poplar knowledge generally; one fine old French city can teach you how to paint other cities of a like character, and when there are variations, you note and remember them easily if one good type is thoroughly well known to you. But the difference between having access to your teachers, and being separated from them by distances involving long railway journeys, is the difference be- tween making your reference and not making it. 44 CHAPTER III. Discouragement — We confide in the assistance of a friend— He finds a house — We go to look at it — Description of the place — Geographical position — Immediate surroundings — The neigh- bourhood contains a little of everything — ^Art and antiquities — Cultivated people — Hills and valleys — Streams and ponds — The flora — Varieties of plants and climate at different eleva- tions — Roads, ancient and modern — The three classes of modern roads — Country lanes — Hedges — The char and the tombereau — Increase of vehicles — Rural circulation. It being apparently impossible to find a suitable house, the only solution of the difficulty seemed to be the camp. " Let us set up the old painter's camp," I said, " in some pleasant valley, and hire a field for it by the side of some crystal rivulet, and dwell there in perfect peace, far from the haunts of men and the vanities of the world ! " But my fgllow-traveller cannot be brought to see the merits of tents, and does not feel their poetry. She says they are hot in the sunshine, and chilly when even- ing comes ; that the canvas walls are always flapping in the wind, and so produce headaches ; that the ground is damp, even through the floor-cloths ; that creeping things get in ; that vipers might get in ; and that the meanest cottage with four stout walls and a thatched roof is better than the pavilion of an Indian prirtce. A Friend kelps 7is. 45 This view of the subject entirely leaves out of the question the peculiar delightfulness of camp life, the ineffable charm of its near association with nature, and the healthiness of being so much in the open air ; still I admit and confess that it is the sound and practical view, especially for a reading and writing creature that must needs have a waggon-load of books. Another plan remained to us, without relying upon the camp. We were incompetent to find a house for ourselves, so why not entrust the task to another ? A friend of ours in Burgundy said, " Let me try and find a house for you ; " then he asked what we wanted, and made a note of it. The conditions seemed rather numerous, but they did not daunt him. " You want a river, of course, being an aquatic Englishman ; and you want a picturesque neighbourhood, being an artist ; then you must be not too far from a town, for supplies — some picturesque old town if possible — and you want a habit- able house, with a sufficient number of rooms, and a garden, and so on." All these things being duly noted, our friend actually got into the train, travelled a long distance, and came back to us after an absence of some days. " I have what you want," he said, and then gave us a description of his discovery. We went to see the place, and after a long journey by rail and diligence, arrived at an ancient city, built on a hill which rises between a much steeper hill and a flat plain. All round the plain is a circus of hills, the highest of which are about 2,500 feet above the level of the sea, and 1.500 feet above the level of the enclosed basin. The basin itself is about 46 The House is Found. fifteen miles in diameter, and appears very nearly circu- lar. There are some pretty estates in the plain of about two hundred acres each, and every one of these estates has a House upon it, in some cases with the style of a small chiteau adorned with an old tower (one of them has two such towers, with the inevitable pepper-box roofs), but others, more modest, are still habitable enough. It happened that the most beautiful of these estates belonged to a man who lived at a distance, and, consequently, that the house upon it was uninhabited. A charming trout-stream ran through the property, and another smaller stream, derived from it, bounded the garden, which was large and shady, with broad walks, terraces, and bowers, and a wood of its own with winding paths, and rustic seats in nooks so retired that nothing was to be seen from them but wood and meadow, and nothing heard but the ripple of the swiftly- running clear rivulet. The house was like a shooting or fishing lodge on a small scale, but the space in it had been economized to the utmost, and the rooms were cleverly arranged. There was stabling for eight horses (much more than we needed), and the only inconvenience was that the farm buildings were too. near. The farm was let already to a respectable old peasant, so that we had no trouble with land, an encumbrance which I have neither time nor inclination to undertake. Farming is a noble and necessary work, but it is not for students and artists. Only the farmer can farm profitably, and in France he manages it by incessant toil and a wonder- ful sobriety, frugality, self-denial. It was sweet to me to be once again in a land of Our Geographical Position. 47 \ ^ . . hills and trout-streams, and my fellow-traveller approved of the little house ; so we took it, on a short lease, which has been renewed since more than once. After- wards we migrated to another house on the same estate, larger but more prosaic, and farther from the stream. Our geographical position was in many respects favourable enough, though London friends wondered that we could live in such an out-of-the-way place. In a single night we could reach either Paris, or Lyons, or Geneva. It was possible, also, to dine quietly in the evening at our own house, and to dine the next evening in London. Since then the Mont Cenis tunnel has been opened, and brought us very near to Turin, from which Milan and Venice are easily accessible. With all these cities and their art-collections so near (if you reckon distance by time), we were not precisely in the position of emigrants to the antipodes. The finest natural scenery was also very near to us. In a single night we could arrive either amongst the mountains of Switzer land or Savoy, of the Jura, or of Auvergne. For water, a single night would take us either to the lake of Geneva, the lake of Neuchatel, or the smaller lakes of Annecy and the Bourget ; and in the same space of time, or less, we could be on the banks of the Sa6ne or the Doubs, the Rhine, the Rhone, or the Loire. I think that this short list of accessible places is enough to prove that our geographical situation was not injudi- ciously chosen. Certainly there is no spot out of Europe from which so much that is interesting in art and nature can be reached in a. single night ; and even 48 Un Peu de Tout. in Europe itself, I think that there is hardly a place so truly central, if both art and nature are to be taken into consideration. There is not an American or colonial reader of this book who will not envy such easy access to what is best in the old world : and even in Europe itself there are many places (Berlin, for example) which, however busy and populous they may be, are much more remote from what is most beautiful and most sublime. Let us not forget, however, in choosing a house, that the importance of what is accessible increases enor- mously with its nearness, and that the surroundings which chiefly influence the daily life and thought lie within a radius of twenty or thirty miles. I soon dis- covered that the neighbourhood of our new residence had one very valuable characteristic in great perfection, namely, variety. There was nothing in it very striking at first sight, but we had a little of everything. An old inhabitant, who knew the country intimately, and loved it, said to me, " Ce qui caracUrise notre pays, c'est que nous avons tm peu de tout." His observation has recurred to me a thousand times since then. He had precisely hit upon the secret charm of the region which makes it so good for permanent residence, and at the same time so insignificant to the passing tourist, fresh from the valley of Chamouni, or from the boulevards of Paris. When I think over the great variety of things which may be reached in a pony carriage in the course of a morning, I doubt whether any other place I know can . offer so many different specimens of what is interesting. Hardly anything is transcendently magni- Remains of a Roman City. 49 ficent or striking, but everything is just big enough and important enough to occupy the mind agreeably. To begin with architecture and antiquities, we can still find some fair specimens of Roman work, a temple and two Roman gateways, erect and strong after their eighteen centuries. These are visible to everybody, and so is the Roman wall, still continuous and very strong, to the west of the city, with all its towers. But antiquaries, who look to the ground itself, see much more than this. In certain streets the huge stones of the Roman pavement are still in their places, and the modern peasant drives his oxen over them, little think- ing how long they have been there or what mighty conquerors laid them. The foundations of the theatre and amphitheatre are still well above ground. Dis- coveries of Roman work are not infrequent. One day not long since a man deepened his cellar, and found a great mosaic below which extended under the ad- joining house. The city has, in fact, been a mine of Roman antiquities for generations, which, instead of being kept to enrich its own museum, have been carried off to Paris, or else sold to the dealers in such things. I confess, however, that remains which deeply in- terest the antiquary, are often of little importance to anybody else. It is enough for most of us to know that a Roman city has been in such a locality. A visible building interests us, but, unless we have the true anti- quarian instinct, the tracing out of foundations, the finding of fragments in pottery or bronze, do not affect us much, though we are glad that some industrious and observant person should be there to take notes for ?iny K 50 Remains of a Gothic City. light which may be cast by them on historical studies. It is something, however, to have great Roman walls and gateways, for it is impossible to see them without being brought nearer to Caesar's time, and made to feel that it was a reality. As this neighbourhood contains unpeu de tout, we can follow architecture from the genuine Roman work of the gateways down through Roman- esque and Gothic to the Renaissance, and so to modern work, either in the ancient city itself or in the im- mediate neighbourhood. You can, in fact, teach a boy all the elements of architecture from real examples without going more than a few miles. The cathedral is a mixture of Romanesque and Gothic, and has, I believe, the most magnificent Romanesque portals in all France, besides one of the most beautiful Gothic spires. As on the western side of the city the walls and towers are all pure Roman work, so on the southern side they are all Gothic, and as picturesque here as the middle-age fortifications of the old Swiss cities, such as Fribourg or Lucerne. Amongst the remnants of the middle ages there are still some substantial hotels, and a good many smaller houses. In Renaissance work there are a church, a fountain, and one or two fine chateaux in the neighbourhood. Turning from architecture to literature and painting, we still find the pervading principle "a little of everything." The city possesses one masterpiece of the modern classical school, in a kind of classicism which leaves me perfectly indifferent, but this picture is a first- rate specimen of it. Then there are a public gallery of pictures and a public library, neither of them rich, and Cultivated Inhabitants. 51 yet an agreeable addition to one's limited private pos- sessions in literature and art I shall have much more to say about the inhabitants in a future chapter ; but for the present this may be noted, that as there are a few specimens of architecture and painting, so there are a few specimens of that very rare bird, the cultivated human being. So far as I have been able to ascertain, there are at least five or six of these in the whole arrondissement, which has a rural and urban population of about eighty thousand souls ; the proportion is not large, it must be con- fessed, but it is very nearly what I had already observed in the north of England. Unfortunately there is a peculiar evil in the condition of these eccentrics. Each of them studies something which the five others know nothing about, so that, although he is vaguely respected by them, he cannot talk to then) about his own pursuit, and is practically almost as much isolated as if he lived in the Arabian desert. Happily, he can •^et to Paris in- a night, and call upon some fellow- labourer there, and so relieve his mind. Another cause of separation between cultivated people, which operates very strongly here, is difference of social position, involving often great difference in politics and religion. We have a bishop, for instance, who is a cultivated person ; but how can you talk reasonably with a man who is accustomed to be addressed as Voire Grandeur, and to be venerated continually.' We have also an intensely proud nobleman, who is said to be a really consummate scholar; but no agreeable intercourse is possible with a man who stares and frowns at you if £ 2 52 Hills, Streams, and Ponds. he fancies you are not deferential, and who lives in an inflamed state of chronic antagonism towards the modern spirit. All these social matters, however, I leave for fuller consideration at another time. It is enough for the present to note that there are cul- tivated individuals in the land, but not any cultivated society. There is nothing exceptional in this^ for in the present low state of the general mind the great capitals are the only places where you can fill a room with people capable of talking well together about any important subject. Men are always rather unsatisfactory objects of contemplation, however interesting, so let us turn to nature. We have, no mountains here, but an abun- dance of hills, one of which shall be described later in detail. The little valleys are as beautiful and varied as anything on that small scale can be. Each valley has its little stream, often running clear and swift in the greatest heats of summer, through green meadows with shady trees. All these streams fall into one river, which is a tributary of the Loire. The gene- ral character of these watercourses is the same, they are full of good pools for bathing, and (except when the water is very low) are navigable for a canoe; they are also rich in a particular kind of beauty, and not spoiled in any way, for even the occasional villages, or watermills, or old chateaux upon their banks, add to 'their interest and charm. There are no lakes in the country, but there are a great many ponds, which are often just as good as lakes for purposes of study. , One of these, containing about two hundred acres, is The Flora. 53 so happily situated in the midst of striking hill-scenery, that it has quite the character of an English or Welsh tarn ; another, of nine hundred acres, is large enough to give many of the effects to be studied on the lochs of Scotland, or at least to remind us of them when we have known them intimately in former well-remem- bered' years. This lake is surrounded by bare and rocky hills, and has no trees near enough to reflect themselves on its surface, but other lakes or ponds are in the richest woodland. Owing to the considerable height of the region above the sea, the flora is that of England and Scot- land. This may not appear a matter of much impor- tance, but it is wonderful how much, for an English- man living abroad, the presence of the plants of his own country diminishes the, feeling of exile. To me the presence of birches, and heather, and Scotch firs, all of which grow within a hundred yards of my house, is infinitely more welcome than would be the state- liest palms or the sweetest bananas. Whatever may be the poetry of warmer countries, and of that tropical vegetation which so delighted Kingsley in the West Indies, I would not part with our poor northern flora for all the wealth and the glory of it. Why, the old English and Scottish poetry would lose half its mean- ing for a reader severed from the northern plants! Think of the refrain, — "And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie," and of this other, — " As the primrose spreads so sweetly; " 54 Different Climates Accessible. and of all the thousand allusions to the flora of the north which fill what is most touching and most tender in our literature ! And have we not associations too which touch us more than these, and lie much neaier to our hearts? It is not the written poetry which affects us most, but the unwritten poetry of our own youth, and mine is all bound up with heather and fern, and streams flowing under the shade of alders. There is, however, a peculiar advantage, from the botanical point of view, in living so far south as this. We are in the latitude of Bern, a latitude quite southern enough for vegetation not to be found in the north of England. Being about a thousand feet above the sea- level, our flora, just here, is as nearly as possible that of Surrey, but, on climbing a little higher (which is easy) we find ourselves in Lancashire or in Scotland. It is just as easy to descend a few hundred feet, and then we find ourselves in the flora of the Swiss valleys, amongst gigantic old chesnuts ; a little lower still and we are in the vineyards of central France. The variety of climate within a few miles is so great that we can choose amongst these different regions for a day's drive ; and in the spring we can go three weeks backwards or three weeks forwards at pleasure. I once left our garden in May, and found that up amongst the hills the country was still at the beginning of April ; at the same date the plain of the Sa6ne was very nearly in our June. People who have always lived in countries very well provided with roads are seldom fully alive to their value. I found that out some years since — riot in Lancashire or Yorkshire, of course, for there the roads Roads. SS are good and abundant, but in the West Highlands where they are few, narrow, and laid out by a military man, who had very imperfect ideas of what is con-? venient to a civil population. I well remember hiring a carriage for ourselves and some guests to make an excursion in Argyllshire, and being compelled to send the carriage back again because the road was so bad that it turned out to be useless. There are houses on Lochaweside which cannot be reached in a carriage, and in many of the lonelier parts of the Highlands, when there is no water communication, the glens are accessible only to horsemen, pedestrians, and perhaps (if there is a road at all) to a light strong two-wheeled cart going at a slow pace. This part of France was exactly in the same condition within the memory of the elderly inhabitants, but it happened most luckily that just before the railway system was introduced, the Government (that of Louis Philippe) was seized with an enthusiastic passion for road-making, which conferred upon the land one of the very greatest blessings of a civilized country. Had this been deferred a few years longer the railways would have been made first, and then the grand highways would never have been made at all There would have been little narrow roads from town to town, from village to village, but the railways themselves would have suffered from the absence of the great feeders, and the country people would have com- municated less easily and frequently witli the market towns. The state of the roads forty years ago was such that a load of wood could not be taken from my house to the town in winter with less than three pairs of oxen, 56 The Ancient Roads. which dragged it by main force through the ruts and holes. To-day, one pair of oxen will take a load of wood six times the distance easily, and the road is so broad that three waggons can travel abreast. There still remain, in the upper regions of the hills, perfect specimens of what was understood by road-making in the middle ages. These are still used by the peasants with their carts drawn by oxen^-vehicles so strong, and animals so patient, that they can be taken anywhere. In order to understand what the difficulties of com- munication must have been in former times, one has only to travel a few miles on one of those ancient roads. I know one of them where it is scarcely pos- sible even to walk after sunset without a lantern. Ribs of rock cross it frequently, and after passing each of' them the cart-wheels drop suddenly from six inches to a foot. Massive blocks of granite lie in the way, un- disturbed, and the carter must steer his oxen amongst them as he can. There are holes full of soft mud two feet deep, into which the wheels sink to the nave, till nothing but a great effort can get them out again. If two carts meet, one of them must go into the wood or amongst the broom or heather to let the other pass. Even travelling on horseback can only be done at a slow pace, and with a sure-footed animal ; a rider who wanted to go fast would quit the road and gallop across country, unless the road led through a forest, and then there would be no help for him. Such were the means of communication before the great road system was created. The feudal times knew nothing better, the monarchy of the Renaissance time created a few great Routes et Chemins. 5^ paved highways, on which lumbering vehicles jolted along. The road system at present existing consists of three distinct kinds of way — the great highway, which is called route royale, route impMale, or route nationale, as the government may be royal, imperial, or republican ; the lesser highway, which is called route ddpartementale ; and, finally, the country road, which is not called a route at all, but only a chemin, chemin vicinal, and is to a small neighbourhood what the route d^partementale is to a department. Of these three classes of road the first two are thoroughly well made all over France, and the project is so far completely realized, but the third class, that of the chemins vicinaux, is not nearly so com- plete yet. Towards the end of his reign. Napoleon III. conceived the idea of gratifying the peasantry and associating his own name in their minds with a net- work of country roads, but he did not remain long enough on the throne to carry the project into execu- tion. The cost of the war against Prussia would have made plenty of country roads, but in the present un- intelligent condition of the public mind it is impossible to get up any national enthusiasm for the works of peace. A nation will allow its rulers to drain its purse for the most unnecessary war, but it begrudges a tenth of the expenditure for works of utility. Had Napo- leon III. felt his throne secure, he would have done much in the interior of France, for he had a liking for great useful enterprises, and always strongly favoured their development ; but he knew that these could not consolidate his dynasty, and that a successful contest with Prussia would ensure the transmission of his crown. 58 The Mayor's Road. The newspapers laughed at the scheme of chemitis vicinaux, yet it would be difficult to suggest any more useful work, or any work more -Worthy of a government which cares for the general welfare. Even from the financial point of view, a government can scarcely find a better investment if you consider the indirect results, the increase in the value of property, and the economy of a nation's time. Such as they are at present, the chemiits vicinaiix are fairly good country lanes, kept in order by the maire and common council of each little commune on its own account by means of a tax on the inhabitants, which may be paid either in the form of labour or of money. It may be observed, in passing, that the lane by which the maire himself communicates with the high road, is always sure to be in excellent condition. " What a good road you have ! " I said to a functionary of this description ; on which he in- genuously replied, " Vous savez ; <^est le chemin du maire" The objection to these roads is not so much ■4^at they are badly kept (for you may drive on most of them at full trot), as that they are not sufficiently numerous and not intelligently planned, being merely the result of hap-hazard engineering and old custom. The consequence is that they often take you a great round, and in hilly places they are sometimes dan- gerously steep. I remember one of them which was a sort of shelf or ledge on the face of a precipice, and the road actually sloped to the outside, so that the sensation in driving over it was always that of consi- derable peril. A few yards farther, the road ran down an excessively steep hill without any sort of .protection, Hedges and Landscape. gg and at the bottom crossed a little bridge at a right angle — a blunder for which any road-maker ought to be severely punished, for it is like planning accidents beforehand. On the other hand, I may observe that, when a chemin vicinal is planned by the scientific engineers of the present day, it is admirably well done. ! I know one such, in a very steep and dangerous gorge, which is so well laid out that carriage horses.can trot down it all the way, and take the turns of the zigzags at the same pace. It seems to me now that the only great public improvement which is needed in rural France is that the scheme of communal roads should be fully carried out. Even in its present half-satis- factory condition the country is as well-provided with ..anes as most English counties that I have visited. Nothing can be prettier than these lanes in our neigh- bourhood, for the growth of the hedges is most luxu- riant, so that in spring they are covered with flowers, and in late autumn with berries. . All the fields in this part of the country are divid^d«^ by hedges as they are in England ; but however beauti- ful a hedge may sometimes be in itself, it is a terrible spoiler of landscape. In a land divided in that way we can never realize the beauty of the earth's surface, with its delicate undulations, or far-receding flats. A hedge eight feet high will conceal miles of perspective. Two or three such hedges hide a flat landscape completely, and ruin all the beauty of its distances. The peculiar grace of the landscape^ in many parts of France, is often visible only because there are no hedges to spoil it 6o Farmers' Vehicles. The transition from roads to the vehicles which run upon them is a natural one, so I may say something about them in this place. In these regions almost all the heavy work is done by large cream-coloured oxen, only the very poorest peasants using cows of a smaller breed. Horses are employed by the farmers for speed only, in light spring-carts, and many of them have very swift strong horses indeed, which they drive at a great pace. The vehicles drawn by oxen are of two kinds, the char, and the tombereaii. Both have been used from time immemorial, and are very strong and simple in construction. The four-wheeled char is long and narrow, with removable sides of open rail-work, inclined to each other like the sides of a capital V when seen from the front or back. The front wheels only turn a little (like the high wheels of an American phaeton) and soon catch the side of the waggon ; the two pairs of wheels are held together by no body except a single stout tree in the middle. The tombereau is the two-wheeled ox- cart. All the organic parts of it are very strong and heavy, but the removable sides are light and open. Both char and tombereau have immensely heavy, square poles (like beams) fastened to the wooden yoke which lies on the necks of the oxen behind their horns, and the yoke is fastened to the horns by long leather straps wound about them many times. These vehicles are generally made at the farms themselves by a journey- man wheelwright from wood grown on the spot, so that they cost very little. Not the slightest care is taken of them in any way. They are never painted, and never even partially housed under a shed, but are left in the Wine Caravans. 6i farm-yards exposed to the weather all the year round, so the sun splits the wood iii summer, and the ice in winter ; but a peasant argued with me that it would not pay to build sheds for them, as they are not worth the cost of preservation. One of the many signs, however, of a coming change in the customs of the peasantry is, that for some years past the more well-to-do peasants have begun to order their ckars and tombereaux of cart- wrights in the towns, who turn them out with a much higher finish and give them a coat of paint, so that they look worth preserving. It is interesting to see a long procession of ox-carts going, let us say, from the wine district to the hills of the Morvan, laden with great casks full of the cheaper sorts of Burgundy. The. drivers, like true Frenchmen, associate together for the sake of sociability, and have many a pleasant chat, whilst the oxen all follow the first cart steadily, and need no more looking after than the links of the chain that a land surveyor drags behind him in the grass. In the middle of the day the caravan halts for an hour or two where there is open grass by the roadside and the shade of some old oak or chestnut. The drivers of wine carts are never unprovided with gimlets, so whilst the oxen, imyoked, are quietly munching their hay, the men produce their gimlets, pierce the casks, and drink freely enough of the generous ruby fountain that springs therefrom. These wayside halts are often admirable subjects for pictures, especially on moonlight nights in some wild place amongst the hills, under giant chestnuts centuries old, when the men have lighted a fire, and grouped themselves about it in their long limousin 62 Rapid Conveyances, cloaks, atid moonlight and firelight play together with their contrast of cold and warm colour on the creamy white of the oxen and the bronzed complexions of the meft. The ctiars and tombereaux are used for all heavy work in the country, and are taken over the worst old Gaulish roads, which have remained just what they were two thousand years ago ; and since what will go on a bad road will always go on a better one, the improvement in the highways has not led to any alteration in these carts. The effects of improvement are to be seeri chiefly in the rapid conveyances used with horses, which are built in Constantly iflcfeasing quantities. Every farmer except the poorest has his high-wheeled spring-cart, and now the richer farmers are beginning to set up hand- some four-wheeled phaetons, with coach-builder's finish. The changes in vehicles are, however, closely bound up with social matters which we shall have .to study in a future chapter; for the present, it is enough to note that the highways have themselves created much rural circulation, a circulation all the more active that there is no such thing as a toll-bar. 63 CHAPTER IV. Country society, our expectations about it— Our metropolitan habits — English and French customs about calling — Un- pleasantness of the French system to a new comer — We do not adopt it — Decline of hospitality in rural society — Excep' tions to the rule^Causes of the decline — Facility of former hospitality — The state dijiner — An open house — Cultivated neighbours — ^Absence of a cultivated tone in general society — The ladies — Separation of the sexes — The neighbourhood very aristocratid^Comiparison ^ith an English neighbourhood — Effect of the de in France. The readef who is accustomed to think of human society as the most important of all considerations in choosing a place of residence, will pfobably wondet at me for thinking about it so little, and for attaching more importance to a hill and a trout-stream than to the inhabitants of the land. Kere, then, let me explain what were Our feelings and expectations on the subject of society, and why we treated it as a question of no importance. We had been long since spoiled for true provincial society by much frequentation of the most intelligent people in London and Paris, My wife was born in Paris, and had lived there in a particularly intel- ligent set; amongst people who were either already distinguished in some great pursuit (politics, literature, science, or art), or else belonged to the active-minded class from which distinguished men emerge. I was no^ 64 Provincial Society. born in London, but had lived quite long enough there at intervals from the age of twenty, amongst people devoted to intellectual or artistic pursuits, to have acquired metropolitan ways of thinking about society, and to be pretty nearly of Julian Fane's opinion that London was the only place in the world (I would except Paris, however) where one could talk about anything worth talking about. We had kept up our old London and Paris friendships, and in our experiences of prO' vincial life we had always found that the only society worth having was that of people who really belonged to a metropolis, though they might pass much of their time, or even the greater part of it, in the country.* We were therefore, and are still, in a state of complete indifference about genuine provincial society ; we had not its habits of thought, and although we might use its words, we did not really speak its language. Farther experience has confirmed this view of the subject. It is well for any one who studies something that deserves to be studied, to avoid, if he can, the two kindred vices of self-conceit and contempt for people who study nothing ; but it is utterly impossible for him to shut his eyes to the fact that his pursuits have unfitted him for a quite uncultivated society. Even if he himself is unaware of the truth, the people who really compose that kind of society will soon make him perceive that he is * This of course refers to intercourse for improvement or amusement simply, and not to intercourse where affection is con- cerned. Affection is sufficient in itself and better than anything else, but it is evident that affection is not to be considered when you settle in a district that is new to you, and where you have no affections. Our Intentions about Society. 65 not one of themselves. They feel it and know it if he does not. It is scarcely possible for him even to say that the weather is fine without, in some subtle way, making the difference felt ; and, if he does not avoid uncultivated society, the result is sure to be the same in the end, for uncultivated society will avoid him. Was it our plan, then, to live in utter solitude .' No, not quite that either, but rather to take thankfully whatever good and equal human intercourse might be brought within our reach. We had friends already much nearer than Paris who would come and stay with us ; others from Paris and England would do the same ; we ourselves were not bound down to the farm like rooted trees ; and then there remained the chance, which might be considered a certainty, that amongst the surrounding population there would be a few com- panionable beings whom we should find out, by that mysterious mutual attraction which sooner or later brings people together when they are a,ble to under- stand each other. Whatever is done in England is sure to be the opposite of what (in the same kind) is done in France. In many little customs this is a matter of simple indifference. The French, for example, when they meet another car- riage in driving, take the right side of the road ; the English take the left. In this instance the only im- portant matter is that there should be a rule ; and the two rules are equally good. But in many other things the two opposite rules are not equally good. For example, if a stranger settles in a new neighbourhood in England, the custom is that the surrounding families F 66 An odious French Custom. already established there, shall call upon him, if they think that he ought to be admitted into their society. This seems to be a very good custom, because it saves the stranger from all appearance of pushing, and at the same time preserves the established families from the unpleasantness of having to reject advances. In France the custom is exactly the reverse. The new-comer has to make all advances ; to go and call at all the houses where he would like to be admitted ; to convey to the inhabitants of these houses, as cleverly as he can, what are his claims upon their consideration — that he has aristocratic connections, an estate, a lump of money, or some sort of position or reputation. Is it possible to imagine anything more odious to a sensitive, self- respecting person? The odiousness of it is much increased by the fact, that all claims except visible wealth, and a fixed, well-ascertained title, are merely local, and lose their value when you go into a new neighbourhood. The loss of value is very considerable a hundred miles from the place where those claims are generally known ; but the transfer from England to France makes them evaporate altogether, like ether in a badly corked bottle, leaving pure nothingness behind. Let us suppose, for example, the case of an Englishman with the title of baronet and some really considerable literary reputation, a reputation equal to that of our present poet-laureate. In England the two things would be of great social value ; transfer them to rural France, and they are worthless. Nobody in this country knows what a baronet is ; nobody has heard of Tennyson. Gr imagine the position of one of our great Lancashiie First Calls. 67 or Yorkshire squires, representing a family which has held the same estate from the dawn of English history, and has had its share in the events of seven centuries, transferred to some French rural neighbourhood, and paying calls on the small counts and marquises round about! "Who is this man ?" they would say ; "he has no title ; c'est un roturier, a creature of ignoble birth ; he has not the de" How is the caller to explain who and what he is, to sound his own trumpet, be his own herald ? There remains, it is true, the alternative of the letter of introduction ; but this is not always procurable : and who would like to go about begging for people's acquaintance with a recommendation in -his hand? We were both quite of one mind about this matter of calling, and stayed quietly in our new home, without going from house to house to request the honour of knowing the inhabitants. Some time afterwards there came a family from Paris, who had inherited an estate in the neighbourhood ; and they, of course, followed the usual French custom. The lady, who dressed with the greatest taste, put on her most irresistible toilette, and set off with her husband to all the noblemen's houses round about. We did not envy her that piece of work ; and, when we knew the results, we were less inclined to envy than ever. Some of the personages did not return the visit at all; others came with a cool determination to snub the audacious new-comers in their own house, just sitting down and getting up again in the most distant and icy manner. The lady in question thought she had some claims to consideration.. Her father had been a senator, and had bequeathed a good estate, now F 2 68 Civil Neighbours. divided amongst eight children, but her husband had been a wine merchant in Burgundy, and his father an ironmonger, so the stain of trade was indelible and could not be got over. They stayed a year or two ; but we predicted they would go back to Paris, and so they did, leaving behind them a charming new house with large and beautiful gardens, all in the best possible order, and the announcement " To be Let " on the prettily gilded gates. For our part, as we never made any advances, we never had to submit to any mortifications. Our neigh- bours even began, of their own accord, to pay us little attentions, which made it necessary and right for us to call upon them in acknowledgment. One old squire somehow heard that my wife was not quite satisfied with the quantity of fruit she had for preserving the first year; so he sent a most polite note, to beg that she would use his garden (a richly productive one) as her own. Three rather large landowners round about us let me know that, if I wished to shoot, I was welcome to do so on their property. Finally, people began to call upon us in the English fashion, before we had called upon them. We had our own notions of self-respect, but we were not wild animals ; and so it came to pass that, after a time, we had as many acquaintances as we had time or inclination to cultivate. It will not be out of place to give here a slight general sketch of some peculiarities in this rural society which appear to be worth mentioning. We were struck at the beginning by the decline of easy hospitality in comparison with what we knew to have been the customs Not much Hospitality. 69 of the preceding generation. People did not seem to ask each other to dinner much. In England the dinner invitation comes as a matter of course when you have reached a certain degree of intimacy, but now in this part of France it seems as if people could get beyond that degree of intimacy without ever sitting together at the same table. Neighbours whom we came to know quite well, and who would put themselves to much trouble to oblige us, never invited us to any kind of feed, and declined when we invited them. Nor did they appear to receive each other more except when the guests were near relations. There appeared to be a good deal of hospitality amongst relations, but the only person outside of the family who profited by it in these cases was the ctir^. Some time later we became acquainted with four or five families who in this respect were exceptions to the general rule, and very brilliant exceptions too, so it is only just to mention them. For example, there is one country house where, if I present myself towards evening, they are quite disappointed if I do not dine and stay all night, and there is another where, at whatever hour of the day I may happen to arrive, I am expected to stay either to ddijeflner or dinner. The true explanation of these peculiarities has been given me more than once by the inhabitants themselves. Irr former times everybody was hospitable, because it was not the custom in those days to go much beyond the ordinary habits of the house when guests were to be received — so little indeed, that no perceptible inconvenience was created. For example, instead of the oil-cloth which is common on the dinner-tables of 70 Old and New Forms of Hospitality. the small squires and bourgeoisie, the guests would be honoured by the exhibition of a clean white table- cloth, a bottle or two of good wine would be brought out of the cellar in addition to the vin ordinaire of every-day life, perhaps even a bottle of champagne, and the ordinary dinner would be enriched by the addition of a single plat with, perhaps, some sugary thing at dessert besides the usual fruits. The housekeeping reader will see at a glance that, although these things with a few flowers and half a dozen candles are quite enough to give a festal appearance, they cost very little money, and hardly any additional trouble. A lady would be told that there were to be guests half an hour before dinner was served, and all these things would be immediately added to the every-day meal. She had no anxiety about results, she expected the dinner to be, not criticized, but enjoyed, and, as the guests brought the same happy temper to the little feast, it always passed off merrily. Now mark the lamentable change I The absurd luxury of the Second Empire, a luxury as essentially vulgar as absurd, introduced into the remotest corners of rural France that sure killer of true enjoy- ment, the state dinner. Instead of making the guests* dinner merely the habitual meal of the household, with a little addition of poetry in cookery, wine, flowers, and candles, the new system was to upset all ordinary habits, in order to imitate for a single night the ruinous extravagances of Parisian stock-brokers. Men of moderate fortune then began to hesitate about giving dinners, and ladies who had felt so perfectly comfortable and at home under the old rational system now began State Dinners and Toilette. 7 1 to feel all those mental torments which were so humorously portrayed by Hood in " A Table of Errata," that pathetic and sympathetic outpouring of the feelings of a hostess which ends with the stanzas : — " How shall I get through it ? 1 never can do it ; I'm quite looking to it To sink by-and-by. "Oh ! would I were dead now, Or up in my bed now, To cover my head now, And have a good cry ! " People who lived themselves in the richest country for good eating and drinking in all Europe, the vine- lands of Burgundy, began to think that they were not up to the right level of extravagance unless they had half their feasts sent down from Paris by the railway. The dinner, instead of being a merry repast, became a complicated solemn ceremony, in which mysterious rites had to be observed, and a long series of dishes exhibited and reviewed. With the state dinner came the elaboration of the toilette, as evils never come alone, and good honest wives of small squires persuaded themselves that it was in the interests of civilization that they should look like gravures de modes.. Now there may be regions of society in which the state dinner is in its right place. An English duke, it may be supposed, can hardly receive ambassadors and princes without submitting to the infliction, and con- stant practice may make it endurable in his case, and finally almost pleasant ; but the state dinner, let me ba 72 Absence of the Stupid Dinner. permitted to observe in serious earnest, is a monstrous evil, in our class of society. It is the destruction of social intercourse. It compels people to live alone because their tables are not splendid, although the food they eat every day is good enough for any rational human being. I need scarcely say that the ordinary living of all fairly well-to-do people in Burgundy is abundant and varied ; that the cookery is excellent, the wine good ; that peaches, pears, melons, grapes, apricots, and other fruits are to be gathered fresh in their season, sun-ripened and mellow, just before they are set upon the table ; whilst the lady of the house is generally quite well able to look after every detail, and cook everything herself if the servants are not clever enough. All these things have been said to me by the people themselves who suffer from the new state of things, but they feel that it is beyond their power to get back to the happier ancestral ways. The arrival of one cere- monious family in a neighbourhood is enough to break up the old easy hospitality. It happens in this way. The new family gives a state dinner and pays state calls mgrande toilette. Then the old inhabitant!. think that, if they are to give dinners at all after that, they must be state dinners also, and, as this involves too much cost and trouble, they give as few as they possibly can. There is, however, one very familiar old English institution which I have not yet found to exist in France, I mean that dinner which is not stately but only stupid — that dinner where there is nothing particularly good to eat, but where a dismal silence prevails, interrupted Old-fashioned Hospitality. 73 only by fitful attempts at getting up a conversation made desperately by the host himself, or by some true and devoted friend of his who compassionates his miserable situation. It is unnecessary for me to de- scribe such a dinner in detail, because every English reader is sure to have a clear recollection of it. What- ever may be the faults of the French, neither shyness nor taciturnity are of the number, and when a little society is brought together for festal purposes a spirit of good-natured loquacious enjoyment gets possession of all present which would overcome even the timidity of an Englishman. I know a house, far up amongst the hills of the Morvan, where the old hospitality is kept up in the old way, perhaps because it is so far from a town. There the grand dinner is altogether unknown, but the table is always covered with good things from the owner's farm, garden, or estate, and open house is kept for all comers all the year round. I have been there to dinner or ddjeiiner more times than it is possible to remember, and have hardly ever found myself to be the only guest. Every day there is a little party to ddjefiner, meeting there by accident or invitation, and whoever the guest may be, whether he be some noble landowner or a poor man without anything to recommend him but his own abilities and conduct, the host's warm kindness meets him like a ray of sunshine on the threshold, and cares for him continually till his departure. I have seen beveral men who had more or less the true instinct of hospitality, but have certainly never met with an instance in which the instinct was so perfectly sustained 74 Neighbours who had Studied. by culture and developed into so beautiful an art. There are hospitable men who are glad to receive guests and most willing to give them good things, but who, either from absence of mind or a difficulty in adapting themselves to the feelings of different people, are awk- ward in their attempts to make the individual guest feel himself something niore than a unit in a certain number. There are hosts, too; who spoil everything by compelling the guest to take a share in some amusement that bores him — by fixing him, for instance, to a whist-table when he does not care for whist, or making him shoot when he is not a sportsman. From all such defects our friend is perfectly free. The guest feels that his com- fort and pleasure are incessantly cared for, but that his liberty is respected, and not merely respected, but approved in its exercise, and defended. The host is an ardent and successful sportsman, and there are plenty of guns in the house for those who care to shoot, but nobody is expected to shoot unless he likes it. It would certainly be a mistake to settle in any rural district with the hope of finding much intellectual cul- ture there, and I have already very plainly said, "at the beginning of this chapter, how little we expected or hoped for. It turned out, however, that a few of our neighbours had studied something seriously at some former period of their lives, so that there remained with them a residue from early thinking and working which never quite evaporates. One of them had in early manhood studied painting in Paris under Delacroix, and might have been a good artist had he not belonged to a rich family, and possessed two or three pretty Neighbours who had Studied. 75 estates with all their attendant temptations. He became a capital shot, but a bad painter. Still, he had been initiated in art, and whatever else he did in the course of the year he never missed the salon, but made all other engagements yield him a few weeks in Paris during May or June, where he lived again in the fairy- land of art, at least as an intelligent spectator. Another of our neighbours had been an enthusiastic ornithologist in former times, and had a little museum in his house, which contained a complete collection of all the birds that either breed in this part of the country or visit it. Here, too, was something interesting, and it happened, besides, that our ornithologist had studied painting, pos sessed a small library, and was a friend to artists and authors.