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From the Libratf of
CHARLES HOPKINS CLARK
Class of 1871
1929

TAINE'S WOUKS.

I. NOTES ON ENGLAND.
II. ENGLISH LITERA TURE. 2 vols.
///. ON INTELLIGENCE.
IV. THE PHILOSOPHY OF GREEK ART.
V. THE PHILOSOPHY OF ART IN THE
NE THERE A NDS.
VI. THE IDEAL IN ART.
VII. ITALY, ROME AND NAPLES.
VIII. ITALY, FLORENCE AND VENICE.
Holt & Williams, Publisher-^,
25 Bond Street, New York.

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Notes on England

H. TAINE
D.C.L. OXON., ETC.
TRANSLATED, WITH AN INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER, IJY
W. F. RAE
Author of ''Westward by Rail."
WITH A PORTRAIT OF THE A UTHOR.

NEW YORK
HOLT & WILLIAMS
1872

\V^

'X.

n

5 *t --

CONTENTS.

PAOB
INTHODDCTORT CHAPTER, CONTAINING 
1. A SKETCH OF M. TAINe's LIFE AND CAREER  ix
2. AN OUTLINE OP HIS METHOD OP CRITICISM  XXX
3. COMMENTS UPON HIS OPINIONS AND WRITINGS ... Hv
CHAPTKE I. BOULOGNE TO LONDON BRIDGE  1
II. SUNDAY IN LONDON. THE STREETS AND PARKS ... 9
III. ST. James's park, Richmond, the docks, and east-end . 2o
IV. VISIT to EPSOM and TO CREMORNE GARDENS  37
" V. TYPICAL ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN  47
v^ VI. ENGLISH GIRLS AND AUTHORESSES  82
VII. ENGLISH MARRIAGES AND MARRIED WOMEN  91
VIII. ENGLISH HOUSEHOLDS  109
^^ IX. ENGLISH SCHOOL BOYS AND SCHOOL LIFE  120
X. LiFE AT THE UNIVERSITY  137
-.XI. VILLAGES AND FARMHOUSES  1.53
XII. LANDED PROPRIETORS AND ENGLISH GENTLEMEN .... 16G
XIII. MANSIONS, PARKS, AND GARDENS  177
XIV. THE CLERGY  190
XV. THE GOVERNING CLASSES A\D THE GOVERNMENT .... 196 -
^ XVI. RAGGED SCHOOLS, HOSPITALS, WORKHOUSES, AND THE
VOLUNTEERS  205
XVII. THE CONSTITUTION, THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT . . . . 218
XVin. THE CLUBS, THE BRITISH MUSEUM, THK CRYST \L PALACE . 229

vi CONTENTS.
PAOB
CHAPTER _.,.
¦^ XIX. STREET PREACHERS AND RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS . . . • ^
. 240'^
XX. ARISTOCRATIC ASCENDENCY  244
XXI. SOCIETY AS DEPICTED BY " PUNCH " 
XXII. SPORIING, POLITICAL, AND SOCIAL CARICATURES IN "punch 20.. 2fil
XXIII. INNS OF COURT, EARRISTER,S, AND JUDGES 
XXIV. THE THEATRES. LIVING IN LONDON 
- 070
XXV. MANUFACTURES AND ARTISANS  "¦
XXVI. MANCHESTER AND LIVERPOOL  ^'^
~S5CXVII. ENGLISH WORKING MEN  286
XXVIII. SCENES IN MANCHESTER  310
XXJX. CHARACTBllISTICS OF THE ENGLISH MIND  306
XXX. FRENOU WIT AND ENGLISH HUMOUR  320
XXXL ENGLISH PAINTINGS AND ENGLISH PAINTERS  328 1
XXXII. MODERN PAINTERS AND RUSKIn's CRITICISMS  335
XXXIII. ENGLISH POETRY AND RELIGION  344
XXXIV. A TRIP THROUGH SCOTLAND  356
XXXY. RETURN HOME. FBENCHMEN AND ENGLISHMEN .... 369

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.

T AST summer the University of Oxford resolved to
^ confer upon Dr. DoUinger the honorary degree of

Doctor of Civil Law. It was considered fitting that a
famous and an accomplished Frenchman should be
associated in the exceptional mark of respect paid to an
erudite and illustrious German. Out of the numerous
Frenchmen of eminence and renown who might with
propriety have been chosen, M. Taine was unanimously
selected. Shortly afterwards, the publication of a series of
papers, entitled " Notes on England," was begun in
the columns of the Paris Temim. Wherever French
newspapers circulate and the French language is
read, these " Notes " attracted attention. They were
quoted, commented on, praised, and criticised. Almost
contemporaneously, a selection from them, trans
lated into English, appeared in the columns of The
Daily News. Wherever English is read, these transla
tions ftirnished matter for talk and discussion ; extracts
from them were published by the Press of the United
Kingdom, of the United States, of India, of Canada,
I

viil INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
of AustraKa ; they were made the themes of leading
articles ; they were employed to point morals and to
clench arguments. Again and again was the qtiestion
put, " Who is M. Taine, what is his history, how lias he
learned to treat English topics with so much intelli
gence and effect ? " The more enlightened and critical
reader, whose acquaintance with current literature em
braces what has been written in. the Athenceuni, the
Saturdmj Review, the Spectator, the Examiner, the New
York Nation, the Edinburgh and Westminster Reviews,
could have been at no loss in returning an answer
to this inquiry, and in stating with considerable
precision the rank of M. Taine as a writer, and his
general character as a critic and a philosopher. Yet
every newspaper reader is neither perfectly well in
formed nor personally laborious in adding to his defective
stock of accurate information. Nor, as far as M. Taine is
concerned, would a natural or acquired thirst for usefiil
instruction be speedily and completely slaked by taking
the recognised short cut to the fountain of knowledge,
and turning to a dictionary of contemporary biography.
The best modern biographical dictionary contains very
meagre and unsatisfactory details about the doings and
life of M. Taine. It is my present intention to supply
the more interesting and important particulars which
are lacking. By weaving them into a brief sketch of
M. Taine' s career, and by furnishing an outline of
his literary achievements and aims, I hope to supply
such an introduction to this volume as may prove ser
viceable to all who, before or after they shall have

INTRODUCTORY CII.XPTER. ix
perused it, may feci specially desirous of forming a
closer personal intimacy with its author.

I.
At Vouziers, a small town on the frontier of Cham
pagne and Ardennes, Hyppolite-Adolphe Taine was
born on the 21st of April, 1828. His family belonged to
the French middle class ; to that superior class which has
no exact equivalent in this country, which is composed
of those who belong to Nature's aristocracy by virtue
of intellect and education, who, though never formally
ennobled by a monarch, are fully as much respected
in France as the lineal descendants of the Crusaders,
and the undisputed possessors of the oldest and most
renowned historic titles. His father was a solicitor;
his uncles and his cousins were notaries, merchants,
civil engineers. His grandfather was sub-prefect at
Eocroi during the first Bourbon restoration of an.
hundred days ; several of his relations, on his father's
and his mother's side, held posts of influence and
distinction, were deputies in the Lower House of the
¦Legislature during the reign of Louis Philippe, and
in the Assembly during the Republic of 1848. They
were well-to-do but not wealthy people. His father,
who was a man of studious habits and considerable
learning, taught him Latin. An uncle, who had resided
in America for some time, taught him English. One
of his early pleasures was reading EngL'sh books, more
especially the classical works of fiction of the last

X. INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
century. To him, as to other French schoolboys, light
literature was forbidden fruit. Yet he was permitted
to read any English book he pleased, the perusal of
works in a foreign tongue being regarded as a species
of study which it was right to encourage and commend.
To the advantage he took of his opportunities in
early youth, is attributable much of the familiar ac
quaintance which he displayed in after years with the
immortal works of the best English writers.
When he was thirteen years old, his father died.
His mother took him to Paris at the age of fourteen.
For one year he was a boarder in a first-class private
school, then he became a pupil at the College of
Bourbon, an important public school, which, like
many other institutions in France, changes its name
when the government changes its form, and was
consequently known during the monarchy as the
College of Bourbon, during the Republic of 1848
as the Fourcroy Lyceum, during the Second Empire
as the Bonaparte Lyceum, and is at present called
the Condorcet Lyceum. He had two sisters, whose
training and happiness were the objects of his
mother's special care and forethought. Neverthe
less, she was naturally unremitting in promoting her
only son's welfare and advancement, watching over
his studies with tender solicitude, rejoicing in his
triumphs as if they were her own, encouragiag him
amid his diificulties and mortifications, nursing him
during long illnesses, keeping house for him in his
riper years, and only relinquishing her assiduous ma-

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. xi
ternal cares when he finally obtained a not less devoted
and affectionate companion in the person of a wife.
"\Yhen M. Taine was studying at the College of
Bourbon, other youths, who afterwards became famous,
were pupils also; but none eclipsed him, either in
mental precocity, or in successful rivalry for distinction.
At the general competition in 1847, he carried off" the
first prize for the Latin essay in rhetoric, and in 1848
he obtained the two second prizes for philosophy. His
attainments warranted him in becoming a candidate,
in the latter year, for admission to the Normal School.
This is a seminary of learning into which none are
admitted except those who succeed in passing a severe
examination, and in which the pupils qualify them
selves for enrolment among the higher class of teachers
in connection with the University, and under the con
trol of the Minister of Public Instruction. Many, how
ever, make use of it as a stepping-stone to a purely
literary career. Several Frenchmen of note in the
world of letters passed through the Normal School
at the same time as M. Taine, acted for a short time
as Professors, as he did, and then, severing their con
nection with the department of education, devoted
themselves exclusively to cultivating the field of litera
ture. Four of these men were his comrades and com
petitors. They were the late M. Prevost-Paradol, M.
Edmond About, M. Francisque Sarcey, M. J. J. Weiss.
The first was junior to him by one year, the second
and third were his own age, the fourth was one year
his senior.

xii INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
Of the four, M. Prevost-Paradol was in many respects
the most remarkable. The son of a celebrated actress,
he, too, was educated, at the College of Bourbon, and
distinguished himself there. After passing through
the Normal School, he spent some years in private
study, prepared a work to which the French Academy
awarded the prize for eloquence, took his degree of
Doctor of Letters, and then accepted the post of Pro
fessor of French Literature in the college at Aix.
He filled this chair for one year only. Tempting
ofiers to enter the ranks of journalism made him
not only resign this post, but also withdraw his name
from the list of those who desired employment as
University instructors. He was first engaged upon the
staff' of the Journal des Dehats. To this journal, as
well as to others, and to the Revue des Deux Mondes,
he contributed articles, which excited notice for the
delicacy, the point, the polish, the incisiveness of their
style. He was a French Junius. He resembled the
great unknown English pamphleteer in being a lite
rary irreconcilable, differing from him, however, in
wielding a sharp, glittering rapier, instead of a heavy,
crushing club. He attacked the Second Empire by
his epigrams and allusions with quite as great effect
as Junius did M^hen he warred against the policy of
George III. and the friends of that monarch by scath
ing sarcasm and unmeasured denunciation. The
Courier du Dimanche, to which he was the principal
contributor, became a thorn in the side of the Im
perial Government. Even more annoying than his

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. xiii
effeoti\o yet indirect onslaughts upon Imperialism,
was tho cleverness -with which he avoided a direct'
broach of the laws prohibiting freedom of discussion.
M. I'revost-Paradol's art consisted in saying what
he pleased, in such a ^^•ily as to give the maximum
of piin to his opponents, without affording them
a legitimate opportunity for putting their fingers
upon the passage which rankled in their minds, and
stating, with good reason, that the incriminated
passage was discourteous, in bad taste, contrary
to feet, and a disgrace to tho writer. Nothing was
left them but to put themselves wholly in the wrong,
by exercising arbitrary repression. As the Courier du
Dimanche could neither be legally prosecuted nor con
clusively answered, it was summarily suppressed. A
pamphlet which M. Prevost-Paradol wrote on the " Old
Parties " was interpreted by subservient judges as
inciting to the overthrow of the Imperial dynasty, and
for this hypothetical offence he was fined £40 and im
prisoned for a month. The injustice and persecution of
which, in common- with the late Count' Montalembert,
he was the victim, recoiled npon its instigators and
perpetrators. M. Prevost-Paradol became popular in all inde
pendent circles, and enjoyed the esteem of all un
biassed critics. His admirers were nearly as numerous
in this country as in his own. Indeed, an English
reader could hardly help thinking favourably of the
French writer who constantly held up constitutional
government in England as a pattern deserving un-

xiv INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
grudging praise and careful study. To his political
attitude, rather than, to the intrinsic value of his
writings, he owed it that, at the early age of thirty-
seven, he was elected a member of the French
Academy, a body which usually refuses to open its
ranks to young men, however promising, who have
merely produced a few ephemeral works, unless their
authors are Ministers of State, or Archbishops. His
highest ambition was now gratified.
About this time he received the remarkable and
gratifying distinction of being asked to contribute to Tha
Times, letters on French topics of the day. In common
with his brother Academicians, he. enjoyed by his posi
tion, and irrespective of his personal achievements,
the reputation of being a master of his incompar
able m.other-tongue. Many of them doubtless spoke
English without hesitation, read it with pleasure and
understanding. But how many among them would
have ventured upon undergoing the ordeal of satisfying
the critical readers of the great English journal ? His
own wonderful success, the fluency, ease, grace, and
vigour with which he expressed himself in English,
formed an additional claim to the admiration and
respect of Englishmen. For his own part, he assured
his English friends that, never till he had become a
contributor to The Times, had he learned the real value
of his pen. Despite the liberality with which he was
remunerated, he found the support of his family a
heavy burden. He had no private means; he had
accumulated little, and he was weary of writing at

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. xv
all and still more weary of writing for gain. Then
it w^as that by him, as by many other patriotic and
eminent Frenchmen, the prospect of the establisk-
ment of constitutional and parliamentary government
was hailed with delight. He unquestionably preferred
ordered liberty with the Empire, to the almost
inevitable alternative of a revolution accompanied v/ith
bloodshed and followed by anarchy. To refuse to give
fair play to the new order of things, to reject the
repentance of the eleventh hour which promised to
be all the more sincere inasmuch as it was based
upon irresistible expediency, appeared to him worse
than a blunder. He accepted the apparent trans
formation, and did so in good faith. Everything
appeared going smoothly and satisfactorily -when
the astute and unscrupulous M. Rouher ceased to
be the first minister of Napoleon III. M. OUivier,
who succeeded him, was known to be vain and ambitious ;
but he was supposed to be honest, and was believed to
be competent. Along with others who had been in
opposition during the evil days, M. Prevost-Paradol
became reconciled to the Imperial Government when
a happier and brighter era seemed to have dawned
upon France. He gave a visible hostage -of his con
fidence and expectations by accepting the honourable and
coveted post of Minister at Washington. Hardly had
he entered upon the duties of his office than he learned
that France had challenged Prussia to mortal combat.
What his feelings were can be easily surmised. During
the year 1867 he discussed in La France Nouvelle the

xvi INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
contingency of a war between France and Prussia,
adding the following significant and memorable reflec
tions : "On the supposition that Prussia were victo
rious, it is easy to see that such an occurrence would
be the death of the greatness of France, though the
nation would not be destroyed  Some rectifica
tion of our frontier to the advantage of Prussia — the
sad prelude to still greater — would be the immediate
effect of our reverses  Germanic unity, hastened
and pushed forward by the force and prestige of Prus
sian victories, would be instantly consummated. Yes,
France is destined to pay in any event ; with the blood
of her sons if she conquers ; with her greatness, and,
perhaps, with her national existence, if she succumbs."
Despairing of his country should she prove the victor,
or be vanquished, he died by his own hand. More
courageous, or more desponding than the members of
the dynasty which had duped him, he surrendered
his life as a sacrifice to the intrigues and deceptions of
a crooked and baneful Imperialism.
M. Edmond About has shown himself, on the whole,
a very dififerent man from M. Prevost-Paradol. M.
About has made money by his writings, and he has not
yet been made an ambassador. He has dabbled in
politics, and left it an open question whether he has any
permanent and rational political convictions. He has
written novels, pamphlets, plays ; his writings have all
been successful, but his plays have not all been applauded.
His great distinction is his style ; his great success
consists in putting things. When he left the Normal

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. xvii
School, he obtained admission into the School at Athens,
maintained by the French GoYernment with a view
to perpetuate and advance the study of Grecian archa3-
ology. He wrote one lively treatise on an archoDO-
logical topic, and then published his work on " Con
temporary Greece," a work which charmed the reading
public everywhere save in Greece, and of which the suc
cess determined his vocation. Since then he has been a
prolific author, and become a conspicuous notability in
literature. The adaptability of his character is as marked
as the elasticity of his style. He can write well on any
subject ; he imparts freshness to whatever he touches,
and he upholds with extreme fervour and with an air of
conviction the side which he espouses. If tho Germans
could be terrified by phrases, he would have put them
to flight. His letters as a War Correspondent, at the
opening of the campaign, produced a veTy different im
pression in this country from that produced by " ToUa "
and the " Roman Question." In them he exhibited
himself as a fire-eater of the most ferocious type. His
reputation in France, however, has apparently suffered
no abatement. He has narrowly failed being elected a
member of the Academy. That he wHl become an
Academician, at least, is hardly doubtful. That he
is one of the cleverest writers of the day cannot be
denied. M. Taine's other two comrades soon abandoned the
profession of teaching the young for that of directing
the adult through the columns of the public press. M.
Sarcey was constantly squabbling with the authorities

xviii INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
during the seven years that he acted as Professor,
Indeed, those who had been the most brilliant pupils
of the Normal School, immediately before the advent
of the Second Empire, found it impossible to maintain
harmonious relations with the Imperial adminis
trators. JVIuch of the bitterness which they manifested
as journalists was due to the independent principles
they had imbibed at school, coupled with the vexatious
and inquisitorial conduct of their superiors, who
expected that they would become meek and ready
tools for the maintenance and glorification of the
dynasty which had betrayed and strangled the
Republic. As a contributor to popidar Parisian
journals, M. Sarcey is noted for his effective and
sparkling articles. He remained in Paris whilst it
was besieged by the Germans ; and his account of
what occurred is one of the best narratives of the
siege that has been produced. M. Weiss continued
to act as a Professor rather longer than any of the
others. He filled with great success the chair of
French literature, which M. Prevost-Paradol had
occupied and adorned. His lectures were exceedingly
able. Since he definitively entered the ranks of
journalism, he has become one of its acknowledged
ornaments. During the regular term of three years that M.
Taine was a pupil of the Normal School, the method
of instruction which prevailed was well fitted to pro
mote and stimulate intellectual activity.- Personally, he
reqxiired no special incentive to work hard and to excel.

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. xix
He was able, by his marvellous quickness and industiy,
to condense an immense amount of study into a brief
space of time. Sometimes, he performed the tasks of
a month in the course of a week. Thus he gained
three clear weeks during which to follow his own
devices ; and he utilized the time by studying theology
and philosophy, reading all the authors of note in both
departments, and discussing the questions which arose
with congenial spirits of his own standing. All his
fellow-pupils were subjected by him to a personal
examination. To use his own phrase he loved to
" read " {feuilleter) them ; in other words, to probe their
minds and scrutinize their thoughts. Although a Roman
Catholic by early training, yet he was no implicit be
liever in Roman Catholic dogmas. With some pupils
who were ardently attached to tho Church of Rome,
as well as with others who partially sympathised with
him, he entered into discussions, in which theological
doctrines were treated with entire freedom, tried
by the touchstone of reason, and subjected to keen
logical investigation. Indeed, the school was a theatre
of controversy, the pupils openly arguing with each
other, and the Professors sanctioning and encourag
ing the' most thoroughgoing expression of individual
and unfettered opinion. Trained in such an arena,
it is no wonder that the pupils became imbued with
a strong notion of individual independence, and were
ill prepared to brook the slightest intellectual restraint
or dictation.
Shortly before the three years' training of M. Taine

XX INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
and his comrades was ended, the Director of the Normal
School, M. Dubois, was constrained to resign the post
he had adorned. M. Michelle, a less enlightened and
able man, and a willing ally of the reactionary party,
ruled in his stead. The times were unpropitious for
liberty of thought. The Emperor Napoleon had attained
the object of his life, and he had to pay the price which
the priests claimed for their support. They had served
him heart and soul ; he furnished them, in return, Avith
the arm of the flesh requisite for the maintenance of
their spiritual pretensions. M. -Taine was one of the
sufferers from the new order of things. Those who
pass a certain examination are appointed to the most
easy and lucrative posts. He presented himself for
examination, but was rejected on the avowed ground
that his philosophical opinions were erroneous in them
selves and mischievous in their tendency. This unfair
ness was resented by several men of eminence who had
taken an interest in him, and who had been struck by
his talents. Owing to the warm advocacy of M. Guizot,
M. Saint Marc Girardin, and the Due de Luynes, he
hoped to procure a post which might compensate by its
situation for its inferior character, and he requested, as
a special favour, for his mother's sake rather than for
his own, that he might be appointed to fill a vacancy
in the North of France. The reply was a nomination
to a post at Toulon, in the extreme South. Thence he
was transferred to Nevers, and from Nevers to Poitiers,
remaining four months only at each place. His salary
for the first year was £66 ; a sum which, mough a

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. xxi
little in excess of that wherewith Goldsmith's good
parson deemed himself passing rich, was considerably
less than that upon wlfich it was possible to live in
comfort. However, he managed to exist by practising
the most rigid economy.
His spare moments he spent in close study, occupying
himself chiefly with the works of Hegel, and sketching
out a comprehensive philosophical work. He was gene
rally regarded as a suspicious character. It was no
secret that his private opinions did not accord with those
held and approved in official circles. Hence the parti-
zans of the ruKng powers were lynx-eyed and eager in
detecting his failings. In France, nothing is easier
tlian to circulate false reports, unless it be the ease in
getting them accepted as authentic. Naturally, there
was not the least difficulty in discrediting M. Taine
by falsely representing that he had eulogised Danton
in the presence of his pupils, and held up Paul de
Rock to them as a model. • This alleged grave sin of
commission was followed by a still more heinous and
perfectly incontestable sin of omission. The college
chaplain preferred one of those requests which are
equivalent to commands. He gave M. Taine the
option of inditing, in honour of the Bishop of the
diocese, either a Latin ode or a French dithyramb.
M. Taine declined to praise the Bishop either in
prose or verse, either in ancient Latin or modern
French. For this irreverent refusal, which was re
garded as confirmatory of the darkest charges and the
worst fears, he soon received a letter of censure

xxii INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
trom the Minister of Public Instruction. The official
reprimand was coupled with a threat that, should he
offend again, he would be instantly dismissed. Several
months afterwards he was appointed to teach a class of
little children at Besancon. This was a significant
hint that he was regarded as a black sheep. He deemed
it wise to give up a struggle in which he was certain
to be checkmated at every turn. At his own request,
he was placed upon the retired list.
Returning to Paris, he received an advantageous
offer to act as Professor in a large private seminary.
He closed with it, and recommenced teaching. But
even here his sins soon found him out, or rather his
enemies did. An order was issued forbidding those
who were members of the University staff from giving
lectures in private institutions. As a last resource he
began to give lessons as a tutor, with the view both of
earning his daily bread, and of being able to use his pen
with entire independence. Moreover, he completed his
own education, and enlarged the sphere of his attain
ments, bjr attending the courses of lectures at the
School of Medicine, the Museum of Natural History,
and some of the lectures at the Sorbonne and the Sal-
netriere. In 1853 he took the degree of Doctor of
.y. O
Letters. As is customary, he wrote two theses on this
occasion, the one in Latin being " De Personis Plato-
nicis," the other in French being an "Essai sur les
Fables de Lafontaine." The latter was the reverse of
an ordinary University essay. It was the formal enun-
ciatic u of new critical doctrines ; it was the gaimtlet

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. xxi i
thrown down by a new aspirant for intellectual
honours ; it was the bold maintenance of a modern
paradox, illustrated and enforced by examples drawn
from Lafontaine. The novelty of the views advanced
Avas matched by the freshness and vivacity, the vigour
and variety of the language. By the public it was
received with such favour that it speedily passed into
a second edition.
The French Academy having offered a prize in
1854 for an essay upon Livy, considered as writer and
historian, M. Taine entered the lists. Among the
works sent in, his was admitted to be the best, yet the
prize was not awarded to it on the ground that his
essay " was deficient in gravity and in a proper degree
of admiration for the splendid name and imposing
genius of him whom he had to criticise." He recast
his essay, and submitted it a second time to the judg
ment of the tribunal. It was now pronounced the best
of those presented, and fully entitled to the prize. In
reporting to the Academy the committee's decision,
M. Yillemain expressed their satisfaction in crowning a
" solid and new work, wherein the sentiment of anti
quity and the modem method were suitably blended,
and which skilfully set forth all the questions concern
ing historic certitude, local truth, correct information,
dramatic passion and taste to which the Annals of
Livy had given rise  The young and clever man
of learning, the victor in this competition, has had
to produce a fragment of history as well as a piece of
criticism." After intimating his disagreement with

V

sxiv INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
M. Tuine in matters of detail, M. Villemain concluded
his report by saying, " Let us, however, congratulate
M. Taine upon this noble and erudite first appearance
in classical letters, and let us wish for similar candi
dates at our competitions, and similar instructors of
youth in our schools." The Academicians smiled
at this sarcastic reflection on the authorities for
having refused to avail themselves of the teacher's
services. The prize essay was published with a short preface,
which startled some members of the Academy, and
made them desire to recall their praises and undo their
acts. M. Taine wrote to the effect that, according to
Spinoza, man's place in relation to nature, is not that of
an empire within an empire, but of a part in a whole ;
that man's inner being is subject to laws in the same
way as the external world ; moreover, that there is a
dominant principle, a ruling faculty, which regulates
thought and imparts an irresistible and inevitable
impulse to the human machine. Believing these
things, M. Taine offered his " Essay on Livy " as an
example of their truth. Upon this the cry was raised
that to write in this way was to deny the freedom of
the will, and to become the apostle of fatalism. A
more cogent objection was the incongruity between the
ideas represented by two such names as Spinoza and
Livy, and the paradox implied in putting forward the
writings of the Roman historian as confirmatory of
the philosophical speculations of the Dutch Jew. Yet
the general reader was gratified with the book. Its

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. xxv
author's ability was indisputable. If ho made few
converts, he gained admirers.
A severe affection of the throat compelled him to
quit Paris and to seek relief from the famous springs of
the Pyrenees. After lasting two years, during which
he lost the use of his voice, the malady finally suc
cumbed to the curative action of the mineral waters.
It is noteworthy that at this period his favourite
book was Spenser's "Faerie Queene," a work which
hardly any of his countrymen have read at all, and
which few of mine have read through. To M. Taine's
intimate knowledge of Spenser is due the splendid
and discriminating eulogium passed upon the great
Elizabethan j)oet in the " History of English Literar
ture." His enforced sojourn among the mountains
supplied him with fresh material for literary composi
tion. This took the form of a " Journey to the Pyre
nees," a work which became more popular than the
"Essay on Livy." The habits of the people and of
the tourists are depicted with much point, and the
mountain scenery with great vividness ; enough is said
about botany, geology, natural history, to give pith to
the whole, without wearying the reader who understands
none of these things, or appearing commonplace to the
reader who is perfectly conversant with them. An
edition of this work, with illustrations by M. Gustavo
Dore, has since been published. The critic may be
puzzled to decide whether the text or the illustrations
ought to be singled out for special praise, but he can
not hesitate to pronounce the entire work a masterpiece.

xxvi INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
Another ilhiess, of a still more threatening cha
racter, prostrated him at a later period. This was the
result of over- work, and consisted in total incapacity
for mental exertion. For a considerable time he could
not concentrate his thoughts ; could neither write nor
read ; even the perusal of a newspaper was beyond his
power. Entire rest wrought a cure which, happily,
was lasting as well as complete.
In addition to the works named above, he wrote
numerous articles for the Reme de I' Instruction Fub-
lique, the Journal des Debats, the Revue des Deux
Mondes. These articles have been collected and pub
lished in volumes. A volume which attracted much
attention was partly composed of articles which had
appeared in the first of these journals, and it bore the
title of " French Philosophers of the Nineteenth Cen
tury." This work was an attack upon the official
philosophy of the day, that rhetorical spiritualism
which had the advantage, in the eyes of the autho
rities, of not giving umbrage to the priests, and the
drawback, in the opinion of thinkers, of slurring over, or
of evading the difficulties which it professed to explain
and remove. Against M. Cousin, in particular, M.
Taine opened a battery of censure and ridicule. The
opponents of the former applauded the attack ; his
friends, like friends in general, doubtless relished it
inwardly, while condemning it openly, for it was very
clever and very telling ; and M. Cousin himself re
garded his adversary with more than a professional
philosopher's antipathy

INTR OD UCTOR V CHAPTER. xxvii
Meanwhile M. Taine was steadily labouring at his
most ambitious historical work, " The History of
English Literature." It was the fruit of six years'
close study. In 1861, and subsequently, he visited
England with a view of reading in the British Museum,
and of seeing the country and people face to face.
The " Notes " contained in this volume comprise the
frequent observations of ten years. They were all
revised after his last visit in 1871. Some are retained
which would have appeared more applicable a few
years ago than they do now, but in M. Taine's opinion,
they are still substantially true, and represent perma
nent phases of our national life and character.
Upon the publication of the "History of English
Literature," in 1863, its author's reputation was vastly
increased, and his rank among modern writers acknow
ledged to be very lofty. The work was the event of
the day, and the illustration of the year. That it
should have been singled out by a committee of the
French Academy, and unanimously recommended as
worthy of a special prize, was perfectly natural. The
value of this special prize, which is conferred on none
but historical works of undoubted merit, is £160, a
recompense which renders the honour a substantial as
well as an enviable one. At a meeting of the Academy,
where it was proposed to confirm the recommenda
tion of the committee, Monseigneur Dupanloup, the
Bishop of Orleans, rose and moved the non-confirma
tion of the report. He alleged as reasons for refusing
to do honour to M. Taine's history, that the book was

xxviii INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
impious and immoral; that its author had alleged
" virtue and vice to be products like sugar and vitriol ;"
that he had denied the freedom of the will; that
he 'had advocated pure fatalism, had depreciated the
ecclesiastics of the Middle Ages, had eulogized the
Puritans, had pointedly commended the EngKsh
Prayer-Book, had shown himself a sceptic in philo
sophy and a heretic in religion. M. Cousin thought
the opportunity a favourable one both for showing
how entirely he had become reconciled to the Church,
and for taking his revenge on his youthful assailant.
He seconded the Bishop's motion in a speech re
echoing the Bishop's charges. The success of these
notable men was almost secured beforehand. Their
hearers the more readily believed all they were told,
because they had not read the work against which the
attack was skilfully directed. The reporter of the
Committee, who ought to have defended the Com
mittee's choice, was only too ready to bow before the
censure of the Bishop and the philosopher. Hence,
this combined and ardent appeal to the worst pre
judices of an assembly never distinguished for true
tolerance and genuine liberality of sentiment, and of
which the majority remembered with satisfaction how,
during the previous year, M. Littr^'s candidature for
admission into their midst had been rejected, proved
altogether irresistible, and the motion was carried.
Since then the Academy has been materially changed
in composition and spirit. M. Cousin has departed this
life in the odour of sanctity. He atoned, long before

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. xxix
his decease, for his youthful leaning towards intel
lectual freedom, by abjectly submitting to the most
uncompromising dogmas of a powerful priesthood.
His influence perished with him. He holds, and may
continue to hold, a place among the literary idols of
France, and will receive the more lip-worship because
he is no longer believed in as an authority. The
Bishop of Orleans has resigned his seat; M. Littrd
is a member of the Academy. Is it rash to predict
that the illustrious body which, on hearsay and wholly
insufficient evidence, refused to acknowledge the real
merits of M. Taine's important work will one day
regard his accession to a place among them as an
addition to their collective strength and glory ?
Little remains to be said about M. Taine's personal
career. For some time he held the post of literary
examiner in the military school of St. Cyr. After
wards he was appointed professor of art and aesthetics
in the Imperial Academy of the Fine Arts. He has
travelled through Italy, and written an excellent ac
count of his observations. He has published several
works relating to art in Greece, Italy, and the Low
Countries. One of his recent works is a philosophical
one of note on " The Intelligence." The mere enu
meration of these titles is a proof of his versatiHty.
More rare still, is the circumstance that everything
he has written is both readable and pregnant with
matter for reflection. Indeed, all his writings have
a flavour of their own which is very pleasant, a stamp
of originality which is unmistakable. He always

XXX INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
thinks for himself. He occupies a place apart among
contemporary authors. Nor does he ever write at
random, and without a special purpose. Every book
or detached essay is designed to subserve the object
of propagating his views respecting criticism, to ex
pound and illustrate a method of discussing literary
works which, if not discovered by him, he has made
his own by systematic use and skilful adaptation.
IL
A critic is commonly supposed to be a man who,
having carefully studied certain subjects, is specially
qualified for giving an opinion upon the way in which
these subjects have been treated by an author, a
painter, an architect, an orator. The critic may either
announce his decision after having applied to the
matter in hand certain fixed rules or canons, or else
he may enumerate his own rules and express an inde
pendent judgment. In any case the critique is a
reasoned or arbitrary opinion, and nothing more. It
may be disputed, if the standard to which the critic
appeals has not been fairly and adequately applied.
It may be disregarded, if the personal opinion appears
to be merely an individual crotchet. To expect that
the result could ever be accepted as universally and
implicitly as the demonstrations of an authority in the
natural sciences, of a botanist and a zoologist, is what
no critic of eminence, with one conspicuous exception,
has hitherto ventured to do.

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. xxxi
That exception is M. Taine. He believes that he
has succeeded in removing all ambiguity and fluctua
tion from critical judgments by following a particular
method of procedure. He professes to have eliminated
chance from ethical products, to have foimd a clue
to the labyrinth of the mind. The ordinary saying
that man is a creature of circumstances, he employs as
a philosophical formula. The purport of his main con
tention and fundamental proposition is that man is the
unconscious agent and manifestation of unseen forces.
In his opinion, these forces may be measured, though
they cannot be grasped ; may be classified, though they
cannot be directly controlled. He considers it prac
ticable, by duly estimating and carefully determining
their nature and effect, to explain why an author, artist,
or architect produced a particular book, painting, or
edifice ; why an age was distinguished for a particular
form of literature, art, or architecture ; what was the
mental history of past generations as exhibited in the
writings or doings of individuals. In short, M. Taine
deciphers the man in the age, and the age in the man,
and becomes the historian of the human mind in
t
depicting the events of a particular generation, and
in exhibiting the share which the finished work of
one era or race has had in moulding the work of the
era which has succeeded, or the race which has dis
placed it. For him RaffaeUe is no startling pheno
menon, and Shakespeare no inscrutable mystery. Nor
has he any difficulty in explaining the reason why
the Middle Age was succeeded by the Revival, and

xxxii INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
the Revival by the Reformation; why England was
transformed by the Revolution which destroyed Divine
Right; why France was emancipated from the yoke
of feudaKsm by the Revolution which replaced privilege
by equality.
These are lofty pretensions. It is because all his
writings have been designed to maintain and advocate
them, that they have all merited special attention. On
more than one occasion I have endeavoured to expound
his method and weigh it in the balance.* Many French
and English critics of note have pronounced their
opinion upon it, and have pointed out what they regard
as its imperfections or mistakes. The result has been
to elicit from him an exposition of it, which he desires
should be accepted as an authoritative and a binding
statement of his views and intentions. It is prefixed to
the second edition of his "Historical and Critical Essays."
As this manifesto has not yet appeared in an English
dress, and as it constitutes the case by which M. Taine
would like to be judged by his readers and critics in
England, as well as elsewhere, I shall proceed to trans
late it preparatory to offering any comments of my
own upon his aims and performances : —
" Several critics have done me the honour sometimes
to combat, sometimes to approve of what they are
pleased to call my system. I am by no means so pre-
* See the following articles in the Westminster Heview : — " The
Critical Writings and Theory of H. Taine," July, 1861 ; "Taine's
History of English. Literature," April, 1864 ; " Taine's History oJ
English Literature: Contemporary Writers," January, 1865- "H.
Taine on Art and Italy," April, 1866.

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. xxxiii
tentious as to have a system ; at most, I endeavour to
follow a method. A system is an explanation of tho
whole, and indicates a work done; a method is a
manner of working, and indicates a work to be done.
My desire has been to labour in a certain sense and
in a certain Avay — nothing more. The question is to
learn whether this way is a good one. To do so it
must be tried : if the reader wiU make the attempt, he
will be able to judge for himself. In place of refuting
refutations, I shall sketch the process in dispute ; those
who shall have repeated it will learn for themselves
whether it conducts to truths.
" It is wholly comprised in this remark that moral
matters, like physical things, have dependencies and
conditions. "I shall suppose that it is desired to verify this
maxim, and measure its reach. ¦ Let the reader take
for example some artist, learned man, or distinguished
writer, a particular poet, novelist, and read his works,
pen in hand. To read them properly, he wiU classify
them in natural groups, and in each group he will
distinguish the three distinct_ things called the person
ages or characters, the action or intrigue, the style or
the maimer of writing. Following the custom of every
critic, he will note in each of these divisions, by a few
brief and telling phrases, the salient particularities, the
dominant traits, the qualities peculiar to the author.
Arrived at the end of his first course, if he be somewhat
practised in this work, he will see an involuntary
phrase flow from his pen, one singularly powerful
and significant, which will summarise" all the operation,
and will place before his eyes a certain kind of tact
and of talent, a certain disposition of mind oi of soul.

xxxiv INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
a certain array of likes and dislikes, of faculties and of
failings, in short, a certain psychological state, ruling
and lasting, which is that of the author. Let him
now repeat the same operation in the other portions
of the same subject ; let him afterwards compare the
three or four summaries which each of these partial
analyses have produced; let him add to the author's
writings, his life, I mean his conduct towards men, —
his philosophy, that is to say, his manner of regarding
the world, — ^his ethical and sesthetical code, that is to
say. Lis general views about the good and the beautiful ;
let him bring together all these small condensed phrases
which are the concentrated essence of thousands of the
remarks he has made, and of the hundreds of judg
ments he has passed. If these notations are precise,
if he be accustomed to discern sentiments and faculties
under the words which designate them, if the inner
eye by which we sift and deflne in a moment the
diversities of the moral being is sufficiently exercised
and penetrating, he will observe that these seven or
eight formulas depend the one upon the other, that the
first being given, the others could not differ, that
consequently the qualities they represent are inter
chained, that if one vary, the others vary proportion
ately, and that hence they compose a system like an
organised body. Not only will he have the vague
sentiment of this mutual accord which harmonizes
the diverse faculties of a mind, but also he wrill have
the distinct perception of it ; he will be able to prove
in logical fashion that a particular quality, violencei
or sobriety of imagination, oratorical or lyrical aptitude,
ascertained as regards one point, must extend its ascend
ency over the rest. By continued reasoning, he will thus
bind up the various inclinations of the man he examines

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. xxxv
under a small number of governing inclinations, whence
they flow and by which they are explained, and he
will provide for himself the spectacle of the admirable
necessities which unite among each other, the innu
merable, varied, entangled fibres of each human being.
" That is the simplest case. I shall now suppose
that the reader wishes to make trial of this in a larger
and more complex case, upon a large school, like that
of the English or Spanish dramatists, the Florentine or
Venetian painters, upon an entire civilisation like that
of ancient Rome, upon a race like the Semitic, even upon
a distinct group of races lilce that of the Aryan nations,
and to take an example, upon a well-marked historic
epoch, the age of Louis XIV. To do this it is necessary,
in the first place, to have read and observed much; and
probably, out of all the observations, some general
impression has remained in the reader's mind ; I mean
to say, the vague sentiment of a badly-defined concord
ance between the heaps of works and of thoughts which
have passed before his eyes. But I ask him to go
farther, and by surer paths. In this, as in the pre
ceding case and in every accurate search, it is neces
sary, in the first place, to classify the facts, and to
consider each class of facts apart : firstly, the three
great works of human intelligence, religion, art, philo
sophy ; secondly, the two great works of human asso
ciation, the family and the State ; lastly, the three
great material works of human labour, industry, com
merce, and agriculture ; and in each of these general
groups the secondary groups into which they are sub
divided. Take but one of them, philosophy ; when the
reader shall have studied the reigning doctrine from
Descartes to Malebranche ; when after having noted the
method, the theory of extension and of thought, the

xxxvl INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
definition of God, of morality, and the rest, he wiU
clearly picture to himseK the point of departure and
the sort of spirit which have determined the entire
work ; when he shall have given precision to his idea
by keeping in sight the imaginative and riotous philo
sophy of the preceding century, the distinctive and
binding philosophy of contemporary England, the
experimental and sceptical philosophy of the following
century, he will arrive at sifting out from the French
phUospphy of the seventeenth century a certain distinct
tendency whence proceed, as from a source, its snb-
missiveness and its independence, its theological poverty
and its logical lucidity, its moral nobleness and its
speculative aridity, its leaning towards mathematics
and its disdain of experience ; on the one hand, that
mixture of compromise and stiffness which foretells a
race better fitted for pure reasoning than for general
views ; on the other hand, that mixture of elevation
and calmness which foretells an age less enthusiastic
than correct. Should a similar operation now be per
formed upon the other contemporary portions of human
intelligence and action, should the summaries be com
pared together wherein in a handy and portable fashion
the substance of the work observed has been similarly
deposited; if, by that kind of chemistry which is
termed psychological analysis, care be taken to recognise
the ingredients of each extract, it will be discovered
that elements of a like nature come together in the
different phials ; that the same faculties and the same
wants which have produced philosophy have produced
religion and art ; that the man to whom this art,
this philosophy, this religion address themselves was
prepared by a monarchical society and drawing-room
proprieties to taste and comprehend them ; that the

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. xxxvii
stage, conversation, goodness, family manners, the hier
archy of the State, the docility of the subject, the noble
domesticity of the great, the humble domesticity of the
low-born, all the details of private or public life, com
bined together to fortify the reigning sentiments and
faculties, and that not only the diverse parts of this
civilisation, so large and so complex, were united by
common dependencies, but also that the cause of these
dependencies was the universal presence of certain
aptitudes and of certain inclinations, always the same,
disseminated under diverse figures in the different com
partments wherein the human metal was cast. Between
an elm of Versailles, a philosophical and religious argu
ment of Malebranche, one of Boileau's maxims in
versification, one of Colbert's laws of hypothec, an ante
room compliment at Marly, a sentence of Bossuet on the
royalty of God, the distance appears infinite and impass
able ; there is no apparent connection. The facts are so
dissimilar that at first sight they are pronounced to be
what they appear, that is to say, isolated and separated.
But the facts communicate between themselves by the
definitions of the groups in which they arc comprised, like
the waters -in a basin by the summit of the heights
whence they flow. Each of them is an act of that ideal
and general man around whom are grouped all the
inventions and all the peculiarities of the epoch ; the
cause of each is some aptitude or inclination of the
reigning model. The various inclinations or aptitudes
of the central personage balance, harmonise, temper
each other under some liking, or dominant faculty,
because it is the same spirit and the same heart which
have thought, prayed, imagined, and acted ; because it
is the same general situation and the same innate
nature which have fashioned and governed the separate

xxxviit INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
and diverse works ; because it is the same seal which is
differently stamped on differing matters. None of these
imprints can alter without leading to an alteration in
the others, because if one change it is owing to a change
in the seal.
"A step remains to be taken. Till now, the con
nection of contemporaneous things was in question ; at
present the connection between successive things must
be considered. The reader has been able to prove that
moral matters, like physical things, have their depen-
dencies; at present he must prove that, like physical
things, they have their conditions.
"You have sought and found the definition of a
group ; I mean that small, exact, and expressive phraso
which encloses in it.s narrow compass the essential
characters whence the others can be deduced. Let us
here suppose that it designates those of our seventeenth
century; compare it with those by which you have
designated the preceding epoch and the others more
ancient of the same history in the same country ; search
now whether the diverse terms of this series do not con^
tain some common element. One is to be found, the
character and spirit peculiar to the race, transmitted from
generation to generation ; the same through the changes
of culture,- the diversities of organisation, and the
variety of products. This character and this spirit,
once constituted, are found to be more or less disposed for
discipline or personal independence ; more or less fitted
for nice reasoning or poetical emotion ; more or less
disposed to the religion of the conscience, or of logic,
or of custom, or of the eyes. At a given moment,
during a period, they produce a work ; and their
nature, joined to that of their work, is the condition of
the work which follows ; as in an organised body the

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. xxxix
primitive temperament, joined to the anterior state,
is the condition of the succeeding state. Here, as in
the physical world, the condition is sufficient and neces
sary ; if it be present, the work cannot be wanting ; if
it be absent, the work cannot appear. From the
English character and from the despotism bequeathed
by the Tudors to the Stuarts proceeded the English
Revolution. From the French character and from the
aristocratic anarchy bequeathed by the ci^il wars to
the Bourbons proceeded the monarchy of Louis XIV.
To produce the superb flowering of the arts of design
under Leo X. was required the precocious and pic
turesque Italian genius, with the prolonged reign of
the energetic manners and the corporeal instincts of
the Middle Ages. To produce in the first centuries
of our era the astonishing growth of philosophies and
mystical religions, the speculative aptitude of our
Aryan races was required, at the same time as the
crushing of the world, repressed under a despotism
without outlet, and the enlargement of the mind, widened
by the ruin of nationalities. Let the reader kindly
make trial of this upon any one period ; if he starts
from the texts, if he reads and judges for himself, if he
methodically exhausts his subject, if he rises by degrees
from the characters which govern the smaller groups
up to those which govern the larger groups, if he is
careful in constantly rectifying and determining his
summaries, if he is accustomed to see clearly the
qualities and the general situations which extend their
empire over centuries and entire nations, he will be
come convinced that they depend upon anterior qualities
and situations as general as themselves ; that the second
-being given the first must follow; that they play
among them the great game of history ; that they
d

xl INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
make or unmake civilisation by their disagreement or
their harmony ; that our little ephemeral life is but a
wave upon their current, that in and by them we have
action and being. At the end of a short time he will
embrace with a look the whole which they govern ; he
will no longer see them as abstract formulas, but as
living forces mingled with things, everywhere present,
everywhere operating, veritable divinities of the human
world, which hold out hands downward to other powers
that are masters of matter as they are of mind, to form
together the invisible choir of which the old poets
speak, which moves across things, and through which
throbs the eternal universe.
" It will be seen that what is in question here is a
form of experiment similar to what scientific men per
form in physiology or in chemistry. In the one as in the
other case, a man says to you, ' Take that piece of
matter, divide it such a way, practise upon it such and
such operations, and in such an order ; you will arrive
at ascertaining certain dependencies, and at disen
gaging a certain principle. I have done this, in thirty
or forty cases, while choosing different circumstances.'
A man's idea cannot be received or rejected till after
counter-proof. It is no refutation to tell him, ' Your
method is bad, for it renders style rigid and unpleasant.'
He wiU reply aloud, 'So much the worse for me.'
Nor is it any more a refutation to say, 'I reject your
forms of procedure ; for the doctrines to which they
lead unsettle my moral convictions.' He will reply in
a whisper, ' So much the worse for you.' Experience
alone destroys experience; for theological or senti
mental objections have no hold over a fact. Whether
tliis fact be the formation of tissues observed through a

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. xU
microscope, an equivalent figure proved by a scale, a
floncordance of faculties and of sentiments proved by
criticism, its value is the same ; there is no other
superior authority which can reject it at first sight and
without previous control ; one is obliged, in order to dis
prove him, to repeat the operation which he has obtained.
A^Tien a physiologist tells you that the anatomical ele
ments are formed by spontaneous generation in the
living individual, and that the living individual is an
aggregation of elementary individuals, each endowed
with a personal and distinct life, do you think yourself
entitled to protest in the name of the theological
dogma of the creation or of the ethical dogma of the
human personality? Objections of this sort which
could be made during the Middle Ages cannot be made
at the present day respecting any science, in history
any more than in physiology and chemistry, since the
right of regulating human consciences has wholly
passed to the side of experience, and since precepts or
doctrines, instead of authorising observation, receive
from it all their credit. Besides, it is easy to see that
-objections of this species all proceed from a mistake,
and that the adversary is unwittingly the dupe of
phrases. He reproaches you with considering national
characters and general situations as the sole great
forces in history, and he starts from that to decide that
you suppress the individual. He forgets that these
great forces are but the sum of 'the tendencies and
aptitudes of individuals, that our general terms are
collective expressions which bring together under a
single glance twenty or thirty millions of souls inclined
and acting in the same direction, that when an hundred
men move a wheel, the total force which displaces the
wheel is but the sum of the forces of these hundred

xlii INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
men, and that individuals exist and operate as well in
a people, an age, or a race, as the component units in
an addition of which the total figure is alone written
dovm. In like manner again, he reproaches you with
transforming man into a machine, making him the sub-
ject of some interior machinery, bringing him under
the bondage of great surrounding pressure, denying to
him independent and free personality, discouraging
our efforts by informing us that we are constrained
and led without and within by forces which we have
not made and to which we must submit. He forgets
what the individual soul is, as he forgot a moment since
what an historical force was ; he separates the word
from the thing ; he empties and puts it aside as a being
efficacious and distinct. He ceases to see in the indi
vidual soul, as he did in the historical force, the ele
ments which compose it, a moment since the individuals
of which the historical force is but the sum, at present
the faculties and tendencies of which the individual
mind is but the whole. He does not observe that the
fundamental aptitudes and tendencies of a mind per
tain to it, that those it appropriates in the general situa
tion or in the national character are, or become, personal
to it in the foremost place, that when acting through
them it is doing so by itself, with its own force, spon
taneously, with complete initiative, with full responsi
bility, and that the artifice of analysis by means of
which its principal motors are distinguished, the suc
cessive gearings and the distribution of its primitive
movement, do not hinder the whole, which is itself,
taking from it its impulse and its course — to wit, its
energy and its effort. Nor does he observe that re
searches of this kind, very far from discouraging man
by showing him his bondage, have the effect of in-

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. xllii
creasing his hopes, by augmenting his power ; that they
terminate like the physical sciences in establishing the
constant dependencies between facts ; that the discovery
of these dependencies in the physical sciences has fur
nished man with the means of foreseeing and modifying
up to a certain point natural events ; that an analogous
discovery in ethical science ought to supply man with
the means of foreseeing and modifying up to a certain
point historical events. For we shall become all the
more masters of our destiny when we shall dis
cern more exactly the common ties of things. When
we have arrived at knowing the sufficient and necessary
condition of a fact, the condition of that condition,
and so on, we shall have before our eyes a chain of
data, in which to displace one link will suffice to dis
place those which follow ; so that the last, though
situated beyond the sphere of our action, will submit
themselves by counter-effect as soon as one of the pre
ceding ones comes within our reach. The whole secret
of our practical progress, during three hundred years,
is embraced therein ;* we have separated and defined
couples of facts so bound together that when the first
appears the second never fails to follow, whence it
occurs that in acting directly on the first we can act
indirectly on the second. It is in this manner that
accrued knowledge increases power, and the manifest
consequence is that in ethical sciences, as in physical
sciences, fruitful research is that which, discerning the
couples — to wit, the conditions and the dependencies,
sometimes permits the hand of man to interpose in the
o-rcat mechanism, to shift or put right some small piece
of machinery a piece light enough to be moved by
* See Mr. J. S. Mill's admiratlo " Logic,'' especially his theory of
Induction.

xliv INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
man's hand, but so important that its displacement or
smooth movement will lead to a mighty change in the
working of the machine, and to employ it altogether,
wherever it works, here in nature, there in history, to
the profit of the intelligent insect by which the economy
of its structure shall have been discovered.
" It is with this aim, and in this sense, that history is
being transformed to day ; it is by this sopt of labour
that from a simple narrative it can become a science,
and determine laws after having set forth facts. Already
we can perceive several of these laws, all very exact
and very general, and corresponding to those which
have been foimd in the sciences of living bodies. In
that the philosophy of human history repeats, like a
faithful image, the philosophy of natural history.
Naturalists have observed that an animal's various
organs depend the one upon the other — that, for
example, the teeth, the stomach, the feet, the instincts,
and many other given quantities, vary together accord
ing to a fixed connection, so much so that the trans
formation of one of them compels a corresponding
transformation in the rest.* In the same way historians
can observe that the various aptitudes and inclinations
of an individual, of a race, of an epoch, are joined the
one to the other in such a manner that the alteration
of one of these given quantities, noticed in a neigh
bouring individual, in a group at hand, in a preceding
or succeeding epoch, determines in them a proportional
alteration of all the system. Naturalists have ascer
tained that the exaggerated development of an organ
in an animal, like the kangaroo or the bat, leads to the
impoverishment or the diminution of the correspond-
"¦ 'I'he Connection of Characters, Cuvier's law. See the developments
given by Kiohard Owen.

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. xlv
ing organs.* In like manner, historians can ascertain
how the extraordinary developement of one faculty, like
moral aptitude in Teutonic races, or the metaphysical
and religious aptitude of the Hindoos, leads in these
races to the weakening of the opposite faculties.
Naturalists have proved that, among the characters of
an animal or vegetable group, the one is subordinate,
variable, sometimes weakened, sometimes absent ; the
others, on the contrary, like the structure or concentric
layers of a plant, or the organisation around a chain of
vertebrae in an animal, preponderate and determine all
the plan of its economy. In like manner historians
can prove that among the characters of a group, or of
a human individual, the one is subordinate and neces
sary, the others like the preponderating presence of
images or of ideas, or, better stiU, the greater or lesser
aptitude for more or less general conceptions, dominate
and fix beforehand the direction of his life and the
nature of his inventions.f Naturalists show that in a
class, or even a branch of the animal kingdom, the
same plan of organisation is found in all the species ;
that the dog's paw, the horse's leg, the bat's wing, the
man's arm, the whale's fin, are the same anatomical
given quantity fitted by some contraction or partial
extension to the different uses. By a similar method
historians can show that as regards the same artist,
in the same school, in the same age, of the same
race, personages the most opposite as to condition, sex,
education, character, all represent a common type — to
wit, a nucleus of faculties and primitive aptitudes which,
diversely contracted, combined, enlarged, supply the
* Gr. Saint-Hilaire's Law of Organic Oounterhalances. ,
t Rule as to the suhordination of characters, which is the principle
of classifications in Botany and in Zoology.

xlvi INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
innumerable diversities of the group.* Naturalists
establish that in a living species the individuals which
are the best developed and reproduce themselves the
most surely, are those which a peculiarity of structure
best adapts to ambient circumstances; that in the
others inverse qualities produce inverse effects; that the
natural course of things thus leads to incessant elimina
tions and gradual improvements ; that this blind pre
ference and dislike operate as a voluntary selection ;
that Nature thus chooses in each locality to give being
and empire to the species best suited for the locality.
By analogous observation and reasoning, historians can
establish that, in any one human group, the individuals
which attain the highest authority and the largest
development are those whereof the aptitudes and the
inclinations best correspond to those of their group ;
that the moral position, like the physical position,
operates upon each individual by continuous excitations
and repressions ; that it renders the one abortive and
makes the others bud in proportion to the concordance
or disagreeipent which occurs between them and it ;
that this bKnd travail is a selection also, and that, by a
series of imperceptible formations and deformations, the
ascendency of the position brings on the scene of history
artists, philosophers, religious reformers, politicians,
capable of interpreting or accomplishing the thought of
their age and of their race, as it brings on the scene of
Nature species of animals and of plants, the best fitted
for accommodating themselves to their climate and
their soil.f Many other analogies between natural
and human history might be enumerated. This is
* (i. Saint-Hilaire's theory of analogues and unity of composition.
See the developments made hy Richard Owen.
+ Darwin's principle of Natural Selection.

