The Origins of Contemporary France, Volume 1

H >> Hippolyte A. Taine >> The Origins of Contemporary France, Volume 1

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[9]. "I met in Paris the d'Alemberts, the Marmontels, the Baillys
at the houses of duchesses, which was an immense advantage to all
concerned. . . . When a man with us devotes himself to writing
books he is considered as renouncing the society equally of those who
govern as of those who laugh. . . Taking literary vanity into
account the lives of your d'Alemberts and Baillys are as pleasant as
those of your seigniors." (Stendhal, "Rome, Naples et Florence," 377,
in a narrative by Col. Forsyth).

[10]. "Entretien d'un philosophe avec la Maréchale -."

[11]. The television audience today cannot threaten never again to
invite the boring "philosopher" to dinner, but will zap away, a move
that the system accurately senses. The rules that Taine describes
are, alas, therefore once more valid. (SR.)

[12]. The same process is observable in our day in the "Sophismes
économiques" of Bastiat, the "Eloges historiques" of Flourens, and in
"Le Progrès," by Edmond About.

[13]. The "Portier de Chartreux." (An infamous pornographic book.
(SR.))

[14]. "Thérese Philosophe." There is a complete literature of this
species.

[15]. See the edition of M. Dauban in which the suppressed
passages are restored.

[16]. "Esprit des Lois," ch. XV. book V. (Reasons in favor of
slavery). The "Defence of the Esprit des Lois," I. Reply to the
second objection. II. Reply to the fourth objection.

[17]. Letter 24 (on Louis XIV.)

[18]. Letter 18 (on the purity and impurity of things). Letter 39
(proofs of the mission of Mohammed).

[19]. Letters 75 and 118.

[20]. Letters 98 (on the modern sciences), 46 (on a true system of
worship), 11 and 14 (on the nature of justice).

[21]. Cf "Micromégas," "L'homme aux quarantes écus," "Dialogues
entre A, B, C," Dic. Philosophique," passim. - In verse, "Les
systèmes," "La loi naturelle," "Le pour et le countre,", "Discours sur
l'homme," etc.

[22]. "Traité de métaphysique," chap. I. p.1 (on the peasantry).
- "Lettres sur les Anglais," passim. - "Candide," passim. -
"La Princesse de Babylone," ch. VII. VIII. IX. and XI.

[23] "Dict. Phil." articles, "Maladie," (Replies to the princess).
- "Candide," at Madame de Parolignac. The sailor in the wreck.
Narrative of Paquette. - The "Ingénu," the first chapters.

[24]. "Candide," the last chapter. When there was no dispute
going on, it was so wearisome that the old woman one day boldly said
to him: "I should like to know which is worse to be ravished a hundred
times by Negro pirates, to have one's rump gashed, or be switched by
the Bulgarians, to be scourged or hung in an auto-da-fé, to be cut to
pieces, to row in the galleys, to suffer any misery through which we
have passed, or sit still and do nothing?" - "That is the great
question," said Candide.

[25]. For example, in the lines addressed to the Princess Ulrique
in the preface to "Alzire," dedicated to Madame du Chatelet:

"Souvent un peu de verité," etc.

[26] The scholar in the dialogue of "Le Mais," (Jenny). - The
canonization of Saint Cucufin. - Advice to brother Pediculuso. -
The diatribe of Doctor Akakia. - Conversation of the emperor of
China with brother Rigolo, etc.

[27]. "Dict. Philosophique," the article "Ignorance." - "Les
Oreilles du Comte de Chesterfied." - "L'homme au quarante écus,"
chap. VII. and XI.

[28]. Bachaumont, III, 194. (The death of the Comte de Maugiron).

[29]. "The novels of the younger Crébillon were in fashion. My
father spoke with Madame de Puisieux on the ease with which licentious
works were composed; he contended that it was only necessary to find
an arousing idea as a peg to hang others on in which intellectual
libertinism should be a substitute for taste. She challenged him to
produce on of this kind. At the end of a fortnight he brought her
'Les bijoux indiscrets' and fifty louis." (Mémoires of Diderot, by his
daughter). - "La Religieuse," has a similar origin, its object
being to mystify M. de Croismart.