* Two painters, one of whom is well known, had studios in the city, and spent a part of the year there, bringing back Paris with them in their thoughts and talk. Afterwards, I found out an excellent botanist and entomologist, who had a remarkably fine collection, and who initiated me into the botany of the neighbourhood much more rapidly than I could have learned it without the help of a living companion. Then I discovered an antiquary or two, one of them a very distinguished student of Gaulish and Roman antiquity, whose acquaintance the reader will make more particularly in other chapters. There are also two good Greek scholars in the neighbourhood, and good Latin scholars, are more numerous. One of the latter, who is a noble of high degree, gets up very early and works away * I shall have more to say later about our ornithological friend, who had many claims to consideration besides his liberal pursuits. j6 Two Classes of Ladies. energetically every morning at one of the Latin authors, like a student preparing for an examination. There is even a first-rate amateur violinist, but he has been afflicted for some years past with a morbid anxiety to hide his talents, and practises by himself in a cellar with the doors barred. What a pity that a good performer should be so anxious to keep sweet sounds to himself when so many bad ones afflict their friends with endless screeching and scraping ! The presence of a few cultivated individuals does not, however, give a cultivated tone to society generally. It is difficult ground to tread upon ; but, at the risk of being thought unchivalrous, I shall venture upon the remark, that if the ladies were to read a little more, conversation would probably gain by it. Ladies in this part of the world are divided into two distinct classes : the home- women and the visiting-women, — ks femmes d'int&ieur, and les femmes du monde. It is very difficult to unite the two characters in one person ; those who pretend to do so are generally worldly ladies, with an affectation of homely qualities. The character which predominates here, even amongst rich people, is the homely house- keeping character. Nothing can be more respectable, and I hope to do full justice to it later ; but it is difficult to talk long with a lady who thinks of nothing but housekeeping, and never reads anything but the cookery- book.. The housekeeping provincial lady is, however, a superior person to the dressy "femme du monde," for she has substantial qualities which no sensible person will undervalue ; she makes the lives of her family tolerable on a small income, and comfortable on Separation of Sexes. yj a very moderate one, so that, although she may not read clever books or take a share in clever talk, her life stands on a firm basis nevertheless, and there is compen- sation. The " femme du monde " talks more, and has a pretty external varnish, but she reads nothing except the little illustrated weekly papers which depict the changes of fashionable attire, and all that she knows is the current gossip of the neighbourhood. If you are well posted up in that gossip, and can take your share in it, a conversation may be maintained ; but, if not, the talk drops and the situation becomes painful. This accounts for the separation of the sexes which travellers have so often remarked in France. There is not any acknowledged custom which separates them, like the English custom of leaving the gentlemen to their wine after dinner ; but a fatal influence collects all the men in one place or group, and all the women in another. If by chance a cultivated woman comes amongst them, she is better appreciated by the other sex than by her own, and has rather a difficult part to play amongst ladies. They soon find out that she is not one of them- selves, and, although they may not be unkind enough to do anything intentionally to make her feel it, she will have need of some caution and dexterity to keep safely within the very narrow limits of their knowledge ; and we all know how easy it is to give offence by the unguarded display of anything like mental superiority. We discovered one very superior woman, surrounded by the kind of society which I have just been trying to describe, and found her cautious in an extreme degree^ as if anxious to keep her brains well hidden. Such a 78 The Neighbourhood is Aristocratic. life is as unfavourable, in one direction, as the ioo brilliant existence of a Madame de Girardin in another. In one case the faculties of a superior woman are subjected to the incessant stimulus of unlimited adulation ; in the other they are steadily repressed. It happens that the neighbourhood here is singu- larly aristocratic. This gave me a good opportunity for comparing French with English feeling on the subject of caste, for I have intimately known the neighbourhood of a town in Lancashire where the aristocracy was more than usually strong. There can be no reason why the name of that town should be concealed, and it will be more convenient for the reader that it should be men- tioned ; so I will give it here, not doubting that any in- habitants of the place who have lived long enough there to know it as it was twenty or thirty years ago will con- firm my description of the old English spirit which prevailed there. Burnley is at present known as a large manufacturing town, and people in the south of England have generally the very erroneous impression that there are no old families in the manufacturing districts ; yet Burnley is almost surrounded by large estates which belong to old aristocratic families, and on several of these estates there are great country houses such as Towneley, Ormerod, Huntroyde and Gawthorpe, whilst there are several more within a radius of a few miles. Here, then, was an aristocratic society according to our English notions ; but, when I compare it with French aristocratic society, I find that, notwithstanding all that has been so fluently written about the strength Comparison with an English Neighbourhood. 79 of the caste spirit in England, and the absence of social distinctions in France, the genuine feudal spirit is stronger in this department than in Lancashire. There is not in Lancashire, or there certainly was not when I lived there, any bitter hostility between classes, nor any inevitable political opposition. Of the four houses mentioned above, two were liberal and two conservative, and in the middle and lower classes people were liberal or conservative, either from fidelity to a family tradition or else from personal conviction. Nor did it always inevitably happen that people's religious and political views were fastened together inseparably according to a conventional rule. Some who belonged to the Established Church were liberal, and dissenters were not unfrequently conservative. The gradation, too, from the aristocracy to the people was one of almost imperceptible degrees. Some families belonged to the aristocracy and to the middle class at the same time ; they had intimate friends in both, and therefore knew intimately all that passed in both. No doubt public opinion settled everybody's position in a definite way, but, notwithstanding the English proverb " a line must be drawn somewhere," the division was not an impenetrable wall of adamant ; it was a thin porous partition, through which there was a constant interchange between the elements on one side and the other by a social endosmosis and exosmosis. In France the condition of things is very different. For a hundred years there has been a bitter warfare between classes, and to this day the hostility continues. Much of the evil is attributable to a word of two letters — 8o Efiect of the Prefix "de." the little prefix de, which divides society into two camps, formed of those who have the de or have been clever enough to assume it, and of those who have it not. But this is a subject which deserves a chaptei to itself. 8i CHAPTER V English ideas about French people — Importance of nobility in France — Social value of the de — The self-ennobled — How a woman became a marchioness — Incident at a marriage — How false titles become true ones — Degradation of true nobles for pursuing honest trades — Story of a poor noble — Three classes of society in France — Importance of the de at the period of marriage — Genuineness or falseness of the name a matter of no consequence — Instances of the utility of the de in marriage — How to become noble — Reasons why the true noblesse is tolerant of the false^Comparison of France with England — Usurpations of arms and name in England — Self-respectinf honest people in both countries — Cases when the de is given but not assumed — Un milord malgr^ lui. I AM sorry to begin this chapter with an observation not entirely favourable to my own countrymen ; but, as they always take such observations in good part when they are without malice, it is probable that they will bear with me on the present occasion. What excites my wonder most about English ideas concerning French people is, not that they should be inaccurate (for ideas about foreign nations are always inaccurate)^ but that they should be on many subjects exactly the reverse of the truth — that what is red should be believed to be g/een, and what is purple, yellow. The English con- ception of French ladies is, that they are incapable of attention to household affairs ; the exact truth is, that their minds are narrowed by a too close and too minute attention to housekeeping. The English believe that G 82 Social Value of the " De." nobility is of no consequence in France, and that all classes are jurtbled together ; the exact truth is, that nobility is much more frequently mentioned in French conversation than in English, and much more constantly present in French people's thoughts, and that in France there is a noblesse as there is in Germany, Spain,* &c., whilst in England there is not a noblesse, but only a peerage, the descendants of which become for the most part commoners. It is not wonderful that many French people should frauualently usurp the de, for the social value of it is almost incalculable. Happily the preposition of has no such value in England ; if it had, there would be the same eagerness to decorate names with it, lawfully or unlawfully. The strangest thing is, that it does not seem to make very much difference whether the de is borne legitimately or is a fraudulent and notorious usurpation. It is like current coin, you are respected for possessing it, whether you came by it honestly or not. When you have boldly assumed it, no one can call you by your real name after that without a good deal of moral courage, and there is not a Frenchman alive who would dare to refuse the de to a lady who had it printed on her visiting-cards. There lived a certain lady who had the good fortune to inherit three or four different estates from wealthy and childless relations, all strictly in the bourgeois class, to which she herself by birth belonged. These estates came to her at intervals of a * Ford expresses the distinction most truly and pithily in his " Handbook:" — " Sefior de Munoz is the appellation of a gentleman. Seiior Muiioz that of a nobody " That is precisely the difference. The Self-ennobled. 53 few years for her comfort in an early widowhood, and as she was clever and ambitious, the increase of fortune suggested a corresponding improvement in rank. This she very gradually effected by successive changes on her visiting-cards, without needing the help of any royal patent. She had one of those names which may be ennobled by simple division, as Delacroix may be turned into de la Croix; so this was the first step. When this no longer attracted attention, she slipped in a title, in an abbreviated form, but now she prints Madame la Marquise in full. What gentleman would refuse this consolation to a fashionable, rich, and interesting widow, as ladylike as any marchioness need be ? There are not a few false nobles, it is said,, within a few miles of us, but nobody refuses them the de except the notary on certain occasions when the false signature is not legally acceptable, and then the bearer of it has to sign the old plebeian name which his simple fathers bore. Even on these occasions, however, he adds the assumed appellation in brackets, as, for example, " Canard, Jean (de la Canardi^re)." It is all very well when this happens in private, between the notary and the pseudo-noble, but it is unpleasant when there are witnesses. At a fashionable marriage the notary, a straightforward man who could not endure a sham, called out in a loud voice to a false noble by that brief plebeian name so persistently laid aside, "Monsieur Pichot, ayez I'obligeance de signer votrt nom ! "* * This incident really occurred within a few miles of my house, and I could give the real name if it were necessary. 3 2 84 Degradation of True Nobles. The false noble, even when he has ventured beyond the de and created himself viscount, has still some grounds for hoping that his title may ultimately beconie, a true one. Official recognition may, by a process sur- passing the dreams of alchemy, transmute his pinchbeck into the purest gold. If the Government of the day thinks he will be useful to it, say in a sous-prefecture, it will not insult him by withholding the assumed title in the official document which appoints him. After that recognition he is noble. There is always, too, the slow but sure consecration of time to be calculated upon, even when official recognition does not come. A false title, steadily kept up for two generations, is nearly as good for social purposes as a genuine one. On one point all false nobles may live without the slightest anxiety, there will never be any official exposure of their assumptions. There have been threats of such an ex- posure from time to time, but no government, not even a Legitimist government (for the loudest Legitimists in the country are the false nobles) could carry out such an exposure without injuring its own friends. All this has been said before by other observers, but there is a converse of it which I believe has not yet been noticed. As, on the one hand, the pseudo-noble easily gets his assumed rank confirmed, either officially or by usage, when he has a fair extent of landed property and a chUteau, so, on the other hand, there is a constant process of degradation going on by which true nobles are deprived of their nobility. The reader has, per- haps, witnessed that most painful of all ceremonies, the public degradation of an officer. His epaulettes are torn Story of a Poor Noble. 85 off and flung down, his gold lace and buttons ripped or cut away, his sword taken from him and broken. It is pleasanter to be shot than to undergo such a ceremony as that. But there are degradations ultimately quite as effective which are accomplished silently and invisibly. A true noble may have all the known vices, he may lead the most worthless and the most immoral life, but so long as he can keep up a certain style of living, either on his own money or other people's, his title will not be refused. The crime which ensures his degrada- tion is the loss of external gentility, with an honest effort to earn his own bread. There are many descend- ants of the true old noblesse who are pursuing humble occupations. They keep small shops; they are joiners, saddlers, or smiths. The joiner who works for me is a gentleman of ancient descent, and the fact is well known to the local antiquaries, but he does not use the de. This led me to take note of the names borne by the poor, and I soon found amongst them names of the true old noble families, in every instance shorn of the de. I had a good opportunity for observing this kind of degradation actually taking place. I knew a young gentleman whose great-grandfather had been ennobled by royal patent, but whose father had been ruined by an unlucky attempt to increase his fortune, and had died, leaving his young children penniless. My friend had struggled bravely in the most severe adversity to get himself some education. He entered the army as a, common soldier, but was soon made sergeant, and after wards sergeant-major. Losing no opportunity of im« 86 iitory of a Poor Noble. proving himself, he became a good man of business, with a great deal of practical scientific knowledge. When, I knew him he was foreman of a schist mine, and a thoroughly able, efficient man, both with head and hands. He did all the surveying; he kept the accounts ; and he executed all the finest and most difficult smith's work himself. He spoke and wrote quite correctly, and had the feelings and conduct of a gentleman. One thing he clung to persistently, he would not abandon the de. His friends observed this, and were careful never to miss it, but there was a very general disposition to drop the de in speaking of or to him, and it was very generally dropped. I well remember how a middle-class man, recently enriched, sneered bitterly about that de. "Depuis quand la noblesse va-t-elle travailler dans les usines .' " he asked with perfect scorn. "A man may be really noble," I answered, "and yet poor," on which my bourgeois laughed and shrugged his shoulders. Then came the war, and the poor nobleman, though a married man, enlisted voluntarily as a common soldier. He was soon promoted for his merits, and, in the com- paratively short time that the war lasted, he rose first to the rank of captain, and then to that of com- mandant,* besides which he received the cross of the Legion of Honour, for distinguished bravery in the * In the French army a captain commands a company, as in England ; a commandant commands a battalion, which is composed of four companies : there are four battalions in a regiment, and consequently four commandants. ImportaHce of Noblesse. 87 field. "Now," I said, "we shall see whether les bourgeois will refuse the poor lad his de ! " Alas ! he never came back to enjoy his honours and receive our congratula- tions ! He got safely through that terrible retreat over the snows of the Jura, when Bourbaki's army was driven into Switzerland, and after passing through a thousand dangers, when we thought him safe at last with the hospitable Swiss people, in their happy neutral land, he was struck down suddenly by an attack of small-pox, and died of that cruel disease. When first I knew France, a good many years ago, I retained for some time the prevalent English impres- sion, that noblesse was no longer of any importance, and this idea was confirmed by one or two French noble- men, who told me so themselves. It did, indeed, seem that titles did not signify very much when people in good society dropped them in speaking to each other, and when the general public so frequently omitted them in speaking of titled people. Since then, how- ever, I have seen reason to modify this first impres- sion. The old nobility tell you that " il n'y a plus de noblesse en France, la noblesse ne signifie plus rien aujourd'hui." But this is simply a French exaggeration due to regret for the past and a sense of diminished importance, as people tell you they are ruined when their fortunes are not what they were formerly. No doubt the importance of nobility is much less than it was under the Legitimist sovereigns ; no doubt, the hope of restoring a past lustre is the reason why the nobility wanted a Legitimist revival under Henri V. But it is not accurately true that the noblesse is dead, 88 A "Beau Nom" in Marriage. and titles of no value. The reader may remember Stuart Mill's acute remark, " that where there is the appearance of a difference there is a difference." He may also remember how Sir Arthur Helps acknow- ledged as a philosopher the importance of honours. Now, a title, or simply the de, is of consequence, because it creates a distinction ; and, although the dis- tinction may not be so important as that between a peer of England and a commoner, it is a distinction still. A French title has no political value, but the social difference between " une famille noble " and " une famille bourgeoise " is enormous. You frequently hear such expressions as " il est noble," or " il porta un beau nom." There are three distinct classes, under one of which you will be placed and ticketed, whether you will or not : noblesse, bourgeoisie, and peuple — ^just as, in England, you must travel in one definite class on the railway. The time of life when it becomes of most importance to a Frenchman that his name should be adorned with the de* is the time when he determines to marry. At that period of his life it often enables him to get a rich heiress, without the least trouble on his own part, by the simple process of requesting some third person to be ambassador and ask for her. The father of the young lady is deeply impressed when he hears "that * It may be well to observe that there are noble families which have not the de, so that the " particule " (as it is called) is not essential to nobility. French people, however, almost universally believe that it is essential, out of pure ignorance, and in these matters a general belief is quite as good as a fact, for rank is a matter of faith and not of sight. A "Beau Norn" in Marriage. 89 such a beau mm is offered to her. The girl is called, let us suppose, by one of those mean and vulgar names which are so common in the French bourgeoisie, and the opportunity of changing it for something sonorous, which proclaims aristocracy every time it is uttered, is an opportunity not to be lightly neglected. When a young gentleman is called Monsieur de la Rochetar- piienne, or Rock-anything-else, provided only that the name fills and satisfies the ear with a properly noble cadence, his chances in the matrimonial market are incomparably superior to those of the simple bourgeois, some plain Mangeard or Mangematin. When I look around me and take note of the heiresses and other young ladies who (or whose parents^ have, in the choice of a husband, nobly preferred a beau nom to wealth, I see that, notwithstanding the matter-of-fact spirit of which the French are so commonly accused, there is a fine sense of the romantic in them yet. Nor does anybody seem to care in the least about the genuineness of the " beautiful name," if only it passes current. I know every field of a good estate which passed, along with the hand of a very ladylike young woman, into the possession of an officer, whose family was plebeian a few years ago, but boldly climbed into the noblesse by adorning itself with the de. I happened to be dining some time since at a •distance, and met two very awkward, underbred, and ignorant young men who belonged to a " noble family " in their neighbourhood. Our host said to me privately, " They are only make-believe nobles, their grandfather bore a very plebeian name, but assumed the grandly- 90 Noble Alliances. sounding one they are known by to-day." Everybody in the courttry confirmed this, but the grandfather, who seems to have had a good ear for the music there is in names, had wisely chosen a particularly imposing one. Now there was a well-to-do young woman, a few miles off, a young woman with ;£^24,ooo ; so one of the two young gentlemen thought he might as well have the money, not having much money of his own, and made application accordingly. He was at once ac- cepted, and he would have been as surely rejected without the magic of the nom. A gentleman who is now dead had two daughters (no other issue), and an estate worth about ;£^S 0,000, besides which one of his daughters had ;£■ 16,000 from another re lative. They were very fine handsome women, well educated, and perfect ladies, but they were not noble, and bore only a plain short name. A Frenchman in such a position is almost sure to give his daughters to men having the particule, and these two ladies were ennobled accordingly by marriage. Another of our friends, a country squire in very easy circumstances, had a very intelligent and beautiful daughter. Being a married man, I often saw the young lady in her own home,* and thought that she would be a prize for somebody — some rich man most likely, with broad lands au soleil and a ch3.teau. We speculated some- times on her destiny, and at last we learned that she had been promised by her parents to a poor clerk in a bank — a clerk earning sixty pounds a year. The marriage took place in due course ; but the mystery of ♦ A young bachelor would not have seen much of her. How to assume Nobility. 91 it was explained by the young gentleman's name, which had the true ring of nobility — indeed a novelist could not have invented a more high-sounding one. ' The most convenient and simple way of assuming the particule, when it does not belong to you, is ihis. Vou buy a little property somewhere in the country which has some old and romantic name — there are thousands of such properties in so old a country as France. Let us suppose, for example, that the name of the property is Roulongeau. Here I may mention a real instance, as an example of how the thing may be done. A friend of mine, a notary, came into possession of a ruined castle, which we will call Roulongeau, and which was handed over to him in payment of a bad debt. Here was a capital opportunity for self-promotion into the ranks of the nobility. The notary was too honest and self-respecting a man to avail himself of it, but what he might have done very easily is this, — he might have begun in the usual way by signing himself by his old name, with the territorial designation in brackets after it, thus 'i — Machin (de Roulongeai^, which has quite a modest . appearance, because it only looks as if this Machin wished to distinguish himself from other Machins, to avoid con- fusion. The reader sees how easy the upward progress becomes when once this first step has been taken. The brackets are dropped first, then Machin is abandoned as unnecessary, and so you have Monsieur de Roulongeau, which sounds all the more respectable, that there really was such a family in the middle ages. After that a rich marriage is easily arranged, and why not revive the old barony ? Three generations are enough to accomplish 92 Fake Nobles well received. the whole evolution ; but it needs some courage at first, and a steady persistence afterwards/ ■ The English reader is not unlikely to condemn the false noblesse with great severity, and to reflect with complacency that there is no such thing in England, where truth is respected, and where people would not consent to bear titles not their own. I certainly shall not attempt to defend the false noblesse, for the assump- tion of a false title is, in plain English, a lie, and a lie that is repeated every time the false nobleman signs his name or presents his visiting-card, whilst he acquiesces in a lie every time that he answers to his assumed title when it is given to him by another. But now let me be permitted to say something, not in disculpation of all these liars, but to show that there is a great deal of ordinary human nature in their conduct. In the first place, the advantages to be reaped from the lie are very great — they may be incalculably great ; and, in the next place, not only is there very strong temptation, but there are great facilities, as we have seen, and there is really nothing to fear in the way of evil consequences. There is nothing to fear from any French government, and there is nothing to fear from society. So far from expelling the false noble from human intercourse, people give him a rich girl for his wife, and are rather proud of his acquaintance. The genuine nobility hate him at first, but hatred is not more difficult to bear than contempt, and before he assumed the de he was despised as a bour- geois and roturier. Besides this, the old families have a strong reason for recognizing him as soon as they decently can ; and the reason is this, the man who assumes a title A Comparison with England. 93 engages himself thereby to be a defender of orthodox opinions. He is sure to be ardently Hen pensant ; it is a part of the character he has to perform. He is sure to be a willing and eager servant of Legitimacy and Ultramontanism, and to put his time and money at their disposal. It would be unjust to insinuate that all, the nobles who went to fight for the Pope were false nobles ; many of them certainly belonged to well- known ancient families ; but that was just what a young pseudo-noble might most wisely do, and (if courageous and enterprising) would be likely to do. To embrace that service in the "holiest cause on earth," perhaps to win the most sacred of earthly knighthoods, was a con- secration which would have reconciled all the Legitimist families to the usurpation of a name. After studying the false noblesse of France, it is interesting to turn to England for comparison. There is no false noblesse in England, but neither is there a true noblesse in the continental sense. The difference between a small political peerage and a noblesse is infinite, and the external similarity is misleading. All the sons of a peer are legally commoners whilst the father is alive, although they may have courtesy titles, and the sons of his younger sons have not even courtesy titles, but lose their nobility altogether. In a country where a noblesse really existed it would ' not tolerate or endure the idea that the majority of its descendants should be degraded to the condition of roturiers; it would distinguish them from the people to the latest generation as a noble caste. Now, if such a caste existed in England, as it really does exist, not only in France 94 Unscrupulous English Practices. but in many other continental countries, would English truthfulness resist the temptation to get into it fraudu- lently, if there were every facility and even encourage- ment to do so ? Consider that there is nothing in the world which men prize so much as social distinction ; they prize it far more than wealth or independence, — indeed they value wealth in most instances only as a step towards social distinction and a means of attaining it. There appear to be few scruples of conscience in England about stealing other people's coats-of-arms. The thing is done openly every day. There are heraldic draughtsmen and engravers who get their living by encouraging the practice. When there is not the faintest reason for supposing that the people who write to these draughtsmen are descended from some ancient family of the same name, they assume its arms without hesitation. But not only do English people assume arms which do not belong to them, they even, in these days, assume the names of aristocratic families by the simple process of inserting an advertisement in the newspapers ; the arms follow as a matter of course, and the transformation is complete. The reader will answer that, although these practices are unhappily very common in England, still there are many truthful, self-respecting people, who would not condescend to them. It is to be hoped, indeed, that so there are ; but, in justice to the French, let me observe, that there are also great numbers of Frenchmen who have to resist the far stronger temptation to assume the de, and who do resist it manfully, from a feeling of honour and self-respect. One such, a friend of mine, when negotiating a matri- Persons Ennobled involuntarily. 95 monial alliance, was urged to ennoble himself in the usual way by taking the name of his estate, but firmly refused to do so, at the risk of breaking off the nego- tiations. There is a great deal of this sound, right sentiment amongst respectable middle-class families, who think that, as their names were good enough for their fathers, they are good enough for them. Sometimes people get ennobled in spite of them- selves, and have to resist it. This occurs as follows : — Your name is not so generally known as that of your place of residence, or else it may be too generally known. In either case the peasantry will be likely to call you by the name of the estate you live upon, putting the de before it. This is how the de really originated in the middle ages. As our English name is a puzzle to the peasantry, the market-women always call my wife Madame de (the name of the estate we live upon) simply for their own convenience. There are two wealthy families in the neighbourhood, which have numerous descendants whd by the division of properties have been scattered about on different estates ; so the easiest way of distinguishing them is to put the name of the estate after the patronymic, with the de between ; and this is often done, not by the families themselves, but by other people. It may close this chapter appropriately to say that the author has had to contend against what others so often seek. Much to his irritation, people elevated him to the peerage by bestowing the title of " lord." This was especially frequent in official communications, I mean on papers which came from the authorities. 96 Un Milord malgri lui. There is something very exasperating in an annoyance which is repeated year after year, so at last I got quite out of temper about my title, and wrote very angrily to the people who applied it. However, it turned out that they were not very much to blame. The title was duly registered in some ofScial book at the prefecture, how and why I know not, and so I am a lord in France if not in England. There is one comfort, however. Nobody hereabouts thinks that lord means anything in particular, so that I have no annoyance to appre- hend in the way of snobbish adulation. 97 CHAPTER VI. About money matters — Big houses — French incomes — Examples of moderate and more important incomes in the author's own neighbourhood — Large estates — Division of estates — How families survive the division — Probable permanence of the present French law of inheritance — Small establishments in great houses — State maintained in former times — Romance of the old chateaux— Their influence on the mind— Stuart Mill's experience — Lamartine and Chateaubriand — Economy and retirement in great houses — The bourgeois temper — Its favour- able side — Skill of the bourgeois in finance — His readiness to sacrifice time for small gains — Provision for families — Example of an " avaricious " man — The bourgeois in adversity — Two examples known to the author — Heroism of the bourgeois temper— Its bad effects in excess — Meanness and self-satis- faction. As nobility was the subject of the last chapter, it is a natural transition to talk of wealth in this. The French used to believe that every Englishman was rich, and the English believed that all Frenchmen were in a con- dition resembling beggary. Neither view was precisely accurate. The plain truth is, that very large incomes are rare in France, but that comfortable incomes, enough for a gentleman to live upon with a little care and economy, are very common. Mr. Macgregor, in the first of his canoe voyages, observes, whilst paddling in France, " Pleasant trees and pretty gardens are here on every side in plenty, but II 98 Houses and Incomes. where are the houses of the gentlemen of France, and where are the French gentlemen themselves ? " The answer to this question is, that whether a house is large or small, it is a gentleman's house if it is occupied by a gentleman. The Rob Roy canoe was not a large yacht, but there was room in it for one who has always acted like a true gentleman. Perhaps, however, we are using the word in two different senses. Perhaps Mr. Macgregor may have used it in the common acceptation, which is that of a man who keeps up a large establishment, with from ten to a hundred domestics, and everything else on a great scale. In this sense there are not very many gentle- men's houses in France, but there are more good incomes than a passing traveller would be likely to suppose. There is a difference between French and English habits in estimating wealth which must be noticed before we proceed farther. In England it is thought bon genre to speak of everything under £ 2,ooo a year as more or less mitigated poverty ; and many people who have nothing like that income, nor yet theTaintest prospect of ever either inheriting it or earning it, assume a tone of contempt when speaking of the moderate incomes which are reckoned only by hundreds. I remember meeting a German in London who lived in a state of irritation on this subject. " It seems to be thought bad taste in England," he used tc say, " to recognize any of the necessities of people with moderate means, and even the writers in your periodi- cals talk as if they, and all their readers, had ;^ 2,000 a French Incomes. 99 year each." In France the idea of wealth begins with the first savings, and you meet sometimes with such a phrase as " il est riche de milk francs de rente" meaning that the person in question has an amount of capital which yields him £^0 a year interest. The Frenchman has greatly the advantage in the mental enjoyment of a moderate fortune. I had an English friend who, with £yoo a year of his own and ;^6oo a year with his wife, constantly talked of his poverty, and really felt very poor until that pitiable state of things was remedied by a large legacy, whereas a Frenchman would have com- pared his ;^ 1,500 a year with nothing, and felt himself as rich as a little Rothschild. Many people in this neighbourhood have from ;£'500 to ;^ 1,000 a year from land, after all deductions; and this represents a considerable capital, as land here yields a low interest. Incomes of ;f2,000 a year do not seem to be much more uncommon than they would be in an English rural district of the same kind. It is difficult to learn the exact truth about the largest incomes in any district, because they are always exaggerated by popular report ; but the following figures have been given me either by personal friends of the families, or else by men of business who knew the stewards or lawyers who managed the estates. According to these accounts one marquis had £7,000 a year a few years ago, but has diminished it since by losing a million of francs in a bad speculation. A certain marchioness has an estate which formerly brought in about the same income; but there have been debts, which she is steadily paying ofif by the strictest economy, H 2 loo firench Incomes. so that the property will soon be what it was before, I know a certain chiteau which is surrounded by a park large enough to be worth a clear ;^i,ooo a year to its owner, and that is what it brings in ; there are pro perties at a distance bringing £^,0x1 a year more to the same proprietor. There is also a family wealthier than any of these, the members of which, in order to avoid the inconvenience of division as long as possible, keep all together in a little colony, with one very well-managed and complete establishment. A lawyer who lives not far from the chateau where this happy family dwell when they stay in these parts, and who knows their man of business, affirms that the general family income is ;£• 24,000 a year, and, if this is not an exaggeration, the completeness of the establishment is accounted for. Besides these instances I know two large estates containing respectively seventeen and sixty farms, but do not know precisely the income derived from them. There are also some large industrial and commercial fortunes either in the district or in connection with it, but it is impossible to estimate these with any accuracy.* There must be wealthy people in a country where families appear to survive for generations the division and subdivision of their properties. There is a certain family here which has increased into quite a clan, and, as the descendants have multiplied, the estate, of course, has been divided. Yet they are all well-to-do people, * The common estimates of these industrial or commercial fortunes range from a few thousand pounds to more than two mil- lions of pounds. Division of Properties. loi every one of them ; they all have snug country houses, they all keep horses and carriages. There is another family, not noble, of which just the same may be said. However many cousins there may be, they grow up with comfort about them as if they had downy soft pods, as beans have, made on purpose for them by the beneficence of nature. The condition of a French family, at this particular stage on its road to poverty, seems to be very pleasant and affectionate, except when the sharing has not satisfied all its members. They go and shoot on the divided bits of the ancestral estate, each as guest of another ; they have a frequent interchange of family hospitality. The resources of a single estate seem to be almost as multipliable as potatoes. I knew an old bachelor, who died, and after his death his land and money were divided amongst three families of heirs. All those three families throve happily on that single fortune ; they dressed well, they drove about, and were always asking each other to dinner. In a hundred years the division of properties will have accomplished its work more thoroughly, and many families which are wealthy to-day will have become very small proprietors, and either sunk gradually into the condition of peasants or else into that of shop- keepers or professional people in the towns. The law of division was at the same time the most ingenious and the most powerful attack upon the grands seigneurs which could possibly have been devised. It made the j'ounger sons accomplices in the destruction of thei house, and the more willing accomplices, that the de- 102 Tlie Great Lh&teaux struction is not visible in its full extent to a single generation. Some old families maintain themselves a little longer by the device of living all together under the paternal roof, but there is clearly a limit to fanjily clubs of this kind. There is not the faintest chance of a revival of primogeniture, for it is one of those customs which, once done away with, can never be artificially restored. It is the corner-stone of an aristocracy, when the aristocracy is not merely a caste, but a body of powerful families — it has no other raison d'etre. The great majority of French people who have talked to me on the subject are contented with the present state of French law, which seems to them just to the children, whilst it leaves a certain liberty of pre- ference' to the father, who may make the share of one of his children larger, within fixed limits. I have often wondered what will become of the great old chateaux when the division of properties shall have gone a little farther. Even now they are often out of proportion to the establishment which can be main- tained in them. I know one, a very extensive place, with magnificent stabling for forty horses ; you pass thirty-six empty stalls, and find four horses ultimately in a corner, the present strength of the establishment. A place of that kind seems to call for the old scenes of hunting and hospitality, when there was a famous stud, and a famous kennel too, and when the guests came in state-coaches with six horses. One of those guests of the great time, just two hundred years ago, say, that seven such coaches-and-six entered the court of the chateau together, and besides these there were The Great Ch&teaux. 1 03 five guests in the house who had coaches-and-six, but had left them at home — total, twelve coaches and seventy-two horses had all been present. The number of doniestics, too, was far greater in those times than it is now. Every great noble imitated on a smaller scale the numerous personnel of the sovereign. At the present day two or three servants may be found, by seeking, amongst the empty chambers of a great house, but it is rare to meet with what a rich Englishman would consider a complete establishment ; these changes of custom give the great cMteaux rather a desolate air, so that I have heard people declare that they would not live in them, and some are all but abandoned, the family coming down from their snug appartement or detached house in Paris to spend a month or two in the shooting season. Sometimes you find some quiet widow lady or rural-minded gentleman, who lives in . one wing or one tower of the ancestral residence, and has the rest to walk about in on wet days. People who like a house to fit its owner like a coat, and be neither too big nor too small, think that there can be no comfort in one of those great old houses, unless the owner can afford to keep it full of people like a public inn ; but it always seems to me that there must be a deep charm, for any one romantic enough to feel it, in the silence and space of such a dwelling, when you live there with but a few servants who are far av/ay from you in their own quarters. Our small modern houses provide no perfect protection against noise ; we hear something oi all the noises that are made by children, or iervants, or loud talkative people; but how peaceful I04 Effect of Great Houses on the Mind. are the chambers of a vast old chateau, how easy to choose amongst them some safe retreat for study ! It would be delightful, in such a place, to select one noble room for a studio, another for a library, a smaller one in some turret for a sanctum, a private den, well defended against noise and interruption ; it would help the imagination, also, to have the range of all the other rooms and corridors. Stuart Mill thought that his visits to Ford Abbey were an important circumstance in his education. "Nothing," he says, "contributes more to nourish elevation of sentiments in a people than the large and free character of their habitations. The middle-age architecture, the baronial hall, and the spacious and lofty rooms of this fine old place, so unlike the mean and cramped externals of English middle-class life, gave the sentiment of a larger and freer existence, and were to me a sort of poetic cultiva- tion, aided also by the character of the grounds in which the abbey stood ; which were riant and secluded, umbrageous, and full of the sound of falling waters." * * There cannot be a doubt that the position of Lamartine and Chateaubriand, as descendants of old noble families whicH had not yet parted with their great ancestral residences during the youth of those writers, was a most important circumstance in their education, and gave both of them a certain grandeur in their ways of estimat- ing things, which pervaded their writings, and remained, to tha end, most strongly opposed to the small-minded bourgeois spirit. From the autobiographical records which Lamartine and Chateau- briand have left of themselves, it is quite evident that the poetry of the ancestral houses was strongly felt by them even in their youth, and remained as an influence to the end. Had they been bom simply as remoter descendants of the families they belonged to, without ever living in the old houses, the effect would have been the difficulty is that the peasantry cannot clearly under- stand it. They do not know who made Louis Philippe king, or why he was made king ; they do not know who Philippe £galit6 was, nor dnythilig about him. Orleanism and its raison d'itre are, from their nature, amongst those things which the uncultivated mind is always necessarily puzzled about. Many English people who can read, ahd consider themselves much cleverer than French peasants^ are hazy about Orleanism, and could not give a clear account of it, whereas the nature of Bonaparttsm is quite plain to them. Bonapartism is plain also to the French peasant, and so is Legit-irtiEtcy, but he cannot tiiake out the pedigree of the Coilnt of Paris. There has never been an efficient Ofleanist propaganda amongst the peasantry, but the Bonapartists are very active amongst them, and know very accurately the nature of the pealsant-ttiind. They have n^anaged 220 FoHtical Fropaganda. to get it very generally believed that Napoleon was betrayed at Sedan, and that he was a very good and capable sovereign, deceived to his ruin by treacherous subordinates in the pay of Prussia. This idea is now quite generally accepted by the peasantry, and it is only partially false ; for the truth is, that Napoleon was ruined for having trusted to incapable and untruthful subordi- nates, though they were not precisely traitors as the peasant understands treachery. As the reader is already aware from the newspapers, the Bonapartists employ photographs and printed cards as their means of making the Prince Imperial well known in the cottages ; their agents have worked in our own neighbourhood, and not quite unsuccessfully, for the peasant accepts the portrait willingly enough, and it makes him remember that the Prince exists — in exile. The results of these efforts have been visible in the increase of Bonapartist votes at the elections. The Republicans have done what they could on their part to influence the peasantry, but the strong- handed recent administrations have been so resolutely against them that they have worked with the greatest difficulty. Bonapartist mayors and Legitimist land- owners might exercise all kinds of local influence with impunity, but let a Republican try to influence anybody, and the mighty hand of authority was down upon him at once. A vigorous attempt was made to establish little cheap Republican newspapers, treating of rural topics, such as might interest the peasantry, and includ- ing in each number a dose of plain intelligible Republican doctrine. The idea was good, but there were very great practical difficulties. In the first place, few peasants TM^easantry and Kepuoiuantsm. 221 can read a newspaper, and fewer still will incur the ex- pense of purchasing one. Then it unluckily happens that a newspaper is just one of those things which awaken the jealousy of authority in France, which always has its eye upon them. A cheap little Republican paper was like poison to the Government of Moral Order, which conceived that it had a mission to extir- pate the virus. The writers, too, in these little journals had not the wisdom of serpents, if they had their stings. They were not prudent, they gave full expression to those feelings of indignation against powerful enemies which it would have been wiser to moderate. Half France being under the state of siege, nothing was easier than to suspend and suppress the journals and fine or imprison the journalists. Yet, notwithstanding all these impediments, the spread of Republicanism amongst the peasantry is one of the most striking, and one of the most unexpected, of recent changes. It is conservative Republicanism, of course, for the peasant is always conservative ; but it is only the more likely to last. A destructive Republicanism could only be a momentary aberration in the peasant's mind, and would be opposed to the whole tenor of his habits. Con- servative Republicanism is quite in harmony with his habits. He is very independent in feeling, he likes to be free from the pressure of a powerful nobility, he has traditions of the dreadful time when his forefathers had to quit their own fields and leave them untilled, to slave for the noble or the king ; of the time when they had to be up all night through to beat the castle moats with long rods to prevent the frogs from croaking and 222 The Peasantry and ReJ>ublicamsm. disturbing the repose of the seigneur. He remetnbefS still, through his traditions, how iri thd old times thd land belonged to the feudal baron, who had power td compel the inhabitants of the villages to work for the embellishment of his own grounds, so that the peasant had never a week that he could call his own. These recollections give him a decided inclination to. What is the peasant, who has no books ? Here we come to one of those subjects which * The peasant has heard of Rome, and thinks that the Pope is a terrible military sovereign, always likely to invade France, but he is not yet generally aware of the unification of Italy. Absent p of High National Feeling. 233 always seem to me most suggestive of painful reflec- tions. Bad as the past was for the peasant, bad as the times were when Richelieu and the Abb^ Fleury held on principle that he ought not to read or write, when the Dutch proverb, " Een boer is een beest," was only too true of peasantries everywhere, there were men and deeds in those times for a great nation to be proud of. It is therefore deplorable that the majority of a nation should ever forget its past, or that it should have such vague ideas about its past as those of the uneducated classes. A French peasant, so far as I have been able to make out, really remembers nothing of the past but its evils, the grinding oppression of the corvie and the horror of ^eguerresde religion. " Speak to a peasant," says M. Renan, " or to a Socialist of the International, of France, of her past, of her genius, he will not understand such language. Military honour, from this narrow point of view, seems folly ; the taste for what is great, the glory of the mind, are chimeras ; money spent for art and science is money throw away, spent foolishly." There cannot be any noble national feeling, in modern times, amongst the totally uneducated peasantry of a great State, simply because they have never heard of what is truly glorious in the past, and can have no sense of those obligations which belong to the successors of brave and noble persons. Renan affirms that " The noble cares of old France, patriotism, enthusiasm for the beautiful, the love of fame, have disappeared with the noble classes which represented the soul of France." They have not wholly disappeared, they exist still in the cultivated classes, but it is useless to seek them in the peasantry 234 Rigour of Peasant Custom. until it also is educated. M. Re'nan thinks that the rural democracy is Royalist in the sense that it will accept a dynasty of some sort, but that it is not Royalist enough to care which dynasty ; that it will make no sacrifice for the establishment of any one of them, and has no political idealism of any kind whatever. This total absence of political idealism in the peasantry is due to pure ignorance, but it has been a happy thing for the country in preventing an extensive civil war. France is a mixture of a little gunpowder with a great deal of sand — the citizens of the large towns are the gunpowder, the peasantry are the sand ; if all were gunpowder the country would explode all over, but the sand prevents it. The separation of the peasantry from the other classes is marked by the most striking differences of custom. Here let me observe that the rigour of custom is far greater amongst the peasants than it is with the bour- geoisie and noblesse. Custom regulates everything for the peasant with an iron rule. The customs are frugal in the extreme, and act as an effectual sumptuary law in re- straining any possible extravagance of the richer mem- bers of the class. There are some visible signs of the weakening of rustic custom, but up to the present day it still retains an enormous power in rustic public opinion. Consider the difference, for example, between the degree of liberty enjoyed in the middle classes in matters of dress, and the severity of custom in the peasantry. The bourgeois may wear a coat of any colour he chooses. The pefisant must wear a blouse, and the blouse must be blue. Peasants of the same Fixed Usages. 