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. xlvii
because their two subjects are similar. In the one, and
in the other, natural groups are operated on — to wit,
individuals constructed after a common type, divisible
in families, in kinds, and in species. In the one and
in the other, the object is living — ^to wit, subjected to a
spontaneous and continued transformation. In the one
and in the other, the original form is hereditary, and
the acquired form is transmitted in part and slowly by
inheritance. In the one and in the other, the organised
molecule is not developed save under the influence of
its position. In the one and in the other, each state of
the organised being has the twofold condition of the
previous state and the general tendency of the type.
By all these developments the human animal Is a con
tinuation of the brute ; for the human faculties have
their root in the life of the brain, as well the superior
ones whereof man enjoys the privilege, as the inferior
of which he has not the privilege ; and by this hold the
organic laws extend their empire even to the separate
domain on the threshold of which natural sciences halt,
to permit ethical sciences to rule. It follows from this
that a career similar to that of the natural sciences is
open to the ethical sciences ; that history, the last comer,
can discover laws like its elders ; that it can, like
them and within its province, govern the conceptions,
and guide the efforts of men ; that, by a train of well-
conducted researches, it will end by determining the
conditions of great human events — to wit, the circum
stances essential to the appearance, to the duration,
or the downfall of various forms of associations, of
thought, and of action. Such is the field open to it ;
it has no limit ; in a domain like that all the efforts of a
single man can only bear it forward a pace or two ; he
observes one small corner, then another ; from time to

xlviii INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
time he stops to point out the way he considers the
shortest and the most certain. This is all I have
endeavoured to do ; the keenest pleasure of a toiling
spirit lies in the thought of the work which others will
perform later."
Having permitted M. Taine to speak for himself, I
may now offer an objection to his method which ap
pears to me so serious as to be almost fatal. It relates
to the fundamental difference between the positions
occupied by the botanist and zoologist, and the critic and
historian. The former have no personal and national
bias in favour of the results of their observations. They
may prefer, as a matter of taste, one plant or one
animal to another, but this does not interfere in the
slightest degree with the manner in which they classify
and explain either. They do not care whether a group
of plants, or of animals, exists In a particular country
and under particular conditions. When a French
man examines a flower or dissects a bat, he thinks
nothing about the spot on which the flower grew or
the bat was produced. But when a Frenchman deals
with an author or artist of a foreign nation, he does
not forget, nor will he forget until the millennium
shall arrive and human nature shall be transmogrified,
that he is a Frenchman, and that the author or artist is
a foreigner. Intentionally or unconsciously, he judges
the eloquence, the style, the diction, the talent, and the
works of the foreigner by a French standard and from a
French point of view. M. Taine himself is a proof of this.
No foreigner has written more acutely and instructively

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. xlix
about England and the English than he has done, yet,
while the result is admired, the remark Is made, either
aloud or in a whisper : " Very wonderful, certainly,
considering that M. Taine is a Frenchman." Lan
guage, that living expression of a nation's mind, is in
its essence a sealed book to him who is not one of
the nation. There is a flavour in words which a
native of the land wherein they are current can alone
detect and enjoy. No one but the native of an Eng
lish-speaking country can ever enter Into full com
munion with the spirit of Shakespeare ; no one but
a Frenchman can ever perfectly appreciate all that
is grand in Corneille, pathetic in Racine, pointed In
Pascal, graceful in Madame Sevign^, easy and neat in
Voltaire ; no one but an Italian can ever be adequately
impressed by the might and mystery of Dante ; no one
but a Spaniard can heartily appreciate Cervantes ; no
one but a German can thoroughly explore and admire
the masterpieces of Goethe. Even with all his mastery
over our tongue. It is doubtful whether M. Taine can
ftdly enjoy the English of Thackeray, simply as En
glish, or detect the subtle grace and point which impart
an inexpressible charm to the English of Hawthorne.
We know that he rates English painting very low;
he considers it false art, an appeal to the mind rather
than to the eyes. But this opinion is merely due to
his entertaining a particular view of art. When ana
lysed, his decision amounts to this : * Your .painting
is not what I call art ; it gives me no pleasure ; conse
quently it is a failure." He says that Gainsborough's

1 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
"'Blue Boy' already possesses the expressive and
wholly modern physiognomy by which a work, falling
within the painter's province, oversteps the limits of
painting." He thinks it a fatal defect in the works
of Hogarth, of Reynolds, of Sir Edwin Landseer, that
they tell a story which the beholder is expected to
appreciate quite as much as the colouring and the
drawing. To teU a story in colours is surely no crime,
even if it be treason to art; the natural reflection being.
Then so much the worse for the art which can be so
easily betrayed. When perusing his criticisms upon
English painters, the wider applicability of what he says
in defence of RaffaeUe against the disparaging comments
of Mr. Ruskin becomes apparent : " It is easy to con
demn a painter, even a very great one, when something
is required of him whereof he never dreamt " (p. 341).
Hardly less curious than the sweeping charge brought
against English painters, is the assumption that Mr.
Ruskin is the accepted exponent of the true English
theory of painting. For a time some young, artists
strove to give practical effect to Mr. Ruskin's theories ;
but the attempt had to be abandoned in despair, for the
theories were so often altered, that, despite their author
maintaining he was never more consistent than when,
to aU appearance, he enumerated contradictory pro
positions, no ordinary person could succeed in apply
ing them in a uniform and rational manner. So far
from Mr. Ruskin being the supreme authority in
England on the subject of the great Masters, the ob
jection which M. Taine offers to his strictures would

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 11
find general acceptance among EngHsh artists and
critics. The truth Is, however, that M. Taine views
art from a purely French point of view ; he in
terprets it in accordance wdth French canons. I do not
blame him for this. Indeed, he cannot act otherwise.
But how can he note " psychological states," mark the
" dependencies and conditions " which affect literary,
artistic, or historical productions, if he starts with a set
of foregone conclusions, which are alike personal and
national, which have no universal sanction, and will
not command universal respect ? The case of a fauna
or flora is so diff'erent, as to be palpable to the most
superflcial observer. The system which .Linnseus applied
to botany and Cuvler to natural history are systems
of general appHcabUity. They can be employed in
the true scientific spirit, and made to yield genuine
scientific results.
After examining the results of M. Taine's method,
as appHed by him to men of note in the world of art
and letters, I do not find that these are so conclusive as
to reflect glory upon the method itself. His volume
about Lafontaine, which contains much exquisite writ
ing, many shrewd remarks, and displays much dialec
tical skill, merely shows that Lafontaine was a poet.
The "Essay on Livy" Is designed to prove that Livy
was an "oratorical historian." The explanation of
Shakespeare is that he had "a complete Imagina
tion ; aU his genius lies In that phrase." This is
quite as satisfactory as M. Victor Hugo's explanation
that " Shakespeare was his inteUectual twin brother ;"

lii INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
but it leaves the matter where it was, and is but
M. Taine's way of saying, what other critics have
said before him, that the great poet was a man
of genius. Indeed, the words talent and genius
when properly applied and suitably qualified, serve in
reality as formulas like those which M. Taine educes
by his method. For his particular method itself, M.
Taine exhibits what appears to be a disproportionate
affection. He acts with regard to-' it as Shelley
said authors frequently do, resembling mothers in
preferring " the children who have given them most
trouble." Yet he is noteworthy as a writer not in
consequence, but in spite, of his method. Strip off
everything relating to it in his several works, and the
works themselves will continue to attract and impress ;
they wiU stUl reflect the beauties of his own mind, and
be radiant with the splendours of his brilliant style.
Of the method itself, I may say what CondiUac said of
rules ; like the parapet of a bridge. It may hinder a
person from falling into the river, but will not help
him on his way. M. Taine no more requires it to
sustain him than Byron required bladders or corks, to
buoy him up when he entered the water, after he had
demonstrated his powers by swimming across the
HeUespont. The expectation which he has of xdtimately using
history for the purpose of framing laws, and so giving
to it a place among the natural sciences, is an expecta
tion which no one can entertain who disagrees with him
as to first principles, who contemplates the universe in a

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. liii
difforcnt fashion, who puts a different interpretation upon
the word cause. According to him a cause is a fact; in
my opinion it is a figure of speech. He thinks that a
fact can be found of such a kind that from it may be
deduced the nature, the relations, and changes of other
facts, and that this dominant and generative fact is
the cause of the others ; I regard the relations of cause
and effect simply as sequences. AU that we can know
or note is that the one follows the other, and to caU
the one the cause of the other Is merely another way
of expressing this succession of continuity. Where
he detects " dependencies and conditions," I merely
perceive successions and appearances. Where he dis
cerns laws, I perceive nothing but explanations, and
explanations, too, of the case as put by him. With him
I agree in thinking that the result of a closer observation
and more careful estimate of facts wiU be to render both
criticism and history more exact and trustworthy. But,
after aU, the individual critic and historian will an
nounce his individual opinion. He wiU have no right
to demand a hearing on any other ground than mas
tery of the subject and freedom from obvious and undue
bias. He wiU, if endowed with M. Taine's industry,
learning, skill In grouping facts, power in stating
opinions, talent in manipulating words, be regarded,
as M. Taine Is deservedly regarded, as a master of his
craft, as an authority in his sphere.
Yet, even if his phUosophioal ^dews should be esta-
bUshed beyond dispute, an insuperable difficulty wUl
remain. To interpret the Individual, or a course of

liv INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
historical events, after his fashion would require an
investigator so entirely impersonal as to be almost
superhuman. A man who had no national leanings or
private sympathies might possibly deal with human
beings and their Hterary, artistic, or historical concerns
in the same scientific fashion that a physiologist deals
with human crania, and a botanist with plants and
flowers. So long, however, as it remains true that
" there Is a great deal of human nature in man," so
long wiU the efforts of the profoundest thinkers and
most brUUant writers faU to elevate and alter history
and criticism to such an extent and in such a way as to
make of them sciences fitted to rank in precision and
universality with the recognised natural sciences.
-in.
Inability to advocate aU M.- Taine's pretensions does
not imply a want of admiration for what he has per
formed. He is greater than his method. His own
personality Is too marked to be concealed under any
formula, however abstract ; his powers are too rare to
fail to extort the admiration of those who may differ the
most from him on purely speculative points. His cha
racteristic is a passion for facts ; his exceUence consists
In the skiU with which he can turn his facts to the
best account. He has a keen appreciation of beauty in
every form ; he can convey his impressions to a reader
In language of singular felicity. He requires the aid
of no method to enunciate conclusions which are very

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. Iv
plausible and often very j ust. Ills j udgments are formed
on so complete an array of evidence, and with such an
unquestionable desire to be impartial, that they deserve
to be treated with respect, even when they cannot be
implicitly accepted.
In his "Notes on England," as in all his works, there
is no lack of theories which may be caUed in question,
of explanations which are sometimes partial and one
sided, of general views based upon insufficient data.
He is emphatic in connecting drunkenness in this
country with the English cUmate, and his theory of
the race leads him to maintain that the EngUsh
people, living In a murky air and beneath unkindly
skies, must have an Inordinate fondness for strong
drinks. The truth is, the vice of drunkenness, which
Is one of the curses of the United Kingdom, is the curse
also of the United States, of Canada, of Australia,
where the sky is as bright as in France, where the air
is as dry and exhilarating, where the temperature
Is never less agreeable, and Is often more genial.
But in these countries, as in ours tiU recently, strong-
drinks are cheap, and wine is dear; If wine were
everywhere as cheap as it Is in France, there might
not be less drunkenness, but it would be of a less
brutal type than that which shocked M. Taine. He
made his first observations at a time when heavy
duties Imposed upon light wines gave to the artificl-
aUy strengthened wines of Spain and Portugal the vir
tual monopoly of the market. He says : " Their com
mon wines, port, sherry, very hot, very spirituous, are
e

Ivi INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
loaded with brandy in addition ; this mixture deprives
them of delicacy, yet if they were pure the EngUsh
would consider them insipid; our Bordeaux wines,
and even our Burgundies, are too Ught for them"
(pp. 57, 58). Since this was written the tariff has been
altered, the result being that, for one glass of Ught
wine drunk then, a bottle Is drunk now. Moreover, no
better recommendation can be given to sherry at the
present day than to affirm that it Is a natural wine,
and Is whoUy unfortified by brandy. The Custom-
House returns prove the former assertion ; the adver
tisements of wine-merchants uphold the latter.
More than once M. Taine gives as an explanation of/
the rich acting in a particular way, that they wish toj
escape ennui; this, he maintains. Is one of the causes
of the hospItaUty they dispense. However, neither the
word nor the thing is known in this country. A person
may be " bored," even " bored to death ; " but this Is
very different. To be bored Is to be oppressed by
something of which there is a desire to get rid ; to feel
ennui is to restlessly long for something which cannot
readily be proctired. Indeed, I beUeve ennui to be
simply a pestUent, yet Imaginary disease, engendered
by a word, which in France is commonly made the
convenient excuse for ladies faUing passionately in love
with the wrong gentlemen and for gentlemen loving
their neighbours' wives too weU. It is as much a
figment of the imagination as the "spleen," which the
French insist is a malady peculiar to this country,
but from which no English man, woman, or child has

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. Ivii
been known to suffer for a century, from which no
native of Scotland was ever known to suffer at aU,
and which no native of Ireland can understand. The
" spleen" departed from the southern part of the island
along with Its fashionable companion malady, " the
vapours," but it seems to have destroyed Its companion
during the passage across the channel, and to have
arrived in France alone.
Other matters of detail might be noticed and cor
rected. When it Is said, for instance (p. 113), that
the word " governor," as famUiarly used by English
boys, is a token of the position of authority which their
father occupies in his house, this exemplifies one of
those rapid generaUsations which are due to an im
perfect apprehension of the facts. Had M. Taine
known that the word Is a slang one borrowed from
the poorer classes, that It has not been in use longer
than thirty years, and that it is already becoming
obsolete, he would hardly have cited It as confirmatory
of his theory. Nor ought he to have chosen the case
of a brutal parent whose consumptive son was afraid to
return home to die without his father's permission, as
being in any respect more typical of EngUsh family rela
tions than the weU-known instance of the red-haired
chambermaid seen by a traveUer at a hotel in France, as
being indicative of the fact which he noted, that aU the
women of the country had red hair. GeneraUy, how
ever, when M. Taine records his own observations, he
is aUke acute and correct. Information given him by
inexcusably ignorant persons appears to have misled

Iviii INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
him when he errs the most notably. Thus his in
formant who told him (p. 241) that medical men are not
created peers because "no man who has held out
his hands for guineas could take his place among
peers of the realm," must have been strangely un
acquainted with the fact known to every schoolboy
that barristers not only take guineas, but accept them
willingly, and that the more guineas they receive, owing
to the increase of their practice, the better are their
prospects of a seat on the woolsack and elevation to the
peerage. Moreover, at least one member of the House
of Lords entered it not many years ago solely because,
as a banker, he had handled the money of his customers
so judiciously as to have accumulated an enonnous
fortune. After aU, however, these sUps, and others
which the well-informed reader will readily detect,
are comparatively trivial blemishes. In estimating
the work as a whole. It would be weU to exchange,
what Chateaubriand caUed the petty and meagre
criticism of defects, for the comprehensive and pro
lific criticism of beauties. These "Notes on Eng
land" are reaUy of first-rate quaUty; they form
nn admirable picture of what is truly distinctive and
noteworthy. M. Taine approaches so closely to the
Ideal intelUgent foreigner whose advent is so often
proclaimed, but whose presence In tho flesh we never
enjoy ; his general tone is so excellent and his endea
vour to be fair so conspicuous; his quaUflcatlons are
so exceptional and his actual achievements give him
so clear a title to our esteem ; he is so singularly free

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. lix
from the sins which beset his countrymen who retaU
their experience after having sojourned in this country;
he is so sympathetic without stooping to flattery, and
so candid without lapsing into discourtesy ; he is, in
short, such a model traveUer, such an acute observer,
such a graphic and an artistic narrator, that he merits,
what he wiU doubtless receive, a cordial welcome from
all who enjoy reading the opinions of a genial and
capable foreign writer upon the social life, the domestic
arrangements, the reUgious sentiments, and the poli
tical constitution of this country.
W. P. Rae.

I.

BOULOGNE TO LONDON BRIDGE.
TT Is eleven o'clock; Boulogne recedes, and lessens
-*- upon the horizon. The vessels in the harbour, the
slender masts are first merged in the vague obscurity;
presently the Ughts diminish, and soon appear nothing
more on the verge of the sky than a heap of pale stars.
This is a strange and profound sensation ; the sea is
stUl, and a motionless mist broods over it. All has
vanished ; alone at the horizon a revolving light from
time to time flings Its reflection over the passing wave.
It seems as if we were entering the kingdom of silence
and of vacancy, the colourless and shapeless world of
things which are not. Darkness, vast and vague, en-
compasseth us. The ship enters, and becomes lost in
It. But a moment ago could still be descried, afar
off, from the side of the stem, an uncertain fringe, the
distant land ; now, around the vessel, there is nothing
but moving blackness. Thus engulfed, it still makes
progress, with sure instinct, and opens up an entrance
into the unseen. Like a laborious insect, it indefati-
gably moves its great iron limbs, and raises around its
keel vague phosphorescent appearances. They shine
with the changing reflection . of opal and mother-of-
pearl. One follows their long undulation, which keeps

a NOTES ON ENGLAND.
rising, falling, and developing its soft clearness. Va
riegated diamonds, bounding pearls turn in its hollows,
and its fringe of foam makes a border of dead sUver,
a wrought, winding, waving frame to the nocturnal
mirror. The sun rose half an hour ago, but one does not
see it ; there is only a feeble brightening in the east ;
all the remainder is covered with clouds. Towards the
east, the sea, as far as the eye can reach, streaks with
Its distinct line the clear and calm horizon. Right and
left of the boat, a slight distant strip rises from the
sea; it is land, and through the mist one begins to
distinguish its greenish indentation. We advance ; but
in this enormous estuary, the land, so flat and sraaU,
appears but a mass of mud ; humidity bathes the
colours ; all the tones are dUuted, washed out ; you
would take it for a pale water-colour over which a
child, with its finger, has drawn drops of water. Upon
the right the coast approaches ; this is now the real
"English landscape which I saw between Newhaven
and London last year. Rising ground of a dull green,
divided by hedges, strewn with isolated trees ; one
enclosed pasturage, then another, then another besides,
and untended cattle, penned up permanently ; a
Belgium less flat and less uniform than the other,
gleaming in the sun, but very dismal and very com
monplace; the sky is showery, and this sky I'S fre
quently so. The river is enormous, but dirty, dotfted
with wan and false tints ; turned back by the rising
tide, it oscillates between mountains of mud, which in
turn it covers and quits ; under the pestiferous vapour
its tiny waves have a lugubrious aspect : thus it rolls
along, livid and muddy, but useful; It is a worker

BOULOGNE TO LONDON BRIDGE. 3
and porter unique of its kind. Ships now begin to
move in bands along its back, the most of them laden,
large, small, of every form and every size, and the
sailors climbing in the rigging resemble busy spiders.
Conversation with an Englishman of the middle
class, son of a merchant, I should suppose ; he does
not know French, German, or Italian ; he is not alto
gether a gentleman. Twenty-flve years of age ; sneer
ing, decided, incisive face ; he has made, for his amuse
ment and instruction, a trip lasting twelve months, and
is returning from India and from Australia. Forty
thousand miles in all. He says, " To understand
the people, they must be seen." He is from Liverpool.
A family that does not keep a carriage may live com
fortably there upon three or four hundred pounds
sterling. One must marry, that is a matter of
course ; he hopes to be married before two or three
years are over. It is better, however, to remain a
bachelor, if one does not meet the person with whom
one desires to pass one's whole life. " But one
always meets with her ; the only thing is not to let the
chance slip." He has met the proper person more
than once when quite a young man ; but then he was
not rich enough ; at present, being " independent," he
wUl try again. A dowry is unnecessary. It is
natural, and even pleasant, to undertake the charge of
a portionless wife and of a family. " If your wife is
good, and you love her, she is well worth that."
It is clear to me that their happiness consists in being
at home at six in the evening, with a pleasing, attached
wife, having four or five children on their knees, and
respectful domestics. In the boat there is a family
of four children, of whom the eldest is four and a half,
and the mother twenty -three or twenty-four. At the

4 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
sea-side, on the beach, I have often seen entire broods,
the father of the family at their head ; it is not rare
to meet with chUdren who mount in steps from the
baby at the breast up to the girl of eighteen. The
parents do not feel themselves either over-burdened or
embarrassed. According to this Englishman, they owe
nothing but education to their children ; the daughters
marry without a dowry, the sons shift for themselves.
I know a solicitor who makes much money and spends
it all, except £300 or £400 a year, with which he
insures his life in the names of his children ; at each
new arrival, there is a fresh policy of £2,000, payable
to the child at its father's death. In this way the
child is provided for, and besides commerce, industry
supplies him with a quantity of outlets which are
denied to a young Frenchman.
Of all the countries this Englishman has seen,
England is the most moral. StiU, in his opinion, the
national evil is " the absence of morality." In con
sequence he judges France after the English fashion.
" The women are badly brought up there, do not read
the Bible, are too • fond of balls, occupy themselves
wholly with dress. The men frequent cafes and keep
mistresses, hence so many unfortunate households.
This is the result not of race, but of education.
French women in England, seriously brought up in
English fashion, make very good wives here." "Is
everything good in your country ? " " No ; the
national and horrible vice is drunkenness. A man
who earns 20s. a week drinks ten of them. Add to
this improvidence, stoppage of work, and poverty."
" But in cases of distress you have the poor-houses,
the workhouses ? " " They will not go to them, they
prefer to fast, to die of hunger." " Why ? " " For

BOULOGNE TO LONDON BRIDGE. s
three reasons. Because they wish to drink at their
ease. Because they hate being shut up. Because
there are formalities ; they must prove that they belong
to the parish, but the most of them do not know where
they were born, or find it too difficult to procure the
necessary papers." He is a talkative fellow devoid of
affected seriousness. Two ather Englishmen with whom
I conversed in the boat are like unto him. I have always
found this disposition among the English ; probably if
they have the contrary reputation, it is because when
in a foreign country and obliged to speak another lan
guage, they are silent through bashfulness, and keep
watch in order not to commit themselves. Speak
English imperfectly with a bad accent, they are no
longer uneasy, they feel themselves your superiors. If
you put a question to them politely, gently, or ask
them to do you a smaU service, they are complying
and even officious. I discovered this twenty times
last year in London and everywhere else.
Other figures in the boat. Two young couples who
remain on deck covered with wrappings under um-
breUas. A long downpour has begun ; they remain
seated; in the end they were drenched like ducks.
This was in order that husband and wife should not be
separated by going below to the cabins; Another
young wife suffered much from sea-sickness ; her hus
band, who had the look of a merchant's clerk, took
her in his arms, supported, tried to read to her, tended
her with a fre'edom and expression of infinite tender
ness. Two young girls of fifteen and sixteen, who
speak German and French exceedingly weU and
without accent, large restless eyes, large white teeth ;
they chatter and laugh with perfect unconstraint,
with admirable petulance of friendly gaiety ; not the

6 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
slightest trace of coquetry, none of our nice little
tricks which have been learned and done on purpose ;
they never think about the onlookers. A lady of
forty in spectacles beside her husband, in a worn-out
dress, with relics of feminine ornaments, extraordinary
teeth in the style of tusks, very serious and most
ludicrous ; a Frenchwoman, even middle-aged, never
forgets to adjust herself — to arrange her dress. Patience
and phlegm of a tall dry Englishman, >vho has not
moved from the seat, has taken but a single turn,
who has spoken to no one, who suffices to himself. As
a contrast, three Frenchmen, who put random ques
tions, make hap-hazard assertions, grow impatient,
gesticulate, and make puns or something akin to them,
appeared to me pleasant fellows.
Gradually the clouds have disappeared and the sky is
radiant. Right and left we pass small country houses,
pretty, clean, and freshly painted. Green grass is
seen appearing at the horizon, here and there large
trees well-placed and well- grouped. Gravesend on the
left heaps its brown houses around a blueish steeple.
Vessels, warehouses, increase in number. One feels
that one is approaching a great city. The small
landing-stages project fifty paces into the river over
the shining mud which the fallen tide leaves dry.
Every quarter of an hour, the imprint and the pre
sence of man, the power by which he has transformed
nature, become more visible ; docks, magazines, ship
building and caulking yards, stocks, habitable houses,
prepared materials, accumulated merchandise ; to the
right is seen the skeleton of an iron church which
is being prepared here for erection in India.
Astonishment ends by turning into bewilderment.
From Greenwich, the river is nothing but a street a

BOULOGNE TO LONDON BRIDGE. ',
mile broad and upwards, where ships ascend and
descend between two rows of buildings, interminable
rows of a dull red, in brick or tiles, bordered with
great piles stuck in the mud for mooring vessels,
which come here to unload or to load. Ever new
magazines for copper, stone, coal, cordage, and the
rest ; bales are always being piled up, sacks being
hoisted, barrels being rolled, cranes are creeking,
capstans sounding. The sea reaches London by the
river ; it is an inland port ; New York, Melbourne,
Canton, Calcutta, are in direct connection with this
place. But that which carries the impression to its
height, is the sight of the canals through which the
docks communicate with the sea ; they form cross-
streets, and they are streets for ships ; one suddenly
perceives a line of them which Is endless ; from Green
wich Park where I ascended last year, the horizon is
bounded with masts and ropes. The incalculable in
distinct rigging stretches a spiders'-web in a circle
at the side of the sky. This is certainly one of the
great spectacles of our planet ; to see a similar con
glomeration of erections, of men, of vessels, and of
business, it would be necessary to go to China.
However, on the river to the west, rises an inex
tricable forest of yards, of masts, of rigging : these
are the vessels which arrive, depart or anchor, in the
first place in groups, then in long rows, then in a
continuous heap, crowded together, massed against
the chimneys of houses and the pulleys of warehouses,
with all the tackle of incessant, regular, gigantic labour.
A foggy smoke penetrated with light envelopes them ;
the sun there sifts its golden rain, and the brackish,
tawny, half-green, half-violet water, balances in its
undulations striking and strange reflections. It might

8 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
be said this was the heavy and smoky air of a large
hothouse. Nothing is natural here, everything is
transformed, artificially wrought from the toil of
man, up to the Ught and the air. But the hugeness of
the conglomeration and of the human creation hinders
us from thinking about this deformity and this artifice;
for want of pure and healthy beauty, the swarming
and grandiose life remains ; the shimmering of em
browned waves, the scattering of the light imprisoned
in vapour, the soft whitish or pink tints which cover
these vastnesses, diffuse a sort of grace over the pro
digious city, having the effect of a smile upon the face
of a shaggy and blackened Cyclop.

IL
SUND.4.T IN LONDON. THE STREETS AND PARKS.
O UNDAY in London in the rain : the shops are shut,
^ the streets almost deserted ; the aspect is that of
an immense and a well-ordered cemetery. The few
passers-by under their umbreUas, in the desert of
squares and streets, have the look of uneasy spirits
who have risen from their graves ; it is appalling.
I had no conception of such a spectacle, which is
said to be frequent in London. The rain is small,
compact, pitiless ; looking at it one can see no reason
why it should not continue to the end of all things ;
one's feet chum water, there is water everywhere,
filthy water impregnated with an odour of soot. A
yellow, dense fog fills the air, sweeps down to the
ground ; at thirty paces a house, a steam-boat appear
as spots upon blotting-paper. After an hour's walk
in the Strand especially, and in the rest of the Citj-,
one has the spleen, one meditates suicide. The
lofty lines of fronts are of sombre brick, the exuda
tions being encrusted with fog and soot. Mono
tony and silence; yet the inscriptions on metal or
marble speak and teU of the absent master, as in a
large manufactory of bone-black closed on account of a
death.

10 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
A frightful thing is the huge palace in the Strand,
which is caUed Somerset House. Massive and heavy
piece of architecture, of which the hollows are inked,
the porticoes blackened with soot, where, in the cavity
of the empty court, is a sham fountain without water,
pools of water on the pavement, long rows of closed
windows — what can they possibly do in these cata
combs ? It seems as if the livid and sooty fog had
even befouled the verdure of the parks. But what
most offends the eyes are the colonnades, peristyles,
Grecian ornaments, mouldings, and wreaths of the
houses, all bathed in soot ; poor antique architecture —
what is it doing in such a cUmate ? The flutings and
columns in front of the British Museum are be
grimed as if liquid mud had been poured over them.
St. Paul's, a kind of Pantheon, has two ranges of
columns, the lower range is entirely black, the xfpper
range, recently scraped, is still white, but the white is
offensive, coal smoke has already plastered it with its
leprosy. These spots are melancholy, being the decay of the
stone. And these nude statues in memory of Greece !
Wellington as a fighting hero, naked under the drip
ping trees of the park ! That hideous Nelson, stuck
on his column with a coil of rope in the form of a
pig-tail, like a rat impaled on the top of a pole !
Every form, every classical idea is contrary to nature
here. A swamp like this is a place of exile for the arts
of antiquity. When the Romans disembarked here they
must have thought themselves in Homer's hell, in the
land of the Cimmerians. The vast space which, in the
south, stretches between the earth and the sky, cannot
be discovered by the eye ; there is no air ; there Is
nothing but liquid fog ; in this pale smoke objects are

SUNDAY IN LONDON. i,
but fading phantoms. Nature has the look of a bad
drawing in charcoal which some one has rubbed with
his sleeve. I have just spent half-an-hour on Waterloo
Bridge; the Houses of Parliament, blurred and in
distinct, appear in the distance but a wretched pile of
scaffolding; nothing is discernible, and, more par
ticularly, nothing Is living, except a few steamboats
skimming along the river, black, smoky, unwearied
insects ; a Greek watching their passengers embarking
and disembarking would have thought of the Styx.
He would have found that to exist here was not to
live ; in fact, life here is different from what it is in
his country ; the ideal has altered with the cUmate.
The mind quits the without to retire within itself, and
there create a world. Here one must have a com
fortable and well-ordered home, clubs, societies, plenty
of business, many religious and moral preoccupations ;
above all, instead of abandoning oneself to the in
fluence of exterior impressions, it Is necessary to
extrude all the sad promptings of unfriendly Nature,
and fill up the great void wherein melancholy and
tedium would take up their abode. During the week
one has work, constant, earnest work, wherewith to
ward off and arm oneself against the inclemency of
things. But what is to be done on the day of rest ?
There is the church or the pot-house, intoxication or a
sermon, insensibility or refection, but no other way of
spending a Sunday such as this ; in that way, whether
in thinking, whether in making a beast of oneself, one
is absorbed, one attains forgetfulness. I observe many
doors ajar In the spirit vaults, sad faces, worn or wild,
pass out and In. Let us visit the churches.
I visited four, and I heard two sermons, the first in
a church in the Strand. A naked, cold, and unor-

12 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
namented structure, with the exception of two alle
gorical figures at the end; large wooden pews in
which one is ensconced up to the neck. The con
gregation which fills It is composed not of the com
monalty, but of the respectable middle class, very well
dressed, and with serious and sensible physiognomies.
They come to provision themselves with moral coun
sels, to refresh their principles. The preacher chose
for his text, " One mind, one spirit," and thereupon he
advised his hearers to hold fast to their principles, yet
to be conciliatory towards their fellows. The sermon
was good — slightly commonplace, yet soUd. When
reading the numerous essays in English literature,
and at the present day the moralisings of the Saturday
Review, one perceives that commonplaces do not weary
them ; apparently they consider morality not as an
object of curiosity, but as a practical tool, an instru
ment in daily use which must be sharpened every
Sunday. The books displayed on the ledges of the pews are
the Psalms and the Book of Common Prayer — the
mass book of England. It is marked by much
elevation, and a certain Hebraic sublimity in the
style of Milton ; yet by no tenderness and outpourings
as in the " Imitation," no flowers of rhetoric or sen
timental namby-pambyness, as in our minor devotional
works ; but by an imposing, impassioned, and some
times a lyrical tone. The Liturgy was compiled at
the period of the Revival, and retains its accent. A
noteworthy point is that here the date and origin of
each piece are noted, this one being of the sixteenth
century ; this passage being taken from the Apocrypha,
but retained on account of its elevation. The believer
is instructed by these remarks, is informed about

SUNDAY IN LONDON. 13
criticism and history ; see the sermons of Tillotson
and of Barrow at the era of Bossuet, with their Greek
texts and discussions about the grammatical inter
pretation. Time being given, this necessarily leads to
German exegesis.
The superb nave, the admirable Gothic architecture
of Westminster Abbey, are alone adapted to the
cUmate ; this labyrinth of forms, these sweeping and
huge mouldings, this profusion of delicate sculptures,
are required to fill the dim air and people the void of
such sombre interiors. I wandered about looking at
the mortuary monuments, the numerous graceful
sculptures of the eighteenth century, others of our
own age so cold and pedantic, when suddenly the
music pealed forth, not the monotonous psalmody of
our Vespers, the rude and monkish chants, the verses
and responses which seem to be the voices of ailing
nuns, but beautiful pieces in parts, grave and noble
recitative, melodious outbursts of harmony, the pro
ductions of the best epoch. Then after the reading of
a passage about Sisera, the organ and the choristers,
children's voices and bass voices, sounded forth a full
and rich anthem. Such music as that is the worthy
accompaniment to the psalms and to the prayers which
I have just perused. Thus understood, worship is the
opera of elevated, serious, and believing souls. Nothing
is more important ; it is essential that the church and
the services should be on a level with the sentiments of
a people, not merely of the crowd and of the unedu
cated, but of the select few.
I visited two other churches in the afternoon.
There, too, the music was beautiful, and the edifice
was filled with the well-to-do middle class. The large
enclosed pews, all the galleries were fiUed with well-

14 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
dressed persons; there are as many men as women,
and many gentlemen ; the public was not our public
of women, old curmudgeons, servant girls, common
people. Of the three clergymen I have seen, one
v/orthy and polite, who spoke to me, had the air of
a semi -professor and semi-magistrate. Another re
sembled a Parisian notary, mature and well preserved,
who assumes soft tones and a sentimental look, in order
to procure the signing of a marriage contract. I saw
others last year in London and the country. With
their short gown, the tone they use in the pulpit, one
would take them for judges or chief justices ; by their
education, their marriage, their manners, their calling,
they are laymen slightly graver than the others ; their
garb out of church is that of laymen, with the ex
ception of the everlasting white tie ; the moral differ
ence is not much greater than the material difference.
This is the essential point ; to place the layman on a
par with the priest, or at most separated by one degree
only, is in truth the work of the Reformation.
On returning to my hotel I read the following pro
clamation in Friday's Gazette : — " Victoria R. : We,
most seriously and religiously considering that it is our
indispensable duty to bo careful above all other things
to preserve and advance the honour and service of
Almighty God, and to discourage and suppress all
vice, profaneness, debauchery, and immorality 
we do hereby strictly enjoin and prohibit all our loving
subjects, of what degree or quaUty soever, from playing
on the Lord's-day, at dice, cards, or any other game
whatsoever, either in public or private houses, or other
place or places whatsoever ; and we do hereby require
and command them, and every of them decently and
reverently to attend the worship of God on every,

SUNBA Y IN L ONDON. 1 5
Lord's-day;" and the magistrates are enjoined " to take
effectual care to prevent all persons keeping taverns,
or other public houses Avhatsoever, from selling wine,
beer, or other liquors, or receiving or permitting
guests to be or remain in such their houses in the
time of Divine service on the Lord's-day."
This order is not strictly observed ; the tavern doors
are closed during service, but thej' can be opened and
drinking goes on in the back room. In any case this
is a relic of the old Puritanism altogether distasteful in
France. Prohibit people to drink and amuse them
selves on Sunday ? But to a French workman, and
to a peasant, Sunday appears to have been made for
nothing else. Stendhalsaid that here, in Scotland, in
true Biblical countries, religion spoils one day out of
seven, destroys the seventh part of possible happiness.
He judges the Englishman, the man of the North, after
the model of the man of the South, whom wine exhila
rates and does not brutalise, who can without incon
venience give way to his instinct, and whose pleasure
is poetical. Here the temperament is different, more
violent and more combative ; pleasure is a brutish and
bestial thing : I could cite twenty examples of tins.
An Englishman said to me, "When a Frenchman is
drunk he chatters ; when a German is drunk he sleeps ;
when an Englishman is drunk he fights."
Other traces of Purit anical severity, am ong the rest, are
the recommendations on the stairs which lead down to
the Thames, and elsewhere ; one is requested to be decent.
At the railway-station there are large Bibles fastened to
chains for the use of the passengers while waiting for
the train. A tall, sallow, and bony fellow handed to me
two printed pages on the brazen serpent of Moses, with
appUcations to the present life : " You, too, oh reader.

1 6 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
have been bitten by the fiery serpents. To heal your
self lift up your eyes to Him who has been elevated as
the sign of salvation." Other tokens denote an aristo
cratic coimtry. At the gate of St. James's Park is the
following notice: "The park-keepers have orders to
prevent all beggars from entering the gardens, and all
persons in ragged or dirty clothes, or who are not
outwardly decent and well-behaved." At every step
one feels oneself further removed from France.
The population numbers three millions and a quarter;
that makes twelve cities like Marseilles, ten cities like
Lyons, two cities like Paiis put together; but words
upon paper are no substitutes for the sensation of the
eyes. It is necessary to take a cab several days in
succession, and proceed straight on towards the south,
the north, the east, and the west, during a whole
morning, as far as the uncertain limits where houses
grow scanty and the country begins.
Enormous, enormous — this is the word which always
recurs. Moreover, all is rich and well ordered ; conse
quently, they must think us mjglected and poor. Paris
is mediocre compared with these squares, these cres
cents, these circles and rows of monumental buildings
of massive stone, with porticoes, with sculptured fronts,
these spacious streets ; there are sixty of them as vast
as the Rue de la Paix; assuredly Napoleon III. de
molished and rebuilt Paris only because he had lived
in Loadon. In the Strand, in Piccadilly, in Regent
Street, in the neighbourhood of London Bridge, in
twenty places, there is a bustling crowd, a surging
traffic, an amount of obstruction which our busiest and
most frequented boulevard cannot parallel. Everything
is on a large scale here; the clubs are palaces, the
hotels are monuments ; the river Is an arm of the sea ;

THE STREETS AND PARKS. 17
the cabs go twice as fast ; the boatmen and the omnibus-
oonductors condense a sentence into a word ; words and
gestures are economised ; actions and time are turned
to the utmost possible account ; the human being pro
duces and expends twice as much as among us.
From London Bridge to Hampton Court are eight
miles, that is, nearly three leagues of buildings. After
the streets and quarters erected together, as one piece,
by wholesale, like a hive after a model, come the count
less pleasure retreats, cottages surrounded with verdure
and trees in all styles — Gothic, Grecian, Byzantine,
Italian, of the Middle Age, or the Revival, with every
mixture and every shade of style, generally in lines or
clusters of five, ten, twenty of the same sort, apparently
the handiwork of the same builder, like so many
specimens of the same vase or the same bronze. They
deal in houses as we deal in Parisian articles. What
a multitude of well-to-do, comfortable, and rich exist
ences ! One divines accumulated gains, a wealthy and
spending middle-class quite different from ours, so
pinched, so straitened. The most humble, in brown
brick, are pretty by dint of tidiness ; the window panes
sparkle like mirrors ; there is nearly always a green
and flowery patch ; the front is covered with ivy,
honeysuckle, and nasturtiums.
The entire circumference of Hyde Park is covered
with houses of this sort, but finer, and these in the
midst of London retain a country look ; each stands
detached in its square of turf and shrubs, has two stories
in the most perfect order and condition, a portico, a
bell for the tradespeople, a bell for the visitors, a base
ment for the kitchen and the servants, with a flight
of steps for the service ; very few mouldings and orna
ments; no outside sun-shutters; large, clear window's,
0

1 8 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
which let in plenty of Ught ; flowers on the siUs and
at the portico ; stables in a mews apart, in order that
their odours and sight may be kept at a distance ; all
the external surface covered with white, shining, and
varnished stucco; not a speck of mud or dust; the
trees, the turf, the flowers, the servants prepared as if
for an exhibition of prize products. How well one can
picture the inhabitant after seeing his shell ! In the
first place, it is the Teuton who loves Nature, and who
needs a reminder of the country ; next, it is the
Englishman who wishes to be by himself in his stair
case as in his room, who could not endure the pro
miscuous existence of our huge Parisian cages, and
who, even in London, plans his house as a small castle,
independent and enclosed. Besides, he is simple, and
does not desire external display ; on the other hand, he
is exacting in the matter of condition and comfort,
and separates his life from that of his inferiors. The
number of such houses at the West-end is astonishing !
The rent is nearly £500 ; from five to seven servants
are kept; the .master expends from twelve to twenty-
four hundred pounds a year. There are ten of these
fortunes and these lives in England to every one in
France. The impression is the same when visiting the parks ;
the taste, the area are quite different from what is the
case among us. St. James's Park is a genuine piece
of country, and of English country ; huge old trees,
real meadows, a large pond peopled with ducks and
waterfowl ; cows and sheep, in an enclosed space, feed
on the grass, which is always fresh. There are even
sheep in the narrow green border that surrounds
Westminster Abbey ; these people love the country in
their hearts. It is sufficient to read their literature

THE STREETS AND PARKS. 19
from Chaucer to Shakespeare, from Thomson to Words
worth and SheUey, to find proofs of this. What a
contrast to the TuUeries, the Champs Elys^e, .the
Luxembourg! As a rule, the French garden, that
of Louis XIV., is a room or gallery in the open air,
wherein to walk and converse in company; in the
English garden, such as they have invented and pro
pagated, one is better alone; the eyes and the mind
converse with natural things. We have arranged a
park on this model in the Bois de Boulogne ; but we
have committed the blunder of placing therein a group
of rocks and waterfalls ; the artifice is discovered at
a glance, and offends ; English eyes would have felt it.
Regent's Park is larger than the Jardin des Plantes
and the Luxembourg put together. I have often
remarked that our life seems to them cooped up, con
fined; they need air and space more than we do;
Englishmen whom I knew in Paris left their windows
open all night ; thus arises their longing for motion,
their horse and foot races in the country. Stendhal
justly said that a young English girl walks a greater
distance in a week than a young Roman girl in a year ;
the Northern man, of athletic temperament, has a need
of free respiration and of exercise. This park is in a
retired neighbourhood ; one hears no longer the rolling
of carriages, and one forgets London ; it is a solitude.
The sun shines, but the air is always charged with damp
clouds, floating watering-pots which dis'solve in rain
every quarter of an hour. The vast watery meadows
have a charming softness, and thcigreen branches drip
with monotonous sound upon the still water of the
ponds. I enter a hot-house where there are splendid
orchids, some having the rich velvet of the iris, others
a fresh colour of that inexpressible, delicious, mingled

20 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
tint transfused with light like palpitating living flesh,
a woman's breast; the hand desires yet dreads to press
it ; alongside, palm-trees raise their stems in a tepid
atmosphere. A strange thing to us is that there are
no keepers ; admission is free, and no damage is done ;
I can understand that they must ridicule our establish
ments and public festivals, with their accompaniments
of municipal guards. It is the same at the railway
stations : every one is free to move about, to stand on
the side of the line, to come and meet his friends at
the carriage door ; they are surprised and annoyed to
see us caged in our waiting-rooms, enclosed, led like
sheep, and always under the eye or the hand of an
official. I returned on foot to Piccadilly ; again the London
weather begins — the small and constant rain, the dis
solving mud. F., who has spent the winter here, says
that there is little snow, not more than In the centre
of France ; but, on the other hand, there is perpetual
fog, rain nearly every day, and the most execrable
muddy streets for pedestrians. As evidences, look at
the foot-coverings and the feet of the ladies. Their
boots are as large as those of gentlemen, their feet are
those of watermen, and their gait Is in keeping. My
question continually recurs. How do the English spend
their leisure hours, among others, their Sunday ? They
have the Club and often wine. F., in his club, had
a neighbour who, in the reading-room, drank a large
glass of wine, then went to sleep, drank a second half
an hour afterwards and went to sleep again, and so on
in succession without ever saying a word. Another of
great wealth, a leading merchant, and who has sixteen
gardeners at his country seat, is occupied all day with
his business, returns home in the evening, speaks but

THE STREETS AND PARKS. 2,
seldom, lives like an automaton among his children ;
his daughter amuses herself by travelling about the
entire year with a governess ; in the family circle he
merely finds the money — this is a common trait of the
EngUsh character, deficiency in expansion and in amia
bility. From Regent's Park to Piccadilly the spacious and
interminable streets have a funereal aspect ; the road
way is of black macadam ; the rows of buildings, of
the same cast, consist of blackened brick, where the win
dow-panes shine with dark reflections ; each house is
separated from the street by railings and an area. There
are few shops, not a single pretty one, no large plate-
glass windows and engravings ; that would be too
dismal for us ; nothing to attract and gladden the
eyes ; lounging is impossible ; it Is necessary to do
one's work at home, or to take one's umbrella and go
to business or to one's society.
Hyde Park is the largest of them all, with its small
rivulet, its wide green -sward, its sheep, its shady walks,
resembling a pleasure park suddenly transported to the
centre of a capital. About two o'clock the principal
alley is a riding-ground ; there are ten times more
gentlemen and twenty times more ladies on horseback
than in the Bois de Boulogne on its most frequented
days ; little girls and boys of eight ride on ponies by
the side of their father ; I have seen ample and worthy
matrons trotting along. This Is one of their luxuries.
Add to it that of having servants. For instance, a
family of three persons which I visited keeps seven
servants and three horses. The mother and daughter
gallop in the park daily; they often pay visits on
horseback ; they economise in other things — in theatre-
going, for example ; they go but seldom to the theatre",

2 2 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
and when they do it Is to a box which has been pre
sented to them. This vigorous exercise appears indis
pensable for health ; young girls and ladies come here
even when it rains. To keep three horses and a
carriage costs nearly £200 a year. Looking at this
crowd of persons on horseback one comes to the same
conclusion as after seeing the houses and the staff of
servants. The wealthy class is much more numerous
in England than in France. Another index is the
outlay in linen, clothes, gloves, and dresses always
new. The climate dirties everything rapidly ; they
must be continually renovated. In every newspaper I
find the addresses of dealers who come to the house
and buy slightly soiled clothes; the obligation of a
gentleman is to be always irreproachably well dressed ;
his coat when shabby is handed over to a man of the
lower class, ends in rags on the back of a beggar, and
thus marks the social rank of its possessor. Nowhere
else is the disparity of conditions so clearly written in
the externals of men. Imagine the evening dress of a
man of fashion or the rose-coloured bonnet of a lady ;
you wiU find the former again on a miserable wretch
squatting on one of the stairs of the Thames, and the
latter at ShadweU on the head of an old woman groping
amidst rubbish.
From five to seven o'clock is the review of ladies'
dresses. Beauty and ornamentation abound, but taste
is wanting. The colours are outrageously crude and
the forms ungraceful ; crinolines too distended and
badly distended, in geometrical cones or bunched,
green flounces, embroideries, flowered dresses, quan
tities of floating gauze, packets of falling or frizzed
hair ; crowning this display tiny embroidered and
imperceptible bonnets. The bonnets are too much

THE STREETS AND PARKS.

23 e

adorned, the hair, too shiny, presses closely on th_
temples ; the small mantle or casaque falls formless to
the lower part of the back, the petticoat expands pro
digiously, and all the scaffolding badly joined, badly
arranged, variegated and laboured, cries and protests
with all its gaudy and overdone colours. In the sun
shine, especially, at Hampton Court the day before
yesterday, amongst the shopkeepers' wives, the absur
dity was at Its height ; there were many violet dresses,
one being of a wild violet clasped round the waist with
a golden band, which would have made a painter cry
out. I said to a lady, "The toUette is more showy
among you than in France." "But my dresses come
from Paris ! " I carefuUy refrained from replying,
" But you selected them."
Excepting only the highest class, they apparel them
selves as fancy dictates. One imagines healthy bodies,
well built, beautiful at times ; but they must be
imagined. The physiognomy is often pure, but also
often sheepish. Many are simple babies, new waxen
dolls, with glass eyes, which appear entirely empty of
ideas. Other faces have become ruddy, and turned to
raw beefsteak. There is a fund of folly or of brutality
in this inert flesh — too white, or too red. Some are
ugly or grotesque in the extreme ; with heron's feet,
stork's necks, always having the large front of white
teeth, the projecting jaws of carnivora. As compensa
tion, others are beautiful in the extreme. They have
angelic faces ; their eyes, of pale periwinkle, are softly
deep ; their complexion is that of a flower, or an
infant ; their smile is divine. One of these days,
about ten o'clock in the morning, near Hyde Park
Corner, I was rooted to the spot motionless with admi
ration at the sight of two young ladies ; the one was

24 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
sixteen, the other eighteen years old. They were^ in
rustling dresses of white tulle amid a cloud of muslin ;
taU, slender, agile, their shape as perfect as their face,
of incomparable freshness, resembling those marvellous
flowers seen in select exhibitions, the whiteness of the
lily or orchis ; in addition to all that, gaiety, inno
cence, a superabundance of unalloyed sap and infantine
expression, of laughter, and the mien of birds ; the
earth did not support them. Many of the horsewomen
are charming, so simple, and so serious, without a trace
of coquetry ; they come here not to be seen, but to take
the air ; their manner is frank without pretension ;
their shake of the hand quite loj'al, almost masculine ;
no frippery in their attire ; the small black vest,
tightened at the waist, moulds a fine shape and healthy
form ; to my mind, the first duty of a young lady is to
be in good health.- They manage their horses with
complete ease and assurance. Sometimes the father or
brother stops and talks business or politics with a
friend ; "the ladies listen and thus habituate themselves
to serious topics. These fathers and brothers, too, are
a pleasant sight ; expressive and resolute faces, which
bear, or have borne, the burden of life ; less exhausted
than among us, less ready to smile and to execute the
tricks of politeness, but calmer and more staid, and
who often excite in the onlooker a vague impression of
respect, of esteem at least, and often of trust. Perhaps
this is because I am instructed as to their condition ;
yet it seems to me that mistake is difficult : whether
nobles, members of Parliament, landed proprietors,
their manners and their physiognomies are those of
men accustomed to authority, and who have wielded it.

III.
ST. James's park, Richmond, the docks, and
EAST-ENl).
T HAVE paid many visits, and taken several walks.
-'- The things which please me most are the trees.
Every day, after leaving the Atheneeum, I go and
sit for an hour in St. James's Park ; the lake shines
softly beneath its misty covering, while the dense
foliage bends over the still waters. The rounded
trees, the great green domes make a kind of architec
ture far more delicate than the other. The eye
reposes itself upon these softened forms, upon these
subdued tones. These are beauties, but tender and
touching, those of foggy countries, of Holland. Yes-
terdaj', at eight o'clock in the evening, although the
weather was fine, everything seen from the Suspension
Bridge appeared vapoury ; the last rays disappeared in
whitish smoke ; on the right, the remains of redness ;
over the Thames, and in the rest of the sky a pale
slate tint. There are tones like these in the landscapes
of Rembrandt, in the twilights of Van der Neer ; the
bathed Ught, the air charged with vapour, the insen
sible and continuous changes of the vast exhalation
which softens, impa.rts a bluish tint to, and dims thn

2 6 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
contours, the whole producing the Impression of a
great life, vague, diffused, and melancholy — the life of
a humid country.
At Richmond, I felt this still better. From the
terrace can be discerned several leagues of country ;
the Thames, which is not larger than the Seine, winds
through meadows, between clumps of large trees. All
is green, of a soft green, almost effaced by the dis
tance ; one feels the freshness and the peace of the
infinite vegetation; the grey sky extends over it a low
and heavy dome ; at the horizon are whitish mists In
fioating layers, here and there a darkened cloud, or the
violet patch of a shower. From all the ground rises a
sluggish mist ; one watches it as if it were a piece of
muslin drawn between the interstices of the trees, and
gradually the floating gauze of the earth re-unites with
the uniform veil of the sky. How still is the park I
Troops of deer feed in the moist brake ; the hinds
approach the fence, and gaze on the passer by without
fear. Can a tract of country be better arranged for
relaxing the nerves of the man who struggles and
toils ? The oaks, the lime trees, the spreading and
huge chestnut trees, are noble creatures which seem to
speak In low tones with majesty and security ; at their
feet is thick and tall grass ; the blades of grass, where
on the rain has left its tears, smile with a tender and
sad grace. A sort of fond quietude emanates from the
air, the sky, and all things; Nature welcomes the
soul, weary and worn with striving. How one feels
that their landscape suits them, and why they love it !
Without doubt their cUmate befits trees, and, besides,
they have had no invasion or popular rising to mutilate
or cut them down ; the national taste has favoured their
preservation ; olden things have been more respected

RICHMOND. 27
and better preserved than in France, and among them
ra,ust be numbered the trees.
Those of Windsor and of Hampton Court are ,as
beautiful. From Kew Gardens to Hampton Court
extends an alley of gigantic chestnut trees, of which the
large pink and white bunches resemble girandoles.
The foliage is so thick that underneath it is cool in the
height of the sun. Upon the velvet 0^ the grass, con
stellated with flowers and bordered by nasturtiums,
stand forth clusters of rhododendrons, as tall as two
men, entirely covered with rose-coloured flowers, amid
which bees are humming. There are so many of them,
they are so magnificent, of so tender a tissue and of so
fine a tons, they are grouped with such profusion in a
single clump wholly impregnated with light, that one
remains dazzled ; it is delicious, intoxicating ; almost
beyond Nature. A little way farther, in an enormous
hot-house, palms, as large as oak, spread their curious
vegetation, and bananas unfold leaves which would
cover a child twelve years old. This is one of their
talents ; they admirably understand the architecture
of trees, of grass, and of flowers ; I have not seen even
a classical palace or even a poor cottage where it was
uncomprehended. Sometimes, indeed, the effect is too
strong ; in the sun, it is overpowering ; the incom
parable verdure then assumes tones so rich and intense
that they cannot be transferred to canvas ; they would
offend, they would be too raw ; it is necessary to enjoy
them with the mind, not with the eyes ; they are a
feast, and, as it were, an outburst of delight ; in order
to prepare and maintain them, swell and expand the
tissues, moisture was required, excessive moisture, the
caress and the guardianship of soft vapour ; beneath a
warmer sky, such flowers would be stiffened and dried ;

2 8 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
they are not accustomed to bear the full sun ; hence it
Is that they break forth to-day under his blaze. They
have the tint of a beautiful lady ; they, too, are patri
cians developed, preserved, embellished by all the
refinements of art and of luxury; I have had the
same impression at a full-dress morning party, before a
staircase filled from top to bottom with young laugh
ing ladies in swelling and sweeping dresses of tulle, of
silk, the head covered with diamonds, the shoulders
bare. This was a unique sensation, that of splendour
and brilliancy carried to the highest pitch — all the
fiowers of civilisation and of nature in a single bouquet
and in a single perfume.
Hampton Court is a large garden in the French
style, laid out in the time of William III. Our style
was then the reigning one in Europe. Yet English
taste is discoverable here also : the borders have been
planted with standard rosebushes, and these, closely
trained along the slight espaliers, form columns of
flowers. Ducks, swans swim in all the pieces of water ; .
water-lilies unfold their velvet stars. The old trees
are propped up by iron rods. When they die, in order
that they may not be wholly lost, the remainder of
their trunks are converted into a kind of huge urn.
Clearly, they are cared for and they are loved. There
are no fences. I noticed young boarding-school girls
walking and playing on the grass, but they never
pluck a flower. The following notice suffices to pro
tect the garden : — " It is hoped that the public will
abstain from destroying that which is cultivated for
the public gratification." I have seen families of
common people taking their dinners on the green
sward of Hyde Park ; they neither tore up nor spoilt
anything. This is perfect ; the aim of every society is

PRIVATE INCOMES. 29
that each one should be always his own constable, and
end by not having any other.
My English friends confirm what I had guessed
about the large number and the vastness of the private
fortunes. " Take a cab from Sydenham ; for five
miles you will pass houses which indicate an annual
outlay of £1,500 and upwards." According to the
official statistics of 1841, there are one million of ser
vants to sixteen millions of inhabitants. The liberal
professions are much better remunerated than on the
Continent. I know a musician at Leipzig of first-
class talent ; he receives 3s. a lesson at the Academy
of Leipzig, 6s. in the city, and one guinea in London.
The visit of a doctor who is not celebrated costs 4s. or
9s. in Paris, and a guinea here. With us a professor
at the College of France receives £300, at the Sor
bonne £480, at the School of Medicine £400. A pro
fessor at Oxford, a head of a house, has often from
£1,000 to £3,000. Tennyson, who writes little, is said
to make £5,000 a year. The Head Master of Eton
has a salary of £6,080, of Harrow £6,280, of Rugby
£2,960 ; many of the masters in these establishments
have salaries from £1,200 to £1,240- — one of them at
Harrow has £2,220. The Bishop of London has
£10,000 a year, the Archbishop of York has £15,000.
An article is paid for at the rate of £8 the sheet in the
Revue des Deux Mondes, and £20 in the EngUsh
Quarterlies. The Times has paid £100 for a certain
article. Thackeray, the novelist, has made £160 in
twenty-four hours through the medium of two lectures,
the one being delivered in Brighton, the other in
London ; from the magazine to which he contributed
his novels he received £2,000 a year, and £10 a page
in addition ; this magazine had 100,000 subscribers ;

30 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
he estimated his own yearly earnings at £4,800. It
must be understood that I put on one side the enor
mous fortunes made in manufactures, those of the
nobiUty, the profit or revenues of £200,000 yearly ;
their outlay is proportionate. A young engineer, a
younger son, and who was obliged to make his fortune,
said to me one day, " With £8,000 yearly one is not
wealthy in England, one is merely very comfortably
off." Another, who spends his summers in the
country, added, "look at the family circles of our
farmers ; their daughters learn French and to play on
the piano ; they dress splendidly," The rule is to
make much and to spend much : an Englishman does
not put anything aside, does not think of the future,
at the inost he insures his life ; In this he is the
reverse of a Frenchman, who is saving and abstemious.
Whence comes all this money, and how is it dis
tributed ? I shall endeavour to procure the statistics ;
meantime, let us examine one of the great reservoirs
whence gold flows through the people of all conditions,
and over the whole country — the Docks of London.
I always find that London resembles ancient Rome
as Paris resembles ancient Athens. This modern
Rome, how heavily must it weigh, like the other, upon
the labouring class ! For every monstrous erection,
Babylon, Egypt, imperial Rome, indicates an accumu
lation of efforts, an excess of fatigue. I have never
seen a great city, whether a capital or place of manu
factures, without thinking of the nations which have
vanished from around the Mediterranean under the
pressure of the Roman machine. It is true that to-day
there are no more slaves before the law; yet frequently
man is a slave in fact, and by the constraint of his
condition.

THE DOCKS. 3 [
These docks are prodigious, overpowering ; there are
six of them each of which is a vast port, and accommo
dates a multitude of three-masted vessels. There are
ships everywhere, and ships upon ships in rows, show
their heads and their swelling bosoms, like beautiful
fish, under their cuirass of copper. One of them has
arrived from Australia, and is of 2,500 tons burden,
others are 3,000 tons and upwards ; some of them hail
from all parts of the world, this is the trysting-place
of the globe. For the most part they are magnificent.
Seen from the keel they are leviathans, and they are
slender and as elegant as swans. A merchant who is
here superintending the arrival of spices from Java,
and the transhipment of ice from Norway, tells me
that about 40,000 vessels enter every year, and that
on an average, there are from 5,000 to 6,000 in the
docks or the river at one time.
In the wine quarter the cellars contain 30,000
barrels of port. A crane discharges them. They
seem to move of their own accord. When brought on
a little wheeled truck, they slide down an incline to
their places, almost without labour. The machines
work so well that they appear to be living auxiliaries,
voluntary slaves. Note that bridge; it weighs a
hundred tons ; yet one man moves it by means of a
screw-jack. There is a quarter for groceries, a quarter
for skins and leather, a quarter for tallow. The cellars
and the warehouses are colossal. Under their arch,
equal to that of a large bridge, one beholds the
peopled and profound obscurity recede far away.
Rembrandt would have found ready-made pictures in
their mysterious distances, in the flickering blackness
of their choked-up air-holes, in these infinite recep
tacles where a hive of men is moving about. They

32 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
roll the casks without confusion and with calmness
One hears the voices of clerks calling out the numbers.
In the middle of the cellar a foreman, seated at a small
table, makes entries or looks on. The masters, who are
grave, and in black hats, walk about superintending
in silence. Yet around the capstans are creaking, and
sailors in boats are scraping or scrubbing their ship.
Thus occupied in their working coats, with their
serious air, their phlegmatic or wearied faces, they
form a pleasing sight ; one feels that they are in their
riglit places, every living being, animal or man, is
beautiful in his proper place.
I was smoking, seated on a bale, when a man pass-
ing along said, without stopping, "Five shillings
fine." "Is it forbidden then.?" "Yes." Nothing
more. There is no better way of working or making
others work than to be sparing in gestures or words.
At Hyde Park Corner there are two policemen
whom I have frequently watched for a considerable
time ; they never speak ; if there be a block of vehicles,
they raise their arm to stop a coachman, and lower it
as a sign that he may drive on : the coachman in
stantly and silently obeys. Our steward on board the
steamboat, many servants, and merchants whom I
have seen, do likewise ; when, in giving orders and
executing them, chattering, exclamations, tokens of
impatience, fumbling, and disorder are .thus suppressed,
the command and the performance gear into each
other as quickly and as surely as two wheels.
At the end of an hour the mind feels itself over
stocked ; it is requisite to permit the images to group
and tc arrange themselves. I was at the corner of
ShadweU Basin and I gazed upon the slate-coloured
river before me shining and exhaling mist ; the

THE EAST-END. 33
northern bank winds and bounds the horizon with its
blackish fringe mottled with red ; a few vessels descend
with the supple and slow movement of a sea-bird ;
their sombre hulls and brown sails balance themselves
upon the water which shimmers. To north and south
a mass of ships raise their crowded masts. The silence
is almost complete ; one hears but the strokes of distant
hammers, the vague tinkle of a bell, and the fluttering
of birds in the trees. A Dutch painter. Van der
Heyden, Backhuysen, would have taken pleasure in
beholding this plain of water, the distant tones of
brick and tar, this uncertain horizon where stretch the
sleeping clouds. I have seen nothing more picturesque
in London. The rest is too scrubbed and varnished, or
too bustling and too foul.
ShadweU, one of the poor neighbourhoods, is close at
hand ; by the vastness of its distress, and by its extent,
it is in keeping with the hugeness and the wealth of
London. I have seen the bad quarters of Marseilles,
of Antwerp, of Paris, they do not come near to it.
Low houses, poor streets of brick under red-tiled roofs
cross each other in every direction, and lead down with
a dismal look to the river. Beggars, thieves, harlots,
the latter especially, crowd ShadweU Street. One hears
a grating music in the spirit cellars ; sometimes it is
a negro who handles the violin ; through the open
windows one perceives unmade beds, women dancing.
Thrice in ten minutes I saw crowds collected at the
doors ; fights were going on, chiefly fights between
women ; one of them, her face bleeding, tears in her
eyes, drunk, shouted with a sharp and harsh voice, and
wished to fling herself upon a man. The bystanders
laughed ; the noise caused the adjacent lanes to be
emptied of their occupants ; ragged, poor children,
D

34 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
harlots-it was like a human sewer suddenly discharg
ing its contents. Some of them have a relic of neat
ness a new garment, but the greater number are in
filthy and unseemly tatters. Figure to yourself what
a lady's bonnet may become after passing during three
or four years from head to head, having been crushed
against walls, having had blows from fists ; for they
receive them. I noticed blackened eyes, bandaged
noses, bloody cheek-bones. The women gesticulate
with extraordinary vehemence ; but most horrible of
all is their shrill, acute, cracked voice, resembling that
of an ailing screech-owl.
From the time of leaving the Tunnel, street boys
abound — bare-footed, dirty, and turning wheels in
order to get alms. On the stairs leading to the Thames
they swarm, more pale-faced, more deformed, more
repulsive than the scum of Paris ; without question,
the climate is worse, and the gin more deadly. Near
them, leaning against the greasy walls, or inert on the
steps, are men in astounding rags ; it is impossible to
imagine before seeing them how many layers of dirt
an overcoat or a pair of trousers could hold ; they
dream or dose open-mouthed, their faces are begrimed,
dull, and sometimes streaked with red lines. It is in
these localities that families have been discovered with
no other bed than a heap of soot ; they had slept there
during several months. For a creature so wasted and
jaded there is but one refuge — drunkenness. "Not
drink ! " said a desperate character at an inquest. " It
were bettei;' then to die at once."
A trader said to me, " Look after your pockets, sir,"
and a policeman warned me not to enter certain lanes.
I walked through some of the broader ones ; all the
houses, except one or two, are evidently inhabited by

THE EAST-END. 35
harlots. Other small streets, dusty courts, reeking
with a smell of rotten rags, are draped with tattered
clothes and linen hung up to dry. Children swarm.
In a moment, in a narrow court, I saw fourteen or
fifteen around me — dirty, barefooted, tho little sister
carrying a sucking child in her arms, the year-old
nursling whose whitish head had no hair. Nothing
is more lugubrious than these white bodies, that pale
flaxen hair, these flabby cheeks encrusted with old
dirt. They press together, they point out the gentle
man with curious and eager gestures. The motionless
mothers, with an exhausted air, look out at the door.
One observes the narrow lodging, sometimes the single
room, wherein they are aU huddled in the foul air.
The houses are most frequently one-storied, low,
narrow — a den in which to sleep and die. What a
place of residence in winter, when, during weeks of
continuous rain and fog, the windows are shut ! And
In order that this brood may not die of hunger. It is
necessary that the father should not drink, should
never be idle, should never be sick.
Here and there is a dust-heap. Women are labour
ing to pick out what is valuable from it. One, old and
withered, had a short pipe in her mouth. They stand
up amidst the muck to look at me; brutalised, dis
quieting faces of female Yahoos ; perhaps this pipe and
a glass of gin is the last idea which floats in their
idiotic brain. Should we find there anything else than
the instincts and the appetites of a savage and of a
beast of burden ? A miserable black cat, lean, lame,
startled, watches them timidly out of the corner of its
eye, and furtively searches in a heap of rubbish. It
was possibly right in feeling uneasy. The old woman,
muttering, followed it with a look as wild as Its own.

30 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
She seemed to think that two pounds weight of meat
were there.
I recall the alleys which run into Oxford Street,
stifling lanes, encrusted with human exhalations ; troops
of pale children nestling on the muddy stairs ; the
seats on London Bridge, where families, huddled toge
ther with drooping heads, shiver through the night ;
particularly the Haymarket and the Strand in the
evening. Every hundred steps one jostles twenty
harlots ; some of them ask for a glass of gin ; others
say, " Sir, it is to pay my lodging." This is not de
bauchery which flaunts itself, but destitution — and
such destitution I The deplorable procession in the
shade of the monumental streets is sickening ; it seems
to me a march of the dead. That is a plague-spot —
the real plague-spot of EngUsh society.

IV.
VISIT TO EPSOM AND TO CREMORNE GARDENS.
RACES at Epsom : it is the Derby day, a day of
jollification ; Parliament does not sit ; for three
days all the talk has been about horses and their
trainers. We start from Waterloo Station. The sky is cloud
less, free from mist ; my English neighbours remark
that they had never seen such a day in London. All
around may be witnessed green husbandry, meadows
encompassed with hedges, and the hedge-row is often
Interspersed with trees. The splendour of this green,
the mass and the vigour of lustrous, golden, bursting
flowers, are extraordinary. Velvets constellated with
diamonds, watered silks, the most magnificent em
broideries do not match this deep hue ; the colour is
excessive, beyond the reach of painting; but never
have the blooming and blossoming of plants, the
luxury and the joy of the adorned earth, dazzled me
with such bright pomp.
Epsom course is a large green plain, slightly undu
lating ; on one side are reared three public stands and
several other smaller ones. In front, tents, hundreds
of shops, temporary stables under canvas, and an in
credible confusion of carriages, of horses, of horsemen.

38 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
of private omnibuses ; there are perhaps 200,000 human
heads here. Nothing beautiful nor even elegant ; the
carriages are ordinary vehicles, and toilettes are rare ;
one does not come here to exhibit them, but to witness
a spectacle ; the spectacle is only interesting on account
of its size. From the top of the Stand the enormous
ant-heap swarms and its din ascends. But beyond, on
the right, a row of large trees, behind them the faint
bluish undulations of the verdant country, make a
magnificent frame to a mediocre picture. Some clouds
as white as swans float in the sky, and their shadow
sweeps over the grass ; a light mist, charged witt
sunshine, flits in the distance, and the illuminated aii,
like a glory, envelops the plain, the heights, the vast
area, and all the disorder of the human carnival.
It is a carnival, in fact ; they have come to amuse
themselves in a noisy fiishion. Everywhere are gipsies,
comic singers and dancers disguised as negroes, shoot
ing galleries where bows and arrows or guns are used,
charlatans who by dint of eloquence palm off watch-
chains, games of skittles and sticks, musicians of all
sorts, and the most astonishing row of cabs, barouches,
droskies, four-in-hands, with pies, cold meats, melons,
fruits, wines, especially champagne. They unpack ;
they proceed to drink and eat ; that restores the
creature and excites him ; coarse joy and open laugh
ter are the result of a full stomach. In presence of
this ready-made feast the aspect of the poor is pitiable
to behold ; they endeavour to sell to you penny dolls,
remembrances of the Derby ; to induce you to play at
Aunt Sally, to black your boots. Nearly all of them
resemble wretched, hungry, beaten, mangy dogs,
waiting for a bone, without hope of finding much on
it. They arrived on foot during the night, and count

THE DERBY.