[30]. "Le Rêve de d'Alembert."

[31]. "Le neveau de Rameau."

[32]. The words of Diderot himself in relation to the "Rêve de
d'Alembert."

[33] One of the finest stanzas in "Souvenir" is almost literally
transcribed (involuntarily, I suppose), from the dialogue on Otaheite
(Tahiti).

[34]. "Nouvelle Héloise," passim., and notably Julie's
extraordinary letter, second part, number 15. - "Émile," the
preceptor's discourse to Émile and Sophie the morning after their
marriage. - Letter of the comtesse de Boufflers to Gustavus III.,
published by Geffroy, ("Gustave III. et la cour de France"). "I
entrust to Baron de Lederheim, though with reluctance, a book for you
which has just been published, the infamous memoirs of Rousseau
entitled 'Confessions.' They seem to me those of a common scullion and
even lower than that, being dull throughout, whimsical and vicious in
the most offensive manner. I do not recur to my worship of him (for
such it was) I shall never console myself for its having caused the
death of that eminent man David Hume, who, to gratify me, undertook to
entertain that filthy animal in England."

[35]. "Confessions," part I, book III.

[36]. Letter to M, de Beaumont.

[37]. "Émile," letter IV. 193. "People of the world must
necessarily put on disguise; let them show themselves as they are and
they would horrify us," etc.

[38]. See, especially, his book entitled "Rousseau juge de Jean-
Jacques," his connection with Hume and the last books of the
"confessions."

[39]. "Confessions," part 2. book XI. "The women were
intoxicated with the book and with the author to such an extent that
there were few of them, even of high rank, whose conquest I could not
have made if I had undertaken it. I possess evidence of this which I
do not care, to publish, and which, without having been obliged to
prove it by experience, warrant, my statement." Cf. G. Sand,
"Histoire de ma vie," I.73.

[40]. See an engraving by Moreau called "Les Petits Parrains." -
Berquin, passim., and among others "L'épée." - Remark the ready-
made phrases, the style of an author common to children, in Berquin
and Madame de Genlis.

[41]. See the description of sunrise in "Émile," of the Élysée (a
natural garden), in "Héloise." And especially in "Emile," at the end
of the fourth book, the pleasures which Rousseau would enjoy if he
were rich.

[42]. See in Marivaux, ("La double inconstance,") a satire on the
court, courtiers and the corruptions of high life, opposed to the
common people in the country.

[43] Bachmaumont, I. 254.

[44]. "A calculator was required for the place but a dancer got
it." - "The sale of offices is a great abuse." -"Yes, it would he
better to give them for nothing." - "Only small men fear small
literature." - "Chance makes the interval, the mind only can alter
that !" - "A courtier? - they say it is a very difficult
profession." - "To receive, to take, and to ask, is the secret in
three words," etc, - Also the entire monologue by Figaro, and all
the scenes with Bridoisin.

CHAPTER II. THE FRENCH PUBLIC.

I. THE NOBILITY.

The Aristocracy. - Novelty commonly repugnant to it. -
Conditions of this repugnance. - Example in England.

This public has yet to be made willing to be convinced and to be
won over; belief occurs only when there is a disposition to believe,
and, in the success of books, its share is often greater than that of
their authors. On addressing men about politics or religion their
opinions are, in general already formed; their prejudices, their
interests, their situation have confirmed them beforehand; they listen
to you only after you have uttered aloud what they inwardly think.
Propose to them to demolish the great social edifice and to rebuild it
anew on a quite an opposite plan: ordinarily you auditors will consist
only of those who are poorly lodged or shelterless, who live in
garrets or cellars, or who sleep under the stars, on the bare ground
in the vicinity of houses. The common run of people, whose lodgings
are small but tolerable, dread moving and adhere to their accustomed
ways. The difficulty becomes much greater on appealing to the upper
classes who occupy superior habitations; their acceptance of your
proposal depends either on their great delusions or on their great
disinterestedness. In England they quickly foresee the danger.