23S age always wear the same kind of hat, the same tex- ture of linen, and when they buy a cloak— in these parts at least — it is always sure to be of a brownish grey, with brown stripes, of one particular pattern. Custom, in- deed, has been powerful enough to put all the class into uniform. In the furniture of their houses the peasants are equally regulated by fixed usages. The cabinet- maker's work is always of walnut, and nearly of the same design. The bed, the linen^press (armoire), and the clock are the three items to which most care is given. Sometimes you will find two beds, two armotres, and two clocks in the same room, one set belonging to the parents, the other to a married son. The women are proud of their armoires, which are prettily panelled, and they rub the panels till they shine. As the fur- niture and manner of life in the peasants' houses is always exactly the same in the same class, and as the people all dress exactly alike, and all know the same things, and are equally ignorant of everything else, the consequence must be, and is, a wonderful narrowness of experience in the class,- and a corresponding mental narrowness. When rich Englishmen visit each other's houses, they find differences which stimulate and in- struct. There are differences of domestic architecture. The libraries contain different books, there are different artistic and other collections to be seen, and all these things enlarge experience. But when the French peasant goes to another peasant's house, he finds ex- actly the same things that he left behind him at home, and nothing to enlarge experience in any way — no books, no newspapers, no varieties of education in the 236 Rural Virtttes. inhabitants. This excessive uniformity in everything is one of tlie main reasons why the peasant remains so decidedly the peasant, and why those members of the class who get any education never can endure to remain within it. I know a good many sons of peasants who have left the class to enter the smaller bourgeoisie in some occupation outside of rustic life, because the true rustic life had become unendurable to them from its narrowness and the rigidity of its customs. The only way for the educated son of a peasant to remain rustic is to become a country priest ; then he can live in re- lations with the peasantry which are at the same time familiar enough for him to feel no painful separation, and yet of a kind which keeps him distinct and inde- pendent, and allows him to read and think, with the infinite advantage of solitude, at will. The excessive rigour of rural custom is beneficial in a very simple- minded and ignorant class, which thus finds its path traced beforehand in everything. Simple duties, un- changing fashions, a settled rule of life, are the safety of an ignorant population, but too confining for an enlightened one. The rural French customs imply the constant practice of very great virtues — ^temperance, frugality, industry, patience, self-control, and self- denial. In all these virtues, the peasant acts as none but a saint or hero could act if he were alone, but he is wonderfully sustained and encouraged by the custom of his class. His character is all in one piece, and ignorance appears to be an essential part of it. No educated person would have patience to endure his monotonous toil, or the simplicity of his fare ; and the The Rustic Language. 237 peasants themselves are fully aware of this, for they dread books and education, saying, with perfect, truth, that they unfit men for steady work at the plough. Another almost inevitable effect of education is ti make people appreciate and want good scientific cookery. All the educated classes in i^'rance like good eating, and the peasant, from his frugal point of view, thinks that they live most extravagantly. He is right in dreading the effects of books and newspapers on his sons. He likes to keep his sons illiterate, for he knows, by an infallible class-instinct, that the old rural life, whose virtues he appreciates and values, will.be a thing of the past when Knowledge enters the homestead, with her half-sisters. Luxury and Discontent. The books too — the clever French books, all written by University men — will destroy the old rustic language, that living chain of custom and ancient usage. What do the clever book-writing men know of the old tongue and its beloved associations with fields, and streams, and woods, and long-past summers and loves, and winters and sorrows ? The rustic language varies from plain to plain, from valley to valley ; there are endless varieties oi patois in France. That spoken amongst the hills near my house is so distinct from ordinary French, that it took me a long time to understand it ; and even now, when it is spoken in perfect purity, I have to listen very attentively. Would the reader like to see a specimen of it.? Here is a charming little song, which we know positively to be centuries old. Some rustic composed it in the dark days of the corvies, and yet it is full of gaiety, and has the touch of a true poet, 2^0 aongs m i-aiois. The conclusion is admirable in its lively truth to nature. The lad calls his sweetheart and his cows at the same time : — " H6 mon petiot feillot Lfere et lo. Ifere et Ifere et lo, Lfere et lo, h6 ! Ailon voui ddzeund Lo, lo, Ifere lo, ISre et Ifere, Aipourte ton pain fr6, Mai mie, l^re et l&re, lol^re I&re et lo I " Aipourte ton pain fr6, Du cofitid du Lon-pr6 Au degd A€ Pinti6 ; Au de56 dd Pinti6 le f y ferd tatd Du mitan de mon gitiau, " Du mitan de mon gitiau Que te trofirez secrd MS, secrd coum' o f6 " Ma secrd coum' o f6. Quan ^ I'airez aivold O ne te f 'rd point de mau, " O ne te Prd point de mau ; Ai peii te beillerd Qudque cou de bdqua " Qudque cou de b6quo, De bdquo d'almitid Que ne me front point d'mant • H6 Piarotte, h6 Piarotte Ven don viaz yt'chi I V6 Id 6te, va 1^ 6te, Yt'chi lt4 J Beumotte, Fringe tte, MdtrillSre, Metrichaud^ Hongs in Fatois. 239 Corbinette, Jeannette, Brunette, Jolivette, Blondine, Yf Chi ! t4 ! Ti ! la ! ti ! t4 1 tk 1» The following is a specimen of the modern patois, differing very little from that of two hundred years ago:— " O diont t6s que lai milice Vd tird le moud preugaing, Qu'iot por c'lai qu'o faut qui m'mairisse Aitout lai feill' de nout" voising. O diont t6s qu'al ot ben zente, Qu'al ot done' c'ment in aigniau lot ben c'lai qu'iai pou qu'al me pliante Deux plieumes de boeu s6s mon gaipiau 1 " De t6s las gas de nout' velaize - Caiquing I'y beille in present : L'in I'y beill' de lai dentdle L'aut' I'y beille eune crou6 d'arzent Al dit bai que ran n'lai tente, Fas moime in torse-musiau ...... lot ben clai, &c. " Cartaing b6rjois de lai ville HaibUld en figndleux, T6rne alient6r de c'te feille Coume en mainidr' d'aimdreux ; O lai loisse, o lai tdrmente, O lai vir" c'ment in fusiau .... lot ben clai, &&" I have not space for all the song, these three stanzas are only the beginning of it, but there is perhaps as much as the reader will trouble himself to translate. It would spoil his pleasure to translate the stanzas for him, and I avoid the task the more willingly that it is 240 Songs and Music. by no means an easy one. Poetry is always spoiled in translation, and the perfume of these genuine rustic stanzas evaporates altogether when we attempt to transfer it to a complex and elaborate language like English. Fancy translating "cou de bdquo," strokes with a beak. In the original, it is merely a peasant's playful way of saying kisses ; but if, on the other hand, we say kisses in a translation, then we utterly miss the playfulness of the original. One or two words may be explained as a help. O Is a. general pronoun. lot means it is. diont, on dit. There is a very lively touch in the last line but one, " O lai vir c'ment in fusiau." "They (/.e?., the bourgeois) turn her about like a spindle," an allusion to the waltzing in the village, in which the bourgeois easily beats the rustic, to the dis- , gust of the latter, especially as the young women are at no pains to conceal their satisfaction at finding dancers who can twist them round with the proper degree of skill. I have heard scores of such songs as these in the farms and villages, often sung with the greatest skill and taste. Many of the women have excellent voices, and manage them with much art, which has become a tradition. The music, however, is monotonous, or seems so to us. It is very often in minor keys. I have thought sometimes that it would be well worth while to collect the airs sung by the peasantry amongst the hills, for they are full of originality, although per- vaded by a striking similarity of sentiment, or senti- Rustic Singing. 241 ments, for there are two classes of songs, the gay and the sad, but the first is more common. Of the two specimens just given, the reader is especially invited to notice the ending of the first, which is most brilliant. The singer calls the cows with a musical cry, and the end is a burst like the roulade of a nightingale. The peasants sing with great decision and confidence ; the best singers soon get a reputation in their own and the neighbouring villages, which encourages them. The constant practise of simple airs, in accordance with fixed traditional rules, permits the attainment of really considerable skill, in its own peculiar kind. I have heard women sing, with wonderful rapidity, long pas- sages, in which the slightest hesitation or slip of memory would have been fatal to the effect, but thej- always got through triumphantly, with a shrill, voluble, prestissimo at the end, terminating in a coup-d'Mai like the song of a wild bird. ^£^^ CHAPTER XII. Habits of the Peasantry.— 'Their Food and Drink.— Observance of Lent. — Repugnances. — Times of Feasting.— Excesses in Animal Food and Wine. — Rustic Medicine. — Anecdotes.— Unbelief in Physicians. — Faith in Magic and Special Prayers. — Children before Baptism.-— Usages derived from Antiquityi —Bees. — Talking Oxen."-Ocular Illusions. — Sorcery. — The Rogations. — A Rustic Altar. — Influence of the Church.-^ Religion of the Male Sex. — Faith and Scepticism.— A Miracle, ' — Pilgrimages. — How they are got up. — A Dialogue. — Patri- archal Discipline in Families, — Anecdotes.— Peasants' Views of Literature and Art. — A very exceptional Peasant — He reads the Author's English Books. — Sons of this Peasant- Approaching Extinction of the old Rustic Character.— Ancient Habits of Self-denial. — Connection between Learning and Self-indulgence. Although the whole of the last chapter was occupied with the peasantry, the subject overflows into this. Il would be easy to write a volume on the mind and habits of a class which has such decided ways of its own, and so many interesting peculiarities. The differ- ence between the peasantry and the bourgeoisie in habits and ideas is certainly much greater than the difference between two nations. We are accustomed, for example to think of the French as a cooking nation, but th( truth is, that although cookery is an elaborate well- understood art in the bourgeoisie, the peasantry an utterly ignorant of it. It is wonderful that, with s( Rustic Ignorance of Cookery. 243 much knowledge about food and the preparation of it in the country towns, and in the houses of the squires, no tincture of such knowledge should have spread itself in the genuine rustic world, but the plain truth is that the peasants' wives do not know how to make the best of the materials they have, so that the rustic world lives much, less comfortably than it might live. We knew one farmer's wife, in easy circumstances, who systematically let her butter go rancid before using it, " because," she said, " as the taste is stronger, less of it is required." Sick people and children in farm-houses are much to be pitied. My wife once actually saw coffee given to a sick nian with salt in it instead of sugar, because salt was considered cheaper, and babies at the breast are fed with a sort of bouillie, prepared in an old cast-iron pan, that has been used for frying bacon from timp immemorial. The great reason why cookery has never penetrated into the rustic world, is that it seems extravagant, and is, no doubt, in reality, a costly luxury when carried to a needless elaboration, so that the peasantry, who are frugal above all things, avoid it as an indulgence which is not for them. Another reason is the indolence of the women when they are in the house. A peasant-woman will work very vigorously in the fields, but when she is at home she takes as little trouble as may be, and likes to pass her time in knitting, which is really a sort of concealed indolence. The way of living in a peasant's house is this. In the morning the men eat soup— that soup which Cobden praised as the source of French prosperity. It is cheap enough to make. For twelve z.^^ noiv me reasajiis i^ive. people two handfuls of dry beans or peas, or a few potatoes, a few ounces of fried bacon to give a taste, a good deal of hot water. The twelve basins are then filled with thin slices of brown bread, and the hot water, flavoured with the above ingredients, is poured upon the bread. The bacon and peas are not in suffi- cient quantity to afford much nourishment, but they give a taste to the bread and water, and a hot meal is procured in this way at a cheap rate. Boiled rice, with a little milk, is sometimes taken instead of soup. If the soup is insufficient, the peasant finishes his meal with a piece of dry bread, and as much cold water as he likes, for of this there is no stint. The meal at noon is composed invariably of potatoes followed by a second dish. In this second dish consists the only culinary variety of the peasant's life. It is either a pancake, made with a great deal of flour and water and few eggs, or a salad, or clotted milk. No wine or meat is allowed, except during the great labours of hay- making and harvest. At these times, a little wine is given with the water drunk at dinner, and a little piece of salted pork. At great feasts ham is served, and beef broth, the boiled beef served afterwards without sauce. The peasants' wives see carefully that the fasts of the Church are observed — all economical French people are religious enough in this— and I remember a good instance of the lengths to which they will go. We knew an old peasant who was not in very strong health (he was seventy-two years old), and his con- science was not very tender about the ordinances of the Church ; I mean, that if anybody had given him the Fasting in Lent. 245 opportunity of eating meat in Lent he would probably have yielded to the temptation. But he had a wife who united orthodoxy with economy, and who took good care that her husband should commit no sin that would be in any way expensive. When Lent came I used to banter the old man, in a gentle way, by inquiring anxiously about his health. He always got weaker and weaker towards the end of the forty days, and one year this weakness was so distressing to him that he com- mitted a great crime. A pig was killed at the farm towards the end of Lent, in anticipation of Easter Sunday, but so vigilant was the eye of the mistress that nobody dared touch a morsel of the forbidden food. There was one exception, however. The old man sallied forth with a knife, cut a slice of the pig, fried it himself in open defiance of both wife and Church, and ate it boldly, like a hardened sinner, in sight of his children and servants. Whilst he was eating, he underwent a terrible female sermon. "Not only," said his wife, "are you breaking Lent now, but you have broken it all along, for every day you have cooked in the ashes two eggs for your dinner, and it's astonishing to hear you complain of weakness, after such shameless gormandizing as that!" In the spring the peasants bleed their oxen, and cook the blood in a frying-pan with onions. They like it very much, and, although the idea seems rather disgust- ing, it is not more so than the notion of eating black- puddings — ^when we know what they are made of. I have said elsewhere that the peasants have a pro- found feeling of disgust for mutton. Notwithstanding 246 Rustic Prejudices, the abstemiousness of their way of Ufa — ^which is really little better than one continuous fast — they will not touch mutton at all. Their feeling about it is simply the prejudice against a particular kind of flesh, which most people have in one form or another. When such a prejudice is once firmly established, the imagination makes it wonderfully strong — as, for example, in the prejudice against horseflesh, which is even less reason- able, for horseflesh poisons nobody, whereas mutton is a poison for some constitutions. Other peculiarities of the peasantry are that they never season vegetables, and their soup is so poor that at the end of a meal what remains of it is thrown into the pigs' tub, so that they never eat a rkhauff^ of any kind, hence they have an intense prejudice against rdchauff^s. A peasant-girl, when she goes as servant into a bourgeois family, will not touch any richauff^, even when she has seen it served at her master's table, and if there is nothing else to dinner she will eat dry bread. By this pre- judice, the peasantry miss one of the most intelligent economies of the middle class, for it is the simple fact that a good many French dishes are positively better when warmed a second time than they were when first cooked. This is an instance the more of the familiar truth, that human nature, even when most frugal and most humble, always associates something with the idea of self-respect, and clings to it to the last. The peasant's theory is that yesterday's dishes are for the pigs, and not for Christians. The women of the peasant-class submit to the severity of their frugal customs without any other. Occasional Excesses. 247 relief from them than the occasional feasts at weddings, but the men escape from the rule of custom more fre- quently, when they go to the market-town, and get a liberal d^jeAner at the inn, which they seem to appie- ciate very heartily. On these occasions they get tipsy, as a matter of course, and when there is a great fair they often get more than tipsy, in consequence of successive bottles of wine and beer in the cafds, where they treat each other liberally, according to a theory that it is not polite to refuse, nor to accept hospitable offers without returning them. This of course makes the drinking on such occasions practically unlimited. So Bacchus has his revenge for the general abstemiousness of rural life, which is almost teetotal in the rustic homes, with bacchanalian intervals in the market-towns. I well remember hearing ^ farmer's wife declare that hei husband (a most respectable old man, who got tipsy one day in thirty, and drank water on the remaining twenty-nine) adored Bacchus more than Venus, the Venus being herself, and a very plain homely Venus she was.* It would be better for a rustic to allow himself a little wine every day than to drink to excess occasionally, but his life would lack the great pleasure of occasional excesses, which seems to be necessary to human nature in a certain stage of civilization. The peasant observes at present the same abstinence and the same excesses in eating. Most of his time he lives as the reader has just seen, but at wedding-feasts he consumes * Nothing ever surprised me more than this reference to antique mythology ; how the good woman came by her knowledge of gods and goddesses I cannot imagine. 248 Excesses in Animal Food. literally ten times as much animal food as an English gentleman will eat at his dinner. I once asked a young farmer how many meals he had eaten successively in celebration of his brother's wedding. He confessed to fifteen repasts, entirely consisting of different kinds of meat. It is not at all an exaggeration to suppose that he would eat of five different dishes at each repast — 5x15 = 75 — so that my friend ate seventy-five plates of meat to celebrate the happy occasion. At these festivals there is not a vegetable to be seen, nor any- thing in the shape of sweets or pastry — the feast is purely carnivorous, an excessive reaction from the daily habits of the peasantry. These excesses never seem to do anybody any harm, and the strict rule* of daily life is accepted again quite readily afterwards, when all return to frugality and duty. I never really understood the spirit of feasting which Rabelais and others have described as a part of the temper of the middle ages, until I saw how the French peasants enjoy what Rabelais called noces et festins. A higher civilization dines comfortably and sufficiently every day, and loses the delight of occasionally indulging to the utmost a rarely satisfied appetite. So our daily life becomes more mildly agreeable, but we lose the animating enjoyment of the feast. Indeed, we do not know what it is to feast. The spirit of it is not in us any more. We have found out that the sensations of having eaten and drunk too much are not the supreme happiness. The peasant believes wine to be the universal remedy. He administers it liberally in all cases of disease, even in the most violent fevers — with what effect may be Rustic Doctoring. 249 imagined. His way of treating a bad cold is to put a tallow candle in a quart of red wine, and boil till the tallow melts, after which tallow and wine are stirred up together and swallowed by the unhappy patient. For intermittent fever he beats up eggs with soot from the chimney. To cure the measles he gives hot wine with pepper and honey. Whenever any one is ill, no matter from what cause, hot wine is at once adminis- tered. A married woman, who had been a servant of ours, was so ill after childbirth, that she thought she was going to die, and so thought all her friends. They sent for the curi, who duly arrived and administered extreme unction. Being now, as she believed, at the point of death, and about to enter the realm of pur- gatory, the patient expressed a strong desire to see my wife, in order to entreat her pardon for all offences committed during her service with us. Few indeed, and of little gravity, had those offences been ! On arriving at the cottage, my wife, who knows the ways of the peasants, and has just the degree of confidence in them which they deserve, strongly suspected that the patient was being quietly killed by the absurd old rural practices ; so she made minute inquiries, and soon discovered what follows: i. The woman was entirely in the hands of her relations, no doctor having been sent for. 2. The said relations had forbidden her to give milk to her child, " for fear of fatiguing her." 3. They had filled her with wine. 4. They had piled huge feather cushions on her, and quilts, till she was nearly smothered. The breasts were distended with milk, and very painful, whilst the other arrangements 250 Treatment of the Sick. had greatly augmented the fever. My wife's great difficulty, in all such cases, is to prevent the people from giving wine, but she has found out an ingenious device which succeeds sometimes, and quite succeeded in this instance. She takes two or three bottles of good wine to the house of the sick person, and says they are to be administered during convalescence, but not before, and that no other wine is to be given at all. This shows an apparent deference to the popular belief in wine which conciliates public opinion, and it proves, at least, that the giver, in forbidding the use of wine for the present, does not forbid it from an apprehension that she may be asked to supply it out of her own cellar. In the instance just mentioned, a little common sense, with words of firm kindness and encouragement, saved the patient. It is a peculiarity of the peasants that they do not believe in medical science at all, and never send for a doctor till it is too late, if, indeed, they send for him even then. They generally pin their faith on some old woman who knows the old wives' remedies. My wife (though not an old woman) has really, by very simple means, saved several lives, which, in the ordi- nary course of rustic custom, must inevitably have been sacrificed, and this has given her a great reputation as a doctor, which she makes the most of to fight against the absurd old peasant traditions. But it is a hard fight, even for one who has visible success on her side, 1 1 remember the case of one old woman, who lived at a distance amongst the hills, and was visibly dying of exhaustion. A country doctor visited her occasionally, but gave her up. Having seen her, my wife said, " The Strange Use of Medicme. 25 1 woman is really dying for want of proper food, because nobody in the house knows how to prepare food for a weak person ; but I could save her life if I had her in our own house." I said she had better try the experiment, so the woman was brought to our house. We had a daughter of hers as a servant at that time, so the patient was carefully attended to, but very strictly looked after. In a few weeks she was in very fair health, and able to walk fifteen miles. She is living yet, and quite active, but it is certain (so the doctor says) that she must have died if left to the care of peasants. From what we have seen, we are quite sure that a large mortality, amongst sick or weakly people, is caused by sheer ignorance in the peasant class — by ignorance, not by poverty, for they could easily afford what is really necessary. There is never any telling what their inconceivable ignorance will make them do. I know an instance of a woman who was affected with partial paralysis. Her friends got medicine from the chemist, cind the medicine was of two kinds, one to be taken internally, the other for external friction, so they rubbed her with the potion and made her swallow the liniment, to her great internal inconvenience. Mustard plasters are now sold ready prepared, so a man in our neighbourhood bought a box of them for his wife, who was ill, and tried to make her swallow them. It was almost impossible to convince him that they were to be applied externally. " Do you think I don't know the use of mustard .' " he said ; " I know well enough that it is made to be eaten, so my wife must swallow these plasters." A man was 252 Physicians and Rustics. suffering from an ailment which required treatment with linseed poultices, but he said that he thought they did him very little good. On inquiry, it turned out that his daughter, who had the care of him, had boiled all the linseed together in the pigs' pan, after which she took it in cold lumps, like broken stones, and so applieil it to the patient. We knew another who, when she had the stomach-ache, swallowed certain remedies which had been given to her mother for varicose veins, "so that they might not be lost." The doctor is only sent for, by a peasant, at the very last extremity, and his prescriptions are never followed. I have often talked about this peculiarity with physicians whom I knew intimately, and they invariably said that it was not of the slightest use for them to give any advice to pea- sants. The consequence is that physicians take no interest in rustic patients, and leave them to their own prejudices, and whatever fate may be in store for them. The physician's fees, although extremely moderate, and remote indeed from the London guinea, seem to the rural mind an expense to be regretted in any event, for if the patient is cured, his friends believe that he would have come round without the doctor, and if he dies, it is plain that the doctor has not been able to save him. Our own medical adviser has a thousand anecdotes of the rustic ways, with reference to the science of medi- cine, which exhibit the peasant's way of thinking. One of these I select for the reader. A woman went to him for a prescription for her husband, but as she was going away, she turned on the threshold, and asked whether her husband could pull through. " Because,'' Magic and Ketigion. 253 she added, " if he is to die after all, it will be of no use to spend five francs in medicine." She positively- refused to get the prescription made up unless the doctor would guarantee her husband's life. What the peasants really do believe in is not science of any kind, but magic and superstitious prayers. Their idea of prayer and of all religion is, in fact, very closely connected with magic. They have full faith in sorcery and in the power of combating evil by special prayers — special forms of words which make you safe if you know them accurately, when, without the knowledge of the form, you are helpless against the evil. This is so, very particularly with regard to burns and dislocated limbs. It is believed, for instance, that such an old woman knows a special prayer which will cure a burn, or make a set limb go on favourably, and when such a belief becomes current, the person who knows the prayer is in great request, but keeps the prayer itself a secret. The idea is, that there are prayers for every kind of evil, which would be perfectly efficacious if one only knew them. It is plain that the notion is more nearly allied to magic than to Christianity. Even in very grave cases, when a surgeon is absolutely required, the peasants will not send for him if they can avoid it, but they will travel many miles to fetch some ignorant old woman " quisait unepriire." The simple truth is, that their minds are in a condition so wholly unscientific, that they cannot con- ceive the idea of science. It is useless to tell them that a physician has studied medicine and an old woman has not, for they do not know, and cannot imagine, what it is to .study anything, nor are they at all able to perceive X^/^i-ui^f ^/^ vc/ CA & j^M,yt/i"J rrt-m the distinction between positive knowledge and super- stition. When a child is born it is not considered right to ask what is its sex, and if any one belonging to another class asks the question in ignorance or forgetfulness, he will not receive much of an answer, for the question is considered at the same time a violation of good man- ners and contrary to religion. It is a violation of good manners because, so long as it is unbaptized, the child is considered to be only an animal, and therefore, no credit to its father and mother ; and it is contrary to religion because, until the child has received the Divine grace through baptism, it does not truly live. The genuine peasant maintains a strict reserve in speaking of an unbaptized child — exactly the same reserve which an English gentleman would maintain to discourage ques- tioners if his wife had been delivered of a monster. The old classical habit of putting a coin into the hand of the dead to pay Charon with, still survives amongst the French peasantry. They have forgotten Charon, and cannot tell you why they put the coin into the dead hand, but they would not omit the ceremony. A much more touching practice is that of putting flowers into the coffin of a child. They tell you their reason for this, which is, that the child must have them to play with. This, too, is a classical idea — the old idea that life of some kind continued dimly in the tomb itself The women go on the day of the Purification to read the Gospel to the bees, with a lighted taper in their hands. I have seen this done, and done in serious earnest, with a perfect faith that the bees could derive Magical Powders. 255 spiritual advantage from the reading, and were, at least so far. Christians. I need scarcely add, that there is the usual superstition against the sale of bees. They may be given or exchanged, but if bought and sold they will never prosper. On Shrove Tuesday, the peasants have a ludicrous custom of jumping as high as they can. They believe that this makes their hemp grow. They listen to the cry of the quail with great interest, because they believe that he announces the price of wheat — but somehow there is always a difificulty in making out the figure which he announces. They are also convinced that the cattle talk together on Christmas night, at the time of the midnight mass ; but curiosity as to what the cattle may say is repressed as dangerous, there being a legend that the farmer who hid himself in the cow-house to listen heard the prediction of his own speedy dem.ise, which took place accordingly in a few days. Thousands of peasants believe this just as firmly as they believe things in the ordinary course of nature. The peasant mind is in such an uncritical condition that it is subject to ocular illusions, even in perfectly healthy persons. I remember a young farmer who told people that one day I was walking with his father, and made myself appear to him twice as tall as his father, by throwing some magic powder in his eyes. The old man and I were about the same height (5 ft. 10 in.), so that I must have appeared a giant of 1 1 ft. 8 in. The origin of the illusion, in this case, was the belief that I had magic powders, which would cause a pre- disposition to see something wonderful. Many people 2S6 Faith in Sorcery. are believed to have magic powders, but in my case this is fully accounted for by a chemical laboratory in which I am in the habit of pursuing investigations in the chemistry of etching and painting. In our part of France the peasants have the fullest belief in sorcery. They live in perpetual apprehension that some sorcerer may cast a spell upon their cattle, and they can tell you numberless stories of the known effects of such spells. They believe, too, that the secrets of sorcery are contained in a mysterious volume called an " Albert," and they are convinced that certain persons possess the book, though I never could see a copy of it, nor ascertain if it really existed. One of my friends, a village notary, is universally believed to have magical power and to possess an "Albert," and people actually come to him to beg him to exercise his power. On one occasion, being pestered by a peasant who would not take a refusal, the notary really did go through some ceremony in imitation of the black art. The priests do nothing to discourage popular super- stition ; indeed, it may be suspected that they prefer a superstitious state of mind to a more enlightened one. They bless sprigs of boxwood, which are a protection against evil influences. They do not deny the exist- ence of the powers of darkness, but combat them by religious ceremonies. One of the most striking of these ceremonies is the blessing of the fields, which takes place three days before the feast of the Ascension. In the beautiful May time, the time of blossoming trees, rustic altars are erected by the villagers, and the The Rogations. 257 priest leaves the church to go in procession from one to another, bearing the Holy Sacrament. The arrange- ments about the altars are left entirely to the peasants themselves, who erect them without any ecclesiastical or artistic direction, and the priest always accepts them just as they are with all their naivete. This ceremony of the Rogations has always seemed to me one of the most beautiful of all Roman Catholic ceremonies, and it is at the same time a striking instance of the skill with which the Roman Church adapts herself to all situations and circumstances, and of her readiness to take trouble that she may win sympathy and awaken interest. The best way to give a good idea of the Rogations will be to describe some particular instance of them from memory. Let me take the reader with me, as it were, to a certain hamlet that I know well, a place which no landscape-painter would despise. Quaint old thatched cottages surround a broad green, at least for three of its four sides, but the fourth is bounded by a clear and beautiful trout-stream, which teems with fish, and is never dry, even in the height of summer, for we are close to its perennial fountains in the forest-covered hills. Round the hamlet are green rich meadows with fine trees here and there, and beyond the meadows the land suddenly rises in steep wooded hills, about a thousand feet above the level of the green, at least to the north and west, but to the south the stream flows towards pale blue mountainous distances. It is a peaceful place, sheltered by hills, but not overwhelmed by them, nor yet too absolutely confined. Here in the s 258 A Rustic Altar. heat of summer one may find coolness and welcome shade ; here the birds sing and the wild flowers grow in abundance. It seems as if one could live in such a sweet place for ever, and dream and paint in the fair meadows, and swim daily in the long deep cool pools of the stream which lie dark under vaulted roofs of half-transparent leaves. In the very middle of the green, the people of the hamlet had erected their rustic altar. The altar itself would have been more satisfactory to Protestant senti- ment than the massive stone ones in the churches, for it consisted simply of a poor table from one of the cottages, but it was carefully hidden with a white sheet, and a box was put upon it to imitate the ratable or upper altar, also carefully hidden in white. On the white linen was pinned a decoration of natural leaves and flowers in a sort of rude design, like simple em- broidery. The altar was abundantly supplied with candles, and vases with flowers- in them. All the candlesticks had been lent by the cottagers them- selves, so they were not splendid. The vases were the chimney ornaments from the cottages, of the kind which country people buy at fairs to gratify a love of art in its most elementary form, all painted in gaudy colours. Every house, however humble, has what is called its " chapel," that is to say, a miniature altar with a plaster cast, usually of the Virgin and Child, a couple of candlesticks, two or three pots of flowers, and some coloured religious prints on the wall, besides illumi- nated cards, surrounded with frames of embossed paper, which imitates lace. All these things are a common A Rustic Altar. 259 magazine of objets de pi^t^, for an occasion of the kind I am now describing, and the young women, who are the real managers of all the preparations, select the prints, &c., which please them best. Behind the altar, and on each side of it, was a great structure of green branches, imitating the apse of a church, and towards the bottom it was hung inside with white sheets, on which were garlands of yellow flowers, and a quantity of framed prints representing scenes from the New Testament. The preparations were nearly finished when I arrived upon the scene, and as every- body in the hamlet knew me, the girls who had built the altar were very anxious that I should suggest any possible improvement on their design. I really had verj' little to suggest, for the whole was a piece of genuine rustic art, quite a pure and perfect expression of rustic taste, with materials that were ready to hand. It may be doubted whether a town architect would have been ingenious enough to use the materials with such good effect. Most likely he would have despised them too much. I well remember one detail. Amongst the ornaments were two sardine boxes lacquered in imitation of gilding. They were rather large and handsome boxes of their kind, and- the girls had filled them with earth, in which they had stuck long branches of the bird-cherry-tree in full flower, which met over the altar very prettily. I rather wondered how the cottagers had come into possession of these boxes, for they never eat preserved sardines, but I was informed that they came from my own house, where a girl in the hamlet worked two days a week. She had S 2 ^6o A Religious Ceremony. perceived the availableness of the boxes, and begged them. The truth is that they did capitally at a little distance, when the sun made the lacquer shine like gold, and one could not read the tradesman's adver- tisement. Not only the flowers of the bird-cherry-tree, but all the wild flowers that bloomed in the little valley, were pressed into requisition. The girls had an evident preference for yellow ones, because they imitated gold, and there were plenty of buttercups and marsh marigolds to satisfy this desire. White was supplied by hawthorn and cherry-blossom ; red, in abundance, by the common lychnis and red lamium. There were plenty of wild pansies, too, and other flowers too long to enumerate. The last touch was put to the work only just in time, when the banners of the advancing procession flashed in the sunshine on the other side of the stream, and it soon passed over the bridge. The old priest of the nearest village came bearing the Host, and in the procession were the prin- cipal rural dignitaries, and the children of the village school. There were also two sisters of charity, and a full-bearded missionary priest. The cur^ went through the service of the benediction with simple dignity, and all the little congregation knelt upon the grass. When the service at this altar was over, the procession formed again, and its banners gradually disappeared in the winding of the little path between the meadows and the river. Here you have the genuine rustic religion of the peasantry. They like to see the priest come amongst them, and carry the Holy Sacrament through the fields Faith and Scepticism. 261 that they may be blessed, and yield an abundant harvest. The poetic sense which exists in their uncultured minds has its exercise on these occasions in the building of the rustic altar with its green bower for an apse, and its vases, and candles, and flowers. All is so closely con- nected with the beauty of the beautiful season that even the rude mind feels the harmony between the ceremony and the time. The year has given its first promise in the flowers, the gentle air breathes warm, summer is coming fast, and after it the peasant looks to the wealth of autumn. The sentiment of the season, and its iiope for the future, are perfectly expressed in the Complaint of the Black Knight, by Chaucer : — The aire attempre, and the smooth wind Of Zephyrus among the blosomes white So holsome was, and so nourishing by kind, That smale buddes, and round blosomes lite, In manner gan of hir brethe delite, To yeve us hope there fruit shall take Agenst autumne redy for to shake. As a special protection the peasants have hazel boughs blessed by the priest on this occasion, and set them in their fields as a defence against hail, which they are believed to avert. It is not by any means easy to ascertain the exact degree of influence which the Church of Rome possesses over the peasant mind, because the people of that class are cautious and reticent in the expression of their opinions ; but a close observer may easily perceive that a strong sceptical spirit has invaded the rural districts during the last few years. At the ceremony of the Roga- tions, which I have just described, the only men present 202 Men ana tiieir Keiigion. who belonged to the hamlet were half a dozen who hap- pened to be preparing materials for a new bridge. They were shaping the beams upon the green, close to the altar, and they went on with their work, giving loud strokes with the axe, till the procession was almost upon them. The women protested against this as unbecoming, and did at last obtain a sort of surly acquiescence ; but the men remained with their wooden beams behind the altar, and did not join the little congregation. I made inquiry about other inhabitants of the hamlet, and dis- covered that they were all at their work in the fields and woods, not having thought it worth while to quit their labour for an hour, even for the most important rural ceremony of the year. The women and children were there, taking a feminine and childish pleasure in their own little arrangements of pots and candles and May flowers ; but the men in the fields and woods can scarcely have believed that the ceremony had much practical utility. In another hamlet, not a man was to be seen, except those who had come with ,the pro- cession, and who might in some instances have joined it from self-interest, to stand well with a powerful noble family which owns a large property in the neighbour- hood. The real feeling of the male peasant in this part of France seems to be that religion is a sort of precau- tion which may not turn out to be of any use, but which it is as well to take, according to the universally known proverb, si ga ne fait pas de bien, ga ne fera pas de mal. When the rustic sticks a blessed hazel twig in hisifield to preserve it from hail, he cannot feel that it is a sure preventive, because he has often seen fields lashed with Rural Vottaireanism. 26^ hail notwithstanding hazel twigs and benedictions. But then, on the other hand, his fields have often escaped when the blessed hazel was set up in them, and at these times it is just possible that the blessed branch may have been /lour quelque chose. At any rate, the precaution, such as it is, is one that costs very little trouble. This, so far as I have been able to ascertain, is the exact shade of mingled faith and scepticism amongst my rural neighbours. It has always been a very interesting pro- blem for me whether the peasants of the male sex in this region can be more accurately described as believ- ing their religion or as not believing it. A friend of mine says that they do really believe, but have a kind of surface-scepticism which covers their belief. This is one view. The other view is that they have a surface-reli- gion which covers a basis of scepticism as shallow water may cover a rocky bed. The peculiar feeling about unbaptized children is common to both sexes, and cer- tainly looks like faith ; but then, on the other hand, there is a distinct vein of scepticism amongst the men which is as like the Voltairean spirit as the difference between Voltaire and an unlettered peasant will admit. It is most difficult to describe with exact truth a con- dition of mind which hardly ever expresses itself quite openly, and of which .the peasants themselves are seldom quite clearly conscious. They believe in the efficacy of old wives' prayers for the cure of burns and dislo- cated shoulders, and yet, at the same time, if you tell them of a miracle fully authenticated by the clergj', they (the men) will look at each other, and smile with the most evident incredulity. For example, there is a 264 A Miracle at Lourdes. young lady, six miles from my house, whose family I know. A little time since she was in a deplorable state, partially paralyzed, and unable to walk. " If I could be taken to Lourdes," she said, "I know I should get better." To Lourdes she was taken accordingly, and came back to all appearance cured. She can walk and run — I saw her do both in my own garden not a week since — and she now leads quite an active life. Here was a miracle which would have excited a believing popula- tion to enthusiasm, and yet there has been no enthu- siasm about it in the neighbourhood, and the men say that it was not a miracle at all — that the young lady had had ups and downs in her health before, and will pro- bably have them again. This is the cool way they take it. In the ages of real faith a person so favoured by supernatural power would have created the most intense excitement. People would have travelled far to see her — to touch the hem of her garment, if, haply, some supernatural virtue might pass from her to them. The peasants did not seem so much interested in the matter as I was myself. The case interested me as a remark- able evidence of the effect of imagination. A visit to Lourdes has never restored an organ whose anatomical structure has been changed by accident or disease, but the influence of it on the imagination of a real believer is often so strong as to produce a very remarkable and beneficial effect upon the nervous system. Another very curious test of rural religion was the manner in which the pilgrimages were got up. The reader is aware that there has been of late years a great movement in France about pilgrimages, a move- How Pilgrimages are Got up. 265 ment which has extended to other countries, so that the French holy places have been visited by many pilgrims from England, Italy, and Belgium, and even from un- friendly Germany. Very brilliant accounts have been given of the enthusiasm excited by these pilgrimages amongst the rural population of France itself. It is cer- tainly true that many pilgrimages have been organized to Lourdes and Paray-le-Monial. We have seen them or- ganized, and we know exactly how it is done — if the reader cares to know also, he will soon be master of the whole subject, which is not at all complicated or difficult. A pilgrimage usually has its origin with the bishop of the diocese from which it takes its departure. Perhaps the bishop may not be exactly the first person to whom the idea occurs, possibly somebody suggests it to him, but it is he who sets the enterprise in motion as the Commander of the Faithful in his region. When His Grandeur gives the word of command to organize a pil- grimage, it is usually in the form of a very long charge, which is printed in double columns, and posted at the doors of all the churches. It may occupy as much as four pages of the Pall Mall Gazette. The merits of the saint or blessed personage are duly set forth, and also the great favour of the Supreme Pontiff towards all pilgrims who visit the holy shrine. The date of the pilgrimage is fixed, in proper ecclesiastical style, on the day of some notable saint. The necessary impetus is now given, and the bishop has no further personal trouble in the matter, until the day arrives, when he goes at the head of his flock. But between the charge and the pilgrimage, a feverish activity reigns in other quarters. Female emis- 266 A Zealous Lady. saries go forth amongst the people, and display the most remarkable energy as recruiting sergeants. A particu- larly active one, whom we will call Madame Tarbi, lived very near us, so that we saw exactly how the recruiting was carried on. She made her husband hunt up re- cruits also, but she herself was the great source of will and energy. For this she had reasons of her own. An ambitious and agreeable little lady, she was not ad- mitted into the noblesse, because her forefathers, and those of her husband, had been too honest to assume the usual false de, so that she was only a roturikre, and was looked down upon accordingly. This was the more grievous to her that she lived in an old chiteau which, though not extensive, had rather an aristocratic air on a'ccount of a pepper-box tourelle. Besides, although busy enough, physically, in managing her household affairs, which were always kept in excellent order, her mind was left to prey very much upon itself, for she. never read anything or interested herself in anything beyond the visible life just immediately around her. A French- woman in such a position easily becomes the victim of an id^e fixe, which is to get into noble society, but noble society is a closed fortress, presenting a hard and massive front to roturiers and outsiders. One quality may pos- sibly open a postern somewhere, and let the outsider in. That quality is an active zeal in behalf of Legitimacy and the Church. Madame Tarbi took care, therefore, to let everybody know that she was ardently Men pensante. The pilgrimages were a fine opportunity for displaying her zeal in the good cause ; so no sooner had the curi read the bishop's charge from the pulpit, and commented A Conversation. 