31

upon dining off the crumbs from the great feast.
Many are lying on the ground among the feet of the
passers-by, and sleep open-mouthed, face upwards.
Their countenances have an expression of stupidity and
of painful hardness. The majority of them have
bare, feet, all are terribly dirty, and most absurd-
looking ; the reason is that they wear gentlemen's
old clothes, worn-out fashionable dresses, small bon
nets, formerly worn by young ladies. The sight of
these cast-off things, which have covered several bodies,
becoming more shabby in passing from one to the
other, always makes me uncomfortable. To wear
these old clothes is degrading ; in doing so the human
being shows or avows that he is the offscouring of
society. Among us a peasant, a workman, a labourer,
is a different man, not an inferior person ; his blouse
belongs to him, as my coat belongs to me — it has
suited no one but him. This employment of ragged
clothes is more than a peculiarity ; the poor resign
themselves here to be the footstool of others.
One of these women, with an old shawl which
appeared to have been dragged in the gutter, with
battered head-gear, which had been a bonnet, made
limp by the rain, with a poor, dirty, pale baby in her
arms, came and prowled round our omnibus, picked up
a castaway bottle, and drained the dregs. Her second
girl, who could walk, also picked up and munched a
rind of melon. We gave them a shilling and cakes.
The humble smile of thankfulness they returned, it is
impossible to describe. They had the look of saying,
like Sterne's poor donkey, " Do not beat me, I beseecli
you, — yet you may beat me if you wish." Their coun
tenances were burned, tanned by the sun ; the mother
had a scar on her right cheek, as if she had been

4-0 • NOTES ON ENGLAND.
struck by a boot; both of them, the child in par
ticular, were grown wild and stunted. The great
social mill crushes and grinds here, beneath its steel
gearing, the lowest human stratum.
However, a bell rings and the race is about to begin.
The three or four hundred policemen clear the course ;
the stands are filled and the meadow in front of them
is but a large black patch. We ascend to our places ;
nothing seems grandiose. At this distance the crowd is
an ant-heap ; the horsemen and the carriages which
move forward and cross each other resemble beetles,
May-bugs, large sombre drones on a green cloth.
The jockeys in red, in blue, in yellow, in mauve, form a
small group apart, Uke a swarm of butterflies which
has alighted. ¦• Probably I am wanting in enthusiasm,
but I seem to be looking at a game of insects. Thirty-
four run ; after three false starts they are off ; fifteen
or twenty keep together, the others are in smaU groups,
and one sees them moving the length of the ring. To
the eye the speed is not very great ; it is that of a
railway train seen at the distance of half a league ; in
that case the carriages have the appearance of toy-
coaches which a child draws tied to a string ; cer
tainly, the impression is not stronger here, and it is a
mistake to speak either of a hurricane or of a whirl
wind. During several minutes, the brown patch,
strewn with red and bright spots, moves steadily over
the distant green. It turns ; one perceives the first
group approach. "Hats off! " and all heads are un
covered, and every one rises ; a repressed hurrah
pervades the stands. The frigid faces are on fire ;
brief, nervous gestures suddenly stir the phlegmatic
bodies; below, in the betting-ring the agitation is
extraordinary — Uke a general St. Vitus's dance ; pic-

THE DERBY. . 41
ture a mass of puppets receiving an electric shock, and
gesticulating with all their members like mad sema
phores. But the most curious spectacle is the human
tide which instantaneously and in a body, pours forth
and rolls over the course behind the runners, like a
wave of ink ; the black and motionless crowd ha.s
suddenly melted and become molten ; in a moment
It spreads itself abroad in vast proportions till the eye
cannot follow it, and appears in front of the stands.
The policemen make a barrier in two or three ranks,
using force when necessary to guard the square to
which the jockeys and horses are led. Measures are
taken to weigh and see that all is right.
There is one Imposing moment, when the horses are
not more than two hundred paces of; in a second the
speed becomes suddenly perceptible, and the cluster
of riders and horses rushes onward, this time like a
tempest. A horse, of which little is known, has won, and very
narrowly ; the betting against him was 40 to 1 ; 0:1.
the contrary, it was 3 to 1 or 9 to 2 against the two
favourites ; hence there were miscalculations and ex
plosions. The prize, with its accessories, amounts to
£6,775 ; bets included, the owner will have won
nearly £40,000. We are told of enormous losses —
£20,000, £50,000 ; last year a colonel committed
suicide after the great race because he saw that he
was bankrupt ; if he had awaited the result of the
others he would have won enough to pay all. The
proprietor of one of the private stands shouted at the
moment of departure, " Everything that I have just
made on Buckstone." Several cabmen have lost their
horses and their vehicles, which they risked in bets.
To my thinking, these bets are to the mind what

4.2 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
spirits are to the palate — an indispensable stimulant
for heavy and rough frames; they _ require violent
impressions, the sensation of a prodigious risk ; add to
that tho combative and daring instinct; every wager is
a duel, and every large bet a danger. As for the
reasons which render the passion for horses and races
so widespread and so national, it appears to me we
must seek for them in the gymnastic and rural life ;
people in easy circumstances, or who are rich, spend a
great part of the year in the country; in a miry
country locomotion is not pleasant save on horseback ;
their temperament necessitates much physical exercise;
all these habits lead to the Derby day, which is their
chosen festival.
We descend ; there is hustling and crushing in the
staircases, at the refreshment counters ; but most of the
carriages are provisioned for the day, and the people
feast in the open air in small knots. Good humour
and unreserved merriment ; classes mingle ; P  , one
of our party, has met his usual coachman at table with
a gentleman, two ladies, and a child. The gentleman
had employed and then invited the coachman ; the
coachman introduces P  , who is amicably com
pelled to drink port, sherry, stout, and ale. In fact,
to-day it is hail fellow well met; but this lasts for a day
only, after the manner of the ancient saturnalia. On
the morrow distinctions of rank will be as strong as
ever, and the coachman will be respectful, distant, as is
his wont. Another of our friends perceives a gentle
man of his acquaintance, who has come in an omnibus,
bringing with him his daughter and his lady acquaint
ances — eight ladies in all ; stopped in passing, we are
all obliged to drink and eat ; our reception Is frank,
jovial, and cordial ; this gentleman, who had never

THE DERBY. 43
seen me before, invites me to visit him In the country.
Still, over the whole downs, jaws are at work, bottles are
emptied, and towards evening the carnival is in full
swing. Twenty-four gentlemen triumphantly range
on their omnibus seventy-five bottles which they huvo
emptied. Groups pelt each other M'ith chicken-bones,
lobster-shells, pieces of turf. Two parties of gentlemen
have descended from their omnibuses and engaged in a
fight, ten against ten; one of them gets two teeth
broken. There are humorous incidents : three men and
a lady are standing erect in their carriage ; the horses
move on, they aU tumble, the lady with her legs in the
air ; peals of laughter follow. Gradually the fumes of
wine ascend to the heads ; these people so proper, so
delicate, indulge in strange conduct ; gentlemen ap
proach a carriage containing ladies and young girls,
and stand shamefully against the wheels ; the mother
tries to drive them away with her parasol. One of our
party who remained till midnight saw many horrors
which I cannot describe ; the animal nature had full
vent. There is nothing exaggerated inRubens's " Ker-
mess " in the Louvre. The instincts are the same, and
are equally unbridled ; only, in place of portly, over
flowing, and ruddy forms, picture to yourself faces
which remain grave, and well-cut modern garments.
The contrast between the natural and the artificial
human being — between the gentleman who, by habit,
and mechanically, continues grave, and the beast which
explodes, is grotesque.
On our return, the road is hidden by dust ; portions
of fields have been reddened by feet ; everybody re
turns frightfully dirty, and powdered with white ;
there are drunken people along the whole road ; up to
eight o'clock in the evening they might be seen stag-

4+ NOTES ON ENGLAND.
gering and sick at Hyde Park Corner ; their comrades
support them, laughing, and the spectators' faces do
not betoken disgust. To-day everything is allowable ;
it is an outlet for a year of repression.
About eleven o'clock in the evening we proceed to
Cremorne Gardens, a sort of Bal Mabille, and where
the folly of the day is continued throughout the night.
At the entrance is crowding and jostling ; a band of
English force their way through, crying, " Make room
for the Japanese Ambassadors." Within, especially at
the turnings, the crowd Is terrible, but one can find
breathing space in sombre recesses. All the men are
well or properly dressed ; the women are harlots, but
of a higher class than those of the Strand ; they wear
bright shawls, white stuffs of gauze or tulle, red cloaks,
new bonnets ; there is a dress which has cost £12 ;
but the faces are rather faded, and sometimes, in the
crowd, they raise terrible cries — the cries of a screech-
owl. What is most comical, and proves their state of
excitement, is their notion of pinching people, particu
larly foreigners. One of our party, who is forty years
old, being sharply pinched and otherwise scandalised,
leaves the place. Another woman beats a gentleman
on the back with her fists for having trodden on her
foot ; he laughs, and aU the on-lookers are pleased.
They are decidedly good-natured folks ; I saw no one
lose temper in the scuffle ; and they were provoked ;
one of my French friends imprudently jeered loudly ;
this must be witnessed in order to comprehend the
joyous rustic festivals of the sixteenth century, Shake
speare's " Merry England," the abounding primitive
sap of the tree which Puritanism has clipped, pruned,
and rendered rigid as well as straight.
We sat down near three young women at a side-

CREMORNE GARDENS. 45
table, and we offered them sherry and beer; they did
not drink too much. Our book-English and their
emphasised speech became mixed in a ludicrous jumble.
One of them is the ga3-est and most playful of crea
tures ; I have never seen animal spirits equally redun
dant ; another, modest, rather pretty, slightly sad, is a
milliner, and lives by her needle; she has a friend who
spends the Sundays with her ; I looked carefuUy at
her, and saw that she had the making of an amiable
and honest woman in her like any other. In what lies
the chance ? It is impossible to state their number
in London ; it has been put at 50,000. Certain houses
are filled with them from top to bottom. We escorted
them to the gate, and paid for their cab=. Oar con
veyance returned through streets, crescents, squares,
which I did not recognise. A sepulchral glare illu
mines the empty Babel, and covers the colossal archi
tectures with the whiteness of a winding-sh et. The
dense, unwholesome air seems to be still impn gnated
with human exhalations ; at intervals, w:; perceive a
hungry woman loitering, a poor wretch in rags, tlie
feet covered with cloth. While walking through the
nightly procession of the Haymarket, I thought about
the Argyll Rooms, a sort of pleasure cas'no which I
had visited the night before ; the spectacle of debau
chery here leaves no other imprestion than one of
misery and degradation. There is no brilliancy, dash,
and liveliness about it, as in France ; when a gentle
man wishes to dance, a master of the ceremonies, with
a badge and a white tie, goes to find a partner for him ;
the two often dance together without exchanging a
word. These poor girls are often beautiful, many have
a sweet and honest look ; all dance very properly,
smile a little, and do not gesticulate ; they are in low

46 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
dresses, but when dancing they keep their cloaks on. As
to the men, their external appearance is that of leading
merchants, wharfingers, middle-class manufacturers, or
their sons, their foremen, who have foresaken their
accounts, their commerce, and their coal. They like a
gaudy show, an illumination in coloured glass, women
in full dress, showy and variegated dresses, white
shawls embroidered with red flowers and exotic birds.
They have plenty of money ; a bottle of champagne
costs twelve shillings ; the price of the evening's
amusement may be £6. A tragical thing is that
men and women both drink, and begin by intoxication
— it is the brutality and destitution which first meet
together in traversing unreason, imbecility, and stupor.
One returns deeply grieved, with a bitter and profound
feeling of human grossness and helplessness ; society is
a fine edifice, but in the lowest story, what a sink of
impurity ! Civilisation polishes man ; but how tena
cious is the bestial instinct ! I dare not yet pronounce
judgment ; however, it seems to me that the evU and
the good are greater here than In France.

V.
TYPICAL ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN.
A T bottom the essential thing in a country is man.
-'-¦*- Since my arrival I have made a collection of types,
and I class them with those which I had collected last
year. As the result of experience, the best method in
my eyes is always that of artists and of naturalists ;
to note each face or very salient expression, follow its
shades, its debasements, and its combinations ; to verify
its repetition in several individuals ; to separate in this
way the leading characteristic traits, comparing, inter
preting, and classifying them. Painters and romance
writers act thus by instinct, when by means of some
personages they furnish us with an epitome of their
era and of their society. Botanists and zoologists act
thus on system when, choosing some plants or some
animals whose characters are well marked, they ex
hibit to us in five or six representative types, all the
species of a class.
Seated on a bench in a public walk, or stationed in
the morning at the outlet from a railway-station,
French eyes, accustomed to French physiognomies
very quickly perceive differences ; the memory keeps
them in view, although the inteUigence cannot, as yet,
clearly comprehend them. One continues to do this

48 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
daUy at table, in a railway-carriage. In an omnibus, at
an evening party, during a visit, in the city, in the
country. At the end of some days certain new types,
rare in France, common here, arise and stand forth ;
week after week, they become distinct, acquire com
pleteness, call forth questions and answers, fit into one
another, and end by forming a whole. Now, consider
that in order to describe them it is often necessary to
exhibit them in all their prominence — that is to say,
in their excess, and that the excess is never the rule.
The pure type, such as It can be rendered by pen or
pencil, is an exception ; in Nature it is almost always
more or less changed. But in Nature its degrees and
varieties are grouped around, and in accordance with it,
while making the requisite deductions, the reader and
spectator can picture it to themselves without very
great incorrectness. Arranged in groups, the following
are those which have struck me the most : —
I. The robust individual, largely and solidly built,
the fine colossus, at times six feet high and broad in
proportion. This is very common among soldiers,
notably among the Life Guards, a select body of men.
Their countenance is fresh, blooming, their flesh mag
nificent ; it might be supposed they had been chosen for
an exhibition of human products, like picked prize beets
and cauliflowers. They have a fund of good humour,
sometimes of good nature, generally of awkwardness.
Their foppery is of a special kind. In light scarlet
jacket, with a little cane in hand, they strut along
displaying their shape and the lower part of their
back ; the distinct parting in their pomaded hair is
seen under their small undress cap. One of them,
stationary at a street corner, weU set up, the shoulders

ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 49
down, majestically displays himself to the street boys.
In point of mass they are monuments ; but there may
be too much of a good thing, and movement is so
essential to matter ! Other monuments, rather loss
tall, but even fresher and more varnished, are the
servants of a great house. They wear white cravats
with large faultless bows, scarlet or canary-coloured
knee-breeches, are magnificent in shape and amplitude ;
their calves especially are enormous. In the fashion
able neighbourhoods, beneath the vestibule, about five
o'clock in the evening, the butler seated, newspaper
in hand, sips a glass of port ; around him, ushers,
corded lackeys, footmen with their sticks, gaze with an
indolent and a lordly air upon the middle-class passers-
by. The coachmen are prodigiously broad-shouldered
and developed ; how many yards of cloth must be re
quired to clothe such figures ? These are the favourites
of creation, the best fed, the most easy-going, all
chosen and picked in order to act as specimens of the
nation's physique. In the great houses their clothing
is found them ; the two lackeys must be of equal height,
like two horses. Each of them states his height in the
newspaper advertisements ; 5 feet 9 inches and a half,
5 feet 11 inches. So much goes for the size of the
calves, so much for the shapeliness of the ancles, so
much for the commanding presence ; the ornamental
look is worth to them as much as an extra £20 a year.
They are taken care of, and they take care of them
selves in consequence. Their table is nearly as well
served as that of their masters ; they have several
kinds of wine and beer, and hours of relaxation. It is
necessary that their exterior should proclaim the
wealth and style of the house ; they know this, and
they are proud of it. However, their stuck-up airs
£

so NOTES ON ENGLAND.
have become proverbial. Thackeray has drawn upon
them for several characters in his novels, and has
made them the subject of one romance. Punch has
caricatures on the same subject ; a valet gives his
master warning because he has seen his lordship on the
top of an omnibus, another because the colour of the
livery does not suit his complexion. The lackey be
hind a carriage is so fine that he resembles a big doll ;
street boys stick pins Into his calves to see if they are
real or stuffed.
There Is the same athletic and full-fleshed type
among the gentlemen; I know four or five specimens
among my acquaintances. Sometimes the excess of
feeding adds a variety; this was true of a certain
gentleman in my railway-carriage on the Derby day ;
large ruddy features, with flabby and pendent cheeks,
large red whiskers, blue eyes without expression, an
enormous trunk in a short light jacket, noisy respira
tion ; his blood gave a tinge of pink to his hands, his
peck, his temple, and even underneath his hair ; when
he compressed his eyelids, his physiognomy was as dis
quieting and heavy as that seen in the portraits of
Henry VIIL ; when in repose, in presence of this mass
of flesh, one thought of a beast for the butcher, and
quietly computed twenty stones of meat. Towards
fifty, owing to the effect of the same diet seasoned
with port wine, the figure and the face are spoiled, the
teeth protrude, the physiognomy is distorted, and turn
to horrible and tragical caricature, as, for example, a
fat and fiery general at the Volunteer Review in Hyde
Park, who had the air of a buUdog and had a brick-
dust face, spotted with violet excrescences. The last
variety is seen among the common people, where spirits
take the place of port, among other places in the low

ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. sj
streets which border the Thames ; several apoplectical
and swollen faces, whereof the scarlet hue turns almost
to black, worn-out, blood-shot eyes like raw lobsters ;
the brute brutalised. Lessen the quantity of blood
and fat, while retaining the same bone and structure,
and increasing the countrified look ; large and wild
beard and moustache, tangled hair, rolling eyes, trucu
lent muzzle, big knotted hands ; this is the primitive
Teuton issuing from his woods ; after the portly animal,
after the overfed animal, comes the fierce animal, the
English buU.
All that is rare enough ; these are the extremes of
the type. Much more common is the labouring animal,
the great bony body, full of protuberances and projec
tions, not weU set up, ungainly, clumsy, slightly auto
matic, but of strong build, and as capable of resistance
as of effort. It is not less common among gentlemen,
clergymen, the liberal professions, than among the
people. I have three specimens of it before my eyes.
(1.) A tall clergyman, stiff, frigid, and who will never
thaw ; gestures of a semaphore, narrow and dogmatic
opinions, yet charitable, and who demonstrates his
devotedness ; this stout framework was required to
endure for thirty years the apostolic profession ; con
stant sermons, visits in noisome lanes, night-watches,
long walks on foot in the mud of the suburbs. (2.) A
member of Parliament, with the shoulders, feet, and
hands of a carman, large white teeth too close together,
strong jaws which scarcelv open to speak, irregular
and very marked traits, his whole person largely and
rudely shaped as if by strokes of a pruning-knife, and
insuf&ciently cut down ; the modern dress, the gloves,
the blue cravat, the dazzlingly white linen, are out of
place on these muscles, which might draw a diay, and

52 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
engage in a boxing match. His eye is dim, his gestures
are few, he is sparing of speech, he has no wit, nor, it
seems, any ideas ; he is not a leader, he is but a mem
ber of a party, he votes and works. But for the long
night sittings, for the scrutiny of blue-books, and the
verification of accounts, for meetings, committees,
clubs, for wearying and Indefinite labour he is well-
built and admirable. (3.) The third Is an Englishman
of the middle-class, whom I met yesterday in an
omnibus with his family. He was thirty-two, dressed
in new clothes, with an income, I should suppose, of
from £480 to £600 a year ; had an air of solidity and
of resolution, being a good machine, well mounted, well
constructed, well kept, untiring and regular, the true
budding paterfamilias ; cold in appearance, correct,
motionless, slightly heavy, and dull. At his side, a
young wife in black velvet, too showy bonnet and
finery, innocent and pleasing, always occupied with her
baby, which is very white, over-abounding in flesh,
health, and fat, with stuck-'out and embroidered petti
coats which make a bunch and a display. In front is
the nurse, thirty-five years old, who strives to please
and to smile respectfully. That is a good specimen of
an English family ; the husband energetically, con
scientiously, and without yawning drags his conjugal
chariot ; his happiness must consist in taking tea, with
slippers on, at his home in the evening ; he will have
many children who, not knowing how to gain a liveli
hood, will emigrate, and who will require to have a
constitution like his own to undergo their hardships.
Place in this powerful frame of bones and muscles the
lucid, calm, active inteUigence developed by special
education, or by complete education, and you will have
the fine variety of the same type, the serious, ca

ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 53
man, worthy of commanding, in whom, during the
hour of need, one might and one ought to place confi
dence, who will accomplish difficult tasks. In spick-
span new clothes, in too light a dress, the disparity
between the habit and its wearer is not far from being
grotesque. But fancy him on the bridge of a vessel,
in battle, or simply in a counting-house at the head of
twenty clerks, on the bench and pronouncing decisions,
governing fortunes or lives, he will be beautiful,
morally beautiful. This body can contain the soul
without succumbing.
Many of the women have the same power of growth
and structure, more frequently indeed than in France ;
out of every ten young girls one is admirable, and upon
five or six a naturalist painter would look with pleasure.
On horseback especially, and in full gallop, they are
amazons, not only by their skill and the firmness of
their seat, but on account of their figure and their
health. In their presence one thinks of the natural
form of life, Grecian and gymnastic. Yesterday one
of them in a drawing-room, tall, with weU-developed
bust and shoulders, blooming cheeks, active, and with
out too much expression, seemed to me to be made to
live in the avenues of a park, or in the great hall of
a castle, like her sister, the antique statue, in the free
air of the mountains, or under the portico of a temple
upon the sea-shore ; neither the one nor the other could
breathe in our small Parisian dwellings. The mauve
sUk of the dress follows the form from the neck to the
hips, descends and spreads forth like a lustrous wave ;
in order to depict her as a goddess it would require the
palette of Rubens, his rosy red spread over a tint of
milk, his large masses of flesh fixed by one dash of the
brush ; only here the contour is more severe, and the

S4 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
head is nobler. Lady Mary Wortley Montague, who
came to see the Court of the Regent in France,
severely rallied our slim, painted, affected beauties,
and proudly held up as a contrast " the natural charms
and the lively colours of the unsullied complexions "
of English women. By way of compensation one may
sometimes recall this mocking sketch by Hamilton : —
"Madam Wetenhall was properly speaking a beauty
wholly English : permeated with lily and roses, with
snow and milk, as regards colours : formed of wax
with regard to her arms and her hands, her throat and
her feet, but altogether without soul or air. Her visage
was the tiniest, but it was always the same visage ; one
might say that she took it out of the case in the
morning and put it back in the evening, without
having used it during the day. What else would you
expect? Nature had made her a doU from infancy,
and the white Wetenhall remained a doll till her
death." Yet, even when the physiognomy and the
form are commonplace, the whole satisfies the mind ;
a solid bony structure, and upon it healthy flesh, con
stitute what is essential in a living creature; the
impression is the same as that produced by a house
built of well-hewn stone, whereof the plaster and polish
are new ; one does not require that it should be archi
tecturally perfect nor even elegant ; it wiU withstand
bad weather, it is comfortable, suits its occupant ; that
suffices. There are two probable causes. The one, which is
of a special character, the hereditary conformation of
the race ; the other, which is the custom of open-air
living and bodily exercise. A Review spoke recently
about the rude, unfeeling health which slightly startles
deUcate foreign ladies, and attributes it to riding on

ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 55
horseback and the long walks which English ladies
take in the country. To these advantages are joined
several inconveniences : the fair complexion is easily
and quickly spoUt ; in the case of many young ladies,
the nose reddens early ; they have too many children,
and this deteriorates them. You marry a blonde,
slender, and clear-complexioned woman ; ten years
afterwards you wiU perhaps have at your side a house
keeper, a nurse, a sitting hen. I have in my mind
two or three of these matrons, broad, stiff, and destitute
of ideas ; red face, eyes the colour of blue china, huge
white teeth — forming the tricolour flag. In other cases
the type becomes exaggerated : one sees extraordinary
asparagus-sticks planted in spreading dresses. More
over, two out of every three have their feet shod with
stout masculine boots ; and as to the long projecting
teeth, it is impossible to train oneself to endure them.
Is this a cause, or an effect, of the carnivorous regime?
The too ornate and badly-adjusted dress completes these
disparities. It consists of violet or dark crimson silks,
of grass-green flowered gowns, blue sashes, jewellery —
the whole employed sometimes to caparison gigantic
jades who recall discharged heavy cavalry horses, some
times vast well-hooped butts, which burst in spite of
their hoops. Of this cast was a lady, in Hyde Park,
one of these days, on horseback, followed by her groom.
She was fifty-five, had several chins, the rest in pro
portion, an imperious and haughty mien; the whole
shook at the slightest trot, and it was hard not to
laugh. Another specimen is the children. I have seen Eton
and Harrow-on-the-Hill. The smaU ones in the nursery
are living flowers — full-blown roses; in the country
especially, the large cherub cheeks, the firmness and

56 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
quantity of the flesh proclaim the abounding sap which
will afterwards produce a sturdy fellow. About seven
and upwards, it is not intelligence which predominates,
but physical and moral energy. The manner is often
rude, very unamiable ; one thinks of young bull-dogs.
For example, the young ones of H  and M  ,
sons of great families, seem to be and are simple cubs
averse to culture, good only for hunting and school-
fights. An observer said to me — "A young EngUsh-
man is ferocious, unconquerable ; the blood of the
Scandinavian rover is in his veins ; hence the usage of
the birch ; in our schools we could not dispense with
it." He is not very precocious and vivacious, but has
plenty of daring and tenacity. George Eliot has given
a very good specimen of this in the character of Tom
in " The Mill on the Floss." Very often he is a block
head ; the caricatures have represented this trait. A
little fellow of eight says to his sister of eighteen,
" Charlotte, lend me your paint-box." " No, sir, you
know how you spoiled It the last time." "Very well,
then I shall put my guinea-pig on your neck." And
he raises the guinea-pig to perform his threat. The
animal instincts are too powerful In him, he is too full
of health, he hates books, he neither wiU nor can learn.
He prefers eating, boxing, playing at cricket, riding
on horseback. Owing to another effect of the same
instincts, he is. brave, patient, hardy, Inured to blows
and risks of all kinds. The author of " Tom Brown's
School-days" says, "It is strange to see how fond
nearly all young English boys are of danger ; you
will find ten ready to join in a hunt, climb a tree,
swim across a stream, if there be a chance of their
breaking their necks or drowning themselves ; and out
of them you wUl not find more than one to play at

ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 57
marbles, remain on dry land, or bathe within his
depth." Young Tom, when going to school, passes
a very cold night on the top of the coach, and, frozen
though he be, he persists in doing so, because he has
the " silent pleasure, so dear to every Englishman, of
enduring, resisting, and struggling with something,
and not giving way." I can call to mind fifty similar
minor facts. On the whole, I am certain that the
animal physique, the primitive man, such as Nature
bequeathed to civilisation, is of a stronger and rougher
species here. The following are some of these minor
facts. During these days I have seen farm and draught
horses in breweries and in two farms : they resemble
elephants ; one of the farmers has twelve of them
which cost from £50 to £60. Thej"' are the athletes
of the species ; lustrous hair ; reins full of muscle,
colossal cruppers. The smallest one among them is
French, and the farmer says it is the weakest, the least
capable of standing changes of temperature. Now,
I have everywhere found this kind of consanguinity
between the horse and the human being ; for example,
foUow it up successively in the Department of the Var,
at Orleans, in Normandy, and in England. On the
other hand, a skilful physician who prescribes for a
Frenchman here does not give him more than half
a dose; the English dose would be too strong for him,
and would hurt him ; if you ask a chemist for a purge,
he hands calomel to you ; an Englishman often keeps
it by him, and takes a pill of it when his head feels
rather heavy ; the medicines here might be compounded
for French horses. In like manner their common
wines, port, sherry, very hot, very spirituous, are loaded
with brandy in addition ; this mixture deprives them
of delicacy, yet if they were pure the English would

58 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
consider them insipid ; our Bordeaux wines and even
our Burgundies are too light for them. Amongst the
middle class, ale, stout, or porter are preferred, espe
cially brandy and water, a kind of grog in which the
half is spirit ; to please them it is necessary that the
beverage should be rough or fiery, their palate must
be either scratched or scraped. The same impression
Is made on trying their cookery, which, excepting that
of their very fine clubs, and of the "Continental"
English, who keep a French or Italian cook, has no
savour. I have purposely dined in twenty taverns,
from the lowest to the highest, in London and else
where. I got large portions of fat meat and vegetables,
without sauce ; one is amply and wholesomely fed, but
one has no pleasure in eating. In the best Liverpool
eating-house they do not know how to dress a fowl.
If you would .tickle your palate, there is a cruet filled
with pickles, peppers, sauces, and Chili vinegar. I
once inadvertently put two drops of it into my mouth.
I might as well have swaUowed a hot cinder. At-
Greenwich, having already partaken of plain whitebait,
I helped myself to some out of a second dish ; it was
devilled, and fitted for skinning the tongue. Lastly,
on the coaches and on the bridge of the steamboats
many gentlemen, and even ladies, remain out of choice
in the wind and rain, exposed to be blown about and
drenched ; the inclemencies of the weather please them.
In my opinion, all these traits denote senses less delicate
and a temperament more robust.
Such a robust frame has vast wants. They consider
us sober ; yet we ought to consider them voracious.
Economists say that on an average a Frenchman eats
a sheep and a half yearly, and an Englishman four
sheep. At the tables of the eating-houses you are

ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 59
served with a small piece of bread along with a very
large helping of meat. Punch contains caricatures of
juvenile gluttons : — " What a horrible life," said a
young girl on seeing two enormous pigs which were
being fattened, " to do nothing but eat and sleep."
Her brother of ten replies, " There is nothing in the
world which I should like better." The exaggeration
is clear, but it denotes a trait of manners. Vanbrugh
in his " Journey to London " had previously depicted
the little gluttonous squire, a being unknown in France.
From all time they have gloried in being meat-eaters
and substantially fed ; in their eyes this was a privilege
of their race and an aliment of their courage. Mr.
Froude calls them " a sturdy, high-hearted race, sound
in body and fierce in spirit, and furnished with thews
and sinews which, under the stimulus of those ' great
shins of beef,' their common diet, were the wonder of
the age  Again and again, a few thousands of
them carried dismay Into the heart of France. Four-
hundred adventurers, vagabond apprentices from
London, who formed a volunteer corps in the Calais
garrison, were for years the terror of Normandy. In
the very frolic of conscious power they fought and
plundered without pay, without reward, except what
they could win for themselves ; and when they fell at
last they fell only when surrounded by six times their
number, and were cut to pieces in careless desperation.
Invariably, by friend and foe alike, the English are
described as the fiercest people in all Europe " (the
English wUd beasts, Benvenuto Cellini calls them), and
this great physical power they owed to the profuse
abundance in which they lived, and the soldiers' train
ing in which every man of them was bred from child
hood."

6o NOTES ON ENGLAND.
An EngUshman with whom I conversed at the Derby
was influenced by the same principle in wholly dis
approving of temperance societies: according to him
the race required stimulants ; even in India, where he
had lived five years, the English would make a mistake
in entirely abandoning spirituous liquors. " Our sailors
cannot do without their glass of spirits. We are
eminently an energetic people ; we require strong meat
and drink to sustain our frames ; without them we
should have no animal spirits ; it is on account of this
regime that our mariners are so hardy and so brave.
When they board, after discharging their pistols, they
fling them at random on the enemy's deck, saying that
they are certain to find them again after the victory."
It is possible that he was right. Certain organisations
are prodigal ; there are chimneys which draw badly
unless the fire be great ; besides, the climate, the fog,
tho large expenditure of physical and mental labour
necessitate copious repasts ; an English workman, who
does as much work with his own hands as a Frenchman
and a half, and lives amidst the fog of Manchester,
is a locomotive of which the boiler produces steam
only by using spirits and meat. Pitt did not find two
bottles of port wine too large a quantity to take with
his dinner ; but I return to my types.
II. The Phlegmatic : On him impressions are
made without inducing expression, or, for a stronger
reason, shock, agitation, explosion. This is exactly
the opposite of southern petulance and passion. He
has a frigid and starched air, the gestures of an auto
maton, motionless physiognomy, he speaks little, or not
at all. B — , being introduced to a family, pays a visit,
is beginning to chat with the mistress of the house ;

ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 6i
the husband arrives, notices him on entering the door,
walks silently across the room, his eyes turned in another
direction, sits down, and after the lapse of a minute,
says, " Glad to see you, sir." Nothing more. At the
end of five minutes he takes up a newspaper and
reads it. This was not churlishness ; he is hospitable
and kind. An officer relates that an English admiral,
after a long fight, forced the enemy's vessel to sur
render, and received the captain, whom he had made
prisoner, on the poop, with the single phrase, " For
tune of war." This was politeness, but abbreviated, in
laconic fashion. Here is a portion of a letter from one
of my friends, after some weeks' stay : — " Shall I tell
you what has struck me the most in this country ? It
is the inertness of the nervous system. The other day
I witnessed a game of cricket on Kew Green ; seven
or eight English boys were there pitching the ball. Cer
tainly they could not help blundering and missing now
and then. Yet, during upwards of an hour and a half
there was not a single cry, not a single remark made in
a loud voice and in a tone of reproach. They pitched
the baU about, changed places, doing it all with the
utmost calmness, and generally in silence. You must
have remarked that the English speak exceedingly low.
An Italian society into which I strayed by chance,
actually deafened me ; I had become accustomed to the
moderate tone of English voices. My coachman, the
other day, thought fit to rattle down a mews at full
speed ; he frightened two carriage horses which were
being harnessed to the carriage. The groom advanced,
took hold of the bits, and calmed the horses. Not a
single word passed between these two men. Picture to
yourself the same scene in France — the taunts of the
lackey, proud of his master ; the blackguardism of the

62 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
jealous menial, &c. That Is, my dear friend, what I
have seen of most significance in England, and by
means of which I figure to myself English liberty.
These people have water mixed with their blood,
exactly as their cattle are deficient in juice. Compare
the gigots of St. Leonard with those of London. That
is why they are allowed to combine together, to brawl,
to print what they please. They are primitive animals,
cold-blooded, and with a sluggish circulation."
Among the persons with whom T have associated
there are two or three very well instructed, highly
educated men, who have written and who talk well.
But talking is distasteful to them. They do the
honours of their house and take part in the most in
teresting conversations almost without saying anything
— ^not because they are inattentive, wearied, absent ; they
listen, that suffices them. If they are addressed directly
they summarise their experience in a sentence. That
debt discharged, they become sUent again, and this ex
cites no surprise ; it is merely said in explanation of
their manner, " He is a man of few words." Now,
join to this disposition the robust and slightly rough
temperament which I have just described, and you
will have a particular variety — that is, the sluggish,
slow, heavy, dull, material one, unfit for all fine cul
ture, satisfied with its mechanical occupation, the true
Flemish boor of Van Ostade. The following is a bio
graphy which exhibits this character, combined with a
practical aptitude and a special talent : —
John S. is the son of a workman in the environs
of Bristol ; he has laboured from infancy In his father's
smaU smithy ; possessing a turn for mechanics, he in
vented a species of bolt for affixing the rails to the
sleepers ; on that account a wealthy and well-brought-

ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 63
up gentleman, who knew him, offered him money for
the purpose of establishing a factory. John consulted
his father, who had remained a mere workman, nar
row-minded, and who refused to enter into partner
ship. John persevered, studied hard, learned what he
required in mechanics, spent much time in practising,
received the funds, and established the factory ; last
year It returned £20,000 net profit to the partners.
At present he is twenty-eight ; he is rich already,
and spends the day in the following manner. In the
morning he goes to the factory, inspects, supervises,
takes a file in hand to show the clumsy workman how
to use It properly, returns home frightfully dirty,
washes himself, and breakfasts. He does likewise in
the afternoon. He dines. In the evening he seats
himself in a smaU neighbouring tavern, drinks six-
pennyworth of beer, smokes his pipe, and returns
home to go to bed at ten o'clock. For three or four
years he has had an intended, and does not marry
her ; yet she is twenty- four, he loves her, he in
tends to marry — he will marry her ; but he is
sluggish ; considers himself comfortable as he is ; this
is inertia, moral inertia. As for her, she waits
patiently, she is gentle, submissive. He goes to see
her on Saturday night, makes short excursions with
her, visits friends ; both sleep away from home, return
ing together on Monday. All this is quite proper ;
custom permits these freedoms, and no one takes
notice of them. Nevertheless he has neither an idea,
nor any curiosity ; he can barely spell ; he never reads,
his own condition alone interests him ; a shabby coat
for work, and a good coat for Sunday ; nothing beyond
that ; his circle is traced out ; he rests like a snaU in
its shell. Yet, on the advice of the gentleman, who

64 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
is his partner, he has just built himself a fine house,
but he is not at his ease in it. George Eliot, in her
novels, has admirably painted these heavy, narrow-
viewed natives so common in England, who remain
fixed, and, as it were tethered, in animal, manual, or local
life, preserve a tradition, and do not swerve from it
except at intervals, as an exception, and only on one
point. Witness also the landlord, John Willet, in
"Barnaby Rudge," by Dickens, an excellent carica
ture. The personage is half ox, half bull ; in this
solid mass of flesh the few and brief ideas are, as it
were, congealed, and no new idea gains entrance. On
the contrary, when the person Is an intelligent and a
cultured gentleman, the phlegmatic temperament im
parts to him a perfectly noble air. I have several of
them in my memory, with pale complexion, Ught blue
eyes, regular features, constituting one of the finest
types of the human species. There is no excess of
cavalierism, of glitter, and gallantry, after the style of
the French gentleman ; one Is conscious of a mind
wholly self-contained; and which cannot lose its
balance. They elevate this quality of their tempera
ment into a virtue ; according to them the chief merit
of a man is always to have a clear and cool head.
They are right ; nothing is more desirable in misfor
tune and in danger, and this is truly one of their
national traits, the gift by which they succeed. A
French officer who fought in the Crimea related to me
how an English battalion of infantry destroyed two
Russian regiments ; the Russians fired incessantly, and
did not lose a foot of ground, but they were excited
and aimed badly ; on the contrary, the English infantry
avoided undue haste, took steady aim, and missed
scarcely a single shot. The human being is ten times

ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 65
stronger when his pulse continues calm, and when his
judgment remains free. The consequences and the
shades of a type are innumerable. If one starts from
the principle that in tho case of the phlegmatic, move
ment and expression are wanting, rare, or unwonted,
one will understand the following figures ; I copy
sketches taken on the spot :
The swell, or dandy of the second class. — Absolutely
a cut from a plate of fashions ; everything is bran new,
and most exact in his linen and attire ; the whiskers,
moustache, and hair come from the hairdresser's hands,
and he himself has the air of a hairdresser's puppet ;
his clear complexion and his glassy eyes would suit a
waxen face ; rigid in attitude, measured in movement,
he will not disarrange a fold of his cravat ; his clothes
are put on him as if to show them off. The diversified,
unexpected movements, the pleasing, gay, and amusing
physiognomy which could alone render this specimen
endurable, are wholly wanting, and he remains but a
stuffed fool. The stiff personage who walks as if he
had swaUowed a poker. Very common among clergy
men. The large machine, badly put together, whereof
the wheels are rusty — witness many tall young folks,
and also men of fifty, who have worked hard — all the
parts composing them grate at being together. The
gestures and the physiognomy have not the necessary
agility, move maladroitly, at the wrong time, and with
a discordant explosion. This is chiefly visible in the
convulsive movement of the mouth.
The timid. Finding expression difficult, he exag
gerates its difficulty. If he possess a little cleverness,
his habitual silence sinks him still deeper in his inborn
silliness ; if he possess much, he becomes moody, he
liv OS lonely in a world of inner sentiments to which
F

66 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
he forbids ingress to any one, and in proportion as^ he
feels himself more a stranger, he concentrates him
self the more. These two descriptions of character
are so frequent here that they cannot be noted. Not
only young girls, but women of forty, are startled at
a new face ; I was told of a lady of the highest class,
accustomed to important ceremonies, and who becomes
dumb, blushes when a stranger is Introduced to her.
There are men well-educated, even learned, having
travelled, knowing several languages, who are em
barrassed in company ; one might live six months
with them without detecting their merits ; they have
neither the art nor the desire to display themselves ;
to unseal their lips, a great shock, an urgent interest,
are requisite. I know one of them who stammers
in a drawing-room, and who on the following day has
addressed eight meetings with great eloquence. This
kind of awkwardness and bashfulness, wholly physical,
is a peculiarity of Teutonic nations. On the other
hand, an Italian, a Frenchman, speak naturally, with
ease and confldence ; the Frenchman still more than
the Italian, because he instantly becomes the comrade
of his interlocutor. An old historian has remarked this
trait, that the Frenchman is he, of aU others, who
speaks with least hesitation to kings and to princes.
Owing to another effect of this temperament, the
human being is backward, by no means precocious ; It
dares not develop Itself, it continues longest in the
animal and infantine stage of existence ; it is often art
less, innocent, original. The physiognomy remains
youthful here much later than amongst us, especiaUy
than at Paris, where it withers so quickly ; sometimes
it remains open even in old age ; I recall at this mo
ment two old ladies with white hair whose cheeks were

ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 67
smooth and softly rosy ; after an hour's conversation I
discovered that their minds were as fresh as their com
plexions. Like every trait somewhat general, this one
produces grotesques and masterpieces. The dignified
stick ; body and mind puffed out ; plenty of principles.
The bewildered, who opens the mouth idiotically and
has the look of not understanding. The large fat
heifer, lymphatic, with white eyelashes. The female
goose, with large sUly goggle eyes, long waist badly
set up above expansions of crinoline. The young chit-
tish girl, rosy, playful, with sparse locks over the neck,
a real bird who incessantly laughs and chirps, and
without more ideas than a bird. Dickens has pour-
trayed this type in Dora, the child-wife of David Cop-
perfield. The blonde maiden with downcast eyes,
purer than one of Raffaelle's Madonnas, a sort of Eve,
incapable of falling, whose voice is music, adorable in
candour, gentleness, and goodness, and before whom
one is tempted to lower the eyes out of respect.
Since Virginia, Imogen, and the other women of
Shakespeare or of his great contemporaries, to Esther
and to the Agnes of Dickens, English literature has
placed them in the foreground ; they are the most per
fect flower of the land. The purely virtuous woman,
calm, serious, and whom temptation has never ap
proached, and whose Ufe is planned in such a way as
to banish all curiosity, every evU thought, every chance
of stumbling. In this class many young Quakeresses
are conspicuous ; with poke bonnets, or covered with a
white veil, the subdued complexion of a nun. The ex
pression is that of a person who has lived in a moral
enclosure without having ever had a notion of leaving it.
As dress is a sort of expression, an exterior superim
posed upon other exteriors. It denotes what the physi-

68 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
ognomy and gestures have already manifested — to wit,
awkwardness, want of skill, of flexibility, of tact. As
a general rule, costume ought to image the body, and
here it nearly always does so badly. Two exceptions
are the riding dress, the black habit which fits the
shape, which is simple, devoid of ornament, and exhi
bits hardihood, strength, physical health ; the travelling
dress, the little straw hat with a single ribbon, the
plain gown, the small boots of solid leather, everything
showing the good walker, without trace of coquetry,
capable of ascending with her husband the top of a
diligence, of being a man's real companion, and not a
delicate troublesome doll. With the exception of these
two costumes, their showy and overdone style of dress
is that of a lorette or an upstart ; one is surprised to
see such gear on the back of a young virtuous woman.
In Hyde Park, on Sunday, the exaggeration of the
dresses of the ladies or young girls belonging to the
wealthy middle class is offensive ; bonnets resembling
piled-up bunches of rhododendrons, or as white as
snow, of extraordinary smallness, with packets of red
flowers or of enormous ribbons ; gowns of shiny violet
silk with dazzling refiections, or of starched tulle upon
an expanse of petticoats stiff with embroidery ; immense
shawls of black lace, reaching down to the heels;
gloves of immaculate whiteness or bright violet; gold
chains ; golden zones with golden clasps ; hair falling
over the neck in shining m^isses. The glare is terrible.
They seemed to have stepped out of a wardrobe, and to
march past to advertise a magazine of novelties. Not
that even ; for they do not know how to show off
their dresses. They have the head firmly set on the
neck, like the beadle in a procession ; their hair is too
much plastered or too loose; their garments are dis-

ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 69
played upon them as upon a wooden puppet. The
crinoline is like a tub at the bottom, the cloaks are
tucked up behind in clumsy and pretentious puffs ;
there are not three pretty shapes. The white row of
teeth is a crude patch on the red of the lips ; black
feet, strongly shod, show themselves below the balloon
petticoats. Thus bulged out, they walk along rustling ;
their dress follows and precedes them like the ticking
of a clock. Compared with the supple, easy, silent
serpentine undulation of the Spanish dress and bearing,
the movement here is energetic, discordant, jerking,
like a piece of mechanism.
III. — The last type Is the active, energetic human
being, capable of enterprise, of efforts, of endurance, of
perseverance, and who loves effort as effort. The
elements of such a character are numerous, and I have
not reduced them to order. Turn, then, to particular
instances — to examples.
One day, when returning from a visit in the country,
two young men asked me if I would take them in my
fly to the station, offering to pay the half of the fly.
Naturally I agreed to the first part of the proposal, and
I declined the conclusion. We chatted. They were two
brothers, the one nineteen, the other seventeen years
of age; they have ten brothers and sisters, and start
for New Zealand ; they count upon being twelve
years there, and returning with a fortune, becoming
sheep farmers. It is impossible to reproduce the
zeal, the ardour, the decision of their gestures and of
their accent ; one was conscious of a superabundance
of energy and of activity, overflowing animal spirits.
They had the look of strong- limbed greyhounds, sniff
ing the air in full hunt. According to the elder, there

70 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
are already cities of ten thousand inhabitants In New
Zealand. With a capital of £2,000 one may bring
back £20,000 at the end of twelve years. " You wiU
be thirty years old then. You will return at the pro
per time to marry." " Yes, sir." This was uttered
with the most powerful tone, with an admirable juve
nile outburst. The first year he would learn his busi
ness; then he would launch out, shift for himself.
There one must be his own labourer. "Build, fell
trees, plough, reap, pasture cattle, shear sheep, aU with
these hands ! " He laughed with the ruest and
most joyous spirits. He has had some training ; he
has lived on a farm, he has a slight acquaintance with
applied mathematics, with German, but not with
French, and he has traveUed in France, in Germany,
in Switzerland ; his sentences are disjointed, sounding,
and, as It were, shot forth : " Obliged to go to the
colonies ; large family, you know ; obliged to look
out for oneself." These two Uvely, hardy, enterprising
young men pleased me ; that is a fine style of begin
ning life ; one risks much here ; the world is open,
and one takes the cream of It. England remains the
place to which the return will be made, the treasure to
which all gravitates and flows back. The fortune
once made, the zeal continues ; the children of a rich
father are bound to work on account of their number,
and because the law of inheritance awards the largest
share to the eldest. Besides, whether rich or enriched,
they find occupation in politics, associations local or
general, public life. Labour always appears as the end
or aim of labour. Amongst us, a fortune Is made in
order to retire, to rest, to remain unemployed, and to
procure the means for chUdren being so.
Subtract youth : with calmer externals, the same

ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 71
longing for working and doing subsists in mature age.
On this head witness the story of a life known to me.
M. W  is the son of a small shopkeeper who had
six children. The father caused him to be educated as
a practical engineer, and, as soon as the son was
eighteen ordered him, not with harshness, but on prin
ciple, to provide for himself. Many parents here think
that they are only bound to educate their children.
W  went to Scotland, procuring a situation at £40
a year. Some years afterwards he was sent to India to
erect a lighthouse ; salary £300 a year. The light
house was well done; he returned, and erected a
second ; salary £400 a year, and a present of £100.
On his return, he worked at the construction of a
tubular bridge, made reports concerning it ; became
secretary to a company in London — fixed salary, £500 ;
he married a governess who had not a penny. At pre
sent he is secretary to a large establishment, and gets
£600 a year. He goes there every day, and works at
his desk for nine or ten hours at full steam. He writes
from thirty to seventy letters, receives -nearly twenty-
five visits, and inspects an infinity of objects and per
sons. Returned home, he helps to compile a dictionary
of Grecian antiquities. In order to do that, he
first perused the classics in translations ; then, aided
and counselled by his learned friends, the undertakers
of the dictionary, he succeeded in reading them
fluently in the originals. He spends a portion of his
nights thus ; observe that he has selected the short,
troublesome articles, because no one would take them,
and to do them somebody was required. The end
being the first consideration, he supplied a willing man
himself. Besides that, he has found time for acquiring
and well understanding German, French, music, for

72 AZOTES ON ENGLAND.
educating himself in every way, for being abreast of
everything. He avows that work is a necessity to
him, that once having been two days in entire idleness,
he almost expired from weariness ; that he likes to
travel, because every day one gets stuffed with facts,
with new ideas ; he maintains that need of work to
be the English resource ; the machine would grind
itself away if it turned in a vacuum. The grandfather
of his pleasing young wife, well trained and in
structed, was the carpenter of a college. Her father,
the carpenter's son, entered the college by favour,
distinguished himself as a student, took honours, left it
a tutor ; having taken noblemen to board with him, he
obtained through their influence a cure worth £500 ;
moreover, he was a good preacher, his sermons sold
largely. Aided by his reputation, he came to London,
founded a chapel with the help of some rich people,
and ended by making £1,200 a year. Twice married
— the first time to a woman possessing nothing, the
second to one well off — he has had fourteen children
by the former and six by the latter ; his sons are
professors, lawyers, clergymen — ^nearly all in good
circumstances ; among the daughters, several have
remained at home, others have gone out as gover
nesses, among others Mrs. W  , in order "to
be independent." This last phrase is thoroughly cha
racteristic, and, in my opinion, admirable. W  ,
his wife, and three children, live comfortably. They
rent a cottage in the enA'irons of London for £200
a year. .Every year they take a trip together.
It is evident to me that they expend everything ;
if they provide for the future, it is at most by means
of a Ufe assurance. A very good specimen of Eng
lish life ; to be thrown early upon one's resources.

ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 73
marry a woman without fortune, have plenty of chil
dren, expend one's income, save up nothing, work pro
digiously, put one's children to the necessity of working
also, lay in continuously stores of facts and positive
information, find distraction from one labour in another
labour, recruit oneself by travel, always producing and
always acquiring ; they desire nothing better, either
for themselves or for their children.
Such a disposition of heart and mind is explicable
by many concurrent causes ; the following are those
which I partially discern : — The law of primogeniture,
and the large number of children ; as a consequence,
each one is bound to help himself, and acquires, when
quite young, the idea that he must be the architect of
his, fortune. But in order to furnish an explanation of
the large number of children, it must be admitted,
among other causes, that the parents possess more
courage, and, above all, more insensibility than among
us ; more courage, because they fear less the em
barrassment of a numerous family, and the obligation
of working in their old age ; more insensibility, because
they accept beforehand the idea that their children must
struggle and toU, that their daughters will quit them
for ever, going to settle in India, in Australia. On the
contrary, the first desire of a French father is to spare
his son the privations which he has undergoiie himself;
he stints himself to dower his daughters, and cannot bear
the thought of having half-a-dozen who wiU be gover
nesses, or of whom he wUl rid himself by exportation.
Second cause, the climate ; I always recur to this,
because there is no greater power. Consider that this
humidity and this fog existed, and even worse, under
the Saxon kings, and that this race has lived amid, as
far as can be traced, even in its earliest country on the

74 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
coasts of the Elbe and of Jutland. At Manchester,
last winter, one of my friends informed me that in the
principal hotel of that city it was necessary to keep
the gas burning for five days ; at midday it was not
clear enough to see to write ; the sixth day the fog
still lasted, but the supply of gas was exhausted.
During six months, and during several days in the
other months, this country seems to have been made
for wild ducks. After having seen London, the country
houses, all the luxury and all the comfort, I said to an
Englishman — " The drawing-room and the dining-
room are perfect ; I have yet to see the kitchen — the
manufactories, Manchester, Birmingham, and Liverpool.
How do your working men live down there ? They
labour ; what else can one do in these streets and in
that fog ? " The dismalness and severity of Nature cut
off clean and by the root every voluptuous conception
of life. The ideal, under this sky, is a dry, clean, well-
closed, well-warmed habitation ; a chat with a faithful
wife, a good housekeeper, dressed with care ; rosy-
cheeked children well washed and in clean clothes ;
abundance of furniture, commodities, useful and pleasing
knick-knacks nicely ranged and polished, the presence
of them recalling to man that he is sheltered against
inclemencies of weather and weariness, that provision
has been made for all the possible wants of his body
and of his mind. On the contrary, in Provence, in
Italy, in southern countries, the ideal is lounging in
the shade, on a terrace, in the open air, with a mistress,
before a noble landscape, amid the perfume of roses,
amid statues and the music of Instruments. In order
to relish delicately the beauty of the light, the balmy
air, the delicious fruits, and the configuration of the
landscape, the senses have but to expand themselves ;

ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 75
here the climate closes them, and, by dint of repressing,
blunts them. Take an example in little : a poor person
at Marseilles, or at Milan, buj's a pound of grapes for a
halfpenny, worthy of being placed on the table of gods,
find thus he acquires the idea of exquisite sensation.
How can you suppose that a Uke idea can be engendered
in the brain of one whose palate knows nothing beyond
a morsel of meat and a glass of gin or of ale ? Shut
out from this path, the man never dreams of fine and
sensual enjoyment ; he would not understand how to
essay it, he is hardened, stiffened, habituated to the exi
gencies and hardship of his lot. However, his thoughts
are turned elsewhere, and this is an obvious necessity,
for he would not have time to dawdle, to taste, and to
enjoy if he desired it. Cold, rain, mud, bad weather, a
barren soil are the foes he is bound to combat without
ceasing ; in addition, his frame consumes more, and
needs more powerful restoratives ; it could not subsist
without spirits and heavy food. A poor person is not
wretched in the South ; he obtains the most beautiful
and the best things gratis, the necessaries of life for
next to nothing, so many things which are necessaries
in the North, he does not need : abundance of nourish
ment, artificial light, fire, a well-protected dwelling,
warm clothing, frequent changes of linen, and much
more. Here he is a painful sight. Nothing can be
more horrible than the coat, the lodging, the shirt, the
form of an English beggar ; in Hyde Park, on Sunday,
when a poor family sits on the grass it makes a stain.
Possess £20,000 in the Funds here, or else cut your
throat : such is the idea which constantly haunts me,
and the omnibus advertisements suggest it still more in
informing me that "Mappin's celebrated razors cost
only one shilling." They are of the same mind, and

76 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
say, to excuse themselves, that, very commonly, among
them, poverty debases. It is partly to avoid this
downfall that the English are so eager In quest of
wealth. They prize it because, in their eyes, it is the
accompaniment, the aliment, the condition of morality,
of education, of all the qualities which make a gentle
man. Under the lash of this perpetual whip each one
advances, pulling his car. Now, custom turns into
necessity ; even after reaching the end, he continues to
pull, and, if his own be lacking, he harnesses himself
to that of his neighbour, of his parish, of his association,
or of the State.
Another incentive : he has a longing for rough exer
cise ; he has fighting instincts, consequently the desire
to conquer, and to earn the proud testimony that he
has performed a difficult task. There are a thousand
signs of this. I have previously noted the necessity
for physical movement, the long walks of young girls,.
the general habit of riding ; the moist and cold climate
impels the play of the muscles ; add the innumerable
pleasure yachts, the dangerous steeplechases, hunting.
An ambassador named to me spent the whole summer
in Scotland when he was young. During six days of
the week he hunted with a companion In the Highlands,
slept in the open air, returned home on Saturday
evening, started off again at four on Monday morning.
A number of young and grown-up men go every year
to fish for salmon in Norway, shoot deer in Canada, or
elephants at the Cape. As for journeys full of dangers
and hardships, even women brave them, and alone. On
this head I have fifty instances ; and besides, their
reputation is well known. Applying this longing for
action and for struggle to trades and to professions, it
will produce the requisite energy for supporting their

ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 77
fatigue iand yoke, more especially if we take into account
two circumstances which greatly lessen the principal
weight of modern toil, I mean weariness. The one is
the phlegmatic temperament which represses the springs
of ideas, the improvisation, the petty intervening emo
tions, and enables the man to work with the regularity
of a machine. The other is the want of nervous delicacy,
the acquired Insensibility, the being accustomed to dull
sensations, which suppress in man the desire for keen
and varied pleasure, and hinder him from rebelling
against the monotony of his business. I have distinctly
seen this in France when following, in a calico-printing
establishment, the proceedings of two English workmen
among thirty Frenchmen ; long, cold faces, silent, ex
pressionless, without distraction, without haste, giving
themselves just the necessary movement, never becoming
animated or unbending, and working as well during
the tenth hour as during the first. To sum up, there
is no other outlet for the faculties save useful action ;
the tyranny of numerous wants whicL labour alone can
satisfy, the natural taste for physical effort and moral
struggle, no aversion for the monotony of uninteresting
toil : in all that there is stuff for forming, in every
manual or Uberal career, powerful and patient workers.
Owing to a very natural consequence, this character
has become here the Ideal pattern ; for every people
hallows and places on a pedestal the type which best
exhibits its own faculties, and best supplies its wants.
This is why opinion and morality repeat to an English
man, " Labour and compete in some useful undertak
ing ; if you refuse, you are not a man, and have no
title to esteem." That is a fresh impetus, which Is the
reverse of those which precede, but which Is none the
less distinct from them, and which is of chief import-

78 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
ance here. For it is an idea, a mental conviction ; now,
among the men of this country pure ideas, convictions,
the deliberate opinions of a reasoning brain, are much
more dominating and efficacious than elsewhere.
Nothing is more rare than this supremacy among the
lively and southern races. In my opinion, a French
man argues for the sake of arguing ; it is so agreeable
to him to string one idea after another ; if the con
clusion be new and its import great, his delight is
extreme ; but he stops there : he has furnished himself
with a fine spectacle of a lofty kind ; that suffices him.
On the contrary, for a Teutonic head, especially for an
English head, the slowly elaborated conclusion is but a
starting-point ; it becomes a principle, a spring of
action, one of the powers, often the greatest of the
powers, governing his conduct. He does not act, like
the other, by impulse, on the spur of the moment,
under the influence of lively passions which reflection
has left intact, and which boil over spontaneously in
hot resolves. In his case these impulses retire into
the background ; it is his idea which occupies the fore
most place and determines it. Having admitted that
a man ought to strive and render himself useful, he
requires no other motive for striving and rendering
himself of use. I quoted above the remark of Mr.
W  jj, relating to the short, wearisome articles
which he had undertaken in the Dictionary : " It is
necessary that they should be done." In like manner
Arthur Young, who, during two years visited in suc
cession all the provinces of France on horseback, in the
interests of agriculture, could scarcely get the French
to whom he told this to understand him ; in their eyes
the thing looked well in words; but to leave his family
and his business, undertake such a long task, of such

ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 79
remote return, of so problematical success, all by him
self, without a mission, from personal choice, without
other determining motive than a wholly abstract, cold
idea, that appeared strange to them. The same causes,
as those above-mentioned, explain this power of an
idea, especially of a moral idea. In the first place, in
a phlegmatic and hardened nature, the rival powers
are fewer ; there are fewer spirits, seductions, rashnesses,
castiuff themselves across and breakiiiff the uniform
line of conduct. Besides, the attraction of sensible
happiness is smaller, less penetrating, and less seduc
tive. In fine, when one voluntarily gives oneself a
watchword, when on reflection it is considered noble,
when put to the test it is found hard, pride and the
spirit of struggling cleave to it unto the end. Such
is the sentiment of duty ; the English say that in all
degrees it is one of the essential traits of their national
character. This being settled, let us review the types.
When at eight o'clock in the morning, at the terminus
of a railway, one sees people arriving from the country
for their daily avocations, or when one walks in a
business street, one is struck with the number of faces
which exhibit this type of cold and determined will.
They walk straight, with a geometrical movement,
without looking on either hand ; without distraction,
wholly given up to their business, like automatons,
each, moved by a spring ; the large, bony face, the pale
complexion, often sallow or leaden-hued, the rigid
look, all, even to their tall, perpendicular, black hat,
even to the strong and large foot-covering, even to the
umbrella rolled in its case and carried in a particular
style, displaj"^ the man unsensitive, dead to ideas of
pleasure and elegance, solely preoccupied In getting
through much business well and rapidly. Sometimes

8o NOTES ON ENGLAND.
one detects the physiognomy of Pitt- — the slight face,
impassive and imperious, the pale and ardent eyes, the
look which shines like the fixed gleam of a sword; the
man is then of finer mould, yet his will is only the more
incisive and the stouter ; it is iron transformed into
steel. The effect is at its height when this expression
is perceived on the countenance of a young girl ; I
have seen it several times, and the accent, the words,
and the thought were in unison ; at the end of two
minutes the cutting of the knife was felt. Probably
these are the sort of women who, as if taking a walk,
go alone from Alexandria to Khartoum, or, out of
philanthropy, conduct bands of women from London
to Australia.
I transcribe a note written at the close of a previous
journey, and confirmed by what I have seen during the
present one : " If we except the beaux and belles of
the public walks, four times out of five the English
type is the following : as regards women, a capacity
for enduring much, and frequently the physiognomy
of a person who has borne much, yet with resigned,
worn, or determined air, which excites the remark,
' She has made up her mind ; ' as regards men, a capa
city for doing much, for long-sustained effort, the
imprint of sustained attention, contracted traits, not at
all enervated or visionary, the jaw clenched, the face
impassive, steadfast." The excess of this faculty and
kind of life is exhibited on all hands, and notably
among the poorer classes. A number of faces among
the workmen, the day labourers of the country, are
hollowed, blanched, spent with fatigue, and recall the
screws in the cabs, which stand patiently and inert,
the four feet apart, while the r^in pours over their old
lean flanks. Greyish and straight hair, in. scanty

ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN. 8i
locks ; the mouth remains half open, as if due to an
involuntary relaxation of the muscles ; the eye has no
longer any meaning. The man moves still, but this
seems as if owing to the effect of an imparted
movement ; he has become a machine. When a trace
of expression returns, he seems to awake out of a bad
dream. The consumption, the wear and tear of life,
the exhaustion of the being harnessed to a load too
heavy, jaded, flurried, is still more visible in the
women. Sometimes, during a visit made to them,
upon a question being put, their lips endeavour to
recall a smile ; but one turns away with a heavy heart
when one has seen this attempt to smile.
The strong, the phlegmatic, the worker ; around
these three types group several varieties, according to
the differences of class, of education, of employment, of
sex, of age, these again being complicated by the dif
ferent degrees of purity and force, which each type
may present. But all this is a sketch only ; it must
now be verified, corrected, investigated — always in
contact with living things.