In vain is philosophy there indigenous and precocious; it does not
become acclimatized. In 1729, Montesquieu writes in his memorandum-
book: "No religion in England; four or five members of the House of
Commons attend mass or preaching in the House. . . . When
religion is mentioned everybody begins to laugh. A man having said:
I believe that as an article of faith, everybody laughed. A
committee is appointed to consider the state of religion, but it is
regarded as absurd." Fifty years later the public mind undergoes a
reaction; all with a good roof over their heads and a good coat on
their backs[1] see the consequence of the new doctrines. In any
event they feel that closet speculations are not to become street
preaching. Impiety seems to them an indiscretion; they consider
religion as the cement of public order. This is owing to the fact
that they are themselves public men, engaged in active life, taking a
part in the government, and instructed through their daily and
personal experience. Practical life fortifies them against the
chimeras of theorists; they have proved to themselves how difficult it
is to lead and to control men. Having had their hand on the machine
they know how it works, its value, its cost, and they are not tempted
to cast it aside as rubbish to try another, said to be superior, but
which, as yet, exists only on paper. The baronet, or squire, a
justice on his own domain, has no trouble in discerning in the
clergyman of his parish an indispensable co-worker and a natural ally.
The duke or marquis, sitting in the upper house by the side of
bishops, requires their votes to pass bills, and their assistance to
rally to his party the fifteen hundred curates who influence the rural
conscience. Thus all have a hand on some social wheel, large or
small, principal or accessory, and this endows them with earnestness,
foresight and good sense. On coming in contact with realities there
is no temptation to soar away into the imaginary world; the fact of
one being at work on solid ground of itself makes one dislike aerial
excursions in empty space. The more occupied one is the less one
dreams, and, to men of business, the geometry of the " Contrat Social'
is merely intellectual gymnastics.

II. CONDITIONS IN FRANCE.

The opposite conditions found in France. - Indolence of the upper
class. - Philosophy seems an intellectual drill. - Besides this, a
subject for conversation. - Philosophic conversation in the 18th
century. - Its superiority and its charm. - The influence it
exercises.

It is quite the reverse in France. "I arrived there in 1774,"[2]
says an English gentleman, "having just left the house of my father,
who never came home from Parliament until three o'clock in the
morning, and who was busy the whole morning correcting the proofs of
his speech for the newspapers, and who, after hastily kissing us, with
an absorbed air, went out to a political dinner. . . . In
France I found men of the highest rank enjoying perfect leisure.
They had interviews with the ministers but only to exchange
compliments; in other respects they knew as little about the public
affairs of France as they did about those of Japan; and less of local
affairs than of general affairs, having no knowledge of their
peasantry other than that derived from the accounts of their stewards.
If one of them, bearing the title of governor, visited a province, it
was, as we have seen, for outward parade; whilst the intendant carried
on the administration, he exhibited himself with grace and
magnificence by giving receptions and dinners. To receive, to give
dinners, to entertain guests agreeably is the sole occupation of a
grand seignior; hence it is that religion and government only serve
him as subjects of conversation. The conversation, moreover, occurs
between him and his equals, and a man may say what he pleases in good
company. Moreover the social system turns on its own axis, like the
sun, from time immemorial, through its own energy, and shall it be
deranged by what is said in the drawing-room? In any event he does not
control its motion and he is not responsible. Accordingly there is
no uneasy undercurrent, no morose preoccupation in his mind.
Carelessly and boldly he follows in the track of his philosophers;
detached from affairs he can give himself up to ideas, just as a young
man of family, on leaving college, lays hold of some principle,
deduces its consequences, and forms a system for himself without
concerning himself about its application[3].

Nothing is more enjoyable than this speculative inspiration. The
mind soars among the summits as if it had wings; it embraces vast
horizons in a glance, taking in all of human life, the economy of the
world, the origin of the universe, of religions and of societies.
Where, accordingly, would conversation be if people abstained from
philosophy? What circle is that in which serious political problems
and profound criticism are not admitted? And what motive brings
intellectual people together if not the desire to debate questions of
the highest importance? - For two centuries in France the
conversation has been related to all that, and hence its great charm.
Strangers find it irresistible; nothing like it is found at home; Lord
Chesterfield sets it forth as an example:

"It always turns, he says, on some point in history, on criticism
or even philosophy which is much better suited to rational beings than
our English discussions about the weather and whist."