267 thereupon, than Madame Tarbi commenced her holy work. A servant of our own happened to be in a farm- house just when Madame Tarbi called there, and from her account, the reader may judge of the arguments used. " It appears, Madame," she said to my wife in the evening, " that they are going on a pilgrimage to the country of Sainte Marie Alacoque, but it is not for that saint, it's' for another that was in the same convent with her." By tMs other saint she meant the Sacred Heart, and this is all they know about it. The girl continued, " It's to pray for peace, and it will cost ten francs." " Well, but, Jeannette, what is the need to pray for peace at a time when we are at war with nobody .' " " Ma foil Madame, I know nothing about it, but Madame Tarbi said so." " At any rate, the sum of ten francs is a good deal for our farmers' wives, and there will not be many of them." " Oh, but there will ! Madame Tarbi said that everybody had his name put down, and that it was better to give ten francs to God than to see the com- munes lost altogether." Madame Tarbi, who was an acute" woman, found that it answered best to work upon the fears and apprehensions of the farmers' wives. The following dialogue really took place in a farni-hoiist; very near us : — Farmer's Wife. Ah, Madame, is it then true that we are going to have a year of famine ? Mrs. H. I have heard nothing of the sort, and I see no signs of it. Farmer's Wife. Ah, but Madame Tarbi has told us that the Bon Dieu was very angry at us, and that He had frozen the wines and the fruit to show it ! 268 A Conversation. Mrs. H. Why is the Bon Dieu so angry with us ? Farmer's Wife. Ma foi ! Madame, I know nothing about it, but Madame Tarbi says that it's plain enough to be seen by the frost, and that if we don't look sharp and pray together in a pilgrimage, all the good things of the earth will be lost, and we shall have a year of famine. Mrs. H. Ten francs are not much to give to save all the crops. It is not so dear as an ordinary insurance. But who has told Madame Tarbi that the Bon Dieu was so angry with us .' Farmer's Wife. Ma foi, Madame ! je n'en sais rien. She says that so long as we have no Government things will not go well. Mrs. H. That's it, Toinette ; you see you are going to make a pilgrimage to ask for a king. Enter Farmer. Farmer. What do we want with a king .' Why can- not they let us alone 1 They say things cannot go on as they are doing, but we've nothing to complain of We sell our beasts and our grain just as well as if we'd a king. It isn't the king who buys everything, is it, Madame.' {Then to his wife) I will not let thee go to the pilgrimage, dost thou hear ? Farmer's Wife. Toinon, I durst not remain at home when the others go. What would they say of us ? It never does any harm to pray to God ; and, sure enough, I shall pray for the crops, and not for the king. What does it matter to me .' Farmer. So that's why Madame Tarbi preaches to Influence oj L,aaies. 260 people ! She's just been to talk to Frangois, who wasn't over-pleased. Frangois is not a fool, he's been to Paris, and he can read in any sort of a book, so he said to the lady, " It's a queer sort of a pilgrimage, that is, in a railway. My wife once went on a pilgrimage for our little Toinot, who had the fevers, and he couldn't be cured, and we'd four girls and only one boy for a plough. Well, she did all the distance on foot, with bare feet. That was a real pilgrimage; but as to pilgrimages in railways, I don't believe in 'em. There will hardly be time enough to pray." Farmer's Wife. That isn't necessary; the lady says that the intention is enough. Besides, I couldn't ven- ture to refuse Madame Tarbi, for she sent broth to our little girls all the time that they had the measles. The poor should always submit themselves to the rich, because they may need their help at any time , and if these pilgrimages do no good, at any rate they do no harm either. All preceding acts of kindness or patronage on the part of an influential Legitimist lady are so many levers with which she prepares beforehand a religious demon- stration of this kind. A girl who came to us to sew said that she did not think there was much piety in putting on one's finest clothes, and in going about the country to eat in the middle of the fields, as one does at village feasts, but she would go to the pilgrimage all the same, so as not to lose Madame Tarbi's custom, for Madame Tarbi employed her frequently. Nevertheless, in spite of all her skill, it seemed to us that this clever and influential lady rather deluded 270 Governments and Cows. herself one Sunday about the sentiments of her vassals when she considered it becoming and opportune to make a speech to them all, on coming back from mass, that they might perceive what good results were to be expected from the pilgrimages by the fruits already borne by them. " You see," she exclaimed, " that God is already becoming favourable to us, since He has caused Thiers to fall, and has put in his place an honest and pious man like Marshal MacMahon. It is the beginning of the benedictions which the Divine Goodness is about to accord to us, and we may soon hope to have a Government." A general and chilling silence was the discouraging reception of this little address, for the feelings of attachment towards M. Thiers which had already taken root in the breast of the French peasant had been considerably augmented since the change of Government by the fall in the price of cattle which immediately followed the acces- sion of Marshal MacMahon, and for which, of course, in some mysterious manner, he is held by the peasants to be responsible. The farmer's wife who figured in the conversation quoted above came to see us a day or two afterwards to ask for some advice. She had a disappointed look, and informed us that a cow, for which she had received an offer of 550 francs when M. Thiers was President, was now unsaleable at 400 francs, and then she inquired whether Madame Tarbi would make her pay ten francs all the same if she did not go to the pilgrimage. "There cannot be a doubt of it," we answered, "if your name is written down." Then she sighed, and Banners. 271 said, "If I pay my ten francs I may as well have some amusement." In which frame of mind she went in the crowded train to Paray-le-Monial, as a private in the company whereof Madame Tarbi was now the captain. In addition to the means of influence just described or alluded to, there are subscriptions for, poor women who are bien pensantes, but have not the means necessary to pay their fare, yet who are pleased with the notion of a day's outing that costs nothing. The lady patronesses themselves find a great deal to interest and occupy them in thg choice of banners with their designs, colours, and emblems, and the great questions, who will arrange them ? who will carry them .' Any reader who has once seen a party of ladies thoroughly in- terested and excited about a project involving some expense and display will easily imagine how delighted they are with managing the details of a pilgrimage. The whole thing suits them exactly, for it affords oppor- tunities for display, for domination, for social success ; and all in the service of the Church, and in company with reverend ecclesiastics, including that pearl of great price, a bishop ! The ladies plan long beforehand the great matter of the toilette, in what costume they will place themselves at the head of their respective flocks, and they compare lists in order to ascertain which lady-patroness will lead the greatest numlser of the faithful ; the banner itself is one of the strongest incentives to zeal on the part of ladies like Madame Tarbi, for it is only when they have been able to get together a certain number of faithful followers that the 2/2 Feasants and their Wives. ecclesiastical authorities (wise in their generation) permit them to carry a banner at all. Madame Tarbi, after counting the number of her adherents, exclaimed with triumphant joy, " Nous aurons une bannikre ! " which, in fact, had all along been one of the principal objects of her praiseworthy exertions. But only imagine the cruel, crushing disappointment of a lady who just falls short of the number required, and has to march in- gloriously, after all her exertions, at the head of a bannerless squad ! It would be an omission to quit this subject of the peasantry without some allusion to family relations amongst themselves. Between men and their wives I do not think that, generally speaking, there is very much love or affection, but neither, on the other hand, does there seem to be much distrust, or quarrelling, or conjugal infidelity. It is a common error of writers to judge whole classes by a very few specimens whom they happen to know, and I do my best to avoid hasty con- clusions of this kind, but by adding together my own knowledge of the peasantry and that possessed by others who are still more familiar with them than I am, certain conclusions may be arrived at which are not likely to be very inaccurate. The reader will please to remember that the peasantry live in a mental condition of quite antique simplicity, and that they have little conception of those needs of the intellect and heart which seem to us part of the necessities of existence. They are engaged, too, in an incessant and hard struggle for plain food and simple clothing, which makes them severe for themselves and severe for those about Paternal Discipline. 273 them ; notwithstanding much gentleness and charm of manner, they have little tenderness ; such affection as they feel appears to be generally connected with self- interest, but, on the other hand, this very self-interest keeps them well united. There is a strong patriarchal discipline in the farms. An old farmer with several grown-up sons, and several servants, is really in a position of far greater dignity and authority than the bourgeois husband, whose wife and children chatter loudly in his presence, without the slightest special deference for the head of the family, and who is looked upon simply as the money-earner. I remember one farmer who never punished any one in anger, but who did not hesitate to punish severely in cold blood when he thought the victim deserved it. One day a son of his, a fine strong young man of twenty-four, came back from a little pleasure excursion. He had exceeded his leave of absence by two days. The father, a man of seventy, received him with politeness, and said, in his patois, " My son, I gave thee no present at the New Year, but thou shalt lose nothing by this delay, for I will give thee thy present now." The young man stood still in the middle of the farm-yard whilst his brother took the horse to the stable. His mother came to him, and said eagerly, " Run away, lad, and hide thyself," but the young man stood firm, with his arms folded. Meanwhile the father had gone to fetch a large wooden hay-fork. " This shall be thy New Year's gift, my son!" he said, with an ironical smile, and laid it about him with all his might. The punishment was really severe, but the son stood till T 2/4 fairiarcnai, js^uie. the end, and as soon as it was over, went straiglit to his work without a murmur, nor did I ever hear him speak of his father without the most perfect filial respect both in language and in tone. On another occasion, the eldest brother, a still older man, long past his majority, had done something to displease the old patriarch, so on his return the father gave orders that every man and woman should leave the house for a quarter of an hour, as he wished to have a private conversation with ■ the delinquent. The conversation was not long, but it was followed by a severe beating with a goad. These punishments were very seldom resorted to, but the reader perceives that the discipline which applied them for simply exceeding leave of absence was a severe discipline. One day a youth in the family had been gathering some salad in the fields for his own dinner, and served it at table. The old man perceived this and thought it an infraction of dis- cipline, so in a quiet but very decided manner he ex- pressed displeasure at the incident, saying that one of the household ought not to live differently from the rest, but should content himself with what 'was pro- vided at the common table, and he hoped such an incident would not occur again. I knew this old man very intimately, and I do not think I ever met with any one who had more of what a good judge in Eng- land would consider the characteristics of a gentleman. He had both delicacy and dignity, and perfect self- control, and he could keep up a conversation with ladies with much ease and politeness, his chief difficulty being the scantiness of his vocabulary in French, which A Robbery. 275 he spoke not very incorrectly as a foreign language, his own tongue being the patois of the hills. He was just the opposite of a tyrant or a brute, but he considered that paternal discipline required the infliction of punish- ment and reproof. In the French middle class corporal punishment is never resorted to, dry bread or confine- ment being the substitutes, but we must remember that the peasants — the genuine rustic peasants, I mean — live in a much earlier and simpler state of society. An incident occurred about two years ago in my neighbourhood, in which, as the reader will see, paternal authority played a very important part. There was an old gentleman whom we will call the Count, and who being in very easy circumstances, could indulge a natural disposition to eccentricity. His manners were those of a gentleman, and he was by no means a stupid person, but he had a strong preference for the society of much younger men than himself, and in a class far inferior to his own. He also liked a sympo- sium, and would invite young farmers to come and drink with him. In former years these symposia had gone so far that the Count used to get perfectly drunk before they were over, but of late he had been more moderate and only got tipsy. Now it so happened, about two years ago, that he invited a party of young farmers to come and drink with him, lads of twenty or twenty-two years old ; there were six of them, of whom three were brothers. They drank with the Count in a private room of his, and he fetched the wine from the cellar himself. When the symposium was so far ad- vanced that all were elated, it being then about one T 2 276 A :^tem vectsion. o'clock in the morning, the Count went to the cellat again to fetch another kind of wine. During his absence one of the three brothers noticed a pocket-book on the chimney-piece, took it and put it in his own pocket. He, or his brothers, did as much with a ring, a watch, and a purse full of gold. When the Count came back he was too tipsy to notice the disappearance of these things, and the symposium went on merrily to its natural conclusion. On the following morning, how- ever, he discovered his loss, remembered who had been with him, and told the story to me personally, adding that he did not intend to put the matter in the hands of the police if the money {£,%&) were restored to him^ It soon became evident that the thief must have been one of the three brothers. When their father became aware of what had occurred, he called the three young men into his presence, and sent the rest of the family out of the house. Then he locked the door, took down his gun, and quietly loaded it, put caps on, and cocked it. " Now," he said, " I am ready. One of you three is a thief. If in five minutes I am not in- formed which is the thief, I shall shoot two of you." There is no doubt that he would have done it, but be- fore the time had expired, one of the brothers said, " I took the pocket-book." It had been buried in a field along with the other valuables, but the lads had spent a hundred francs of the money, which the farmer re- placed at once, returning the whole without delay to its owner. The peasants hide their money often even yet in old stockings, corners of cupboards with false bottoms, A Robber Robbed. 277 holes in the wall, or in the ground, &c. Sometimes they are robbed of rather considerable sums. I remem- ber one old peasant who was robbed of fifty pounds by a thief who entered the house in broad daylight during the only half hour in the day when there was nobody in it, and this thief was never discovered ; but either the same, or another, entered the same house some time later, also in the daytime, thinking that there was nobody at home. He went straight to the armoire, where the money had usually been kept, and did not perceive the master of the house, who was lying ill in his bed with the curtains drawn. The farmer peeped between the curtains and (very impru- dently) asked the thief what he was doing there ? On this the thief violently assaulted him, and would pro- bably have killed him, had he not heard steps ap- proaching. During the struggle the farmer tore off the pocket in the thief's blouse, and on opening his hand after the flight of his enemy, actually discovered that he had taken the thief's purse, which he showed me the next day. The purse contained a few pieces of silver. Is not this a beautiful instance of " poetical justice" in real life? The old peasant, was rather shaken for a day or two with his fight, but the contents of the purse were a consolation. Before quitting the peasants, I may tell an anecdote which throws some light upon their intellectual condi- tion. A very intelligent young peasant, of a superior class, whom I knew quite well, came to see me one day on a little matter of business, and was shown into my writing-room, where there are a good many books. 278 Rustic Notions of Literature. His curiosity was awakened by the sight of these, and he began to ask questions. I encouraged him by kind answers, and at last he began to inquire about my own occupations, which were a very strange mystery to him. I tried ts make these as plain to him as possible, showing him a printed volume and a volume in manu- script, but here I encountered a singular and insur- mountable difficulty. When he held the printed volume in his hands, he said, " You have written this beauti- fully, it is as well written as if a bookseller had done it, but the other is not so well done, and will never be as pretty." His impression about books was that each copy was a manuscript made by the bookseller, and he believed that I was one of those booksellers who made the manuscripts, only that I was a sort of amateur, because I did not keep a shop. It was impossible to make him understand that my rough manuscripts would look neat enough in print, and equally impossible to make him comprehend that my printed works were not beautiful autographs. In a word, he had never heard of the invention of printing, or did not know what was meant by it. And yet the young man was decidedly intelligent in all matters connected with his daily life, and had about four hundred pounds of his own. The pursuit of landscape-painting here, as every- where else, is one of the things which puzzle the un- educated most, and there is really no means of making them understand anything about it ; their minds are not prepared to receive the idea that there is such a thing as fine art. Notwithstanding the fine natural aptitude for art which distinguishes the French race, the great Misconception of Art. 279 majority of the French people are really ignorant of its existence, except in their little religious prints, and tb ■: pictures in the churches, which seem to them only the same prints on a larger scale, the provincial art-galleries having really done nothing to enlighten the peasants, who do not visit them. But on this subject of art I think that the total and absolute ignorance which prevails amongst the French peasants who have never heard of the Louvre, is less discouraging and less vexatious to an artist or critic than the profound misconception of art which prevails amongst the Philistine majority of the wealthier classes both in France and England. The peasant sees me at work from nature, and thinks I am a land surveyor making a map ;* but has the bourgeois, who passes in his carriage, a much truer conception of painting ? He very rarely goes farther than the elementary notion that it is a way of making likenesses of things by means of colours, as photo- graphy is a way of making likenesses of things by means of chemicals. It is only a bourgeois of very rare and exceptional culture who has any conception of art as the work of the mind, and an expression of intellect and imagination. In the course of this chapter I have selected in- * Some think it is land surveying, others think it is photography. At one time I had the reputation of being a photographer, and people came to have their portraits taken. I particularly remem- ber one very good-looking peasant girl who came into my writmg- room and insisted upon being photographed. She evidently did not believe my denials, and went away at last with the idea (not flattering to her self-esteem) that I had some personal objection to herself, which was certainly not the case. 28o A Wonderful Peasant. stances which seemed most in accordance with common every-day experience ; but I will mention, before con- cluding it, a peasant who is a very remarkable excep- tion, and who is known to me personally, for he is a welcome guest at my house whenever he chooses to visit it He belongs really to the true peasant- proprietor class ; he cultivates his own land, follows the plough himself, wears the blue blouse, and is of a genuine peasant family. Like all the superior peasants, he keeps his patois separate from his French, but speaks both very purely, and is not, as others are, limited to a small vocabulary. The first time I met him was at the house of a country squire, where I happened to be staying for two or three days. Our host said to me one morning, " I owe you some apology for inviting a peasant to dine and stay all night whilst you are here, but you will iind him an interesting person." The guest presented himself in his blue blouse. His man- ners were the perfection of good breeding, he was quite at ease, took a fair share in the conversation, and soon interested me more than any other person present. When we separated the next day, he asked my permis- sion, to call upon me, and I gave him my address, which was at some distance from the house where we had met. A few days later he paid his call. To my in- tense amazement he began to talk about English lite- rature and English newspapers, gave his opinion about the way in which several of the leading newspapers in London were conducted, talked about the Times, the Baify News, the Pall Mall Gazette, &c. In our book- literature he had read several of our best classic authors A Reader of English. 281 in the original, and some contemporaries. He had heard that I was an English author, and felt curious to know what I had written. On looking over my books, he borrowed " The Intellectual Life," " Thoughts about Art," and one or two others. He read them steadily through, and duly returned them at the end of a few weeks. The book of mine which most interested him was " The Intellectual Life," which he found to his taste. The book called " Thoughts about Art," which is a collection of essays on artistic subjects, attracted his attention also, for he takes a lively and intelligent interest in the fine arts. Reading English, he said, was one of his greatest pleasures, he liked the sim- plicity of our language, and the tone which is prevalent in our better literature. He greatly admired the energy of our journalism, its full information, and the sur- prising rapidity with which it gives an account of all that happens. If I were to say that this remarkable peasant was equal to a bourgeois, the comparison would be very unjust to him. The French bourgeois is rarely free from some taint of Philistinism, and very fre- quently, indeed, he is as Philistine as he possibly can be, utterly incapable of taking any interest in anything outside of the present in space and time, and always ready to laugh at everything that is above the low level of his own petty and pitiful existence. This peasant has not the faintest trace of any kind of Philistinism in his nature. His mind is broad and just, he is capable of the interests which widen a human soul, and of the admirations which elevate it, whilst he does not shrink from real intellectual labour, which 282 Rustic Life and Mental Culture, the common bourgeois shirks and hates like an idle schoolboy. The question which will most interest the intelligent reader just at present is, whether it is possible for such a cultivated man as this to remain in the peasant class. As a matter of fact this one does follow the plough, and lead the genuine rustic life, but there is a special reason. He abandoned the rustic life a good many years ago, and went to live in Paris, where he obtained some commercial employment. He would probably have remained in Paris many years longer had health per- mitted, but a peculiar form of chronic indigestion was the consequence of town air and confinement. After trying all their drugs, the doctors said at last, " It is of no use physicking yourself any more, one thing only is needed, one thing only can bring your health back again, and that is the old rustic life which you were accustomed to before you came to Paris. You must go back to the plough, there is nothing else for it, la santi est d ceprix." On this my friend accepted his let quite cheerfully, thought to himself, — " ergo tua rura manebunt ! Et tibi magna satis," and returned to his native fields and the old life of frugality and exercise. This is how it has come to pass that we !have a peasant in our neighbourhood who is such a singular exception to the general rule of ignorance. I still maintain, however, that cultivated people will not, when they can help it, remain in the peasant-class. This one has two sons — is he educating Continuity of Rustic Tradition. 283 them to be peasants ? Certainly not. He has sent one of them to England to learn English and study commerce, and having discovered a strong artistic gift in the other, he is now giving him a thorough artistic education in Paris as a sculptor. How very unlike the ordinary peasant's ideas about bringing up his children ! How completely outside of the class-limits, the class-tradi- tions ! This is what I always maintain, that the igno- rance of the French peasantry is an essential element in the continuity of their life. Educate one of them and you break the tradition of a thousand years ; the continuity of the family life is interrupted, broken for ever, and past all possible mending. These breakings are now becoming more and more frequent in the peasant families. Formerly, a rustic lad who had more than common natural refinement and intelligence always went into the priesthood, and lived afterwards amongst peasants in some country parish, unless his gifts were so extraordinary as to elevate him to one of the great dignities of the Church. As a country priest, he did not really break the continuity of rustic tradition, foi instead of being a hearer in the village church of his boyhood he became the officiating priest in some othei village church, and instead of ploughing the fields he blessed them. His life was still bound up with all rural interests and cares, and the rule of celibacy pre- vented him from looking forward to another ambition for any sons of his. Thus it happened, very remarkably, that all cultivated peasants were in former times child- less men, and men who drew nobody out of the class. Neither did they bring into the class any new members 284 Increase of Luxury. imperfectly trained in its austere traditions. The class therefore remained strong and homogeneous in its fixed usages, and preserved them along with that ignorance which is one of their principal safeguards. It does not need any uncommon prophetic foresight to perceive that the genuine old French peasant will be unknown in a hundred years. Even now the young men are less frugal than their fathers ; and the richer peasants, with the increase of their wealth, are adopting, little by little, many of those luxuries or comforts which formerly belonged exclusively to the bourgeoisie and noblesse. The last generation did not smoke, from motives of economy, the indulgence was considered too expensive ; the present generation smokes without considering the expense. The use of wine is becoming gradually more general. Children are sent to school in towns who, had they lived twenty years earlier, would have been kept on the farm to watch the sheep or the geese. These educated children will never be real rustics like their fathers and mothers; they are easily distinguishable already. If the Republic lasts, and the Republicans have their will in a system of general secular education, the peasantry will be pervaded by new ideas and by new habits also. I am far from the temper which laments the loss of what is old, merely from a romantic interest in the past. The old feudal noblesse was as romantic as possible, but I am heartily glad that its power is broken for ever. Nor would I sacrifice human well- being to an artist's fancy for the picturesque. The picturesque old farm-houses, with their thatched roofs, dormer windows, and delightful disorder of quaint Learning ana aeij-mautgerifLt.. 285 detail, are precious indeed to artists, yet we ought not to regret their now rapid disappearance, for they are replaced by buildings incomparably better planned for human health and convenience. But there is one thing which I really do regret, and that is the impossibility — for it seems as if there were some difficulty here which amounts practically to that — the impossibility of com- bining the self-denial of a simple state of life with the intelligence of an advanced one. There seems to be in the depths of human nature some radical incom- patibility between any really heroic degree of frugality and even a very ordinary education. The uneducated French peasant has the self-denial of a stoic philoso- pher, and the dignity of a Hebrew patriarch ; he can govern himself and govern others — the daily work of his life is a constant discipline. In the same country, under the same climate and laws, educated professional men are generally epicures. The connection between learning and self-indulgence is very strongly marked in a recent work on Burgundy by M. Emile Mont^ut Just observe it in the following sentences ! — " Une aisance cossue, un loisir studieux, les charmes de Virudition et les volupth de la cuisine, dchurent en partage k Dijon trans- form^ en ville parlementaire." .... "Oh! les grasses vies de savants, et les studieuses vies d' ipicuriens I" zso CHAPTER XIII. Position of the Church — The Lay Spirit and the Sacerdotal Spirit — ^Temper of the Laity — Protestantism — Ceremonial in Modern Life — Marriages and other Occasions — Positive and Negative Religious Liberty— Indulgence of the Church — Her Position with regard to Women — What Women think of other Religions — Anecdote of a Young Lady — Ecclesiastical Self- Assertion — Instances — The French University — English Criti- cism of it — Clerical Objections to it — Catholic Universities — True Nature of the Lay University — Its Extensive Usefulness — Stock Accusations against it — The Teachers not merely Slaves — Necessity for a Central Authority — Value and Defects of the Education given by the University — Too many Things Attempted — Clerical and Aristocratic Criticism — Ignorance of Frenchmen — The Pride and Prejudice of Classicism — Unfair- ness of English Criticism — Reasons -why it is Unfair. In the course of the last chapter we alluded to some ecclesiastical matters in connection with the pilgrimages, and this leads me to say something more about the clergy and about the position of the Church in modern France. The subject is much too complex to be dealt with thoroughly here, but a few pages ought to be given to it, for it would be difficult to find anything of greater interest or importance. Two great forces are perpetually struggling for the mastery of France, the lay spirit and the sacerdotal spirit. The contest between them has rarely been keener than it is just now, although it is conducted Laymen and Sacerdotalists. 287 without any other violence than some occasional violence of language, and even this bears no proportion to the vastness of the contest, which is often either altogether noiseless or conducted with much propriety of form. The object which the lay spirit has in view is to secure the political and scientific independence of lay- men, so that they may manage the affairs of the State and follow all kinds of intellectual pursuits without asking the permission of the Church of Rome. The object which the sacerdotal spirit has in view is to establish such a domination over laymen that they may not .venture upon any political course of action, or upon any course of intellectual study, without being authorized by the priesthood. It is not just to represent the struggle as one simply between belief and unbelief. If Milton had lived in the France of to-day, he would certainly have contended energetically against the sacerdotal party, and yet Milton believed in Christianity. If a town full of modern Englishmen could be transported into the midst of France, all the Low Churchmen and all the Dissenters would be against the sacerdotal party, the Ritualists and Roman Catholics might be on its side, yet not all even of these, for many sincere Roman Catholics, both in England and elsewhere, think that it is well there should be some limit to the power of their own priesthood. The lay party in France has not any desire to get rid of the Roman Church, it has not generally any of the active hostility towards it which is felt in a Protestant community. The lay party looks upon the Church as a man of thirty-five may look upon his old mother who 288 Frenchmen and the Church. has very strong instincts of domination. He does not want to kill his old mother, he does not even wish that she might die a natural death, but he will so manage, in a quiet way, that she shall not rule him like an infant, Ke may not say very much in answer to her scoldings, but he will act with the independence of manhood. This brings me to one of those curious international misunderstandings which seem destined to be eternal. English people sometimes wonder that there is not a great Protestant revolt of the French conscience against some astounding new doctrine of the Vatican, such as the Immaculate Conception, or the Papal Infallibility. The ordinary Frenchman is not at all in that state of mind which makes such a revolt likely, or even possible. For revolts of that kind energetic faith is needed, with its sensitiveness and its determination. The ordinary Frenchman is accustomed to consider the Church as a venerable entity which somehow exists outside the domain of reason, and if she were to proclaim a new marvel every week, it would make no difference in his attitude towards her. He is not, like Mr. Gladstone, deeply moved and alarmed because the Pope says he is infallible, nor does he think it necessary to protest against the self-assertion of the Vatican. The fact is, that he does not care anything about the details of dogma ; but, on the other hand, he likes so to manage matters, in a very quiet way, that the sacerdotal party may not really govern him. If that party were to become as strong as it desires to be, it would arouse a more active opposition, and then we might possibly nee an exciting contest like that which is going on in Frenchmen and Protestantism. 289 Germany. This, however, is in the highest degree improbable. A quiet kind of resistance has for many years been sufficient to secure a remarkably complete degree of personal liberty, and the same quiet resistance will probably suffice to maintain it. On the other side, the sacerdotal party carries on a warfare of. the same silent kind, gaining influence, wherever possible, over families and schools ; over tradesmen and professional people through their commercial or professional interests ; over the National Assembly and the Government by its alliance with what are called Conservative principles and the safety of society. The sacerdotal party is steadily aggressive, the lay party is always simply on the defen- sive, and here lies its chief weakness. Mr. Gladstone says of the first that it has " faith, self-sacrifice, and the spirit of continuity," which, indeed, are three mighty powers ; but the lay party has not much faith, and as to self-sacrifice, its object is just the opposite, namely, self- defence. Of the spirit of continuity, it has nothing con- sciously ; but, in fact, it is kept continuously to its own principles by the very persistence of its adversaries. " Would it not be much better," the English reader is not unlikely to ask, " for the French to embrace some form of Protestantism, and so be fairly independent of the Vatican, and not in the false position of people who have to be constantly resisting the encroachments of a Church to which they nominally belong?" The only reasonable answer to this is, that it is useless to speculate on what would be best, since the only really interesting question is what is possible, what is in harmony with the character of the people as we find them. The English u 290 Need of Ceremony. or American reader might like to be told that Protes- tantism was making great progress, or likely to make great progress, amongst the French people, but the assertion would be untrue. It exists, its liberties are so far secured that no attempt will be made to extinguish the two Protestant Churches, which are paid by the State, but it has only the same kind of position that Unitarianism has in England ; indeed a large proportion of French Protestants, though not the majority, really are Unitarians. The ordinary Frenchman either follows his ojvn reason or rise submits to ecclesiastical authority. If he follows his own reason, he is almost always a free- thinker, and if he submits to authority, no church on earth appears to him so authoritative as that of Rome. There is another and more subtle reason why the Church of Rome is likely to keep her place. Modern life is miserably deficient in external pomp and , solemnity, even on those occasions when people feel that visible ceremony is necessary. The Church of Rome supplies this want, and supplies it with all the skill derived from centuries of traditional experience. Take the occasion of marriage, for instance. The legal marriage is that solemnized by the maire, but people do not feel that it is enough, and this feeling of its insufficiency need not be due to religious opinion, for a simple philosopher who had any sense of propriety would share it. In our vil- lage there is no public room for occasions of this kind, so all the marriages are celebrated in the school-room, a poor place, hung with a few maps and alphabets. The maire gets behind the schoolmaster's desk, ties his official scarf round his waist, reads his little formula, asks the Ceremonies of the Church. 291 woman if she will have the man, and the man if he will have the woman, after which he declares them married ; and married they are indeed in the eye of the law, but nobody present feels that this is enough. The village priest supplies what is wanting, a solemn and impressive ceremony, in a building which, at least comparatively, is noble, and can affect the imagination, a building with vaulted roof borne high on arches, and painted windows, wherein are pictured legends of the saints. The priest himself does not look like a common man prepared for a common occasion. He is at the same time splendid and dignified, like a personage prepared for some act of high importance. He goes through a long ceremony slowly, hurrying nothing and omitting nothing, and whilst it is proceeding, the bride feels, the bridegroom feels — all pre- sent are made to feel — that the day of marriage is not a common day, and that the pair who enter into the new state are not forgotten, nor neglected, nor passed over with slight notice, as if the event, so great to them, were of no consequence to others. If an anti-clerical govern- ment wished to weaken sacerdotalism effectually, its best means of doing so would be to establish imposing civil ceremonies for the great occasions of private and public life ; but to this there is the insuperable objection that no modern authority could invent such ceremonies without making them and itself ridiculous. The Church has them from tradition, and is not ridiculous. Here is one of her great forces, she can supply the need of ceremony and solemnity which exists in human nature, and she always has the means of doing so ready to hand in hei own traditional usages. I have mentioned one occasion U 7. 292 Civil and Religious Burial. that of marriage, as an instance, but how many other occasions, private and public, make people feel the same need ! There is the great subject of civil and religious burial. Thousands of Frenchmen who have hardly any faith in the dogmas of the Church would not like to be buried, or to see their friends buried, without her impressive ceremonies, simply because the advocates of civil burial have never yet been able to invent any new customs impressive enough to take their place. The priest, so splendid for a marriage, wears nothing but black and white vestments for a funeral ; even the altar itself is in mourning, and crape hangs from the silver cross. And then the solemn singing, the Dies Irce, and the rest .' Who can invent all that .? (Jn public occa- sions of solemnity the priest is scarcely less indispen- sable. A railway is opened, people wish to make the ceremony imposing ; they get the prefect to come, but who is the prefect >. After all he is only a gentleman in uniform, something like court dress, with some em- broidery on his breast, and a ribbon in his button-hole. The really splendid man is the bishop, with his golden cope, his crozier of silver-gilt, and his mitre all blazing with jewels. He comes with his priests, gets upon the locomotive, blesses the railway, and everybody feels that a real ceremony has been performed. When the National Assembly is opened, after each recess there is pontifical high mass, a usage which is likely to be perpetuated simply because a number of deputies in frock coats are not able of themselves to get up any- thing magnificent enough for the importance of the occasion. The incredible poverty of laymen in the ' Positive K.eUgious i^ioeriy. 293 nineteenth century in everything relating to ceremonies or public occasions, may pass unobserved in countries where the need for them is no longer felt, but the Latin races are still very much alive to the sort of poetry which strikes the eye,' and ordinary life leaves a void which the Church of Rome fills very perfectly. When M. Thiers was President of the Republic, the modern poverty of costume was conspicuous in the plainness of his dress. A new costume, invented for him, would have made people laugh, but the old desire for visible splen- dour is not extinct, it is unsatisfied. Its only remaining satisfactions are ecclesiastical and military pomp. I believe, therefore, that the splendour of the Church of Rome, so far from being a cause of weakness for the Church, as it niight be in a more northern country, is still with the Latin races one of the sources of her strength, and that the plainer and more externally unin- teresting modern life becomes, the more decidedly does this ecclesiastical splendour supply a want that is felt, especially on solemn private or public occasions. Another reason, though a negative one, why the Church of Rome is on the whole satisfactory to French- men, is that she interferes so little with their ordinary habits of life. Positive religious liberty in France is not yet quite complete ; you cannot open a Dissenting chapel without being authorized, and the authority to do so may be refused ; you cannot preach in the public streets, or in the fields, if you attempted it you would most likely be put in prison. But the want of the com- plete positive liberty is not much felt by Frenchmen, if indeed they ever feel it, or are aware of it at all ; for 294 Negative Religiotis Liberty. they never, or only in the most rare and exceptional instances, feel any desire to preach in the fields or streets ; the sort of liberty they really do care for, and are determined to secure, is negative liberty — I mean that they would resent any interference of the clergy in their ordinary life. In this the Church of Rome is bonne mhe. She has a tradition that it is wrong to eat meat on Fridays, but you can get meat on Friday in any hotel in France except those which are specially frequented by priests, and it is only in the stricter houses amongst the laity that the rule is enforced with anything like rigour. Even amongst religious people themselves it gives way at once before the recommendation of a physician. I have myself seen a priest eating mutton chops on Friday because his doctor said that they would be better for him than fish. So many good things are considered maigres, that in any rich man's house the Friday may be looked forward to as a pleasant change ; indeed some of the most delicious repasts imaginable are served to rich people on fast-days. There is hardly anything else in which the Church can be said to inter- fere in the course of every-day life. A man who followed her offices very exactly might find them a fatigue, but a Frenchman is not expected to do that. One great merit, at least, the Church has in the eyes of every Frenchman who knows the customs of Protestant countries — she does not interfere with his Sunday. English and American travellers often imagine, when they see French- men playing billiards or going out shooting on Sunday, that they must be reprobates who knowingly disobey the Church. It is not so ; the Church has no objection i^reat fersonm i^ioeriy. 295 to any occupation on Sunday which does not earn money, and even with regard to those occupations which do earn it. she is not very severely intolerant. A very pious Frenchman told me that the Church, did not object to literary or artistic work on Sunday ;: but only to slavish labour, her object being rather to protect the poor drudge, than to interfere with the liberal pursuits of the cultivated classes. Thus the only two days of the week on which the Church might be supposed to exeit her authority in a special manner are days of perfect liberty for the ordinary Frenchman ; so far, at least, as her dictates are concerned^. He thinks that he might go farther, in the way of reform,, and fare worse. He has heard (though he can never quite: seriously believe it) that there are countries where a rural squire may not shoot on his own land on Sunday, and dare: not use his own billiard-table, and he has a suspicion that if Protest tants of the Guizot type got the upper hand in France; they might put a veto on his ordinary amusements. Il: is very likely, indeed, that they would; for M. Guizot had a fine spirit of dominationj and a resolute hostility to heretics ; but the Guizots are in a very small minority when compared with the whole nation, so men feel that their negative religious liberty is. safe, and that is what they seriously care for. A trajveller from a Protestant country is likely to conclude that the Church in France is weak because there is so much personal liberty, and a traveller from a despotic country might infer that the English monarchy was: weak for the same reason ; but both inferences would be erroneous. It is the strength and not the weakness of the English throne that the 296 The Church and Women. Sovereign does not interfere with individual liberty, and it is the strength and not the weakness of the Romish Church in France that she. can exist and flourish with so little inconvenience to the laity. I have been considering the relation of the Church to the male sex, and I have endeavoured to show that there are reasons why she is not likely to be regarded with much unkindness so long as she keeps within certain limits, which are perfectly well known to her. With regard to the other sex the case is different. The relations of the Church with women are much closer and more intimate than with men. For them she is the confidant and consoler, especially by means of confession, which women delight in as a precious oppor- tunity for talking about what most interests them in their own lives. Here, indeed, the Church does really exercise authority, for the lives of all devout women, except the few who are Protestants, are entirely under her guidance. But the authority here is not felt to be tyrannical in any way, because it is so willingly accepted. Women love the Church, their only regret is not to be able to make their husbands and brothers Idve her as much as they do. The interference with human life is here a source of positive strength, just as the non- interference in the affairs of the other sex is a source of negative strength. Women support the Church with the ardour of genuine conviction, and see the outer world by looking through her coloured windows. It is from this support of the female sex that the Church derives her enormous social weight. By means of this, rather than by obtaining legal enactments, she Feminine Horror of Jews. 297 keeps Protestantism in a position of inferiority. Pro- testantism is dissent in France — tolerated, but inferior. Legally, there is no State Church in the country, or, at least, the two Protestant Churches, being paid by the State, and the Jewish religion, which is paid also, are as much State Churches as their great sister of Rome ; but socially the difference is as great as if she alone were recognized by the State. The Romish clergy have had the subtlety and skill to make women believe that there is something impious in other religions. There is a very general impression amongst them that Protes- tants are not Christians,* and the impression is so far founded on fact that a great number of French Protes- tants, being really Unitarians, would not have been con- sidered Christian by Dr. Arnold. As for Jews, the old feeling of horror against them still survives in the minds of good Catholic women. I remember an amusing instance of this. Four young gentlemen from a great school in Paris came to stay a few days with me, and were invited to a nobleman's house in the country, where there was a young lady — a model young lady according to French ideas^ — with all the proper ignorances and prejudices,. She had a brother who was struck by the idea that one of the young gentlemen had rather a Jewish face, and this suggested to his youthful mind the idea of getting a little fun out of the situation. He put on a very grave face, went to his sister and told her that the unfortunate guest was really a Jew, not only by * In Spain this impression is said to be universal by those who know the country, and as it is not corrected by the clergy, we may fairly conclude that they have no objection to its existence aa a pious exaggeration serviceable to the true faith. 