82

YI.
ENGLISH GIKLS AND AOTHOBESSES.
NUMBERS of dinners or luncheons in town, walks
In the country, with persons belonging to the
upper middle class, and with some of the nobility. The
drawing-rooms and the dinners are the same as every
where else ; there is a certain level of luxury and of
elegance where all the wealthy classes of Europe meet.
The only very striking thing at table, or in the even
ing, is the exceeding freshness of the ladies and also of
their toilette ; the hue of the skin is dazzling. Yester
day, I was placed beside a young lady whose neck and
shoulders resembled snow, or rather mother-of-pearl;
this extraordinary white is so powerful, that, to my,
eyes, it is not life-like. She wore a rose-coloured dress,
wreath of red flowers, green trimmings, and a golden
necklace around the throat, like a savage queen : they
have rarely a feeling for colours.
Great reception at a minister's ; the staircase is
monumental, and the drawing-rooms are lofty, princely ;
but this is uncommon ; in general the house is not well
arranged for receiving guests. When one has a large
company, the two drawing-rooms on the first-floor do
not suffice ; very rich people who are obliged to make
a display, give their entertainment on two floors ; the

ENGLISH GIRLS AND AUTHORESSES. 83
ladies, for lack of room in order to get air, seat them
selves on the steps of the stairs. To-day several dis
tinguished persons were pointed out to me, but I have
not the right to describe them. Some young ladies
and 3'oung girls are extremely beautiful, and all the
company are excessively dressed ; many ladies have
their hair decked with diamonds, and their shoulders,
much exposed, have the incomparable whiteness of
which I have just spoken, the petals of a lily, the gloss
of satin do not come near to it. But there are many
storks in gauze and tulle, many skinny jades, with
prominent noses, jaws of macaws ; ugliness is more
ugly here than among us. As to the men, their
physical type and their expression badly harmonize
with their position ; they are often too tall, too strong,
too automatic, with eyes inert or wild, with angular
and knotty features. I met again the two Frenchmen
belonging to the Embassy ; how agreeable as a con
trast are their intelligent and lively, gay faces ! It is
sufficient to be introduced in order to be greeted with
perfect politeness. The French wrongly think that
they are privileged in this matter. In this respect,
throughout Europe, aU weU brought up people re-
es'nble each other.
Another evening at Lady S  , One of her
daughters sang a Norwegian song at the piano, and
sang it weU, with animation and expression which are
not common. According to the opinions of my musical
friends, the English are stUl worse endowed than we
are with respect to music ; however, on this subject,
all illusions are possible ; Miss B  , having pitUessly
strummed a sonata, finished amidst general attention ;
her mother said to me, " She has quite a genius for
it." Two other young girls are beautiful and pleaa*

8+ NOTES ON ENGLAND.
ing ; but too rosy, and upon this rosiness are too many
adornments of staring green which vex the eye. But
as compensation, how simple and affable are they !
Twice out of three times when one converses here with
a woman, one feels rested, affected, almost happy ; their
greeting is kindly, friendly ; and such a smile of gentle
and quiet goodness! No after- th ought ; the intention,
the expression, everything is open, natural, cordial.
One is much more at ease than with a Frenchwoman ;
one has not the vague fear of being judged, ralUed ;
one does not feel oneself in presence of a sharpened,
piercing, cutting mind, that can quarter you in a trice ;
nor a vivid, exacting, wearied imagination which de
mands anecdotes, spice, show, amusement, flattery, all
kinds of dainties, and shuts you up if you have no
tit-bits to offer her. The conversation is neither a
duel, nor a competition ; one may express a thought as
it is without embellishment ; one has the right to be
what one is, commonplace. One may even, without
wearying her or having a pedantic air, speak to her
about serious matters, obtain from her correct infor
mation, reason with her as with a man. I transcribe
some conversation taken down on the spot.
Dined with Mrs. T  ; her two nieces are at table.
They have the small, plain dresses of boarding-school
girls. The eldest never raises her eyes during the
repast, or timidly glances around. This is not silli
ness ; after dinner I talked freely for an hour with
them. Their silence is mere bashfulness, infantine
modesty, innocent wildness of the startled doe. When
spoken to, their blood ascends to their cheeks ; for
myself, I love that youthfulness of the mind ; it is not
necessary that a young girl should too early have the
Ubsurance and the manners of society ; the French

ENGLISH GIRLS AND AUTHORESSES. 85
girl is a flower too soon in bloom. They spend tho
winter and the summer in the country, twenty miles
distant from the city. They talk for at least two
hours daily ; then they work In the family circle,
where they listen to something read aloud. Their
occupations are drawing, music, visits to the poor
reading (they are subscribers to a circulating library).
They read novels, travels, history, and some sermons.
On Sunday there is church, and the school for the
poor village children. They do not weary ; they have
no desire fo see company. This winter they came
to France, and found Frenchwomen very agreeable,
amiable, engaging, and sprightly. But they are sur
prised and hurt at the constant supervision which we
keep over our girls. In England they are much more
independent. Even in London, each of them may go out
alone, or at least with her sister. Yet there is excess ;
they censure the fast girls who follow the hounds, treat
men as comrades, and sometimes smoke. AU is com
monplace in these two young girls, education, mind,
character, face ; they are very healthy, they are fresh, ' '
nothing more ; they are average girls. But this
modesty, this simplicity, this health, this good sense,
suffice to make a good wife who will be contented with
her household, wiU have children without being sickly,
will be faithfiU to her husband, and will not ruin him
In dress.
The chief point is the absence of coquetry ; I pro
ceed to cite trfling instances, extreme, unfavourable.
This winter In a Paris drawing-room where I was, a
stout, red-faced, bald man, related to a rather great
English personage, entered leading his daughter of
sixteen; pretty gentle face, but what ignorance of
dress ! She had dark brown gloves, hair in curls, not

86 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
glossy, a sort of badly fitting white casaque, and her
waist resembled a log in a sack. All the evening she
remained silent, like a Cinderella amidst the splendours
and supreme elegances of the dresses and beauties
surrounding her. Here, in St. James's Park, at the
Exhibition, in the picture galleries, many young ladies,
pretty, well dressed, wore spectacles, I put aside
several other traits ; but it is clear to me that they
possess in a much lesser degree than Frenchwomen the
sentiment which ordains that at every moment, and
before every person, a woman stands with shouldered
arms, and feels herself on parade. However, natural
ness is less restrained, and breaks forth more freely.
Recently, at thirty miles from London, we took a long
walk with the daughters of the family, and we climbed
a rather steep height. Still very young, they are true
goats, always leaping, even when ascending, upon the
sharp slopes and among the stones. Exuberance and
freedom of the circulation, and of the animal forces ;
nothing feminine ; in the carriage, before arriving,
their noisy babble, excitedness, their sparkling eyes,
above all their energy, the emphasis of their pronun
ciation, gave the idea of merry English boys during
the holidays. The youngest had bright crimson cheeks
like a rosy apple ; both of them had full jaws and large
feet. Miss Charlotte, aged fifteen, told me that she
could easily walk twenty miles. They first learned
German from a nurse ; but they do not know French
yet. " Yet you have a French governess ?" " Yes, but
when one is stupid ! " Then an outburst of laughter.
Certainly, self- love does not constrain them ; they
never dream of acting a part; tall and developed as
we see them, daughters of a nobleman who is wealthy,
they are children still ; not one of their ideas, not one of

ENGLISH GIRLS AND AUTHORESSES. 87
their gestures, betrays the woman. Neither precocious
nor worldly ; these two traits coincide and engender a
multitude of others. I can bear the testimony of my
eyes to the great freedom which they enjoy ; I see
many of them in the morning in Hyde Park who have
come to take a turn on horseback, without other com
panion than a groom. Two days after arriving in the
country I was asked to give my arm to a young
daughter of the family. In order to escort her to a
place a mile off. S  , who has spent a year here,
considers this loyal and free Intercourse charming ; a
gentleman to whom he was introduced said, " Come to
my house and I wiU make you acquainted with my
daughters." They are more amiable and honest com
rades. One rides with them on horseback, one accom
panies them to archery meetings, one chats familiarly
with them on all, or nearly all, subjects ; one laughs
without afterthought ; it would be impossible even for a
coxcomb to treat them otherwise than as if they were
his sisters. At Manchester two of my French friends
went to dine at a house. At eleven in the evening
they were requested to escort home two young girls
who were there. All the four entered a cab, and rode
for half-an-hour. They chatted gaily, and without
any trouble or embarrassment on either side. Thanks
to these manners, the man most inured to the harsh
nesses and vlUanles of life, must keep a corner of "his
soul for poetry, for tender sentiments. In this we are
deficient ; an Englishman who has travelled among
us is astonished and scandalised to see men in Paris
staring women in the face, not yielding the pavement
to them. It Is necessary to have lived among foreigners
to know how much our manners, our remarks on this
subject are displeasing, and even offensive ; they con-

88 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
sider-us bag-men, fops, and blackguards. The truth is
that we feel with difficulty the sentiment of respect ; sex,
condition, education, do not create as great distinctions
among us as among other nations. Moreover, in addi
tion to individuals being more equal among us, they
experience the necessity in a higher degree of being
sensible of this equality.
Dined with F  . The ladies explained to me the
training of young girls. In well-to-do or wealthy
families they all learn French, German, Italian, in
general from infancy, through nurses and foreign
governesses. Commonly they begin with French ;
nearly all speak it fluently, and several without any
accent ; I have cited the sole exception I have encoun
tered. They read Dante, Manzoni, Schiller, and Goethe,
our classics, Chateaubriand, and some moderns. Many
learn a little Latin ; that will be serviceable for the
education of their children, or of their young brothers.
Several learn natural history, botany, mineralogy,
geology ; they have a taste for aU natural things ; and
in the country, at the sea-side, in their frequent jour
neys, they can see minerals, herbs, shells, form collec
tions. Besides, that suits the English habit, which
consists in storing up facts ; thus they are more
instructed, and more solidly instructed, than among us.
Another motive is that many of the young girls never
marry, and that it is requisite to prepare an occupation
for them beforehand. Lady M  cited the case of
a family in her neighbourhood, where there are five
unmarried daughters, all beautiful ; the older ones are
thirty-five and thirty-six; this Is because they have
been brought up in luxury, and have scarcely any
dowry. Frequently a father only gives his daughter a
sum equivalent to the income of his eldest son and

ENGLISH GIRLS AND AUTHORESSES. 89
heir; and, moreover, he obliges the gentleman who
offers himself, to make a settlement on his daughter of
£200, £300, £400 sterling yearly, whereof she will
have the entire control when married, and which will
be her pin-money. This condition keeps away many
suitors ; besides, it is granted that one must marry
for love, settled liking ; now, it often happens that one
does not feel this liking, or that one does not inspire
it. Hence many girls miss the chance, and remain
spinsters. There are some in almost every family, the
position of aunt being very well filled. They help to
rear the children, superintend a part of the household,
preserve-making or the linen cupboard, mske herba
riums, paint in water-colours, read, write, become
learned. Many compose moral romances, and some
times very good novels; Miss Yonge, Miss Kavanagh,
Miss Bronte, the author of " John Halifax," Miss
Thackeray, and others, are known ; talent is frequent
among authoresses, there are some of the first class —
Mrs. Gaskell, Miss Evans, Elizabeth Browning ; the
two last possess genius. Reckon again the trans
lations : numerous German and French works have
been translated — and well translated — by women.
Others write in magazines, compose small popular
treatises, join a society, teach classes of poor children.
The constant concern Is to find an employment for
their faculties, or to acquire a talent which serves as a
remedy for weariness. The highest rank is not absolved.
Witness the occupations of the Roj'al Family : the
Queen and her daughters send water-colours, engrav
ings, drawings done by themselves, to charity sales ;
Prince Albert was one of the most cultivated and most
active men in the kingdom ; each one thus takes up
one or two special subjects, labours at some improve-

go NOTES ON ENGLAND.
ment in agriculture, in science — some beneficent work
or institution.
Thus life is serious, and all, even young girls,
know that they must prepare themselves and provide
themselves for it. N  , who comes to England
every year, visited one of his old friends, wealthy, and
the father of a family, who said to him — " I am put
out ; my daughter Jane is twenty- four, does not marry,
frequently shuts herself up in the library, and reads
solid works." " What dower will you give her ? "
" Two thousand pounds sterling." " And your sons ?"
" The eldest will have the estate ; the second a mine
which yields two thousand pounds." " Give five thou
sand pounds to Miss Jane." This phrase opened up
vistas to the father ; he gave her the five thousand
pounds. Miss Jane has been married, she has a baby;
she was made to be a mother ; it would have been a
pity to have converted her into a learned, spectacled
spinster ; if suitors do not offer themselves it is because
the style of the house is too great. As for me, what I
admire here is the coolness, the good sense, the courage
of the young girl who, seeing herself in a blind alley,
alters her course without a murmur, and silently sets
herself to study. In none of the houses which I have
entered in London or In the country have I seen a
journal of the fashions. One of my English friends
who has sojourned in France informs me that hefe no
well brought up woman reads such platitudes. On the
contrary, a special review, "The English Women's
Review," contains in the number of which I am turn
ing over the pages, statements and letters on emigra
tion to Australia, articles on public instruction in
France, and other essays equally important ; no novels,
neither chit-chat about theatres, nor review of fashions.

ENGLISH GIRLS AND AUTHORESSES. gi
&c. The whole is serious — substantial ; witness as a
contrast in a provincial mansion among us the journals
of fashions with illuminated sketches, patterns of the
last style of bonnets, explanations of a piece of em
broidery, little sentimental stories, honeyed compliments
to female readers, and, above all, the correspondence of
the directress with her subscribers on the last page,
a masterpiece of absurdity and inanity. It is shameful
that a human intellect can digest such aliment. A
dress badly made is more bearable than an empty
head. I copy the titles of some articles, all written by
women In the Transactions of the National Association
for the Promotion of Social Science. "Education by
Means of Workhouses," by Louisa Twining ; " District
Schools for the English Poor," by Barbara CoUett ;
" Application of the Principles of Education to Lower-
class Schools," by Mary Carpenter ; " Actual State of
the Colony of Mettray," by Florence Hill ; " Hospital
Statistics," by Florence Nightingale ; " The Condition
of Working Women in England and France," by
Bessie Parkes ; " Slavery in America, and its Influence
upon Great Britain," by Sarah Redmond ; " Improve
ment of Nurses in Agricultural Districts," by Mrs.
Wiggins; "Report of the Society for Furnishing
Employment to Women," by Jane Crowe. Most of
these authoresses are not married, several are secretaries
of active associations, of which the Review I have just
cited is the central organ ; one of these associations
supplies women with work, another visits the work
houses, another the sick. All these articles are instruc
tive and useful, the custom of keeping classes, of
visiting the poor, of conversing with mien, discussion,
study, personal observation of facts, have yielded their
fruits ; they know how to observe and reason ; they go

92 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
to the bottom of things, and they comprehend the true
principle of all improvement. Mary Carpenter says,
"It is necessary above all, and as the first aim, to
develop and direct the infant's will, enrol him as the
principal soldier, as the most serviceable of all the
co-operators in the education which is given to him."
One cannot be corrected, improved but by oneself,
instinctive personal effort, self-government are indis
pensable ; the moral rule must not be applied from
without, but spring up from within. Whoever has
perused English novels knows with what precision and
what justice these authoresses depict characters ; fre
quently a person who has lived in the country, in a
small set, busied with domestic cares, finds herself
obliged to write a novel in order to gain her bread,
and one discovers that she understands the human
heart better than a professional psychologist. To be
instructed, learned, useful, acquire convictions, impart
them to others, employ powers and employ them well,
that is something ; one may laugh if one likes, say that
these manners form schoolmistresses, female pedants,
blue- stockings, and not women. As you please; but
contrast this with our empty provincial idleness, the
weariness of our ladies, the life of an old maid who
rears canaries, hawks scandal, does crotchet-work, and
attends every service. This is the more Important
because in England all are not female pedants. I
know four or five ladles or young girls who write;
they continue none the less pleasing and natural.
Most of the authoresses whom I have cited are, on the
authority of my friends, domestic ladies of very simple
habits. I have named two among them who possess
genius; a great French artist whose name I could
mention, and who has spent several days with each of

ENGLISH GIRLS AND AUTHORESSES. 93
them, did not know that they had talent ; not once did a
hint of authorship, the need of speaking of oneself and
of one's books, occur during twenty- four hours of talk.
M  , being invited to the country, discovered that
the mistress of the house knew much more Greek than
himself, apologised, and retired from the field; then,
out of pleasantry, she wrote down his English sentence
in Greek. Note that this female Hellenist is a woman
of the world, and even stylish. Moreover, she has
nine daughters, two nurses, two governesses, servants
in proportion, a large, well-appointed house, frequent
and numerous visitors ; throughout all this, perfect
order ; never noise or fuss ; the machine appears to
move of its own accord. These are gatherings of faculties
and of contrasts which might make us reflect. In
France we believe too readUy that if a woman ceases to
be a doU she ceases to be a woman.

94

VII.
ENGLISH MARRIAGES AND MARRIED WOMEN.
A CONVERSATION with several Englishmen about
marriage ; they have lived abroad, and I think
them impartial; besides, their statements agree. A
young English girl will not marry unless through
inclination ; she weaves a romance for herself, and
this dream forms part of her pride, of her chastity;
th«s many, and of exalted character, think they have
fallen short should they marry without experiencing
the enthusiasm suited to an absolute preference. To
marrv is to abandon oneself wholly and for ever.
Witness, with regard to this deep sentiment, the
novels by ladies — above all, " John Halifax, Gentle
man," and others by the same authoress. These are
the theories of a pure, exclusive mind, which seems to
have traversed the whole world without receiving, I
will not say a stain, but the shadow of one.
In this romance of the heart, the young girl con
tinues English, that is to say, positive and practical.
She does not dream of outpourings, of sentimental
walks, hand-in-hand in the moonlight, but of her
share in an undertaking. She wishes to be the helper,
the useful partner of her husband in his long journeys,
in his difficult enterprises, in all his affairs whether

MARRIAGES AND MARRIED WOMEN. 95
wearying or dangerous. Such, for example, were Mrs.
Livingstone and Lady Baker ; the one traversed Africa
from side to side ; the other went to the sources of the
Nile, and narrowly escaped dying in consequence. I
have seen an EngUsh Bishop of a large island, a
country of beasts and cannibals ; his poor wife carried
on her countenance the marks of that terrible cUmate.
A young girl of the neighbourhood, rich and of good
family, is at this moment making her preparations,
packing up her piano, &c. ; the gentleman she is
about to marry will take her to Australia ; she will
return once only in five or six years to kiss her old
parents. Another young lady of twenty-four, very
weak and delicate ; her husband is in the Punjaub
(£6,000 of salary, £1,200 for the expenses of his
establishment) ; she has been for two years in Europe
with an affection of the throat, which will return as
soon as she returns to India ; four young children ;
they are sent to Europe before they are two years old ;
the Indian climate kills them ; there are here entire
boarding schools here recruited by these little Anglo-
Indians. Very often a lady, daughter of a marquis or
baronet, having a dowry of £3,000 or £3,250, marries
a simple gentleman, and descends of her own free will
from a state of fortune, of comfort, of society, into a
lower or much inferior grade. She accustoms herself
to this. The reverse of the medal is the fishery for
husbands. Worldly and vulgar characters do not fail
in this respect ; certain young girls use and abuse
their freedom in order to settle themselves well. A
young man, rich and noble, is much run after. Being
too well received, flattered, tempted, provoked, he
becomes suspicious and remains on his guard. This is
not the case in France ; the young girls are too cloeely

96 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
watched to make the first advance ; there the game
never becomes the sportsman. Commonly, the dowries
are very small. I have been told of several families
in which the eldest son has one or two hundred thou
sand pounds sterling ; the daughters receive from
three to five thousand. However, in order to marry,
it is necessary that they should feel a passion. Many
do not marry in consequence of a thwarted inclination,
and continue to live with their eldest brother. Every
Englishman has a bit of romance in his heart with
regard to marriage ; he pictures a home with the wife
of his choice, domestic talk, children ; there his little
universe is enclosed, all his own ; so long as he
does not have it he is dissatisfied, being in this matter
the reverse of a Frenchman, to whom marriage is
generally an end, a makeshift. Frequently he is
obliged to wait, especially if a younger son, because
he has not sufficient as yet wherewith to maintain his
wife. He goes to India, to Australia, labours with
all his might, returns, and marries ; here the passions
are tenacious and deep. When an Englishman is in
love, one of my entertainers said to me, he is capable
of anything. Thackeray has very well marked the
intensity and the persistence of this sentiment in his
portrait of Major Dobbin, the lover of Amelia, in
" Vanity Fair ;" he waits fifteen years without hope,
because for him there Is but one woman In the world.
This causes silent rendings of the heart and long inner
tragedies. Numbers of young men experience it;
and the protracted chastity, the habits of taciturn con
centration, a capacity for emotion greater and less
scattered than among us, carries their passions to the
extreme. Frequently it ends in nothing, because
they are not beloved, or because the dispari*^'' of rank is

MARRIAGES AND MARRIED WOMEN. 97
too great, or because thej^have not money enough where
with to maintain a family — a very costly thing here.
Then they become half insane ; travel to distract their
'minds, proceed to the ends of the earth. One who
was mentioned to me, very distinguished, was sup
planted by a titled rival; during two years apprehen
sions were felt for his reason. He went to China and
to Australia ; at present he occupies a high post, he
has been made a baronet, he presides over important
business, but he Is unmarried ; from time to time he
steals off, makes a journey on foot, in order to be alone
and not to have any one to converse with.
I have previously noted that young people see and
associate together in perfect freedom, without being
watched, they can thus study and understand each
other as much as they please ; foi' four months, for
five months and more, they ride on horseback and
chat together during several successive seasons in the
country. When the young man has made up his
mind it is to the young girl that he addresses himself
first, asking the consent of the parents in the second
place ; this is the opposite of the French custom,
where the man would consider it indelicate to utter a
single clear or vague phrase to the young girl before
having spoken to her parents. In this matter the
English find fault with us, ridicule our marriages sum-
marUy settled before a lawyer. Yet C  , who is
English, and knows France well, allows that their
love-matches end more than once in discord, and our
marriages of arrangement in concord. The wife's
dowry is nearly always placed in the hands of trustees,
who take charge of it on their own responsibility,
handing over the Interest only to the family; in
o-eneral this income is the wife's pin-money : with ii
H

98 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
she must dress herself and dress her children. The
fortune becomes thus a kind of dotal or paraphernaUa
fund, secured against the accidents which may happen
to the husband. This precaution Is taken, because,
according to law, aU the wife's property is engulfed
in that of the husband ; without this clause, she would
enter the married state deprived of all share in the
common fund ; she can hold nothing in her own right ;
she is a simple Infant in presence of her husband.
Such is one of the reasons inducing Mr. J. Stuart
MiU to protest so vigorously against trhe subjection of
women. In fact they are kept in subjection here by
the law, reUgion, manners, and much more closely so
than among us. The husband is their lord, and very
often he accepts the title seriously ; as the wife brings
but little money into the establishment, and as her
small share remains apart, he thinks himself autho
rised to say nothing to her about his concerns. . Some
times she Is unacquainted with what he does, how he
makes the money which he acquires ; he gives so much
monthly for the household expenses, and renders no
account of the rest. Whether he speculates, buUds,
sells, or buys, is none of her business : frequently ruin
arrives without her being able to foresee It. She is
merely a housekeeper ; she must not busy herself
about anything save her household and her children.
Most frequently she contents herself with that part ;
owing to her sonscience and education she is gentle
and submissive. Nevertheless, on the avowal of my
friends, this inequality has grave inconveniences ; the
husband is often a despot, and, should he die, the wife,
kept all her life in ignorance and dependence, is not
capable, as with us, of clearing up the affairs, of govern
ing the children, of replacing the head of the family.

MARRIAGES AND MARRIED WOMEN. 99
Marriage is encompassed with profound respect, and
ns regards this matter, opinion is unbending; it is quite
sufficient to read books, newspapers, especially the
writings in which anonymous authors indulge in the
greatest license, for example, romances, comic journals ;
adultery is never excused ; even In the latitude of inti
mate conversations between man and man, it is always
held up as a crime. Breaches occur, of which I
shall speak later, among the class of tradesmen ; and in
the lower order of the nobility which is fashionable,
travels, and copies Continental manners. But, in tha
mass of the nation, among well brought up persons in
the great world, the wives are almost always faithful,
C  teUs me that I might remain here for eighteen
months, and visit aU the drawing-rooms, without meet
ing an exception, one only is cited among the highest
class. More such cases occurred flfty years ago, in the
time of Byron and Alfieri ; since then, opinion has
become severe, and the Queen has laboured with all
her might in this direction, firstly, by her example,
secondly by her influence ; she excludes ladies of doubt
ful reputation from her Court ; the extreme urgency and
pressure of affairs were needed during the Crimean
war for her to tolerate under the same roof with her, at
Windsor, a statesman known as a profligate. Another
guaranty is the dread of publicity and of the news
papers. On this head our free and rakish manners
grievously offend them. C  related to me that in
a Parisian circle he heard a man of the world observe
to another — " Is it true, then, that your wife has got
a lover ? " This remark he considers monstrous, and
he is right. A book like Balzac's " Physiologic du
Mariage" would give great offence; perhaps the author
would be prosecuted by the Society for the Suppression

100 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
of Vice, and probably it would not have been accepted by
any publisher. As regards our ordinrry novels, a liberal
review, the National, could not find a strong enough
expression wherewith to designate them — "nameless
ignominy, the morality of stockjobbers and lorettes."
They forget three things. In the first place, these
irregularities are not habitual among us, excepting in
the case of fashionable upstarts ; they very rarely reach
the rich or well-to-do middle-class which possesses
family traditions. Besides, in the provinces, life goes
on openly, and scandal-mongering, which is greatly
feared, performs the part of the police. Finally, the
Frenchman flaunts that which a foreigner conceals ; he
has a horror of hypocrisy, and he prefers to be a
braggart of vice. According to my friends, the good
conduct of English ladies is explainable by the foUow-
ing causes : 1. They are more habituated to take care
of themselves, having been free from their Infancy.
2. They are less accessible to Illusion, to enthusiastic
dreams, because they have mixed with young men, and
had some experience of the world. 3. They have habits
of reflection, and a fund of good sense, because they
have received a more serious education, having learned
several languages, gained a smattering of science,
travelled nearly always in England, and often abroad,
and heard their father discuss politics and grave sub
jects with his friends. Besides, Protestantism develops
habits of reflection and reasoning. Lastly, the novels
are always moral ; and in contact with the poor, in
charitable societies, they have gathered some know
ledge of real life. 4. They live for eight or nine
months of the year in the country, and are there
sheltered against temptation. 5. They have many
children, who occupy Heir time; a full nurserv, with

MARRIAGES AND MARRIED WOMEN, loi
its train of nurses and governesses, requires continual
supervision. 6. They give themselves all manner of
occupations in addition. Sunday schools, country sew
ing classes, visits to the poor, botany, mineralogy,
collections of plants and of butterflies, reading. Every
family In easy circumstances, when in the country,
receives in addition to the Times, in addition to other
journals and very solid reviews, numbers of new books
sent from the circulating library. Mudie's, which is
the principal one, purchases one hundred and fifty
thousand volumes yearly ; it took three thousand copies
of Livingstone's " Travels in Africa ; " two thousand
five hundred of Macaulay's " History of England." A
quantity of serious books arrive in this way, and are
renewed monthly on the library table in country seats.
Among these books the most common are works of
political economy, natural history, history, and, above
all, travels. Each year scores of them are published.
Next to the pleasure of travelling, the greatest plea
sure for an Englishman is to read a volume of travel ;
in this way he augments his store of facts. The ladies
have the same taste ; all those with whom I am ac
quainted have visited France, Italy, Germany ; a young
wife with whom I dined yesterday will pass the winter
in Rome, the spring In Jerusalem ; those who have
delicate chests go to Cairo as readily as we go to Nice.
During the journey they take notes, keep a journal ;
on their return, some of these are printed, others are
communicated to their friends in manuscript. They
thus keep the globe perpetually at their finger ends ;
and I have seen those who, with a knowledge of tha
subject, interested themselves in the settlements of
Australia, the oil springs of Pennsylvania, the revolt
of the Taepings in China, and the annual massacres of

102 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
Dahomey. Add lastly, the great amount of physical
movement and the talents which are cultivated ; there
are always one or two painters in water-colour in a
family, and every one rides on horseback once a day.
By these occupations the mind is engaged, the time
is filled, and that closes the door against unhealthy
ideas. These are the auxiliaries of the moral principle ;
but the principle itself must also be taken to account.
In France It is based on the sentiment of honour ; in
England on the idea of duty. Now, the former is
rather arbitrary ; Its reach varies in different persons.
One piques himself upon being rigid on a certain point,
and thinks himself free on all the rest ; in the circle of
bad actions, he cuts off a segment from which he ex
cludes himself; but this part varies according to his
preferences — for example, he will be truthful in speak
ing, but not In writing, or the reverse. My honour
consists of that wherein I place my glory, and I can
place it In this as well as in that. On the contrary,
the idea of duty Is strict, and does not admit of the
slightest compromise. The Englishwoman knows that
in marrying she has vowed fidelity, and the remem
brance of this remains anchored In her conscience.
According to my friends, this anchorage is so strong
that frequently after a slip the wife breaks off altogether;
all her past flows back upon her like a flood, tiU she is
well-nigh choked with shame and sorrow. Besides,
she has not the elasticity of mind, the manual dexterity,
necessary for harmoniously conducting an intrigue and
a household ; ambiguity is repugnant to her decided
character ; division revolts her ; the obligation to lie
unceasingly Is Insuppsrtable to her. She insists upon
being carried off in order to bring about a divorce.
I continue to reproduce conversations. I find nothing

MARRIAGES AND MARRIED WOMEN. 103
more agreeable than an evening spent in this way with
one or two sincere, friendly, unprejudiced interlocutors,
who have Uved and travelled. National self-love does
not interfere ; one talks to learn, not to compete or
shine. One ventures to give the minor characteristic
fact, the precise and genuine detail ; each supplies, as
briefly as possible, the cream of his experience, his pro
visions made during a lengthened period, his choice
dishes. The foUowing are those of my friends. My
mind has never been so fully or so well fed ; I con
tinued questioning and listening to them tiU one
o'clock in the morning. ' GeneraUy an English woman
is more thoroughly beautiful and healthy than a
Frenchwoman. The principal cause of this is the
hygiene ; the children ride on horseback, are much In
the open air, do not dine with their parents, do not eat
sweetmeats. Moreover, the nerves are less excited,
and the temperament Is calmer, more enduring, less
exacting ; what Is the most wearing in these days, are
incessant and unsatisfied desires. For example, in the
Crimea the French wounded recovered less frequently
than the English, because they resigned themselves
less rapidly. This Is stiU truer In the cultivated class,
notably among the wives ; In their case the uneasy or
ardent brain deadens and dries up the springs of life ;
in our day, a wife must accept her condition, if she
wishes to be well. On the other hand, the English
woman is less agreeable ; she does not dress for her
husband, she does not know how to make a pretty
woman of herself; she has no talent for rendering her
self fascinating and enticing at home ; she is unac
quainted with a number of fine and deUcate graces ;
she considers it unworthy of her to employ minor
means for re-awakening love or fondness ; more fre-

104 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
quently still she is not clever enough to invent them.
She puts on handsome new dresses, is most careful
about cleanliness, but nothing more; she is not at
tractive ; one soon wearies beside her. Fancy a very
beautiful pink peach, slightly juicy, and alongside of
it a perfumed strawberry fuR of flavour. It is the
same with respect to the other affections, B 
says that they have more charm in France when they
are sincere and strong. In all things there is a turn, a
manner, a degree ; among the sentiments these consist
of forethought, attentions, certain phrases, the tone in
which they are uttered, the considerations, the care-
takings which constantly renew and diversify the softer
emotions. According to C  , an Englishwoman is incapable
of presiding in a drawing-room as cleverly as a French
woman ; I mean a drawing-room like those of Paris in
which one Is amused ; he barely knows two or three
married ladies of his country who could do it. The
Englishwoman has not sufficient tact, promptitude,
suppleness to accommodate herself to persons and
things, to vary a greeting, comprehend a hint, in
sinuate praise, make each guest feel that she thinks
his presence of much consequence. She is affable only,
she merely possesses kindness and serenity. For my
self, I desire nothing more, and I can Imagine nothing
better. But it Is clear that a woman of the world —
that Is to say a person who wishes to make her house a
place of meeting frequented and valued by the most
distinguished persons of every species — requires to
have a more varied and a more delicate talent. C 
greatly admires the facUity with which a young mar
ried lady among us gets to know the world. A month
after her marriage she knows how to do the honours to

MARRIAGES AND MARRIED WOMEN. 105
everybody in her house. In like manner a shop
keeper's wife takes her place at the desk the day after
her wedding — understands the tricks of the trade,
chats, smiles, retains the customers. I have seen tho
contrast in a restaurant at Dieppe. The French hus
band, always attentive and smiling, sped around the
tables bowing and scraping, and seemed to take
pleasure in waiting on the people ; his English wife,
stiff and solemn, said in an icy tone to the persons
rising from the table, " 'Ave yer paid, sir ? " She
never suspected that such a question put in this way
could annoy. As a compensation, my friends said that
French politeness wr,s but veneer ¦ — • an ornament ;
many foreigners misinterpret it. Y^'ou have received
them well, they think you their friend, and are greatly
surprised to be forgotten by you three days afterwards.
Our obUging demonstrations are not all the effect of
true sympathy, but of natural goodness ; we perform
them, owing to education, custom, as a matter of
honour, and even a little through egotism. They are
a proof of our good breeding; we vaguely feel that
the same will be done us in return ; for a quarter of
an hour we enter -?.n agreeable atmosphere of respect
and mutual civilities ; we lay hold of this pleasant
opportunity, and we give ourselves up to it, without
its leading to any result in our eyes. A piece of polite
ness is repaid by a piece of politeness, as one anecdote
by another anecdote ; I have repaid you ; the ex
change made, we are quits; I go my way, you go
yours ; neither of us has anything more to claim from
the other, save at the next meeting a smile and a bow.
The Englishman is more thoroughly cordial and ser
viceable. He puts himself to Inconvenience for the
foreigner who is introduced to him ; he goes about

io6 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
to serve him ; he gives himself trouble on his behalf.
As weU as I can decide from my own experience, this
judgment is correct. In the first place, I have never
found the EngUsh selfish and discourteous, as they are
represented to be. In London and in the country I
I have inquired my way hundreds of times ; every one
pointed it out, and several gave themselves trouble,
accompanying me far enough to put me in the right
path. In an omnibus or in a railway carriage, when I
have requested my neighbour to Inform me, he has
always done so with good grace ; when I attempted to
converse, he did not smile at my blunders of speech,
and he talked with me in a kindly fashion. One
evening lately, when on foot at some distance from my
hotel, a gentleman whom I accosted wished to accom
pany me back, spoke in praise of France, asked me
what I thought of London, and shook hands with me
at parting. Another, on a like occasion, made me
enter his carriage and drove me to a cab-stand. The
newspapers announcing the arrival of three thousand
French Orpheonists, remarked that they must be
welcomed with heartiness, in order that they might
return home with a good opinion of England. On no
single occasion has a policeman, an official, a cabman,
or conductor been rude or insolent to me. But what
is altogether admirable, and perhaps unique in Europe,
Is their manner of practising hospitality ; I cannot
think without grateful feelings of that which I have
received. The person to whom one presents a letter
of introduction does not consider himself quits by an
invitation to dinner ; he gives you information, acts
as your guide, traces out your plan, charges himself
with occupying and amusing you, takes you to his
Club, introduces you to his friends, takes you to his

MARRIAGES AND MARRIED WOMEN. 107
parents, introduces you to his set of acquaintances,
invites you to visit him at his country house, and
gives you other letters of introduction when you take
your departure ; you end by saying to him, " This is
too much ; I .shall never be able to make a return in
Paris for what you have done for me here." The like
reception is met with among those to whom you have
been introduced in the second place, and the same in
succession ; sometimes, after an hour's conversation,
the gentleman whom you see for the first time books
you to come and spend a week at his country seat.
Should you go, you will be treated as a member of the
family. StiU more striking is the opening of the
heart ; frequently at the end of one or two days a
gentleman does not hesitate to tell you about his
private affairs. I requested information concerning
domestic matters. Sometimes my host. In order to be
precise, told me the amount of his income, of his
expenses, the amount of his rent, the history of his
fortune, of his family, of his marriage, a quantity of
minor domestic and personal facts. Persons in society
are more reticent in France.
We seek for the causes of this difference ; the
following is a summary of them : — The Englishman
is hospitable ; 1st. On account of weariness : most
of the persons in society live in the country for eight
months of the year ; sometimes at a distance from a
town, and very soUtarUy ; they have need of con
versation, new ideas. 2nd. As an effect of social
customs ; in London they scarcely speak ; they live
moving about ; they remain too short a time, some
times less than three months; there is too great a
crowd, and too much to do ; the country-house is the
true drawing-room, the place for associating together.

io8 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
3rd. As an effect of domestic habits ; many children,
many servants ; in a well-appointed great house order
and a certain reserve are indispensable ; the habitual
stoicism of characters and manners operates in the same
sense. Then, the presence of a stranger does not have
the result, as among us, of interrupting acquaintance
ship, stopping the general impulse, the gaiety, the chit
chat, compelling people to be on their guard, to restrain
their familiarity and their heedlessness. There is only
another chair filled at table, in the drawing-room,
nothing more ; the tone has not changed. 4th. By
the arrangement for comfort and the service : the or
ganisation Is perfect, and the machine in order ; the
domestics are punctual, the rooms ready, the hours
fixed ; there is nothing to undo or do over again ; nor,
above all, is there any makeshift required to entertain
a visitor. 5th. By kindliness, humanity, and even by
conscience ; to be useful is a duty, and a foreigner is
so thoroughly lost, so little at his ease in the new
country where he has landed ! He ought to be helped.

VIIL

ENGLISH HOUSEHOLDS,

rriHIS leads to a consideration of the interiors. Rule
-*- and discipline are more strongly felt therein
than among us. In this department, as in the others,
the meshes of the social net-work are loosened in
France and tightly drawn in England.
I have three households in view ; in the one are
seven domestics, cook and scullery maid, two house
maids, lady's maid, coachman, valet ; in the second,
fifteen ; in the third, eighteen. A man servant has
from £40 to £50 wages, and, if he be on board wages,
which is common enough in London, twelve shillings
a week are added for his board. Each has his post
rigorously defined. The work is divided, no one
either trespasses on, or trusts to another. For
example, in the last of the houses which I have
just cited, there is a special man for sweeping, carry
ing coal, lighting and keeping up the fires. There
are two classes of servants, the lower and the upper,
the latter are responsible and transmit the master's
orders ; at their head is the butler for the men, and
the head lady's maid for the women; if a groom
should appear with a dirty coat, his master says
nothing to him, but reprimands the butler. These

I lo NOTES ON ENGLAND.
upper servants are a species of sergeants, who have an
opinion and the authority of their position : defined
distribution of employment, hierarchy of powers con
stitute the leading traits of a workable organisation.
And the latter traits complete the former. These
servants stand on their dignity ; they will enter none
but a respectable mansion. S  , requiring to add a
housemaid to his staff, thought of a country girl, who,
not having been married, had a child ; but before
taking her, he placed the matter before his servants.
They consulted together, and, owing to the good
character given of her, admitted the poor girl among
them. Generally their manners are correct, though
many are young, unmarried, and under the same roof;
in S  's whole life but one accident had happened
in his house. On the other hand they do their work
conscientiously, with perfect punctuality and regu
larity, at the appointed time, without fail; they have a
watchword which they obey to the letter. However, it
appears as if the machine works of its own accord ; the
masters have scarcely any need to interfere; on this
head S  maintains again that at bottom, in an
EngUshman, there is the sense of duty, that this senti
ment reigns in the kitchen and the ante-chamber as
well as in the ship or the workshop, that none other
reconciles the subordinate with subordination. Two
circumstances concur in alleviating it. The ser
vants retain their share of independence, and they
cleave to it. In London many of them have a club, an
association whereof the members agree not to continue
longer than two consecutive years in the same house ;
this is in order to leave less power to the masters. More
over, as their hours are regulated, they are their own
masters during the intervals of their service. They

ENGLISH HOUSEHOLDS. 1 1 1
have their hall, a large room wherein they take their
meals and sit. In the house of which I spoke, their
dinner and their breakfast are served half an hour
before those of their masters. They have a smaU
library for their i^ge, draughts, chess ; after dinner
they may go out ; one only is kept to answer the beU.
In order to obtain much, too much must not be de
manded ; he who commands must provide for the phy
sical and moral welfare of his subordinates. If he
desire the obedience of the heart, he must be their
leader, a true chief, a general and responsible official,
the accepted and authorised governor of their con
duct. In this respect, on Sunday evening, he is their
spiritual guide, their chaplain ; they may be seen
entering in a row, the women in front, the men bo-
hind, with seriousness, gravity, and taking their places
In the drawing-room. The family and visitors are
assembled. The master reads aloud a short sermon;
next a prayer ; then everyone kneels or bends for
ward, the face turned towards the wall ; lastly, he
repeats the Lord's Prayer, and, clause by clause, the
worshippers respond. This done, the servants file off,
returning in the same order, silently, meditatively. I
have observed them several times — not a muscle of their
countenance moved. By this community and direction
of the moral sentiment, the master succeeds in filling
his true place. In France he is very far from possessing
in his house, amongst his servants, and even amongst
his chUdren, legitimate authority and entire authority.
I note at once the inconvenience, the opposite side. In
the habitual commerce of life the English are not easy
going; conditions among them are separated by a bar
rier, and in place of making a passage through it, they
strew it with thorns. For example, Mr. N  , an

112 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
Englishman settled in France, chose a French tutor
for his children. At the end of a month Mrs. N 
ceased to find him to her taste, spoke no more to him,
communicated with him by letters only. One evening,
in the drawing-room, Mr. N  went to sleep, and
Mrs. N  began to read. The yoimg man not
daring to take up a book, and not being able to con
verse with any one, ended, after many struggles, by
going to sleep also. Next day she said to him, in a
dry and arbitrary tone, " Sir, your conduct last even
ing was very improper ; I hope that it wUl not be
repeated." Some days afterwards a young lady being
invited with whom he was acquainted, he went and
seated himself next to her at table. Mrs. N  said
aloud to him, " Sir, that is not your place ; come and
sit beside your pupil." He refused, left the table,
quitted the house, and demanded, according to agree
ment, a year's salary. This was refused. A lawsuit
followed. Mr. N  was defeated. This recalls
ail anecdote of the last century. Lord A  having
engaged a French tutor, advised him not to speak any
thing but French to his children. " I am charmed, my
lord, to find that you lay such store on that tongue."
"Sir, we despise it, but we wish that in France our
children should know how to speak as well as the
natives." One can picture the smiling, effusive air of
the Frenchman in quest of a compliment, and the im
movable features, the haughty tone of the Englishman,
who returns him a slap in the face.
The post of governesses in England is not a pleasant
one ; witness on this head the novels of Charlotte
Bronte, The majority of those I have seen, had
assumed a wooden face ; nothing is more surprising
when such a face is youthful. The tone, the demea-

ENGLISH HOUSEHOLDS. 1 1 3
nour, the whole is artificial and made to order ; com
posed and maintained in such a way as never to give
an opening ; even after several days of famUiarity, and
out of the house in which they teach, they remain on
the defensive; the habit of self- observation and of
control is too strong ; one might say they were soldiers
on parade. As to the servants, their expression of
humble and subdued respect greatly surpasses that of
those whom we can have known ; it is even unpleasant
to observe this attitude of a man face to face with a man.
There is the same fund of stiffness in the inter
course of relations. A son when speaking famUiarly
of his father, says, my governor. In fact, by law and
custom, he Is the governor of his house, which is his
castle, and of the garrison that lodges there. Except
in the case of an entaU, he can disinherit his children,
and it has been seen that his wife Is subject to him.
Mr. W  , a rich landed proprietor, and a gentleman
of the old school, has, among other children, a son In
consumption. The poor young man, who returned
' from Nice and felt himself dying, stopped at Boulogne;
he wished to end his days with his father, in the house
wherein he was born ; but he neither durst go thither
without being invited, nor even ask permission. His
mother, who is Ul and wishes to embrace her son again,.
dare not take upon herself to rejoin hjm. At length,
one of these days, he received a letter from his father,
and set off on his journey. The inequality of positions is
another cause of coldness. Between the eldest son, who
wiU be a nobleman with an income of £8,000 a year,
and the younger son, who will have £200 a year, who
inhabits two furnished rooms, and spends the day in a
machine shop in order to become an engineer, the
distance is too great; real familiarity, feUowship, is

114 NOTES ON ENGLAND
impossible. Even when similarly educated they feel
their separation. Two brothers were mentioned to me
who were both at the University of Oxford, but the
elder brother had one hundred pounds sterling a year
more than the younger. Final cause of division is the
Independencfe of the children : a son, a daughter, can
marry without their parents' consent, and very often
exercise this right ; hence occur squabbles which last a
lifetime. Meantime, the father knows that his child can
leave him, run directly counter to his wiU in the most
mortifying aaanner. Frequently he says : " Since you
have the right, you must take the consequences."
Reasoning thus, many, above all those who have a
legion of children, do not trouble themselves about
marrying their, daughters ; they leave that to them ; it
is their business, as It is the business of the sons to
gain a livelihood. That differs greatly from our homes,
where the parents give themselves up wholly and
without restriction to their children, where the elder
sons, the younger sons, the brothers and the sisters are
so equal among each other, and almost on a footing of
equality with their parents, the familiarity and the
intimacy being so complete, where each one considers it
natural to enter, every day and at every hour, by their
questions and their counsels, into the thoughts, the
sentiments, the actions of their relatives, where nothing
is enclosed nor reserved, where every mind is disclosed,
opened by an hundred thousand apertures to the
curiosity and to the sympathy of his kindred.
The English are surprised at this ; S  greatly
admires our sociability in this particular, our kindly
character. He has often seen in France two or three
famUies together under the same roof and at the same
table, during six months in the coimtry, sometimes

ENGLISH HOUSEHOLDS. 1 1 5
the entire year in the country, in town ; at one time
two married brothers, at another the parents with
their son-in-law and their daughter, or with their
son and their daughter-in-law. Nothing is rarer
than this in England. Characters clash; each family
requires to possess its independence as well as its
abode. We coalesce, we hold everything in com
mon; as for them, even whefi living together, they
maintain distinctions, they draw lines of deinarca-
tion. Self is more powerful ; each of them preserves
a portion of his individuality, his own special and
personal nook, a kind of forbidden field, enclosed,
respected by every one, even by the brother and
tho father, even by the sister, even by the mother ;
to enter it would be an intrusion ; no one gains ad
mission, save perhaps the beloved person, the husband,
the wife, to whom aU one's life is pledged. This
reserved circle is larger or smaller according to the
personages. It includes at one time business matters,
questions of money and of ambition, at another certain
profound sentiments, a hope, a love disappointment,
an old and protracted mourning, at another intimate
and lofty ideas, for instance religious beliefs ; some
times it embraces them all ; then the personage is
tongue-tied, and does not like to be spoken to. But
in every case the line he has traced around him
remains intact ; he does not overstep it when unre
served. If over-leapt by any one, it is owing to an
Indiscretion which cuts him to the quick ; his relatives
abstain from doing so as they would from house
breaking. Thus a father or mother is more imper
fectly Informed than among us as to the sentiments of
their daughter, as to the business and the pleasures of
their son.

ii6 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
To make this obvious, would require too lengthened
detail. I shaU cite but one trait. In France a son
tells his mother everything, even about his mis
tresses ; the usage Is ancient. Madame de Sevign^
received from her son secrets which she related to
her daughter — very improper and very distinct secrets
— and which she was only able to express, owing
to her verve, her gaiety, her wonderful lightness
of touch. Even at the present day, without going
so far back, very many young men make similar
avowals to their mothers, or at least hint — allow them
to suspect, an affair of gallantry. The mothers are
not scandalised at this, they are too happy to be made
confidants, almost companions. They scold a little,
smile faintly, and, lifting the finger, send away the
naughty fellow, telling him to take care. B  is
of opinion that this is impossible in England ; the son
would not dare do it, the mother would be shocked
or Indignant. So in other matters; they have no
acquaintance with these boundless conversations, these
complete outpourings, where the differences in age
compensate for the difference of sex, where the son
entering the world finds in his mother separating her
self from the world his most skilful guide and his
most thorough friend.
These habits of reserve lead to a kind of stoicism.
Even among their kindred they are not expansive, they
are self-restrained. In a family which has lost a very
near relative, a father, a son, there are never cries nor
outbursts. From the morrow every one comes down,
taking thei^ places at table at the ordinary hour, and
in the same manner ; they merely talk rather less than
their wont; it is all very well to feel sorrow, they
have to do their work, whatever it be, as well and as

ENGLISH HOUSEHOLDS. 1 17
conscientiously as before. When the Queen, after
Prince Albert's death, shut herself up alone and ap
peared to have given up the receptions and other
occupations of her post, the newspapers, after allowing
several months to elapse, began to blame her, and
declared to her that a private loss did not absolve any
one from public obligations. A writer In the National
Review praises Eugenie de Gu^rin, so pure and so
melancholy ; but, according to him, she is wrong in
giving expression to her sadness and even in being sad.
" An Englishwoman of right and healthy mind would
consider cheerfulness a duty in itself, and would refrain
from expressing distaste for life." I have badly trans-.
lated the word " cheerfulness " (gaiety), being unable
to render It ; it means the opposite of dejection, a sort
of smiling serenity. Nowhere is this sentiment nobler,
more touching to notice than on the face of old ladies.
One of them, bed- ridden for ten years, was still kindly
and composed. The children were taken to her night
and morning, she knew and laid down their daily pro
gramme, exacted an account of the whole family doings,
did fancy work, read, and prayed, was never a moment
idle ; weariness had not stamped one wrinkle on her
brow. Another, seventy-five, a great-grandmother,
had the smooth complexion of a nun. Two among
them are engraven In my memory like a fine Dutch
picture. It was in the country, in a lofty drawing-
room papered with white and- pearl-grey ; the clear
colour was softened by the shades. of evening. The
large central window curved outwards above a flower
bed, and, through its shining squares of glass, green
fields were seen. On a chair, close to the light, a
beautiful young girl, intelUgent and cold, gravely read
a small religious work. In the middle, two old ladies.

ii8 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
before the tea-table, entertained their guest. Faces
with large features, serene, determined, even command
ing ; in this single respect, they differed from the
Flemish portraits. For costume they had dresses of
black silk in ample folds, lace at the neck and wrists,
rich caps of faUing gauze, white embroideries at the
stomacher as In the figures of MIerevelt ; the degree of
stiffness and opulence which displeases in the attire of
young ladies was well adapted to their years and to
their gravity. All around were the marks of perfect
independence, of an undisputed position, of a balanced
mind, of a healthy soul, of a worthy Ufe, The one
who was seventy and had the look of fifty is un
married ; through her famUy relations she has mixed
with the first spirits of France and of England; during
the season she goes to stay with friends, at home she
reads. Dickens and the moderns appear to her low and
strained, she enjoys more the writers who possess eleva
tion and solidity — M. Guizot, M. Mignet, Hallam,
Macaulay, the last rather less than the others, 4.moId,
Dean Stanley, others besides who write about morality
and religion as respectful liberals, just as in France,
among the upper middle-class, in the seventeenth cen-
¦tury, the ladies read Du Guet and Nicole. The second
has four sons settled abroad, the most of them Consuls
or Charg^ d' Affaires, one in Africa, another in Turkey,
another in Sweden ; every two years each of them
comes and spends a fortnight with her. She is not
melancholy on account of being alone and so far from
them ; she is contented, like a Roman mother, to know
that they are all " In a position so honourable and so
useful to their country." -
Amid all this, I think, two things are visible ; the
one is the native and acquired energy, the force of

ENGLISH HOUSEHOLDS. .119
character by which a man masters himself, always
keeps himself in check, is self-sufficing, risks and resists
misfortune, sorrow, and disappointment; the other is
the institution of a hierarchy which, even in private
life, upholds inequality, subordination, authority, and
order. But there Is the reverse of every medal. As
far as I can judge this character and this system of
rule produce many tyrants, louts, mutes, down-trodden
and eccentric persons, A certain number of homes
resemble that of the Harlowe family in Richardson;
but on that head an observer's mouth is closed. I
send the reader to the pictures of George Eliot, of
Dickens, and of Thackeray ; see In particular in
Thackeray the portraits of Lord Steyne, of Barnes
Newcome, of Lady Kew, of old Osborne, and of the
step-mother of Clive Newcome.

IX.
ENGLISH SCHOOL BOYS AND SCHOOL LIFE.
"EXCURSION to Harrow-on-the-HiU ; I have also
•^ seen Eton. Harrow, Eton, Rugby, are the prin
cipal places of secondary instruction, and nearly cor
respond to our large lyceums ; at Eton there are
al out eight hundred boys, and five hundred in each of
the others, from thirteen to eighteen. But, between
these schools and our lyceums, the difference is enor
mous, and no other comparison gives greater pro
minence to the contrast between the two nations. I
am told that I maj^ take Harrow as a specimen.
This is an independent, private establishment, with
out State aid, originally founded by a legacy, and, con
sequently, provided with landed estate and an hereditary
revenue. Sometimes the revenue yielded by such a
property is very large ; at Harrow It is small (£1,100).
Large or small, it Is administered by a body of trustees
who are renewed by election. Here there are six, great
lords and proprietors of the neighbourhood, who are
empowered to make considerable changes, and to
appoint the head-master. But the principal part of
the machine Is the staff of under-masters ; each of
them undertakes a course of study (Greek, Latin,
French, Mathematics, &c.), and, in addition, lodges and

ENGLISH SCHOOL LIFE. 1 2 1
feeds in his house from ten to thirty boarders. When
there is but a dozen of them they take their meals at
his table with his family ; sometimes, when they are
more numerous, they take their meals at two tables
presided over by the ladies of the house. Commonly,
two occupy the same bedroom ; the oldest have rooms
to themselves. Thus, the child transplanted into the
school, finds there a likeness to the paternal mansion,
the more so because families are so large in England,
He has his room, he dines at three paces from a lady,
he is a person among persons, he lives in a natural and
complete position, and is not, as among us, subjected
to the communism of a barrack.
Another difference ; among us a lyceum is a large box
of stone which one enters through a single hole, furnished
with a grating and a porter ; in the interior are some
courts resembling yards, sometimes a wretched row of
trees, by way of compensation plenty of walls. As the
box Is always In a great city, the young man who passes
without the grating does not find beyond any more than
within it, anything but stone and brick. Here the school
is in a little town, with a hundred free openings upon
the country. At Eton, around the old central quadrangle,
I saw roses, ivy, honeysuckle climbing everywhere
along the buildings ; in the distance are rich meadows,
wherein huge elms spread their venerable branches ;
close to them is a green and shining river ; upon the
water are swans ; in the islands cattle ruminate ; the cur
rent winds and disappears towards" the horizon amidst
foliage. At Harrow, the landscape is less pleasing, but
verdure and the open air are not wanting ; a meadow
of ten or twelve acres belongs to the school, and sup
plies a ground for cricket. I met the little boys in
black jackets, the big ones in black coats, aU \v;earing

12 2 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
on their head a small straw hat, not only in the town,
but without the town, along the hedgerows, on the
banks of the pond ; their muddy boots show that they
are always on the road's or In damp meadows. Thus,
while among us the season of youth is spent under a
bell-glass through which penetrates the moral and phy
sical atmosphere of a capital, among them it is spent
in the open air, without imprisonment of any sort, in
the constant companionship of fields, of waters, and of
woods. Now It Is a great point for the body, the
imagination, the mind, and the character to be deve-^
loped in a position healthy, calm, and conformed to the
mute exigencies of their instincts.
On the whole, human nature is more respected here
and more unaffected. Under this education, the chil
dren resemble the trees of an English garden ; under
ours, to the clipped and ordered yews of Versailles,
For instance, here the children are almost as free as
students ; they are bound to attend classes, lessons,
dinner, to enter at an appointed hour in the evening,
nothing more ; the remainder of the day is their own ;
it can be spent in their own fashion. The sole duty
weighing upon these hours of freedom is the obliga
tion to perform the prescribed task ; but they may do it
where they please and when they please ; they work in
their own rooms or elsewhere. I have seen some study
ing with the librarian, others reading seated on a
balustrade. They foUow their taste, wander where
they like. They are to be seen in the streets, in the
pastrycooks, in the cookshop ; they scour the country,
fish, skate, bathe, go birds'-nesting. They are masters
of their time and of their money also, give themselves
treats, purchase ornaments for their rooms. It appears
that they get Into debt, their little private furniture is

ENGLISH SCHOOL LIFE. 123
sold to the highest bidder. They have initiative and '
responsibility ; it is curious to see youths of twelve
elevated to the dignity of men.
Eight hours' work daily is the maximum ; most fre
quently six or seven ; among us eleven, which is irra
tional. The young have need of physical movement ; it
is running counter to nature to oblige them to be pure
brain, sedentary cripples. Here athletic games — •
tennis, football, races, boating, and, above all, cricket,
occupy a portion of every day ; in addition, twice
or thrice weekly, the classes are suspended in the
afternoon in order to give place to them. Self-love is
mixed up with this ; each school endeavours to surpass
its rivals, and sends, to the trial of strength, oarsmen
and players carefully trained and chosen. Harrow beat
Eton last year, and hopes to win this year also. To
day, eleven of the oldest and best players uphold the
reputation of the school against eleven players from
London ; two flag-bearers, flag in hand, mark the
bounds, hundreds of youths line the sides, at a distance,
and applaud happy strokes. The affair is serious ; their
opponents belong to a celebrated cricketing club, all
being admirably skilled, strong, and cool ,; the youths
have a right to be passionately fond of an exercise
which grown-up men make the principal object of their
Ufe. Indeed, there are gentlemen in this country whose
ambition and course of living are those of a Grecian
athlete ; they subject themselves to a particular diet,
abstaining from aU excess at table and in drinking ;
they develop their muscle, and submit themselves to a
wise system of training. When prepared, they proceed
and compete for the prizes for boating or cricket at all
the great competitions in England, even farther off, in
America. I was informed of a cricketing eleven who

J 24 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
went to Australia with 'this design, just as in other'
days the athletes of Pontus and Marseilles went to
Olympus. It is not at all surprising if the youth
become enthusiastic for games so much in repute ;
the head of the eleven cricketers, the captain of the
eight oarsmen, is a more important personage in the
school than the best scholar.
These already constitute germs of association, an
apprenticeship in commanding and obeying, since each
lot which plays at cricket submits to discipline and
selects a head. But the principle is still more widely
applicable; youths and young men form together an
organised body, a kind of minor State apart, having
its chiefs and its laws. These chiefs are the boys of
the sixth form, more particularly the fifteen monitors,
and in each boarding-house the first pupil. They keep
order, enforce the rules, and, in general, hold the place
of our ushers. They hinder the strong from bullying
the weak, are arbitrators in disputes, inteivene when a
boy has got into a scrape with a villager or a shop
keeper, punishing the delinquents. In short, here the
pupils are governed by pupils, and each one after
having submitted to authority exercises It in turn.
During the last year he is enlisted on the side of the
regulations, he makes them prevail, he feels their
utility, he adopts them with all his heart instead of
kicking against them, as a French schoolboy does not
hesitate to do. Hence, when he leaves school and
enters life he is less disposed to consider rule absurd
and authority ridleulous ; he understands freedom and
subordination ; he has more nearly comprehended the
conditions of a society, the rights and the duties of a
citizen. Besides this general preparation, there is a
special one. The bigger boj'S form debating societies

ENGLISH SCHOOL LIFE. 125
amongst themselves, where they discuss moral and
political topics ; the head-master is only the honorary
president. After the young speakers have addressed
the meeting, the vote is taken, the arguments and
the debate are summarised in a report ; it is a par
liament in miniature. In addition, three of the oldest
boys edit a review — The Triumvirate. Their aim "is
to arouse in their comrades extended ideas of patriotism
and to interest them in the affairs of the country."
They belong to the Conservative opposition, argue
about the French alliance, about the elections, about
the right of election. There are some commonplaces
and there is a little inflation, but good sense is not
absent ; for example, with regard to the right of re
presentation which they wish to extend, but up to a
certain limit only, they appeal to their young reader's
experience ; during the holidays in the country he has
seen that the viUagers, the shopkeepers of the proposed
class, are sufficiently inteUigent and educated to vote
rightly ; thus the argument is practical, drawn from
facts, and not from a pompous theory. I have just
read a number of this review ; certainly our students
of rhetoric have by no means anything approaching to
the same degree of culture and political information.
Add another trait still ; all, or nearly all, are religiously
disposed ; they would be shocked at an irreverent word ;
they sing earnestly In chapel. Since Arns^^ time, the
aim of education has been to produce Christian gentle
men ; most of them are professedly religious, take the
Sacrament, and pray nightly of their own accord. Thus
when they enter the world, they are the upholders, and
not the adversaries, of the great ecclesiastical esta
blishment, of the national religion.
On all hands I arrive at the same conclusion : In

126 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
England there is not a profound separation between
the life of the child and that of the adult ; the
school and society are on an equal footing, with no in
termediate moat or wall ; the one leads to and prepares
for the other. The adult does not, as among us, leave
a hothouse in compartments, an exceptional rule, a
special atmosphere. He is not troubled, taken out of
his element by the change of air. Not only has he
cultivated his mind, but he has also undergone an
apprenticeship to life. Not only does he possess ideas,
but these ideas are suited to the world which receives
him. In politics, in religion, he finds a place quite
ready for him at twenty, for which his tastes and his
faculties have been adapted beforehand. In this man
ner he most easily escapes scepticism ; he more rapidly
settles down ; he experiments less to find an employ
ment for his powers. All those whom I have seen in
the class, in the fields, and in the streets, have a
healthy and active, decided, and energetic air. Evi
dently, to my eyes at least, they are greater children
and more manly ; greater children, that is to say, more
addicted to play and less inclined to pass the limits
of their years ; more manly, that is to say, more inde
pendent, more capable of governing themselves and of
acting. On the contrary, the French schoolboy, above
all the inmates of our colleges, is wearied, embittered,
rendered acute, precocious, and too precocious ; he is
caged up, and his imagination ferments. In all these
respects, and in what relates to the formation of cha
racter, English education is superior ; it better prepares
for the world and forms healthier minds.
The author of " Tom Brown's School-days " says,
" When I formed the project of writing this book I
endeavoured to represent to myself the most common

ENGLISH SCHOOL LIFE. 127
type of a little English boy of the upper middle class,
such as I had witnessed in my experience ; and I faith
fully maintain this type from the beginning to the end
of my story, while merely striving to give a good
specimen of the species." The book thus conceived
had an enormous success. Youths and adults all re
cognised themselves in the picture, and we can make
use of It, in admitting with the author that the portrait,
if not flattered, is at least kindly. Neither Tom nor his
father cared much for education properly so called.
His father asks himself, " Shall I tell him to mind his
work, and say he's sent to school to make himself a
good scholar ? Well, but he Isn't sent to school for that
— at any rate not for that mainly. I don't care a straw
for Greek particles, or the digamma, no more does his
mother. What is he sent to school for ? Well,
partly because he wanted so to go. If he'll only
turn out a brave, helpful, truth-teUing Englishman,
and a gentleman, and a Christian, that's aU I want."
And when Tom, several years afterwards, asks him
self what he came to school for, he replies : — " I
want to be A 1 at cricket and football and all the
other games, and to make my hands keep my head
against any feUow, lout or gentleman  I want
to carry away just as much Latin and Greek as will
take me through Oxford respectably  I want
to leave behind me the name of a fellow who never
bullied a little boy or turned his back on a big
one." Remarkable words, and well summarising the ordi
nary sentiments of an English father and child ; science
and mental culture occupy the last place ; character,
heart, courage, strength, and bodily skiU are in the
first row. Such an education produces moral and

12? NOTES ON ENGLAND.
physical wrestlers, with all the advantages, but also
with all the drawbacks, attached to this direction of
the mind and the body.
Along with other unpleasant effects the rude instincts
are developed. An Eton master states that "play
takes the first place, books the second." The child
makes it his glory, like Tom Brown, to be a good
athlete ; he spends three, four, five hours daily in
rough and violent exercises. At hares and hounds
one flounders for hours in ploughed fields and In
muddy meadows, one stumbles in the mud, one loses
one's shoes, one picks oneself up as well as possible.
At football the sides precipitate themselves upon each
other ; the child underneath bears the weight of the
entire mass, arms and legs are dislocated, collar-bones
broken. At cricket the great heavy ball is thrown
with such force that the unskilful wicket-keeper is
knocked down, if struck by it. Nearly all the
games habitually yield bruises ; pride is taken in
not minding them ; and by a natural consequence,
there is no more hesitation in inflicting than in sub
mitting to them. The child becomes a fighter, a boxer ;
the author of " Tom Brown " says, " To fight with
fists is the natural and English way for English boys
to settle their quarrels." All the men I have met
did so when at school, and this is still common. This
kind of duel has its rules, its appointed place, its
audience, its witnesses. Each combatant has two
seconds who sponge his face, and put forward their
knee for a seat during the rounds ; these encounters
are renewed, and sometimes prolonged during half-
an-hour. The maxim Is to go on fighting as long
as one can see clearly and stand upright; after the
fight there are black eyes, swollen and livid cheeks.