Rousseau, so querulous, admits "that a moral subject could not be
better discussed in a society of philosophers than in that of a pretty
woman in Paris." Undoubtedly there is a good deal of idle talk, but
with all the chattering "let a man of any authority make a serious
remark or start a grave subject and the attention is immediately fixed
on this point; men and women, the old and the young, all give
themselves up to its consideration on all its sides, and it is
surprising what an amount of reason and good sense issues, as if in
emulation, from these frolicsome brains." The truth is that, in this
constant holiday which this brilliant society gives itself philosophy
is the principal amusement. Without philosophy the ordinary ironical
chit-chat would be vapid. It is a sort of superior opera in which
every grand conception that can interest a reflecting mind passes
before it, now in comic and now in sober attire, and each in conflict
with the other. The tragedy of the day scarcely differs from it
except in this respect, that it always bears a solemn aspect and is
performed only in the theaters; the other assumes all sorts of
physiognomies and is found everywhere because conversation is
everywhere carried on. Not a dinner nor a supper is given at which
it does not find place. One sits at a table amidst refined luxury,
among agreeable and well-dressed women and pleasant and well-informed
men, a select company, in which comprehension is prompt and the
company trustworthy. After the second course the inspiration breaks
out in the liveliest sallies, all minds flashing and scintillating.
When the dessert comes on what is to prevent the gravest of subjects
from being put into witticisms? On the appearance of the coffee
questions on the immortality of the soul and on the existence of God
come up.

To form any idea of this attractive and bold conversation we must
consult the correspondence of the day, the short treatises and
dialogues of Diderot and Voltaire, whatever is most animated, most
delicate, most piquant and most profound in the literature of the
century; and yet this is only a residuum, a lifeless fragment. The
whole of this written philosophy was uttered in words, with the
accent, the impetuosity, the inimitable naturalness of improvisation,
with the versatility of malice and of enthusiasm. Even to day,
chilled and on paper, it still excites and seduces us. What must it
have been then when it gushed forth alive and vibrant from the lips of
Voltaire and Diderot? Daily, in Paris, suppers took place like those
described by Voltaire,[4] .at which "two philosophers, three clever
intellectual ladies,M. Pinto the famous Jew, the chaplain of the
Batavian ambassador of the reformed church, the secretary of the
Prince de Galitzin of the Greek church, and a Swiss Calvinist
captain," seated around the same table, for four hours interchanged
their anecdotes, their flashes of wit, their remarks and their
decisions "on all subjects of interest relating to science and taste."
The most learned and distinguished foreigners daily visited, in turn,
the house of the Baron d'Holbach, - Hume, Wilkes, Sterne, Beccaria,
Veri, the Abbé Galiani, Garrick, Franklin, Priestley, Lord Shelburne,
the Comte de Creutz, the Prince of Brunswick and the future Elector of
Mayence. With respect to society in general the Baron entertained
Diderot, Rousseau, Helvétius, Duclos, Saurin, Raynal, Suard,
Marmontel, Boulanger, the Chevalier de Chastellux, the traveler La
Condamine, the physician Barthèz, and Rouelle, the chemist. Twice a
week, on Sundays and Thursdays, "without prejudice to other days,"
they dine at his house, according to custom, at two o'clock; a
significant custom which thus leaves to conversation and gaiety a
man's best powers and the best hours of the day. Conversation, in
those days, was not relegated to night and late hours; a man was not
forced, as at the present day, to subordinate it to the exigencies of
work and money, of the Assembly and the Exchange. Talking is the
main business. "Entering at two o'clock," says Morellet,[5] "we
almost all remained until seven or eight o'clock in the evening. .
. . Here could be heard the most liberal, the most animated, the
most instructive conversation that ever took place. . . .
There was no political or religious temerity which was not brought
forward and discussed pro and con. . . . Frequently some one
of the company would begin to speak and state his theory in full,
without interruption. At other times it would be a combat of one
against one, of which the rest remained silent spectators. Here I
heard Roux and Darcet expose their theory of the earth, Marmontel the
admirable principles he collected together in his 'Elements de La
Littérature,' Raynal, telling us in livres, sous and deniers, the
commerce of the Spaniards with Vera-Crux and of the English with their
colonies." Diderot improvises on the arts and on moral and
metaphysical subjects, with that incomparable fervor and wealth of
expression, that flood of logic and of illustration, those happy hits
of style and that mimetic power which belonged to him alone, and of
which but two or three of his works preserve even the feeblest image.
In their midst Galiani, secretary of the Neapolitan Embassy, a clever
dwarf; a genius, "a sort of Plato or Machiavelli with the spirit and
action of a harlequin," inexhaustible in stories, an admirable
buffoon, and an accomplished skeptic, "having no faith in anything, on
anything or about anything,"[6] not even in the new philosophy, braves
the atheists of the drawing-room, beats down their dithyrambs with
puns, and, with his perruque in his hand, sitting cross-legged on the
chair on which he is perched, proves to them in a comic apologia that
they raisonnent (reason) or résonnent (resound or echo) if not as
cruches (blockheads) at least as cloches (bells);" in any event almost
as poorly as theologians. One of those present says, "It was the
most diverting thing possible and worth the best of plays."