298 Disapproval of Protestantism. race but by religion. My young friends were invited for several days, but the "Jew" did not find them very enjoyable. His place was fixed for him next the young lady af dinner, but when he sat down she rose with an offended air and went as far off as possible, asking some one elst to take her chair. Whenever he tried to speak to her she turned away from him with a look of horror. There were dances in the evenings ; he asked her to dance, she refused point-blank, without even the usual form of* politeness. This lasted three days. On the fourth, seeing that she maintained the same attitude of repulsion, he determined to ask for an explanation, and did so in plain terms. " Little explanation is neces- sary," said the young lady, " how is it possible for me to associate with one who has crucified my Saviour ?" " I cannot tell what you mean, I never crucified anybody." " You are a Jew, and it is you Jews who did it 1" There is a way of pronouncing words which implies moral disapprobation, even when the word is used by itself quite simply. The French word " Protestant," which looks so exactly like the English word, is usually uttered in Roman Catholic families in such a manner as to convey such a sense of disapproval that it becomes a word of reproach ; and young ladies, being sensitive and observant, are thus brought to associate Protestantism from their infancy with the things which are not right. There is another well-known device by which an asso- ciation of ideas may be created which is sure to be unfavourable to a proscribed, or half-proscribed opinion. It may be spoken of along with something which is known to be bad, as if the two went necessarily Protestantism and Vice. 299 together. Thus you may easily convey the impression that unbelievers are bad men by coupling together " vice and infidelity," and if after that you say " Protes- tantism and infidelity," you will convey the idea that Protestantism and vice have a very near relationship. I remember reading a book by a French bishop in which he stoutly maintained that Protestantism sprang entirely from the desire to indulge vicious passions which the Church condemned. This was not quite true or just, but I had a book by an English theologian in which exactly the same was said of freethinking, and we must remember that, to a Romanist, Protestantism, in all its varieties, is but one of the forms of freethinking. There are certain arts by which a dominant Church may keep the weaker churches in an inferior social posi- tion, without any visible persecution. Here are one or two instances of it in little things. A few years ago it was still the custom in a great many lyceums and colleges to give the prizes for religious instruction with much pomp and publicity when the boys were Roman Catholics, but when they were Protestants the prizes were given to them in private, without solemnity of any kind. It is astonishing that a great and powerful Church should descend to such little things, but she is acute enough to perceive that nothing is beneath her attention which can exalt herself and depress her in- feriors. She will even infringe the law when her own importance is in any way affected. According to French law it is not possible to delegate honours ; I mean that if a bishop is absent and is represented by his vicar- general, the latter will receive only the honours due to 30O Church and University, his own rank, and not those due to the episcopal rank, even tliough for the time being he stands in the place of the bishop. The principle is rigidly carried out by civil functionaries. A secretary-general {de prefecture) may represent a prefect, but he will only receive the honours (rf a secretary-general. Well, it happened in 1869 that a certain archbishop was absent from his diocese on the day when prizes were distributed at the lyceum. He was represented by his vicar-general. On the same occasion were present the presidents of the Protestant and Jewish Consistories. The archbishop, had he been present, would have taken precedence of these, but the vicar-general could not legally do so. However, he insisted upon taking precedence notwithstanding the law, and by the weakness of the university authorities he gaiped his point. A certain bishop, whose name I know, was invited to a distribution of prizes some years earlier in the same lyceum. He asked what place he was to have, and was answered, " The place assigned to a bishop by the law," on which he refused to come. An archbishop presented a candidate for the post of chap- lain in a lyceum. These chaplains are presented by the ecclesiastical authority and appointed by the Minister of Public Instruction. In this case the Minister gave the candidate a chaplaincy of the third class. The archbishop protested, and demanded the second class for his candidate. " I cannot give it him," replied the Minister, " it is beyond my power to do so, the law for- bids me." The archbishop insisted with great perti- nacity in spite of the rule, and during the correspon- dence the lyceum in question remained without a Protestantism in the University. 301 chaplain. At length the archbishop's candidate was appointed, and a few days afterwards, in spite of the rules quoted by the Minister himself, he was promoted to the second class. The influence exercised by the episcopate is not, as may be imagined, confined to help- ing their own friends ; it is also employed, often very efficaciously, against persons whom they dislike on account of their nonconformity. The principal of a certain great lyceum was a Protestant ; so the bishop of the diocese used his influence to get him removed, and succeeded. An " Inspecteur d'Acaddmie," was a Protes- tant, and had formerly been a pastor. Whilst holding the rank of " Inspecteur," he was imprudent enough to resume his clerical profession to some extent, for he preached a few sermons in a Protestant church. This offended the bishop of the diocese, who, like the one mentioned above, used his influence to get the Protestant removed, and succeeded.* A professor of philosophy in a lyceum not very far north of Lyons wrote some articles on the Society of St. Vincent de Paul. The clergy found out that he was the author of these arti- cles, and had power enough to get him suspended. On the other hand, a priest published a little book, very unfavourable to the French university, and particularly unfavourable to a certain college of which he was him- self the chaplain. For this he was suspended by the * These anecdotes are all perfectly authentic, and I have in my possession the names of the persons and places, even to the name of the Protestant church where the sermons were preached. I follow, however, my usual rule of withholding names, for the simple reason that, even when an anecdote is quite true, it may cost a good deal of time and money Xo prove the truth of it. 302 Cppositton to Clerical Interference. Rector of the academy to which the college belonged, and the Minister of Public Instruction confirmed the suspension. The bishop of the diocese met this by making the suspended chaplain a canon of his cathedral, and refused during many years to present a candidate to succeed him in his chaplaincy, which, therefore, neces- sarily Remained vacant. Besides this, he refused to go to the college to confirm the boys, although it had always been the custom for the bishop of the diocese to do so. A well-known writer, who had a high position in one of the great professional schools of Paris, was so imprudent as to contribute an article to a review on the subject of " Catholicism." Clerical influence was power- ful enough to have him dismissed with a small " indem- nity." The " indemnity " for the first year was about :;^20. In successive years it was gradually reduced, and finally came down to nothing at all. Happily for the ex-professor, he was a clever writer, and was accepted as contributor by two or three of the best newspapers. He has been a journalist ever since. It has sometimes happened, but rarely, that the clergy have been met by a decided opposition and refusal, even in the highest quarters. The following ■curious little story was communicated to me by the successor of the lay functionary whom it concerns. In a certain impor- tant lyceum there was a change of bursars. The new bursar suffered much kom a varicose vein in his leg, which compelled him to pass a great deal of his time in , an arm-chair, with his l«g stretched on a camp-stool. When he arrived at the Vceum for the first time, he met a priest, and at once c*>ncluded that he must be the A Chaplain Defeated. 303 chaplain. On this the following little conversation took place between the new acquaintances : — Bursar, I suppose that I have the honour to speak to the chaplain ? Chaplain. Yes. Bursar. I am the new bursar, and I fear that you will have a bad parishioner in me. My infirmity compels me to remain quiet as much as possible, and I shall be unable to attend the services in the chapel. Chaplain. If you do not attend I give you warning that I will have you dismissed. Bursar. Since that is the tone you take, T promise you that you will never see me in your chapel, and I shall quietly await the consequences of your denunciation. The chaplain wrote to the Minister of Public Instruc- tion, who at that time was M. Duruy, and in his letter he appealed to a statute of 1821 which obliges all who are lodged in the establishment to attend chapeL But the Minister answered that this applied only to function- aries who had the direction of the pupils, and that the bursar was not one of these, since his duties were limited to the control of money and material ; consequently, in matters of religion, the bursar ought to follow his own conscience. The answer was not addressed directly to the chaplain, but to the rector of the academy to which the lyceum belonged ; and it concluded by requesting the rector to remind the chaplain that the principal (Proviseur) of the lyceum, and not the chap- lain, was " seuljuge de la conduite dcs fonctionnaires." A few vigorous answers of this kind would set limits to clerical interference' in university matters, but they 304 The French University. require great courage on the part of a Minister of Public Instruction, for if once the Chui ch finds out that he is not compliant he will have a hard time of it, and will be unable to keep his post for long unless backed by a very strong and determined Liberal Government, such as may be possible in the future, but has hardly ever yet been seen in this generation. The most effective resist- ance which the lay party have as yet been able to oppose to the sacerdotal has been the establishment of the University, an institution which is generally much undervalued in England, and very unjustly. It always seems to me, in reading English criticisms of the French University (which generally take the form of sneers), that the writers must have been directly under the influ- ence of the French clergy, who dislike the University as a rival educator of youth. It is surprising how easily those views of things in France, which are set agoing by the Roman Catholic clergy for their own purposes, obtain currency in a Protestant, or at least non-Catholic, country like England. The French clergy, for example, with their usual extreme cleverness in the use of lan- guage, have of late been demanding the liberty to teach the youth of their own persuasion, and what can be more reasonable than that.? An English member of Parliament was innocent enough to say, a little time since, that he thought the liberty to teach was so natural a liberty to ask for, that he could not conceive how any political parly could refuse it. He seems really to have . believed, though living so near to France, that "la liberU de tenseignment " was what the clergy were striving for in the foundation of Catholic Universities. It is quite The Church as a Teacher. 303 true that the clergy have adroitly made use of that expression " la liberty de I'enseignment," but they pos- sessed that liberty long before. The object they have striven for recently was not the liberty to teach, but the power to give University degrees, as they liked, to good Catholic young men, as a reward for diligent attention to priestly teaching. In this project they have not quite succeeded, because the degrees are to be given by mixed boards of examiners from the State University and the Catholic Universities. Many University men regret that the entire power to grant degrees was not accorded to the priests at once, for if it had been their degrees would soon have been appreciated at their true value. The clergy certainly deserve the greatest credit for the self-sacrifice with which they devote themselves to teaching. Many clerical teachers in the seminaries receive no pay whatever, and there are orders of teach- ing priests (the Maristes for example) who when ordered by their superiors to undertake the drudgery of school- work will 3o it unflinchingly from year's end to year's end without any other reward than the sense of duty accomplished. All this is very admirable, and the clerical institutions are, in almost every instance, models of order and good management, with excellent buildings and gardens. The pupils are not a source of profit, but of loss, and yet the Church has so many means of acquiring money that she willingly undertakes the most extensive responsibilities. The one thing she aims at is to have the control of young people's minds. She dislikes parental influence, and endeavours to detach young people from it, whenever possible. In the semi- X 306 The French University naty near my house, the pupils are not allowed to visit their parents during the whole scholastic year. By means of its great seminaries and colleges, arid now by means of the new Catholic Universities, the Church is energetically endeavouring to crush the State University, the great lay establishment whose rivalry she dislikes above all things. Many intelligent laymen, both in the University and out of it, think that the Church, so far from injuring the University, will render her the ines- timable service of stimulating to self-improvement an institution which might have crystallized into a fixed system of routine if it had never been alarmed by ■rivalry. I have just said that English criticism was generally unjust to the French University. It is generally contemp- tuous — inconsiderately and ignorantly contemptuous. The English critic either compares the French Univer- sity with Oxford, or else with some ideal in his own imagination, an ideal of what things ought to be but are not, either in France or anywhere else. "Both com- parisons are alike idle and unprofitable. The French University has seventy thousand undergraduates; the object of it is not to polish a few minds, but to inform a multitude. It is not seated in one old town alone, but has its colleges all over the country. It is present every- where, so that you can never be more than a few miles from one of its establishments. It will teach a little child to read, and give a learned scholar his doctor's degree. It is entirely disinterested, the State derives no profit from it ; it puts education within the reach of thousands who without its help would grow up in per- Useful, not Ornamental. 307 feet ignorance, or with no higher teaching than that of the village school. Mr. Lowe said that it was not a University at all, but if we look to the derivation of the word, I think we must admit that few educational insti- tutions have had such fair claims to the title. The name was given at first to educational bodies which were bound together in unity; and even English critics, little as they know about the French University, are well aware that it has unity, for they are always laughing at it because its unity is too perfect for their taste. I have disposed of the comparison with Oxford. When Oxford shall educate seventy thousand English 3/Duths at once it will be time to institute such a comparison. With regard to the dissatisfaction with a great existing insti- tution because it does not come up to an ideal standard, I beg leave to ofTer some observations. It is a great thing to exist, and to work, and a wise criticism ought not to be too idealist with reference to things which are in the world of every-day reality, and do a great deal of useful labour. Most of the useful work in the world is done in places and by people who do not come up to the artistic or intellectual ideal. Nobody pretends that the French University is an ornamental institution ; it was established for simple utility, and it is maintained, though not illiberally, at the lowest cost which is com- patible with the work it has to do. There are no mag- nificent incomes, no princely residences for its magnates, and the poorer workers in it labour for little wage. Their incomes were fixed at a time when living was cheaper than it is now, and it would be simple justice to increase them. With regard to the buildings, some X 2 308 University Buildings. of the older ones, though large, are defective in their arrangements ; the new ones are much better, and some of the verj' newest are admirable models of clever con- struction for their special purpose. The French Univer- sity makes no pretension to wealth, its pride is to do the maximum of work at the minimum of cost ; still, if the sums expended on all its colleges and lyceums were added together they would make a very formidable total. A new lyceum costs from thirty to eighty thou- sand pounds, which is a large sum to find for a small provincial town. There is plenty of space in these buildings for the convenience of teaching. Every class has its own room, generally lofty and well-lighted, and its own study, in which work is prepared for the class- room.* Every lyceum in France, and I believe ' also every college, has a room for instruction in the elements of physical science, with the necessary apparatus, which in many cases has been liberally added to of late years. It is the fashion in the English newspapers to repeat one or two stock accusations against this University system. They delight to repeat the story of M. Duruy, who when Minister of Public Instruction looked at his watch and said that he knew what was being done at that hour in every lyceum in the country. The anec- dote is true, but it is entirely misunderstood by those writers who quote it to exhibit the absurdity of the system. M. Duruy had been preceded by another Minister, Fortoul, who had a fancy for regulating every- * This is of very great importance. In English Grammar Schools lessons are, or were, learned in the same room in which classes were held at the same time. Authority of the. Minister. 309 thing very exactly, and Duruy's observation about the watch was not a boast, but a little piece of "malice" directed against what he considered the needlessly minute r^glementation of his predecessor. The English inference that because a Minister knows what the classes in the University were doing at a particular hour the system of education must be bad, is quite unwarranted, for the fact of his knowing what is done does not touch the utility of the teaching. The Archbishop of Canter- bury knows exactly what chapters of the Bible are read in all Anglican churches on a particular Sunday, but this does not prove that the chapters, are not worth read- ing, or that they are read badly. English critics repre- sent French University teachers as mere slaves, who have no chance of making their own individuality an influ- ence over their pupils. The assertion is grossly and ignorantly untrue ; and it is most especially untrue as regards the higher instruction where the individuality of the teacher may be brought to bear with more advan- tage as the work to be done requires a more constant exercise of thought. It is said that education in France can never be worth anything until every Principal of a college has full liberty to do exactly what he likes with- out being directed by a Minister of Public Instruction, Perhaps a Principal of uncommon discernment would, with fuller liberty, rise above the present level, but it is equally probable that many others of inferior talent and energy would sink below it. The University must have a central authority of some kind or it would cease to be a University. Some heads of lyceums and colleges are men of great attainments, but on the whole the pro- 3IO Unmersity, Ed-ucaiion. bability is that the Minister of Public Instruction will be superior both in attainrnents and in breadth of view to the average master of a lyceum. With a single exception this has certainly been true of recent Minis- ters. The fact that the public schools are bound together in an organized University system is at once a safe- guard and a convenience. It is a safeguard against the educational hobbies of individual masters, and it is a convenience, because a boy when removed from one lyceum to another may continue his education without a break. The University system ensures a frequent and severe academic inspection of public schools, which pre- vents them from falling below a certain average standard of efficiency, however isolated they may be, and how- ever remote from Paris. The education is not so \yorthless as English critics represent it to be. It is incomparably superior to English middle-class education, unless the latter has been wonderfully amended during the last few years. Its systematic character, and the steadiness of the train- ing which it gives, with the obligatory bachelor's degree at the end for all who enter the liberal professions, ensure the advantages of a known method and a settled pur- pose. A French provincial lawyer or surgeon having worked steadily up through all the classes to his bach- elor's degree, and taken it, is a better trained man than the English provincial attorney or surgeon who has been to a grammar-school and passed thence to the office or surgery with whatever the local grammar-school might give him. In many cases the bachelor's degree becomes an incentive to a higher ambition, gind the young lawyer Greatest Evil of the System. 311 or doctor works up to the higher academic degrees. I know one who took his doctor's degree in law, his doctor's degree in medicine, and his doctor's degree in letters. His degrees required three distinct and com- plete educations. You find even simple village attor- neys who, thanks to the University system, are well- educated men. I know one such who is licencid in law and licenci^ in science at the same time. The most extraordinary instance of several different educations united in one individual which ever came to my kngw- ledge was that of a priest who had taken his doctor's degree in letters, science, law, medicine, and theology. Not one of these degrees is honorary, each- of them has to be won by passing an examination which severely tests the acquirements of the candidate. A vast institution which thus places a liberal educa- tion within the reach of the middle classes all over the country, and does its work with sustained energy year ' after year, deserves more discriminating criticism than the blind scorn which will not even condescend to examine what it despises. It is impossible that so com- prehensive an institution should be ideally perfect, or should satisfy in every respect the excessive exigencies of specialists. The French University has many defects the education which it gives is faulty in many particulars, but its shortcomings are as well known to its own chiefs as to the cleverest of foreign critics. The one great evil of the system is an evil prevalent in modern education everywhere. Too many things are undertaken for all to be well done, and there is a deplorable waste of time in going half-way towards several things when it is mani- 312 French, Latin, Geometry. festly impossible for the pupils to go all the way. " If they never arrive," as Professor Seeley said of the majority of boys in England, " what was the use of their setting out ? That a country is prosperous and pleasant is a reason for going to it, but it is not a reason for going half-way to it. If you cannot get all the way to America, you had better surely go somewhere else. If you are a parent, and think that your son is not fit to go to Cambridge, you send him into the city or into the army. You do not send him part of the way to Cam- bridge; you do not send him to Royston or Bishop Stortfbrd." French University education too often sends its pupils to half-way places like these. But in some things they go all the way. The University renders an immense service to the mental life of the nation by insisting, to begin with, that every one of its pupils shall be thoroughly trained in accurate French speaking and writing. A serious endeavour is made to awaken the attention of boys to the literary qualities of great French authors. In this way the French University really does for its own country what Professor Seeley wished that English schoolmasters would do for England— it teaches the native language and opens the gates of the native literature. This is much indeed, it is more for culture than a foreign tongue half-learned, especially in France, where the native language has a rich and elaborate grammar, which no uneducated person ever mastered. Besides French, the University teaches Latin with much thoroughness, and the consequence is that a vast number of Frenchmen can read the Latin authors without any insuperable difficulty. Geometry is well taught from Too many Studies. 313 good modern books in which the science is brought down to the latest date. Having mentioned these three things, I have almost exhausted the list of studies which are carried out in any thoroughness. Greek is imper- fectly learned, and modern languages are learned more imperfectly still. In history, geography, and the phy- sical sciences, all that can be done is to give abridg- ments, which are accurate so far as they go. These limits and imperfections are due chiefly to the multipli- city of subjects attempted. It is not possible for a boy to learn four or five languages and as many distinct sciences, all at the same time, and learn them all thoroughly. A grown man in the full vigour of his intellect could not do it even if he took the keenest interest in every one of his subjects. He would find himself compelled to throw over the majority of his subjects until he had mastered one or two, after which he might take up one or two others, if life were long enough. Why does not the University act in this rational manner } The answer is, that although the University is a great State establishment, it must have pupils in sufficient numbers to form classes, or it could not exist. To have pupils, it must offer attractions. The majority of living parents, never having really learned anything themselves, fancy that the more things are taught the more they get for their money. It is a most mischievous and foolish error, but it exists amongst uncultivated parents everywhere, simply because the uncultivated mind has not, and cannot have, the faintest conception of the time and labour required for the mastery of any single intellectual pursuit. New tasks 314 Clerical Criticism. are laid on the shoulders of the boys, but the old tasks are not removed to make room for the new ones. The burden is too great, the hours of labour are too long, the burden oppresses the mind instead of strengthening it, except in those rare cases when the natural faculties are so strong, and so elastic, and so agile, that they develop themselves happily notwithstanding. The Principal of a French college, himself a good Greek scholar, told me that he wished he could get rid of Greek in his college unless some other studies were thrown overboard. Unfortunately, you cannot get a bachelor's degree by thoroughly learning two things, but you can easily get a bachelor's degree by the aggre- gate of marks which results from imperfectly learning a dozen things. This, I believe, is a fair account of the real roerits and defects of French University education. Wherever too much is attempted the deficiencies will be the same, and too many things will always be attempted by educators until fathers and mothers are wise enough to perceive that things half-learned are useless. One common clerical accusation remains to be considered. It is con- stantly asserted that the University is irreligious because it is not exclusively Catholic, but admits Protestants, Jews, and Mahometans, with the right to follow their own faith. A great lay institution could hardly do otherwise, in this, than model itself upon the conduct of the State to which it belongs. The State is not exclusively Catholic, neither is the University. Still, the Church of Rome has by far the largest share in the religious teaching of the University, for she has a chapel Aristocratic Objectimis. 315 and a chaplain in every lyceum and in every college. If the chaplains have not so much influence as thdy Would like to have, it is certainly not for lack of oppor- tunity. The real ground of the religious objection to the University is that the masters are laymen, and do not exclude heretics. Aristocratic criticism has its own objection to the University, It is too much open to the sons of poor men, so that boys are not brought up exclusively in good society. Your son may possibly find himself in the same class with the son of a blacksmith. This objection is very terrible from the lady-mother's point of view, but the consequence of the mixture is not so deplorable as might be expected. The blacksmith's son often sets the gentleman's son the example of good conduct and hard work, which is well worth some polish of manner, and in a country where polite forms are universal, social differences are not very painfully felt. The advantage of the mixture is certainly great in after life. Men in quite different classes of society have studied together in the same college and know each other really well. This has a tendency to dissipate the illusions of exclusiveness, and to create a friendly feel- ing between classes, of which France has the greatest need. One of my young friends in a college at Paris told me that in his class there were boys of every rank, including even royalty, for two of his class-fellows belonged to a princely reigning family in Eastern Europe, others belonged to noble families, and others to quite poor and obscure ones. In after life this young man followed a profession which brought him into con- 3i5 Democracy in the University. tact with all classes of society, and the variety of his early experience was of use in preserving him from two kinds of awkwardness — the mauvaise hontt which cannot hold its own in the presence of a superior, and the pride which has never learned how to communicate rationally with people of humble rank. In this way the Univer- sity has done good, and although an aristocratic English- man would object to it as too democratic, the real truth is that its influence is an antidote to the worst evils of democracy, for it constantly tends to diminish the envy and hatred which a fierce, ignorant, and excluded democracy always bears to the more privileged classes. The form of democracy which the University produces is that of Jules Simon and Thiers. It gives poor boys a fair chance in life and puts them quite at their ease, never making them ashamed of their poverty as if it were a crime, and at the same time it takes the conceit out of rich ones without needlessly wounding their self- respect. A French lyceum is a public school to which a working man's son may go without the slightest appre- hension that his parents will be laughed at when they come to see him, because they are not " swells," and yet a rich squire's son may go there and get all the benefits of emulation without any sacrifice of caste. Above all, the existence of so many large public schools all over the country saves thousands of boys from the dulness and sluggishness of private education, and gives them a fine stimulus to active work, not only in the rank they may win in the school itself, but in the early fame which they get in the town and department where the lyceum is situated. Everybody takes a kindly interest in the Ignorance of Frenchmen. 317 successes of an industrious and clever lad. The public " distribution des prix " is faithfully attended by all the notabilities of the place, and by hundreds of other people who, with astonishing patience, sit hour after hour listening to tiresome discourses and lists of classes. All the town talks about the most successful winners of prizes, and for several days afterwards their fathers are congratulated on every hand. It is easy to laugh at the crowns of paper oak-leaves and gilding, at the multiplicity of prizes, at their slight material value, and at everything else in these ceremonies which has that air of cheapness for which the English mind has such an intense contempt ; but a kindly critic, or even a just one, would feel more disposed to rejoice in an occasion which awakened emulation amongst boys and friendly feeling amongst men of all classes in society. Notwithstanding the incessant action of the Univer- sity in disseminating knowledge, the ignorance of Frenchmen, even when educated, is proverbial in Europe, especially since their great defeat, which has lowered the general opinion of them in every respect. I have talked on this subject with men of many nations, and they all agreed in laughing at French ignorance, which indeed is often truly amazing. It is due in great part to the predominance of the classical system in educa- tion. This system, when strong enough to be exclusive, has in every country the effect of producing a contempt for other knowledge rather than the openness of the mind which would willingly receive it. " There may be pretty enough things in your English literature,'' a clas- 3i8 Modem Languages despised. sical Frenchman will tell you, " but you must admit that a boy's time is far better occupied in studying the illus- trious models of Greece and Rome, whose immense superiority is incontestable." "It is possible that the Germans may have some clever writers," another will say ; " but the great authors of antiquity became what they were without knowing German, so surely we may do without it too." Then you continually meet with the classical theory that Greek and Latin are a training for the mind, whereas modern languages are not a training for the mind, but only valuable for a low kind of utility. The head of a college told me that he knew whether a man had studied the classical languages or not by merely looking at his face, so visibly did they develop the human intelligence. There is, in fact, the same con- tempt for modern' Uuguages, modern science, and modern art, as that which existed at Eton a few years ago, and a French gentleman knows about as much of these subjects as an Etonian of the last generation. The spirit of classicism, which leads to the pedantic pride and learned ignorance of a Chinese mandarin, is one of the most formidable obstacles against which the spirit of liberal culture has to contend. It is especially formidable because it occupies the seats of learning themselves, which ought to be centres of light. It is the real source of French ignorance in the upper classes. Frenchmen are often very well informed about Roman antiquity, and at the same time quite ignorant about the present condition of the nations which surround theiji. I know one who reads Latin nearly every day, and never opens a newspaper. French ambassadors English Criticism unfair. 319 know Latin, but they do not know the languages of the countries to which they are accredited, EngUsh criticism is severe on Frenchmen for this ignorance. I do not deny or excuse it, but I think that English criticism is unfair in one respect. English- men seem to think that a Frenchman may be fairly expected to know as much about their country as they know about his. It is not reasonable to expect this from him. France is much more central in Europe than England, much more metropolitan, being at the same time more accessible than England, and more attractive, in the opinion of Continental nations, who fancy that there is nothing to be .seen in England except factories and forges. For us to be angry with French- men because they know little about our country, is there- fore the same kind of mistake as that of a citizen ot Leeds if he allowed himself to be angry with a Lon- doner because he did not know who were the notabili- ties of the provincial town, or what were the names ot its streets. But there is another reason besides this. The history of France has been, for the last hundred years, the most exciting drama that the world has ever beheld. It is simply impossible to avoid taking an interest in contemporary French history. The dullest and most sluggish Englishman or Dutchman is roused when he hears of such events as the battle of Sedan, the fall of the Empire, the siege of Paris, and the burn- ing of the Tuileries. In comparison with such tre- mendous events as these, what, to an unconcerned foreigner, can be the interest of a constitutional crisis which may possibly end by substituting one mild and 320 English Ignorance of quiet Countries. gentlemanly Minister for another ? If the Emperor of Germany were to land in England with half a million of men, pillage London, burn Windsor Castle, upset the monarchy, and permanently annex Sussex and Kent, whilst he inflicted a fine of ;^ 200,000,000 on the British Treasury, Frenchmen would take an interest in English news. No, the proper and fair comparison for an Englishman to make is this. He should think of some quiet State not disturbed by tremendous events, and should then say, " Do I know as much about that State as Frenchmen know about England.'" He should think of Holland, for instance, and in most cases a candid self-examination would satisfy him that he really knew nothing whatever about Holland — neither its language, nor its recent and contemporary history, nor even the names of its great authors. The English are intensely ignorant even about Switzerland, which they visit so frequently. They believe Mont Blanc to be a Swiss mountain, and there is not one tourist in three hundred who knows anything whatever about Swiss politics. I wonder how many, out of, the thou- sands who visited the country last autumn, could tell, if asked, what was the name of the President of the Federal Council ? 321 CHAPTER XIV. Analogy between a " Trap Dike " and the Roman HierarcTxy— Honours given to a French Bishop— His Triumphal Entry into his Cathedral City — His splendid Social Position— Funeral of a Bishop— A Working Bishop— Anecdotes of him — His Lectures — Their Effect on Men — French Priests — Their Love of Good Eating — Clever and Simple Priests — Parish Priests in the Country — How Charitable they are sometimes — Examples — ^Want of Intellectual Culture amongst them — Popular Stories about them — The Priest and his Goats — Attitude of the Clergy towards Popular Superstitions — 'A Ghost Story — Harmony between the Clergy and Rural Ways of Thinking. It is a great mistake to push analogies too far, but it sometimes happens that an analogy is so perfect that it cannot be pushed too far. A singularly perfect one is that between a trap dike in geology, and the Roman hierarchy in French society. When, at some former period of the world's history, fissures have occurred in the strata of comparatively soft rock, they have often been filled up by melted stone, which, like iron poured into a mould, consoli- dated as it cooled. In the course of ages, the soft strata round about it were often gradually washed away, and then the rock which had been melted, being of a harder nature, was not washed away by the water, but remained in its original shape, like cast iron when the matrix has been removed. The mass which remains is a trap dike, y 322 An Analogy. In the French social system of the middle ages the softer strata are the different couches sociales of lay society, existing on the hereditary principle. From top to bottom there were deep fissures in this society, and the fissures were filled up by something entirely different, by the ecclesiastical society, with its hierarchy existing on a principle opposed to heredity. In course of time the softer strata have been gradually washed away, but the hard casting that was formerly in the fissure now stands by itself, exactly like a trap dike. The analogy is so perfect that you may push it farther still. In geology a trap dike is theoretically supposed to be undiminished by the erosion of water when the surrounding strata have been washed away, but the fact is that the dike itself has really been somewhat dimin- ished also. Still, though it is diminished, we see its importance much more clearly than before the removal of what surrounded it. Here, too, our analogy holds good, for although the Roman hierarchy has really lost some of its positive weight and bulk in France, it has gained in apparent weight and bulk by the removal of the great and powerful feudal aristocracy which surrounded it in the middle ages. In the feudal times a bishop may have been a greater man than he is now, if you measure his positive bigness, but in those times there were neighbours of his, great laymen, who surrounded him, and prevented his bigness from being fully seen. Now that these laymen are all reduced to mere grains of sand, the bishop strikes us as the trap dike strikes the eve of a geologist. Honours given to a French Bishop. 323 In England, where some traces of the feudal system still remain in the laity, a baron is addressed as " your Lordship," and a duke as " your Grace." In France no such form is used in addressing a lay nobleman. Even his servants do not say "votre Seigneurie," they meiely say, "Monsieur le Comte," &c., and gentlemen say simply, " Monsieur." But what a contrast when you meet a bishop ! You must call him " Monseigneur," as if he were a prince of the blood, or " Votre Grandeur," which certainly expresses the idea of greatness more directly than any other form of address which human servility ever invented. In these times even Royalty lays aside some of the insignia of its pride, and takes its part in ordinary life without visible distinction. You are not likely ever to see a King with a crown on his head and a sceptre in his hand, but you may possibly see one in a tourist's suit and a wide-awake. A French bishop, however, still wears the mitre which is his crown, and the crozier which is his sceptre, and a dress of silk and gold, and diamonds, and rubies, and sapphires. The honours given to a French bishop are so intoxi- cating that if he becomes proud and arrogant what reasonable person can blame him ? His social position is really sublime in its grandeur. It might be seriously maintained that in some important respects it is higher than that of any prince who is not a reigning sovereign. He certainly gets more worship than the Duke of Connaught,, or the Duke of Edinburgh, and he is more independent of the law than the Prince of Wales him- self Our Princes are not half-divine, they are gentle- Y 2 324 Honours given to a French Bishop. men of high rank who do what other gentlemen do, who shoot, and smoke, and go to theatres and races, and whose most serious occupations are still of a secular character. They are very popular, very much liked, but not at all above criticism. A French bishop has the prestige of this world and the prestige of the other world at the same time. The proper attitude towards him is that of the most humble veneration. To criticize a bishop, in good society, would be thought abominable, almost an outrage. You cannot even mention him without speaking of him as your lord. To say simply "the bishop" is not enough, and the bare word by itself is never used by good Catholics, who always say, " Monseigneur." The right tone, in speaking of the bishop of the diocese, is to attribute to him all possible perfections. This is done to a surprising degree in the case of a new bishop. Some humble priest, whom nobody cared about, is suddenly elevated to the episco- pate, and in the course of a single week the whole diocese will be filled with joy and astonishment that so many virtues can be found together in the same man. This belief in the extraordinary moral qualfties of pre- lates makes their social position shine with a much purer radiance than that of Princes, of whom people generally tell scandalous stories. Bishops are also credited with great intellectual qualities whenever they enter the arena of controversy so far as to condemn heresy in a sermon or a book. When a priest is first appointed to an episcopal see he is expected to make a triumphal entry into his cathedral city, and when several sees are united in one, Triumphal 'Entry, 325 he has a triumph in each of the great cities of his diocese. The honours which a bishop receives on these occasions are fully equal to those rendered to the sovereign of a monarchical country. His Grandeur is received at the railway station by the Prefect and all the civil and military authorities, by all his clergy, by all the schools, by all the religious houses which are not cloistered. He is robed by reverent hands in his full pontificals. He goes to the cathedral in a gorgeous procession. All along the route the streets are deco- rated with flags and wreaths. Huge garlands swing across from the opposite houses. The soldiers present arms. The cannon thunder. All ordinary business is suspended. Through a bare-headed respectfiil multi- tude the procession winds its way slowly to the cathe- dral, banner after banner, troop after troop of the faithful, the new bishop blessing as he goes. He enters, the huge bells shake the towers, and then all the pomp and all the splendour of architecture, vestments, ritual, all the influences of music, all the art and skill of the most consummate histrionic arrangements are em- ployed to give the utmost conceivable importance to .that one man as he sits for the first time on his high throne, under a canopy of plumes and velvet, magni- ficent as a Mikado, and yet visible, which the Mikados of old Japan were not. Silver censers are swung before His Grandeur, and the sweet intoxicating perfume of the frankincense rises, grateful to his nostrils. From that day, to the end of his life, he will never, in his waking hours, put ofi" the dress or lay aside the dignity of a prelate. An Emperor may forget his rank whc*. 326 splendid Social Position he walks, dressed like a country gentleman, about his parks and farms, but a bishop has always a bishop's costume and that decided episcopal demeanour which permits no one to take him for anything less than what he is. His Grandeur has a permanent court, and the very phrases used in speaking of him have a courtly sound. *rhus a bishop does not receive a visit, that is not the phrase, he " grants an audience." The house he lives in, which is sometimes magnificent, and always spacious, is called a palace, just as his gilded chair in the cathedral is called a throne. People kneel to him, as if he were a king, to receive his episcopal blessing. He is such a very great personage that the Minister of Public Worship, who is his legal superior and can give him orders, dare not venture to do anything of the kind, unless by begging the Pope to give the desired command, and when the Minister writes to the bishop it is in forms of humility and veneration. Even the Chief of the State himself, though he be an Emperor,, as Louis Napoleon was, cannot control a bishop who chooses to set him at defiance. The utmost punish- ment that can be inflicted upon a prelate for disobeying the civil power is an expression of disapproval, which does noff affect him in the least or tarnish one jewel in his mitre. He enjoys the utmost license of language ; he may say in public that your opinions are held by you from a desire to indulge carnal passions, and you have no redress ; but if you speak disrespectfully of his opin- ions, he can have you put in prison for " outrage against the religion of the State." All books approved by him circulate freely, even though they may contain the most Power of the Bishops. ^27 unjust and calumnious attacks against large bodies of his fellow-citizens ; but when a book displeases him, as, for example, Mr. Gladstone's recent writings about Vaticanism, the bishop has influence enough with the Government to have its circulation restrained by with- holding the hawker's stamp. His power over his own clergy is great indeed, and all, except the curh de canton, who are inamovibles, have good reason to be afraid of him. Their rank in the world, relatively to his own, is like the rank of a common soldier relatively to that of a colonel, so great are the distinctions of the hierarchy. He lives thus in splendour * and dignity, as well as real power, until the day comes when the crozier falls from the dying hand. The funeral of a French prelate is one of the most imposing sights that can be imagined. It answers to his public entry into his cathedral city. * It may be objected that a French bishop cannot Uve in splen- dour because his income is too small. His official income is only a few hundreds a year, but it is doubled or tripled by extras, and his court is not maintained at his expense, except his private ser- vants. It must be remembered, too, that he is always a bachelor, and that his house is rent free, and furnished. His splendour, however, is rather sacerdotal than worldly, and sacerdotal splen-. dour can be kept up without much running expense when once the ■ first expenditure for jewellery and costumes has been incurred, as the costumes, unlike those of a king's household, are not affected by changes of fashion. The most expensive things thai a bishop wears are often given to him by his admirers. When he has a pri- vate fortune he often lays out large sums in sacerdotal vestments and ornaments. The full-dress costume of a French bishop may easily cost thousands of pounds. I know by sight a bishop who gave ;^l,2oo for a mitre, and he was not a very rich man. I know another by sight who had a cross given to him to hang from his neck, and it cost ^600. There is room for endless expense in vest ments if a bishop has the means to indulge ii^ it. 328 Funeral of a Bishop. Because he is a State official, the civil and military authorities join the great ecclesiastical demonstration, and all the gentry of the country round about come crowdii.'.g into the city the night before. As his trium- phal entry was the expression of the Church's gladness, so his exit by the gate of death is the occasion for the ' utmost manifestation of her sorrow. Then she com- posed her visible poem of rejoicing, and now she com- poses her other poem of sadness and deep grief. Like Milton, she has her Allegro and her Penseroso. Once buried, a bishop is forgotten with the most surprising rapidity, unless he has left some remarkable book behind him, or established some great foundation. All those extraordinary virtues and abilities which were attributed to him when he took the mitre are trans- ferred, with the mitre to his successor, who invariably excites the enthusiasm of all good Catholics in the diocese. The new bishop effaces the long line of his predecessors as to-day's newspaper effaces all that have gone before it. A living bishop is continually spoken of, a dead one hardly ever; or if by chance a dead one happens to be mentioned, it is with a little air which seems to say that his day of greatness belongs alto- gether to the past. This sketch of the episcopal dignity as it strikes the eye of an outsider by its external state and grandeur, might be in some respects misleading if it were not corrected by the observation that a prelate may be really humble in spite of them, for he inherits these external things from long-established customs. It is quite conceivable that a prelate may like to govern a A Working Bishop. 