ENGLISH SCHOOL LIFE. 129
sometimes a thumb put out of joint, or a lip out
open. Unfortunately the school arrangements operate in
the same direction ; in addition to impositions, the being
kept from play and confinement, the birch is used ; in
certain schools, it is enough for a boy to appear three
times on the black list, for him to have to prepare for
a flogging. This morning four were flogged at Harrow
(fourteen strokes, not drawing blood). In all the
schools it is the head-master to whom this amiable
office appertains ; there is hardly a head-master in
France who would accept, at such a price, a salary of
£6,000. In principle all are liable to the birch, even
the bigger boj's; yet scarcely any but the younger
and smaller ones are subjected to it. A strange thing
is that it is not unpopular. Fifty years ago at the
Charterhouse the boys, hearing that it was proposed
to substitute a fine for it, rebelled, crying, "Down
with fines ! hurrah for the birch ! " and on the morrow
they renewed acquaintance with the beloved birch. The
teachers with whom I have conversed consider that
this chastisement is not humiliating, and that it de
velops special courage in the child ; according to thein
the strokes are a natural form of repression ; it is
enough that opinion does not regard them as shameful,
and that the sufferer does not feel himself insulted.
Under the head-master, the big boys entrusted with
maintaining discipline have the right to inflict the
same punishment. For this purpose they carry a
cane in certain schools, and use it.
Here a shocking institution must be referred to —
this is " fagging," or the obligation of the little boys
to be the servants of the bigger. It has been modi
fied, softened, at Harrow, at Rugby, and in some other
K

130 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
establishments ; but in itself it always continues bad ;
for it is a school of brutality, and pushes the English
child towards the side to which he inclines, towards all
the excesses which the energetic, violent, tyrannical,
and hard temperament admits of. A lady whom we
know, and who is in truth of foreign extraction, could
not bring herself to subject her son to fagging, and
has put him in a Parisian lyceum. According to
official inquirers the small boys are valets and slaves.
Each big boy has several, who are bound to run errands
for him, to sweep his room, to clean his candlesticks,
to toast his bread and his cheese, to call him at the ap
pointed time, to help him at his games, frequently dur
ing two or three hours daily, to run after his balls, and
return them to him, to be at his orders during all the time
he is awake, to endure his caprices. "At Westminster
School the life of a foundation scholar for the first year
is such an uninterrupted servitude that it Is impossible
for him to find the necessary time for his studies." " I
state as a fact," said one witness, " that from the 1st of
January to the 31st of December, the young foundation
scholar has not a single moment which is not exposed
to interruption. At half-past three in the morning,
two of the younger, chosen In succession, rise to light
the fire, boil the water, call up those of the big boys
who have ordered this to be done. Frequently, the
senior, awakened at four o'clock, does not get up till
half-past seven ; he must then be caUed every half
hour. This task falls to each of the small boys two
or three times weekly." Add all those of the day, all
those of the evening. " The seniors are very fond of
tea, they must have it three times in the course of the
evening, without saying anything of coffee. Every
two minutes the kettles must be filled for them."

ENGLISH SCHOOL LIFE. 131
One of the witnesses relates that on Saturday night, a
holiday at Westminster, when his son arrived home
from school he was so thoroughly broken down for
want of sleep, that he had no other desire than to go to
bed. In order to maintain such an exact and minute
obedience the big boys use terror. " Boxes on the ears,
kicks are mere common pranks of theirs, these not
coimting among the numerous punishments  In
the first degree the real punishments are systematic
boxes on the ears ; the offender must keep his hands
at his sides and hold his head forward to receive a
dozen slaps applied right and left." On other occasions
he places the palm of his hand on the table, the back
of the hand is then beaten with the blade of a paper-
knife tUl sometimes a gash is made. Caning comes
next, then two kinds of tanning. The boy is beaten
on the fleshy part of the leg with a racket-bat, which
breaks the skin and makes the blood flow. He places
his foot on a sink the height of a table, the executioner
then takes a run of two or three paces and kicks the
part exposed. The reporter states, " I have heard of
two or three cases in which the boys were so cruelly
bruised, that they were unable for a long time to join
in the games and other exercises." Tom Brown was
tossed in a blanket, and thrown upwards with such force
that he struck the ceiling. One day having refused to
seU his lottery-tickets to the big boys, he was seized
hold of, held up before the blazing fire, and roasted
(Uterally) and tiU he was ready to faint. This actually
occurred, the romance being but a reproduction of an
authentic fact. Besides, in the lives of Cowper, Lord
Byron, Sir Robert Peel, other cases, equally revolting,
are to be found. Doubtless the instances just cited are
the darkest, and, as the English are persevering in

ly. NOTES ON ENGLAND.
matters of reform, the picture is becoming brighter.
Yet, even supposing the reform completed, the impres
sion continues unpleasant ; for, on the whole, a school
conducted in this style is a. sort of primitive society,
where force reigns almost uncontroUed, all the more
so because it is "considered a point of honour among
the oppressed tiot to denounce their oppressors. Tho
master interferes as little as possible ; he is not, as
among us, the perpetual representative of humanity
and justice ; very seldom and in very few schools is an
appeal made to him or to the governing body. Tho
weak are left to themselves, they have but to suffer and
be patient. Now what a temptation is it for a vigorous
youth to possess the power and the right to flog ! It
is not a good thing to give the rein to the instincts of
domination and of brutality. The use always leads to
the abuse ; an incentive to what is unreasonable is
given by the irrationality which Is practised, to blows
by the blows which are given ; a man ought never be
allowed the opportunity for becoming a despot and an
executioner. On the whole, education thus understood
is not destitute of resemblance to that of the Lacede
monians ; they hardened the body and tempered the
character, but, as well as I can conjecture, they often
ended by producing hunters and louts.
Naturally, the cultivation of the mind must suffer
from such a training. Mr. Farrar writes : " When
seeing young men ready to sacrifice everything to
cricket, when seeing them devote to it a number
of hours and an enthusiasm out of all proportion to
that which they give to their work, when seeing that
their mind is so emphatically taken up with it that
they speak, think, and dream of nothing but cricket,
it is not surprising to find many persons attributing to

ENGLISH SCHOOL LIFE. 133
this affectation of muscularity the miserable poverty of
the intellectual results which we obtain." A vice
unknown among us, which is due to this prepon
derance of the physical over the moral faculties, is
gluttony, and, above all, the fondness for wine ; hence
one of the faults punishable by flogging is drunken
ness ; many stuff themselves with eatables, and among
them are to be found precocious drunkards.
The teaching is not what is requisite for counter
balancing these gross tastes ; there is nothing attrac
tive about it; it can hardly be considered by the young
people as other than a task ; it is very slightly literary
and altogether technical. The chief aim is to know
Greek and Latin well, to write correctly in verse and
prose in these two languages; In fact, by dint of
memory and exercises, the most clever succeed in doing
so. On one point, the knowledge and the manipula
tion of Greek, they are far superior to the pupils of our
lyceums ; I have in my hands prize exercises, in which
scenes from Shakespeare are very weU translated into
Greek iambics in the style of Sophocles. But on other
points I consider them Inferior. Their Latin, prose
and verse, is less elegant and less pure than that of
our good compositions of the class of rhetoric. They
do not appear to be really acquainted with history ;
they recount the legends of Curtius and of Regulus as
authenticated facts. They descant on chivalry and the
Middle Age In vague generalities, as was done in our
old University. They do not appear to apprehend the
difference of manners, of sentiments, of ideas, of cha
racters which is the result of centuries. They do not
seem to have read, like our good scholars, the works
of a genuine historian, of a Thierry, of a Michelet, of
a Guizot, In general, they have few ideas ; if the

3 34 . NOTES ON ENGLAND.
questions relating to existing and practical contempo
rary politics are excepted, a student of rhetoric In a
Parisian lyceum possesses more. They have read many
classical texts ; but the explanation which is given to
them is wholly grammatical and positive. Nothing is
done to set forth the beauty of the passage, the delicacies
of the style, the pathos of the situation ; nor is the pro
cess of the writer indicated, the character of his talents,
the turn of his mind ; aU that would seem vague. The
master does not speak to the pupils as a critic to per
sons of taste ; he does not endeavour to refine their
literary touch ; he does not comment upon the great
writers of their country. It is the same in mathe
matics ; he teaches formulas rather than the spirit ;
the manual of geometry is always the text of Euclid
learned and said by heart ; reason and reasoning hold
but a secondary place. " Too frequently this teaching
tends to form Greek scholars and calculators." On
the contrary, the young Frenchman of nineteen
possesses, if he be intelligent, and if he has been
studious, general instruction, a quantity of ideas
blocked out, some half ideas of his own, a decided
preference for certain authors and a certain form of
style, the embryos of theories, vague views about the
beautiful, about history, about philosophy, at least the
sentiment that there are vast questions of first import
ance on which he requires to form an opinion, a
requirement all the more pressing because around him
scepticism floats in the air, because, most frequently,
he has lost his religious beliefs, because no prevailing
doctrine, imposed or accepted, is at hand to arrest his
fluctuating mind, and because. If he desires to cast
anchor in a port, he is obliged to seek for the port and
forge the anchor. Here many distinguished English-

ENGLISH SCHOOL LIFE. 135
men whom I have known consider their school and even
their universitj^ education as a simple preparation, a
gymnastic, a training of the attention and of tho
memory, nothing more. They said to me, "When
finished with that, we have been obUged to undo, or
rather to form, our education; to acquire by personal
reading aU that we have succeeded in learning about
philosophy, about history, about political economy,
about the natural sciences, about art, about literature."
A remedy is being found for this defect, the circle is
now being enlarged ; but it is still narrow, always
having Euclid and Sapphic verse as its centre. In con
sequence, the mind, becoming adult at a later period,
arrives later at forming comprehensive views.
Final detaU, and a crowning one, marks the dif
ference between the two countries : the average out
lay for keeping a boy at Harrow is £200 yearly.
How many fathers among us would be able to expend
£200 yearly on their son's education ? In France a
functionary, a man attached to one of the professions
caUed liberal, makes most frequently £120 at thirty,
and £200 at fifty ; and, commonly, he has for addition
the interest on a very small capital. Then, as com
pensation, to keep his son at college costs him £40
onlj', £20 at a minor seminary, and the bursaries
given by the State are numerous. It may be calcu
lated, I think, that a classical education is five times
cheaper in France than in England. They admit
themselves that one of their national vices is the habit
of lavish expenditure. As regards primary instruction,
the parliamentary grant merely aids 8,500 schools ;
the same grant would maintain 25,000 in France. It
would entirely educate 1,500,000 French children in
place of 950,000 English. Mr. Arnold estimates that

136 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
the expense of maintaining and administering the
French schools, in proportion, is the fourth of that of
the English schools. At Oxford, whither I shall go to
morrow, and in the Universities in general, B  tells
me that on an average an undergraduate spends £300
a year ; however, £200 yearly are sufficient ; some, by
dint of economy, live upon £100. The author of
" Tom Brown at Oxford " mentions that a very poor
student managed with £75, but only because he was
lodged gratis, and on condition of being despised.
Among us, a student of medicine or of law who should
have £75 and his lodgings found him, would consider
himself well off; many of them have no more than
£60, and it never enters into the head of the richest
to despise his poor comrade.

X.
LIFE AT THE ITNIVERSITY.
TTERE am I at Oxford, in the company of a FeUow,
-¦-*- who repUes to aU my questions with extreme
courtesy. We are in a garden full of flowers ; at the side,
separated by a wall, is a fine kitchen garden, the one
and the other are the dependencies of the residence of
a professor ; a more pleasant and poetical abode for a
studious man cannot be imagined. But I shall return
to that ; I now proceed to transcribe our conversation.
Oxford is a coUection of twenty-four colleges or dis
tinct, independent foundations, having each an average
revenue of £15,000 ; Magdalen CoUege has £40,000
and upwards. In addition, the city contains a Uni
versity of professors, serving as a centre for the col
leges. A college Is composed (1) of a head, having from
£1,000 to £3,000 yearly; (2) of fellows, having from
£200 to £300 ; (3) of tutors, paid in part out of the
college chest, in part by the undergraduates, having
from £400 to £500; (4) of scholars, students who
have obtained scholarships through merit, having £30
and upwards ; (5) of undergraduates who pay, to the
number of from forty to eighty. The rest of the
revenues of the establishment pays servants — the

138 NOTES ON ENGLAND
cooks, the porters, &c. ; and, in addition, the stewards
who administer the properties.
The University is a body of professors analogous to
our College of France ; an undergraduate is not
obliged to attend their lectures. Most of the pro
fessors have salaries of from £500 to £600 ; two or
three chairs yield less than £800 ; as compensation,
another yields £1,000, and certain professors of the
ology have as much as £1,600 ; sometimes a canonry,
cathedral deanery. Is attached to the chair, and yields
from £1,000 to £3,000, besides the use of a large
house and a garden. But they are obliged to live
handsomely, to display hospitality, to contribute to all
sorts of subscriptions, &c., so that, like the Bishops
and the high public officials, they often expend their
whole salary.
There are about thirteen hundred undergraduates at
Oxford, eleven hundred at Cambridge ; there are also
some at London. But, as a general rule, this high
finishing place of education Is for the aristocracy, for
the rich, for the minority ; in the first place because
it Is expensive (from £200 to £300 yearly, and the
temptation to expend more is very great), next because
it is a luxury of intelligence (pure mathematics, Greek,
Latin), and retards the entry into lucrative careers.
The undergraduates have each two or three rooms In
a college, and thus form hives. They are obliged to
attend chapel at eight, dine in hall at five, to be in
doors by nine, and in general to attend a tutor's class
in the morning and a lecture in the afternoon. Breaches
of rules are noted and punished, especially if repeated.
To return after nine constitutes a fault ; after midnight
a grave fault; to sleep out of coUege a very grave
fault. The punishments are, in certain colleges, a fine

LIFE AT THE UNIVERSITY. 139
of from 5s. to £1 ; in others an imposition longer or
shorter, more frequently a reprimand from the Head,
withdrawal of the right of going out, temporary expul
sion, and lastly permanent expulsion. This detail is
important; for it is seen that here the schoolboy is
freer and the undergraduate less free than among us.
The youth, on becoming a young man, does not pass
from cloistered discipline to complete independence;
the passage is regulated. At school, as regards many
of his actions, he has been previously left to himself ;
at the University he is not wholly left to himself.
Such a precaution is excellent ; against the abuse of
liberty, the habit of liberty is a moral guaranty, and
supervision a physical guaranty. Another check :
Oxford and Cambridge are small places. The young
man is not, as among us, thrown amidst the tempta
tions of a capital, reduced to sedentary and cerebral
life, without the necessary counterpoise of physical ;
exercises, led to seek variety at the theatre, in the caf4 -
on the Boulevards, In the excitement of the world, of
conversation, and of pleasure. There is no debauchery
at Oxford ; the University officers walk the streets
after nine, and can enter every tavern or publichouse.
The Ubertines go to London or to the neighbouring
viUages; my friend estimates that the half of the
undergraduates Is pure. The principal failing is the
taste for wine ; fifty years ago drunkenness prevaUed
here as among the entire upper class ; at present, here,
as among the entire upper class, it has become rare. A
last favourable circumstance : the undergraduate, like
the schoolboy, remains a good Protestant ; he is reli
gious, or at least he has a respect for reUgion. Out of
an hundred young men whom one of my friends had
occasion to examine, two only declared themselves free-

¦ fo NOTES ON ENGLAND.
thinkets ; seventy belonged to the Broad Church, the
others to the two varieties called High Church and
Low Church, the one liking fine ceremonies, pompous
ritual and approaching Puseyism, the other being alto
gether Calvinistical and slightly iconoclastic.
The studies last about three years ; during the first
year scaTcely anything is done but to resume and repeat
the lessons learned at school. The first two examina
tions are chiefly grammatical and linguistic; they
comprise two or three Greek and Latin authors, Greek
and Latin compositions in prose and verse, some ques
tions about the Old and New Testament. The third
comprises the same subjects, but more carefully studied,
considered from a new point of view, from the critical,
historical, and philosophic point of view. Next, the
undergraduate has the choice between three final ex
aminations, the one in mathematics, the other in physical
and natural sciences, the other in languages, history,
law, and political economy. An undergraduate who
has failed enters another college and begins again ; on
the second failure he generally quits the University.
There are two sorts of undergraduates. The one aspires
to honours, which are most useful, and lead to high
position in the University, in the Church, and else
where. The other which, as in France, forms the
majority, has no other ambition than to obtain a degree;
Its members scarcely do anything but attend the tutor's
class, never the lectures of the Professors, and restrict
themselves to the minimum of study. The distin
guished men produced by this education are principally
mathematicians (notably at Cambridge) or classical
scholars. But for the last ten years the routine is
modified ; contemporary sciences and modern ideas
have infiltrated, gained a place. New chairs have been

LIFE AT THE UNIVERSITY. 141
founded, other chairs have widened their teaching.
See the writings of Stanley, of Jowett, the celebrated
book styled " Essays and Reviews ; " Max Miiller, the
Sanscrit scholar, lectures hero on the history and phi
losophy of language.
All that is but the bark ; the thing it is important to
know about is always morality, the turn of mind, the
dominant inclination of man. How do these young
men live, and what do they love ? In order to reply.
It would be necessary to reside six months here ; in
default of personal experience the following pictures of
manners are said by my friends to be correct : " Pen-
dennis," by Thackeray ; " Tom Brown at Oxford," and
a rather lively little romance, iUustrated by the author,
" Adventures of Mr. Verdant Green." The first point
is that Oxford and Cambridge being the gathering-
place for sons of good family, the tone of the place is
suited to the character and the position of the residents ;
an English University is in many respects a club of
young noblemen, or at least of rich men. Many who
have acquired wealth send their sons there, solely for
the purpose of their making good acquaintances ; certain
poor or low-born undergraduates become the toadies of
their noble comrades, who later on will be able to present
them with a living. The very usages of the University
tend to favour this distinction of ranks. In certain
colleges the noble undergraduates have a separate table,
a particular dress, divers minor privileges. Imagine,
if you can, a like system introduced into a great French
school !
At St. Ambrose, the author of "Tom Brown" in-
stances a class of poor students, a kind of semi-bursars,
named servitors (who are now abolished), whom their
rich or noble comrades look down upon. Among us.

142 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
at the Polytechnic School, the pupils are unaware of
the bursars' names ; their names are known only to a
committee pledged by honour to sUence ; such is the
delicacy of the spirit of equality. The author of " Tom
Brown" says that "tuft-hunting and the worship
of money are the most shameful and wide-spread of
our vices," at Oxford, as well as throughout the rest
of England. Elsewhere, speaking of his hero, he adds,
" his instinct, again, sad to say, was already teaching
him that poverty is a disgrace to a Briton, and that,
until you know a man thoroughly, you must always
seem to assume that he is the owner of unlimited
ready money." One of the personages says, " If the
Black Prince were here we would change his motto,
' Ich dien ' (I serve), into ' Je paye ' (I pay)." Many
of these young men have £500 a year and upwards,
which they regard as pocket-money; moreover, the
shopkeepers give them credit. They hold it honourable
to spend money, to cut a dash ; they keep horses, dogs,
a boat; they furnish their rooms with elegance and
richness, "London wine merchants furnished them
with liqueurs at a guinea a bottle, and wine at five
guineas a dozen." " Their cigars cost two guineas a
pound ; pine-apples, forced fruit, and the most rare
preserves figured at their wine parties." " They dined
like gourmets ; drove tandems, scattering silver in all
the taverns of Oxford and the neighbouring roads."
" They hunted, rode steeple-chases by day, played
billiards until the gates closed, and are then ready for
vingt-et-un, unlimited loo, and hot drink in their own
rooms, as long as anyone could be got to sit up and play."
The appointed task scarcely hampers them ; during
the first 3'ear especially it is more than trifling. " Twelve
lectures of two hours each weekly upon the New Testa-

LIFE AT THE UNIVERSITY. 143
ment, the first book of Herodotus, the second of Euclid ;
in addition two hours of work daily ; everything is
over by mid-day, or at one o'clock at the latest ; there
is no supplementary exercise in the shape of themes,
verses, or other exercises. A moderate scholar does not
require to prepare anything ; he has previously studied
all that ; he knows beforehand by heart the subject of
the lecture." Thus the leisure hours are still more
numerous than among us during the first years of law
studies. Under such circumstances it is necessary, in
order to study, to be naturally very .itudious or very
ambitious, which it is given only to a very small
number to be. The others foUow their instinct, and
It Is here that the difference between the English and
French temperaments is openly exemplified.
In France the temperament is precocious ; the imagi
nation of a collegian, shut up and sealed, during long
hours of weariness, grows heated ; the dangerous atmo
sphere of a great city penetrates to him ; the conversa
tion of seniors, our too free literature has done the rest ;
frequently he has the folly to think that it is honourable
to be a man before the time. Set free at a stroke, and
let loose uncontroUed in a capital, he is there exposed to
the contagion of example, to the conveniences of being
unknown, and, in all public places, to the temptations
which are flaunted before him. Besides, in this respect,
opinion is more indulgent ; it speaks to him only in
the name of prudence and good taste ; it only decidedly
condemns drunkenness, gross debauchery, lasting low
alliances which may degenerate into marriages ; it
tolerates escapades. A mother said to me, " When my
sons go to Asnieres I know it, but I appear not to be
aware of it." Have tact, moderation, foresight; in
that, as in everything, the morality of the world pre-

144 NOTES ON ENGLAND^
scribes nothing more. The young man does not
know that there is no worse diminution of power,
that intercourse of this sort abases the heart,- that after
ten years of such a life he will have lost the one-half
of his will, that his thoughts will have an habitual
after-taste of bitterness and of sadness, that his inner
spring will be weakened or broken. He excuses him
self in his own eyes by saying that a man must handle
everything in order to know everything. In fact, he
learns life ; but very often also he loses energy, the
warmth' of soul, the capacity for acting, and at thirty
he is merely fit for becoming an official, a provincial, a
dilettante, or a fundholder. Here, as far as I can
judge, the human being continues more intact; in the
first place, because he is subject to discipline. Is better
watched, and less tempted ; next, because written and
spoken opinion is more severe. It wiU permit drunken
ness, it will not sanction profligacy. A book like the
" Vie de Boheme," by Hengy Murger, would be placed
beside the old free and easy novels, and regarded as the
delineation of merry-andrews, perfect scoundrels, and
half- sharpers. In the three novels I have cited, the
decency is extreme. A phrase in " Tom Brown at
Oxford " indicates a group of wealthy loose fish, who
have each a mistress hidden in a village ; but they are
censured, even by many of their comrades. As regards
the three heroes, their hearts are smitten, they expe
rience calf-love for a milliner ; but they stop short, or
are stopped in time ; and the loose fish themselves
admit in principle that the seduction of an innocent
girl is the act of a scoundrel.
Two derivatives are the auxiliaries of these maxims.
The first is the precocity of love and of marriage ; they
are smitten young, sometimes at twenty, and frequently

LIFE AT THE UNIVERSITY. 145
thej^ marry a few years afterwards. The second is the
keen, popular, almost universal taste for bodily exercises.
In this respect the university is a continuation of the
school. To play at cricket, row, steer sailing-boats,
keep dogs, set them upon a band of rats, fish, hunt,
ride on horseback, drive four-in-hand, swim, spar,
fence, and, since a recent period, drill as volunteers,
are for them the most interesting occupations. These
do not fit in too well with studies ; Plato, a long time
ago, in his Dialogues, put in opposition the life of the
athlete and that of the thinker. According to a learned
foreigner who has much frequented Oxford, if refined
philology and the lofty philosophical speculations
are acclimatised here with difficulty, it is because the
undergraduates eat too much and make too much use
of their muscles.
But sport is an excellent vent for the strong and
superabundant sap of youth, and here again, as at
school, rivalry serves as a spur. Each college has
its boat, its eight oarsmen and coxswain, all selected
and exercised with care. Five or six weeks before
the races, the training begins. To traverse from ten
to twenty miles of the river every day, dine early on
stale bread, milk, meat, and very little wine ; to have
tobacco rationed ; two pints of beer at the most daily ;
no pastry, no ices ; not to sup late, and to go to bed
early ; such was the^disclpline imposed on Tom Brown.
During the first days, one is disjointed; during the
last, one is dying of thirst; during the race, the
exertion is so enormous, that one runs the risk of
breaking a blood-vessel, and on arrival many are
giddy and cannot speak. AU Oxford is there— the
University and the townsmen. When the boats start,
an excited crowd foUows them, running and crying,
L

146 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
out of breath, leaping ditches, their feet in the water,
panting along the bank. The description must be
perused in order to conceive the seriousness and the
enthusiasm of the crews. The last minute, that which
precedes the report of the cannon fired to announce the
departure, is solemn. " Short minute, indeed ! you
wouldn't say so if you were in the boat, with your
heart in your mouth, and trembling all over like a man
with the palsy. Those sixty seconds before the starting-
gun in your first race — why, they are a little lifetime.
.... During the first ten strokes, Tom was in too
great fear of making a mistake to feel, or hear, or see.
His whole soul was glued to the back of the man before
him ; his one thought to keep time, and get his strength
into the stroke. . . . Isn't he grand, the captain, as
he comes forward like lightning, stroke after stroke,
his back flat, his teeth set, his whole frame working
from the hips with the regularity of a machine."
Trumpets sound, acclamations continue swelling forth
like thunder, embroidered handkerchiefs are waved.
In the evening the victors feast in the great hall of
the college ; there are speeches, cheers, toasts, choruses
sung in unison, a gorgeous and glorious hubbub ; it
is clear that such a triumph must be almost as greatly
desired as the palm of the ancient Olympian Games.
The interest is greater still when, in the month of
March, the race takes place on the Thames between the
crews of the two Universities ; nothing else is talked
about in London during two days.
Doubtless muscular culture thus understood leads to
a certain rudeness of manner. Town and gown fight
on occasion in the streets. But, as compensation, the
gymnastic and athletic life has this twofold advantage,
that it blunts the senses and stills the imagination.

LIFE AT THE UNIVERSITY. 147
Moreover, when the moral and mental life is afterwards
developed, the mind has for its support a healthier and
more robust body. The young men who walk about
here in the odd traditional costume (a short black gown
and a kind of flat cap) are full of sap and strength,
have a fine and frank deportment, are muscular and
strong- limbed, and, in my opinion, have a phsiognomy
less perturbed, less worn than those of our students.
During twenty years, a gradual reform has been in
operation, and many traits in this picture are softened.
At present, in each college, several Fellows may marry;
Dissenters and Roman Catholics are admitted to the
course of study. The passion for boating is rather
less ; the undergraduates of different classes are less
unequal ; in certain colleges their table expenses are
supervised and limited. Oxford is gradually ceasing
to be an aristocratic club, an athletic gymnasium, an
ecclesiastical and Anglican preserve ; it is on the way
to become a modern school, a lay and liberal academy.
At two o'clock there is a ceremony in the great hall
of the University. The costumes are grotesque, like
those at the distribution of prizes at our great com
petition ; a Latin speech which recalls the antiquated
forms of the Sorbonne ; a piece of English verse, com
posed and read by the student laureate; its subject is
Sir John Franklin ; the verses are rhetorical phrases.
Five or six foreigners of distinction receive the honorary
title of Doctor of Law, injure civili; this is pronounced
in ioure gdivdildi. An Englishman quoting Caesar's
phrase, Veni, vidi, vici, and pronouncing it in the same
fashion, Vendi, vaiddi, vdigdi, my neighbour replied to
him, " C^sar could never have pronounced a similar
phrase." In tho evening there is a meeting, with experiments

148 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
and lectures on physical and natural sciences, In a
museum — a vast building of a somewhat Gothic cha
racter, erected by subscription, and still unfinished.
Bands of ladies walk about there In staring, showy
attire, many, who are young and In low dresses, wear
spectacles. But it is certain details only which are
disagreeable; the whole — town, buildings, landscape
— is admirable. I had previously traversed the town ;
I wander about there again at the close of the day.
What a number of colleges, each with Its chapel and
Its high surrounding crenellated walls ; these diverse
and multiplied architectures of every age. In the Gothic
style, in the Tudor style. In the style of the seventeenth
century ; these large courts, with their statues and
central fountain of spouting water; these balusters
which cut the tender azure of the sky at the summit
of the edifices; these windows latticed with delicate
mouldings, or cut into sculptured crosses, after the
manner of the Revival ; these pulpits in wrought stone ;
at each turning of the street some lofty conical spire ;
— what a number of noble forms in a small space ! It
is a natural museum, in which are accumulated the
works and the inventions of six centuries. The stone,
worn, exfoliated, is all the more venerable. One is so
weU-pleased with any olden things ! The more so, that
here they are only old ; not neglected or half ruined,
as in Italj% but piously preserved, restored, since their
foundation, have been always in the hands of rich,
considerate, and inteUigent guardians. Ivy covers the
walls with its ample drapery; honeysuckle climbs
around the pillars ; wild flowers plume the tops of all
the walls ; rich turf, carefully kept, extends Its carpet
up to the arcades of the galleries ; behind the apse of
a chapel one sees a garden in flower, thousands of

LIFE AT THE UNIVERSITY. 149
blooming roses. One goes onward. At the extremity
of the town, venerable trees form a walk ; beneath their
branches two living streams flow along; beyond, the
eyes rest delightedly on meadows running over with
plants in bud and flower. It is impossible to imagine
a vegetation more magnificent, a verdure more opulent
and yet better tempered by the blended tones which
the buttercups, the daisies, the wild sorrel, the greyish
grasses throw over its dazzling tint. The country is
in aU the luxury of its freshness. As the sun slightly
bUnks forth, it smiles with a charming joy ; one might
liken it to a beautiful timid virgin, happy under the
veil which is being withdrawn. However, the day closes,
and indistinct whitenesses ascend above the meadows ;
under their soft gauze, the river shines with black
reflections ; aU is still, excepting the bells which chime
melodiously in the chaste tower of Christ Church.
One would never beUeve one's self to be at an hundred
paces from a town. How contemplative and poetical
is study here !
A walk in Magdalen College. I never weary of
admiring these old edifices festooned with ivy and
blackened by age, these crenellated clock-towers, these
muUioned windows ; above all, these vast square courts,
of which the arcades form a promenade like that of
the ItaUan convents. In the afternoon, with the
exception of one or two passing undergraduates, they
are solitary ; nothing is sweeter than this architectural
solitude, poetic, intact, where there is never a trace
of neglect, of ruin, and of death. Flocks of deer browse
peacefully beneath the gigantic elms; a long road,
bordered with the finest trees, winds between two
rivers. Oxford Is In an ancient hollow; hence this
softness, this freshness, this incomparable opulence of

150 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
the verdure. At Worcester College an ample sheet
of water, on which swans float, moistens with its slow
undulations the green sward constellated with flowers.
On every hand cedars, huge yews, oaks, poplars raise
aloft their trunks, and expand their foliage; from
branch to branch honeysuckle, Virginia creepers hang
and extend. The large gardens of St. John's, the little
garden of Wadham, are masterpieces of a unique sort,
beyond art itself, for nature and time have been the
artificers. Can human art produce anj'thing so beautiful
as a group of perfect trees three hundred years old ?
On returning, I recast this judgment in regard
ing the architecture anew ; it also is three centuries
old, and seems rooted in the soil by the same right as
the trees ; the tint of the stone is accommodated to
the climate ; age has imparted to it something of the
maj sty of natural things. One does not feel there the
mechanical regularity, the official imprint; each col
lege has been developed by itself, each age has built in
its fashion : here the imposing quadrangle of Christ
Church, with its turf, its fountains, and its staircases ;
there, close to the Bodleian library, a mass of edifices,
sculptured portals, lofty bell-towers, all flowered and
embroidered, cupolas circled with small columns.
Sometimes the chapel is a small cathedral. In several
colleges the dining-hall, sixty feet in height, vaulted,
appears the nave of a church. The council- hall,
wholly lined with antique wood, is worthy of our
venerable old halls. Imagine the life of a Master of
Arts, of a Fellow, amid these monuments, beneath
that Gothic wainscoting, before the windows of the
Revival or of the Middle Age, in the midst of severe
luxury and in the best taste, engravingsj copper-plates,
admirable books. In the evening, when descending the

LIFE A T THE UNIVERSITY.

«S'

stair, when the light flickers upon the large black
forms, one thinks that one is walking in a true piece
of scenery.
Nothing is wanting here, neither the beauties of
art, nor the freshness of nature, nor the great and
grandiose impressions of history. A moment since,
when going through the colleges, I was told the names
of their ancient occupants, students for ever famous 
Wycliffe, the Black Prince, Sir Walter Raleigh, Pym,
Hampden, Archbishop Laud, Ireton, Addison. At
each building the guide pointed out the dates and
the authors of the foundation, the embellishments, the
restorations. All these old men seem Uving still ; for
their work has survived them and endures. The
wisdom of ancient times remains written in Latin
sentences upon the walls; on a sun-dial, above the
hours, this solemn phrase may be read — pereunt et
imputantur. And this is not a dead city, nor is it asleep ;
the modern work completes and increases the ancient
work; the contemporaries, as in former times, con
tribute their buildings and their gifts. When at the
Bodleian library one has seen the manuscripts, the
precious volumes, the portraits of Vandyck, Lely, and
Kneller, one finds further on a recent coUection of
sketches and original drawings by RaffaeUe and Michel
Angelo, where the vitality, the sentiment of nudity, the
superb Paganism of the Revival, are displayed with in
comparable freedom. The collection cost seven thousand
pounds sterling ; Lord Eldon alone contributed four
thousand. I have visited two or three professors'
houses, the ono resembling our old French mansions,
the others modern and charming, all possessing gar
dens, flowers, noble or laughing prospects. The oldest,
under the portraits of the predecessors, contain every

152 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
modern comfort. I compared them to those of our
scholars, resembling cages, to the third-floor in a great
city, to the dismal lodgings of the Sorbonne, and I
thought of the aspect, so gloomy and confined, of our
College of France. Poor Frenchmen, so poor, and
who live encamped. We are of yesterday, and ruined
from father to son by Louis XIV., by Louis XV., by
the Revolution, by the Empire. We have demolished,
everything has required to be rebuilt anew. Here
the generation following does not break with the pre
ceding one ; reforms are superimposed on institutions,
and the present, based upon the past, perpetuates it.

XL
VILLAGES AND FARMHOUSES.
OHOET excursions and sojourns at thirty or forty
^ miles from London. It is necessary to endea
vour to see the district, the parish ; one does not com
prehend the social net-work till after one has studied
in detail three or four meshes. MoreoA-er, this time
again, the courtesy and hospitality of the people are
perfect. Always the same landscapes ; meadows divided by
hedges, where large trees stand up here and there.
The country is all verdure ; the eyes are satiated,
glutted with it ; that is the strongest sensible impression
which I brought back from England. From the top
of a great height which we cross is a view, it is said, for
forty miles in every direction ; nothing but green, no
forests, some clumps of scattered trees, beetroot, clover,
hops, fields of peas, bushy parks, hollows in which
swollen yeUow streams meander along, moist meadows,
wherein heavy cows browse and ruminate. Fresh plants,
continually removed, multiply and superabound ; hence
the store of meat, milk. Contrast that with the bread,
the wine, the vegetables, which form the principal
nourishment of our peasants ; by this trait, as by many
others, the Englishman much more resembles a Dutch-

154 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
man than a Frenchman. A Paul Potter, a Ruysdael,
would find here subjects for pictures. Beauty is not
absent from this curtained sky, full of greyish and
almost black clouds, which creep over a background of
motionless vapour. Far off on the horizon the view is
obscured by a downpour, and all these tints are soft,
delicately blended, melancholj\
We skirt deserted, wild commons, where, at in
tervals, a horse feeds amid the solitude. This was
the primitive soil, filled with heaths ; generation after
generation it has diminished; civilisation, like a rising
tide, has eaten into it and left fragments only. How
much labour was required to cover this with herbage
and vegetables, how much patience and effort to fit it
for man ! They have succeeded in doing this, and,
at each century of their history, have converted into
enclosed meadows thousands of acres of uncertain
pasturage. It was more beautiful in its first state ; its
thorny or rude plants, its dull or blackish tints, the
tone of its flowers better suited the aspect of the sky.
At present this civilised nature bears too visibly the
imprint of industry ; it has too many ordered rows ; its
colours are false or discordant ; the turnip leaves have
a violet or harsh green ; the light plants shine in the
sun with a display too dazzling and too slight; one
feels that their presence has been commanded, and
that their life is artificial. The country resembles a
large manufactory of fodder, the vestibule of a dairy or
a slaughterhouse; from picturesque ideas, one descends
to utilitarian ideas. It must be said, however, that the
latter are equal to the former; after all, man lives on
chops, and the spectacle of a niggard land transformed
into a good nurse is still a fine one.
A walk in the country and in the villages ; every

VILLAGES AND FARMHOUSES. 155
two hours there is a shower. This recalls the English
saying, " When it does not rain take your umbrella ;
when it rains do as you please." But in the sunshine
the effect of this humidity is charming ; this grass has
a delicious freshness and novelty. The drops of run
ning water shine like pearls ; beneath a ray of the sun
a meadow Instantly glistens, and its trains of yellow
and white flowers appear laden with light. However
the sky continues spotted with vapour ; here and there
the clouds turn to slate, become violet, blend at a
quarter of a league. The interchange Is perpetual
between the moist sky and the moist earth, and the
contrast is curious between the splendid colours of the
soil and the mixed tones of the air. The eyes follow
the changing tints and the vague movements of the
universal exhalation which drags and is torn along
the hedges like muslin. A feeble breeze inclines and
balances the foliage of the great trees, and one hears
the slight noise of the drops which descend upon their
pyramid. Several cottages are very poor, being of clay covered
with laths, a thatched roof, the rooms are too low and too
narrow, the windows too small, the partitions too thin.
Think, of a large family huddled in winter In two of
these rooms, with clothes drying, the swaddling clothes
of infants, and the chimney roaring ; during the
long days of rain and snow, they must live in an un
wholesome air, amid their own vapour. Many of the
mothers have a lean face, marked with pimples, a
wom-out pinched air ; they have too many chUdren
and too much toU. The occupant of one of these
thatched huts is a day-labourer, married, the father
of six children, who earns twelve shilUngs a week,
being generally employed by the year or by the half

156 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
year ; a cottage like his costs from three to four
pounds sterling yearly ; his features are delicate,
drawn, his physiognomy is sad and humble. I was
introduced to alL these people with consideration and
courtesy ; they were asked with apologies to permit a
French gentleman to enter. They instantly consented
with civility and a pleasant smile. I remarked that I
have seen in France many thatched huts much worse
furnished ; whereupon my companion replied that was
some consolation. The poor day-labourer did not
appear to be of that opinion.
However, his little house Is clean ; the blue pat
terned plates are ranged in good order above a dresser ;
the flreplace is of iron and is well constructed. I had
previously seen other cottages elsewhere of this stamp ;
nearly always, at least in one room, an old carpet
covers the floor ; often there is a coloured paper, chairs
of polished wood, small framed engravings, always a
Bible, sometimes other volumes, reUgious books, new
novels, the art of rearing rabbits, &c., in short, more
useful objects than in our very poor thatched huts. In
addition, the care taken is greater ; there are no doors
off their hinges, hanging shutters, broken panes,
stagnant pools, scattered dunghills ; the pavement of
the soil is well swept, nothing' lies about at random.
Probably confusion and uncleanliness are more un
healthy In this climate than in ours, and man is bound
to be orderly, prudent, regular as in HoUand.
The village contains but four hundred souls ; yet the
little inn is decent, shining with cleanliness ; one would
sleep there readily, and one would be comfortable. We
visit a carpenter, then a carter's ; they are seated at
table by themselves and take tea with butter. Their
hous3S are of brick and covered with red tiles ; one of

VILLAGES AND FARMHOUSES. 157
them is flanked with a pretty large garden filled with
vegetables, well cultivated, garnished with fine straw
berries, with some bee-hives in a corner ; both of them
have a small flower-garden, roses, ivy, some creeping
plants, and adornment. The rooms are rather low,
but are not wanting in air; the small panes of glass
connected by slight triangles of lead allow plenty of
light to enter ; one goes along a passage of bricks
carefuUy washed to enter the outhouse ; the retiring
place, half open, is as well kept as in a middle-class
house ; on the first-floor are two bedrooms. Some
books, the "Whole Duty of Man," one of Murray's
guides, the family Bible, five or six volumes of history.
Not a particle of dust on the windows, not a speck of
mud on the floors, not a hole in the garments. Many
other persons of the same condition pass along the
streets, and their clothes are the same ; it is true that
to-day is Sunday. But, on the whole, my impression
is that they are better provided and more careful than
the peasants of France. The glory, the foolish vanity,
and the superiority of ours consist in possessing land ;
they prefer being abstinent, stinting themselves, and
having their acre in the sun ; in order to acquire it
they save out of their comfort. But this acquisition
is a fund ; in case of sickness or scarcity, they have
a sure resource at hand. On the contrary, here
every one teUs me that a countryman is as much a
spendthrift as a workman, as improvident, as exact
ing as far as comfort is concerned. Let an accident
occur, and he instantly becomes a burden upon the
parish. I visit a farmer who cultivates one hundred acres.
Here the cleanliness is altogether Dutch; I never
saw anything superior in the environs of Utrecht

IS8 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
and of Amsterdam. The farmer's wife says that
every year the walls are whitewashed inside, that every
week the paving stones are washed with a sponge;
one is ashamed to walk upon them and dirty them.
Another farmer, who also tills one hundred acres ;
pays the landlord £100, and rates and taxes in addi
tion ; the same cleanliness and the same condition.
A third has three hundred acres, and also pays a pound
an acre : but this is because his land is bad ; his neigh
bour on the other side of the hill pays £800 for four
hundred acres. The interior is as comfortable and
agreeable as that of the largest and the finest farms of
the department of the Beauce and of the environs of
Paris. His house is old, with a porch in front forming
a vestibule ; here and there, in the courtyard, are fine
pines, ornamental trees ; a pretty green garden borders
one of the wings ; in the large hall is antique furniture.
The staircase, of massive wood, and a sideboard date
from the sixteenth century. An immense fireplace,
capable of containing an entire trunk, a real yule log,
with a double wooden screen, which. In summer, closes
the opening, and, in winter, is a protection from
draughts. Some pretty good engravings, and a rather
large number of books, besides the great family Bible.
The farmer has twelve huge and superb horses, and
a steam threshing machine ; among his profits, he
sells eighty fat pigs yearly. A determined face,
intelligent, serious, and calm ; he is neither slovenly
nor boastful; his wife seems an orderly and under
standing house-keeper. It would be necessary to
belong to the country, and live a year here, in order
to know what there is in these heads. George Eliot,
in " Adam Bede," has depicted a farmer and his wife,
who are types in high relief, and minute in detail ;

VILLAGES AND FARMHOUSES. 159
my friend tells me that these are excellent in all
points and strikingly correct.
We go and see the last farm; six hundred acres,
about £600 rent ; I was thunderstruck. We were
shown into a large, fresh, and plain drawing-room ;
large curtains, supported by gilded poles, two elegant
and well-framed mirrors, tasteful armchairs ; in the
middle a table, covered with pretty volumes ; in short,
the country-house drawing-room of a Parisian who
has an Income of one thousand a-year. Immediately
adjoining is a sort of hot-house, a glazed conservatory,
filled with flowers, looking upon the most pleasant
landscape, on sloping meadows and distant woods.
The farmer's wife entered ; she is a woman of thirty,
who looked like twenty-six, in a dress of small-striped
grey silk, with one or two rings on her fingers, per
fectly white hands, pink and cared-for nails, an ad
mirable waist, tall and lithe as a Diana, extremely
beautiful, full of gaiety and vivacity, without any
embarrassment, and who kept up the conversation very
well. I learned later that she rode on horseback,
played on the piano, and is none the less a good house
keeper ; she goes to the kitchen every morning, orders,
superintends, and sometimes makes a little pastry ;
once, having visitors, and the cook being absent, she set
to herself, and prepared the dinner. Excepting some
shades in manners and talk, she is a lady ; she is
wholly so in heart. My guide praised her greatly,
but he added that in other cases, which are numerous,
this education, these tastes, put a person out of humour
with their condition, that at present many farmers'
daughters are elegant, profuse. Indolent, out of their
sphere, and unhappy.
"Since you have begun," B  said to me, "con-

i6o NOTES ON ENGLAND.
tinue to the end." And, twelve miles from thence, we
came to a model farm. No large central court ; the
farm is a mass of fifteen or twenty low brick buildings,
constructed economically ; as it was intended to furnish
a model, it would not do to present a costly edifice as
an example. Oxen, pigs, sheep, each in its stall, well-
ventilated and well-cleaned ; we were shown a set of
stables in which the flooring was open; animals being
fattened remain there six months, without moving.
Selected and expensive breeds ; a bull and his progeny
are Indian, and recall the Buddhist sculptures. Steam
machines for all the agricultural operations, and a small
railroad for conveying the food to the animals ; they
eat sliced turnips, bruised beans, oil-cake ; culture,
thus understood, is a complicated Industry, based on
theory and experience, constantly improved, and worked
with perfected tools. But I am not competent, and I
amuse myself with observing the farmer's face, his red
hair, his clear complexion, veined with scarlet like a
vine-leaf scorched by the autumn sun, his cold and
reflecting physiognomy ; In a black hat and black
riding-coat, upright, in a court, he gives orders in a
dull tone, with few words, without making a gesture,
without moving a muscle of his countenance. An
admirable thing is that the establishment yields a
return, and the great lord who has founded it in the
public interest, finds it to his personal profit. I seemed
to see in the farmer's attitude, in his apparently positive,
applied, well-balanced mind, the explanation of the
miracle. '
We returned home, and all around us over the country,
night fell. The indistinct trees disappeared in a grey
smoke ; strange yellow tones spread over the meadows,
the dim air became thicker ; it enveloped even the

VILLAGES AND FARMHOUSES. i6i
hedges of the road, and bathed everything in its soft
covering. In this twilight, which resembles a picture
by Rembrandt, I turned over the things which had
struck me the most ; in the foreground stand forth the
children's faces, so fresh, so healthy, so vigorous, so
chubby, even in the poorest thatched cottages. One of
them, in its cradle, slept, stretching forth an arm ; the
little turned-up nose was almost transparent in the
light ; its mouth seemed a cherry, and the cheeks two
full roses ; the dimpled flesh yielded under the finger
which touched it ; the petals of a flower, moistened
with dew, had not more softness and lustre. To my
taste this leaves the types of the south far behind ;
there man, almost from infancy, is made, finished,
stable, set in a fixed design and in a definitive shape ;
here one feels, as with Rubens, the continual growth of
life, its fragility, its delicacy, and, at the same time, its
sap, the inexhaustible and spontaneous replenishment
of the human substance. A little boy of four, leaning
against a wall, astonished, mute, cast down his great
bashful eyes, held one finger in his mouth, and suffered
himself to be caressed without uttering a word ; an
instant afterwards he ventured to raise his eyebrows,
and gazed upon us as curious animals ; then instantly re
penting, covered his cherub face with his two hands.
One sees the emotions pass over these complexions, as
one sees the colours change upon their meadows.
My friends tell me that this vUlage is a good speci
men, that the interior of these farmers' and peasants'
abodes exhibits with sufficient exactitude the average
of comfort among the class ; that, however, in
several districts — for example, on the side of Nor
folk and Lincoln — I shall find finer farms. Since then,
and iudging from official documents, I have seen that

1 62 NOTFS on ENGLAND.
this view was not correct ; the evil is greater, and the
poor become more and more poverty-stricken. The large
property increases, and the small one diminishes. At
the close of the last centiirj', Arthur Y^'oung wrote : ,
" I do not know a single cottage to which a piece of
land is not attached." Moreover, the poor villagers
had some fowls, and a pig on the common. But, by
the Encdosure Acts, the commons are being constantly
reduced in size ; hence the peasant has no longer the
resource of fowls and pigs ; having sold his bit of land, he
can count upon his arms alone, and he lets them for hire.
In the purely agricultural districts it appears that tho
wages are from seven to eight shillings a week, and
not twelve, as I have found them here. To add to this,
the villager lets for hire the arms of his wife and of his
children ; one sees bands of them hoeing root-plants, of
which the culture extends itself unceasingly. Agri
culture being conducted on a large scale, and having
become a scientific form of industry, has had the
counter-effect of introducing into the country districts
the rule, the monotony, the miseries of manufacture.
The children wither, remain ignorant, become vicious ;
in a district of Lincolnshire, out of four hundred
cottages, two hundred have but a single room wherein
the whole family sleep promiscuously,
I saw one of these days a picture in Punch on this
head. A landed proprietor takes Mr. Punch into his
stables, which are admirable. " Yes, Mr. Punch," says
he, "pretty clean stalls — airy, plenty of light, drainage,
perfect ventilation, the best water, and the best pos
sible food, good treatment, that Is my plan." One
passes to the cottage. A single chamber, almost bare ;
three chipped plates on a board ; a bad kettle, two
pieces of linen drying ; the distress and the stench are

VILLAGES AND FARMHOUSES. 163
terrible. A wretched man in rags, with a battered har,
warms himself with a gloomy air before a small fire of
brushwood; the wife, hoUow-eyed, lies with two
infants on a pallet ; on another pallet are a little girl
and a little boy ; on a mattress in the corner is a young
man ; they are aU emaciated, wild, and Mr. Punch says
to the proprietor : " The arrangement of your stables is
excellent. Suppose you tried something of the same
sort here? What think you of that?" Here the
disease and the remedy are exhibited together. On
the contrary, I can venture to say that, amono- our four
millions of peasant proprietors, the state of comfort,
especiaUy during the last twenty years, is increasing ;
the vice of our organisation is displayed in other ills, on
the side of politics, by the instability of the Government
and by the absence of lasting freedom. But each State
has Its hereditary scrofula ; one can only verifj-- the
sore, show that it is connected with the organisation,
apply a temporary palliative to some parts ; the great
surgical operations, which many persons recommend,
have seldom any other result than that of still more
reducing the patient.
After a renewed investigation. It seems to me certain
that, in this country, the class of agricultural labourers
having no land of their own to farm is the most un
fortunate and the most brutalised. A learned man
said to me : " As regards intelligence and ideas, the
distance is as great between them and mechanics as
between mechanics and men like myself." Two persons
who have lived In France add that the French peasant
Is much superior ; they especiaUy praise his frugality,
his custom of depending upon himself, his ardour in
working, his passion for land. According to them, the
EngUsh peasant Is quite different, improvident, waste-

1 64 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
ful, always a burden to the parish or the charitable
rich. Even were he to possess, like ours, a bit of
land, he would not know how to make it yield where
withal to live — in the first place for lack of economy,
because he is heavy. Incapable of setting his wits to
work ; next, because the English soil, being of very
mediocre quality, requires much manuring, capital,
and is suited only for cultivation on a large scale, for
pasturage, for rearing cattle. According to a clergy
man, who has lived in Devonshire and in other counties,
the wages of a villager are from eight to nine shillings
a week; sometimes he earns ten shillings; but he
requires to be very strong and skilful to earn twelve.
Now he has often six children besides ; it Is impossible
for eight persons, and even for five or six persons, to
live upon that sura ; he cannot then dispense with
public or private help. Besides, a female peasant, and
in general every woman of the lower class in England, is
lacking in address; she has not, like a Frenchwoman, the
talent for keeping house, the spirit of order, the habit
of bargaining, the art of making a little go a long wajr,
andof producing something out of nothing; she does not
know how to mend and turn a garment, make one dish
serve ; very often she cannot work. One of our friends,
a member of the board of guardians in his district, got
a grant of fifteen shillings a week for a family in which
there were fourteen children : neither the wife nor the
eldest daughter knew how to make soup, a roast, a dish
of any sort ; they went to the tradespeople and bought
new bread, butter, tea, ham, and always at the highest
prices; every one in this family could hoe a field, not
one could cook a chop. Add that, since agriculture
has been transformed, the tastes of the stomach have
altered. Fifty years ago, meat was a luxury among the

VILLAGES AND FARMHOUSES. 165
peasants ; they ate it but once a week ; in winter, they
had salt meat only. Now they require fresh meat
every day ; and England, which produces so much of
it, is obliged, in addition, to procure it from abroad,
from Denmark and from Holland; in 1861, there
entered every week, by the Thames alone, three thou
sand head of living cattle. The conclusion of the
whole matter is, that day labourers in the country live
partly on alms, and the poor-rates, though they are so
heavy, and private charity, though it is so liberal
barely suffice to maintain them.

XIL
LANDED PROPRIETORS AND ENGLISH GENTLEMEN.
T ET US now see the good which is the counterpart of
¦'^ this evil. I have already made two excursions like
these to places at forty or fifty miles from London, and
there, as here, the number of parks is astonishing.
One never ceases to see them along the road ; in certain
localities they form a line which continues as far as
London. In fact, not only are the old estates main
tained in virtue of the law which gives the real property
to the eldest son, but also nearly all the men, who by
their talent or hj their industry have grown wealthy,
have an ambition to acquire an estate, to fix their
family on it, and to enter the local aristocracy. It
is chiefly in this direction that the hundred millions
of annual savings, accumulated in England, flow ; they
serve less to solace the poor than to enrich the rich.
As compensation, these rich men are natural, bene
volent, and recognised chiefs. In the circle of ac
quaintances of B  , two score families are counted
as forming the society and leading the locality — a
marquis, whose park Is seven hundred acres, four
baronets, a lord, and several members of the House of
Commons. The clergyman with whom I took a walk
told me that they were " almost fathers of the people."

LANDED PROPRIETORS. 167
B  himself is the near relation, the heir, of a great
lord whose lands he administers ; one day he will have
an income of £40,000 ; meantime, and for the sake
of his relative, he supervises, directs, builds healthy
cottages for the labourers, subscribes to enterprises of
public utility, and, while improving the propertj',
renders a service to the country.
It would be difficult to flnd one of these landlords
who does not give up a portion of his money and of his
time to the general good. They are municipal magis
trates, overseers, justices of the peace, chairmen of
committees and of useful societies. One of them,
possessing £1,600,000, and whose brother is equally
rich, has a share of £40,000 in an undertaking formed
to bring potable water to London ; there are forty
shares each of the like amount. As a relaxation from
Parliament and from business, he has built a church,
which we visited, very pretty, in an elaborated Gothic
style, with stained - glass windows, wainscoting, a
sculptured pulpit-^in short, a little gem, bound in
evergreen laurels : he has endowed it, and secured an
income for the chaplain. Immediately adjoining, he
has founded a free school ; among other things, sing
ing is taught there, he has placed a, piano in it, little
concerts are given ; he amuses himself by making the
children sing. As he believes in the good effect of
music, he frequently sends the master right and left
in the district to further its adoption. In another
village which I passed through, the gentry have hired
a two-storied cottage, to be used by the vUlagers
as a kind of evening club ; out of the fund subscribed,
the rent, the books, the newspapers, fire, light, and a
woman to keep the house, are paid for. But it is
arranged so that this club shall be self-supporting in

i6S NOTES ON ENGLAND.
the end by means of the contributions of its fre
quenters. Man is thus made, that he does not ap
preciate a pure gift ; it is necessary that he should
bear a fraction of the expense and co-operate freely for
his own welfare. In the first room are books and
newspapers ; in the second one plays at draughts and
chess, one chats, and one smokes. The aim of the
founders is to compete with the tavern. They under
stand human nature, they know that they must find an
outlet for instinct, a food for wants. The instinct and
the wants always satisfy themselves ; strive in order
that their satisfaction should be Innocent, and, if pos
sible, beneficent. For example, the villagers do not
work on Sunday ; when it Is cold, dirty, and dark,
they naturally proceed to the place where they find
fire, light, amusement, and this place, twelve months
out of the year, is the tavern. Give them a tavern,
less dear, where, instead of gin, they drink tea ; they
will thus occupy their leisure hours, and will not
return home drunk. For the same reason, one of my
friends in London is a member of the society for secu
larising Sunday ; its object is to procure the opening
of museums, the authorisation of concerts, public lec
tures ; thus it is that drunkenness is battled with, and
more efficaciously than by sermons.
To this intelligent beneficence join a quantity of
respects and attentions. A peer has lent his park for
the last archery meeting, and presides over the festi
val; his little harangue, grave and bantering, his
respectful gallantry, were excellent for flattering and
gratifying the ladies. We enter the park of Sir John
 ; it is traversed by a public road open to
pedestrians ; it may be visited without leave. I have
seen that of the Duke of Marlborough at Blenheim ;

LANDED PROPRIETORS. 169
over the entrance gate is the following inscription : —
" The Duke of Marlborough begs the persons who may
walk through the park to keep to the high road, and
not to walk on the grass." The gate of this park is
open ; the first-comer, an inhabitant of the village,
may go and take the air in it with his wife. Sir W,
B  is master of the hunt in the district, and many
gentlemen of low position and farmers follow the chase.
The mistress of the house in which I am staying knows
all the good women in the locality ; she graciously recog
nises them, and shakes hands when she enters their
cottages with me ; they respond with a cordial and
even affectionate air ; it is easy to see that there is no
distrust or hostility betwixt the two classes. The
inferior is not envious ; it does not enter his head to
long for the place of the wealthy gentleman ; he is
rather prone to consider him as his protector, to be
proud of him, especiaUy If the family be an old one,
and, for several generations, settled in the locality ; in
that case it has a place, like the .fne trees, among the
ornaments and the glories of the country. Latelj'-, in
a railway carriage, I chatted with some of the Life
Guards, true giants and good fellows ; they said with
pride, " aU our officers are noblemen." After some
questions about their pay, which is two shillings daily,
they said that among them about one -third were
married men. " Have the widows a claim for pen
sions ?" " No ; but private subscriptions provide for
them." All that Is the remains of the good feudal
spirit. The chieftain provided for the wants of his
vassal, and the vassal was proud of his chieftain.
This spirit is all the more powerful as the popula
tion in England is distributed, even at the present
day, in feudal fashion. Everywhere, in the midst of

lyo NOTES ON ENGLAND.
cottages, are one or more country seats, modern, comely
houses, which replace the olden castles, and wherein
the master plays, under new forms, the part of the
olden baron. In every parish, even the most distant,
one finds two, three, five, six families who have their
hereditary seat there, the favourite place of abode,
and whose patronage is accepted, efficient ; this is the
ancient patronage of the mailed chieftain, but trans
ferred from physical to moral matters, applied to things
of peace and no more to those of war, exercised by
intelligence and no more by the sword, authorised by
superiority of education and no more by superiority of
armour. In fact, it is no longer a concern to set men
in battle against the enemy, but to diminish ignorance,
misery, and vice ; for this object as for the other, it is
necessary to have local chiefs, proved, accepted, capable,
and these chiefs are the gentlemen proprietors of the
parish or of the district, Poggio, in his travels, wrote'
three centuries ago, this sentence so full of truths and
of consequences: "Among the English, the nobles
think it shameful to sojourn, in cities; they inhabit
retired parts of the country among woods and pastures ;
they consider him the most noble who has the largest
revenue; they addict themselves to field affairs, sell
their wool and their cattle, and do not consider rural
profits disgraceful."
The contrast was great for Poggio between this
country life of the English nobility and the city life
of the Italian nobility. It is not less for a French
man, and, although among us the Revolution has sent
many nobles to their estates, it continues stUl. The
town is not in England, as among us, the chosen abode.
Excepting the great manufacturing cities, the country
towns, York, for example, are scarcely inhabited by

LANDED PROPRIETORS. 171
any one but shopkeepers ; the select few and the cream
of the nation are elsewhere. In the country. London
itself is but a great gathering place for business ;
people come there during three or four months in
summer, to converse and get relaxation, to see their
friends again, provide for their interests, pass their
acquaintances in review. But they are rooted in their
country seats ; that is their true country, the loved
domestic circle, the family centre, the place where they
hunt, where they receive long visits from guests,
where they act effectively, where they find at each step
the memorial of their good deeds or of the good deeds
of their ancestors, where the familiar faces at a street
corner, the accustomed contours of an eminence at the
end of a road, leave in the mind the friendly impression
of being at home. There one takes an interest in
parish affairs, desires to discharge the minor functions.
When one obtains them, one exercises them with zeal,
conscientiously and with pleasure; during the season,
the Saturday evening train transports from London a
number of landed proprietors who proceed to a distance
of forty, eighty, one hundred miles to deliver a lecture,
hold a meeting, fill the unpaid office of magistrate or
overseer of the parish or the church. Moreover, they
are bound to be first in opening their purses, as the
feudal baron was bound to go first into the fight.
B  says that he gives the tenth of his income in
subscriptions, and that his neighbours do likewise.
Count again the poor-rates which here are three
shiUings in the pound of the estimated territorial
return, and which In certain districts are seven
shillings. Voluntarily, or in accordance with the law,
the propertied classes lend a shoulder with true courage
to sustain the heavy burden of public poverty.

