A Residence in France During the Years 1792, 1793, 1794 and 1795, Complete. Charlotte Biggs
of licentiouſneſs, intrigue, and ſuperſtition.
Theſe efforts have been ſufficiently ſucceſſful—not from the merit of the pieces, but from the novelty of the ſubject. The people in general were ſtrangers to the interior of convents: they beheld them with that kind of reſpect which is uſually produced in uninformed minds by myſtery and prohibition. Even the monaſtic habit was ſacred from dramatic uſes; ſo that a repreſentation of cloiſters, monks, and nuns, their coſtumeſ and manners, never fails to attract the multitude.—But the ſame cauſe which renders them curious, makes them credulous. Thoſe who have ſeen no farther than the Grille, and thoſe who have been educated in convents, are equally unqualified to judge of the lives of the religious; and their minds, having no internal conviction or knowledge of the truth, eaſily become the converts of ſlander and falſehood.
I cannot help thinking, that there is ſomething mean and cruel in thiſ procedure. If policy demand the ſacrifice, it does not require that the victims ſhould be rendered odious; and if it be neceſſary to diſpoſſeſſ them of their habitations, they ought not, at the moment they are thrown upon the world, to be painted as monſters unworthy of its pity or protection. It is the cowardice of the aſſaſſin, who murders before he dares to rob.
This cuſtom of making public amuſements ſubſervient to party, has, I doubt not, much contributed to the deſtruction of all againſt whom it haſ been employed; and theatrical calumny ſeems to be always the harbinger of approaching ruin to its object; yet this is not the greateſt evil which may ariſe from theſe inſidious politicſ—they are equally unfavourable both to the morals and taſte of the people; the firſt are injured beyond calculation, and the latter corrupted beyond amendment. The orders of ſociety, which formerly inſpired reſpect or veneration, are now debaſed and exploded; and mankind, once taught to ſee nothing but vice and hypocriſy in thoſe whom they had been accuſtomed to regard as models of virtue, are eaſily led to doubt the very exiſtence of virtue itſelf: they know not where to turn for either inſtruction or example; no proſpect iſ offered to them but the dreary and uncomfortable view of general depravity; and the individual is no longer encouraged to ſtruggle with vicious propenſities, when he concludes them irreſiſtibly inherent in hiſ nature. Perhaps it was not poſſible to imagine principles at once ſo ſeductive and ruinous as thoſe now diſſeminated. How are the morals of the people to reſiſt a doctrine which teaches them that the rich only can be criminal, and that poverty is a ſubſtitute for virtue—that wealth iſ holden by the ſufferance of thoſe who do not poſſeſs it—and that he who is the frequenter of a club, or the applauder of a party, is exempt from the duties of his ſtation, and has a right to inſult and oppreſs hiſ fellow citizens? All the weakneſſes of humanity are flattered and called to the aid of this pernicious ſyſtem of revolutionary ethics; and if France yet continue in a ſtate of civilization, it is becauſe Providence has not yet abandoned her to the influence of ſuch a ſyſtem.
Taſte is, I repeat it, as little a gainer by the revolution as morals. The pieces which were beſt calculated to form and refine the minds of the people, all abound with maxims of loyalty, with reſpect for religion, and the ſubordinations of civil ſociety. Theſe are all prohibited; and are replaced by fuſtian declamations, tending to promote anarchy and diſcord—by vulgar and immoral farces, and inſidious and flattering panegyricſ on the vices of low life. No drama can ſucceed that is not ſupported by the faction; and this ſupport is to be procured only by vilifying the Throne, the Clergy, and Nobleſſe. This is a ſuccedaneum for literary merit, and thoſe who diſapprove are menaced into ſilence; while the multitude, who do not judge but imitate, applaud with their leaderſ—and thus all their ideas become vitiated, and imbibe the corruption of their favourite amuſement.