329 diocese with the view of doing as much good as he can in it, and yet not like the excessive prominence given to his person, and the excessive homage which he receives. There is one not many miles from my house who tries to realize what may have been the earliest and purest ideal of a bishop, and who, I think, will not be so soon forgotten as men in his station generally are. He is singularly and wonderfully unworldly, absolutely careless of those arts by which an exalted position is defended and maintained, rightly disdainful of trifles and of the time-wasting ceremonies of society, always ready to give time and strength to real work tha . may lead to good, and to payer de sa personne when an indo- lent prelate would either do nothing or send a substi- tute. A young man I knew was dying of consumption He was very religious, and in his last hours had a wish to possess some little thing that had been blest by the Pope. The priest who attended him had nothing of the kind, but reflected that as the bishop had lately been at Rome he was the right person to apply to. So the priest went and told his story. Before he had men- tioned the name of the young man the bishop had put his hat on and said, " I will take it myself to him at once ; where does he live ? Show me the way." As it happened, the dying youth was a young gentleman, but he might have been in the humblest rank. The bishop did not ask who or what he was. On the other hand, great ladies were rather disappointed because this strange prelate gave so little time to society. When they called upon him he had the air of a busy man unpleasantly interrupted, and they said that he was ill- 330 A Working Bishop. bred. " So much the better," was his observation ; " that is just what I want them to think ; they will waste less of my time." " Your Grandeur will come to my drawing-rooms," said one grande dame. " No," was the frank reply, " I am too busy, and I don't much approve of drawing-room priests, or dining-room priests either ; there are too many of both sorts." One rainy day he went on foot to a convent, and when he left there was a great fuss to find the bishop's umbrella. The sisters emulated each other's zeal. " 1 think I can find it better than you can," he said with a smile, and fished up an old cotton one. Every ladies' priest has a silk one, as a matter of course, so the sisters had been misled by the material. Some amusing stories of his kindly ways ran about the diocese and made friends for him amongst reasonable people, whilst they earned for him the grave disapproval of proud and stuck-up people, who believe in artificial dignity. One day he passed a tanner's yard, thought he should like to see the pro- cesses of the unsavoury trade, and so entered and talked familiarly with the workmen. Onr leaving he gave them twenty francs to drink, which was much blamed by evil tongues as an encouragement to inebriety, but he accom- panied his present with the following little speech : " This is to drink the bishop's health, and now let me tell you how a bishop's health ought to be drunk. You must not go and drink the money at the wine-shop and leave your wives all by themselves, but you must buy a few bottles of really good sound wine and drink it in your own homes, and let your wives have their fair share." It is impossible, I think, to reprove with more IVtse Reproofs. 331 wisdom, tact, and kindness, the besetting sin of the ouvrier, which is to leave his wife alone whilst he drinks in the public-house. On the other hand, the bishop has the rare courage to reprove with some severity the ten- dency to a trifling exercise of the fancy which, espe- cially of late years, has so much invaded the Roman Catholic worship. Some ladies, aided by a "ladies' priest," had made a wonderful mois de Marie in the cathedral during the prelate's absence. On his return he saw this mountain of flowers, ribbons, gilt paper, vases, and other trifles, which are the delight of French ladies who have nothing to do. One glance was enough. " Let all that be removed at once," he said ; " is this place a theatre ? " I rather imagine that, if he had his way in everything, as in the matter of those flowers, the apparatus of religious ceremonial would be simplified in other respects also. Being afflicted by the presence of so much religious indifference and unbelief in his diocese, this good bishop set to work manfully to convert as many unbelievers as he could, by means of evening lectures in the cathedral. These lectures were exclusively for men, and great numbers of the unbelieving sex attended them. The average congregation may have been about twelve hun- dred, all belonging to the middle and upper classes. The general estimate was that about two hundred of these would be good Catholics, and the remaining thou- sand freethinkers of various kinds, mostly deists. The bishop laid a regular siege to rationalism, in the tone, of a man who knew what the world was, and would not affect to be shocked by a fact so familiar as the exist* 332 Lectures to Unbelievers. ence of all mannef of heresies. He never had recourse to denunciation, never rose into the region of mysticism, but spoke in a very clear, direct manner, and always admirably well. I never heard more perfect elocution ; indeed, I never heard any orator who so fully realized my notion of what public speaking ought to be. With the most beautiful ease of delivery, every sentence was constructed in such pure French that a literal report of the discourse might have been published, without cor- rection, in a book.. The speaker never once hesitated or went back to correct himself, and every syllable was distinctly heard in every corner of the cathedral. This great oratorical charm was intensely appreciated by the strange congregation there assembled. All present listened willingly, and went again and again. There were even, it is said, a few conversions, which means that some men were induced to take the sacrament who had not taken it for a long time. But although the un- believers liked to hear the bishop, and both admired his oratory and esteemed his character, they used to say in the cafh, when the evening's lecture was over, that he had left matters exactly where they were, and had not touched the real question between the laity and the Church. The bishop had undertaken the very difficult '.ask of converting unbelievers by means of friendly reasoning, that is to say, by reasons which did not seem reasonable to them. After that, nothing is left for a Roman Catholic bishop but an energetic affirmation of the authority of the Church, which is the most frank and candid method he can use ; so why not use it from the beginning ? Nobody can complain of him for say- French Priests. 333 Ing, " These are the dogmas of the Church, to be rejected at your peril ;" but if once he begins to reason, he thereby incites others to reason in their own way, which may possibly not be the orthodox way. It has been my fortune to know a good many French priests, and to be on terms of intimacy — indeed, I may truly say friendship — with two or three. They art generally most respectable men, devoted to their work, living contentedly on wonderfully small incomes, and as far removed as possible from that dissolution of manners which did so much to discredit the Church of Rome in England in the times immediately preceding the Refor- mation. The worst fault they have, as a class, is too much fondness for good eating, which may very easily be accounted for. Their position affords them very few opportunities for any kind of amusement or pleasure. They wear the long black cassock every day and all day, and wherever they go are obliged to be very strict in their demeanour. They are much more separated from the world of the laity than a clergyman of the Church of England is. They may not enjoy any active out-door pleasures except a grave kind of pedestrianism ; they may not go to the caf^ to play billiards as laymen do, and yet they have no domestic enjoyments except a book by the solitary fireside of the presbytkre, and per- haps a secret pipe or a pinch of snuff from time to time. We must remember, too, that the priest is often really a hungry man. He cannot say mass if he has eaten any- thing — the laws of the Church forbid it — and after mass he often has other work to do which postpones the hour of dSjeAner. Then there are fast-days and the 334 Clever and Simple Priests. long Lent season, which an earnest priest observes with the greatest strictness. Now, it seems to be an inevit- able law — the law of reaction, the swing of the pendulum ' — that all who fast well feast well when opportunity offers. We have seen the operation of this law in the case of the peasantry. The priests are like the peasants in this, except that they are careful not to get tipsy, which the lay peasant is not. It is perfectly well known, all over France, that if a priest is asked to dinner, the din- ner is sure to be a good one. The priests are pets of ladies who take good care that they shall be well fed. Gourmands who are not in orders always like to meet the clergy on that account. When the black cassock makes its appearance the lay gourmand is content, and says to himself, " We are sure of a good feed." There is something really surprising in the clerical appetite on these occasions, and in the keen gastronomic enjoyment which is visible on the clerical countenance. One result of it is pleasant to everybody. As the priest at table is the happiest of men, so he is one of the most polite and agreeable. If to his good-humour he can add, as some- times happens, the charms of wit and culture, his society becomes perfectly delightful. Priests may be broadly divided into two classes, the clever and the simple. The clever priest usually lives in a town, and confesses great ladies ; the simple priest lives in a country village, and hears the wearisome con- fessions of the peasants' wives and daughters. The first is sometimes a finished man of the world, who, were he placed in the position of a Mazarin, a Richelieu, or an Antonelli, might easily be the diplomatist or statesman • Parish Priests in the Country. 335 the second tends rather to the saintly than the intel- lectual life, aftd sometimes does, indeed, almost realize the difficult ideal of Roman Catholic sanctity. The contrast between the two lives is great indeed. The fashionable confessor passes half his time in drawing- rooms, and his own sitting-room is like the boudoir of a ^rande dame, with all sorts of biblos, vases, engravings, candelabra, Jaouquets of flowers, pretty needlework, and beautifully bound books ; the poor curide campagne lives in a small cottage, which may be worth a rental of five pounds, with one old ugly servant and a few pieces of meagre furniture. I well remember visiting quite re- cently, in the course of a pedestrian excursion with a party of friends, a curious little village perched on the very crest of a steep hill 1,500 feet high. There was an interesting Romanesque church, and service was going on when we entered it. At the close of the service the €ur^ began catechizing arid instructing a class of chil- dren, but he very kindly sent a man to us to say that if we would go and rest ourselves in the fresbytire he would join us when his work was over. His home was quite a poor man's cottage, without the least pretension to comfort. Another messenger came from the cur^ to say how much he regretted not to be able to offer us a glass of wine after our ascent of the hill, but he had no wine in the house. An English reader will realize with difficulty the degree of destitution which this implies in a wine-producing country like France, where common wine is not looked upon at all in the light of a luxury, but is considered, except by the frugal peasants, a part of necessary food. "We are expecting," his servant 33^ Self-denial. said, "a little cask of white wine from the low country, but it is a long time in reaching us." One of us ob- served that the curi must be very hungry, for we knew that he had eaten nothing yet, as he had said mass, and we thought he would have done better to get his dSje&ner before teaching the children. " This is his d^jeAner," the woman. said, lifting a plate from a basin that she kept warm upon the hearth. It contained nothing but mallow tea. The good cur^, who was as thin as he well could be, was, in fact, one of those admirable priests who are so absorbed in the duties and charities of their calling that they forget self altogether. Priests of that saintly character are looked upon by the more worldly clergy as innocent idealists, whose proper sphere is an out-of-the-way village. It is said by those who know the Church better than I do, that they very seldom get much ecclesiastical advancement. Their self-denial is sometimes almost incredible. The following instances, which have been narrated to me by people who knew the cur^s themselves, will convey some idea of it. My first story shall be about a cur^ who was formerly incumbent of the parish where my house is situated. He is dead now, but when he was alive he was not remarkable for attention to personal appearance. His wardrobe (except, of course, the vestments in which he officiated) consisted of one old black cotton cassock, and when he was asked to dinner it was his custom to ink over those places which seemed to need a little restoration, after which process he considered himself presentable in good society. This, however, was not the opinion of his brethren who were men of the world. A Charitable Priest, 337 One day the bishop invited him to dinner, so our good cur^ went in his old cassock even to the bishop's palace itself. The priests of the episcopal court drew the pre- late's attention to that cassock, and the wearer of it incurred a severe reprimand for his mauvaise tenue.* The ladies of his parish, who loved and respected him (with good reason), were much pained when they heard of this, and subscribed to buy him a good new silk cassock, to be worn on state occasions, especially at the bishop's table. For a short time the cur^ remained in possession of this garment, but no invitation came from the bishop. At last somebody told His Grandeur that the poor priest had now the means of making a decent appearance, so he invited him again. " Alas, Monseig- neur," was the reply, " a month since I could have come, for I had the new cassock, but now I possess it no longer, and so I cannot come!" On inquiry it turned out that some poor little boys, who had come to be catechized, had ragged waistcoats, and could not make a decent appearance at church; so it struck the cure that the cassock was big enough to make several capital waistcoats for little boys, and He had employed it for that purpose, to the advantage of- their appearance, but to the detriment of his own. My next story, which is also perfectly authentic, concerns a priest who is still alive, and so incorrigibly charitable as to be the despair of his good sister, who tries in vain to keep him decent. He does not live quite * This was not the present bishop of the diocese, who would probably have inquired minutely into the character of the old curi^ and found reason to respect him rather than to reprimand him. 7. 338 Charitable Priests. close to my house, but I have authentic tidings of him from a very near neighbour of his who comes to see me occa- sionally. One day at the beginning of winter, some years^ ago, a lady came to this priest's house to see him on busi- ness, but as he was absent, she had to wait for his return. The first thing that struck him on entering his room was that the lady looked miserably cold. " How cold you do look, madame 1" he said ; " I wish I had a fire to warm you ; but the fact is — I have no fuel." When the lady went away she told the story to her friends, and they plotted together to buy the cur^ a comfortable little stove and a cartload of wood, which comforts were duly sent to the presbytere. Some weeks afterwards, in the severe winter weather, the lady thought she would go and see how the curfs stove acted, and whether he was as comfortable as she had expected. On this visit the following little conversation took place. Lady. The weather is so bitterly cold, that I thought I would come to see whether your stove warmed your room properly. Curi. Thank you, thank you ! The stove you were so good as to give me is really excellent. It warms a room capitally. Lady (who by this time has penetrated into the chamber, which is the curb's bedroom and sitting-room in one). But, I declare, you have no fire at all ! And the stove is not here ! Have you set it up somewhere else ? Curi (much embarrassed). Yes, it is set up else- where. The fact is, there was a very poor woman who was delivered of a child at the time you sent me the Btove, and she had no fire, so I gave it to her Charitable Priests. 339 Lady. And the cartload of wood ? Ciir^. Oh ! of course she must have fuel for her stove, so I gave her the wood too. It is the simple truth that the good Christian man was quietly sitting without a spark of fire all through a bitter winter, because, in his opinion, the poor woman needed warmth more than he did. The same eur^ came home sometimes without a shirt — the shirt having been given to some very poor parishioner — and, at least once, he came back without shoes, for the same reason. At one time he had a small private fortune: need I say that it has long since disappeared ? He spent a good deal ot it in restoring an old chapel which had been abandoned to ruin, but is now used again for public worship. He himself officiates there, but the neigh- bouring clergy still retain the marriages, christenings, and burials, so that he has nothing to live upon but the little pittance given by the Government. The mention of burials reminds me of another cur^, who lives within a few miles of the one just mentioned. This one does not give his shirt or his shoes, does not reach the heroism of charity, but is a fine example of humane feelings, which professional customs have never been able to deaden. He has a poor parish — I mean a parish where there is a good deal of really severe poverty amongst the inhabitants, — and he was com- plaining, on one occasion, of the extreme narrowness of his means. " But you have a good casuel" some one observed. " You have a populous parish, with plenty of funerals." "Alas !" he answered, "it is true enough that there are plenty of funerals in my parish, but how z 2 340 Want of Intellectual Culture. can I charge burial fees to poor widows and orphans who have nothing left to live upon, or to poor workmen who have had sickness in the house till they cannot pay their way ?" English and American travellers on the continent oi Europe see the splendid ceremonies in the cathedrals and the gorgeous processions in the streets, but they do not see the obscure acts of charity and self-denial, which are only known to the local inhabitants, and not even to all of these. From seeing the ceremonies, and no- thing else, the foreigner readily misconceives their rela- tion to the daily life of the rural clergy, which is simple enough in its poverty and isolation, and is often digni- fied by an earnest endeavour to realize the Christian ideal. The rural French clergy are, I believe, as respectable a class of men, from the moral point of view, as can be found anywhere, but they have little knowledge, little intellectual culture. The Church discipline leaves them scanty time for the improvement of their minds in any other than a religious sense. They have daily service to attend to, mass every morning all the year round, and the daily reading of the eternal breviary, besides special readings for special days which are always coming round, there are so many of them in the calen- dar. A priest who has a large country parish has a great deal of walking to do. The one whom I men- tioned as being the curi of a village perched on the crest of a hill i,SOO feet high, descends and ascends that hill every time he goes out on his parish work, which he does every day. The books and newspapers which Popular Stories about Priests. 34 1 the country clergy receive are not likely to enlarge their minds. They cannot go to cafis, which are the real newsrooms of the country, and so they are driven, out of sheer dulness, to take in that untrustworthy and scandalous but often witty paper the Figaro, which is sold to them at a much lower price than to lay sub- scribers. People must have an amusement of some kind. The country priest finds his amusement in reading the Figaro, and his pleasure in eating a good dinner — ^when it is offered to him. As the cure is an isolated personage, not dressed like other people, and not conforming to their customs, it is inevitable that, notwithstanding the sanctity of his character, he should be the object of much quiet rural satire. Every village has its funny stories about curh, either living or dead. The following would supply a good subject for a picture. In a hill village well known to me, where the hill- sides slope down in very rapid declivities, diversified by grassy places and stony places, there lived, a few years ago, a venerable old cur^, who, to eke out his wretched little income, kept a few animals, and amongst the rest a couple of goats. He used to take these goats out with him upon the hill-side, and whilst they were feed- ing he read his breviary, but whilst he was reading the goats sometimes strayed inconveniently far, and the in- convenience was all the greater to him that he could not see very well, so that it was not easy to find them. At last, however, he hit upon a capital expedient, which seemed to reconcile completely the two occupations he wished to carry on at the same time. With two strong 342 • The Priest and his Goats. and rather long cords he tied one goat to one of his ankles and the other to the other, after which he sat down on the hill-side and read his breviary without much interruption from the animals, which soon knew the length of their tether. This device succeeded so well that the curi was rather proud of it, and might often be seen on the hill-side in this position on a fine afternoon. At length, however, an incident occurred which showed that the priest's invention might, under certain circum- stances, be dangerous. Some huntsmen came suddenly- over the brow of the hill with a small pack of beagles. The goats were much alarmed ' at these strange dogs, and set off at full speed down the steep slope, over the grassy places and the stony places, dragging the poor old curS after them. He was not killed, but he found that mode of travelling decidedly disagreeable.* The incident was not altogether displeasing to his rustic parishioners. They would probably not have gone the whole length of desiring for him the punish- ment of Ganelon the traitor, in the Song of Roland, b^it this mild form of it tickled their sense of the ludicrous, and gratified the latent malevolence with wliich human * This good priest's successor, who is now living in the same parish, found that people complained of the length of hi^ sermons, so he said to his old woman-servant, " When I get agoing I never know when to stop ; you should make me a sign when I have preached long enough, and then I would stop." After that the woman made her sign accordingly, and the CMr4 broke off abruptly with the usual form. The effect, however, was strange sometimes, as on one occasion when he said to his parishioners, " If you do not conduct yourself better the Devil will certainly take you." Here the preacher glanced at his servant, who made the sign agreed upon, so he ended, at once, with the customary set phrase, " C'est la grice que je vous souhaite." Popular Superstitions. 343 nature generally regards those who are set in authority over it. The magnificently perfect organization of the Church of Rome, with her severe and efficient discipline, has produced a gigantic instrument for influencing mankind, which would produce glorious results if it were really used for their enlightenment ; but this, unfortunately, is not her object. I have said elsewhere that the Church does not discourage rural superstition, but I might have gone farther than that, and said with truth that she positively encourages it, whilst she has no objection to that intensity of ignorance which reigns amongst the peasantry. I have been telling, perhaps, rather too many anecdotes of late, yet must tell one anecdote more, because of its deep significance, and because of the light it throws upon the relation of the Church of Rome to popular superstition. A peasant girl, called Annette, who lived on a farm quite close to our house, was in the habit of drawing water at a well which happened to be situated near a lane. As' this lane serves for a communication between several different farms, and also connects them with the high road, a good many people use it. Well, this girl was drawing water at six o'clock on a very misty Octo- ber morning, when some one gave her a hearty slap on the back, said " Bon jour, Annette!" in a cheery voice, and immediately disappeared in the misty twilight. What ^inference would the reader draw from this incident ? He will conclude, at once, that some lad, belonging to a neighbouring farm, who knew Annette, had amused himself by giving her this greeting, and by disappearing 344 -^ Ghost Story. in the mist before she could discover who he was. The vigorous slap on the back is evidence enough that the greeting came from a living human being, and not from an impalpable shade. This, however, was not Annette's interpretation of the incident. She told the story with evident accuracy as to the facts, but interpreted them as follows : The person who had said " Bon jour, Annette," was not a living human being, but a ghost, the ghost of her own father, and the reason why he came to say bon jour in such an unexpected manner was that he was very uncomfortable in purgatory. This made the girl quite wretched. My wife tried to reason with her, adopting the obvious line of argument that, in the first place, the greeting had nothing of sadness in it, and, in the next place, that it had been accompanied by a good slap on the back, which a living lad might easily give, but a ghost not so easily. These arguments, however, proved utterly vain. The girl remained inconsolable all day, and in the evening went to seek comfort from the parish priest. Now the priest, instead of taking the rational side, and correcting the absurd superstition of which the girl was a victim, instinctively preferred to take the superstitious side. He accepted the incident as a real visitation from the dead, confirmed the girl's interpreta- tion of it with the immense weight of his ecclesiastical authority, and told her that as she had now plain proof that her father's soul was unhappy she ought to have masses said for its repose. This little story exhibits the priest' quite actively on the side of popular superstition ; but, without going quite so far as this, a priesthood may encourage superstition Rural Ways of Thinking. 345 in a negative way simply by not discountenancing it, and this is the most usual way in which the Romish priesthood maintains the mental darkness of continental rural populations. In every village there is a man whose position gives him great importance in the eyes of the inhabitants, who is set there to teach them and guide them, who is often the only educated person in the place, and yet this man, instead of contending against the ignorance and superstition around him, tacitly allows both to be handed down from generation to generation ! There is a reason for this, of course, and the reason, in plain terms, is that the clergy dread the spirit of rationalism* and prefer any other spirit to that. Hence, whatever may be their moral and religious merits, and they are often considerable, the Roman Catholic clergy will never of themselves do much to educate a nation, and they will oppose a strong resist- ance, either active or passive, to all schemes originating with laymen which have for their object the secular instruction of the people. At the same time we cannot but admit that there is a perfect harmony between the Church and the rural French population as it is. The two suit each other exactly. The Church is truly the Church of the peasant, and speaks to him a language in harmony with his mental state. Even in the anecdote which I have just related about the girl and the ghost, * I use the word rationalism here in the broadest sense. Foi example, all educated Englishmen are rationalists with regard to witchcraft, with regard to trial by ordeal, &c. In the story told of the girl Annette, my wife's explanation was a piece of pure ration- alism in opposition to the supernatural explanation of the girl herself. 34^ Clerical Influetue. the exact adaptation of the Church to the peasant-mind is curiously illustrated. My wife tried the rational method and failed completely. She did not dislodge the belief in the ghost's visit, neither did she calm the agitation of the girl's mind. The parish priest, by ad- mitting that the visitant was ghostly, at once gained the girl's confidence, and was in a position to offer efficient consolation, kere he acted truly in the sense of his Church. She does not contradict ignorance, does not vex it by unwelcome enlightenment, but puts her- self on its level, and wins its sympathy and trust, after which she consoles it just as it wants to be consoled. 547 CHAPTER XV. Marriage — Celibacy of the Clergy — French Marriage Customs — Paris and the Country — Frenchmen not often Fortune-hunters — Their Notions about Dowries — Their Views of Marriage — Propriety and Impropriety — Difficulty of getting Acquainted with a Young Lady — Progression of Customs connected with Propriety — The French Ideal of Young Ladies — Their Inno- cence and Ignorance — Practical Success of Respectable Prin- ciples — The Offer must precede the Courtship — How Ccelebs proceeds in Preliminaries — Inquiries about Character and Fortune — ^Attempts to get a Glimpse of the Young Lady — The guiie Perfect Manner of Doing Things — ^An Instance in the Author's Experience — The Author becomes a Matrimo- nial Ambassador — Life of a Young Lady — ^A Grand Dance — A Vexatious Incident — Self-satisfaction of the French about their Matrimonial Arrangements — Difficulty of becoming an Old Maid — Strictness with which Girls are brought up — Effects of the System — Nunneries — Girls in the Lower Classes — Their Love Affairs. Amongst the many curious subjects of study which an Englishman finds in France, not the least interesting is that of marriage. The clergy, of whom we have been talking lately, are made wholly independent of marriage by the law of their order. All doubts and difficulties on this subject are removed from their life by the inexor- able rule of ecclesiastical discipline. The cur/ settles down into his bachelor-existence without the feeling of unsettledness which all but the most resolute bachelors havp in England. I well remember how an English 348 Celibacy. country clergyman said to me, " My position is very satisfactory in many respects, but I am not settled yet, you know." " Not settled yet ! Why not ? What do you mean ?" " I mean," he answered, with a little hesitation, and a faint blush on his clear Saxon face, " I mean that I am not married." If marriage is neces- sary to give a clergyman settled feelings, it is evident that the French priests can never feel settled as long as they live. The real truth appears to be very different from this. When celibacy is decided by an exterior rule, like the discipline of the Church, it gives much decision and stability to life ; but people who do not live under such disciplined celibacy fancy that nothing is decided for them until they get married. In France this feeling of instability in celibate life is even stronger than it is in EnglBnd. A Frenchman looks forward to marriage as his inevitable fate at some time or other, and a French girl never looks to old maidenhood with that contented anticipation which may be seen in some English girls. It is only after many years- of experience that a foreigner really understands French customs and senti- ments about marriage. There are differences, too, in the strength and intensity of those customs in different parts of the country. In Paris they are not the same as Round My House. The usual English representation of the matter is roughly true, but not accurately true. English writers generally say that French marriages are purely matters of business, and that all Frenchmen are fortune-hunters. French Marriage Customs. 349 The truth is that marriages are not quite purely matters of business, and that very few Frenchmen indeed are fortune-hunters in the English sense of the word. What is really true is that marriages in France are generally arranged by the exercise of reason and prudence, rather than by either passion or affection. By reason and prudence — that is to say, by what the natives of the country, or the majority of them, believe to be reason and prudence. In the opinion of the reader of this chapter, or in the opinion of the writer, such " reason " may often be unreasonable, and such " prudence " imprudent. With regard to fortune-hunting, all that can be fairly and truly said is, that a Frenchman does not generally wish to take the whole burden of marriage and its ex- penses upon his own unassisted shoulders. On the other hand, he seldom seeks to make a profit out of marriage. He seldom tries to throw the burden of his family on his wife. His notion is that the wife should do something to help him, but he is not very exacting as to the share she ought to take. He will not marry a girl without a. dower, but he will marry a girl with a very moderate dower, the interest of which shall be just barely enough to keep herself, without considering the children. For example, thousands of young Frenchmen in the professions will marry girls with 20,000 francs for a dowry. At five per cent., this gives £ap a year interest. This can scarcely be called fortune-hunting, since it is evident that in making a marriage of this kind a man takes upon himself a burden which his wife's dowry will only partially help him to bean 350, Notions about Dowries. From the division of property amongst male and female children alike, it results that there are immense numbers of girls in France who have a fortune of some kind, but there are very few in proportion whom it would be a profitable speculation to marry. It would be a great mistake, in most cases, to marry even a girl . with £\o,OQO as a money speculation, for sne and her children would cause as much expenditure as the in- terest of her fortune would provide for. Young men in the upper classes are perfectly aware of this, yet they marry often when the girl has a much smaller dower than the one just mentioned. The girl's money is then prudently invested, and the man's own personal expen- diture is rather diminished than increased after his marriage. You cannot, in such cases, fairly or justly say that the man sells himself for money, when he neither uses the principal nor the interest for his own pleasure. The exact shade of opinion amongst young men is this. They all seem to believe that at a certain time of life marriage is a necessity, and they try to manage so that in conforming to this necessity they shall not crip- ple themselves entirely in their money matters. If a matrimonial arrangement can be managed in this quietly prudent way, they are generally ready to enter into it, on the conditions that the young lady and her family are not decidedly objectionable in any way. So far from being determined fortune-hunters, they very often seem to consider it inconsistent with their self-respect to look for more than a fair proportion of fortune in a wife. Propriety and Impropriety. V^x In all matters of custom we must ever remember that the idea oi propriety is associated with existing customs, however absurd they may seem to foreigners, and the idea of impropriety is associated with the breach of them. In matters connected with marriage these no- tions are always tremendously strong. To French parents in a decent rank of life, the English customs aboiit marriage do not merely seem foreign, they seem indecorous and improper in a very bad sense. On the other hand, the French customs, which I am about to describe in this chapter, seem to them exactly what all respectable and right-thinking persons will observe as a matter of common decency and of right manners and behaviour. The difficulty for young men is to become acquainted with young ladies in their own class. This difficulty varies in degree according to places and to rank in society. In Paris, iii the upper classes, it is not insur- mountable ; in the country, amongst the peasantry, it cannot be said to exist. It is strongest in what may be called the "respectable" classes in country towns and their vicinities. In Parisian society young ladies go out into " le monde," and may be seen and even spoken to at evening parties. Penniless girls in Paris often make good matches when they are pretty and intelligent, or even when they have simply a little reputation for good household qualities ; but in a country town it is extremely difficult for a penniless girl in the middle classes to get a husband at all, for reasons which the reader will fully appreciate when they have been clearly explained. 352 CustoTHS connected with Propriety. When the idea of propriety has become attached to a custom, there is always a tendency to carry the custom farther and farther in its own direction, as people wish to distinguish themselves by a greater degree of pro- priety than their neighbours, or as they dread more and more the terrible imputation of being indecorous, and indiiTerent to those things which constitute respectability and good-breeding. I may mention as a good instance of this the progressive purification of the English lan- guage in respectable society, by which very many things in which our forefathers saw no harm have been tabooed one after'the other as unbecoming, until now not only what is really immoral is not permitted, but a thousand things which are not in the least immoral are forbidden as contrary to good taste. The progression of Sunday observance in Scotland from former laxity to its present minute strictness of social law, is another effect of the same cause. To keep the Sabbath strictly is part of respectability in Scotland, consequently, there has been much emulation in the discovery of new kinds and degrees of strictness, until at last the point is reached of keeping the blinds down and covering up the bird- cages to prevent the birds from singing ; or delicate distinctions are established as that you may cross a loch in a rowing-boat on Sunday, but not with a sail, because although rowing is a toil sailing may be interpreted as a pleasure, which is the more sinful of the two. Many readers will be much surprised to hear me compare French customs about marriage with English and Scotch proprieties of language and Sabbath-keeping, but the comparison is a perfectly just one, as I will now prove, Innocence and Ignorance. 353 The true foundation of the French marriage custom is the notion of propriety in the bringing-up of young ladies, which has led respectable people, and those who wished to be considered respectable, to refine upon the original idea of what is necessary to the pure reputation of a virgin, until at last they have arrived at that danger- ous consummation, the realization of an ideal, which in a world like this is always sure to be punished by very serious practical inconveniences. The English critic of French manners who does not really know France, but has only read about it in the newspapers, or passed through it on the railway, fancies that young Frenchmen are indifferent to the charms and qualities of marriageable young women, and think of nothing but their dowries. The English critic puts the blame of the present system on the wrong shoulders. The young men are not to blame ; they would be ready enough, perhaps, to fall in love if they had the chance, like any Englishman or German, but the respectable parents of the young lady take care that they shall not have the chance of falling in love. The French ideal of a well-brought-up young lady is that she should not know anything whatever about love and marriage, that she should be both innocent and ignorant, and both in the supreme degree, both to a de- gree which no English person can imagine. If, indeed, I were to say here quite plainly to what a degree this innocence and this ignorance are carried in the most thoroughly respectable French families, the English reader would laugh at me, and say that it was neitHer true nor possible, and that I was very innocent myself 354 Practical Success. The respectable view of matters is, that when a young lady has been kept in quite perfect innocence and igno- rance, and has never had an attachment of any kind, if an arrangement can be made which will secure her material comfort in a marriage arranged for her by her parents, she will in all probability attach herself to her husband, and never know any disturbing affection; whereas if she were to form an attachment before mar- riage it would probably be unsuitable, and lead not only to her loss of reputation,' but also to the wreck of her happiness. It is as well to remember, what foreign critics so easily forget, that the mother of the young lady has been brought up and married in the respectable way also, and that she is always firmly convinced by her own experience that it is the path of safety. The general goodness and devotedness of womankind come to support this view. It is the plain undeniable fact that most young women brought up and married on respectable principles make very good wives. In our part of France the respectable principle is pushed to its utmost conceivable extreme ; and the young ladies become excellent wives, faithful, orderly, dutiful, con- tented, and economical. The practical success of the system gives its advocates the upper hand in argument against romantic opponents who venture to argue in favour of the affections. " A woman always loves her husband," they tell you, " so there need be no anxiety on that account." And, really, they all either love their husbands or conduct themselves as if they did so, which is quite as satisfactory to the respectable mind, caring only for appearances. Preliminaries. 355 It is only fair, in writing about French marriages, to remember that the blame resides with the parents ol the young lady, and that their caution and timidity ought to be regarded with the very utmost indulgence, as it proceeds entirely from their anxiety to protect the re- putation and assure the happiness of their daughters. The extent to which the idea of virginal purity is pushed in respectable French families is one of the most striking examples one could find^of a poetical and religious ideal carried out to its extremest practical consequences. Suppose a house (I can see such a house from my windows) where there is a young lady of a marriageable age. How is a young gentleman to gain admission to that house ? There is but one way for him. He must first, through a third party, ask to marry the young lady, and, if her parents consent, he will then be ad- mitted to see her and speak to her, but not otherwise. The respectable order of affairs is that the ofiter and acceptance should precede, and not follow, the courtship How, then, does Ccelebs ascertain what sort of a per- son is his future wife > There are two ways. First, as tc her character, he makes inquiries to ascertain whether she has worldly or homely tastes, whether she under- stands housekeeping or spends her time in devotion and fancy work. He gets this information generally from ladies who have access to the house, but, however truthfully they answer him, they are likely enough to deceive him, unwittingly, in some respects. All " well-elevated " young French girls are simple in their dress and modest in their manners, but they may possibly have a strong though repressed desire for " la A A 2 356 Inquiries, toilette," and tongues that would go like barrel-organs if once they were set in motion. Information is some- times got through the parish priest, but he too may deceive, unwittingly, from a natural preference for girls who embroider vestments for him, and altar-cloths, and who are more attached to the ceremonies of the Church than to the duties of housekeeping. However, Ccelebs gets his " renseignments '' from various sources, and consoles himself by the reflection that if he saw the young lady every day he would probably be just as far from knowing the real truth about her character and habits. " I shall find out all that after marriage," he says to himself, a reflection which may be comforting or not, according to the degree of his faith in the general goodness and reasonableness of womankind. In order to appreciate the charms of the young lady's person, Ccelebs tries furtively to get a sight of her. There are several ways in which this may be managed ; the most usual ways are these. He finds out where she goes to mass, and attends service in company with some male or fernale acquaintance who knows the young lady by sight. In this way many young Frenchmen, who are not generally in the habit of going to church, be- come suddenly quite frequent attendants, both at mass and vespers, to the surprise and pleasure of all religious old ladies who know them. Sometimes there is a little difficulty when there are two or three sisters who are dressed precisely alike, or when some other young lady has adopted the same fashions, and I have known an instance where Ccelebs thought he had been admiring Mademoiselle B., who had been recommended to him. A Glimpse, 357 whereas in reality it was Mademoiselle C. whose good looks had appeared to him so satisfactory. To avoid a mistake of this kind, the best way is to go and visit a friend in the town who knows everybody by sight, on some day when there is a religious procession. All the girls are sure to join it, and if Coelebs has a friend with a window commanding a corner rpad which the pro- cession will have to turn, and a little reach of street along which it will have to pass, there will be time enough (considering how slowly such processions move) to make sure who is who, whilst explanations can be given much more easily in a private house than they can at church in service-time. Coelebs in this way gets a glimpse of the young lady, and is satisfied or not satisfied as the case may be. As a rule, he is generally very easily satisfied indeed, especially as a few yards of distance lend enchantment to the view. Provided, then, that the young lady's, nose is not like that of the late Lord Brougham, and that she does not squint too violently, and that she has not a hump-back, and is not lame, Coelebs will most probably conclude that he has no objection, and he will send an ambassador to the lady's father and mother to request the honour of a matrimonial alliance. He has not heard the young lady's voice yet, but he will probably hear quite enough of it after marriage, so there is no immediate hurry. This, however, is rather a bourgeoise manner of pre- paring one's mind to enter into matrimony. This peeping at church and in the street betrays a low anxiety about the young lady's person, whereas the right manner of regarding marriage, according to the 35 8 Tke quite perfect Manner. opinion of good society, is to consider it as a contract between two social positions, rather than between two persons. The quite perfect manner of doing things is to asl{, by an ambassador, for the hand of a young lady whom you have never seen ; for if you have never seen her, it is impossible that there should be any taint of earthly passion in your project, which is evidently sug- gested to you by considerations of worldly wisdom, and by these considerations alone. There is nothing which good society in France disapproves of so much as the passion of love, or anything resembling it ; and there is nothing which it so much respects and esteerns in a young man (or an old one either) as a proper sense of what is conducive to the maintenance of social position. When Coelebs asks for the -hand of a girl he has seen for a minute, he may just possibly be in love with her, which is a degrading supposition ; but if he has never seen her, you cannot even suspect, him of a sentiment so unbecoming. I well remember a certain young gentleman who came to ask me to be his ambassador in a matrimonial negotiation — an office which I very willingly undertook. He had a small independent property and a profession ; he had also taken better university degrees than most Frenchmen think it necessary to take, and was, on the whole, a superior person, very eligible as a son-in-law. The young lady whom he wanted to marry belonged to a very respectable bourgeoiseizxiixXy, and had land of her own fully sufficient for her maintenance. She had been well educated (as female education goes), and was quite able to manage a house with order and economy ; she A Matrimonial Embassy. 359 had plenty of good common sense, was as ladylike as it is possible to be, and very agreeable to those who knew her intimately, as we did. One detail remains to be added Lshe was one of the most beautiful women I ever saw in my life. I at, once concluded that my client (like many another; had been conquered by that beautiful face, and become the slave of love. I rather liked him for it. Here, at any rate, I thought, was a Frenchman who had eyes to see and a heart capable of feeling certain tender emo- tions which we read about in the poets of other ages, but which very seldom give their divine warmth and sweetness to the chilly, calculating times in which we live. " I don't wonder," I said, " that you should ad- mire such an admirable young lady. She becomes more and more beautiful every day." " Is she pretty .' I have never seen her. Some people say she is pretty." My feelings, as an Englishman believing in love, and an artist believing in beauty, were outraged by this answer ; so I rejoined with some acerbity, — "Then for what reason on earth do you want to marry her?" It was now his turn to be surprised. After opening his eyes in astonishment, he said, " I have reached the time of life when men take wives. I have made careful inquiries, and, from all I can learn, this young lady would make me a good and suitable wife. They say that she is well brought up, and can manage a house, and that she has good manners. I know that she has a suitable property, which is essential. There would be a 360 A Matrimonial Embassy. fair proportion between her estate and mine, and my professional income would place a considerable balance on my side." It was absurd to expect this young gentleman to reason otherwise than after the manner of a respectable Frenchman. His motives were honest enough. He was not in the least a fortune-hunter, telling lies to get possession of an estate ; he was simply a decent young Frenchman, telling the exact truth abbut himself and his motives. He had got the idea into his head on his last birthday — he being then thirty-two years of age — that it was time to get married, and this was the man- ner, at once frank and prudent, in which he thought it best to set about it. In England, or in any country where marriage cus- toms were not founded upon an absurdly exaggerated anxiety for the reputation of young women, a person who knew both parties, as I did, would simply have invited them at the same time, that they might look at each other and hear each other's voi&s. In rural France such an arrangement was utterly impossible. Had I invited the young lady and her mother after telling the latter that Coelebs would be present, she would have refused at once to bring her daughter ; and if I had invited the ladies without warning the mother about Coelebs, she would have considered the arrangement an outrage, and would never have forgiven me. I suggested that he ought to do as others did in similar circum- stances—namely, try and get a peep at the young lady ; but he said he had not time. It might be weeks before he could get the glimpse, and he wanted to know his A Matrimonial Embassy 361 fate at once, because, if refused, he might then go else- where. This being so, I promised to make the offer, and set off accordingly next day for the house where the beau- tiful young lady dwelt. Circumstances favoured me greatly, for I met her mamma in a quiet country lane, and very soon came to the point. In England such a mission would have been preposterous, but I knew French prejudices well enough to be aware that I was doing exactly the right thing in the right way, and that what would have seemed preposterous in England (the fact that Coelebs had never seen the girl) was strongly in my favour, as a proof that my client had what we shall call the ideas and feelings of a gentleman. It turned out as I had expected. Mamma, by her ques- tions (which were answered with the most absolute frankness), soon discovered this, and I could see by her looks that Coelebs gained thereby in her esteem. The answer I got was by no means unfavourable, and amounted to this — that if Coelebs would wait two years, he would have a fair chance, \f a richer and nobler Coelebs did not turn up in the meanwhile, but that the young lady was to dwell in maidenhood until the expi- ration of that time. My client, however, was but little satisfied with this decision, and applied for another young lady, whom he married in about a month. I cannot say whether he ever saw her before their en- gagement, — very likely he did not, — but she is an excellent wife to him, and they both appear^ (so far as others can judge) to dwell together in the greatest domestic bliss. 