172 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
Naturally, such a circle Is closed, and strictly main
tains its limits; the aristocratic institution has Its
drawbacks like others. Thackeray, in all his writings,
has described and bitterly rallied this system of social
enclosures, the effort of the inferiors to break in, and of
the superiors to keep them out. For example, a person
like the elegant and intelligent farmer's wife of whom
I spoke above is not In society ; she is not invited
to archery meetings; several ladies whom B 
mentioned to me, and whose conduct in this respect he
disapproves, refrain from bowing to her, in order to put
a stop to the beginning of possible familiarities. Doubt
less the English who have lived abroad, and whose
mind is open, are superior to this miserable pride;
they frankly acknowledge its foUy and excess. But
beneath much reticence, it is discernible in the others.
At the bottom of their hearts, and perhaps without
realising it to themselves, they believe or are tempted
to believe that a manufacturer, a merchant, a monied
man, obliged to think all day about gain and the
details of gain, is not a gentleman, and cannot belong
to the world of fashion. He has not the requisite
education, the ideas, the language. "What can a
tradesman or farmer speak about, except the objects of
his trade ? " According to them the sentiments lose
something also ; the monied man and the man of busi
ness is inclined to selfishness ; he has not the dis
interestedness, the large and generous views which suit
a chief of the country ; he does not know how to sink
self, and think of the public. This title alone gives
the right to rule ; thus, till the contrary be proved, he
is kept apart, and his family cannot be received among
the governing families. The latter are at home, and
it Is they who make the first advance in adopting a

LANDED PROPRIETORS. 173
newcomer. When a rich man has bought an estate,
it is not necessary that he should trouble himself nor
inform any one ; if, in mind, in character, and in
manners, he is a gentleman, this will be known at the
end of a fortnight, and the neighbouring families will
of their own accord come and call upon him. But,
even when adopted, he will not yet enjoy all the privi
leges of the others ; he will not succeed in being
returned to represent them in Parliament; if he become
a candidate, the public will say, "He is too little
known, he does not belong to the county yet." He
is implanted, but he has not taken root. Perhaps his
son or his grandson will be elected, but not he. To
represent a district one must be connected with all
its interests, its customs, be deeply imbued with
them for generations through every fibre. The first con
dition of acknowledged command is long residence, and
every strong aristocracy is local. In like manner,
in France, If, during the Revolution, La Vendue alone
followed the lead of its gentlemen, it is because, alone
in France, the gentlemen of La Vendee, country folks
and sportsmen, lived and remained in intimate inter
course with the peasants.
I endeavour rightly to comprehend the epithet
so essential, "a gentleman ;" it constantly recurs, and
comprises a mass of ideas wholly English, The vital
question in the case of a man is always put thus : " Is
he a gentleman ?" Similarly in the case of a woman :
" Is she a lady?" In these two cases, one means to
say that the person in question is of the superior class ;
this class is recognised In fact ; a workman, a peasant,
a shopkeeper does not try to step over the line of
demarcation. But how is it recognised that a person
belongs to the superior class? In France ws have

174 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
not the word because we have not the thing, and these
three syllables, as used across the Channel, summarise
the history of English society. The gentlemen, the
squires, the barons, the feudal chieftains have not
become, as under Louis XV., simply privileged persons,
ornamental parasites, hurtful in the. end, unpopular,
odious, outlaws, then, badly reinstated, with antiquated
minds, being henceforth without influence, and main
tained in the State rather as a tolerated memorial than
as an effective moving power. They have continued in
communication with the people, they have opened their
ranks to men of talent, they have taken recruits from
among the cream of the untitled, they have continued
commanding or directing personages, or at least influen
tial in the parish and the State. For that purpose they
have accommodated themselves to their age and their
part ; they have been administrators, patrons, promoters
of reforms, good managers of public affairs, diligent, in
structed, capable men, the most enlightened, the most
independent, the most useful citizens of the country.
After this pattern has been formed the idea of a
gentleman, quite different from that of the French
gentilhomme. Gentilhomme awakens ideas of elegance,
delicacy, tact, exquisite politeness, tender honour,
cavalier turn, prodigal liberality, brilliant valour ;
these were the salient traits of the superior class in
France. In like manner " gentleman " includes the^
distinctive traits of the superior class in England ; in
the first place, the most apparent, those which strike
dull eyes, are, for example, an independent fortune, the
style of the house, a certain exterior appearance,
habits of luxury and ease ; very often, in the eyes of
the common people, especially in the eyes of lackeys.

LANDED PROPRIETORS. 17s
these externals suffice. Add to them for more cultivated
minds, a liberal education, travel, instruction, good
manners, knowledge of the world. But, for real judges,
the essential part of the personage is the heart. When
speaking to me of a great lord, a diplomatist, B 
said to me, " He is no gentleman." Dr. Arnold, when
travelling in France, wrote to his friends, " What
strikes me here is the total absence of gentlemen, and
of all persons having the education and the senti
ments of a real gentleman  there are very few
persons here who have the appearance and manners of
one  A real English Christian gentleman, of
manly heart, enlightened mind, is more, I think, than
Guizot or Simondi could be able to comprehend; nO
other countrj' could, I think, furnish so fine a specimen
of human nature." Strip off these exaggerations of
national self-love, instructive testimony will remain.
For them, a real gentleman is a real noble, a man
worthy of commanding, upright, disinterested, capable
of exposing himself and even of sacrificing himself for
those whom he leads, not only an honourable man, but
a conscientious man, in whom generous instincts have
been confirmed by straightforward reflection, and who,
acting naturally well, acts still better upon principle.
In this ideal portrait, you recognise the accomplished
chief ; add to it the English varieties, empire over self,
continuous coolness, perseverance in adversity, natural
seriousness, dignity of manner, the shunning of all
affectation or boasting ; you will have the model
superior who, copied closely or vaguely discerned,
here rallies all who aspire or who will serve. A
novelist has depicted him under the name of " John
Halifax, Gentleman ;" the subject is a poor abandoned

176 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
child who ends by becoming the respected leader of his
district. A single phrase wiU show the tone of the
book : when, after great misadventures, John attains
independence, buys a house and keeps his carriage, his
son exclaims, " Father, we are gentlefolks now I "
" We always were, my son,"

XIIL
MANSIONS, PARKS, AND GARDENS.
T ET US look, however, at the outsides ; they are in-
¦'-' dexes. B  , my entertainer, who has been
married a year, wished to have a cottage. This cottage
is charming, even elegant, furnished with all the refine
ments of neatness, of comfort and luxury, it is of brown
brick, with several turrets, slanting roof, being nearly
altogether enveloped in ivy. Around is a little park
with the velvet lawn rolled daily, two or three superb
clumps of flowering rhododendrons, ten feet high,
thirty in length and breadth ; on the grass are garlands
of exotic flowers of vivid hues, groups of trees well
arranged, a covered hedgerow forming a lovers' walk
for a young newly-married pair ; then, beyond the
hedges, a horizon of large trees and glimpses of views
over the everlasting verdure. A real nest for a
married couple : within, pink and white paper-hang
ings, light painting, in lilac or light yellow ; delicate,
tiled floors and many lozenge-paned windows which
recall the Middle Ages. In the drawing-room, an excel
lent piano, and several fine books which are wedding
gifts, Tennyson, a Prayer-Book, and others bound
in blue velvet, in wood with carving, in gilded
morocco, illustrated with care, with the neatness of
N

178 NOTES VN ENGLAND.
pencil which is peculiar to EngUsh artists, some orna
mented on each page with paintings and coloured
arabesques. Not an object which does not denote an
exquisite and even fastidious taste. Everywhere are
flower-stands filled with rare flowers ; without, within,
fiowers abound ; this is the fullest detail of luxury, and
they understand it as those who really delight in it.
This understanding and this care are manifested in
everything. There is not an object which fails to
exhibit forethought and calculated comfort. There are
carpets and long oilcloths from top to bottom of the
house : the carpet serves for warmth ; the oilcloth on
which one treads may be washed and kept as clean as
a carpet. In my bedroom is a table of rosewood ;
upon this table a slab of marble, on the marble a round
straw mat ; all this to bear an ornamented water-bottle
covered with a tumbler. One does not simply place
one's book upon the table ; upon the table is a small
stand for holding it. One does not have a plain can
dlestick, which one blows out before going to sleep ; the
candle is enclosed in a glass cylinder, and is furnished
with a self-acting extinguisher. Other details are
still more striking ; a moment's reflection is required
in order to comprehend their use. Sometimes all
this apparatus hampers ; it involves too much trou
ble for the sake of comfort. In like manner, on a
journey, I have seen EngUshmen supplied with so
many glasses, opera-glasses and telescopes ; with so
many umbreUas, canes, and iron-tipped sticks ; with so
many overcoats, comforters, waterproofs, and wrappers ;
with so many dressing-cases, flasks, books, and news- .
papers, that were I in their place I should have stayed
at home. From England to France, and from France
to Italy, wants and preparations go on diminishing.

MANSIONS, PARKS, AND GARDENS. 179
Life is more simple, and, if I may say so, more naked,
more given up to chance, less encumbered with incom
modious commodities.
Fifteen hundred pounds of income, three to four
horses, two carriages, six servants, a gardener. The
same style of living would require nearly the same
outlay in France.
We have visited five or six parks, large or of tho
average size, nearly all are beautiful, two or three being
admirable. The intact and well-kept meadows sparkle
in the sun, abounding with daisies and buttercups.
The oaks are old, often enormous. At the bottom of
the valleys, rivulets, properly disposed, form little lakes
In which swim foreign ducks ; here and there, in a zone
of glittering water, an islet covered with rhododen
drons rears its pink tuft Along the woods rabbits
speed off beneath our feet, and at each winding of the
road the undulating plain, strewn with clumps of trees,
sets forth Its verdure varied, mellowed, as far as the blue
distances. What freshness and what sUence ! One
feels in a state of repose ; this nature welcomes one with
a tender, discreet, intimate caress ; she is some one ; she
has her accent, the affectionate accent of domestic hap
piness, like a beautiful bride, who has adorned herself
for her husband, and advances in front of him with a
soft smile. Every original work — a garden, like a
book or a building — is a secret which unveUs deep-
seated sentiments. In my opinion this one, more
than any other, shows the poetic dream of an English
soul. It is not so with their dwellings — ^huge ma
chines, partly Italian or partly Gothic, without distinc
tive character. One sees that they are spacious, com
fortable, well-kept — nothing more. These are the
houses of the rich, who understand comforts, and who.

i8o NOTES ON ENGLAND.
sometimes rather unfortunately, have had architectural
fancies ; many elegant cottages, covered and encum
bered with turrets, seem playthings in glazed paste
board. All their imagination, all their national and
personal invention, have been expended upon their
parks. This one of seven hundred acres contains trees which
two or three men could not encircle with their outspread
arms — oaks, limes, plane-trees, cypresses, beeches,'
which have freely developed the amplitude and fulness
of their forms: Isolated or in groups upon the mellow
and rich meadow, their rich pyramids, their vast
domes expand at will, and descend to the grass with a
largeness of expansion such as cannot be imagined.
They have been tended Uke rich children ; they have
always enjoyed perfect liberty and perfect satisfaction ;
nothing has lessened their luxuriance or hampered
their growth ; they respire the air and use the soil
like great lords to which the soil and the air belong by
right. In the centre of so many living emeralds is a
still more precious jewel — the garden. Clumps of
rhododendrons twenty feet high there display them
selves, with all their flowers in bloom ; their petals,
which are red or of pale violet, shine softly in the
sun, beneath the humming hosts of bees. Bushes of
azaleas, tufts of full-blown roses, beds of flowers with
pearl, azure, velvet, or flesh tints, dainty and winding
borders form indistinguishable circles — one walks
environed with perfumes and colours. Wise art has
regulated the succession of the plants in such a way
that those which bloom late replace those which bloom
early, and that, from one end of the season to the other,
tho vast flower-bed is always blooming. At intervals
a sycamore of noble port, a foreign beech of copper-

MANSIONS, PARKS, AND GARDENS. i8i
coloured foliage, sustain with their grave note or with
their sudden resonance this too-long-drawn-out concert
of delicious impressions. Verily this is a concert for
the eye, and like a magnificent and full-toned sym
phony, which the sun, that powerful leader of the
orchestra, causes to sweU in unison beneath the stroke
of his bow. As far as the distant places of the park,
farther off still, in the woods, on the common, one
feels them near at hand. Beautiful plants have
climbed over the walls, and suddenly, amidst wild firs,
one meets with a pink and smiling rhododendron, like
an Angelica of Ariosto in the midst of the forest of the
Ardennes. AU these distances are agreeable ; the land
rises and falls under a thick covering of brushwood ;
here and there ferns, with their vivid and charming
green, relieve the uniformity of their tint ; in several
places ferns abound, and one sees them meandering,
twisting about, marking rose-windows on the large
russet carpet. At the extremity a line of pines bounds
the horizon, and the undulations of the ground are
developed by insensible stages in the pale warmish
mist, transpierced with light.
The house Is a large mansion, rather commonplace,
solid in appearance, arranged in modern style ; the
furniture of the ground floor and of the first floor,
recently renewed, cost four thousand pounds. Three
rooms or drawing-rooms, sixty feet long, twenty high,
are furnished with large mirrors, good pictures, excel
lent engravings, with bookcases. In front is a glazed
conservatory, where one passes the afternoon when the
weather is bad, and where, even in winter, one can
fancy that it is spring. Bedrooms for the young
ladies who come as visitors ; fresh, clear, virginal,
papered in blue and white, with an assortment of pretty

1 82 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
feminine objects and fine engravings, they are well
fltted for their amiable occupants. As for the rest, the
picturesque sentiment of decoration and of the arrange
ment of the whole is less keen than among us ; for
example, the objects and the tones are rather placed in
juxtaposition than in accord. But there is grandiosity
and simplicity ; no fondness for crowding and for old
curiosities. They readily submit to large bare plane
surfaces, empty spaces ; the eye Is at ease, one breathes
freely, one can walk about, one has no fear of knocking
against the furniture. Attention is given to comfort,
notably to what relates to the details of sleeping and
dressing. In my bedroom, the entire floor is carpeted,
a strip of oilcloth is in front of the washing-stand,
matting along the walls. There are two dressing-
tables, each having two drawers, the first is provided
with a swing looking-glass, the second is furnished
with one large jug, one small one, a medium one for
hot water, two porcelain basins, a dish for tooth
brushes, two soap-dishes, a water-bottle with its
tumbler, a finger-glass with its glass. Underneath is
a very low table, a sponge, another basin, a large
shallow zinc bath for morning bathing. In a cup
board is a towel-horse with four towels of different
kinds, one of them thick and rough. Another indis
pensable cabinet in the room is a marvel. Napkins
are under all the vessels and utensils ; to provide for
such a service, when the . house is occupied, it is
necessary that washing should be always going on.
Three pairs of candles, one of them fixed in a small
portable table. Wax-matches, paper spills in pretty
little holders, pin-cushions, porcelain extinguishers,
metal extinguishers. Whiteness, perfection, softest
tissues in every part of tha bed. The servant comes

MANSIONS, PARKS, AND GARDENS. 183
four times a day into the room ; in the morning to
draw the blinds and the curtains, open the inner blinds,
carry off the boots and clothes, bring a large can of hot
water with a fluffy towel on which to place the feet ;
at midday, and at seven in the evening, to bring water
and the rest, in order that the visitor may wash before
luncheon and dinner ; at night to shut the window,
arrange the bed, get the bath ready, renew the linen ;
all this with silence, gravity, and respect. Pardon
these trifling details ; but they must be handled in
order to figure to oneself the wants of an Englishman
in the direction of his luxury; what he expends in
being waited upon and comfort is enormous, and one
may laughingly say that he spends the fifth of his life
In his tub.
Several of these mansions are historical ; they must
be seen in order to understand what inheritance in a
large family can bring together in the form of treasures.
One was mentioned to me where, by a clause in the
conditions, the possessor is bound to invest every year
several thousand sterling in silver plate ; after having
crowded the sideboards, in the end, a staircase was made
of massive silver. We had the opportunity of seeing
in the retrospective exhibition an entire collection of
precious curiosities and works of art sent by Lord
Hereford. In 1848, he said to one of his French
friends, greatly disquieted and a little put out, " I have
a mansion in Wales which I have never seen, but
which I am told is very fine. Every day .dinner for
twelve Is served there, and the carriage drawn up at
the door in case I should arrive. The butler eats the
dinner. Go thither, make yourself at home ; you see
that it will no't cost you a farthing." Naturally, fine
things accumulate in these wealthy hands. Baroness

1 84 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
Burdett Coutts, Lord EUesmere, the Marquis of West
minster possess picture-galleries which would do honour
to a minor State. Lord EUesmere has in three rooms, as
lofty as the gallery of the Louvre, a number of Pous-
sins, the best Flemish painters, above all three Titians
of medium size, "Diana and Acteon," "Diana and
Calypso," "Venus leaving the Waters," of a warm
amber colour, of the richest and most lively beauty.
The Marquis of Westminster has, in two galleries and
four enormous rooms, an hundred and eighty-three
pictures, with an accompaniment of busts, statues,
bronzes, enamels, malachite vases, six large Rubens,
three Titians, one RaffaeUe, two Rembrandts, a number
of Claudes, chosen from among the finest. These
palatial mansions are but samples, and it would require
too much space to mention them all. In another tour,
I saw Blenheim Palace, near Woodstock, belonging to
the Duke of Marlborough. This is a sort of Louvre,
formerly presented by the nation to the great captain,
built in the style of the period, much ¦ ornamented.
Several rooms are as lofty as the nave of a church, the
library is an hundred feet long, an inner chapel contains
the monument of the founder, one gallery displays the
family portraits, another contains porcelain, several
others paintings. The park is two miles in circumfer
ence, magnificent trees, a large stream of water, crossed
by an ornamental bridge, a. column bearing the statue
of the first duke, a private cabinet containing, under
Titian's name, twelve copies, being the loves of the gods,
voluptuous figures of life-size, presented by the princes
of Italy to the conqueror of Louis XIV, ; in the apart
ments are works by Reynolds, five or six large por
traits by Vandyck, a Madonna by RaffaeUe, two
Rubens, where sensuality, passion, audacity, genius.

MANSIONS, PARKS, AND GARDENS. 185
overflow like a river in splendours and enormities.
Two are bacchanals ; one gigantic female fawn is lying
on the ground, curved upon her pendent breasts, and
her two little ones, turned on their backs, fastened to
the udder, suck eagerly in a mass of quivering flesh
above ; the torso of a dark SUenus forms a contrast to
the dazzling whiteness of a wanton and twining
nymph ; close by, another copper- coloured, huge
SUenus, heartily dances, with a drunken laugh which
shakes his paunch, whilst a beautiful young woman,
bent upon the hip, sets forth the soft undulations of her
side and throat. I dare not describe the third picture,
the most pungent of all, of a sublime crudity, all the
sap and all the flower of an indomitable temperament,
all the poetry of abandoned wickedness, and of bestial
gourmandlsing, " Lot and his two Daughters." But I
have forgotten myself, these memories return upon me
like a hot gust. All that I wish to say in conclusion
is, that these large hereditary fortunes are conservatories
prepared to be stocked with all fine things. At the
end of several generations a mansion, a park become
a jewel case.
Several consequences flow from this, some, which are
evil, affect the individual; others, which are good,
concern the State.
According to S  , who Is cosmopolitan and well
connected here, the law of primogeniture, especially in
the case of noblemen, has many unpleasant results.
Very often the eldest son, having his head turned from
his college days with servility and flattery. Is a foolish
spendthrift or lunatic ; he travels without learning
anything, brings back with him the worst of Conti
nental customs, or wearies. If the aristocracy were not

1 86 . NOTES ON ENGLAND.
recruited by men of talent among commoners, its mem
bers would soon become useless, narrow-minded, and
even pernicious, as frequently happens elsewhere. More
over, the inequality of the children leads to bitter
contrasts. Here I speak less of noblemen who can
procure the advancement of their younger sons in the
army, the Church, or the administration, than of the
simply rich men ; in these families the younger son
bitterly experiences the constraint which casts him
naked or supplied with a trifling patrimony among the
chances and the battles of life, which sends him abroad,
postpones his marriage, condemns him during ten or
twenty years to subordination, striving, to privations,
whilst his brother. Independent and rich from birth,
has but to occupy the mansion and park prepared for
him. However, this notion distresses him less than
we should imagine ; he is accustomed to it from child
hood ; as the usage is old, legal, and national, he
submits to it, and even accepts it on the same footing
as a natural necessity. Besides, by temperament, he
does not dread hardship, and pride whispers to him
that it is best to shift for himself by working.
That being admitted, let us trace the advantages.
An Englishman has nearly always many children, the
rich as well as the poor. The Queen has nine, and sets
the example. Let us run over the families we are ac
quainted with : Lord  has six children ; the Marquis
of  , twelve ; Sir W  , nine ; Mr. S  , a judge,
twenty-four, of whom twenty-two are living ; several
clergymen five, six, and up to ten and twelve ; a certain
Church dignitary has only four sons, but he expends
in keeping up his position and in charities his two
thousand pounds of salary. The Bishops, many of the
high officials or landed proprietors, act likewise. In

MANSIONS, PARKS, AND GARDENS. 187
general one saves little here ; a medical man, a lawyer,
a landlord has too many public or private claims upon
him, taxes, subscriptions, the education and travels
of his chUdren, hospitality, horses, servants, comforts.
One knows not how to keep within bounds, one wishes
to have every enjoyment, to make a figure ; one prefers
to add to the task rather than diminish the style of
living ; in place of retrenching, one scatters abroad ;
at the close of the year the utmost is to make both ends
meet. Too much toil and too great outlay, that is
admitted by my English friends to be the English
shortcoming. Now consider these younger sons, well
brought up, well trained by a general education and by
a special education, informed from their earliest years
that they must count upon themselves ; accustomed to
comfort, followed by the memory of the paternal
country-seat ; can there be a sharper spur ? They have
a stimulus to work. Not to reascend to their father's
position is to fall lower ; they feel bound to rival the
fortune of their eldest brother. In this fashion the
law of primogeniture, combined with the experience of
what is comfortable, is a system of emulation ; they rush
to the Indies, to China, to Australia, take the cream off
the world, and return to found a family. In London there
is a quarter called the Australian, inhabited by people
who have made fortunes in Victoria, in Melbourne.
The weak succumb under this system ; but the spirit of
enterprise, initiative, energy, all the forces of human
nature are brought into full play. The individual
is braced by the struggle, the select few of the
nation is renewed, and gold flows in torrents over the
country. Another advantage, but which appears to be one only
in the eyes of a philosopher and of an artist ; however,

1 88 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
it is an advantage. Without an aristocracy, a civili
sation is not complete ; it wants large, independent
lives, emancipated from all mean care, capable of
beauty like a work of art. Some one has said, " War
to castles, peace to cottages." I think It would be
better to say, " Peace to cottages and to castles."
Proudhon wished to see France covered with neat
little houses, in each house a half-country half-city
family, and round about a small field and a garden, the
whole soil being thus parcelled out. From the his
torian's point of view, this is the desire of a market-
gardener ; if there were nothing else in it than vegetables,
the country would be very ugly. I have no park, and
yet my eyes are satisfied with beholding one — only
it must be accessible and well-kept. It is the same
with the lives of the great ; they perform the functions
of parks among the garden plots and tilled fields.
The one furnishes venerable trees, velvet greenewards,
the delicious fairy-land of accumulated flowers and
poetic avenues ; the other maintains certain elegancies
of manners and certain shades of sentiments, renders
possible a cosmopolite education, supplies a hotbed for
statesmen. One of the first manufacturers in England,
a Radical and supporter of Mr. Bright, said to me, with
regard to electoral reform, " We do not wish to over
throw the aristocracy ; we consent to their keeping the
government and the high offices. As members of the
middle class we believe that speciaUy-trained men are
required for the conduct of affairs — trained from
father to son for this end, occupying an independent
and commanding station. Besides, their title and their
genealogy are a gilt feather ; a troop is more easily led
when its officer wears a plumed hat. But we absolutely
require that they should fill all the places with compe-

MANSIONS, PARKS, AND GARDENS. 189
tent men. Nothing for mediocrities ; no nepotism. Let
them govern, provided, however, that they have talent."
They have profited by their recent experience. They
know that during the Crimean campaign the flood of
public anger nearly swept them away. They have felt
that they must emerge from negligence and disorder ;
they have yielded to opinion, they have ended by
directing reforms. It may be affirmed that during
thirty years they have governed, not in the interest of
their class, but in the interest of the nation. Since
1832 they have ceased to prey upon the public funds ;
they are rich or well-to-do persons, who pay the heavier
share of the taxes; the principal transformations of
the Budget have had the effect of relieving the people, '
On the whole, England is becoming a Republic, for
which the aristocratic institution fabricates the required
contingent of ministers, representatives, generals, and
diplomatists, as a polytechnic school furnishes the
indispensable quota of engineers. Many are incompe
tent; let them remain out of service, and let them
occupy themselves In spending their income. But the
necessary staff may be picked out of the mass ; and
nothing is more precious than a good staff.

XIV.
CHARACTER AND POSITION OF THE CLEEGT.
A LONGSIDE of him who conducts affairs, there is
¦^-^ another who governs consciences, instituted on
the same principle, and leading to the same result — I
mean to say the governance exercised by the most
worthy, respected, stable, and perfectible. This refers
to the clergy ; in the first place, however, let us see
the sentiments which support them.
It is Sunday ; the domestics are excused waiting at
table ; each guest helps himself ; the Sabbath day is
respected as much as possible. These biblical traits
are encountered at every step ; for example, newspapers
do not appear on Sundays ; one train excepted, the
railway traffic ceases ; in Scotland, the Duchess of
 , who was going to see her dying mother, could
not get the special train on Sunday, for which she
would have paid.
We go to church for afternoon service ; the parson,
a tall, thin man of forty, takes as his text the life of
St. John the Baptist in the New Testament, briefly
narrates this story, and extracts the fitting applications
from it with good sense and calmness. Good pro
nunciation, gravity, no emphasis ; solid and clear argu
ment, developed in a serious tone, is always useful teach-

THE CLERGY. 191
ing for the public, especially for the village public.
Before, and after, he reads the service, and the small
congregation sings the psalms, accompanied by the
organ. Excellent behaviour and general attention.
The music is a grave recitative, rather monotonous,
but never clamorous or bellowing, like our church
singing. This liturgy, those psalms, translated or
arranged from the Hebrew, are truly eloquent, elevated,
imposing ; the Hebraic style, with Its abruptness and
sublimity, runs weU in English. It has been softened,
rendered lucid in the translation ; but the English
tongue, among all others, is the most capable of sus
taining its grandeur and of adapting itself to its jerks ;
for it can express concentrated and powerful emotions.
Impassioned and profound veneration. For example, the
words " Mon Dieu " are Inexpressive and almost devoid
of accent in French ; the same English words, "My God,"
are an intense cry, or sigh of aspiration and of solemn
anguish. The more I read the " Book of Common
Prayer," the more beautiful and appropriate to its pur
pose do I find it. Whatever be the religion of a country, 1
church is the place to which men come, after six days
of mechanical toil, to freshen in themselves the senti
ment of the ideal. Such was the Grecian temple under
Cymon ; such the Gothic cathedral under St. Louis.
In accordance with the differences of sentiment, the
ceremony and the . edifice differ ; but the important
point is, that the sentiment should be revived and forti-.
fied. Now, in my opinion, that occurs here ; a day
labourer, a mason, a seamstress who leave this service
carry with them noble impressions, suited to the
instincts of their race, a vague notion of an august, I
know not what, of a superior order, of invisible justice.
Moreover, a cultivated man can seat himself beside

igz NOTES ON ENGLAND.
them ; he is not repelled by too base superstitions. No
petty decorations, painted images, childish parade, postur-
ings, set marches, and antiquated ceremonies, whereof
the congregation have forgotten the meaning. The
walls are nearly bare ; the hymns and words are in the
vulgar tongue ; the officiating clergyman does not make
genuflexions ; his bearing is that of a magistrate ; except
the surplice, he has the garb of one, and, according to
the saying of Joseph de Maistre, he may be defined as
a gentleman charged with holding forth worthy dis
courses to you. The ceremony Is a moral gathering,
where the chairman speaks in a pulpit, in place of
speaking from a platform. Besides, in his discourses
as in his worship, dogma is always put In the back
ground ; before everything else, the art and will to live
rightly are considered. Religion itself, with its emotions
and its great vistas, is scarcelj' anything but the poetry,
and the far beyond, of morality ; the prolongation into
the infinite of a luminous and sublime idea — that of
justice. A reflecting mind can accept the whole, at least
in guise of symbol. In this fashion, and without re
nouncing his personal interpretation, he remains in com
munication and in communion with the simple who are
near him. On the fundamental point, which is the
moral emotion, all are agreed, and, in consequence, all
reunite to surround with assiduous respect, visible and
unanimous, the Church and the pastor.
Thus he possesses authority. Note, moreover, that he
is a gentleman, frequently by his birth and by his for
tune, nearly always by his education. The Bishop of
London has £10,000 a year ; one of the two Archbishops,
£15,000; a certain dignitary of Cambridge, £7,000;
the Dean of St. Paul's, £2,000 ; that of Westminster,
£f3,000. Literature and science are passports to these

THE CLERGY. 193
high offices ; one attains a bishoprio through Greek ;
as was the case of Dr. Thirlwall, author of a very
good history of Greece. The average of all the salaries
put together and divided by the number of incumbents
is £140 ; generally a cure or living is worth £200 or
£300 a year, the smallest are £80 ; one is said to be
worth £10,000. The Lord Chancellor has seven
hundred in his gift, the others are in the gift of pri
vate persons, inheritors or founders. In addition, and
not unfrequently, the incumbents have fortunes of
their own. Several good families have a son in holy
orders ; he brings with him his share in the estate,
sometimes a large income, or the fortune of his wife ;
many pious and well-born girls like to marry a clergy
man. In fine, the ecclesiastical profession is a career
very similar to that of the magistracy among us, com
prising marriage, a serious life, moral pre-occupations,
select education, elevated sentiments, but not an ascetic
system, a soUtary hearth, and passive obedience.
The majority have been at Oxford or Cambridge ;
those of my acquaintance all read French, and pos
sess a solid foundation of appropriate study, Greek,
Latin, mathematics, general instruction. They have
read Shakespeare and Tennyson ; they are not unac
quainted with the different points of view of interpre
tation, with the history of this Church. One of them
gave me particulars about the successive versions of the
Prayer-Book, and said that it would have been better
to have retained the first. Another was tolerant in
the matter of Dissenters, and only blamed the haughty
disposition which leads each to form a doctrine for
himself. On this subject, witness the tone of their
orthodox reviews : it is firm, but not violent. An
entire fraction of the Church holds broad views.
o

194 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
Liberals, like Milman, Independent Investigators, bold
commentators, like Stanley, have been thought worthy
of the highest posts. Deans in the capital. All that
denotes a rather lofty average of education and spirit,
very lofty, if we compare it with the corresponding
grade in France. As to their manners and externals,
they are those of a gentleman, of a gentleman of inde
pendent means, if the living be large enough, or if the
incumbent have private fortune ; besides, a wife always
imparts comfort and enjoyment to the house which she
manages. Many of them keep horses, a carriage,
several servants. In the case of one, his cottage, the
small park, the style of the house, were as weU looked
after as in that of Mr. B  , my entertainer. In that
of a second, six miles from this place, the style is not
inferior, I know not whether it be accidental or not,
but it has never seemed to me that they are prudish
in their tone or their manners. Lately, at Venice, I
dined at table with a gentleman, his four daughters,
and his wife ; he was not serious, like most English
men ; on the third day he told me he was a clergyman,
and we went to the theatre together to see Mary Stuart.
Thus by their ideas, their conduct, their education,
their manners, sometimes too by their fortune and their
birth, they can mingle with the local aristocracy. They
are not peasants with the rust badly rubbed off at col
lege, fed upon antiquated theology, set apart from the
world by their profession, their celibacy, their defi
ciency in experience, but are relatives, equals, men of
the same sphere. The clergyman at table alongside the
landlord is the director of morals, alongside of the poli
tical leader, both of them allied together, are visibly the^
superiors of those they lead, being accepted by them as
such, and are generally worthy of being so accepted.

THE CLERGY. igS
When I walk to the village with the clergyman, he
enters the houses, pats the little ones on the head, gets
information about their progress, admonishes the bad
boys, speaks against drunkenness, chats with the people
about their concerns ; he is their natural counsellor.
His ¦wife teaches the poor children ; the indigents come
to the parsonage to seek help, a bottle of good wine,
some delicacies for a sick person. Another clergyman
whom I knew in London, recently took the ragged-
school children into the country. There were two
thousand of them ; it was at once a festival and an
autumn procession, with flags, music, &c. They re
mained away from seven in the morning till the even
ing ; they ate and drank ; the cost of the whole was
about two hundred pounds, supplied by voluntary con
tributions. The object was to give a day's pleasure in
the open air to these poor little ones who dwell in dirty
holes or on the pavement. Spiritual guides and tem
poral guides ; on both sides the superior class fulfils its
task ; and in local life as in general life, its ascendency
is merited and undisputed.

XV.
THE GOVERNING CLASSES AND THE GOVERNMENT.
T) ETURN to London : I have vainly striven to pro-
-*-^ cure precise information, some figures about the
fortunes and number of the persons who compose this
disseminated and local aristocracy. In 1841, accord
ing to Porter, in England and Wales there were
123,000 males and 322,000 females enjoying an inde
pendent fortune, the population was 16,000,000 ; now,
in 1861, it is 20,000,000, and wealth has largely in
creased. In 1849, the number of persons keeping
riding and carriage horses was 140,000, of whom the
half kept two horses and upwards. In 1841 the num
ber of persons having male servants was 120,000, of
whom the half had two men servants and upwards.
Now, my friends tell me, that to keep a horse and a
man servant denotes an outlay of £800 to £1,000 a
year. I suppose that, in accordance with these figures,
the number of rich or well-to-do families of the
country may be estimated at about one hundred and
twenty thousand.
f ^ Observe the supports of such a constitution ; it is
/ based on the number, the distribution, the fortune, the
j antiquity, the capacity, the residence, the probity, the
\ utUity, the authority of the entire upper class, one

THE GOVERNMENT. i^i
hundred thousand families. All the rest is secondary.
For eighty years our publicists have reasoned them
selves blind concerning constitutions ; I know one
among the most eminent who would transport that of
England or the United States to France, and asks two
years only for rendering the nation accustomed to it.
One of them said to me, "It is the locomotive ; it is
enough to bring it across the water, and instantly it
will replace the diligence." In fact, nearly all Europe
has essayed or adopted the EngUsh system — monarchy
more or less tempered. Lower House and Upper House,
elections, &c. Consider how grotesque the result
has been In Greece, lamentable in Spain, fragile in
France, uncertain in Austria and in Italy, insufficient
in Prussia and in Germany, successful in Holland, in
Belgium, and in the Scandinavian States. To import the
locomotive is not everything : to make it run, a line is
requisite. Or, rather, one ought to put aside all com
parisons drawn from mechanical things ; the constitu
tion of a State is an organic thing like that of a living
body, it pertains to the State alone ; another cannot
assimilate it, the outside merely can be copied. Under
neath Institutions, charters, written laws, the official
almanack, there are the ideas, the customs, the character,
the condition of classes, their respective position, their
reciprocal sentiments ; in short, a ramified network of
deep-seated, invisible roots beneath the visible trunk
and foliage. It is they which feed and sustain the
tree. Plant the tree without roots, it will languish,
and will fall at the first gust. We admire the stability
of the EngUsh Government ; this is due to its being the
extremity and natural unfolding of an infinity of living
fibres rooted in the soil over all the surface of the
country. Suppose a riot like that of Lord Gordon's,

igS NOTES ON ENGLAND.
but better conducted and fortified by socialistic proclama
tions ; add to this, what is contrary to all probability, a
gunpowder plot, the total and sudden destruction of the
two Houses and of the Royal Family. Only the peak
of the Government would be carried off, the rest would
remain intact. In each parish, in each county, there are
families around which the others would group them
selves ; important personages, gentlemen and noblemen,
who would take the control and make a beginning,
who are followed, who are marked out beforehand by
their rank, their fortune, their services, their education,
and their influence ; born captains and generals who will
rally the dispersed soldiers, and Instantly re-form the
army, quite the opposite of France, where the middle-
class citizen and the workman, the noble and the pea
sant, are distrustful and at variance, where the blouse
and the coat rub shoulders with rancour and fear,
where the sole chiefs are unknown functionaries,
movable, provisional, to whom exterior obedience is
paid but not close deference, and who are submitted to
without being accepted.
Thus their Government is stable, because they possess
natural representatives. It is necessary to reflect in
order to feel aU the weight of this last word, so simple.
What is a representative ? To represent a person or
a society, great or small, it matters not of what kind,
is to render it present in a place where It is not, to
decide, to order, to do in Its stead and for It, that which
through absence, ignorailce, insufficiency, or any other
hindrance, it cannot do except by substituting for its
own incompetent will the competent will of its repre
sentative. He is like a manager, a proxy, like a captain
entrusted with the guidance of a ship, or an engineer
employed to construct a bridge. Thus, in public affairs

THE GOVERNMENT. igg
as in private affairs, my true representative is he whose
decisions are based on my firm support. Whether that
support be manifested or not by a vote matters little ;
votes, counted suffrages, are simple signs. The essential
thing is that the support exists and subsists, written
or not, noisy or silent. It is a constant mental state,
being an energetic and persistent disposition of the
mind and of the heart; here, as in all the moral sciences,
it is the interior that must be regarded. Now observe
that the legal indexes by which this is thought to be
determined are not infallible ; universal suffrage or any
other electoral combination may concentrate on a list
or a name the majority of votes, this majority does not
prove firm support. Compelled to choose between two
lists or two names, about which he has not a decided
and personal opinion, an ignorant person has not really
made a choice, and nearly all the nation is composed
of ignorant persons. The twenty thousand peasants,
workmen, members of the lower middle-class, who are
led to each urn, go thither like a flock ; they do not
know the candidates except by hearsay, scarcely by
sight. We are acquainted with some who vote at
random, and say, " The one's as good as the other."
In every case their preference is faint, consequently weak
and vacillating. They may abandon, leave the person of
their choice, whom they prefer so slightly, in the lurch ;
hence their government, whatever it may be, wants
root. A current of opinion, a street riot may over
throw it, setting up another- in its place. The thing
done, many will repeat again, " The one's as good as
the other." This waning affection is most frequently
merely commonplace toleration, and never stiffens Into
a settled choice. Thus all our establishments. Republic,
Empire, Monarchy, are provisional, resembling the great

200 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
drop-scenes which in turn fill an empty stage, disappear
ing or reappearing on occasion. We see them descend,
reascend, with a sort of indifference. We are Incon
venienced on account of the noise, of the dust, of the
disagreeable countenances of the hired applauders, but
we resign ourselves ; for what can we do in the matter ?
Whoever happen to be our official representatives, in
whatever fashion chance or election gives them to us,
the public will does not unite itself in a lasting way to
their will. They are not our effective and true repre
sentatives, and our society does not allow of better
ones ; let us retain these, lest we meet with worse.
The upper class does not supply them, since among us
levelling envy accepts but sulkily the rich and the noble.
As for the Imitation of America and the Installation
of an intelligent democracy where a mason, a peasant,
shall possess an amount of Instruction and of political
views which are now possessed by a country school
master, a notary, to arrive at that point, will require a
century and upwards. Meantime, and as a preparation,
one might try the double vote, the first for the Com
mune, the second for the chief place of the arrondisse-
ment ; yet these are but distant experiments and dubious
expedients. On the contrary, in a country like this one, tho
representatives, being natural, are effectives ; the sup
port which maintains them is not slippery, but firm.
They are really the persons which the pubUc desiro
to have at the head of affairs, and not otherc;
and it desires them without hesitation, determinately,
with a resolution which lasts. Each parish or dis
trict is acquainted with those of its choice, a day-labourer
distinguishes them as easily as a cultivated man would
do. They are like to the five or six large trees of the

THE GOVERNMENT. 201
locality, recognisable by their bearing and circum
ference ; everybody, down to the children, has reclined
under their shadow and benefited by their presence.
In default of enlightenment and nice discernment,
interest, custom, deference, and sometimes gratitude, will
suffice to ensure votes for them ; for these are holds
as tenacious as those of tradition, of sentiment, and of
instinct ; attachment is the strongest fastening. They
are thus marked out for government, and in this respect
the written vote or the raised hand does nothing but
confirm the tacit assent. Even in the days of rotten
boroughs. Parliament then represented the public will.
It repriiSents it to-day, although the number of electors
is small. It will still represent it ten years hence, should
the Reform Bill extend the suffrage.* In my opinion
these legislative changes do nothing but perfect details
without touching what is fundamental. The important
point is always the assent of the public. Now, voters 1
or non -voters, the day-labourer and the shopkeeper (/"
wish as a leader a man of the better class. Whether
they have or have not the legal means for expressing
this approval, and of giving effect to it in the case of
this or that individual. It Is gained for the class. The
leader once elected, whether by them or by others, they
faithfully follow him, and by this silent support he be
comes their member by a more solid title than among
us where their voices are counted.
By a more solid title and also by a better title. For
it does not suffice to be appointed leader in order to
know how to lead ; the election which confers the
power does not in any wise confer capacity. A
long preparation, special education and studies are re
quired to be a lawyer or an engineer ; they are
* This was written before the passing of the last Eeform Eill. .

202 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
required for a stronger reason to constitute a states
man, to vote with discernment upon great public
interests, to sift the opportune and the possible, to con
template the whole from afar, to have a reasoned and
valid opinion as to the degree of extension which
it is fitting to accord at a given moment to the
suffrage, about the transformation which is suited for
tenant-right and property in Ireland, about India,
about the United States, about the various powers of
Europe, about the chances and the future of commerce,
of industry, of the finances, and the rest. Success is
not attained In these matters by abstract principles, by
newspaper phrases, by vague notions brought from
college or from a school of law, which among us
constitute the ordinary luggage of a politician. Such
optical instruments are of no avail, or are deceptive.
The advocate's education, the routine of the head of
a department, limited, local, and technical experience,
add nothing to their reach. It Is not thus that ex
tended views are obtained. They are not procured save
at great cost. One is bound, in order to procure them,
to travel, to know languages, to meet abroad learned
men and make political acquaintances, to acquire
terms of comparison among foreigners, to mark on the
spot foreign manners, institutions, governments, pub
lic life, and private life. Many members of Parliament
make no other use of their hoUdays than to pro
ceed to the Continent and institute an inquiry for
a fortnight or for six weeks. They come to France,
to Spain, to Italy, to Germany, in order to refresh,
rectify, deepen their previous impressions, not once,
but five, six, and ten times. They wish to keep them
selves abreast of what is going on, follow the fluctuations
of public opinion. In this manner, their judgment is

THE GOVERNMENT. 203
never behind-hand, and its chances of being correct are
increased. Let a black spot form in Denmark, in Poland,
at Rome, in the United States ; almost immediately
they are there, and bring back precise information.
Abroad, they get introduced to eminent or special
men, invite them to their residences, turn them over
and read them like volumes, frequently noting all the
details of their conversation, and on their return com
municating the manuscript to the persons of their circle.
I have read such manuscripts ; nothing more instructive.
To this information they add inspection of things. Ono
of them goes to our farms, examines the manure, the
implements, the cattle, makes a collection of statistics,
and, on his return, prints or delivers a series of lectures
on the state of agriculture in France. Another one
surveys the Paris manufactories, whilst his wife visits
the professional schools. Below the statesman, nearly
aU the rich or merely well-off people do likewise. I
know one who, having several children, and making
some £500 a year, annually deducts from this moderate
income £40 for an excursion. Not one young
man of good family does not make the round of the
Continent ; every complete education includes travels
and a residence abroad for a longer or shorter time.
During the vacation, barristers, lawyers, professors
visit Germany in hundreds. Many observe but the
outsides of things ; a vessel cannot hold more than its
capacity ; yet all bring back with them soine ideas, or,
at the least, notions less false, and prejudices less gross.
All this information combined forms a more enlightened
public opinion on great subjects, less incompetent in
political matters, more sensible, nearer the truth, more
open to good counsel. As a consequence, the states
man who has discerned the right path is silstained.

204 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
encouraged. The crew elects the captain by acclama
tion ; frequently, indeed, opinion seeks him out, and
leads him to the helm.
A thing more essential still is that such an education
is the surest means for forming him. Spread over the
whole' upper class, it inevitably descends upon the great
spirits as upon the minor spirits of the class. If one
of them be well endowed, he does not miscarry for lack
of sufficient and appropriate culture ; he receives that
which develops it, and his talent or his genius at
tains its full growth. As, moreover, his situation, his
fortune, and his connections exempt him from too
lengthened an apprenticeship and the petty troubles
about money, he can yield his fruits at an early period.
Thus it was with the second Pitt, Canning, Sir Robert
Peel, Lord Palmerston ; at the present day with Mr.
Gladstone and Lord Derby. Doubtless It is unfortunate
that hereditary riches and premature importance should
serve unjustly to crown an entire class, and, in con
sequence, some rascals, several brutes, and a quantity
of mediocrities. But it is at this price that a select
few can be formed. The Institution resembles' a stud;
out of one hundred animals you get six good racers ;
out of a thousand, a racer of the first class. Consider
that, without competent chiefs, a State cannot prosper,
and that there are cases where, for want of a great
man, a State falls ; can you pay too dearly for a certain
contingent of competent chiefs, and the frequent chance
of a great statesman ?

XVI.
KAGGED SCHOOLS, HOSPITALS, WORKHOBSEB, AND THE
VOLUNTEERS.
T ET US see the machine at work. The Edinburgh
-*^ Review for July, 1861, says : " It is a distinctive trait
of this country, and a trait of which we are proud, that
we manage our affairs ourselves, and without the inter
vention of the State." For example, in twenty-one
years, out of. £13,200,000 expended in national educa
tion, the State has contributed only £4,200,000 ; the
rest has been supplied by subscription. Private societies
abound : societies for saving lives from drowning, for
the conversion of the Jews, for the propagation of the
Gospel, for the advancement of science, for the pro
tection of animals, for the repression of vice, for render
ing working men possessors of freeholds, for building
good dwellings for them, for producing funds for their
savings-banks, for emigration, for the propagation of
economic and social knowledge, for the right observance
of Sunday, against drunkenness, for founding a school
for female teachers, &c. It is sufficient to walk
through the streets and turn over the newspapers or
reviews, to divine the number and the importance of
these institutions. My friends tell me that they are
nearly all conducted seriously and conscientiously. The

2o6 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
EngUshman does not sever himself from public affairs ;
they are his affairs ; he desires to share in their manage
ment. He does not live apart ; he considers himself
bound to contribute in one way or other to the common
good. In like manner, among us an ordinary honest
man considers himself bound to go regularly to his
office or his counter, there to inspect matters or to
labour ; he would lose all esteem for himself, he would
regard himself as an odd fish, or, what Is more, a fool,
if he entrusted this to another, if he suffered himself
to be put in a bad way, to be duped, to be robbed by
a representative. C  took me to a meeting for the education and
the reform of young vagabonds. The association
maintains about one hundred youths from thirteen to
twenty, some having been convicted, the others intro
duced by very poor parents, who place them in charge
to prevent them keeping company with rascals, and, to
hinder them from becoming thieves. Thej'' are lodged,
they are clothed, they are fed, they are taught a trade
(shoemaking, printing, toy and furniture-making, &c.).
Those in the second category have the privilege of
belonging to a brass band, which plays in the court
before the proceedings begin. Their faces are dull,
and not very pleasing ; they have a special uniform,
grey and blue ; a penitentiary, even a private one, even
well-kept, is never a place of pleasure. The establish
ment was founded by Mr. Bowyer, a sort of lay St.
Vincent de Paul; it bears this name, "Preventive and
Reformatory Institution." Contributions are asked from
those who enter, and a little pamphlet is handed to
them, I there read that "the cost of maintaining
each youth In the establishment is on an average about
£17 a year, whilst the cost for maintaining each

RAGGED SCHOOLS. 207
criminal in HoUoway Prison is equivalent to a curate's
salary (£75), and that the thefts of a London pick
pocket are not estimated at anything less than £300
a year." Conclusion : it is more economical to pay
here for a young vagabond, than to let him grow up
outside. English charity justifies itself by figures.
Fifteen of them leave to-day for Australia, of their
own choice ; their passage is paid ; to-day's meeting is
on account of their departure.
They are in the middle of the audience, on three
benches, and they listen. Lord  , member of the
Upper House, and a wealthy landed proprietor, is
chairman, and opens the meeting. Timid air, small
shrUl voice, large pointed collar sticking up from a
badly-made coat ; he has rather the mien of a retired
shopkeeper than of a great lord. After some halting
phrases, he reads several very proper letters from the
youths who have left the Institution. One of them, a
woodcutter in the virgin forest, thought at first that
it would be Impossible for him to become, used to the
solitude; now he labours, without being weary, from
the rising to the going down of the sun. Yet he can
speak to no one, save for a quarter of an hour to the
woman who brings him his food daily.
Another speech, that of an oratorical Bishop, and
who makes similar ones every day : " You have been
supported here, sheltered from temptations, like plants
under . glass ; this was in order to aUow your good
instincts time to take root. Now you are about to be
transplanted into the open air, left to yourselves ; it
is necessary that your roots should implant themselves
and live. For that do not have confidence in your
selves, but in Jesus Christ, who is your only friend,
who wUl be your help in solitude, amid temptations."

2o3 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
Good delivery, paternal and grave, without emphasis
or book phrases ; he adapted his language to the listen
ing minds. Besides, the Protestant religion is effica
cious in such a case ; the Bible of Robinson Crusoe
is the companion of the squatter alone amidst desert
woods. Third speech by Mr. S  , a member of the House
of Commons, who especially addressed himself to the
audience. During an experience of twenty-five years
he has verified the extreme usefulness of transplanta
tion ; in the first place, because it removes the youths
from the contagion of bad example ; next, and above
aU, because it induces the development of English
qualities — energy, habits of self-reliance, fondness for
striving, all the incUnations which, having no outlets
on the London pavement, are turned at home against
society and in favour of evil. Good reasoning, very
pertinent, free from rhetoric ; that is rare in France,
He ended by proposing thanks to the Bishop, and
the whole audience, the ladies and the young girls
too, raised their hands to vote the thanks.
Thence we went to visit a ragged-school. This is
a large brick building, in which the rooms are very.
airy and well-kept ; I silently contrasted them with the
narrow chambers of a corresponding school in Paris.
Unfortunately they were empty; the children had a
holiday to-day, and the friend who brought me was
obliged to go away. He said, " That does not matter ;
there is another ragged-school close by, in Brook Street;
go and see it." "All alone, without introduction?"
" Certainly, and they will be very polite." I went
thither, and, in fact, a gentleman who was about to
leave, made me enter, introduced me to the master, and
conducted me through the whole cstiiblishmcnt, which

RAGGED SCHOOLS. 209
is very complete, and, in addition to the school, includes
a nursery, an asylum, workshops, &c. ; on the upper
fioor, dormitories for the elder ones. During the day,
the beds are turned against the wall ; during the
night, by means of machinery it would take too long
to explain, they can be Isolated and carefully
watched. ~^
In the shops, the young boys worked at basket-
making, at preparing small wooden models for draw
ing-schools ; they were made to sing, close up, march
before me. Assuredly it is right to occupy and in
struct them in this way ; for their faces are disquieting,
and resemble those of young prisoners. The large
room for the very young children was nearly full, and
yet had no bad smell. Nearly all had shoes, and they
were not too ragged. Several little girls held a suck
ling in their arms. The most skilful and docile of the
band are monitors over the others ; they receive a few
pence weekly. Every one is taught to read, to write,
to reckon, to sing, to go through drill. The mistress
teaches sewing to the girls ; she is a young and pretty
person, fuU of spirit, good humoured, whose joyous
mien and cordial manners are exceUent In such a place ;
she earns twelve shillings a week, and the master
twenty-five. In my opinion, an establishment like
this, especially In a poor neighbourhood. Is a moral
disinfecting apparatus ; indeed, documents show that in
London the numbers of the youthful delinquents, which
were 10,194 in 1856, had fallen to 7,850 in 1866. It Is
calculated there are twenty-five thousand chUdren In
the London ragged-schools, three hundred thousand in
those of all England. Three among them alone are
aided by the Government ; all the others are entirely
supported by private persons. They feel that tho

210 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
school, like the police, and better than the police, con
tributes to the security of the streets.
Conversations in the evening about various analogous
societies ; too many were named to me, I can but
mention some of them. An establishment has been
founded, a sort of club, where governesses, ladies of
good character, having good certificates vouching for
them, can find, when they come to London to make
purchases or to give lessons, a dinner, fire, a library, tea,
persons of their acquaintance. Another private esta
blishment contains about eighty poor young women ;
this is to remove them from temptations ; they are
furnished with work, and, besides, living In common is
less expensive. The cost for each of them is about ten
pounds a year. There Is a society for selling Bibles ;
they are sold instead of being distributed, because.
If given away, they would not be valued. The ladies
of the association, being too far apart from the people,
had no hold over them ; they devised as intermediaries
poor, honest, zealous women who act as their repre
sentatives, carry the Bible into the worst neighbour
hoods, make friends with the working men's wives,
assemble them in a room at night, teach them sewing,
housekeeping, &c. At this moment, an hundred of
these Bible-women are on duty ; one of them, last
year, sold 419 Bibles and 501 New Testaments, Tem
perance associations; there are some throughout all
England. I recently saw, in the street, young wives who
belonged to these societies ; there were ten carriages ;
they were going to a meeting. They pledge them
selves never to drink spirits ; some of them through
scruples have refused to take the potion prescribed by
the doctor, or even the sacramental wine. A placard
intimates that the " Total Abstinence Association "

RA GGED SCHOOLS, ETC. z 1 1
will hold Its meeting at a certain place, and gives the
programme of the proceedings : several bands of music,
tea at four o'clock, walking in the park, exhibition of
a collection of carpets, divine service in a pretty
church, speeches by the principal members, admission
at reduced prices for the members of all the temperance
associations. This absurd mixture of purposes and
opposite attractions is truly English, Many of these
societies correspond or act in concert ; for example,
most of the mechanics' institutes and the ragged-schools
are in combination with a savings-bank ; this is to
teach saving and its advantages to children and young
people. When one of these societies is important, it
has its journal, its review, magazine, its special publica-
tiong : that is the case in the Wesleyan Association, the
Ragged- Schools Union, the Society for the Diffusion of
Social Science, the large society which multiplies and
distributes Bibles, &c. I do not speak of the leagues
which have for object some legal reform, which are
transitory like their object ; the most celebrated of
these was the Anti-Corn Law League, of which Cob-
den was the chief. Details concerning it will be found
in the works of our Bastiat : enormous subscriptions,
meetings. Itinerant lecturers, public lectures, small
popular tracts, big learned works, a universal and in
cessant propaganda ; the machine is admirable for
rousing and altering opinion. Here, let a man have
I a good idea ; he communicates it to his friends ;
'many of them think it good. Together they find the
I money, publish it, solicit support and subscriptions.
I Sympathy and subscriptions flow in, publicity in
creases. The snow-ball goes on increasing, strikes
against the door of Parliament, pushes It partly open,
/and ends by opening or breaking through it. Such

112

NOTES ON ENGLAND.

is the mechanism of reforms ; it is thus that one per
forms one's work oneself, and it must be said that over
all the soil of England there are pellets of snow on the
way to become balls. Many break the one against the
other, or melt by the way ; but new ones are always
being formed out of their fragments, and to see the
human ant-heaps determined to push them along is
a fine spectacle.
To explain this zeal, we find the following reasons :
1. The Englishman has need of action; when he has
done his own business, a surplus of energy remains
which is expended in public affairs. Besides, many
persons being independent, and possessing leisure, have
no other outlet ; it is the same need of action which
produces their travels and a quantity of painful enter
prises ; for example. Miss Nightingale was neither a
devotee nor a mystic after the manner of a Sister of
Charity, when she went to organise the hospitals in
the Crimea ; her whole incentive consisted in the idea
of humanity and a very active mind. 2. The English
man is rich, and, in addition, when he provides for the
future, it is in another way than the Frenchman — by ¦
his expenses, not by his savings. For instance, he
prefers to leave less to his children, and to give them
a better education ; he consents to work an extra hour
daily in order not to forego an excursion. Owing to
the same motive, he can give, and he gives willingly,
a portion of his time and of his means to consolidate
and improve the society which protects him and will
protect his property. A man who rightly understands
his interests upholds the roofs of the great national
mansion as carefully as those of his private house.
3. By tradition, the antiquity of self-government, the
diffusion of economic knowledge. The Englishman is

HOSPITALS. 213
accustomed to look far into political and social matters ;
he knows the inconveniences of an unmended roof, tho
effect of water coming through, the danger of a rotten
beam. Being sensible, reflecting, docile to rational
reasoning, he inspects his raftej's and tiles every morn
ing, he pays the slater without hesitation. 4. He can,
without wearying, perform all wearisome things, attend
meetings, examine accounts, &c. He has less need of
amusement than a Frenchman.
Visit to St. Bartholomew's Hospital. It has an
income of £40,000, in addition to special donations.
A number of hospitals bear the inscription " Supported
by pubUc subscription." The council meets once a
week ; the treasurer, so burdened with work, is not
paid. Six hundred patients ; eight hundred could be
accommodated. The edifice is very vast, and includes
a library, collections, an anatomical museum. The
young doctor who took me over it, and had lived in
Prance, said to me that here a student can see the
patients all day, and that among us, if he be not an in
tern or gxtern, he cannot visit them after ten o'clock
in the morning. The beds are separated by a distance
of five or six feet, and are much more roomy than in
France. Perfect cleanliness ; everything seems to be
weU appointed and kept ; enormous kitchen, where all
is cooked by gas ; a spacious room is arranged as a
larder. In addition to the female attendants, there
are nurses who superintend them, who had themselves
been female attendants, all of them being generally of
mature age and respectable ; 'they do not watch. They
get from fifteen to twenty shillings a week ; they are
not found in food. They may be hired, like our Sisters
of Charity ; hence the lay conscience can replace reli
gious fervour.

214 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
Many fractures, and a quantity of very ingenious
apparatus for supporting the limb, for supporting it so
that the air circulates, allowing it certain movements
without detriment to the formation of callus. But
above aU, a quantity of coxalgia, nervous affections,
scrofula, attributable to impurities in the blood, to bad
nourishment, to the impoverishment of the human
substance. The pallid, dilapidated, exhausted faces are
lamentable. The young doctor admits that an excess
of labour and of gin in England enormously multiplies
Idiots and lunatics. The patients here do not dream of
paying In order to escape dissection, which is their
great preoccupation among us ; the use made of their
bodies is concealed from them ; besides, they are stupe
fied, worn out. So is it with the street girls ; a French
mind is more elastic, and retains its spring longer.
The doctor put me into the hands of a clergyman
who was one of his friends, a philanthropist, and an
Instructed man, who took me to St. Luke's Workhouse.
Everybody knows that a workhouse is an asylum a
little like a prison : in conjunction with |he poor-
rates, it forms one of the distinctive traits of the
English constitution. It is an English principle that
the indigent, by giving up their freedom, have a right
to be supported. Society pays the cost, but shuts them
up and sets them to work. As this condition is repug
nant to them, they avoid the workhouse as much as
possible. This one contains at present five to six hundred old
people, children who have been deserted or who have
no resources, men and women out of employment.
The last class is the least numerous, thirty or forty
women and a dozen of men ; in winter there will be
more of them. In addition, the establishment gives

WORKHOUSES, 2 1 5
out-door relief and at home; this week it assisted
in that way 1,011 persons. Within doors the outlay
by the head is three or four shillings a week.
We went over sixty to eighty rooms, chambers, and
compartments ; washhouse, brewery, bakehouse, shops
for carpentering, for shoemaking, for oakum-picking,
nursery for all the young infants, school for girls,
rooms for the old men, rooms for the old women,
rooms for the sick women, rooms for confinements,
rooms for sick men, for sick children, for lunatics ;
dormitories, refectories, parlours, places for taking
exercise, &c. All seems sufficiently clean and healthy,
but it appears that other workhouses would be much
finer specimens. The children sing out of tune, but
look very weU. As for the lunatics, the sick, the
aged, I find them to be, as I always do, more worn-
out than in Italy or in France ; the human toiler is
more pitiable in Holland, In Germany, In England,
than in the Latin countries. However, I consider
them weU enough cared for ; three meals a day ; meat
three times weekly, and daily for the sick ; excellent
bread ; the kitchen and the provisions have a comfort
able appearance. The sheets are changed every fort
night. The rooms are airy, and there is a fire in each
of them. The old people get tea, sugar, some news
papers. Here and there one observes a book of
natural history, of piety or morality, Chambers's
Journal, a Bible, and upon the walls, texts out of
the Scriptures. Touching detail, on the table is a
pot of fresh flowers. But it would require here a
specialist who had time to make a stay, and I am only
a curious inquirer who passes by. I have seen enough,
however, to feel how much this society occupies itself
about its poor. With regard to workhouses and useful

2i6 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
institutions the public mind is always kept on the alert
by collateral associations, by newspapers and reviews,
and even by romances, which then become the sum
maries of inquiries, and the means of popularising
them. I have read some about prisons and prison
life; all that serves a purpose. For example, last
week PentonviUe was shown to me, a prison of pro
bation, where the convicts remain nine months before
being transported, and, according to the character of
their behaviour, obtain a greater or lesser reduction
of their punishment. This is an admirable iron
hive, so ingeniously constructed and arranged, that
it might be placed in an exhibition among model
machines. This afternoon, I received tickets for the review
of the volunteers, another spontaneous, free institution,
and based upon the love and understanding of the
public good. " In the event of invasion, England will
not have soldiers enough. Let us supply the soldiers,
to wit, ourselves, and soldiers equipped, embodied,
drilled." Following this reasoning, they have en
rolled, clothed, armed themselves at their own cost,
without intervention or help from the central power,
and in six months they numbered one hundred and
thirtj' thousand, and they count upon reaching two
hundred thousand. A painter and a barrister among
my friends are, the one a private, the other a captain.
On an average they drill for an hour and a half daily.
For some time back, in addition to the morning's hour
and a half, they have had three hours' drill in the
afternoon as preparation for the grand review. Often
they get wet, but they joke about their fatigues. A
Crimean officer whom I know says that they are
already sufficiently taught to begin a campaign.