How can the nobles, who pass their lives in talking, refrain from
the society of people who talk so well? They might as well expect
their wives, who frequent the theater every night, and who perform at
home, not to attract famous actors and singers to their receptions,
Jelyotte, Sainval, Préville, and young Molé who, quite ill and needing
restoratives, "receives in one day more than 2,000 bottles of wine of
different sorts from the ladies of the court," Mlle. Clairon, who,
consigned to prison in Fort l'Eveque, attracts to it "an immense crowd
of carriages," presiding over the most select company in the best
apartment of the prison[7]. With life thus regarded, a philosopher
with his ideas is as necessary in a drawing room as a chandelier with
its lights. He forms a part of the new system of luxury. He is an
article of export. Sovereigns, amidst their splendor, and at the
height of their success, invite them to their courts to enjoy for once
in their life the pleasure of perfect and free discourse. When
Voltaire arrives in Prussia Frederic II. is willing to kiss his
hand, fawning on him as on a mistress, and, at a later period, after
such mutual fondling, he cannot dispense with carrying on
conversations with him by letter. Catherine II. sends for Diderot,
and, for two or three hours every day, she plays with him the great
game of the intellect. Gustavus III., in France, is intimate with
Marmontel, and considers a visit from Rousseau as the highest
honor[8]. It is said with truth of Voltaire that "he holds the four
kings in his hand," those of Prussia, Sweden, Denmark and Russia,
without mentioning lower cards, the princes, princesses, grand dukes
and markgraves. The principal rôle in this society evidently belongs
to authors; their ways and doings form the subject of gossip; people
never weary of paying them homage. Here, writes Hume to
Robertson,[9] "I feed on ambrosia, drink nothing but nectar, breathe
incense only and walk on flowers. Every man I meet, and especially
every woman, would consider themselves as failing in the most
indispensable duty if they did not favor me with a lengthy and
ingenious discourse on my celebrity." Presented at court, the future
Louis XVI, aged ten years, the future Louis XVIII, aged eight years,
and the future Charles X, aged four years, each recites a compliment
to him on his works. I need not narrate the return of Voltaire, his
triumphant entry,
[10] the Academy in a body coming to welcome him, his
carriage stopped by the crowd, the thronged streets, the windows,
steps and balconies filled with admirers, an intoxicated audience in
the theater incessantly applauding, outside an entire population
carrying him off with huzzahs, in the drawing-rooms a continual
concourse equal to that of the king, grand seigniors pressed against
the door with outstretched ears to catch a word, and great ladies
standing on tiptoe to observe the slightest gesture. "To form any
conception of what I experienced," says one of those present, "one
should breathe the atmosphere of enthusiasm I lived in. I spoke with
him." This expression at that time converted any new-comer into an
important character. He had, in fact, seen the wonderful orchestra-
leader who, for more than fifty years, conducted the tumultuous
concert of serious or court-vêtues ideas, and who, always on the
stage, always chief, the recognized leader of universal conversation,
supplied the motives, gave the pitch, marked the measure, stamped the
inspiration, and drew the first note on the violin.