362 Life of a young Ladjf, It is not merely difficult, in our neighbourhood, for a young man in the respectable classes to get acquainted with a yoang lady, but every conceivable arrangement is devised to make it absolutely iijipossible. Balls and evening parties are hardly ever given, and when they are given great care is taken to keep young men out of them, and marriageable girls either dance with each other or with mere children. Children's parties are fre- quent enough, especially garden parties in summer, and young ladies go to them faute de mieux. To give the reader some faint idea of the way in which young bache- lors are excluded, I will tell him a little anecdote which is perfectly true. A certain lady who had a son about twenty-two years old, and some daughters, gave a grand dance, to our astonishment. What astonished us was how it came to pass that respectable rfiothers would let their daughters go and dance at a house where there was a young man, but when we learned how things had been managed, our perplexity entirely ceased. The lady sent her son away for the evening, and the young ladies were divided into two bodies, one of which, deco- rated with blue rosettes, was supposed to represent the inadmissible male sex. I remember a very amusing but vexatious incident which occurred at my own house. A lady and her daughter had come to spend the day. The girl was in every respect attractive she was very pretty, perfectly Hen Mevh, very intelligent, and an excellent musician. She had also a good substantial dowry, which is never objectionable. At the same time both mother and daughter were intensely ambitious. Well, as ill-luck A Vexatious Incident, 363^ would have it, it so happened that in the course of the afternoon, whilst these ladies were with us, a young man called upon me, and (through the bad management of a servant) was shown, not into my study, but into the room where these ladies were. Of course they could put but one interpretation on such an extraor- dinary and almost outrageous incident. They must, necessarily, have supposed that I had invited the young gentleman to come to look at Mademoiselle. Dark clouds of displeasure lowered on the maternal brow, and only disappeared when I got the youth out of the room as quickly as possible, and it was explained that he had come to see me quite by accident that day. Very shortly afterwards Mademoiselle became Madame la Comtesse de ^, and the maternal anxieties were at an end. Married people" will tell you very frankly the history of their marriages, even in the presence of each other. " I only saw my wife a month before we were married," a man will tell you, and a lady will say, " I never saw my husband until we were already engaged." The general opinion amongst married people is that the more quickly all preliminaries are got through the better. The whole affair is often got through in a month. On the first of April Monsieur Nigaud may awake and think to himself, " Tiens ! j'ai trente ans, si je me mariais?" but without the most remote idea of any particular lady, and on the first of May he may awake and see Madame Nigaud quietly sleeping by his side, whilst her parents are perfectly satisfied with the arrangement. The most curious thing about 364 Old Maids. French marriages is that all parties seem so intensely satisfied with the wisdom of their own decisions. They all enter into these arrangements with the determi- nation to be deliberately prudent, so as to leave no room for regret ; and they are firmly persuaded ever afterwards that they have done exactly what was best. Can any state of mind be more conducive to con- tentment ? There are very few old maids in France, except in the nunneries, but sometimes a girl will take the resolu- tion to remain in celibacy without either taking the veil or becoming a sister of charity. When this happens, the young lady has a particularly difficult transition to accomplish. How is she to pass from the condition of a marriageable jeune fille, with all its severe restric- tions, to the condition of a vieille fille, with its liberties .' The only way for her to manage this is to incur the terrible risk of being a subject for scandalous tongues, and the certainty of being the town's talk until her new position is recognized. A res^pGCtsble jeune fille cannot go out of the house unattended, a vieille fille can ; but the first time that Mademoiselle (now twenty-five years old, and determined to embrace celibacy) issues forth to do a little shopping without the customary bonne, » thousand tongues are set agoing. Many blame hei thoughtless conduct, others doubt if she is still respect able, others accept the act as a declaration of spinster- hood, but speak of the resolution ill-naturedly. On such occasions, however, there will generally be found a few good souls to protect the young lady's reputation, and in a week or two nobody thinks of the matter any Strict Education. 365 more; she may go wherever she pleases, amidst the public indifference. Still, it is a hard transition to accomplish — incomparably harder than in England, where a woman is not irrevocably an old maid till after thirty, and where a young girl may go where she likes without much risk to her good name. I have said already that I believe it to be a dangerous thing for people to carry ideals too far towards actual realization in common life. We live between contra- dictions, between opposing forces, and our ideals are generally little else than a preference of one force or principle to another when we ought to pay equal regard to both of them. The French ideal of thejeunefille is very beautiful, it is a sort of poem, but it is carried too far for the rude realities of the world. In our neigh- bourhood girls are brought up with a degree of strict- ness of which English people have no conception. Their existence is composed entirely of religious duties and homely service, with hardly anything in the way of pleasure or variety. They get up early, work from morning till night at household duties of some kind, see hardly any society, never speak to a young gentleman by any chance, go to church very often, retreat occa- sionally into a convent to make themselves more pious than ever, and cultivate practically to the utmost the two virtues of simplicity and obedience. They dress plainly, never wear jewels, and if by chance they are thrown into society they never open their lips. Public opinion and parental authority weigh upon them with such irresistible power that what are quite ordinary and blameless actions in all other people are heinous offences 366 Effects of the System. in them. They may not cross a street alofte, nor open a book which has not been examined, nor have an opinion about anything. They are not really and frankly admitted into any one branch of human know- ledge. History is expurgated and arranged for them, so are science and art, so is even theology, of which they constantly hear so much. The wonder is that under such a strict system they should not mope and make themselves miserable. On the contrary, they are remarkably cheerful, their obedience always seems hearty and willing, their trust in their parents absolute, their love for them great enough to bear the most exacting and irritating parental government without a murmur. If they have personal vanity it has no opportunity of showing itself, for they are dressed too simply, and sisters are dressed precisely alike, to the smallest bit of ribbon. One quality of a negative kind they have, of course, in perfection ; they never do anything to catch husbands, the existing social system makes that im- possible. There is not much visible evil in all this, and the object of the training is good in intention. It is thought that thejeune fille cannot be too innocent, too virtuous, or too religious. And the fact is that the life of a good Jeune fille must be like that of paradise before the fall. She has not eaten of the tree of knowledge, she is industrious as Milton says that innocent Eve was, and, like Eve, she talks to angels and lives in the pre- sence of God. The real evil of the system is the violent contrast between such an entirely ideal condition and the reali- Nunneries. 367 ties of the world. Many French girls think the common world so wicked that they utterly refuse to enter it, and become nuns. Others submit to marriage as a part of obedience to their parents, but ever afterwards, though dutiful to their husbands, look to the priest and not the husband as the true friend and confidant All that can be said to parents who are grieved when their daughters go into nunneries is that it is a very natural consequence of their education. The convent is the continuation of the vie de jeune fille in its restriction, protection, severe rule, and devout observances, in its exclusion of all men but priests. Of the life that women lead in the con- vents I can tell the reader but little. It varies greatly according to the orders. In some, as the Carmelites, for instance, it is pitilessly severe ; in others, it ap- proaches more nearly to the life of devout ladies in a not too uncomfortable home. There is an order ol white nuns near us, closely cloistered, who are dressed like phantoms, and worship at the altar day and night with arms extended like the arms of Christ upon the cross. When utterly overcome by weariness and pain they still keep their arms in the same extended position, but fall down prostrate on their faces on the cold stone pavement of their chapel. The austerity of the Carme- lite sisters, if what I hear of them is true, almost passes belief, but I hesitate about giving details which cannot be checked by my own personal observation. These ascetic lives, severed from all the interests of the human world, are the product of that too strict and too artificial system in which young girls are educated. Almost every French girl who is Hen devie, at one time or other 3^8 The Lower Classes. passes through a period of saintly enthusiasm which aspires to the condition of a nun as the highest possible vocation. Amongst the lower classes, the peasantry and work ■ men, it would of course be utterly impossible to keep u]) a system of this kind. In these classes girls have as much freedom as they have in England. The great institution of tlae parlement gives them ample opportu- nities for becoming acquainted with their lovers ; indeed the acquaintance, in many cases, goes farther than is altogether desirable. A peasant-girl requires no parental help in looking after her own interests. She admits a lover to the happy state of pariement, which means that he has a right to talk with her when they meet, and to call upon her, dance with her, &c. The lover is always eager to fix the wedding-day, the girl is not so eager. She keeps him on indefinitely until a richer one appears, on which No. i has the mortification of seeing himself excluded irora pariement, whilst another takes his place. In this way a clever girl will go on for several years, amusing herself by torturing amorous swains, until at length a sufficiently big fish nibbles at the bait, when she hooks him at once, and takes good care that he shall not escape. Nothing can be more pathetically ludicrous than the condition of a young peasant who is really in love, especially if he is able to write, for then he pours forth his feelings in innumerable letters full of tenderness and complaint. On her part the girl does not answer the letters, and has not the slightest pity for the unhappy victim of her charms. After seeing a good deal of such love affairs I have Their Love Affairs. 369 come to the conclusion that in humble life young men do really very often feel The hope, the fear, the jealous care, The exalted portion of the pain And power of love. and they " wear the chain " too. Young women, on the other hand, seem only to amuse themselves with all this simple-hearted devotion, — And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might desp^. 370 CHAPTER XVI. Some Aspects of the Franco-German War— Condition of People's Minds— Sudden Belief in the Necessity of the War— The Emperor's Military Reputation — Transition from Confidence to Anxiety — ^The Author's Last Sketch from Nature in 1870 — Danger of Sketching— A New Interest in Maps— A Difficult Time — The Author's House in Danger — Preparations to receive an Attack — The Author denounced as a Prussian Spy— He is defended by his Friends — Birth of the Republic — Napoleon III. — Decline of his Faculties — A Curious Coinci- dence — A Reminiscence of 1867 — The Autumn of 1870 — Anxieties — Conduct of the Germans — How they behaved in a Country House — Arrival of Garibaldi — A Review by Him — His Flag — His Character — His Want of Tact — Composition of His Army — Disorders at the Bishop's Palace — The French Franc-Tireurs — Clerical and National Antipathy to Garibaldi — French Jealousy of Allies. The leading events of the great war with Germany must be so familiar to eveiy reader of this volume that it would be useless to fill its pages with a narrative of battles and skirmishes, and it would be foreign to my plan to assume what is called the dignity of history, and record stupendous events. , Limited, however, as the scheme of this book may be, there are certain aspects of the war which come fairly within its range, and may be treated exactly in the same manner as the various subjects which have hitherto occupied us. Every foreigner who lived in France during the fort- night which preceded the declaration of war against Beginning ef the War Fever. 371 Prussia will long remember the strange condition of people's minds. The fever seized a few of them sud- denly, here and there, and these few passed at once from the reasonable to the passionate temper. Eight or ten days bfefore, it had been possible to discuss Euro- pean politics with these very persons as tranquilly aj those of the continent of America ; but now an idea had taken possession of them — the idea that a war with Prussia was absolutely inevitable, and that to think otherwise was evidence of a want of confidence in the prowess and the destiny of France. The kindest and gentlest of civilians, who did all in their power to re- lieve whatever misery came in their way, entered sud- denly into that exalted mental condition in which the shedding of blood and the infliction of torture seem details unworthy of consideration. There were people certainly (there always are a few reasonable persons in times of national excitement), who thought that the dis- pute about the candidature to the throne of Spain might be settled without killing two hundred thousand men, but these few reasonable persons hardly dared to say openly what they thought They were like heretics in some rigidly orthodox country, and had, in self- defence, to affect to share the opinions which sur- rounded them. In one thing all French people really agreed : they were all persuaded that their army was invincible. The prevalent opinion, too, at that time, about Napoleon III., is very well worth recording. At present (after the event) French people all tell you that the Emperor's military incapacity was notorious. Well, so it was, in a certain peculiar sense. His conduct in B T) 2 372 Opinions about Napoleon TIT. the war of 1859 had convinced people that he had not the rapid decision on the battle-field which is necessary to a great commander, and so far he was believed to be incapable. But Napoleon III. was believed by his sub- jects to be a very safe administrator, or what we should call a good war minister. In this character he inspired absolute confidence. Men who had no love for him — men who were strongly opposed to the establishment of his dynasty, and who were much more inclined to underrate than to overestimate his abilities in ordinary matters — ^were nevertheless quite firmly persuaded that he would not enter upon a great contest without the most exact preparation of every material detail. They told anecdotes in illustration of his perfect foresight and his attention to little things : how, in the departure for the Italian campaign, the artillery (or some regiment of artillery) were ordered to leave certain portions of the gun-carriages in Paris, and found, to their surprise, on arriving in Italy, that similar portions awaited their coming, but all quite new, and fitting without a fault. Then it was remembered how regularly the army had been provisioned, from its departure to the very day of Solferino. Not only had the soldiers been supplied with every necessary of life, but even with its luxuries, so that they never missed their caf^, their petit verre, and their cheap cigar or tobacco. These reminiscences pro- duced the most absolute reliance on the readiness of the French intendance. This absolutely confident tem- per was not without its grandeur. When war was de- clared, there was not the slightest fear of invasion ; people slept quietly in open villages and unfortified Transition from Confidence to Anxiety. 373 towns, without dreaming of any possibility of danger. The transition from confidence to anxiety came gradually, yet rapidly, during the two or three weeks that the French army had to waste about Metz and Strasburg, when it lost the chance of taking the offen- sive. Private letters from the seat of war spread a vague uneasiness. We knew little, at that time, of the condition of the army, but we were aware that officers were waiting vainly for necessary things. Then came the beginning of the invasion, which people would not believe. I remember one day well. We had gone on a little excursion to see a ruined castle. I was sketching it, and an old woman came to tell me that the French army, under MacMahon, had been defeated, and that the enemy was advancing rapidly ; a traveller had left the news at her cottage. We immediately drove home to learn the truth, and met mounted gendarmes gallop- ing at fuir speed in the twilight. And so, for the year 1870, ended my last day's study from nature. The excitement of panic began to get possession of people's minds, and in a week from that time every peasant in the whole country knew that I had been drawing that old castle "for the Prussians." It was amazing how far this piece of information spread. It covered a tract of country forty miles in diameter, and from that day it became dangerous to be seen anywhere with a sketch- book. A French artist who lived in the town escaped from actual outrage by nothing but that presence of mind which has so often, in an emergency, been the 374 Danger of Sketching. salvation of a traveller amongst savages. He hap- pened, by good luck, to be painting from nature in oil ; and so, in answer to some infuriated peasants who ac- cused him of making maps for the Prussians^ he said, " Don't you see that I cannot be making a map, for thi \ is oil-paint, and nobody can make a map in oil-paint." This made his accusers hesitate, and he slipped away whilst they gave him the opportunity. " If you study from nature at all," he said, "mind that it is in oil- colour ; and use canvas and a portable easel ; it looks less suspicious than a sketch-book." However, it seemed more prudent to limit my studies from nature to the material visible from my own windows, and a little later I found reason to congratulate myself on this excessive caution, for the popular indignation was fully roused against me, and the slightest additional provoca- tion would have irritated it to uncontrollable frenzy. On one point only I remained attached to former habits. There was just one German in the town, whom I knew. He had sometimes come to see me before the war, but now, as no Frenchman would speak to him, he came to my house more frequently. I did what every Englishman would have done in similar circum- stances — that is, made him heartily welcome every time he came, and often accompanied him back to his own home. This, of course, cast additional suspicion upon myself, for everybody " knew " that he was a spy in the pay of Bismarck. Certainly, he and I had more accu- rate information than our neighbours, for each of us subscribed to an English newspaper, and we knew something of the actual progress of the invasion. Maps become too Interesting. 375 There is a little detail peculiar to life in an invaded country, which the reader may realize vividly enough by the simple process of substituting one map for an- other. The wall of our entrance was covered with maps of the seat of war, and the progress of the invasion was marked upon them by the well-known process of stick- ing pins day after day as the news from the army reached us. This was done, no doubt, at the same time by military men in England, and by civilians who took an interest in military matters ; but there is a great differ- ence in the interest of the process when it is carried out in countries that are, or are not, themselves exposed to invasion. It is exactly the difference between examining one's private accounts and examining the accounts of somebody else in whose affairs we have nothing but an external interest. To understand the peculiar feelings with which we altered the position of the pins as soon as the day's newspaper had come to hand, the reader is requested to imagine himself a resident at, let us say, Peterborough, and to be sticking pins every morning in a map of England, which pins make plain to him the steady, irresistible advance of a French army already in possession of Kent, and resolutely advancing upon London. Under these circumstances he would discover that a pennyworth of common pins would very soon make themselves the pivots of all his thoughts, and that he would gain an acquaintance with the geography of certain districts incomparably more minute than is attainable by any other known process, except that of serving upon an ordnance survey. O those dreadful 376 A Difficult Time. n.aps ! How willingly we tore them all down when peace was proclaimed at last. My German friend was a Badener, and perhaps not very enthusiastic in favour of Prussian supremacy, though he counted on victory for the; Germans. The suspicions against him grew so rapidly that in a week or two it was unsafe for him to be seen out of his own rooms. Even the most intelligent and cultivated townsmen were fully persuaded that he was a spy, but they did not wish to do him bodily harm, only to get him out of the place that he might spy no longer. The populace, more menacing and dangerous,, decided that he ought to be lynched. The police told him that his life was not safe, and that it would be difficult to protect him if he stayed. On this he took the next train, and arrived safely at the Lake of Constance. Besides, this Badener an intelligent and well-educated American had settled in the town before the war broke out. He spoke French, English, and Italian as nearly perfectly as any one possibly can speak three languages, but he did not speak German, and had never been in Germany. However, as he was a foreigner, it was soon decided that he also was a German spy. We occasion- ally exchanged visits, but one day when I went to see my American friend I was told that he had suddenly left for Florence, and was not likely to return. He, also, had received his warning, and I expected, mine from one day to another. The most difficult time to pass, on account of the violent popular excitement, was from the early part of August to the fourth of September. "About the middle A Dangerous Incident. ijj of August an incident occurred which might have had unpleasant consequences. A French widow lady, a friend of ours, happened to be staying with us just then, and she was in a state of considerable anxiety about her son, for there were rumours that even the eldest ions of widows would be called to active service like the rest. She had the strongest dislike to the Imperial Government, and with good reason, in her case, for the coup d'etat had done great injury to her friends, sacri- ficing the life of one of them, and driving the others into exile. Well, it so happened that one sultiy August evening we were sauntering out together, and we met one of our neighbours, a man not remarkable at the best of times for much delicacy of manner, and just now quite peevish, and ill-natured from the course that things were evidently taking; He had been hearing some disagreeable news,, and so came straight to us and an- nounced in a tone of triumph that all widows' sons would be immediately compelled to serve in the active army. The effect of this announcement, made so rudely to a lady who had been in great anxiety for weeks on this particular subject, may be easily imagined. A great scene took place, in which things were said amounting to treason against the Emperor, and which might be malevolently, though not justly, reported as evidences of hostility to France. Our neighbour replied, in mingled rage and bitterness, as if he had understood them in that sense, and unfortunately, just at that very moment, two labouring men passed close to us as they crossed the fields by a pathway that led to their village. There they recounted what they had heard, and recounted it 578 A Friendly Warning. after their own fashion, so in the course of the same evening it was " known " all over the neighbourhood, on the evidence of these two witnesses, how our friend had expressed her earnest wish that " no conscript who left the village might ever come back alive." The reader may imagine the effect of this upon a French populace al- ready excited beyond endurance. The women, whose sons were the conscripts in question, became like so many Furies, and incited their husbands to revenge. There were about three hundred miners in the place, who worked in the schist-mines, and as these men drank in the wine-shops that night they adopted certain resolutions. Now there happened to be amongst these miners a young man who had lived close to me for several years, and who had worked a good deal for me at odd times. His name was Jules, and as he had been in Paris and seen the world, he was much sharper and more intelli- gent than the French peasant usually is when he lives entirely in the country. So he kept his own counsel amongst his comrades, but the next day, as I was sitting reading my newspaper in an arbour in the garden, I heard a rustling in the shrubs behind me, and a human head emerged from them, which I recog- nized as belonging to my friend Jules. His face was deadly pale, and he spoke only in a whisper. " I shouldn't like it to be known, sir, that I came here to- day, and I must slip away as I came, without letting anybody catch a sight of me, or else it might be a bad job for me, but I could not rest without coming to tell you what the miners said amongst themselves last The Author Prepares for Self -Defence. 379 night. I would have come sooner if I had had an opportunity, but I never could manage it without being watched. They have determined to come and murder Madame G , and pillage your house this afternoon. I saw B charge his pistol, saying, ' This bullet is for Madame G .' He will be here with the others in about an hour. I thought it my duty to tell you, so that you might get her out of the way." Having duly delivered himself of this agreeable piece of information, Jules disappeared again amongst the shrubs, and crept along a hedge-bottom till I saw no more of him. The first thing to be done was to get all women and children opt of the house, and send Madame G to her own home by railway. Next (like Robinson Crusoe in his castle) I got together every- thing I possessed in the nature of fire-arms, and pre- pared to resist the enemy. I was soon armed like a brigand, with everything loaded that would send a bullet. Then, with locked doors and shutters fastened, I sat waiting for the attack, having no other ally than my big dog, who at that time was fierce enough. It is a pity, after such a dramatic beginning to end with- out gratifying the reader with at least one homicide, but unluckily for the interest of my story, the project of attack was abandoned when it became known that our guest had departed. I am not likely, how- ever, soon to forget the couple of hours spent in waiting for the mob, during which I tried to read, but found real life so interesting that it was difficult to give attention to a book. Just about this time I was denounced to the autho- 58o Friends and Enemies. rities as a Prussian spy, but I had lived too long in :he neighbourhood, and knew too many influential people, for an accusation of that kind to take effect. ^fo foreigner who had settled here recently, could have ■emained throughout the war ; but the upper classes, vith one single exception, stood by me quite kindly ind faithfully, doing everything in their power to pro- :ect me from the common people. Two ladies were so jood as to go amongst the poor and try to produce- a nore favourable impression. An old gentleman, who vas the largest landowner in the neighbourhood, and deservedly respected for the good he had done in various ways, Showed himself vely heartily my friend. The principal schiat-master got his workmen togethei: md made them an energetic speech, in Which he said iverything in favour of me "that generous good feeling :ould suggest. Meanwhile, my wife and I went out :very day for short walks and drives so that everybody ni^ht see us. The courteous French custom of salu- ation compelled even our worst enemies to lift their lats to us from habit, and this gave us the opportunity )f speaking to those we knew, as we used to do before he war began. In this way we tided over the most lifficult weeks, which were those between Weisseniberg nd Sedan. Strangely enough, our most dangerous nemy for the time being was an excellent, but rather imple-minded, country squire, with Whom we had reen on the best of terms before the war began. He .rent about telling people that the popular rumour was ot likely to be altogether without foundation, and that was in the constant habit of sending things by post. Birth of the Republic. 381 which were not simply letters, and must be plans and information for the enemy. What made these sugges- tions the more dangerous was that the old gentleman in question was maire of the very commune I lived in, and so might be supposed to know more about me than another ; besides which his official position gave him an engine of hostility against me, if ever he felt it advisable to proceed to extremities. But even in this case there was only doubt and suspicion, not any real malice, and after inquiry the maire became finally quite convinced of my innocence, and atoned for his suspi- cions in a manly and becoming way. He came to pay us a state call, with his wife and sons, in his carriage, all in grande toilette, and was a? amiable as he possibly could be. No allusion was made to the unpleasant rumours that had been in circulation, but the carriage stood for nearly an hour at my door, and this was his way of telling people that I was not to be suspected any longer. He has been a good neighbour ever since, but however agreeable may be his visits in time of peace, they have not the political value of that state call in the height of the war fever. After Sedan, the news of the birth of the Republic came to us in the oddest, most ridiculous way that can be imagined. A peasant woman whom we knew came rushing into our kitchen at five o'clock in the morning, sobbing and wringing her hands, and yelling out at the top of her voice " Elle est d^chain^e, elle est d^chain^e ! " My wife, hearing this noise, went to see what was the matter, and the same phrase was repeated for her benefit, "Elle est ddchain^e, elle est d^chaine^l" 382 Napoleon III. She thought some wild beast must have broken loose, and asked what beast it was. " La R6 — pub — Hque !" was the answer. On hearing this we first laughed till the tears came into our eyes, and then cried " Vive la R^publique ! " and I sang with a loud voice, " Domine salvam fac Rem' publicam, et exaudi nos in die qua vocaverimus te ! " A very distinguished French prelate, who is now dead, told an intimate friend of mine that when the Archbishop of Paris congratulated the Emperor on a recent escape from a great personal danger. Napoleon III. answered in tones of the most solemn conviction, " My hour is not yet come, but when my hour shall come I shall be broken like glass! " In the beginning of September, 1870, the fatal hour arrived, and the Colossus which had overawed Europe fell shattered from his pedestal. The same prelate visited our neighbourhood some time after the fall of the Empire, and said that having known Napoleon in Paris and seen him afterwards dur- ing the campaign, just before the movement in the direction of Sedan, he had been very painfully impressed on the latter occasion by the evident decline in the mental faculties of the Emperor. A friend of mine who visited the Emperor a short time before the war broke out, told me that Louis Napoleon had not only greatly aged, but had lost the charm of his manner, and appeared almost inanimate. This was the more painful that his corpse-like cheeks had been visibly rouged for the occasion, and as he had just left his hair-dresser, there was a perfection in the toilette which Napoleon III. 383 jarred upon the feelings of all present. The fault of his government, which for many years had been constantly attacked for being a "personal government," was in later times the fault of not being personal enough. The gradual ebbing of vitality translated itself by an increasing intellectual indolence, and a disposition to trust everything to subordinates, which was the exact opposite of that personal watchfulness over details that formed part of the character and habits of the first Napoleon, and was one of the causes of his success. I may mention in this place a most curious coinci- dence which I believe has never been noticed elsewhere. An illustrated French newspaper, the Univers Illustri, gave a woodcut representing the departure of Napoleon III. from the private station at St. Cloud, and the same number contained, a little farther on, a woodcut repre- senting the German palace of Wilhelmshohe. The French editor believed that Cassel would shortly become " interesting in connection with the war," but little foresaw the kind of interest which would attach to it. When once the Emperor had arrived at his luxurious prison of Wilhelmshohe nobody thought about hijn any more. He was really more forgotten at that time than he is likely to be in the future, for with all his faults he will for ever remain one of the most remarkable curi- osities of history. But the French, as I have said elsewhere, have not the monarchical sentiment, and Louis Napoleon had not succeeded in creating it. The last time I saw him was in 1867. His carriage came slowly down the Champs Elys^es ; a crowd was seated 384 An Anxious Time. on each side the avenue, yet nobody rose, and not a hat was lifted. The feeling about Louis Napoleon at that time was a feeling of indifference, such as we have towards some old abuse which, though it may not be removed this year or the next, is pertain to be cleared away before long, by the inevitable progress of events. The autumn of 1870, during the steady progress of the invasion, was a time of much anxiety in our part of the country, because it was always probable that we should be included in the space occupied by the enemy. In one respect we were more unfortunate than the in- habitants of regions actually invaded, for we were kept incessantly, during the whole war, on the tenter-hooks of apprehension. The southern departments never seriously apprehended invasion for themselves, and felt the evil only as people feel the evils of others, ex- cept so far as it affected trade ; whilst the departments quite to the east, which were occupied by the enemy in the early part of the campaign, had to do with the in- vasion as a present and practical evil, and were, there- fore, relieved, by its very reality, from the jniseries of incessant forebodings. The reader may possibly enter into our feelings, such as tliey were at that time-; but he will only be able to do so by a very strong effort of imagination. Let him suppose himself comfoffiably settled in an English courttry-house, unpretending, if he will, but provided with everything necessary to the regular and peaceful course of his life and occupations — let him suppose that he has spent on this house and what it contains a good deal of money relatively to his means, and that amongst its contents are many things Condtict af the German Soldiers, 385 licli he values greatly, and which, once destroyed, can ver possibly be replaced. Then let him imagine that awakes every morning for months together with the ssibility before him that in a few days, or even hours, 5 house may be occupied by the rough soldiers of a stile army, who will probably carry off half his things d spoil the rest, whilst it is the merest chance whether ey will behave to his wife and family like gentlemen like brigands. To leave your home in such a time to expose it to certain pillage ; to remain in it is to n the risk, though only a risk, of yet more serious ils. The English newspapers whose sympathies were on e side of Germany during thewar, described the conduct the German .soldiery in the most favourable terms, and may be true that, on the whole, they behaved better an is the custom of invaders, but this did not much 5sen our anxiety, because we knew that their conduct iried in different cases. Some bouses occupied by em were left uninjured, and the householder escaped ith a heavy fine in the shape of requisitions, often out all proportion to his means ; but others saw their veilings devastated as if out of mere hate and spite. Without going to the newspapers for evidence of this, will give an instance nearer hand. My wife's uncle, who ^ed in Dijon, had a small country house on the hill- de in the middle of a large garden. This place had been s hobby for many years, so when the Germans occu- ed it, he ,did all he could to prevent them from in- ring it. He suppHed them with unlimited fire-wood, id promised to supply more if required, but they pre- rred cutting down his fruit-trees and burning the green C 386 A Strategic Position. wood because they knew it would vex him. They also smashed his mirrors and destroyed his furniture on purpose. Besides the prospect of these annoyances, we had before us the probability that forty or fifty German soldiers would be billeted on us, to be kept in the most liberal manner at our expense, and that at a time when provisions were at the most impossible prices, so that the cost of living was tripled. There remained yet another possibility of evil. Our house was so situated that it might very easily be included in the middle of a battle-field, and occupied by one side or the other, if not by both in succession. Under certain circumstances, not difficult to foresee, it would become of considerable strategic importance if the combat took place in the plain. In that case the walls could be pierced for rifles, the rooms filled with soldiers, and (on a small scale) a scene might be enacted round about it like the episode of Hougomont, at Waterloo. That these apprehensions were not altogether groundless may be proved by the remark of an artilleryman whose battery I visited when the war had come quite close to us. The guns were pointed, ready shotted, straight in the direction of my house. I noted the fact jestingly, on which an artillery- man answered, quite in earnest, " Our guns can easily carry as far as your house, sir, and this battery may turn out to be very useful if your house should be occupied by the enemy." I may also observe that my apprehensions about piercing the walls for rifles were realized in the case of one of my neighbours, whose house was turned into a military position and pierced with a hundred loopholes. TJie Garibaldians. 387 Garibaldi came into our neighbourhood very suddenly and unexpectedly one cold, wintry night. I happened to be in the town that evening, and about nine o'clock a rumour began to circulate to the efifect that Garibaldi was on his way and would sleep that night at the sous- prefecture. About half-past nine a crowd began to col- lect about the railway station, and a shabby one-horse carriage came to receive the soldier of Italian independ- ence, who was much too unpopular with the clerical party to be noticed by the local aristocracy. First came a train full of Garibaldians ; the chief himself arrived much later. The men who preceded him were the flower of his little army — the " children," not to be con- founded with the volunteers of all kinds who joined the army of the Vosges. They formed in the garden behind the railway station, and the first thing that struck me was the extreme inequality of their stature. I had seen tall regiments and short regiments, but never a body of soldiers in which astonishingly tall men and miniature beings, who looked like little boys, were so oddly jumbled together. The commanding officer asked me the way to the H6tel de Ville, and then begged me to lead the regiment there myself, so we marched into the town together to the sound of the wild Garibaldian music in the dark windy night. When we got to our destination, I could see the men better under the gas- light; they were smart and tidy-looking, in new imiforms, and they had just been armed with new Remington rifles, in which they took a boyish pleasure and pride. Foor lads ! how many of them died of hardship and disease in a few weeks ? I thought, as I saw them lie c c 2 388 Arrival of Garribaldi. down wearily on the straw, how delicate many of them were, only boys yet, and not robust boys either, having nothing to resist the fatigues of a winter campaign but a lively courage, and a firm faith in the genius of their commander. He came at last, the commander, the most romantic hero of our century, the most famous human being on the planet, the leader most sure of living in the hearts of future generations, a living man whose legend is already as firmly implanted as that of Wallace or William Tell, whilst the severest historical critics of the future will be unable to deny either the reality of his exploits or the originality of his character. Who shall say that Garibaldi was not brave,. disinterested, patient under suffering, a living Don Quixote, with all the fine, and noble qualities with which Cervantes endowed his hero and just enough of his simplicity to be beloved for. it ? A living Don Quixote ! I repeat in all earnestness and respect, and yet there is this difference between the two, that whereas Sancho's master tilted against wind- mills and effected no practical good, the Italian Quixote set lance in rest against a tyrannical dynasty and shat- tered it past all possibility of restoration. Afterwards it is true that he tilted against the temporal power of the Papacy and there came to grief, but if that adven- ture did not upset the windmill, it shook it, and the windmill has fallen since. When this hero came amongst us and walked through the station to his one-horse carriage we saw his face very clearly in the gas-light. It was a pale, grave face, much more like that of a student and philosopher than Clerical Horror of Garibaldi. 389 a hero of great exploits. We cried Vive Garibaldi! with some energy, but he answered with a tone of extreme gravity and sadness " Vive la R^publique Fran- gaise ! " We thought they might have given him a pair of horses and even perhaps a little glorification of torch- light and of music, but that simplicity harmonized well enough with his personal character and habits, and also with the serious anxieties of the time. It is difficult for Protestants to realize the unaffected horror with which the clergy and religious corporations of an old French cathedral city must have heard on 'awakening one morning in November, 1870, that this Garibaldi, who at a distance was to them like a rock in the deep sea, or like Satan chained during the millen- nium, was now actually in the midst of them, and their absolute master, being invested with all the despotic authority of a general in time of war. The day after his arrival Garibaldi held a little review, and sat in a carriage whilst his regiments marched past, for other regiments had; arrived during the morning, and train after train poured thousands of men into the place. There was unfolded his own personal Garibaldian flag, an invention of his own, a very original invention too, and one not by any means calculated to reassure the lovers of tranquillity. It was all red, to begin with, red as the sanguinary Revolution, and this is a colour which the lovers of order admire only when it is worn by the Princes of the Church. On the flag were none of the devices of heraldry, no lions, nor eagles, nor any such picturings of the old illiterate ages, but a single word, in great legible Roman capitals, and the word was— 390 Garibaldis Flag " Patatrac" PATATRAC* If we had any illusions about Garibaldi they must have been dissipated by having him so near us, and hearing everything that the bitterest antagonism could find to say against him. For my part, I venture to affirm that I never had any illusions about Garibaldi. Men of his class cannot possibly be reasonable, heroism is not reasonable, it is pure passion, a fire which casts strong lights and very black shadows upon everything * As this narrative is written for English readers it may be well to attempt an explanation of what this strange word means. The form of it most commonly recognized by the dictionaries appears to be not Patatrac but Patatras ; however, Garibaldi's form, with the hard looking consonant at the end is used often enough by French people when they talk familiarly and is, I think, the more expressive, by its cacophony, of the two. It is an ejaculation, intended to convey (which it does very effectually by imitative sound) the impression of confusion in falling. For example, sup- pose that a Frenchman were to narrate some accident like the fol- lowing, the word would come in quite naturally: "the servant was bringing a tray covered with glasses into the drawing-room, when his foot caught in the edge of the carpet, and patatrac I he fell forward and all the glasses were broken." What Garibaldi meant by it was as plain as the great legible letters of which the terrible word was composed. He meant that wherever that scarlet banner was unfolded there would be an overthrow of old-world institutions, with noisy confusion and smashing. It was a proclamation of disorder and destruction, and the proclamation was so alarmingly laconic that there was no room in it for any hint of a new and better order to be erected on a world in ruins. And M'hen at a later period I heard of the smashing and crashing thatwas effected on so large a scale by the Communards, of the falling of ruined palaces and streets, of the upsetting of the Vend6me column, I said " This is Garibaldi's Patatrac " and that word on the banner which flapped in the November wind seemed a word of baleful prophecy, a sinister suggestion of all the evil that was to come. Garibaldis Want of Tact. 391 around it. Least of all can those heroes be reasonable who live in the heat of action. It may be said that Wellington was so, but had Wellington the genuine heroic temper ? Was he not rather a prudent and prac- tical general, with very fine powers of mind and body, than a hero .' Had he not rather the firm prose of mili- tary valour than its fiery inspiration ? Garibaldi is not wise, Garibaldi is not even intelligent, whilst he is far indeed from being intellectual ; but he is as perfect a type of genuine, believing heroism as the world has ever beheld. And the consequence is, that his name is immortal, whilst the names of a hundred generals not less brave than he is, and much more learned in their art than he has ever been, are as mortal as their own bodies, and destined, like them, to imminent oblivion. An excellent instance of his utter want of tact occurred on the very first day of his residence in our neighbourhood. He held a reception at the Sous Pre- fecture, which was attended by a good many men and also by some ladies who had the courage to brave public opinion and pay their respects to the representa- tive of everything that is infamous. He received them very gracefully ; he has a natural kindness and softness which renders his manners very agreeable to women, but he thought the occasion a good one for having a shot at his betes noires, the ecclesiastics, and so actually lectured these ladies on their too great submission to the priesthood. This was a fault of tact for two reasons ; in the first place, the ladies in question had given strong proof of their independence of priestly authority by coming to see Garibaldi, and therefore did not either need or deserve the lesson ; and in the second place his 392 The Garibaldian Army. observations strengthened the very authority he desired to weaken, for they alarmed all who were afraid of the opinions of society, a large majority amongst women. It was not possible for Garibaldi to make the priesthood detest him more bitterly ; but it was not necessary to frighten the ladies. Garibaldi's little army was composed of very hetero- geneous materials. He said that his men were the dite des nations, and it is quite true that there were some very fine fellows amongst them, but there were also hundreds of rascals who ought to have been in prison, and kept there, for the safety of society. There was especially a legion of sharpshooters from Marseilles, whose conception of military discipline was that they were to do just as they liked. They were armed, of course, and with good weapons, so that no civilian had a chance against them. By a singularly injudicious arrangement these very Marseilles fellows were sent to lodge at the bishop's palace. Now there was a story current that the prelate, on his return from the great Vatican Council, had brought amongst his baggage several packing-cases filled with military weapons, to be used for no good purpose; and so, as these free- shooters found themselves at night in the very building where these weapons were said to be concealed, they thought, or affected to think, that it would be a good opportunity to ascertain the truth of the story by a strict search over the whole building. This they exe- cuted with more zeal than consideration, making a good deal of noise, and frightening the unarmed inhabitants of the building, so that one of the servants jumped out of a window and sprained his ankle. The soldiers went Incident at tne Bishop's Palace. 393 into the bishop's own bedchamber and made a thorough search, to his annoyance. Amongst this disturbance a small gold cross disappeared. The incident, much exaggerated, was circulated by the clerical press all over Europe, and English Protestant newspapers, with that curious facility which so often makes them serve Roman Catholic purposes, without being aware of it, repeated the story with all its exaggerations. The facts are that the bishop's privacy was invaded, and that his little gold cross was lost. Very probably it was stolen. His watch was left untouched. The only person injured was the servant who sprained his own ankle. I have no wish to excuse the Marseilles fellows, who invaded my house, also, in the night-time most unpleasantly. It is not agreeable, as I know by expe- rience, to be at the mercy of a band of armed men who recognize no law but their own good pleasure ; and I sympathize with the bishop, because I have experienced the same annoyance as he did ; but the plain truth is these Marseilles men were simply impudent and troublesome, no more. The clerical press used the incident with its habitual skill, and continued to spread the odium of it on the whole Garibaldian army. The bishop made ecclesiastical capital out of it, assumed the attitude of a sort of demi-martyr, and told the faithful, in his pas- toral charge, that the presence of Garibaldi in tlieir midst was enough to draw down on France the male- dictions of Heaven. 