VOLUNTEERS. 217
Private subscriptions have flowed in ; the great help
the small ; the Duke of  has despatched to the
review, by special train, two thousand of his miners.
Nearly all the rich or well-to-do young men have
put their names down ; their club bears the title " For
Hearth and Home," and the ladies encourage them.
It is in Hyde Park that the evolutions take place.
An immense stand surrounds the enclosure ; around,
the windows of the houses are crowded with spectators,
even the roofs are covered ; boys have climbed the trees,
and hang there in clusters, singing with a sharp voice.
The Horse Guards keep the ground, and the Queen in
her carriage is welcomed with loud hurrahs. As far as
can be seen red imiforms stand out upon the verdure,
and at last is seen the grey line of the new militia.
As weU as I can judge they go through their move
ments weU ; at all events, they are equipped in a
practical manner, without luxury or frippery, not to
make a show, but to do work. What this institution
has given rise to in the shape of meetings, discussions,
letters published in the newspapers cannot be described ;
to me it is clear that self-government, among other
advantages, has the privilege of bringing Into play at
every iboment all the thinking faculties of the nation.

218

XVII.
THE CONSTITUTION, THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT.
rPHE better I become informed and the more I reflect,
-*- the more it seems to me that the mainspring of this
government is not this or that institution, but certain
very energetic and very widely diffused sentiments. If
it be solid and is upheld, it Is because of the universal
and profound respect entertained for several things.
If It be active and advanced. It Is because, these things
excepted, all the rest Is thrown open to Individual dis
cussion, control, and initiative.
One of my friends knew Vincent, a journeyman-
printer, whom the trades-unions sent during the
elections to harangue the people, Vincent sum
marised his oratorical experiences thus : " I can utter
all that comes Into my head, attack it matters not
whom or what, except the Queen and Christianity ; if
I spoke against them my hearers would throw stones
at me," In addition to these two inviolable sanctuaries,
public respect covers, though in a lesser degree, the
two great edifices whereof they are the centre. Chris
tianity is respected, so is the Church, the clergy, the
pastor. The Queen is respected, so is the Constitution,
the hierarchy, the nobility, the gentry. Doubtless,
many working men are secularists. Imbued with doc-

THE CONSTITUTION. 219
trines analogous to those of M. Comte, Irritated at the
monstrous inequality between profits and fortunes.
But, on the whole, the nation is conservative, and
lends itself to reform without yielding itself to re
volution. Classes are not divided among themselves as in
France ; there is no unexpected blow to be dreaded,
neither from on high, on the part of the throne, nor
from beneath on the part of the street ; there are no
available and spare systems which any one dreams of
substituting for the existing system. Every one is
agreed about the whole, and before the law each one
bows the head. Out of an hundred examples in proof
of this, I shaU cite two from both ends of the ladder.
The Queen and the late Prince Consort confined them
selves to their parts as constitutional rulers, and never
dreamed of overstepping them ; they consented to be
merely simple moderators, to follow the bent of Par
liament and of opinion. They had no party in Par
liament, they never intrigued against a minister, not
even against him whose person and whose ideas were
distasteful to them, they loyally supported him to the
very end. On the other hand, here is a street scene
which was narrated to me by one of my friends who
came from Manchester. A girl in a rage had thrown
a stone through a pane of glass, a policeman arrives,
takes her gently by the arm, and persuades her to go with
him to the station, "Come along with me, don't resist,
you will only be locked up for the night." She refuses,
sits down on the pavement, then lies down, saying,
" Drag me if you like." A crowd gathers, all her
companions come and advise her. " Go then, Mary,
my girl, don't be quarrelsome ; go with him, you were
In the 'viTong." The policeman calls his companions,

220 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
Mary is carried off ; neither tumult nor outcries, no
one resisted ; it was felt reasonable to obey the law.
My friend added that here when a man who is arrested
begins to argue, the onlookers make inquiries, and
that should they find the policeman in the right, they
give him their help. It is the same in case of out
breaks, every class supplies volunteer constables. In
short, they support their government, and we submit
to ours.
An establishment so firmly based can bear attacks ;
speeches, meetings, leagues, will not overturn It. Con
sequently, criticism has the right to be continuous,
energetic, and even violent. The solidity of the Con
stitution authorises full freedom of control. Indeed,
this control is exercised without ceasing and without
sparing ; every home or foreign question is probed to
the bottom in fifty articles, handled and turned over in
every sense, with a force of reasoning and an abun
dance of evidence which one cannot help admiring.
To estimate this it is necessary to read the principal
journals during several months : The Times, The
Saturday Review, The Daily Netcs, The Standard, and
the political or economic section of the great quarter
lies. Very often they attain high eloquence : good
sense and manly reason, complete information, verified
and drawn from the best sources, entire frankness
carried to the verge of rudeness, the loftj'' and hard
tone of militant conviction, cold and prolonged irony,
the vehemence of concentrated and reflective passion ;
indignation and scorn well from the fountain-head in a
full stream. A similar polemic among us would in
fallibly end in duels and in risings. Here, the cool
ness of the temperament modifies the too hasty im
pression. It is admitted that invective, even when

THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT. 221
personal, does not extinguish a politician, and that no
one should flght about a sheet of Inked paper. It is
understood that the clamour and tocsin of the Press
never terminate in the taking up of arms, but only in
meetings, in protests, and in petitions. The day of my
arrival in London, I saw board-men in the streets carry
ing placards before and behind with the following
phrases on them : " Great usurpation of the rights of
the people- The Lords add four hundred and fifty
thousand pounds to the budget without the nation's
consent." (They had made this addition by altering
the budget voted by the House of Commons.) " Fellow
countrymen, petition." Some days afterwards, being in
a distant neighbourhood, at ClerkenweU, I read in a
local journal the announcement of a meeting on that
subject. Nothing more ; but this open speaking and
these perpetual meetings suffice. It may be said that,
by newspapers and by meetings, one great universal
Parliament and many rriinor parliaments disseminated
over the country, prepare, control, and complete the
task of the two Houses.
We proceed to the Houses of Parliament ; as a whole
the architecture constantly repeats a rather poor idea
and does not show great invention, it has the merit of
being neither Grecian nor Southern ; it is Gothic,
accommodated to the cUmate, to the requirements of
the eye. The palace magnificently mirrors Itself in
the shining river; in the distance, its clock-to'wer,
its legions of turrets and of carvings are vaguely
outlined in the mist. Leaping and twisted lines,
complicated mouldings, trefoils and rose - windows
diversify the enormous mass which coveijs four acres,
and produces on the mind the idea of a tangled forest.
In default of genius, the architects have had good sense ;

222 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
they have recalled the Flemish town-halls, the lofty
chapter rooms, alone capable, by the variety, by the
elegance, by the audacity, by the delicacy, and mul
tiplicity of their forms, to satisfy northern minds and
modern minds. One of these halls, Westminster Hall,
which serves for great State trials, is Immense and of
the greatest beauty. One hundred and ten feet in
height, two hundred and ninety in length, sixty-eight
feet in breadth ; the rough wooden ceiling which over
hangs and sustains the roof, dates. It Is said, from the
eleventh century. In all the other chambers, carved
wainscoting eight feet high covers the walls with its
dun facing ; above is gilded leather, red and brown
hangings, stained glass ; from the ceiling descend
lamps suspended from lustrous chains. The effect of
the whole is rich and grave ; for want of sun and light,
they have recourse to colour like Rembrandt, to the
contrast of light projections and sombre recesses, to
the power of red and black tones, to the gleaming of
leather and wainscoting, to glass which exaggerates
and diversifies the daylight.
The Lords' chamber is fine, comfortable, and well-
adapted for its purpose. Seats in red leather, deep and
rich wainscoting, Gothic gilding in dull gold ; an
impression of serious opulence is produced by this. The
members present are not numerous ; I was told there
are sometimes five or six ; save on great political
occasions they stay away ; besides, discussion is fre
quently useless, each vote being known before hand.
The leading members were named to me, and I heard
enormous fortunes mentioned, the largest are £300,000
a-year. The Duke of Bedford has an income from
landed property of £220,000 ; the Duke of Richmond
has 300,000 acres In one holding; the Marquis of

THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT. 223
Westminster, proprietor of d district of London, will
have a revenue of £1,000,000 on the expiration of the
long, lesises. The Marquis of Breadalbane, it is said, can
ride on horseback for thirty leagues in a straight line
without quitting his estate; the Duke of Sutherland
possesses an entire shire of that name in the north of
Scotland. Three Bishops in white surplices occupy
their places. But the outsides of the assembly are
scarcely Imposing. One peer has the face of an old
diplomatic machine, another that of an amiable and
worn-out librarian ; the minister who rises resembles
an intelUgent attorney. Some young peers are dandies
and have their hair parted in the middle ; others,
hugely bearded, remind one of commercial travellers.
Lord C  alone has the fatigued, penetrating, and
fine physiognomy of an artist. Their ways are very
simple ; they might be called ordinary men at their
club; they keep their tall chimney-pot hats on their
heads, speak from their places, without fuss, in a con
versational tone. This absence of stiffness is exceUent ;
an embroidered uniform like that of our senators or of
our peers is a pomp and a superfluity which re-acts
within from without and renders the thought as arti
ficial as the appearance. These persons do business and
do not make phrases.
In the House of Commons from ten o'clock till mid
night. There is still greater freedom from constraint ;
the House is full, and all have their hats on their heads ;
some wear them far back and. pressed down. Several
wear white hats, fancy trousers and coat, are leaning
back, half-lying on their seats, one of them is entirely
lolling on his, and two or three are rather free and
easy. They enter, go out, talk with a wearied and
unceremonious air ; certainly a club In which one were

2 24 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
to behave m this style would be moderately respect
able. The ministers were pointed out to me — Lord Pal
merston, Mr, Milner Gibson, Lord John Russell, Sir
Charles Wood, Mr, Gladstone, Alongside of us, in
the gallery, several members of the Upper House came
and seated themselves, one young immensely rich
duke, all had bad cravats, and he had a shabby coat.
Below us there is silence. The members, tightly
packed on their benches, have not even a desk on
which to write. They take notes upon their knees,
drink a glass of water which they afterwards put on
their seat. Each one speaks standing in his place, in
a natural tone and with few gestures. Certainly a
chamber arranged in this way, and so narrow, is in
commodious, and even unhealthy, too warm in summer
and for the night sittings ; a man must be quickly
worn out there. But this simplicity denotes a business
like people, who suppress ceremonial in order to get
through their task. On the contrary, a raised tribune,
isolated like that of our Legislative Assembly, leads to
theatrical eloquence.
The business of the day related to the encroachment
of the Lords, who had voted a money biU without the
assent of the Commons ; the debate, it is said, is one
of the most Important of the year ; the House is full
and attentive. After Mr. Seymour, Mr. Horsman
rises. Very distinct pronunciation, a perfectly just
and convinced tone, energy without emphasis. His
thesis is that the Lords are not a body of simple,
privileged personages ; though not elected, they repre
sent the people. They are country gentlemen, like
the others, holding lands and shares like the others,
having the same interests, the same education, the

THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT. 235
same ideas, being as well situated as themselves to de
cide about the common interests. Election is but one
means only for naming the representatives of the
nation ; there were others, for example the possession
of a certain dignity, which is the case of the Bishops,
inheritance, which is the case of the Queen and of the
lay Lords. Besides, since 1832, the Commons have had
a marked preponderance ; the control of a second body
is required, without which they would fall into pure
democracy, &c. Rather long, he repeated himself ; how
ever, he made an Impression ; cries of " hear, hear "
arose at nearly every sentence. After him, and in the
opposite sense, spoke Mr. Bright, an accomplished
orator. But I had seen too many things these days ;
my nerves are not as strong as those of a member of
Parliament, and I left the House.
How do they get admitted to it ? B  , who has
an important place in the Government, nevertheless
avows that the electoral machinery is rude, often foul.
The candidate hires an hotel or a tavern, there keeps
open table, hangs out flags, pays for drink, brings tho
electors in carriages, hires musicians, roughs, election
agents, tap-room orators who make speeches in his
behalf, sometimes prize-flghters who use their fists and
throw apples at his opponent. The scene Is tumul
tuous, often brutal ; the popular bull feels himself
half loosened. It is admitted that an election is costly;
Parliament aUows certain expenses, and does not think
there has been corruption so long as these are below a
certain figure — four or five hundred pounds. For
this purpose a party can raise funds ; the Duke of
Buccleuch was cited to me as having once sent forty
thousand pounds sterling for the election expenses of
his party. But, beyond the authorised expenses, there
Q

226 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
are others greater still. It is estimated that an election
costs often four, five, six thousand pounds sterling and
upwards. To induce the elector to trouble himself by
coming to vote, something of a positive kind must be
given him — a place, the promise of a place, several
good dinners, unlimited ale and wine, sometimes cash
down. The result of an inquiry was to show that Mr.
X  , at Z  , had paid £30 for one vote, and £40
for another ; a third elector, desiring to cloak his
doings, sold to him a hair-brush for £40, which was
worth 3s. The legal expenses of this election were
£461, and the secret ones £3,700. At another elec
tion, the electoral agent, seated in one room, received
the electors, agreed as to the price, made them go into
anothef room, where a second agent paid them the sum
agreed upon ; the bargaiii and the payment being thus
separated, each agent could declare that he had never
performed the twofold operation called bribery. But'
painters alone know how to give the life-like details ;
on this subject read the account of two elections, the
one by Thackeray in the " Newcomes," the other
by George Eliot in " Felix Holt the Radical." On
the whole, local influence is the great prime-mover, and
is chiefly based upon the ownership of the soil and
upon wealth, upon antiquity of residence and of the
family, upon the extent of the patronage exer6ised,
upon the notoriety and the social position of the candi
date. After all I have seen of the upper class, it seems
to me that these roots are good, healthy, living, despite
the mud and worms among which they spread them
selves like every human plant, although it wiU still
require much drainage to purify the mud, much super
vision to destroy the worms.
The machine works well. It docs not break down,

THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT. 227
nor does it threaten to break down. It operates, and,
in addition, it accommodates itself to the times, renew
ing its wheels. More than that, by the way in which
it operates, one feels that it is capable of thorough
renovation. It will perhaps be able later to permit of
the indefinite extension of the suffrage, the diminution
of the prerogatives of the Lords, the suppression of the
monopoly of the Church ; all that without outbreak or
dislocation, by a gradual, careful adaptation of the
ancient parts to new uses. The governing classes are
becoming informed, they take soundings at every
moment to measure and ascertain the direction of the
popular currents, they have an exact notion of what is
necessary and possible. I was present lately at a
sitting of a committee of the House ; the businese was
to decide whether the British Museum, which is at
once a library, a museum, and a collection of natural
history, should continue as it is, or whether a portion
of it should be removed to another locality. Seven or
eight members were before a table in a lofty room which
was open to the public. They questioned men of special
knowledge ; the first the secretary of a natural history
society, then the Crown Architect, then the Director of
the South Kensington Museum, ^and others besides ;
meanwhile they took notes. The tone was simple,
moderate, sometimes there were smiles ; the proceed
ings might be called an instructive conversation ; in
fact, it was nothing else. The questions were ex
ceedingly minute and precise, relating to the way
of arranging collections of animals, to the number of
specimens possessed, to the advantage of exhibiting
together the male, the female and the young, to the
number of visitors, to their age and condition, to the
days when they were most numerous, to the number

2 28 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
of square feet contained In the building, to the interior
arrangements, &c. This is how one obtains informa
tion, by inquiry and counter-inquiry, with figures,
details, certainty, acquisition of positive and appli
cable evidence. Recently Lord Derby made a speech
about India, conceived in the like spirit, wholly founded
upon the statements and decisions of generals and ad
ministrators of the country, textually cited, so that this
speech summarised the experience of thirty or forty
eminent and competent lives. What a guide and what
a corrective is experience ! How much good sense is
needed to trust to it alone ! How miich art and care are
wanted to face it, repeat it, limit it, rectify it, rightly
apply it! And how far off are we from this good
political education !

229

XVIII. J
THE CLUBS, THE BRITISH MUSEUM, THE CRYSTAL PALACE.
T HAVE been elected member of the Athenaeum Club
-*- for a month. This club is a select and central place
of meeting, where one can dine and study. It is almost a
palace, and is surrounded by similar palaces, reminding
one of our Place Louis XV. It has a peristyle, looks
upon a garden, and has very spacious rooms. The ser
vants in livery are numerous, attentive, quiet. Every
modem and desirable luxury is found there. The library
contains 40,000 volumes; the reading-room is splendid,
containing aU the reviews, in all languages ; every new
publication ; easy-chairs, as comfortable in summer as
in winter. At night, sun-burners In the ceiling diffuse
a subdued Ught over the sombre woodwork. Every
want Is provided for ; all the senses are soothed by a
multitude of trifling attentions due to skilful, com
prehensive, and perfect forethought. Close at hand is
another place — ^the Travellers' Club — of a similar
character. How well they know how to organise
comfort ! Yesterday evening I read in the Athenaeum
Club an essay by Macaulay, who names Galileo, Locke,
and Bentham, as the three originators of the greatest
modern ideas ; instead of great, put fruitful, and the
paradox becomes a manifest truth. It is by recourse

230 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
to experience, it is by the liking for fact and minute
observation, it is by the advent and reign of Induction,
that man has been able to become master of Nature, to
reform society, to ameliorate his condition, to adjust
things to his wants, to establish a society, the institu
tions, the masterpieces of good arrangement and of
ordered comfort, such as I enjoy at this moment.
I have letters of introduction and a. ticket of ad
mission to the British Museum. About the Grecian
marbles, the original Italian drawings, about the
National Gallery, the Hampton Court galleries, the
pictures at Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle,
and the private collections, I shaU say nothing. StUl,
what marvels and what historical tokens are aU these
things, flve or six specimens of high civilisation mani
fested in a perfect art, all differing greatly from that
which I now examine, and so weU adapted for bring
ing into reUef the good and the evil. To do that
would flU a volume by itself. The Museum library
contains six hundred thousand volumes ; the reading-
room is vast, circular in form, and covered with a
cupola, so that no one is far from the central office, and
no one has the light in his eyes. All the lower stage of
shelves is flUed with works of reference — -dictionaries,
collections of biographies, classics of aU sorts — which
can be consulted on the spot, and are excellentlj''
arranged. Moreover, a small plan placed on each
table indicates where they are placed and the order in
which they stand. Each seat is isolated ; there is
nothing in front but the woodwork of the desk, so
that no one Is annoyed by the presence of his neigh
bour. The seats and the tables are covered with
leather, and are very clean ; there are two pens to
each desk, the one being a stoel, the other a quill pen ;

THE BRITISH MUSEUM. 231
there is also a small stand at the side, upon which a
second volume, or the volume from which extracts are
being copied, may be placed. To procure a book, the
title is written on a form, which is handed to the
central office ; the ¦ attendant brings the book to you
himself, and does so wdthout delay : I have made trial
of this, even in the case of works seldom asked for.
The holder of the book is responsible till he has
received back the form filled up when he applied for it.
For ladies a place Is reserved, which is a delicate piece
of attention. What a contrast if we compare this with
our great library at the Louvre, with its long room,
with half of the readers dazzled by the light in their
eyes, the readers being packed together at a common
table, the titles of the books being called out in loud tones,
the long time spent in waiting at the central office.
The French Library has been reformed according to
the English model, yet without being rendered as con
venient. Nevertheless, ours is the more liberally con
ducted ; its doors are open to all comers. Here one
must be a " respectable " person ; no one is admitted
unless vouched for by two householders. This is said
to be enough ; as it is, those gain admission who are
worse than shabby — men in working clothes, and some
without shoes ; they have been Introduced by clergy
men. The grant for buying new books is seven or
eight times larger than ours. When shall we learn
to !-pend our money in a sensible way ?
In other matters they are not so successful, such
as the Crystal Palace at Sydenham, for instance,
which formed the building for the Great Exhibition,
and v/hich is now a sort of museum of curiosities. It
is gigantic, like London itself, and like so many things
in London, but how can I pourtray the gigantic? All

232 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
the ordinary sensations produced by size are intensified
several times here. It is two miles in circumference
and has three stories of prodigious height ; it would
easily hold five or six buildings like our Palace of
Industry, and it is of glass ; it consists first of an im
mense rectangular structure rising towards the centre
in a semicircle like a hothouse, and flanked by two
Chinese towers ; then, on either side, long buildings
descend at right angles, enclosing the garden with its
fountains, statues, summer-houses, strips of turf, groups
of large trees, exotic plants, and beds of flowers. The
acres of glass sparkle in the sunlight ; at the horizon an
undulating line of green eminences is bathed in the
luminous vapour which softens all colours and spreads
an expression of tender beauty over an entire landscape.
Always the same English method of decoration — on
the one side a park and natural embellishments, which
it must be granted are beautiful and adapted to the
climate ; on the other the building, which Is a monstrous
jumble, wanting in style, and bearing witness not
to taste but to English power. The interior consists of
a museum of antiquities, composed of plaster facsimiles
of all the Grecian and Roman statues scattered over
Europe ; of a museum of the Middle Ages ; of .a
Revival museum ; of an Egyptian museum ; of a
Nineveh museum ; of an Indian museum ; of a repro
duction of a Pompeian house ; of a reproduction of the
Alhambra. The ornaments of the Alhambra have been
moulded, and these moulds are preserved in an adjoining
room as proofs of authenticity. In order to omit nothing,
copies have been made of the most notable Italian
paintings, and these are daubs worthy of a country
fair. There is a huge tropical hot-house, wherein are
fountains swimming turtles, large aquatic plants in

THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 233
flower, the Sphinx and Egyptian statues sixty feet high,
specimens of colossal or rare trees, among others the
bark of a Sequoia California 450 feet in height and
measuring 116 feet in circumference. The bark is
arranged and fastened to an inner framework in such a
manner as to give an idea of the tree itself. There is
a circular concert room, with tiers of benches as in a
Coliseum. Lastly, in the gardens are to be seen life-
size reproductions of antediluvian monsters, mega
theriums, deinotheriums, and others. In these gardens
Blondin does his tricks at the height of a hundred feet.
I pass over half the things; but does not this con
glomeration of odds and ends carrry back one's thoughts
to the Rome of Caesar and the Antonines ? At that
period, also, pleasure-palaces were erected for the
sovereign people ; circuses, theatres, baths wherein were
collected statues, paintings, animals, musicians, acrobats,
all the treasures and all the oddities of the world ; pan
theons of opulence and curiosity ; genuine bazaars
where the liking for what was novel, heterogeneous,
and fantastic ousted the feeling of appreciation for
simple beauty. In truth, Rome enriched herself with
these things by conquest, England by industry. Thus
it is that at Rome the paintings, the statues, were
stolen originals, and the monsters, whether rhinoceroses
or lions, were perfectly alive and tore human beings to
pieces ; whereas here the statues are made of plaster
and the monsters of goldbeater's skin. The spectacle
is one of the second class, but of the same kind. A
Greek would not have regarded it 'with satisfaction ; he
would have considered it appropriate to powerful bar
barians who, trying to become reflned, had utterly
failed.

XIX.
STREET PREACHERS AND RELIGIOUS SEN'HMENTS.
T AST Sunday and the preceding Sunday open-air
¦^-' preachers, with their Bibles and umbrellas, were
plying their mission in Hyde Park ; these were laymen
who felt impelled to communicate their religious impres
sions to the public. On another Sunday I saw two
men in frock coats and black hats singing psalms on
the green of a village forty miles from London. I was
told this was no uncommon sight, especially when
the afternoon sermon had been good, as the hearers
brought away with them overplus of fervour which
required vent. They had long lean bodies, nasal voices,
upturned eyes ; they were surrounded by twenty per
sons improving themselves by the performance. Zeal
Is very keen, particularly among the Dissenters ; their
youths have duties assigned to them ; one occupies
himself on Sunday in distributing tracts at an appointed
corner ; another holds a meeting of bargemen on
Thursday, and expounds the Bible to them. Even at
the present day female Methodist preachers may be
heard ; it is said that one of the most notable authoresses
of the age began life in this vocation. In Paris itself
we sometimes experience the operation of this eccentric
form of piety. For instance, the Rev, Reginald 

STREET PREACHERS. 23s
advertised his sermons with the invitation printed in
large type, " Come to Jesus." Indeed, the maxim of
this sect is that the most hardened sinner may be
instantaneously converted by an act of grace. The
Rev. Reginald  ascended the pulpit, gave out his
text, and then presented one of his flock, a healthy and
stout young man, as an example and visible token of
success. The latter opened his lips and said, "Yes,
my brethren, I have been a vile sinner ; but the grace
of God has touched me," &c., &c. This is a truly
English method of procedure ; It consists in producing
the document, the tangible proof, the living specimen,
after the fashion of a zoologist, to uphold a spiritual
doctrine. Another Sunday, at eight o'clock In the evening, in
a University town, I saw two gentlemen and a member
of the middle class preaching in the public highway.
They do this every Sunday. The first, a young man of
twenty, is openly affected, tries to^ conquer his bashful
ness, uses much gesticulation. He says, " Jesus Christ
came for sinners like us, he took pity upon us, miserable
sinners," &c. After this beginning the second opens
his Bible and reads a passage about the inhabitants of
Jerusalem besieged and famished by the King of
Assyria ; the latter being terrified by the Angel of the
Lord, precipitately retreats ; two lepers who were the
first to venture without the walls, find the tents filled
with provisions, and eat and drink with delight. This
is typical of the Christian who has but to rid himself of
sin to find entire satisfaction in the Lord. Christ is
our consolation, our asylum, our protector. In relation
to this a story was told of a sailor going to sea,
who replied to a gentleman speaking about the risk he
ran, " It is true that my father was drowned, that my

236 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
brother was drowned, and that my grandfather was
drowned also." " Then, why do you go to sea ? "
" Sir, where did your father die ? " " In his bed."
" And your grandfather ? " " In his bed." " And
your other relations ? " " In their beds." " Yet you
are not afraid to lie down in bed, and with good reason.
For a Christian, whether on sea or land, the only
assurance is to know Christ." The last of the three — a
thin young man, lantern -jawed, and with a grating voice
— appeared moved by the spirit ; but, as his theme was
the same, I went off at the end of a quarter of an hour.
The audience consisted of about fifty persons, men and
women, well-dressed for the most part ; at intervals some
of them whispered and smiled ironically, but the majority
of the men and all the women listened attentively, and
appeared to be edified. I heartily approve of these
proceedings. In the first place they provide a vent for
a consuming passion, for an intense conviction which
for lack of an outlet would (Regenerate into madness,
melancholy, or sedition. In the second, they are
moralising and may do much good to many consciences.
In the third, they keep alive among the public the
belief that there are noble ideas, genuine convictions,
perfectly zealous souls ; for man is only too ready to
fancy that indifference and amusement are the end of
life. These are relics of the old Puritan spirit, the stunted
remains of a grand fauna which has become fossilised.
Yet the essence is altogether religious. According to
G  , who has finished his studies here, most of the
young men, including those whose intellects are active,
have never had a twinge of infidelity ; that which is the
rule with us being the exception with them ; they throw
their whole soul into the service at church. Three-

STREET PREACHERS. 237
fourths of the newspapers and books denounce, ¦with an
air of conviction, " French scepticism and Gorman
iufidelitj'," that is to say, the heresy which denies, and
the heresy which affirms. As for grown-up men, they
believe, though lukewarmedly, in God, in the Trinity,
in Hell. The Protestant dogtoa chimes in with
the serious, poetic, and moral instincts of the race ;
they require no effort to retain hold of it ; they could
not reject it without much effort. An Englishman
would be exceedingly mortified if he had no faith in
another life ; in his eyes it is the natural complement
of the present one ; in every Important crisis his
thoughts grow solemn, and turn towards the vista
beyond the grave. In order to image to himself the
mysterious country which attracts the aspirations of
his soul, he has a sort of antique map, which is Chris
tianity explained by a highly revered body of geogra
phers, who are the clergy. The map admits of many
explanations, and the official geographers permit a
certair* latitude to individual views. Being unfettered,
he is not dissatisfied; never dreams of distrusting either
his geographers or his map. On the contrary, he would
be displeased with the meddlers who should endeavour
to unsettle the opinions he holds on this head. They
are formed, fixed, rooted ; they constitute a part of his
education, of his traditions, of the great public body
whereof he forms a unit. He accepts Protestantism
and the Church as wholes, along with the English
Constitution. He sees in Protestantism a rule of con
duct, a command to do justice, an appeal to Internal
self-government. The Church he regards as an auxi
liary of the State, an institution of moral hygiene, a
good government for souls. AU these reasons combine
to make respect for Christianity alike a duty and a

23a NOTES ON ENGLAND.
matter of propriety. It is very reluctantly admitted
that an unbeliever can be a good Englishman and an
honest man. Censure is passed upon those who, having
become sceptics themselves, try to shake the faith
of others. " Intellectual poltroonery," says the Edin
burgh Review for April, 1848, " is the only species of
cowardice which is common m this country, but it
prevails to a lamentable extent. Most of our writers
have scruples and fears about the tendency of their
works. The social penalties attached to unorthodox
opinions are so severe and unmercifully inflicted, that
among us philosophical criticism and science itself
mysteriously hint at matters which ought to be pro
claimed from the house-tops." Not only are the lofty
flights of the inteUigence impeded, but in many cases
an extreme strait- lacedness checks conversations and
even actions. M. Guizot relates in his " Memoirs,"
that having said in company, " Hell is paved with
good intentions," he was taken to task by a lady, who
told him that the word " Hell " was too serious a ono
to be introduced into general conversation. Particular
oaths, such as " Dieu me damne," are odious, and
nothing is accepted as an excuse for employing them.
A young Frenchman of my acquaintance here, when
rowing some persons in a boat, made a false move,
whereby he feU backwards, letting slip the forbidden
oath. The ladies of the party were astounded, and
gazed intently upon the water ; one of the gentlemen
laughed outright, while the two others blushed like
young girls. This reUgious prudery often leads to
hypocrisy. I am acquainted with a London merchant
who A'isits Paris twice yearly on business ; when he is
there he is very jovial, and amuses himself on Sunday
as freely as any one else. His Paris host, who visited

STREET PREACHERS. 239
him at his house in London, where he was made tho
roughly welcome, going down-stairs on Sunday to the
room where there was a miniature billiard-table pushed
the balls about on it. The merchant in alarm begged
him to stop at once, saying, " The neighbours will be
scandalised should they hear this." When next he
visited Paris he took his wife and daughters with him ;
this time there was no more gaiety, good fellowship, or
pleasure-trips on Sunday ; he was stiff, starched, a per
fect pattern of propriety. His reUgion was a court
dress. Such is the cant which disgusted Lord Byron.
During the past twenty years it has diminished ;
Comte's philosophy, German exegesis, the conclusions
of geology and the natural sciences, make their way
slowly but continuously; free inquiry re-assumes its
sway, and opens the doors without breaking the
windows.

XX.
ARISTOCRATIC ASCENDENCY.
A S observations multiply they converge. There is no
-'-^ greater pleasure when travelling than to see the
new facts fit in to those already collected, and gj-oup
themselves like the traits where the tones of a painting
begin. The following are those of this week with
regard to the aristocratic ascendency and the senti
ments It inspires.
A middle- class lady, but polished and distinguished
in appearance, entered a cheesemonger's shop in
Brighton. The shopkeeper asks her, In his soft, obse
quious tone, " What kind of cheese, ma'am, do you
patronise ? " It is honourable for merchandise to
obtain aristocratic approval. In proof of this one sees
on tins of biscuits and pots of pomade the inscription,
" Adopted by the nobility and gentry."
B  came to France during the Exposition, and
was surprised at the familiarities of the soldiers with their
officers. When a captain of the Guides was looking at
a picture in a shop window, two soldiers standing
behind him bent forward, and looked over his shoulder.
B  said to me, " Such conduct would not be tolerated
with us ; we have distinctions of rank." Dr. Arnold,
in the notes of his trip made in 1839, made a similar

ARISTOCRATIC ASCENDENCY. 241
remark at Calais : " I observe here a mixture of classes
which may be good, but that I cannot tell. Well-
dressed men converse familiarly with persons who
certainly belong to the lowest class." For my own
part, as a Frenchman, I cannot help feeling slightly
surprised when hearing, as I did yesterday, a gentleman
of forty years of age, a man of worth and position,
saying "My lord" to a little boy of ten, a dunce and
a fool, but the son of a marquis.
I dined recently in the great hall of Trinity College,
Cambridge. Three hundred persons were at table —
everything was served on silver. There was a small
side table for the undergraduates, who are noblemen,
who wear a distinctive' costume. At the universities,
and even the pubUc schools, the young nobles are
surrounded by tuft-hunters, students of low birth, who
strive by their services and their servility to make their
fortunes. A nobleman has always a living or a situa
tion in his gift, and this he afterwards presents to his
toady as a piece of charity.
It is customary to confer baronetcies on three or four
of the most distinguished medical men of the country.
During the last reign there was a medical man of
exceptional distinction whom it was desired to elevate
to the peerage, but who declined the honour. An
Englishman who told me this added, " He was right ;
no man who has held out his hand for guineas could
take his place among peers of the realm." As a
Frenchman, I am of the contrary opinion ; yet the
fact and Its commentary are none the less charac
teristic. A novelist who was a good observer, and whose
writings I have just been reading, says that "in Eng
land the people are far too much inclined to adopt the
R

24-5 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
opinions of those above them, and to be governed by
them." It is exactly the opposite in France.
I had a conversation with Thackeray, whose name I
mention because he is dead, and because his ideas and
his conversation are to be found in his books. He con
firmed orally all that he had written about the snobbish
spirit. I told him a trivial circumstance of which I was
eye-witness. At a charity meeting the speaker set forth
to the audience the importance of the 'work undertaken
by remarking that the Marquis of  , " a person in
such a situation," had kindly consented to take the chair.
Thackeray assured me that platitudes like these are
common ; he said that he admired our equality greatly,
and that great people are so habituated to see people
on their knees before them, that they are shocked when
they meet a man of independent demeanour. " I my
self," he added, " am now regarded as a suspicious
character." Stendhal wrote that, "talent and wit lose twenty-five
per cent, in value on reaching England." In truth,
the aristocracy of birth or fortune has secured the lead
ing place; artists and authors remain in the second
rank, with the exception of five or six of note who are
admitted into the drawing-rooms of the nobility, but
only as lions and curiosities. A few, on account of the
moral or political nature of their writings, are more
highly esteemed and cbnsidered ; such men are of the
class represented by Stuart Mill, Macaulay, Carlyle,
Dickens, Thackeray, Tennyson, and who all contribute
to exercise an influence over the most important of all
works, that which concerns the guidance of national
affairs or popular sentiments. But, according to what
my friends tell me, the position of the others is lower
than with us. The able journalists who write masterly

ARISTOCRATIC ASCENDENCY. 243
leading articles three or four times monthly do not sign
their articles, and are unknown to the public. Properly
speaking, they are literary hacks. Their article is read
at breakfast, as one swallows the bread and butter
which is eaten with tea. One no more asks who wrote
the article than one asks who made the butter. If
next month the article and the butter are of Inferior
¦quality, one changes one's newspaper and butterman.
No journalist becomes Member of Parliament or rises
to be a Minister of State, as in France after 1830. Yet
in this matter, as in religion, an insensible change is in
progress, the end of which will be that the leading
place will belong to inteUect.

XXL
SOCIETY AS DEPICTED BY "PUNCH."
rpURN over the pages of the volumes of Punch, which
-'- is the first of English satirical journals, and com
pare it with the French journals of the same sort; the
contrast is most instructi've.
Punch has not a single picture of the lorettes, who
form the subject of innumerable pictures in our journals,
this being one of our errors ; far better is it not to
make a parade of vermin. Gavarni said, "I hate
the harlot because I love woman," and yet he drew
hundreds of sketches of girls of loose character, all of
whom, however, he made to look charming. Though
his raillery only causes a smUe, yet, when one sees
such pictures in the shop windows during several years
one unconsciously retains an unhealthy Impression. I
pray the reader to pardon this moral phrase; my
excuse is that it is true. Every spectacle, every emotion,
leaves a lasting trace on us, and these trifling impres
sions multiplied together compose that distinct impres
sion which we call our character. At the end of ten,
twenty, or thirty years, we possess, so far as gaUantry
is concerned, a fund of weakness, of curiosity, or at
least of tolerance, and a vague belief that it is in the
nature of things that there should be spots on the sun.

SOCIETY AS DEPICTED BY " PUNCH." 245
In Punch not a single sketch is to bo found of un
faithful wives or husbands. We all know how commonly
these subjects were treated in France fifteen years ago ;
at present there is a diminution, but they are dealt
with still. Here, on the contrary, marriage is held in
honour; its pleasures, charms, and inner poetry are
depicted. Take, for instance. Punch's picture, " Satur
day Evening: arrival of the Husbands' Boat." The
pier is covered with wives, joung for the most part,
whose faces are radiant with happiness ; the children
dance for joy. What a welcome ! Turn, by way of
contrast, to the same subject treated by a French artist,
the husbands' train arriving at Tr^port or Trouville.
The husbands are there represented as repulsive trades
men, as snarlers and cuckolds. In the conjugal scenes
the same sentiment predominates. Augustus, during
the honeymoon. Is shown trying to make the tea. The
scene is laid at the sea-coast in a pretty cottage ; he
and his young wife, half-embracing each other, go to
the window to admire the calmness of the sky and the
beauty of the evening. Meantime, the tea-urn explodes,
the dog howls, and the frightened servant rushes to
see the cause of the noise. Then follows a gentle
scolding — the artist evidently envies the cares of the
happy couple he represents.
In place of illicit love, permissible love-making
remains to be dealt with. This opens up a wide field
which our artists never cultivate. Numbers of Punch's
pictures represent situations wherein parts are filled by
a girl and young man who half understand each other's
views on the marriage question. We have no such
sketches in France, because we have no such subjects.
At the sea-side Theodore and Emily, sheltered behind
the harbour crane, think themselves out of sight, and

2 46 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
Theodore, on his knees, flattens his tender and snubby
nose upon the white hand which is yielded to him.
They are both unaware that the mirror of a camera-
obscura, which has been directed towards them for ten
minutes, reproduces the scene for the amusement of
spectators. In another picture, Edwin and Angelina
have appointed to meet each other at the end of the
pier, but the one has taken the right and the other the
left branch of it. Arrived at the end, they find them
selves an hundred feet apart, and have to walk three
miles before they can meet. Another represents a
young lady, a good horsewoman, who has leaped hedges
and ditches, and left her rival lagging far behind.
" Now, I hope I am rid of Miss Georgina, and I am in
the same field with Augustus." Indeed, a horseman
is seen in the background. Two lovers on horseback
are exhibited on the Brighton sands ; the air there is
far superior to the fogs of London — " At least, that is
their opinion." The irony is well intentioned ; it is
clear the artist said to himself, " Would that I were in
their place." Thus he makes his personages as elegant,
well-dressed, well-bred as possible. The young girls
are especialty fascinating ; Punch depicts himself as a
lover looking in rapture upon their fair hair falling
freely over their shoulders ; his heart beats ; he is over
come, he thinks them too charming. Here is a covey,
eighteen in aU, In a cove on the sea-coast, in various
attitudes, some leaning over their sketches, others doing
embroidery, others picking up specimens, all smiling ; it
is the " Sirens' grotto." Remark that they are aU inno
cent of evil, and that the drawing is as much so as them
selves; during the rides on horseback, during the gusts
of wind on the pier, there is no exposure ; if the wind
strikes their petticoats it is to keep them down. For a

SOCIETY AS DEPICTED BY " PUNCH r 247
like reason the gaUantry is respectful, the lover holds
his sweetheart's skein of worsted, gives his pocket-
handkerchief to her little brother ; he is not a conqueror,
but is under subjection ; he submits himself to his fate.
Sometimes the girls make the first advance; in this
the " Fast Girls " furnish scope for satire ; ono of them
is exhibited at croquet stepping aside to speak to the
object of her admiration ; another contrives to get a
private talk over a game of chess. If need be, Mater-
familias begins negotiations. A worthy matron is
shown fishing in ecclesiastical water?, surrounded by
her three daughters ; she casts the line towards a young
clergyman, rich^^and of good family, who is on a visit.
She says, " I am very happy, dear Mr. Cecil Newton,
to find that you are orthodox ; I need hardly tell you
that I hope you will not lapse into the sad heresy
which enjoins the celibacy of the clergy." As for him,
with his embarrassed manner, his edifying and senti
mental grin, and his side-glance at the three pretty
baits, he presents a most comical appearance. In every
case, in these pictures as in the novels, at the end of the
road, upon the horizon, marriage is always to be
beheld ; no one would suspect that there were any
intermediate stations ; now, to use Shakespeare's words
—"All's well that ends well."
Here are the married folks : look at the domestic
scenes. They are not unpleasing, bitterly satirical ;
no broken-down husbands or wretched, bad-tempered
and spoilt children, like those which M. Daumier
represents so frequently and with so open a hatred,
are to be met with here. The artists here nearly
always regard infancy as something charming and
beautiful. There is a noise in the nursery caused by
two processions, each composed of four little boyo and

248 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
girls, who march to the sound of a trumpet ; all their
cheeks are rosy, and they are all enjoying themselves
heartiljr. Two Itttle girls in the garden gravely come
and ask grandmamma to play with the skipping-rope.
Another has found the scissors, and is solemnly engaged
in cutting her little brother's hair, because he wishes
to be bald Uke grandpapa. On Christmas night there
is dancing in a large room decorated with holly, where
grandpapa smilingly acts as vis-d-vis to his little grand
daughter of six, who holds her frock and makes her
curtsey with an air of gaiety and coquetry. These are
the incidents, sometimes the accidents ; but always
there predominates the quiet and lasting felicity of
family life.
It is true that the father has quite enough to do
with his six, eight, or ten children who sometimes
come in annual succession ; he is fifty years old, his
head is getting bald, his proportions are becoming
aldermanic, and his youngest has just been weaned.
They are as plentiful as rabbits. Another is coming,
which may not be the last, nevertheless a host of aunts
invades the crowded house. Paterfamilias, turned out
of the room, take his dinner on the stairs. A French
man would have perspired at the very prospect ; so
much happiness would be a misfortune. And, then,
the trouble of such a flock! The father must take
It to the sea-side, lodge it, provide everything, food,
clothing, education, health, amusement, and, above all,
must maintain discipline and peace. Indeed, such a
family, including servants, constitutes a small nation,
of which the father is bound to be the head, the magis
trate, and the despotic ruler. I know a family which,
living in the country six miles from any town, consists
of thirty persons in all. Add to this fifteen or twenty

SOCIETY AS DEPICTED BY " PUNCH." 249
tenants whose houses are close at hand, twelve horses
in the stables, a farm adjoining, the meat consumed
being produced by animals reared and killed on the
property; under such conditions as these a modern
gentleman does not differ greatly from his ancestor,
the ancient feudal baron. It is true this is a rare case ;
yet in the famUies of the middle class in London the
father exhibits traces of the same authority. He is
neither weak nor is he reduced to the second
place, as in our French illustrated books. He feels
that he is responsible ; he directs ; he governs. For
instance, he has resolved to introduce hydropathy : one
by one the poor children are shown approaching the
cold shower-bath in their long shirts and oil-skin caps,
shivering and sorrowful, whilst their father brandishes
the fiesh-brush. Winter has arrived ; it is ordered
that the family shall be shod in cheap boots, and the
shoemaker is represented under the father's eye fitting
huge stout boots on his daughter's small feet. Pater-
famUias has resolved upon spending a week at the sea
side ; disliking to go to a hotel, the caricature repre
sents him installed on the sands; two bathing-machines
serve as bedrooms, while the dinner is cooked in the
open air with the assistance of the aunts, mamma, and
the chUdren, all of whom do something, the eldest son,
cigar in mouth, being set to prepare the vegetables.
Paterfamilias, standing up with a sarcastic and satisfied
air, supervises and controls ; to look at him, it is clear
that no opposition will be made to his wiU ; his broad
shoulders, his expression, his hands crossed behind his
back, or stuck in his pockets, his gravity, his coolness,
the scantiness of his gestures and his words, all mani
fest that he is inspired by the sentiment of a legitimate
and unchallenged authority. I grant you that this is

250 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
an exaggeration, that it is a fiction, that it is a carica
ture ; yet the document is none the less instructive ; it
furnishes a glance at one side of the life of an English
family. From it one divines why they have and how
they control half or a whole dozen of children.
Then come the sketches of servants. As this class is
a large one, and an English well-to-do family has
several servants, the artist represents them frequently.
On the one hand, he pourtrays their troubles. In an
aristocratic society their place is a low one, and they
are made to do strange duties. A solemn and imposing
old lady walking in the park, accompanied by her dog,
and followed by her footman, says, " John Thomas."
" Yes, my lady." " Carry Beauty ; poor thing, she
is getting tired." A similar scene between a girl of sis-
teen and her maid. The latter is already carrying two
dogs, one under each arm, yet the little patrician
exclaims, " 0, Parker, you ought to carry Puppet, too,
he will get his feet wet." It is raining in torrents ; a
miserly nobleman, well sheltered in his carriage, sa)S
to his servants, who are dripping wet on the box,
"Good heavens, have you umbrellas there?" "No,
my lord." " Then hand me your new hats in here."
Judging from many of these trifling circumstances, I
should think that they have fewer comforts in France,
but that they are treated more considerately. At all
events, they are not kept at arm's length ; the human
being is more perceptible, and does not altogether dis
appear under the livery. The fundamental difference be
tween an aristocratic and a democratic country always
making its Influence felt. On the other hand, the
artist pourtrays their affectations. As a consequence of
aristocratic institutions, every class in society sees one
which it regards as superior, keeps the boundary line

SOCIETY AS DEPICTED BY ''PUNCH" 251
clearly drawn, and never mixes with that below it.
Thackeray has sharply depicted this caprice; it was
that of the Court when Louis XIV. was king. Here it
is in as Uvely operation among the flunkeys as among
the gentlemen ; now, nothing is more ludicrous than a
valet's pride. One man-servant gives his master warn
ing because he has seen his lordship on the knife-
board of an omnibus. Another consents to carry the
coal-scuttle to the nursery, " if his mistress asks it as a
favour, but hopes that his mistress will not mistake
him for a housemaid." They consider themselves
gentlemen because they are fine-looking, well-clothed,
well-fed, and have plenty of leisure. They are fasti
dious, are vain of their appearance, and strive to ape
good manners. One of them consults his betting book
in the carriage. Another, who has been asked to
mount behind, languidly stretches himself and refuses,
" If my lady does not find It too hot for her, I find It
too hot for me." A young married lady says to her
maid, " Jane, I was surprised that none of you rose
when I entered the kitchen." The maid, tossing her
head, replies with an impertinent air, " Indeed, ma'am,
we were certainly surprised at your entering the
kitchen when we were at dinner." But the faces,
the gestures themselves, must be seen ; when I seek
for words other than English ones wherewith to trans
late them, I entirelj' fail. The language of the country
alone seems to Interpret the things of the country ; for
example, the puckered face of the servant who has
remained single on account of her ugliness, the self-
satisfaction, the gravity, the majesty, and the servility
of the footman, who knows himself to be a fine-looklug
feUow.

XXII.
SPORTING, POLITICAL, AND SOCIAL CARICATURES IN
" PUNCH."
"iVTEARLY all the amusements are of an athletic cast
-'-^ It is sufficient to turn over the pages of the
volumes of Punch to see how thoroughly national is
the liking for horses and for rough sports. Every
number out of three contains representations of eques
trian mishaps and adventures. Nervous or unskilful
horsemen are continuously jeered at; jokes are cracked
about distinguished foreigners who shrink from a leap,
or who fear to break their necks. Little boys and
girls mounted on ponies join in the fox-hunts which
take place during the chiUing fogs of winter. The
young girls, tall, slim, firmly seated in their saddles,
leap hedges, ditches, five-barred gates, dash through
the underwood, gallop over the marshes, and come in
at the finish with a rush, carrying their horses over
every obstacle, putting inexperienced fox-hunters to
the blush. Heavy, broad-shouldered matrons trot
along with the party under the care of the riding-
master. Entire families, from the grandfather of
seventy to the maiden of six, ride along the sands
like a band of centaurs. Miss Alice, who is eight years
old, mounts her father's horse and offers her pony to

CARICATURES IN " PUNCH." 253
her mamma, who is slightly nervous.. It is clear thai
they are all the better for vigorous open-air exercise.
In a journey among the mountains old and young ladies,
wrapped in their waterproofs, sit on the outside of the
coach alongside of the gentlemen, the inside being con
sidered fitted only for the dogs, who take their ease
there. At the seaside both sexes promenade on the
pier during a gale, the wind which whistles in
their hair, the torrents of rain which deluge them,
seeming to delight them ; this betrays a primitive
instinct like that of the greyhound and the racehorse ;
they need muscular exertion and the rigours of the
open air to put their blood in circulation. At Paris
I have seen young EngUshmen every night leaving
their windows open during the entire night in winter.
This enables us to comprehend their fondness for
open-air sports, for cricket, for fishing and shooting.
The rain pours down in torrents and the vi^hole
country is like a lake ; an old gentleman in his water
proof actively handles his fishing-rod. When the
river is frozen over, he may be seen letting down
his line in the hope of catching a fish through a hole
in the ice made by a labourer with a pick. No ob
stacles, expense, or danger stop them ; they make a
journey of two hundred miles to the Highlands in order
to fish for salmon, shoot grouse or deer ; amateurs start
from London for the meet, taking their horses with
them in the train. B  tells me that a pheasant
carefully watched and fed during the winter costs its
owner from thirty shillings to two pounds. One out
of every three sportsmen has a limb broken before he
dies. The jokes on this head are endless. A gentle
man on horseback informs a neighbour that his animal
is rather restive ; " Oh, the animal is well known, it has

254 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
been the means of breaking more collar-bones than any
other in England." A little swell going stag-hunting
says to a robust friend on arriving at the railway
station, " WiU you take a single or a return ticket ? "
The latter repUes, " I mean to take a return because I
know all about the horse I shall mount ; but I advise
you to take a single ticket and an insurance one as well."
The prospect seems unpleasant. But it is not always
so. For persons of a particular temperament, difficulty,
trouble, and danger are incentives. Many English
take delight in exerting, hardening, or forcing them
selves to surmount obstacles ; the Alpine Club and
other associations are proofs of this. The qualities of
. the athlete and the equestrian contribute in their eyes
to constitute manliness. Thus general opinion upholds
instinct, add affectation is the complement of nature.
In India, Jacquemont saw them fill themselves with
meat and spirituous liquors, then gallop for two hours
under a broiling sun, and do this out of bravado, as a
matter of habit or of fashion, in order not to let it be
thought that they were effeminate or Cowardly, even
hazarding their lives in the attempt and losing them.
Most of the youths have the same dispositions. The
artist depicts them as being precocious in a manner
different from ours, showing not the precocity of for
wardness or malice, the precocity of the senses, but that
of hardihood and daring. The small and puny street boys
are not allied to the Parisian Gavroche ; they are more
handy with their fists than with their tongues ; a good
joke pleases them less than a display of skill. Two of
these manikins are shown in winter trying to block up
a doorway with a snow-ball twice as large as them
selves, and though half-frozen are contented and happy.
Nor are the rich less venturesome and hardy than the

CARICATURES IN "PUNCH." 255
poor. Witness two boys unmooring a boat in order to
go to sea by themselves. Their pleasures are rough and
boisterous ; they wade about bare-legged in the pools of
watei', they fish for jelly-fish, which they bring into
the drawing-room on a stick. While mere urchins they
learn to box, and they box with gloves in presence of their
mamma. When their father visits the school and asks
how they are getting on, he is told, " Oh, pretty well ;
there are three fellows whom I can lick, and Fred,
here, can lick six, including me." Another seated on
a pony as large as a Newfoundland dog, prepares to
leap a brook, and repUes to the servant making objec
tions, "Both my horse and myself can swim." B 
assured me that, from childhood upwards, they are
told, " You must be a man." They are trained to
think that they ought never to cry or show any signs
of weakness, and that they ought to be brave, enter
prising, and protectors of the weaker sex. A little boy
says to a big lady, frightened at a herd of cattle,
" Don't be afraid, shelter yourself behind me."
Another, aged six, seated on his shaggy Shetland
pony, cries to his grown-up sisters on the balcony,
" Halloa, girls, if any of you wish to take a ride along
the sands, I'm your man." On the other hand,
gluttony is the vice of these boys, which the artist
satirises most cordially. Emily has tried to amuse one
of them in every possible way ; she has given him her
paint-box, has played on the piano, has shown him
picture-books, yet he is discontented. "I don't call
that amusement. I want figs and ginger-bread, or a
large bit of toffy. That's what I call amusement." As
a matter of course, the draughtsman conforms the
physical type to the moral tendency. He does not
represent them, as refined, but sturdy and robust.

256 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
Moreover, he even loves to exaggerate their natural
courage. Two children on a donkey wish to leap a
ditch before which a gentleman on horseback hesitates.
A youngster of five, his hands in his pockets, says to
his uncle, a stout gentleman well muffled up, who ig
going out at night, and who is apprehensive about
robbers, " I say. Uncle Charles, if you are afraid to go
home alone, I'll escort you to your door." Separate
from these caricatures the salient and exaggerated
points, the residue is what the English themselves
see or believe to be essential. This granted, and sub
ject to the necessary rectifications and modifications,
one can perceive the fact as it actually exists.
The proofs which demonstrate the temperament, the
race, and the dispositions, are of all grades. The
common people, particularly the peasants, the sailors,
the farmers, and even the squires of this country, are
either jolly fellows or hulking rhonsters ; their outer
man bears testimony to their brute force. It is appa
rent that they glory in guzzling. An old country
gentleman has the air of a fat pig, who has a recollec
tion of his grandfather the wild boar. Close at hand
is the portrait of an EngUsh juryman ; he is about to
go to court stuffed to the throat, bloated out, having
fed like an ogre, and, in addition, his wife fills his
pockets with eatables. This is due to the rule that
juries are not allowed to separate till they are agreed;
hunger makes them unanimous in the end ; for such a
stomach as this, nothing is more terrible than a
vacuum. There is a holiday in the coal districts, at
which fisticuffs are the principal attraction ; a daughter
is represented leading away her father, whose arm has
been broken, and telling her lover, a country lout, to
go and take part in the fight. Two sailors at Bala-

CARICATURES IN " PUNCH." 257
clava, imposing and vigorous fighting animals, square-
shouldered, and ^yell fiUed-out, approach their com
manding officer, and deferentially say, "Beg your
pardon, sir, but may not John Grampus and me have
a day on shore to go to the trenches and do some
firing with the soldiers ? " Yet the most noteworthy
personage of all is John Bull, the typical Englishman,
suah as he is depicted in political caricatures; he is the
representative whom they themselves have chosen. In
this portrait, which they regard as an abridgment, are
ehown the essence and foundation of the national
character. When young he resembles one of those
jovial blades of Rubens, or rather of Jordaens, who, in
addition, has the gruffness of a watch-dog. He is
adult and resembles a butcher ; he is fifty years old, is
broad-shouldered ; his stomach is prominent under his
open-breasted waistcoat ; he wears top-boots, a low-
crowned hat, and carries a cudgel in his hand. But years
have not lessened his energy; he is capable of standing
his ground against the most vigorous adversary even
when It comes to blows. Picture a type of distinction
and then the exact opposite ; the latter impression is
that which he makes; his neck is short, his chin large;
his jaws are solid ; the entire masticating machinery is
perfectly developed ; a stiff collar rises half way above
his shaven chin, and his whiskers are of the mutton-
chop pattern : thus the lower part of his face resembles
that of M. Prudhomme. But his twinkling or angry
eyes, his beetle-brows, the entire expression of his
countenance, betray marked animal characteristics and
the choleric temperament. His forehead is small, his
intellect barren ; his ideas are few and petty, those
which he possesses being the ideas of a tradesman or a
farmer. By way of compensation, he is gifted with

2s8 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
good sense and energy, a fund of good temper, loyalty,
perseverance, and determination ; that firmness of
character. In short, by means of which a man gets on
in the world, and renders himself, if not lovable, at
least useful. There Is something superior to this in
England, yet we shall not err greatly in taking this
type and its counterparts to represent the aptitudes
and the inclinations of the average of the nation.
At the opposite pole the artistic type is beheld. We
all know how in French sketches the artist is raised
above the citizen ; here, oddly enough, the reverse
occurs. Musicians are represented as salaried monkeys,
who come to make a noise in a drawing-room. Painters
are bearded artisans, unkempt, shabbUy-dressed, badly-
educated, conceited, hardly one degree raised above
photographers. These are workmen who cannot speak
English, and who merely form food for ridicule.
Thackeray frequently struggled against the common
opinion with respect to artists ; Clive Newcome, one
of his personages, who is a painter and the son of a
colonel, remarks with surprise that in Paris artists are
on a par with the leaders of society, and that Delaroche
and Horace Vernet are Invited to dine at Court. A
French moralist would never have occasion to demon
strate that the painter's art is as liberal a profession as
that of medicine or law. Probably, in the eyes of the
burly John Bull, whom I have just described, a painter
cannot be a gentleman, seeing that he works with his
hands. He is not " respectable " because he has
no fixed income ; besides, it is said that his studio is
always in disorder. He is a journeyman who wants
method ; he ranks with his neighbour, the mechanic,
who works at home, and is the oracle of the pot-house.
The political caricatures appear to have been drawn

CARICATURES IN "PUNCH." 259
by John Bull himself; the drawing is stiff, correct,
¦without ease or grace, the pleasantry being harsh and
hard; the humour is that of a dog. Moreover, every
thing is subordinated to a practical object ; the intcr\n
tion is to liken an affair of state, a war, a change in
the Ministry, a political situation, to a familiar incident
of daily Ufe, so that the most obtuse head may under
stand what is meant. In the sketches of manners the
types are well chosen, clearly defined, and they power
fully express the moral trait by the physique. In
all these respects the artists are Hogarth's suc
cessors. On the contrary, in the frontispieces and the
borderings of each Almanack, the play of fancy, the
spirit of burlesque, the odd and interminable wealth of
imagination, the mountebank scenes, the ludicrous pro
cessions, the fascinating shapes, or the monstrosities,
the originality, the sentiment, the comicality of inven
tion, abound to an extent as to remind us of Dickens,
and sometimes even of Shakespeare.
In order to complete our examination of this collec
tion, let us note two tragical caricatures : the subject is
pauperism, whereof the traces, at least, are everywhere
visible in England.
The agricultural labourer has been competing for a
prize. The miserable wretch in rags, with clasped
hands, half-starved, deferential, is kneeling, and is
crowned with roses. Behind him stand his wife and
six children in a row, looking as wretched as himself.
The stout and well-dressed President of the Association
solemnly hands him his prize, consisting of a hammer
and a stone. He is free to break the stone and distri
bute the fragments to his famishing children. The
spectators smile ; the gentlemen and fine ladies who
are present gaze with a frigid curiosity, as if ho W3re

26o NOTES ON ENGLAND.
an animal of an Inferior and uhknown species, upon
the pitiable brute who produces their bread.
Another subject is cheap clothing. Twenty skele
tons are sewing on a table ; their employer, a stout
middle -class citizen, stern -eyed and heavy -jowled,
watches them while smoking a cigar.
These two pictures produce the same effect when
seen among the others as the sight of one of the
squalid lanes near Oxford Street when beheld after a
long walk amidst the palaces, the hotels, and the com
fortable mansions of the West-end and the City.

XXIIL
INNS OF COURT, BARRISTERS, AND JUDGES.
T HAVE been introduced to John H  , a young
-L and very obliging barrister. He lives in the Temple,
a sort of nest of lawyers and law students, in which
the multitude of chambers remind one of a Quartier
Latin and of a law corporation. The institution is
composed of four Inns of Court, each of which possesses
a Hall wherein the members dine, the student's chief
duty being to eat six dinners here every term for three
years. A year's attendance in a barrister's chambers
entitles the students to be called to the bar without
attending lectures. The professors are six in number,
and attendance at a final examination is optional.
There is no resemblance between this and an important
Law School Uke ours, founded to teach the theory in
the first instance. In like manner there is no Poly
technic school here ; he who wishes to become an
engineer enters an engineer's office, where he learns by
practice, like a painter's assistant. This deficiency in
high-class and systematised instruction, this omission
In the matter of preliminary lectures on the theory of
a profession, is very noteworthy, and is thoroughly
English. Besides, it would be no easy thing to
deliver a course of lectures on EngUsh law. The law is

262 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
nst codified, as In France, upon accepted philosophical
principles, but consists of a mass of statutes and prece
dents, more or less incongruous, and sometimes contra
dictory, which the future jurist must himself digest
after long study. On the other hand, there is no
historical school, as in Germany, characterised by
delicate tact and comprehensive views, and capable of
explaining, first, the gradual adaptation of law to cus
tom, and, secondly, its origin, Its bearing, and its
limits. The compensation for the lack of philosophical
theories and historical treatment is found In practice,
and frequently in routino. Some of these lawyers,
barristers, solicitors, or attorneys, have Incomes of
£20,000 a year ; one was named to me whose income
was from £30,000 to £35,000.
Let us attend a sitting of the Courts at Westminster.
In civil as in criminal causes a jury Is emplo3-ed, its
duty always consisting in settling questions of fact,
as distinguished from points of law. But a jury is
employed in civil causes only at the request of the
parties, who have to pay the jurymen certain fees. We
were present at three trials. One was a divorce case,
in which the wife was the petitioner ; this right has
ceased to be an aristocratic and most costly privi
lege ; It can now be exercised for the sum of £25 or
£30, and is thus brought within reach of the humblest
purse. Moreover, the reports of these divorce cases,
which frequently appear in the newspapers, deserve to
be read, because they unveil one of the failings of
English households — the tyranny and brutality of the
husbands. The duty of counsel is very noteworthy, and
Is very different from that of French advocates. They
examine witnesses as well as plead. At the hearing,
the plaintiff, the defendant, and each witness are exa-

BARRISTERS. 263
mined and cross-examined by counsel. The two
counsel turn their man inside out in succession, try to
trip him up, to disconcert him, to make him contradict
himself. Certainly it is not at all pleasant to be a
witness in England, the quarter of an hour passed in
the box being most trying. As a consequence, the
burden of the trial is borne by the counsel, the judge's
function consisting merely in supervising, forbidding
certain questions, tempering the ardour of the cham
pions In court, as the Queen tempers the ardour of
parties in Parliament. Such an active and varied part as
that played by counsel largely contributes to heighten
their importance and sharpen their wits. Among
us they are too often phrase - spinners who plunge
into rhetoric, and whom the judge has to silence ; hero,
they are qualified, like our " Juges d'Instruction," to
fathom and control men's minds. Three or four of
them, with their piercing eyes, clear and thrilling
accents, rapid and decided gestures, appeared to me to
be first-rate foxes, into whose clutches I should not like
to fall. The wife whom I saw under examination stood
In a little railed box at the side, but was visible to
every one ; my guide told me that her condition was
low, her language vulgar, and her clothes hired for the
occasion. Yet her replies were marked by that concen
tration and indomitable energy which I have so often
noticed in this country. Every minute she had a
desire to weep, and restrained her tears. She was
asked If she had not beaten her husband with the
tongs — if she had not sometimes begun the quarrel ?
She did not pour forth a torrent of negatives, as a
southern woman would have done, but she bent down
her head, reflected for half a minute, and then, assured
that her memory served her faithfully, after considera-

264 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
tion and with confldence she replied, " No ; never."
She spoke with an accent of conviction, the word
" never " being flrmly uttered.
The reiDorts of criminal trials must be perused In
order to understand to what a degree the judge's part
is dignified and honourably filled. Never can there be
detected in him any traces of the spirit of persecution,
the sentiments of a policeman, the desire to Inflict
vengeance on behalf of society, the instincts of a hunter
warmed with the chase, and intent upon securing his
prey. A passage which I translate saj's " that the prin
ciple of English law Is, that a man must be held to be
innocent tUl he has been proved to be guilty ; the
burden of proof rests altogether upon the prosecution."
Contrary to the French rule, the prisoner may keep
his mouth closed ; he Is not bound to incriminate him
self; no officer of justice of whatever degree is entitled
to extract his secret from him under any pretext what
ever. Conformably to this rule of law, when the judge
pronounces sentence, he does so with the authority and
with the impartiality of a mind thoroughly convinced.
He neither declaims nor indulges in invectlTe. He
neither conceals the weak points of the evidence nor
exaggerates the points beyond dispute. He weighs his
words, translating his carefully-formed opinion into
clear language, and when he adds moral condemnation
to the legal sentence, the gravity and nobleness of his
tones are worthy of all praise. More than once I have
thought that if Justice herself had a voice, she would
speak thus. The man himself Is transformed into
the simple organ of truth and of rectitude. The
prisoner at the bar cannot help bowing before such
a power as this, and assenting to the justice cf his

JUDGES. 26s
sentence. I know no other spectacle which can as
solemnly imprint in men's hearts veneration for
the law. Yet in this, as in other cases, the bad and
the good commingle. I am told that the result of the
English form of legal procedure Is to protect the Indi
vidual at the expense of society, that it is too difficult
to obtain legal proof, and that many guilty persons go
unpunished.