I have dwelt on this ſubject longer than I intended; but as I would not be ſuppoſed prejudiced nor precipitate in my aſſertions, I will, by the firſt occaſion, ſend you ſome of the moſt popular farces and tragedies: you may then decide yourſelf upon the tendency; and, by comparing the diſpoſitions of the French before, and within, the laſt two years, you may alſo determine whether or not my concluſions are warranted by fact. Adieu.—Yours.
Arras.
Our countrymen who viſit France for the firſt time—their imaginationſ filled with the epithets which the vanity of one nation has appropriated, and the indulgence of the other ſanctioned—are aſtoniſhed to find thiſ "land of elegance," this refined people, extremely inferior to the Engliſh in all the arts that miniſter to the comfort and accommodation of life. They are ſurprized to feel themſelves ſtarved by the intruſion of all the winds of heaven, or ſmothered by volumes of ſmoke—that no lock will either open or ſhut—that the drawers are all immoveable—and that neither chairs nor tables can be preſerved in equilibrium. In vain do they inquire for a thouſand conveniences which to them ſeem indiſpenſible; they are not to be procured, or even their uſe is unknown: till at length, after a reſidence in a ſcore of houſes, in all of which they obſerve the ſame deficiencies, they begin to grow ſceptical, to doubt the pretended ſuperiority of France, and, perhaps for the firſt time, do juſtice to their own unaſſuming country. It muſt however, be confeſſed, that if the chimnies ſmoke, they are uſually ſurrounded by marble—that the unſtable chair is often covered with ſilk—and that if a room be cold, it is plentifully decked with gilding, pictures, and glaſſes.—In ſhort, a French houſe is generally more ſhowy than convenient, and ſeldom conveys that idea of domeſtic comfort which conſtitutes the luxury of an Engliſhman.
I obſerve, that the moſt prevailing ornaments here are family portraits: almoſt every dwelling, even among the lower kind of tradeſmen, is peopled with theſe enſigns of vanity; and the painters employed on theſe occaſions, however deficient in other requiſites of their art, ſeem to have an unfortunate knack at preſerving likeneſſes. Heads powdered even whiter than the originals, laced waiſtcoats, enormous lappets, and countenances all ingeniouſly diſpoſed ſo as to ſmile at each other, encumber the wainſcot, and diſtreſs the unlucky viſitor, who is obliged to bear teſtimony to the reſemblance. When one ſees whole rooms filled with theſe figures, one cannot help reflecting on the goodneſs of Providence, which thus diſtributes ſelf-love, in proportion as it denieſ thoſe gifts that excite the admiration of others.
You muſt not underſtand what I have ſaid on the furniture of French houſes as applying to thoſe of the nobility or people of extraordinary fortunes, becauſe they are enabled to add the conveniences of other countries to the luxuries of their own. Yet even theſe, in my opinion, have not the uniform elegance of an Engliſh habitation: there is alwayſ ſome diſparity between the workmanſhip and the materialſ—ſome mixture of ſplendour and clumſineſs, and a want of what the painters call keeping; but the houſes of the gentry, the leſſer nobleſſe, and merchants, are, for the moſt part, as I have deſcribed—abounding in ſilk, marble, glaſſes, and pictures; but ill finiſhed, dirty, and deficient in articleſ of real uſe.—I ſhould, however, notice, that genteel people are cleaner here than in the interior parts of the kingdom. The floors are in general of oak, or ſometimes of brick; but they are always rubbed bright, and have not that filthy appearance which ſo often diſguſts one in French houſes.
The heads of the lower claſſes of people are much diſturbed by theſe new principles of univerſal equality. We enquired of a man we ſaw near a coach this morning if it was hired. "Monſieur—(quoth he—then checking himſelf ſuddenly,)—no, I forgot, I ought not to ſay Monſieur, for they tell me I am equal to any body in the world: yet, after all, I know not well if this may be true; and as I have drunk out all I am worth, I believe I had better go home and begin work again to-morrow." This new diſciple of equality had, indeed, all the appearance of having ſacrificed to the ſucceſs of the cauſe, and was then recovering from a dream of greatneſs which he told us had laſted two days.
Since the day of taking the new oath we have met many equally elevated, though leſs civil. Some are undoubtedly