'it is only fair to the old companions of Garibaldi to observe in this place that, although many disorders occurred which were inevitable with a force just newly got together and never subjected to any preparatory 394 French Franc-tirmn. discipline, it was never, or hardly ever, the real Italian Garibaldians who were guilty of these disorders, but men like those in that legion from Marseilles, who, in- deed, formed part of the Army of the Vosges, but were not Garibaldi's comrades ; they had simply been put under his orders by Gambetta ; and the Italian general was peculiarly unfortunate in this respect, that, since he was considered a good captain of guerillas, all sorts of freeshooters were sent to him as soon as they presented themselves. Now, of all soldiers whom I ever beheld or talked with, those Yrench. franc-tireurs were the most absolutely undisciplined ; indeed, it was a point of honour with them not to recognize any superior autho- rity at all. Their theory, which they themselves have explained to me over and over again, was that an officer was only one of themselves, and that they were there to harass the enemy in the way they liked best. They had not, indeed, the most remote conception of the na- ture and utility of discipline, or even of any unity of action. Garibaldi's enemies were careful to lay the irregularities of all these franc-tifeurs at his door, by calling them Garibaldians, as if they had come with him from Caprera ; whereas the truth was that they were Frenchmen, not forming part of the " Garibaldian inva- sion of France," and that they would have served the French cause under some other general if Garibaldi had never presented himself Not only was the clerical sentiment strongly excited against Garibaldi, but even in minds which had not much of the odium theologicum there existed a very strong national antipathy. There is nothing that a nation hates, said one who has known many nations. National Antipathy to Garibaldi, 395 like another nation. It was felt by many Frenchmen as a slight on their national pride that an Italian should presume to offer them any assistance in the hour of their distress ; and as no French general would serve under Garibaldi, so in the public opinion of civilians there was a feeling that he was a presumptuous intruder, who felt that, because he had beaten a few miserable Neapolitans in a little enterprise that had become famous for the mere romance of it, he could conquer the great armies of Germany, before which so many French generals had been compelled to retreat in disaster. Yet at the same time (such is the inconsistency of ill-will) that Garibaldi was despised for his nationality, his fol- lowers who were Frenchmen incurred a share of this national antipathy, and the Army of the Vosges, though most of the soldiers in it were born and nurtured on the soil of France, was looked upon as a foreign army, de- vouring the substance of the country.* * Even if considered simply with regard to the maintenance of friendly relations with France, the non-intervention of England in her behalf was most judicious. I am fully persuaded that if England had sent a corps d'armde to help the French, and if this assistance, at some critical hour, had turned the tide of war in their favour, they would have disliked the English after that assist- ance more heartily than they dislike them now for their neutralitv. There never was much French animosity against England during the war, because the French are persuaded that England has " no army " and cannot fight on land ; they look upon her as a sort of big fish confined to salt-water. It was the Germans who detested England during the war. The German, press spoke of England with contempt mingled with aversion, whilst the English press was praising Germany as the model of all that was most admirable and most moral. 396 CHAPTER XVIL Garibaldi's Army— Bitterly Cold Weather— The Men Sleep in the Churches — The Cry of " Desecration " — Garibaldi's Personal Habits — Bordone — Other Officers — Costumes — Confectionery — Ignorance of the Men — What Garibaldianism reaUy is — Peculiar Character of this Enthusiasm — Annoyances from Franc-Tireurs — Arrival of the Enemy — A Bombardment — ^The Author watches the Combat — Incidents — The Author buries his Strong-box in a Wood — Preparations for Flight — The Germans Retreat— The Armistice — Peace — Character of the War on both Sides. We had three classes of troops in our city, the Mobiles, the Mobitish, and the Garibaldians. When Garibaldi arrived the Mobiles had left, but 2,oooof the Mobilises remained. These occupied much of the room that was to be had, and Garibaldi's army could not , sleep out in the streets, for the temperature was several degrees below freezing-point. Under these circumstEyices, the town-hall and the court-house were lent by the civil authorities to serve as barracks, and a considerable number of men lodged with the inhabitants. Suddenly, however, it became necessary to find shelter for an in flux of four thousand more. A good many had already been so left out, and had found it hard to have to pass the night in" that manner with the thermometer below zero. Under these circumstances, the civil authorities agreed with Garibaldi that rather than let the men perish in the open streets, they would let them sleep Men Sleep in the Churches. 397 ill the churches. There was nothing new in this; it has always been done by armies in time of war, and was actually done during the Franco-German war both by French and German troops. There was a great outcry about this "desecration," however, in the especial case of the Garibaldians, due to the open hostility be- tween their leader and the clerical party. The choice lay between the churches and the public square, between a tolerable shelter and the intolerable cold without. There ^^as, indeed, a way of escaping from the dilemma of inhumanity or desecration. li the rich inhabitants of the town had been disposed to make a sacrifice in the cause of religion they might have saved the houses of God from defilement by re- ceiying more men into their own. It is true that they did already lodge a few Garibaldians who were billeted upon them, but these few were as nothing in comparison with the numbers they might have accommodated had they been willing to sacrifice their own personal com- fort, and to incur the loss occasioned by inevitable damage to their tastefully decorated rooms. Every one who is in the least acquainted with military matters knows how easy it is to lodge a hundred men, as soldiers are lodged in tents, requiring nothing but floor-space, and plenty of straw to lie upon. In an old French town the poor are narrowly lodged, so are the com- mercial people who live over the shops, but the aris- tocracy have spacious old houses, hidden away in gardens, with very fine big rooms in them. Had Gari- baldi taken possession of these, he need not have occupied the churches. 398 Behaviour of Men in the Churches. The next question is, how did the men behave in these places of worship? The answer is, that they behaved as soldiers always do in waf -time under similar circumstances. They made themseiives at home, they sang, they smoked, they lit fires where they ought not to have lighted them, they burned benches and chairs, and anything else that would help to make a fire. As to the uses to which piscinae and confes- sionals were applied, it is easier to conceive them, than to find terms by which Ihey may be described with decency. All this, no doubt, grated dread- fully on the feelings of good Roman Catholics, and 1 do not defend it ; I only say that it is nothing but the ordinary conduct of soldiers on a campaign. When the church is their only home, they make themselves at home there in their own rude way, certainly without any respect for the sacredness of the place, but also without any especial eagerness to profane it. And not- withstanding whatever comfort might be derived from bonfires and pipes of tobacco, the clerical party may always console itself with the reflection that many a young Garibaldian met his death from sleeping in damp and insufficient clothing on the pavement of those churches. Every week there was a list of deaths in the local papers which were not due to wounds,. but to bad lodging, to damp and cold, to irregular and ill-prepared food, in short, to the hardships of warfare in the depth of one of the bitterest winters ever known in a country where winters are almost always severe.* ' * It is unnecessary to add that the public services of religion were suspended during the military occupation of the edifices, and Garibaldi' s Personal Habits. 399 I saw a good deal of the Garibaldian army about this time. The officers, like all the officers in the Franco-German war, spent ail their spare time in caf(6s, which were always full of them, except when they messed in the diffisrent hotels. Garibaldi's habits of solitude and his wretched health, deprived the army of what might have been a beneficial influence, since he never messed with the officers, even of the staff, but ate his basin of soup alone, and drank his glass of water just as if he had been still in his solitude at Caprera. No- thing can be more strange ; nothing, surely, more un- precedented, than such a powerful influence as his, exercised with so little personal intercourse. Tht officers never ate with Garibaldi, never passed an even- ing with him, he was very rarely visible to the soldiers, and then only in the character of an invalid taking " carriage exercise." He went to bed regularly between five and six o'clock in the evening, and for days toge- ther was only visible to his valet ©r Bordone. Whilst the Deliverer of the Two Sicilies lay on his sick bed in a chamber on the ground-floor, Bordone, acting always this is felt as a hardship in a Catholic country, perhaps even more than it would be in a Protestant one, because the churches are used every day and at every hour of the day. At last the public schools were given up to the military, which rendered the churches no longer necessary, and the clergy complained, perhaps with reason, that although the troops might have evacuated the churches entirely at this time they did not evacuate them, but left a few men in possession. The clergy said that the purpose of this continued occupation was to prevent the re-establishment of public worship, but it is only fair to Garibaldi »nd the sub-prefect to suggest that it may have been done in view of the arrival of fresh troops, for the army was constantly increasing. 400 The Italian Officers. in his name, was the active and visible high-priest of the mysterious, invisible hero-divinity. It was he, Bordone, and not Garibaldi, who had the control of the army and who held the strings of the purse. Events which hap- pened a little later proved, for evil as well as good, the force of his relentless will. He had the talents and faculties of a despot, the firm resolve, the calm of nerve which could permit him to live perfectly at ease in situations of anxiety and peril, and in addition to these gifts he had that other terrible one which has belonged to every master — the readiness to inflict the punishment of death. Mever was little army so numerously officered as this Army of the Vosges. All of Garibaldi's old friends who were with him had military titles of some kind, and the number of colonels, especially, was surprising. The Italians had a strong taste for brilliant and pictu- resque uniforms, and as these were all new, the effect, just at first, was rather that of a lev^e or review than the dinginess of actual warfare. Many fine-looking young Italians wore Garibaldi's uniform, and they had a way of draping themselves majestically in their scarlet cloaks, by throwing them across the breast and mouth, and over the shoulder, which, when accompanied, as it generally was, by a look of sufficient sternness and a resolutely martial bearing, had the happiest theatrical effect imaginable. There were one or two troops of light cavalry called " Guides " employed incessantly as scouts, and these fellows had a costume so very pictu- resque and becoming that it was only too becoming and reminded one inevitably of the hippodrome. They Costumes — Confectionery. 401 wore the red shirt, often traversed by chains and trinkets, with a short scarlet cloak, light bluish-grey trousers, and high equestrian boots. They wore, too, a coquettish-looking biretta (a peculiar sort of cap) with a high feather in it, and they soon learned the art, or had it instinctively in their Italian blood, of setting this cap and feather on their heads in the jauntiest possible manner, with the evident intention of causing every pretty Frenchwoman to fall in love with them forthwith It may be remarked, in passing, that these martial Italians never could address a person of the "beautiful- sex " without either a conquering or an imploring air, and the ladies professed to be angry with them for these too amorous Southern manners. But the most remarkable peculiarity of the Italian officers was their inveterate habit of eating sweet little cakes at the confectioners'. Never since the time of the ancient Romans had that business been so profitable as it was in those busy Garibaldian days. There were two good shops of the kind in the town — at one of them a pretty woman, at the other a handsome one. What brave Italian could resist the combined attraction of sugary cakes and female loveliness .' From early morning till dinner-time did these appreciators of sweetness and light (sweetness of tarts and light of ladies' eyes) throng the shops where happiness was to be bought with silver, and how after all those luscious cakes, and those glasses of cloying Malaga wine, they could go and consume a substantial dinner at the hotel I know not. Yet so, indeed, they did ! The privates in Garibaldi s army were remarkable for D f. 402 Ignorance of the Garibaldians. their combination of blind faith with inconceivable ignorance. I did not expect them to know much, but I expected them to know something about Italy, and at least the principal facts in the history of Garibaldi him- self. They were sufficiently interested in Garibaldi to risk their lives in following him, yet not sufficiently interested to make them ascertain what had been the deeds of their hero in other and greater adventures. The rule appeared to be this. If a Garibaldian, a man of the people, a man not belonging to the educated classes, had actually taken part in one of Garibaldi's former expeditions, he would know that there had been such ^n expedition ; but if he had not taken part in it, then he would know nothing whatever about it. I remember trying vainly to persuade a very bright- looking young sergeant, a lad who could write Italian almost correctly, and read it easily, that Garibaldi had defended Rome against the French in 1849. He main- tained that Garibaldi had never been in Rome — " he had been in Naples, but not in Rome." The only chapter of his leader's history of which this youth knew anything was the famous Sicilian expedition, and of that he knew only what he had seen. He was a native of Palermo, and had joined the expedition soon after it landed. Nor was this a solitary instance. All the Garibaldians I talked with, except educated officers, were equally in the dark. It was impossible to talk with them about contemporary events, for they were in a condition not only without information, but curiously repellent of information. It was not of the least use to tell them anything, for they would not believe you. Nature of Garibaldianism. 403 Firmly, yet politely, they would shake their heads and say that you had been misinformed, after which they would give you a true account of the matter, that is to say, the belief which was current amongst them. These beliefs took possession of the whole army in a manner that it was utterly impossible to foresee ; but one thing was inevitable, either the belief was absolutely and inconceivably absurd, or else it took up some bit of very old news indeed, and circulated it suddenly, as an alarming telegram is circulated in London or New York. Garibaldianism has very little to do with knowledge. It is not even the devotion to a cause. The genuine Garibaldians, officers or men, know little and care little about causes. What they feel is an entire, unreasoning, wholly uncritical faith in the absolute excellence and wisdom of one human being, their famous leader, whom they do not call " our captain," nor " our general," but " our father." Garibaldianism is really a new religion. The first time that this became plain to me was between two and three o'clock in the morning, at the outpost nearest the enemy, when I was smoking and talking with one or two old officers of Garibaldi by a blazing fire in a cottage. Others were sleeping on the straw which covered the rude floor. •■ We have no discipline whatever," said the captain, " but our affisction for our father Garibaldi, it is that which binds us together. It was not for the French Republic that we came here, but our father came, and «o we followed him. Look at those men on that straw ? D D 2 404 Influence of Garibaldi. Where will they be in a week ? In the grave, perhaps, or in the hospital. There will be hard fighting soon, and it is a hard season. Some of those fellows are well-to-do, others have not a halfpenny ; the richer ones share with their poor brethren, but whatever may be the differences of social station or military rank, all the Garibaldians feel themselves equal in the presence of their father, and all are equally cared for and beloved by him." I was just thinking that Garibaldianism was a sort of religious faith, when the speaker resumed, after a pause, and rather startled me, with the following expressions, which I remember accurately enough to write them down word for word. " Yes," he continued, " there has been no such influence exercised over the wills of men since Jesus of Nazareth was followed by his disciples. There have been other great military leaders, but they were worldly men, and their followers were actuated by worldly motives. But our poor dear father. Garibaldi, pray what has he to. offer .' The liberty to follow him — the delight of knowing that we are near him, and shall see his face occasionally, and hear the tones of his voice galling us his children — the pride of being his own, his chosen, who have shared in all his perils and have never deserted him to the last' — these are the only rewards that the beloved father offers, or that the devoted children care for,"* * This looks improbable in English because Englishmen are so careful to avoid the expression of anything resembling noble senti- ments in conversation that such sentiments are very unusual in English dialogue, but my conversations with the Garibaldians were Annoyances from Free-Shooters. 405 It was the first time that I had heard the genuine enthusiasm of Garibaldianism, but I heard exactly the same things afterwards from others, and found that it was the true tone or note of the faith! Unbelievers will naturally think that the note is pitched very high, but careful subsequent observation, for which I had ample opportunities, convinced me that the faithful had really tuned their souls up to that diapason. They had even reached the point when a faith is self-sustaining. Even the oldest officers hardly ever saw Garibaldi when he was in our neighbourhood, and they certainly never spoke to him. He lived in solitude, a sad-faced invalid, an austere water-drinker, as abstemious in eating as an anchorite. Is it not strange that this idealist, with his passion for retirement, should be the idol of strong men who, in all other respects, seemed exactly like other military officers 1 About this time we were often greatly annoyed by straggling bodies of free-shooters, who would demand admittance at all hours of the night " in the name of the law," which they neither knew nor obeyed. They never did any harm in the house except by causing an increased expenditure in common wine and firewood ; but it was disagreeable to be called out of bed to ad- minister to their comforts. It is unpleasant to know that you are entirely in the power of an armed man, and what can a civilian do against a dozen fellows armed with chassepots and revolvers ? One night I happened to be away during one of these visitations, always either in Italian or French— languages which not only do not check the expression of noble sentunents, but positively favour it. 4o6 Arrival of the Germans. and the franc-tireurs had conducted themselves so very authoritatively (though not badly in any other sense), that I stayed at home afterwards to bear the brunt of it. A very odd detail of their conduct that evening was that they ordered my wife to show them all my picturts. So she went from ofte to another with a candle, whilst these strange connoisseurs made their critical remarks. They themselves, with their interesting costumes and arms, would have made a more interesting picture than any which they did me the honour to examine. After that I adopted a system which answered per- fectly. The house was open to free-shooters all night through, but one of the company, the highest in rank, was requested to enter his name and regiment in a book. They did this quite willingly, and I believe the names written were genuine, for they behaved very reasonably after this. When you consider that it was impossible to oppose their demands for drink, it seems rather to their credit that they were satisfied with the most moderate quantities. We had very exceptional luck in one thing — not a single soldier was ever billeted on us during the whole Garibaldian occupation ; and this is the more remarkable that the next farm was occupied as a post, whilst the nearest gentleman's house in the other direction was for some time selected as the resi- dence of some Garibaldian officers, to the despair of the excellent housekeeper, whose cup of bitterness was full when she saw them walking with nailed and miry boots on her carefully waxed oaken floors. We were all expecting the enemy, yet he surprised us, as a host is surprised when the guest comes before A Bombardment. 407 the time fixed. How perfectly I remember all the little details of that day! It was impossible to write or paint — impossible to read even, for one could not help going to look out from the upper windows in the direc- tion where the Germans were marching. Peasants who passed along the road told us that the enemy was advancing fast, and would be upon us before evening. One of our neighbours had gone to the town in the morning and left his daughter alone. The young lady had come to us, and we had invited her to dijeuner. Whilst we were at table her father returned, and passed on to his own house, saying that it was still doubtful if the enemy would come that day. We had just finished our d^je&ner, when I went to pay a visit to the stable to see that everything was ready, in case we had to abandon the house and retreat to the hills. After examining every strap and buckle of the harness, and giving Cocotte an extra feed of corn, I walked slowly back to the house and looked towards Garibaldi's out- posts. There was nothing to attract attention, but I continued to look, and lo ! a large puff of white smoke, and then a little cloud up in the air like a balloon. " There goes a shell ! " I thought, and the little cloud descended upon the city, and after several seconds a dull boom came sounding across the fields. I waited to see if the Garibaldians would answer, and very soon a little white cloud rose out of the town itself and took its flight towards the spot from which the first had pro- ceeded. After that, rose several other white clouds of the same kind, and the dull booming became incessant. Z' The first shot that one sees fired in actual warfare 408 A Bombardment. produces quite a new impression. However familiar one may have been with reviews and royal salutes, the cannon seems to have quite a different voice in war time, as I suppose that the lion's roar must bfe more terrible in Africa than it is in the Zoological Gardens. It is not the noise that awes us, it is the meaning of the noise. A strong wind was blowing that day, and the sound of the guns did not reach us in its full strength, so the ladies in the dining-room had not heard it. When I joined them again they were still in quiet conversation, wonder- ing whether the Prussians would arrive in the night. " Ladies;" I said, ceremoniously, " if you would like to see a bombardment I shall be happy to show you one from the garret window, where you will see General Werder's army, which has just arrived, and is already displaying great activity." If the reader has ever sud- denly announced to the ladies of his household that a bombardment was to be seen from his garret, he will know the effect of such an announcement ; if not, he may perhaps imagine it. Not much time was lost in getting to the top of the house, and as I had a good telescope I put the end of it through a broken pane and surveyed the action in detail. Everybody tells me that I saw more of the combat than any other spec- tator, for those in the town were prevented from seeing anything by the houses and trees, whilst the soldiers who were actually engaged had no general view of the operations. It is probable that no rustic at a ^safe distance had a telescope. Mine enabled me to observe not only bodies of troops but even men individually, Incidents of the Day. 409 There was a steady line of darkly-clothed Germans on the slope of a rising ground, and before them was their artillery. The sunshine was so clear and bright, and the guns so clean that I could see them glittering. They were served with perfect regularity, and for some time continued to pour shells into the town. The Gari- baldians,on their part, occupied a more elevated position, and shelled the Germans with great energy. I heartily admired the perfect steadiness of the Germans under fire ; they were as orderly as soldiers at a rieview, and yet they were unpleasantly exposed, being in the open field, whereas the Garibaldians fired upon them from the houses in the faubourg. It is one of the peculiarities of the fair sex not to be able to see anything with a telescope, so, after some ineffectual attempts, the ladies begged me to do all the looking, and I was placed in the position of Rebecca in "Ivanhoe," when she described the siege of the castle to the sick knight who could not look upon it with his own eyes. After a while, the Germans found their situation rather too much exposed, and a mounted officer, whom I believed to be a Colonel, took his regiment behind the Paris road, which, for a short distance, runs on an embankment, and therefore may afford some shelter. His men were now protected from the rifles in the houses, but full in view for me, and I became especially interested in the Colonel himself, because he would keep riding about on his handsome black charger, climbing the embankment repeatedly and exposing himself alone on the road to see how matters were going forward, without thinking of the peril, which was great indeed, 4IO Death of a German Officer. for he was a capital mark for the riflemen as he sat on his tall horse alone in the middle of the highway. " There's a brave fellow," I said, " and a careful officer ; he has put his own men out of harm's way for the pre- sent, but does not care to consult his own safety. I wish him well through it all, enemy though he be." Just as I spoke he rode out upon the highway once again, rode out to meet his fate, for he fell from the saddle a dead man. The charger turned round at once and trotted back towards the regiment. I saw a soldier go out to meet the horse and take him by the bridle. The man led the horse very quietly, but neither he nor the animal was wounded. Now and then in the ranks of the Germans there was a little temporary disturbance when a soldier was killed or wounded, but it did not affect the rigidity of the line, which was drawn upon the field like a regiment in a stiff military picture, and the artillerymen went on serving the guns as mechanically as if they had been automatons. Being now satisfied that the Germans were not advancing their positions, but showed a tendency to withdraw from those at first occupied, I left my post of observation and busied myself about our own affairs. We had determined to remain at home in case of simple occupation, but to leave if our house seemed likely to be included in a battle-field. There was still great risk of this ; the Germans actually tried to get their artillery over the river which flowed behind my house, and could not manage it Had they known the country roads and the fords they would certainly have The Author Buries his Strong-Box. 411 come straight to the house, whilst it is likely that some troops on the French side would have met them there. In that case our intention was to drive off to a little village high amongst the hills, not likely, from its situation, to be permanently occupied by the enemy, though he might visit it to make occasional requisi- tions. I had a roomy sort of four-wheeled dog-cart, with a very capacious coffer stuffed to the utmost with what we were most anxious to carry away. A more diffi- cult task was to get a certain strong iron box away into the depths of a neighbouring wood without being ob- served by the franc-tireurs, or by rustics on the look- out First I smuggled a spade into the wood, then a pickaxe, lastly the box, then dug the hole myself, and buried my treasure, within range of the artillery, but not precisely under fire, as it was not shelling the wood where I dug the hole. I made no mark in the wood, but only this memorandum in my pocket-book: — " First great oak, after that first birch due north, then eleven yards due west of latter." By the help of this memorandum I recovered my box quite easily after the peace ; but many country people, from trust- ing to their memories, and not knowing the art of making an accurate memorandum, have never been able to find what they had hidden. About a hundred franc-tireurs passed within a few yards of me when my task was just completed. A constant stream of civil- ians was pouring along the high road in all manner of conveyances, going they knew not whither. All these people had been under fire for the space of half a mile (which they passed at full gallop), but nobody was 412 Escape of a Franc-tireur. wounded. A woman, whom I Jcnew, came in a little donfcey-carriage, and when I asked if she had any news to tell, she wrung my hand and burst into tears. This was merely the effect of excitement, for she had lost nobody she knew, and had no reason to be particularly anxious about anybody near or dear to her. The men, on the other .hand, seemed to take a pride in talking like military critics, and as if they were quite accustomed to combats and sieges. The firing tceased at dusk, and the enemy had not yet taken the place, but kept his position in the suourb. Then came a brilliant, frosty moonlight, and I set off to get news of some scouts whom we had posted to bring us information of any movement of the enemy in our direction. I met with a solitary franc-tireur, who was dreadfully afraid of being caught and executed by the Germans. I told him he had better come home with me, which he did with some reluctance, as he said that if we were both caught I should be shot too. He had eaten nothing all day, so I made him dine with us, and whilst we were at dinner, there came a thundering noise at the front door. It was one of our scouts, who said that the Germans were on us, so the franc-tireur hid himself, and \ went out to look. The alarm turned out to be false, and as it was a very fine evening I drove him to the next military outpost, where he might pass the night by the fire in the guard-room. A very odd incident happened as I was returning home. A man seized my hand and implored my inter- cession with the enemy, that his house and its inhabi- tants might be spared. There was a general imprension Cannonade by Moonlight. 413 that, as I was a foreigner, and the Germans were foreigners also, we should understand each other per- fectly. Everybody remembers the line in " Hohenlinden," — " Far flashed the red artillery ! " It occurred to my memory that evening- when the Ger- mans resumed firing under the moonlight, and we could see the red flashes leaping from the cannons' mouths, silent like the red blaze in a battle picture, till the thunder came upon us tardily- Very probably the reader will imagine that we sat up anxiously all night,, but the plain truth is that we went to bed soon, and slept as. well as possible till the next morning. The excitement of the day had produced that weariness, so common in war-tim^ which enables people to sleep in perfect tranquillity, notwithstanding the noise of cannon. The next morning we got up early; The firings had ceased. Men who had been with the Germans all night (for the enemy had occupied their houses) came to tell us that they were in full retreat. The next time they advanced upon us, the armistice stopped, them a few miles from our house., Them the peace came, and we were delivered. Imagine some tremendous conflagration, in the pri maeval forest, covering thousands, of square leagues; it rages and spreads till at length it reaches its limit, and just outside the limit there is a little bird's-nest, with the young in it, and the conflagration ceases, and the nest is not even singed. That nest was like our house. 414 The Franco-German War. Imagine some fearful inundation, which devastates a hundred towns and more than a thousand farms. It rises and spreads till it goes far inland, and comes near to a little flower. It uproots great trees, and makes many a field like a desert, but that little plant is an inch outside of its course, and the waters subside, and it is just as it was before. Our garden was like that plant. It would be easy to thrill the reader with an account of bloodshed and wounds, but d, quoi bon ? He has had enough of such reading in 1870 and 1871. Did he ever see such a thing as a cartload of wounded .' I have, and I do not wish to see it again. Did he ever hear the moans of men and horses in their anguish ? I have, and I do not wish to hear them again. One would hear and see these things with greater equanimity in a just and necessary war, but that huge sanguinary conflict of 1870-71 was unnecessary in its beginning by the French and its continuation by the Germans. The French Government might have main- tained peace after the renunciation of Prince Hohen- zoUern, and the Germans might as easily have restored it after Sedan. The war was begun by French ambi- tion and continued by Prussian ambition, with supreme indifference, in both cases, to the interests of humanity. It was, therefore, from beginning to end, a thoroughly discouraging spectacle from the moral point of view. The conduct of Napoleon was not even national, it was selfish, for, by his own admission, it sacrificed strategic to political considerations. The conduct of the Prus- sians was national, but without a trace of generosity or nobleness. That terrible year can have left but one Tlie Franco-Lrerman War. 415 desire in all just and thoughtful minds — the wish for a stronger international law by which the ambition of rulers may be kept within reasonable limits. This may be too much to hope for in our day, but let us work for it already, each with his own small influence and strength. The time may yet come to Europe when the career of a conqueror will be as impossible within its limits as that of a Sicilian brigand is already in the Isle of Wight. imnB. MR. HAMERTON'S WORKS. Our Editions are the only American Editions published with Mr. Hamerton's sanction and on which he receives copyright. All other American Editions are piratical, defrauding the Author of his just rights in his own property. BOBEBTS BBOTHEBS. " The style oftJiis writer is a truly admirable one, light and pictur- esque, withaut being shallow, and dealini^ with all subjects in a charming way. Whenever our readers see or hear of one of Mr. Hamerton's books, we advise them to read it." — Springfield Republican. THE INTELLECTUAL LIFE. Square i2mo. Price I2.00. " Not every day do we lake hold of a bodk that we would fain have alw^s near us, a book that we read only to want 'no read again and again, that is so vitalized with truth, so helpful in its relation to humanity, that we would almost sooner buy it for our friend than spare him our copy to read. Such a book is * The intellectual Lifei' by Philip Gilbert Hamerton, itself one of the rarest and noblest fruits of that life of wMch it treats. ** Just how much this book would be worth to each individual reader it would be quite im- possible to say; but we can hardly conceive of any human mind, bom with the irresistible in^incts toward the intellectual Hie, that would not find in it not only ample food for deep reflection, but also living waters of the sweetest consolation and encouragement. " We wonder how many readers of. this noble volume, under a sense of personal gratitude, have stopped to exclaim with its author, in a similar position, ' Now the only Crcesus that I envy is he who is reading a^better book4han this.' " — Front the ChildretCs Friend. THE SYLVAN YEAR. Leaves from the Note-Book of Raoul Dubois. With Twenty Etchings by the Author and other Artists. 8vo. Cloth, gilt edges- Price {^5^50. A cheaper edition, square i2mo. Price g2.oo. "'The Sylvan Year* is one of Mr. Hamerton's best books : and Mr. Hamerton, at his best, is one of the most charming modern writers. . . . A record rich in intelligent observation of animals, trees, and all the forest world ; rich, too, in the literary beauty, the artistic tmiches, and the sentiment ihat mark Mr. Hamerton's style." — From the Boston Daily A dveriiser. " Its author lived a year in the Val Sainte Veronique, watching .the forest through all its changes, and adding to his already large stock of woods lore. He has enough scientific knowl- edge, but, in talking of nature, he adds to that the obseifvation of the artist, and the sentiment of the poet and the man of true feeling. Then he knows the literature of the woods, the flowers, and the seasons. The style is very quiet ; one reads it with a slow sort of delight that nothing else gives, and the enjoyment of it grows with every new book that the author writes. These out-door books of Mr. Hamerton are more attractive than his graver works which treat of the Intellectual Life and of Art, although those are admirable m their way. But 'The Unknown River,* 'Chapters on Animals,* and 'The Sylvan Year,' have a sim- plicity, a delicacy, a depth of feeling, and a wealth of literary beauty that are very rarely found united." — Bosion Correspondeni of ike Worcester Spy. MR, HAMERTON'S WORKS. THOUGHTS ABOUT ART, New Edition, Revised, with Notes and an Introduction. " Fortunate is he who at an early age knows what art is." — Goethe. Square i2mo. Price ^2.00. "The whole volume is adapted to give a wholesome dtimulus to the taste for art^ and to place it in an intelligent and wise direction. With a knowledge of the principles, vthich it sets forth in a style of peculiar fascination, the reader is prepared to enjoy the wonders of ancient and modern art, with a fresh sense of their beauty, and a critical recognition of tlie bources 0/ their power." — New York Tribune. A PAINTER'S CAMP. A New Edition, in i vol. i6ma Price ^1.50. Square i2mo. Price ^2.00. " IE any reader whose eye chances to meet this article has read * The Painter's Camp,' by Mr. Philip Gilbert Hamer'ton, he will need but little stimulus to feel assured that the same author's work, entitled 'Thoughts about Art,* is worth his attention. The former, I confess, was so unique that no author should be expected to repeat the sensation produced by it. Like the 'Adventures of Robinson Crusoe,' or the ' Swiss Family Robinson,' it brought to niaturer minds, as those do to all, the flavor of breezy out-of-door experiences, — an aroma of poetry and adventure combined. It was full of art, and art-discussions too; and yet it needed no rare technical knowledge to understand and enjoy it." — yoel Benton. "They (*A Painter's Camp' and ' Thoughts about Art') are the most useful books that could be placed in the hands of the American art public. If we were asked where the most intelligent, the most trustworthy, the most practical, and the most interesting exposition of modem art and cognate subjects is to be found, we should point to Hamerton's writings." — The Atlantic Monthly, THE UNKNOWN RIVER: An Etchefs Voyage of Discov- ery. With an original Preface for the American Edition, and Thirty-seven Plates etched by the Author. One elegant Svo volume, bound in cloth, extra, gilt, and gilt edges. Price ^6.00. A cheaper edition, square i2mo. Price 15S2.00. " Wordsworth might like to come back to earth for a summer, and voyage with Philip Gil- bert Hamerton down some ' Unknown River' ! If this supposition seem extravagant to any man, let him buy and read ' The Unknown River, an Etcher's Voyage of Discovery,' by P. G. Hamerton. It is not easy to write soberly about this book while fresh from its presence. The subtle charm of the very title is indescribable ; it lays hold in the outset on the deepest romance in everv heart ; it is the very voyage we are all yearning for. When, l^ter on, we are told that this * Unknown River' is the Arroux, in the eastern highlands of France, thatit empties into the Loire, and lias on its shores ancient towns of historic interest, we do not quite believe it. Mr. Hamerton has flung a stronger spell by his first word than he knew." — Scribner's Monthly. CHAPTERS ON ANIMALS. With Eight Illustrations by J. Veyrassat and Karl Boomer. Square i2mo. Price 352.oo. " This is a choice book. Only such a man as Hamerton could have written it, who, by virtue of his great love of art, has been a quick and keen observer of nature, who has lived with and loved animal nature, and made friends and companions of the dog and horse and bird. And of such, how few there are ! Mr. Hamerton has observed to much purpose, for he hasacuriou? aympaihy with the ' painful mystery of brute creaiion,' as Dr. Arnold called it. He recognizes the beauty and the ourden of that life which is bounded by so fine and sensitive a mortality. He finds m the uses of the domestic animal something supplementary to his own manhood, and which develops both the head and heart of the good master. We have been often reminded 01 Montaigne in reading this book, as we always associate him with his cat." — Boston Courier, MR. HAMERTON'S WORKS. ^HE LIFE OF J. M. W. TURNER, R. A. Square i2mo. Price J^2.oo. " We have found his volume thoioughly fascinating, and think that no open-minded reader " the 'Modern Painters' should neglect to read this 'Life.' In it he will find Turner nhroned from the pinnacle of a demi-god on which Ruskin has set him (greatly to the ■list's disadvantage), but he will also find him placed on another reasonably high pedestal here one may admire him intelligently and lovmgly, in- spite of the defects in drawing, the :casional lapses of coloring and the other peculiarities, which are made clear to his observa- on by Mr. Hamerton's discussion." — Boston Courier. ETCHING AND ETCHERS. Illustrated with Etchings printed in Paris under the supervision of Mr. Hamerton, A new, revised, and enlarged Edition. 8vo. Cloth, gilt and black. Price jjSs.oo. " We are not in the habit of overpraising publishers or authors, but we have no hesitation 1 Raying that Mr. Hamerton's * Etching and Etchers * will henceforth deserve to have, and srtainly obtain, a place in every gentleman's library in the country who can afford to buy the Dok. The subject is treated so conscientiously, there is such a maturity and repose of thought lid exposition, and in every page, whether you agree or disagree, so much to think over with ixurious reflection, besides which the illustrations are so valuable and delicately chosen for le object in view, that the book rather resembles the medieval labors of life-long devotion, lan a nineteenth-century forty-steam-power of ephemeral production." — The Spectator. i'HE GRAPHIC ARTS: A Treatise on the Varieties of Drawing, Painting, and Engraving in Comparison with each other and with Nature. Square i2mo. Price $2.00. " Few books have issued from the Ametican press of more deserved and general interest nd value. The volume displays a vast amount of artistic knowledge andresearch, and a lorough familiarity with all the literature of the subject, and with general literature as well, esides showing his own conspicuous and graceful literary accomplishment. It is a volume lost to be welcomed, however, for its probable effect in widening the respect for graphic art I its various forms through making men and women of some literary culture better acquainted 'ith its reason and method as well as its beauty." — Chuago Times. lOUND MY HOUSE. Notes of Rural Life in France -in Peace and War. Square izmo. Price ?2.oo. " Whatever the subject he chooses, and he is at home with a good many, Mr. Hamerton ia retty sure to write an entertaining book, and this one, which gives an account of his life in ranee, is no exception. He takes the reader into his confidence, "and tells him just how hard was to find exactly the sort of house he wanted. . . . After describing this tempting place, le author goes on to give his readers just that full record of whatjie saw in his daily life, hich is most interesting and useful to an outsider. The merit of this part is, that it so exactly isembles the talk of a sensible man whose tact enables him to know just what his hearers ould like to \isxi'" — Atlantic Monthly. VENDERHOLME: a Tale of Yorkshire and Lancashire. Square 1 2mo. Price JS2.00. " To those who are familiar with other works by Mr. Hamerton, it may be sufficient, in a eneral way, to say that ' Wenderholme' is characterized by the same thoroughness, the same mplicity, the same artistic flavor that make ' Round my House' so delightful ; by the same ive of nature, the same appreciation of the beautiful, the same refinement that mark ' The Inknown River ' and ' A Painter's Camp ; ' and there are not wanting evidences of the wide iading, the proofs of culture and earnestness that are conspicuous in ' Intellectual Life.' " — 'incinnati, O., Times. MR. HAMERTON'S WORKS, FRENCH AND ENQLTSH : A Comparison. Square i2mo. Price g2.oo. "Mr. Hamerton's comparison of the two nations follows a very methodical order. He compares them, step by step, in rfficials. The whole history of their difficulties with the authorities on the question of sketch- ng is given at full length... . . Four maps and ^ hundred and forty-ei^ht pen-and-ink draw- ngs illustrate the expedition. Of these, a hundred and two are original drawings by Mr. Joseph Pennell, twenty-four compositions by Mr. Pennell after Mr. Hamerton, nineteen jriginal works by Mr. Hamerton, while three are drawings by Mr. Hamerton after Messrs. Fules Chevrier and J. P. Pettitt. Mr. Pennell's work, as might be expected, shines in the qualities of elegance, taste, and judicious finish. He seems to have surpassed all his previous ichievements in daintiness of style and fineness of workmanship. He has found some quaint compositions, chosen from unusual points of view, wherewith to illustrate the appearance of iie river seen from the end of a gang of barges." — Atkenaum. PORTFOLIO PAPERS. Square i2mo. Price $2.00. " Mr. Hamerton has done more to familiarize reading people withthe principles and meth- ods of art than any other writer. Mr. Ruskin's genius gave the impulse to a wide-spread interest in art years ago ; and, by a very happy sequence, [Mr- Hamerton _has appeared to dp the secondary work of education. He' lacks almost entirely Mr. Ruskin's genius; but he possesses in large ineasure that sound judgment which Mr. Ruskih often conspicuously lacks, \ thorough knowledge ot his subjectSj and the rare ability to write from the standpoint of his readers. Mr. Ham.erton's great quality as a teacher has been this ability to put himself inthe place of the man who is ignorant of art, and expound to him in the siihplfest fashion things which to Mr. Hamerton himself must be obvious and elementary. In this volume, Mr. Hamerton writes interestingly about five artists, — Constable, Etty, Chintreuil^ Guignet_, and Goya. The volume also contains * Notes on iCsthetics,* 'Essays,' and * Conversations.' Among the subjects which appear in the division of ' Essays' are * Style,* *,Soul and Mattei- in the Fine Arts,' 'The Nature of the Fine Arts,' and 'Can Science Help Art?' On all these subjects Mr. HamertOB is thoroughly at home; arid the book is, on the whole, th^ utterance of a large-minded and catholic critic and student." — CArM/»a« Union. [MAGINATION IN LANDSCAPE PAINTING. An elegant folio volume, fully illustrated, and bound in cloth, Gilt. $(>.^o. (Limited edition.) " The very interesting folio in which this eminent artist and art-writer discusses Imagination in Landscape Painting, like everything that comes from his hand, has a popular, quite as much IS a technural, interest. The keynote of Mr. Hamerton's work is round in the sentence, 'The power of recalling Irnages with clearness is imagination of the more ordinary kind, :hough it is usually called memory ; whilst the power of combining these, images in such a manner as to make them into works of art is the gift of artistic invention, which is very nuch rarer than the other.' This thought Mr. Hamerton elaborates at length, and witK all the charming simplicity and aniijle resources of his admirable style. The value of the book is very much increased by fourteen illustrations reproduced by various processes, be^des 9 lumber of pen-and-ink drawings." MR, HAMERTON'S WORKS. MODERN FRENCHMEN. Five Biographies : Victor Jacque- niont, Traveller and Naturalist ; Henri Perfevve, Ecclesiastic and Orator ; Frangois Rude, Sculptor; Jean Jacques Ampfere, Historian, Arch£eologist, and Traveller; Henri Regnault, Painter and Patriot. By Philip Gilbert Hamerton. Uni- form with " The Intellectual Life," &c. Square i2mo. Price ^JSz.oo. "Philip Gilbert Hamerton has the faculty (not common to all authors) of making every- thing he touches interesting. Best known as a writer on art, his works upon that subject have come to be recognized as standards. His novels and essays are always full of meat, and hia works generally are characterized by a fairness and impartiality which give them peculiar value. His latest work, * Modem f'renchmen,' is made up of five biographies." — ^(?j/o« Transcript. HUMAN INTERCOURSE. Square i2mo. Price 1 2.00. *' He has the art of presenting to our minds a hundred paths into which every subject opens. ... In writing about * Human Intercourse,' Mr. Hamerton has the always significant facts of human nature to deal with, — those eternally interesting creatures, men and women. . . . Occasionally, too, there are sentences that suggest by their felicity the rhythm of poetry._ Better than all, in this,_ as in every one of Mr. Hamerton's works, we feel that we are dealing with a man who, besides his grace, his wit, or his keen observation, is always on the side of simple truth and punty of living, nnd possesses a high-minded faith in the power of the Best, and a' determination to aid in its final victory. " — Philadelphia Press. LANDSCAPE. Square i2mo. Price J2.00. ** Mr. Hamerton in sending to his publishers, Messrs. Roberts Brothers, a complete set of proofs for the library edition,. sayS! ' I have done all in my power to make "Landscape" a readable book. It is not mere letter-press to illustrations, or anything of the kind, but a book which, I hofie, anybody wbo takes any^ interest in landscape would be glad to possess.* . . . The subject is treated from all sides which have any contact with art or sentiment, — from the side of our illusions ; our love for nature ; the power of nature over us ; nature as subjective'; verbal description, 'word-painting;' nature as reflected by Homer, as the type of Greek nature-impression ; by Virgil or Latin, Ariosto or Mediaeval ; then as studied by Wordsworth and Lamartinej as types of English and French ; from its relation to the various graphic arts, its characteristics in Great Britain and in France, and from the geography of beauty and art. Mountains are weighed in the art balances ; lakes, brooks, rivulets, and rivers in their degrees . of magnitude, ^ Then man's work on rivers and their use in art are considered ; then trees, under their various aspects ; then the effect of agriculture on landscape, of figures and animals, and of architecture. The two immensities,' sea and sky. conclude. — The Nation. Mr. Hamerton's Works (not including ** Etchers and Etchino-," "Imagination in Landscape Painting," "Paris," and "A Summer Voyage on the Sa&ne") may be had in uniform binding. 14 voJo. Square i2mo. Cloth, price $28.00; half calf, price $5600. A cheaper edition 14 vols., i6mo, cloth, Oxford style, $17.50; cloth, imitation half calf, $21.00. For sale by all booksellers. Mailed^ post-paid, on receipt of adver* Used price, by ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, Boston.