III. FRENCH INDOLENCE.

Further effects of indolence. - The skeptical, licentious and
seditious spirit. - Previous resentment and fresh discontent at the
established order of things. - Sympathy for the theories against it.
- How far accepted.

Listen to the shouts that greet him: Hurrah for the author of the
Henriade! the defender of Calas, the author of La Pucelle! Nobody of
the present day would utter the first, nor especially the last hurrah.
This indicates the tendency of the century; not only were writers
called upon for ideas, but again for antagonistic ideas. To render
an aristocracy inactive is to render it rebellious; people are more
willing to submit to rules they have themselves helped to enforce.
Would you rally them to the support of the government? Then let them
take part in it. If not they stand by as an onlooker and see nothing
but the mistakes it commits, feeling only its irritations, and
disposed only to criticize and to hoot at it. In fact, in this case,
they are as if in the theater, where they go to be amused, and,
especially, not to be put to any inconvenience. What inconveniences
in the established order of things, and indeed in any established
order! - In the first place, religion. To the amiable "idlers"
whom Voltaire describes,[11] to "the 100,000 persons with nothing to
do but to play and to amuse themselves," religion is the most
disagreeable of pedagogues, always scolding, hostile to sensible
amusement and free discussion, burning books which one wants to read,
and imposing dogmas that are no longer comprehensible. In plain
terms religion is an eyesore, and whoever wishes to throw stones at
her is welcome. -- There is another bond, the moral law of the
sexes. It seems onerous to men of pleasure, to the companions of
Richelieu, Lauzun and Tilly, to the heroes of Crebillon the younger,
and all others belonging to that libertine and gallant society for
whom license has become the rule. Our fine gentlemen are quite ready
to adopt a theory which justifies their practices.[12] They are very
glad to be told that marriage is conventional and a thing of
prejudice. Saint- Lambert obtains their applause at supper when,
raising a glass of champagne, he proposes as a toast a return to
nature and the customs of Tahiti[13]. The last fetter of all is the
government, the most galling, for it enforces the rest and keeps man
down with its weight, along with the added weight of the others. It
is absolute, it is centralized, it works through favorites, it is
backward, it makes mistakes, it has reverses: how many causes of
discontent embraced in a few words! It is opposed by the vague and
suppressed resentment of the former powers which it has dispossessed,
the provincial assemblies, the parliaments, the grandees of the
provinces, the old stock of nobles, who, like the Mirabeau, retain the
old feudal spirit, and like Châteaubriand's father, call the Abbé
Raynal a "master-man." Against it is the spite of all those who
imagine themselves frustrated in the distribution of offices and of
favors, not only the provincial nobility who remain outside[14] while
the court nobility are feasting at the royal banquet, but again the
majority of the courtiers who are obliged to be content with crumbs,
while the little circle of intimate favorites swallow down the large
morsels. It has against it the ill-humor of those under its
direction who, seeing it play the part of Providence and providing for
all, accuses it of everything, the high price of bread as well as of
the decay of a highway. It has against it the new humanity which, in
the most elegant drawing-rooms, lays to its charge the maintenance of
the antiquated remains of a barbarous epoch, ill-imposed, ill-
apportioned and ill-collected taxes, sanguinary laws, blind
prosecutions, atrocious punishments, the persecution of the
Protestants, lettres-de-cachet, and prisons of State. And I do not
include its excesses, its scandals, its disasters and its disgraces,
- Rosbach, the treaty of Paris, Madame du Barry, and bankruptcy. -
Disgust intervenes, for everything is decidedly bad. The spectators
of the play say to each other that not only is the piece itself poor,
but the theater is badly built, uncomfortable, stifling and
contracted, to such a degree that, to be at one's ease, the whole
thing must be torn down and rebuilt from cellar to garret.