XXIV.
THE THEATRES. LIVING IN LONDON,
r^ OOD society does not go to the theatres, with the
^ exception of the two opera houses, which are the
exotic and hot-house plants of luxury, and in which the
prices of admission are enormous and evening dress is
imperative. As to the others, the audience is recruited
from among the lower middle class. There Is no longer
a national comedy in England : playwrights translate or
adapt French pieces. This is very extraordinary, for
they have still living manners fitted for representation
on the stage. In addition, their novels prove how well
they can depict characters. Satiric humour they have
always had in abundance ; during the last century they
had excellent comic dramatists and performers. How
comes It, then, that in London there is no comedy, and
that in Paris there is one ? Is it because there is a
scarcity of droll personages in England ? It appears
to me that they abound more than elsewhere, seeing
that types are there more sharply defined and are
developed even to excess. Is it because prudery of
manners taboos laughter? There is no hindrance to
decent merriment, improper joking being alone forbid
den. Is it because English reserve has suppressed
immoderate gesticulation, spontaneous and free expres-

THE THEATRES. 267
sion of feelings ? But the source of interest lies In the
situation, and grave personages can play a part in the
most exciting performance. The whole matter is a
puzzle, especially for the reader who has just turned
over the pages of a novel by Dickens or of an album by
John Leech.
This evening I went to the Olympic, a small house,
corresponding in some measure to our Palais Royal.
The opening piece was a burlesque on the Merchant of
Venice, filled with puns and jokes ; but to enjoy such
tomfooleries one must be a native of the country. The
other piece. Dearest Mamma, Is based on La Belle-Mere
ei le Gendre. Addison, one of the actors, plays the part
of an old uncle with surprising spirit and fidelity.
Imagine to yourself a large, bald, and hearty gentle
man, rotund, with his coat closely buttoned, thoroughly
enjoying life, weU pleased to be a widower and unat
tached, uniformly good-tempered, wholly concerned in
preserving " his equUibrium ;" who eats his six repasts
and takes his three constitutionals daily, who hums
tunes on all occasions, who ¦winds up his sentences with
a whistle like that of an old blackbird, who drops off to
sleep in every easy-chair, and who, hardened by the
tempests of wedded life, wags his head, and ends by
snoring comfortably when he is being soundly rated.
The type is complete, both morally and physically ; it
Is original and sympathetic, very comical and very
natural, and is perfectly rendered.
Shakespeare is played at intervals ; I have seen Mr.
Macready in Macbeth, in which he showed himself
powerful and dramatic, especially in the scene where
Banquo's ghost appears, and where, breathless with
fear, and with a hoarse cry, he casts himself on the
ground like a maddened bull. The public still laughs

268 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
when Hamlet says in the churchyard that the noble
dust of Alexander might now be used to stop a bung-
hole. Our eyes have been too much changed by habit ;
we have lost the inexperience of the sixteenth century ;
the illusion is destroyed by the too frequent shifting of
the scenery ; we cannot now believe in armies repre-
sented.by six combatants, and in battles fought upon
the stage. Even in England educated persons would
be disgusted to witness Cornwall publicly plucking out
Gloucester's eyes. To my mind the effect of reading
Shakespeare's works is far greater now than that made
by representing them ; at least I do not realise his
personages so well when they are placed before me
through the medium of an actor.
When one is satisfied with the necessaries of life,
living in London is not excessively dear. A young
engineer with whom I am acquainted spends 8s. 4d
daily ; his dinner, consisting of roast beef, potatoes,
asparagus, sweets, and cheese, and beer, costs him 2s. ;
his lodging, which Is very clean, consists of a bedroom
and sitting-room. B  ¦, who has come here to read
Arabic manuscripts, has a fine room close to the British
Museum, for which he pays a guinea a week, break
fast and attendance included. Both of them would
pay more in Paris. One may rent an entire house in
the neighbourhood of Regent's Park for £100 a year.
On the other hand, the expense of luxurious living is
prodigious. Four Frenchmen occupying a first-class
hotel for thee days had to pay a bill amounting to £72.
In another hotel, situated in a fashionable locality, a
sitting-room, bedroom, and dressing-room, candles, and
attendance, cost eighteen guineas a week. Lord S  ¦
smiled with incredulity on hearing my friend Loula

LIVING IN LONDON. 269
T  , a Frenchman, relate that during the preced
ing year he had killed thirty-six deer In a park of
which the rent was £80. Here all the pleasures of
luxury, the opera, sporting, entertaining, are reserved for
the possessors of large fortunes, and this constitutes a
new line of demarca :Ion between the poor and the rich.
My linen was not sent home on the appointed day,
nor till three days after, when it came at last, but
unwashed, the reason given by the washerwoman being
that two consecutive holidays had fallen in that week,
and that all the workpeople had been intoxicated for
eight days.
Since my arrival I have seen three drunken women
in broad daylight ; two of them, whom I saw in a fine
street near Hyde Park, were evidently low characters ;
they had tattered shawls, boots down at the heels, an
idiotic smile, tottering legs, and loosened tongues.
The third, respectably dressed, and about fifty years of
age, staggered in the midst of a crowd, saying with a
curious smUe that she was drunk, and that the reason
was that she had taken too much at the Exhibition. I
believe that among well-educated women this vice is
exceedingly rare, yet It may sometimes be occasioned
by extreme lassitude or grief. George Ellofr has
depicted it In "Janet's Repentance." The following
advertisement In The Times for 23rd November, 1870,
furnishes material for curious speculations : " A lady
in the vicinity of London, who takes great Interest in
the recovery of ladies from habits of intemperance,
continues to receive into her family one lady from the
higher classes, requiring help in this respect, A
vacancy now occurs. Address, Hon. Sec. of the Ladies'
Total Abstinence Association, &c."

i-,0 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
Among the people, however, the vice is frightful.
Daring three days I have twice visited Chelsea,
and each time I have seen men lying in the gutters
dead-drunk. My friend, who lives in this neighbour
hood, often sees working men in this state and position.
A philanthropic clergyman tells me that out of ten
workmen eight are drunkards. They get high wages
in London, as much as from one to two pounds sterling
a week ; when once they have paid for their provisions
they have a drinking bout of three or four days' dura
tion, imbibing gin, brandy-and- water, and other strong
liquors. The intoxication produced by these spirits
stupefies a man, rendering him melancholy and often
mad. Hence the prevalence of delirium tremens and
other alcoholic maladies. According to a number of
the Ragged Schools Magazine, London had in 1848
eleven thousand sellers of spirits and only four thou
sand butchers and bakers. Thirty thousand persons
are arrested during every year on the charge of being
drunk and incapable. It has been calculated that
260,000 persons enter the fourteen principal gin palaces
every week. In Glasgow there is one whisky shop to
every ten houses. Statistics show that in Manchester
the working class expends nearly a million sterling
every year in drinks ; as regards Glasgow, the amount
is about the same ; in Newcastle it is £400,000 ; in
Dundee £250,000, One hundred and forty-one work
men having been •watched at Preston, It was found that
the average proportion of their outlay for spirits was
22 per cent, of their earnings — a little more than
£11 10s, yearly ; that forty-one expended from 25 to
75 per cent, of their earnings, and that twelve were
teetotallers, and abstained from strong drink. Such Is
the effect of the remedy, and one understands alike the

LIVING IN LONDON. 271
energy of the propaganda and the utility of these
associations. In many streets I saw illustrations pub
lished by them, where the drunkard is represented
prone and helpless, surrounded by little demons, who
remove his heart and brain piece by piece, whUst the
Devil himself looks on, holding a bottle of gin, with
the punning inscription, " My best spirits."

xxv.
MANUFACl'URES AND ARTISANS.
STARTED for Manchester, During the journey I read
various newspapers and reviews, and among others
three or four articles upon France, directed against its
despotic Government, which does not permit private
individuals to take any part in public affairs. Tho
writer argues as if Frenchmen were Englishmen ; he
unconsciously pictures himself in France ; he supposes
how uncomfortable he would be there, how his feelings
would be shocked, how our administrative system
would hamper his actions. Yet these shackles, which
appear so serious to him, are trifles in our eyes ; the
majority of the citizens would be much more sensitive
to the opposite system. To take part in public affairs
is to increase one's toils ; to be member of flve or six
committees ; to prepare or hear reports ; to listen to
a dozen speeches every fortnight on the same subject ;
to digest statistics, and make investigations, are all
wearisome occupations. We hand over these matters
to the Government ; if it be a despot, it Is also a
steward. It trammels us in many respect^ but it
saves us from much worry. We permit it to cut
and carve like a steward possessed of full powers,
openly criticising its doings, and privatelv whisper-

MANUFACTURES AND AR2ISANS. 273
ing that should it become unbearable, wo have always
the option of turning It out of doors. The truth
is, however, that this calculation is faulty ; for after
years of quiet and Indifference we suddenly find that
we are ruined, and have concluded bad bargains.
Besides, the forcible expulsion always leads to rioting.
Moreover, as the master cannot get on without a
steward, he is compeUed, after each disturbance, to
select the first comer, the misfortune being that he is
often worse than his predecessor.
For the first hundred mUes the landscape is flat and
tame ; after this the hills begin, and the country
acquires an expression. The undulating hill-tops are
bathed in mist ; sometimes, when the sun shines forth,
a feeble light rests, like a smile, on the pale green ;
this fleeting smUe, amid the general mourning of
sodden fields, is most affecting and sad.
We now enter the coal and iron country; every
where are marks of manufacturing life ; the cinder
heaps form mountains; the earth Is seamed with
excavations ; tall furnaces belch forth flames. We are
nearing Manchester. In the bronzed sky at sunset a
strangely-shaped cloud hangs over the plain ; under
this motionless covering are hundreds of bristling
chimneys, as taU as obelisks ; a huge and black mass
is next distinguishable, then endless rows of buildings,
and we enter the Babel of bricks.
Walked through the city ; seen close at hand, it
is still more dismal. The air and the soil appear
charged with fog and soot. Manufactories with their
blackened bricks, their naked fronts, their windows
destitute of shutters, and resembling huge and cheap
penitentiaries, succeed each other in rows, A large
bazaar for the sale of low-priced goods, a work-

274 NOTES ON ENGLAND
house to accommodate four hundred thousand persons,
a prison for convicts condemned to penal servitude
— such are the ideas created by the spectacle. One
of these buildings Is a rectangle of six stories, in
_ each of which are forty ¦windows ; it Is there that, lit
up by gas, amid the deafening noise of looms, thou
sands of workpeople, cabined, classified, immovable,
mechanically drive their machines every day from
morning to night ; can any form of existence be more
opposed to, and at variance ¦with, the natural instincts
of man ? About six o'clock a bustUng, noisy crowd
pours from the mills into the streets ; men, women,
and children flock along In the open air ; their clothes
are filthy ; many of the children are bare-footed, the
faces of all are pinched and gloomy ; several halt at
the gin-palaces ; the others scatter and hasten towards
their hovels. We foUow them ; what wretched streets !
Through the half-open window may be seen a miserable
room on the ground-floor, sometimes below the level of
the damp pavement ; at the threshold a group of white,
fat, and untidy children breathe the foul air of the
street, less foul, however, than that of the room. A
strip of carpet may be perceived, and clothes hung up
to dry. We continue our walk in the direction of the
suburbs; there, in a more open space, rows of small
cheap houses have been erected as a speculation. The
black street is paved with iron slag ; the low red-tiled
roofs stand forth in lines against the prevailing grey
sky ; yet each family dwells apart, and the fog it
breathes is not too impure. These are the select, the
happy few. And the time Is summer, the flnest season
of the year ! One asks oneself what sort of life do
they lead in winter, when the fog bathes, chokes,
engulfs all nature, and one feels how heavily man is

MANUFACTURES AND ARTISANS. 275
oppressed by this pitiless climate and this industrial
system. Drives and visits in the wealthy quarter. Here and
at Liverpool, as at London, the English character is
manifested In the buildings. The City man does his
utmost to cast his city skin ; he strives to have his
country seat and country surroundings at the outskirts ;
he feels the necessity of being by himself — of feeling
that he is alone, monarch of his family and his servants,
of having around him a piece of park or a garden as
a relaxation from the artificial life of town and of busi
ness. Hence have been constructed vast. silent streets
In which there are no shops, and In which each house,
surrounded by a patch of green, is detached and is
occupied by a single family. In addition, beyond
Manchester stretches Bowden — a sort of public villa,
with the splendid park which Lord Stamford throws
open for the enjoyment of the multitude, and in which
there are magnificent trees, fine turf, and herds of tame
deer lying amid the ferns. How one must enjoy the
charm and the repose of these natural beauties after
leaving the mill and the counting-house ! For there
are no other beauties. Even a walk through the quarter
of the rich is depressing. Ten, fifteen, twenty houses
in succession have been built In the same style, and
they succeed each other with the mechanical regularity
of draughts on a draught-board. The trim lawns, the
small gates, the painted fronts, the uniformity of the
compartments, make one think of painted menageries,
of neat play-things. The ornamentation shows bad
taste, capitals, Grecian pUlars, railings, Gothic roofs,
and other forms have been copied from divers ages and
places, the whole being fresh and inharmonious, ths
display is ginger-bread and trumpery, like that of a

276 NOTES ON ENGLAND
man who, having suddenly become rich, bedizens, in
the belief that he is adorning himself. It is a good
thing to work, and. it is a good thing to be wealthy ;
but to work and be rich are not sufficient.
They are powerful, that is their compensation. The
life of one of the heads of these manufacturing or
commercial houses may be likened to that of a minor
prince. They have the funds, the vast designs, the
responsibility, the risks, the importance, and, it Is said,
the pride of a potentate. Like him they have their
emissaries and representatives in the four quarters of
the globe ; they are bound to keep themselves versed
daily in the condition and resources of neighbouring
and distant countries ; they have to control and satisfy
a host of workpeople ; they have the power to become
the benefactors of thousands of men ; they are the
generals and governors of human Industry. A quarter
of a million sterling, half a million sterling, these are
the phrases one hears used with regard to their enter
prises, their sales or purchases, the freights in their
ships, the goods in their warehouses. They despatch
agents to examine particular districts of the globe;
they discover outlets for commerce and markets for
purchases In Japan, China, Australia, Egypt, and New
Zealand ; they experiment about rearing sheep, grow
ing tea, or cultivating cotton in a new and untried
country. This style of conducting business brings all
the faculties Into play. The warehouses of textile
fabrics are Babylonian monuments, the front of one
being 500 feet long, and the bales being raised by
steam-power. A certain cotton mill contains 300,000
spindles. A friend of mine, an engineer, informs me that
authentic statistics show the profits of cotton-spinning
in the Manchester district to have amounted during

MANUFACTURES AND ARTISANS. 177
two years lo £20,000,000 monthly, and that at present
the profit is as much as £8,000,000. We visited the
establishments of Shaw and Piatt, the one a cotton-
spinner, the other a manufacturer of spindles. Piatt
makes 23,000 spindles weekly, and he has made as
many as 35,000 ; he employs 4,800 workpeople, and
does a business amounting to a million and a half
annually, of which his profits in one year have been
estimated at £200,000. On entering these workshops
one is struck with amazement — the whole is a gigantic
and ordered chaos, a labyrinth of wheels, gearing, re
volving leather bands, a living and moving structure,
wherein from floor to ceiling and from story to story
work goes on at a giddy pace, as if the whole were an
unwearied and indefatigable automaton. In a spacious
shed, flame eighteen forges, each flanked by two smaller
ones; a hive of workmen labours in the gloom inter
spersed with lurid flames. In Sharp's locomotive
factory from seven to eight hundred workmen turn out
an hundred locomotives annually, each worth £3,000.
One must come here In order to learn the puissance of
flre and water ; what we see are melting moulds, resem-
bUng trunks of trees ; slotting machines which tear off
shreds of iron ; drilling machines which pierce holes
through iron plates as thick as one's thumb as easily
as through butter ; steam-hammers of 500 lbs. weight,
which are so completely under control that they will
crack a nut without crushing the kernel; monster
shears, gigantic forges. Eight men, ranged in a row,
push a tree of red-hot iron, and as large as one's
body, into one of these flaming furnaces. Hero man is
but an insect ; the host of machines alone attracts
attention. When gazing upon these oddly-shapen creatures of

278 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
steel, so laborious and Industrious, amid the grindings
and thunderings of their headlong speed, one recalls
the subterranean dwarfs and giants of Scandinavian
mythology, the deformed monsters who in mountain
caves forged ornaments and armour for the gods. At
the present day they labour for the insect ; he is their
master, and sometimes, on seeing the- disproportion
between the labourers and their head, one forgets on
what terms he governs them.

XXVI.
MANCHESTER, AND LIVERPOOL.
/HiN examining a geological map, a large space,
^ coloured black, is seen around Manchester ; this
is the coal district. Towms spring up there like
gigantic mushrooms; around Manchester there are
seven or eight new ones with populations of from
40,000 to 45,000 persons, such as Oldham, for in
stance, which I have just visited. My friend, the
French engineer, informs me that 1,000 lbs. of coal
cost from 5s. to 8s. here ; that the same quantity costs
19s. 2d. at Paris ; at Bordeaux from 12s. 6d. to 15s. ;
and in the department of the Vosges from 1/. 8s. to
11. 15s. Around Birmingham and Glasgow there are
the same black marks and the same results. In
addition there Is clay suited for making bricks ; and
here, as at London, there is a vast estuary, an outlet,
the natural port of Liverpool, capable of holding entire
fleets. Add to this a persevering and prolific labour
ing population, and you will realise this astounding
collection of products, of human beings, and of build
ings. My friend adds two facts which, in his opinion,
explain the prosperity of these vast establishments.
On the one hand, the gross capital employed is enor
mous, and, In the industrial rivalry of different nations

2 So NOTES ON ENGLAND.
victory is always on the side of large battalions. On
the other, the organisation is excellent, the workman
is industrious, and faithfully copies the pattern placed
before him ; the foreman is attentive, and is always at
his post to the minute ; the machines are of superior
quality, and the amount of work they will perform can
be calculated with precision. Workmen, foremen,
machines, clerks, representatives, all perform their
duties with regularity and constancy, like a well-
poised and well-lubricated wheel. The master spends
four hours daily In his counting-house and workshop,
supervising the whole; that is enough. The disci
pline and harmonious action of his subordinates suffice
for what remains.
We started for Liverpool. Its name denotes an old
pond, and, in truth, the flat damp country, bathed In
sea-mist and covered with stagnant water, seems less
adapted for men than for wild-duck. Now and then
the land appears primeval ; untlUed downs and sandy-
bogs are to be seen ; the region, unenclosed, terminates
at the horizon in a faint streak of pale verdure. Heavy
violet-tinted clouds, exhalations of the sea and the soil,
as in Holland, flU and dim the space which stretches
beneath the low canopy of sky and the limitless plain.
At the entrance to the city there is a huge Grecian
building, a sort of temple with gilt panels, and pillars
In imitation jasper, and serving as a concert-hall. In
it a frightfully harsh-toned organ makes a din. On
the opposite side, in front, is a library which cost
£50,000, the legacy of a private Individual. This is
not the place to seek beauty and elegance. Liverpool
is a giant, like Manchester; the shops and warehouses
are on a vast scale ; the streets are vast, and the houses
which line them resemble those of London in being

MANCHESTER AND LIVERPOOL. 281
overladen with arcades, pillars, and pilasters, the effect
produced on the beholder being an impression of crowd
ing and heaviness. The Inhabitants number 500,000,
and the port is the most frequented after that of
London. Along the docks the cotton warehouses form a kind
of cyclopian, endless and monotonous rampart ; nearly
all the cotton of the world is housed here. But the
appearance of the docks themselves effaces every
thing. The Mersey, as large as an arm of the sea,
stretches towards the west, carrying vessels away and
bearing them home. For a distance of six miles along
its bank these vessels pass through canals into basins
lined with stone, resembling watery streets and squares,
multiplied and ramified, wherein they are. repaired or
discharge their cargoes. Their closely-packed masts
appear like a forest in winter, extending as far as the
eye can reach, and blocking up the entire horizon
towards the north. Yet the spacious and numerous
docks do not suffice to contain the multitude of ships ;
they are crowded together in rows and masses at tho
entrances, awaiting their turn to pass in ; at Birken
head, on the opposite bank, new docks are being built
for their accommodation.
I beUeve this spectacle to be one of the grandest in
the world. Some of the vessels are 3,500, others 4,000
tons burden. A steamer is upwards of 300 feet In
length. A vessel at anchor, the Great Britain, is about
to carry 1,200 emigrants to Australia. If one descends
the dry docks to the keels of the ships, one perceives
that the hull Is from forty to fifty feet In height. The
sweUing and copper-sheathed sides have the fine curves
cf a sea-bird about to slumber upon the waves.
The view from Birkenhead commands the harbour.

282 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
and the vast reach of the river; it is rather agi
tated, and gleams with yellow lustre, amid a slight
haze. The steamboats ascend and descend, cross and
re-cross, with stiff mechanical movements, Uke black
crabs. Sailing ships, lightly heeling over, skim along
like beautiful swans. The George, a man-of-war carry
ing 86 guns, arrives in lordly style, aU the others
making way for her. On the other side the bound
less row of masts and rigging lines the sky, while the
huge city is massed behind.
We visit several workshops, among others, the es
tablishment of Messrs, Laird, the buUders of iron ships.
It is said that within the last thirty years they have
buUt two hundred and fifty ; they employ fifteen hun
dred workpeople, have gigantic furnaces and machines,
and have stocks, to which water is brought through
canals. At present the huU of a paddle steamer is on
the stocks, its length is 350 feet, and it is designed to
make the passage between England and Ireland at the
speed of twenty mUes an hour. It wiU cost from
£80,000 to £100,000, wiU be completed in six months ;
the iron compartments which contain the eight boilers
are composed of metal beams as large as a man's body.
The same impression is always produced, that of
hugeness. Yet do labour and power suffice to render a
man happy ? M. B  , a leading merchant, sits for
three hours after dinner ¦with his guests drinking port
wine in sUence, Another, whenever he can get away,
rushes off to his country seat to brace up his nerves ;
he is enthusiastic about breeding pigs. When man is
dissatisfied with his lot he seeks for compensation in
dream-land, I was shown a spot where four or five
preachers — Methodists for the most part — come to
address a crowd on Sunday in the open air; the idea

MANCHESTER AND LIVERPOOL. 203
®f .the Kingdom of God, of the loving Christ, of the
aU-powerful and tender friend, is one refuge for dis
tressed minds.
Another refuge is intoxication. The authoress of a
" Life for a Life " writes : — " This Liverpool is an
awful town for drinking. Other towns may be as bad ;
statistics prove it ; but I know no place where intoxi
cation is so open and shameless. Not only in bye
streets and foul courts, where one expects to see it,
but everywhere. I never take a short railway journey
in the after part of the day but I am liable to meet at
least one drunken ' gentleman ' snoozing in his first-
class carriage ; or, in the second class, two or three
drunken ' men,' singing, swearing, or pushed stupidly
about by pale-faced wives. The sadness of the thing
is that the wives do not seem to mind It, that every
body takes It quite as a matter of course. The ' gentle
man,' often grey-haired, is but ' merry,' as he is accus
tomed to be every night of his life ; the poor man
has only ' had a drop or two,' as all his comrades are in
the habit of taking whenever they get the chance ;
they see no disgrace In it, so they laugh at him a bit,
and humour him, and are quite ready to stand up for
him against aU incomers who may object to such a
fellow-passenger. They don't ; nor do the women
belonging to them, who are weU-used to tolerate
drunken sweethearts, and lead about and pacify
drunken husbands."
It is now six o'clock, and we return through the
poorer qjiarter. What a sight! In the vicinity of
Leeds Street there are fifteen or twenty streets across
which cords are stretched and covered with rags and
linen, hung up to dry. Bands of chUdren swarm on
every flight of steps, five or six are clustered on each

284 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
step, the eldest holding the smallest; their faces are
pale, their light hair in disorder, their clothes are in
tatters, they have neither shoes nor .stockings, and they
are all shockingly dirty ; their faces and hands appear
ing to be encrusted with dust and soot. Perhaps two
hundred children romp and wallow in a single street.
On nearer approach one sees one of the mothers and a
grown-up sister, with little more covering than their
chemises, crouching in the dusky passage. What in
teriors ! They contain a little piece of worn oil-cloth,
sometimes a shell ornament, one or two plaster orna
ments; In the one corner is seated the idiot grand
mother ; the wife is busied in mending the wretched
rags of clothing, the children push each other about.
The smell resembles that of an old rag-shop. The
ground-floor of nearly every dwelling is a flagged and
damp basement. Can one imagine what life in these
cellars must be during winter ? Some of the younger
children are still fresh and rosy, but their large blue eyes
are painful to behold ; their good blood will deter
iorate ; as they grow older they will waste away, the
flesh becoming flabby and of an unhealthy pallor ; many
of their faces are scrofulous, being marked with .small
sores covered with plaister. As we proceed the crowd
is more dense. Tall youths seated or half-crouching
at the side of the pavement play with black cards.
Old, bearded hags come out of the gin-shops ; their
legs totter; their dull looks and besotted smile are
indescribable : it appears as if their features had been
slowly eaten away by vitriol. The rags which they
wear are falling to pieces, displaying their filthy skins ;
these were once the fashionable dresses of fine ladles.
A shocking detail is that these streets are built with
regularity, and have a modern aspect ; probably this is a

MANCHESTER AND LIVERPOOL. 285
quarter modernised and rendered more airy by a bene
ficent municipality ; such, then, is the best that can be
done for the poor. The uniform row of buildings and
pavements borders the two sides of the way, inclosing
in its mathematical lines this teeming heap of horrors
and human wretchedness. The air is close and oppres
sive, the light wan and dim ; there is not a tint or
a shape on which the eye can rest with pleasure;
Rembrandt's beggars were far better off in their pic
turesque holes. And I have not yet seen the Irish
quarter ! The Irish abound here ; it is supposed they
number 100,000 ; their quarter is the lowest circle of
Hell. Not so, however ; there is a still worse and
lower deep, particularly, I am Informed, at Belfast,
in Ireland, where, in the evening, on leaving the
factories, girls without stockings, shoes, or shifts, in
their grey working-dress, loiter on the pavement to
add a few pence to their day's earnings.

XXVIL
ENGLISH WORKING MEN,
A FTER careful observation, it appears to me that the
-^ types of workmen which are most prominent, and
round which the largest number of varieties may be
grouped, are as follows : —
First, the athletic and well-fed type. The trunk is
square-set, the frame is huge, the breech enormous ;
porter is said to be the agent in thus developing their
muscles. These broad backs, brawny chests, massive
shoulders, constitute a superb spectacle. Some of the
men are giants of six feet and upwards. This type is
most frequeiitly met with in the iron manufactories ;
a placid colossus may be there seen placing and turning
ihonster pieces in the forge. My friends tell me that
I shall, meet with still finer specimens in Yorkshire.
Secondly, the phlegmatic ; this is found everywhere,
but chiefly In the cotton mills, and, in truth, nearly
all the faces blend into this type. The colour of those
belonging to It is pale, their eyes are dull, their ex
pression is cold and fixed, their movements are correct,
regular, and under control ; they expend no more than
the minimum of exertion, and hence it Is that they
are first-rate workers, being mere machines adapted
for guiding machinery.

ENGLISH WORKING MEN. 287
French manufacturers tell me that in France a
workman is very diligent during the first hour, less
so during the second, still less so during the third, and
so on In diminishing ratio, till he becomes good for
nothing during the last. His muscular power gives
way, and his attention becomes relaxed. Here, on the
contrary, the workman labours as well during the last
as during the first hour. Besides, his working day is
but ten hours, while that of the French workman is
twelve. As a consequence of his more uniform atten
tion, an Englishman can accomplish more work. In
Shaw's miU, a man and two children are able to
manage 2,400 spindles ; in France, two men and three
or four — sometimes more — children are required to
perform the same task. By way of compensation, the
French workman is more neat-handed in some respects ;
the weavers of the Vosges, for example, produce stuffs
far neater and prettier than any produced In this
country. The difference between the two races is
always the same. The Frenchman appreciates and
instinctively discovers harmony and elegance ; he has
a taste for them. A Parisian ironmonger told me that,
after the conclusion of the Treaty of Commerce, a
quantity of English tools, such as files, awls, and
planes, was imported into France. These tools were
of good quality, the handles were solid, the blades
excellent, their prices were moderate — nevertheless
they were unsaleable. The Parisian workman exa
mined them, handled them, and ended by saying —
" These don't please the eye ;" he never bought any.
An excellence always engenders a defect, and reclpro-
caUy. This delicacy of sense and these exigencies of
the imagination hinder the French workman from
being steady, persevering, unyielding, when the task

288 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
is monotonous ; he does not understand how to tread
the appointed round like a cart-horse ; he stops now
and then, goes on at redoubled pace, becomes sick of
his work, is tempted to try a new method, and, to follow
the bent of his fancy.
How do the English workmen live, and what are
their receipts and expenses ? On this head I possess
recent statistical works — among others the work of
Mr, Chadwick, but more especially the information
given to me by engineering and manufacturing
friends. In iron manufactories, the good workmen
earn from 33s. to 36s. weekly ; the others from 15s. to
20s. In cotton mills a man earns from 16s. to 28s. a
week ; a woman, a young girl, or boy, from 7s. to 12s. ;
thus, a wife and chUdren help to swell the family
earnings. It is estimated that the average wage in
Lancashire is 20s. for an adult, and that he can live
upon 10s. ; that if he have a wife and four children,
he must expend 30s. ; and that in general his receipts
and his expenses exactly balance each other. He swims
on the top, and with difficulty; it is the skilled and
superior workman who can alone command his price.
The lot of the others is very hard when an accident,
an illness, or a suspension of business occurs. Five
causes of misery weigh upon them.
Firstly, as the climate is very bad, they are obliged
to expend much in coal, light, spirits, meat, and they
have to wash and change their clothes at short in
tervals. In addition, workmen in general are thriftless,
and the English workman in particular. At Oldham he
takes four meals a day — tea, coffee, a bottle and a half
of ale, butter, cheese, and has meat three times. At
Manchester the working classes are notorious for
getting the first of the earl^'' vegetables. Secondly,

ENGLISH WORKING MEN. 289
as competition is very severe, each one Is bound to
labour to the utmost of his strength ; more exertion
Is required here than elsewhere to keep one's head
above water ; at the slightest symptom of exhaustion
one sinks to the bottom, and the bottom is truly
terrible. Thirdly, they have children in droves —
four, five, more frequently six and upwards. One of
my friends knows families in which there are fifteen
and eighteen. Count the cost of pregnancy, of the
confinement, of the baby clothes, of the illnesses of
the children and of the mother ; besides, a child has
to be maintained, and earns nothing up to the age of
ten years. If four survive out of the whole number,
it is imperative either that the industry of the country
should double itself every thirty j^ears, or that one-
half of the population should emigrate. Fourthly,
under the rule of the industrial system dull seasons
are inevitable. Sometimes you are deprived by a rival
nation of a market upon which you counted ; some
times it is closed by scarcity, war, or the changes of
fashion. Add to this strikes, and hundreds of thou
sands of working men turned into the streets without
work to do or food to eat. Fifthl)', they are prone to
drunkenness, and of all curses this Is the most awful.
The climate disposes them to it, because it is really
needful for them to warm themselves, to cheer up, and
to enjoy themselves, forgetting for the moment the
gloom and strain of their lives. I have just read the
annual reports made by a clergyman to a charitable
society ; from this point of view they are tragical.
The effect of these causes combined is that few
workmen rise to be independent-, becoming fundholders,
or small shopkeepers. A person ¦svho is in constant
association with them, and who has lived here for

290 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
twenty-six years, calculates that the proportion of
these fortunate ones is five In every hundred, or one in
twenty. Most of the others die in hospitals, in work
houses, or are maintained in their old age by their
children. As a rule, the industrial system deteriorates
a population; the population of Manchester, for in
stance. Is more stunted than that of Oldham, a new
town. As the majority of English workmen is
engaged in manufactures, and as agriculture is here
a manufacture also, it is necessary, if we would compare
the average of happiness in France with the average
of happiness in England, to contrast the life of an
EngUsh working man with that of a French peasant.
The latter is frugal, follows beaten paths, and moves
within a narrow sphere ; yet he is nearly always
possessor of a piece of land or on the way to acquire
it, that Is to say, capital in a tangible shape, a secure
means of subsistence, which imis his mind at ease and
over which he gloats in imagination; moreover, the
agricultural system and peasant culture are compatible
with the most natural and the least constrained form
of existence. By way of compensation, the English
'workman, especially in the cities, possesses more ideas
and notions of all kinds, more intelligence in social,
political, and religious matters ; in short, his horizon
is more extended. He hears important interests dis
cussed and the affairs of different countries ; he reads
the newspapers, and collects curiosities. Recently an
itinerant lecturer delivered two lectures on Macaulay
here, the price of admission was Is. &d., and the hall
was filled with working men. In London gratuitous
and public lectures on the utility of geology had to be
established. There is another reason for development.
A working man who is a unit in a large organisation

ENGLISH WORKING MEN. 291
feels how greatly he is dependent upon others, in con
sequence of this he associates with his comrades, and
thus escapes from a life of isolation. A  narrated
to me the history of twenty-five working men who,
having each saved thirty pounds sterling, formed an
association some years ago in order to manufacture
engines. For several months they had no orders.
Taking counsel together they resolved to persevere and
reduce the outgoings of each to 3s. Qd. weekly — that
is to say, they fasted, they and their families. A cus
tomer appeared, became interested in them, bought an
engine, and invited the public to come and see it ; the
engine turned out very well, and their credit was thus
secured ; they prospered, and, after giving them com
pensation, they expeUed twelve of their number, who
were not industrious or skilful enough, reorganising their
society on a new basis. At first each one was manager
in turn ; now, the most capable is chosen to be the
permanent manager. He distributes several pounds
annually in dividends, but devotes the greater portion
of the profits to extend the business. The present
value of the business Is from £5,000 to £6,000. The
labours of the manager are performed gratuitously, all
the members work with their hands or superintend
the workshops ; not one dreams about retiring and
UvIng In idleness on his gains.
Visiting Oldham, we found the working men keeping
holiday in honour of the society to which they belong.
They walked in procession, carrying flags — on one
flag, that of the brickmakers, were the portraits of the
founders ; In the centre was a luminous eye surrounded
with mottoes, to the effect that they asked for justice
and nothing but justice. The excitement was great ,
women and children walked alongside, forming an

292 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
escort. The women were neither pale nor slim ; they
had fine plump naked arms, broad shoulders, ample
bosoms ; their trunks were badly set up, but their
frames were substantial; even the slender ones had
powerful skeletons. They remained congregated out
side the doors while their husbands feasted within.
Here, as in all the other manufacturing towns, the
aim of the society is to keep wages at a certain level,
and to increase them. All these societies are in corre
spondence, and have their head-office in London. When
one of them goes on strike its members are maintained
out of the local funds, and by the central funds also,
should the central committee consider the object praise
worthy. To meet these expenses each workman sub
scribes a shilling weekly ; in addition he pledges him
self not to work for less- than a particular wage. As
compensation, during illness, or .when -work is slack,
he is paid so much a day out of the common fund.
Meetings are held once a week ; these meetings, as
well as the regulations, are kept secret. The presidents,
treasurers, and other officers, are elected ; their duties
are performed gratuitously ; each workman fills one of
the posts in turn. Thus constituted, these societies are
very powerful ; their capital amounts to several millions
of francs ; they have been able to continue strikes
for six months, and even for a year, sometimes with
success. Every workman who leaves the union, or
refuses to join it, Is regarded as a black sheep; he Is
sent to Coventry, no one speaks to him, no one answers
him, he is condemned to moral Isolation. The result
of investigations recently made has been to show that
to these means of intimidation are added violence,
sometimes robbery, arid even murder ; a secret com
mittee, or kind of Vehm Gericht, pronounces and

ENGLISH WORKING 3IEN. 203
executes the sentence. Associations of this kind
naturally lead to the establishment of a dictatorship.
It is noteworthy that these societies do not lose sight
of their special object. They have no other aim than
the increase of wages, they never think of attacking
the Government, as they would assuredly do in France.
They are not political ; they are not even social ; they
entertain no Utopian schemes, never dream about re
constituting society, suppressing interest, abolishing
inh^rltnnce, equalising incomes, making the State a
joint-stock company, in which every individual Is a
shareholder. Manufacturers tell me here that in this
country there is nothing of that sort : " Our working
men do not generalise like yours; besides, they have a
smattering of political economy ; above all, they have
too much common sense to pursue chimeras. A strike
is what we have to fear, and not a socialistic move
ment." I have just read a very fine novel written by
a person who lived here, and who was an acute observer,
"North and South," by the late Mrs. Gaskell, in
which the character of a working man Is depicted and
the history of a strike Is narrated. If the portrait is
as faithful as I beUeve it to be, then thd men of that
class are possessed of a large store of reason and fair
ness. They are perpetuaUy at variance with the
masters, but the struggle is restricted to the question
of supply and demand. In this enclosed field each one
is armed with the same weapon, the refusal to give or
undertake employment, a refusal as hurtful to the one
as to the other. Each one persists in his refusal in
proportion to his courage and strength, the work
ing man fasting and the master being ruined ;
thus the struggle is at once fair and lawful. While
awaiting the result the law is respected, and there is

294 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
no resort to force ; opinion is a neutral power which
the working man must gain to his side by dis
playing wisdom and patience. Such is Higden's
advice with regard to strikes. B  tells me that
he is acquainted with many working men who follow
this line of conduct. They admit that a dispute
between master and workman is a matter of private
concern ; society may remain apart ; in any case, society
has the right not to be disturbed by the strife, while
master and workman have both their rights, the one to
dispute about his price, the other to defend his interests
in his own fashion. B— — engaged a skilled work
man at high wages for his manufactory in France, but
did so subject to the condition that his wages would
be diminished by one-half should he mention their
amount to his new comrades. " I understand, sir,"
the workman replied, "it is proper that the masters
should make their own bargains." According to
B  , a French working man would not be able to
forget himself in this way, and consider the matter
coolly and abstractedly. Transported into an out-of-
the-way village, this man has worked very hard ; his
life is not lively, he does not know a word of French,
and is unable to converse with his fellows. But he
has his little son, with whom he diverts himself greatly,
B  sends him an English newspaper three times a
week, and exchanges a few words with him when
inspecting the manufactory. These things suffice for
him ; he has lived more than a year in this way, sUent
and respected.
Nevertheless the situation has had its effect, and it
cannot be denied that the workman regards his master
as his natural enemy. The masters make very great
and very praiseworthy efforts with a view to lessen this

ENGLISH WORKING MEN. 295
feeling of hostility. They found or become trustees of
savings-banks and of penny banks, in which the work
man may deposit his smallest saving. They build and
let houses to them on a system which, through the
operation of a sinking fund, enables the workmen to
become owners of them after the lapse of a certain
number of years. They establish ragged schools and
mechanics' institutes. When the Queen paid a visit
to Manchester, sixty thousand Sunday-school children
were ranged before her, and sang " God save the
Qween." The masters are obliged to send to school for two
hours daily all the children from twelve to fifteen
years of age who work in their factories. The prin
ciple involved is at once a question of interest and
philanthropy ; all these institutions are designed to
diminish improvidence, which is said to be the capital
vice of the English working man. Here the animal
nature is too strong ; the reasonable and reasoning
faculty can with difficulty come to the surface. Its
flame is smothered beneath the thick and heavy smoke
of the Instincts, nor does it flash forth spontaneously,
keenly, lightly, as in the Southern races. It must be
fanned, fed with suitable material, before it waxes
strong enough to vanquish the gross matter which
obscures it. When this occurs it is all-powerful ; but
nowhere is the civilisation of the human being a matter
more urgent and indispensable.
We visited several establishments for instruction
and public recreation. We went first to Peel's Park,
a sort of large English garden, situated in the heart of
the city, where the poor may seat themselves amid
trees and flowers. It was founded by means of a
private subscription amounting to £35,000, and In-

296 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
eludes in addition a museum and a library. The
museum contains a gallery of first-rate paintings and
drawings, which the owners have lent for six months ;
a room of natural history, containing collections of
birds, serpents, butterflies, &c. ; a room fiUed with old
or foreign fabrics ; a room fiUed with industrial pro
ducts, such as cotton, hemp, madder — in short, an
array of objects to instruct the mind and please the
eye, Our guide, who was a leading merchant, said to
us : " AU these things address the senses, and do so in
an interesting manner ; they all attract the working
men, and impart ideas to them ; it is indeed necessary
that they should have something to distract their
thoughts ; moreover, every hour spent here is so much
time abstracted from the public-house." He called
our attention to the fact that there were no keepers In
the rooms, they being under the protection of public
honesty and good sense ; not a single article has been
stolen, injured, or even handled, and the average num
ber of daily visitors is 2,550.
Thence we proceeded to the free library, also esta
blished by, private subscription, and chiefiy used
by working men. It contains 25,000 volumes. The
librarian said that there are 10,000 readers a month ;
newspapers are to be found there also. Whoever is
introduced by two respectable persons may borrow
books ; from 1,200 to 1,400 persons are regular bor
rowers. I learn from the register that the lives of
Nelson and Wellington are chiefly in request, and that
even theological works find readers. According to our
guide, many of these working men are well informed,
and make collections ; one was mentioned who knew
the names and appearance of 900 species of beetles.
Natural history and the natural sciences In general are

ENGLISH WORKING MEN. 297
greatly to their liking ; they are fond of facts, and of
proofs established by experiment, and are often led far
beyond the Bible to the very depths of Positivism ; tho
Secularists get many recruits from among their num
ber. On the other hand, they read treatises on political
economy, and newspapers; now English newspapers,
even those of a small town, are Instructive, filled with
correspondence, with circumstantial and accurate in
formation. It seems to me that one of these working
men, who does not drink, and who reads for an hour a
day, must have a well-filled and healthy head.
Another institution, the Mechanics' Institute, is also
founded and maintained by subscription. It has six
hundred pupils, both girls and boys, above the age of
ten years. There are two sorts of classes : In the one,
French, German, drawing, music, and mathematics are
taught to pupils who pay a small fee, and who are
generally tradesmen's children. The other classes are
free ; reading, writing, lineal drawing, and arithmetic
are taught. Many factory boys and girls, in ragged
clothes, attend them, being sent by their employers. The
principal object of the instruction given is to impart a
knowledge of lineal drawing and of mathematics ; in
the upper class, where the pupils are from thirteen to
sixteen years of age, the sixth book of Euclid is
taught; it is necessary that they should understand
their machines. Generally, the master appoints one of
his class to act as monitor. There is a Ubrary adjoin
ing, containing a thousand volumes, and a room con
taining newspapers and reviews, which the pupils are
aUowed to read. At present there is one or more of
these schools, specially adapted for the working class,
in all the manufacturing towns, and the good results
yielded by them are highly spoken of. The funda-

298 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
mental maxim on which they have acted is, that unless
a nation be educated it will become ungovernable.
Religion aids them in this undertaking ; a Protet>tant
must learn to read his Bible. Many schools are at
tached to the churches, more especially to Dissentlno-
chapels ; as a general rule the church engenders the
school. I infinitely admire the spirit of all these institutions,
the generous initiative and sensible conduct of the
private individuals who freely, and at their own cost,
bestow a benefit on the public at large, and engage in
affairs of State without State aid. Here large sums
are usefully bestowed. To act by oneself, with purse
or otherwise, to give the Impetus and not wait till it
has been given. Is quite natural to them. Many bur
dens to which we submit they would deem Insupport
able ; they have a horror of anything savouring of
classification and the barrack. For instance, there are
no compartments wherein passengers are herded to
gether at the railway stations ; they wait for the train
on the platform. Luggage is not registered ; each one
puts his luggage where he pleases, and finds it again if
he can. Yesterday an omnibus was turned from its
regular line of route into a side street to oblige two
ladies who had obtained the consent of the passengers.
Moreover, as it rained, the conductor permitted three
persons In excess of the number to stand inside. Last
Sunday, in a square, a poor fanatical wretch, a sort of
bearded Bunyan, with an old hat and shabby surtout,
mounted a post, the New Testament in his hand, and
began to lecture : — " You see that the Apostles did not
venture to bury our Lord, it was Nicodemus, a rich
man and a gentleman, who did it, and this was neces
sary in order that the prophecy of St. John might be

ENGLISH WORKING J/ EN. =99
fulfilled.*' Thereupon he read the prophecy. " Then
you ought not to trust tradition, but believe in the
Scriptures." He ended by offering up a prayer in a
contrite tone, his eyes turned to heaven. His audience
immbered about thirty ; several boys played tricks and
threw his hat down, but five or six persons with stern
or wasted countenances listened to him with attention.
One of the hearers said to me that It was wrong to
torment the man, that he neither offended nor insulted
any one, that he had the right to speak as his con
science dictated. For my own part, what struck me
was his seriousness and his courage ; he was unmoved
by ridicule ; he went forward ; having something to
say, he uttered it, and cared nothing for what
might happen. Self-help is always the watchword,
and is one little understood in France ; from the
same interior source issue forth the societies, the
Institutions which abound here, among others the
municipal institutions ; Manchester administers her
own affairs, pays and appoints her police, governs her
self almost without the intervention of the Govern
ment. Consequently the social edifice rests upon
thousands of Independeiit columns, and not like ours,
upon a single one ; accidents, catastrophes, Uke our
revolutions of 1830, of 1848, of 1852, are impossible
here.

XXVIII.
SCENES IN MANCHESTER.
/^UR friend, the merchant, took us to a large work-
^ house outside the city. There is another in the
city containing 1,200 paupers ; this one, however, can
accommodate 1,900, but at present it contains 350 only.
It cost £75,000; the annual expenses of the two
amount to £55,000 raised by the poor-rate ; the
master's salary is £200, the doctor's £170. Each
superintendent receives £20, exclusive of board, lodg
ing, and washing ; a master shoemaker receives £1
a week for teaching his trade. The guardians give
their services gratuitously. The building is spacious,
perfectly clean, well kept ; it has large courts, gardens
are attached to it, looks upon fields and stately trees ;
it has a chapel, and rooms of which the ceilings are
twenty feet high. It is evident that the founders and
managers had made it a matter of conscience to pro
duce a work which should be beautiful, correct, and
useful. There is no smell anywhere ; the beds are
almost white, and are furnished with figured coverlets ;
the most aged and feeble women have white caps and
new clothes. Everything has been considered and
arranged to maintain a pleasing effect. One room is
set apart for the lunatics, another for the female idiots ;

SCENES IN jVANCHESTER. 301
the latter do needle work for some hours daily ; during
the period of recreation they dance together to the
sounds of a fiddle. They make strange grimaces, yet
they all seem healthy and not at all sad. In another
room the children are taught their lessons, one of the
elder children acting as monitor. The kitchen is
monumental. Eight or ten cauldrons are set in solid
masonry, some to cook the oatmeal gruel, which is the
principal article of food. The daily ration of each
inmate consists of two pounds of this oatmeal and a
pound and a half of potatoes ; four times a week the
aUowance is increased by four ounces of pie or of meat
without bone. The drink Is water, except during ill
ness. We were astounded; this was a palace compared
with the kennels in which the poor dwell. One of us
seriously asked our friend to reserve a place for him
here during his old age. Recollect that a Manchester
or Liverpool labourer can scarcely procure meat once
a week by working ten hours a day ! Here an able-
bodied pauper works about six hours, has newspapers,
the Bible, and some good books and reviews to read,
lives In a wholesome air, and enjoys the sight of trees.
Nevertheless there is not an able-bodied inmate of this
workhouse at this moment ; it is almost empty, and
will not be filled till the winter. When a working
man out of employment applies for help to the authori
ties he is commonly told, " Show us that you wish to
work by entering the workhouse." Nine out of ten
decline. Whence this dislike? To-day at a street-
corner I saw an old woman groping with her skinny
hands in a heap of rubbish, and pulling out scraps of
vegetables ; probably she would not give up her drop
of spirits. But what of the others ? I am informed
that they prefer their home and their freedom at any

303 NOTES ON ENGLANL.
price, that they cannot bear being shut up and sub
jected to discipline. They prefer to be free and to
starve. But the children, these little ones, with their
white skulls sprinkled with flaxen hair, crowded in a
room around a pale mother ; how is their father able to
witness such a spectacle ? He does support the sight ;
he will not separate himself from those of his house
hold, abandon his position as head of the family, and
be cabined alone in a compartment ; he thinks that, if
he submitted to this, he would cease to be a man. The
workhouse is regarded as a prison ; the poor consider
it a point of honour not to go there. Perhaps it must
be admitted that the system of administration is fool
ishly despotic and worrying, that is the fault of every
administrative system ; the human being becomes a
machine ; he is treated as if he were devoid of feeling,
and insulted quite unconsciously. In " Our Mutual
Friend," Dickens has depicted the distaste for the
workhouse while siding with the poor.
I spent the evening at Bellevue to see the popular
amusements. This is a sort of dancing hall, surrounded
by a garden, in which there are shows, curiosities,
trumpery works of art. The siege of Badajoz was
represented on a stage ornamented with the portrait
of Wellington, and this patriotic performance was
greeted with loud applause. Shortly afterwards there
were fireworks. In the gardens bands of working men
and small shopkeepers ate and drank, and played at
kiss-in-the-ring. Inside, in a spacious room, working
men danced with great energy and vigour, but without
indecency, and thus compensated themselves for the
deprivation of exercise during the week. Many have
a rough and surly air ; not one of them has an air of
roguery and swagger. The athlete, the relation of the

SCEA^ES IN MANCHESTER. 303
bull and the watch-dog, always appears instead of the
witty rascal, the relation of the spaniel and the mon
key. The price of admission is a shilling ; the ball costs
sixpence extra. As Bellevue is some little way off,
being at the extremity of a quarter of the city, the
expense of transport must be added ; indeed there were
plenty of omnibuses and cabs at the gate. Reckon also
the refreshments, and remember that, as the workman
generally brings his sweetheart with him, he must pay
for two. Now, a spinner's wage is about 23s. weekly.
Such is a specimen of English extravagance. B 
says that a workman who earns 5s. a day often spends
4s. on food and drink. Some of the men filling sub
ordinate posts in the iron factories can make as much
in good years as £150, £200, and even £300. They
expend the whole, and put nothing in the savings-
bank. B  maintains that an EngUsh workman
who is industrious and thrifty, is certain, unless hin
dered by accident or illness, to prosper, or at least to
gain a livelihood. But the people are not thrifty.
From ten o'clock tiU midnight two policemen, whom
our friends introduced to us, led us through the dis
reputable quarters. There are six hundred policemen
in Manchester, and each gets about 11. weekly. Those
who went with us were detectives. One of them had
been twenty-six years in Manchester; the other had
been employed in several large towns. Both were
serious, sensible, prudent men ; they made no parade
of their talents, they spoke but little, and their answers
were to the point. With their impassive countenance
and their meditative expression, they inspired con
fidence and had an air of dignity. They corroborated
what we had heard about the aversion of the poor for
the workhouse ; in their opinion the workhouse itself

304 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
was good for nothing, and merely encouraged idleness,
A famUy and three children can live upon 30s. a week ;
and they make this amount. But most of the men
marry young, often at eighteen ; at thirty they have
six children ; they drink much and save nothing ;
the wife becomes a bad housekeeper in becoming a
good factory hand. As a rule, when a workman dies
he does not leave enough to pay for his funeral.
We inspected the night lodging-houses, where. In a
low and unventUated room, four to five hundred beds
were occupied. A whole bed costs fivepence, the half
twopence-halfpenny. A husband and wife were in on 3
of the beds. The man's face was thin and pitiful — '¦
pallid, sallow, and sunken, as if by iUness ; it had the
look of an old mask in wax. In a casino we found^
five hundred persons, poverty-stricken in appearance,
crowded on greasy seats in front of a platform whereon
danced two slender girls in pink gauze. Twopence is
the price of admission ; the company drank gin and
smoked ; the atmosphere, loaded with human ex
halations, was suffocating. We entered a house of
ill-fame. The policeman told us that its inmates are
chiefly recruited from the factories. They were col
lected in a low room, and were decently clad ; many
were thin, and their vulgar faces had a savage cast.
Close to an oily mulatto woman, the pretty form of a
young, delicate, and intelligent girl was pensively-
seated before a blazing fire. The season was July,
yet a fire in the evenings is necessary. It was the
same in the thieves' kitchen. We visited twenty or
thirty of these haunts. A huge mass of coal was
burning for cooking purposes and for drying clothes.
The men smoked and played dominoes, and, without
uttering a word, they gazed upon us with their fixed

SCENES IN MANCHESTER. 305
and gleaming wild-animal looking eyes. The effect of
the flaring gaslight on these counteniinces was horrible.
I have seen similar quarters and similar dens in Paris,
Bordeaux, and Marseilles, but nowhere has the im
pression made been as strong. It resembles that pro
duced by a nightmare or one of Edgar Poe's tales.
The gaslight does not wholly illumine the darkness of
the heavy, choking air, impregnated with unknown
exhalations; nothing Is more startling than this black
ness dotted with flickering lights. The syinmet«
rical streets resemble the skeletons of streets me
chanically ranged in motionless rows. Unfortunates
wearing soiled bonnets drag along their frippery and
their smiles ; as they pass, one feels inclined to start
back as at the approach of a spectre or of a troubled
spirit. Every ten minutes we enter a different den ;
on our exit, the low room, blazing fire, flaring gas, the
filthy band of haggard, beseeching, or dangerous faces,
made us think about a vent-hole of Hell. Certainly the
horrible and the unclean are worse here than else
where

XXIX.
CHARACTERISTICS OF THE ENGLISH MIND.
1 T seems to me that I begin to understand the form
-» of the English mind, so different from that of the
French mind. When I feel a notion of that sort
dawning upon me I impart it to two or three English
friends who have travelled ; I submit it to their judg
ment, we discuss it together; at the close of the
discussion the notion is corrected or developed, and
such as it is I commit it to writing on the following
day. The interior of an English head may not unaptly
be likened to one of Murray's "Hand-books," which
contains many facts and few Ideas ; a quantity
of useful and precise information, short statistical
abridgments, numerous figures, correct and detailed
maps, brief and dry historical notices, moral and
profitable counsels in the guise of a preface, no view
of the subject as a whole, none of the literary graces,
a simple collection of well-authenticated documents, a
convenient memorandum for personal guidance during
a journey. A Frenchman requires that everything
and every piece of writing should be cast in a pleasing
form ; an Englishman is satisfied if the substance be
useful. A Frenchman loves ideas In and for them-

THE ENGLISH MIND. 307
selves; an Englishman employs them as instruments
of mnemonics or of prevision. I am about to cite two
small facts which will serve as specimens. Stephenson,
the great engineer, was asked how he had invented
his machines, and the locomotive among others. He
replied that it was due to a power of imagining and
conceiving with the utmost precision the different
parts, their forms, sizes, and connections, their possible
movements, and the entire series of changes which the
alteration of a part, a size, or of a connection would
introduce into their combined working. Thus his
mind resembled a workshop, in which all the articles
were numbered and classified ; he took them in turn,
arranged them, mentally set them going, and, by dint
of trying, he hit upon the practical combination. As
a contrast, Leon Foucault told me that, having one day
discovered a proposition of speculative mechanics which
Huyghens and Lagrange had overlooked, he worked
it out to its -final consequences, and these led him to
the idea of his governor. In general a Frenchman
arrives at the comprehension of a thing by means of
classifications and by the deductive method, while the
Englishman does so by induction, by dint of concen
tration and remembrance, thanks to the clear and
persistent representation of a quantity of separate facts,
by the indefinite accumulation of documents, either
isolated or placed in juxtaposition.
Bearing upon this point is a letter in Carlyle's
" Life of John SterUng," with which I have always
been struck. Sterling was at the Island of St. Vincent,
in the West Indies, when he wrote it. A hurricane
had devastated the island ; he and his wife, who was
pregnant, had a narrow escape. He relates to his
mother the story of what occurred. Note that the

3o8 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
narrator is a man of letters, and a poet, that he has
received a thorough education, and Is a master of his
native tongue. Yet in this case, as in all similar cases,
the first care of an Englishman Is to transmit to
another a true, an exact, and a graphic account. His
description is a pure statement of facts : — " My dear
Mother, .... Nearly all the property, both of Susan
and myself — the very house we lived in — was suddenly
destroyed by a visitation of Providence far more ter
rible than any I have ever witnessed. When Susan
came from her room to breakfast, at eight o'clock, I
pointed out to her the extraordinary height and
violence of the surf, and the singular appearance of
the clouds of heavy rain sweeping down the valleys
before us  A very few minutes after the closing
of the windows I found that the shutters of TyrreU'o
room, at the south and commonly the most sheltered
end of the house, were giving way. I tried to tie
them, and I found in pushing at the leaf of the
shutter that the wind resisted more as If It had been a
stone wall or a mass of iron than a mere current of air.
The rain on my face and hands felt like so much small
shot from a gun. There was great exertion necessary
to shut the door of the house. About nine o'clock the
panes of glass were smashed by the mere force of the
gale, without anything having touched them 
The front windows were giving way with successive
crashes, and the floor shook as you may have seen a
carpet on a gusty day in London. I went Into our
bedroom, where I found Susan, Tyrrell, and a little
coloured girl of seven or eight years old ; and I told
them that we should probably not be alive in half an
hour. The house was under two parallel roofs ; and
the one next the sen, which sheltered the other, and

THE ENGLISH MIND. 309
us who were under the other, went off, I suppose about
ten o'clock. After my old plan, I will give you a
sketch, from which you may perceive how we were
situated." And, in fact, he draws a plan, or rather
two geometrical plans, with letters and Indications.
" lu plan No. 1, a a are the windows that were first
destroyed ; b went next ; my books were between the
windows b and on the wall opposite to them. The lines
c and d mark the directions of the two roofs ; e is the
room in which we were, and 2 is a plan of it on a
larger scale. Look now at 2 : « is the bed ; c c the
two wardrobes ; b the corner in which we were. I
was sitting In an arm-chair, holding my wife ; and
Tyrrell and the little black child were close to us. We
had given up all notion of surviving, and only waited
the fall of the roof to perish together. Before long
the roof went. Most of the materials, however, were
carried clear away ; one of the large couples was
caught on the bed-post marked d, and held fast by the
iron spike, while the end of it hung over our heads ;
had the beam fallen an inch on either side of the bed
post it must necessarily have crushed us. The walls
did not go with the roof; and we remained for half an
hour, alternately praying to God, and watching them
as they bent, creaked, and shivered before the storm.
.... The old cook made five attempts to get to us,
and four times he was blown down. The fifth time he,
and the negro we 'first saw, reached the house. Tho
space they had to traverse was not above twenty yards
of level ground, if so much." The style continues to'
be the same to the end, correct, plain, and, in appear
ance, cold. It is the method of Defoe and of Swift ;
nothing can be less literary or more instructive.
The Impression produced is the same if we consider

310 NfOTES ON ENGLAND.
in turn the journals, the reviews, and the oratory oi
the two nations. The special correspondent of an
EngUsh journal is a sort of photographer who for
wards proofs taken on the spot ; these are published
untouched. Sometimes, indeed, there are discrepancies
between the arguments in the leading articles and the
statements in the letter. The latter are always ex
tremely lengthy and detailed; a Frenchman would
abridge and lighten them ; they leave on him a feeling
of weariness ; the whole la a jumble ; it is a badly-
hewn and unwieldy block. The editor of a French
journal is bound to help his correspondent, to select,
from his materials what is essential, to pick out from
the heap the three or four notable anecdotes, and to
sum up the whole in a clear idea, embodied in a telling
phrase. Nor is the difference less perceptible if their
great quarterlies and our reviews are contrasted. An
article in ours, even an article on science or political
economy, must possess an exordium, a peroration, a
! plan. Every one in the Revue des Deux Mondes com
mences with an exposition of general ideas. With
them facts, figures, and technical details predominate ;
their articles are exceedingly heavy, excepting in the
hands of a Macaulay ; they are excellent quarries filled
with solid but unshapen stones, requiring a'dditional
workmanship in order to fit them for general use.
Moreover, in Parliament and public meetings, English
eloquence is hampered by documents, while French
7 eloquence evaporates in theories.
EngUsh education tends to produce this result.
In the principal school in London B  had as
a friend a very distinguished young man who had
taken the second place in mathematics, the first in
literature, who was thoroughly versed in Latin

THE ENGLISH MIND. 311
authors, and in Catullus among the rest. In his
eyes Catullus was the most exquisite of poets. He
knew every line by heart, was acquainted with the
various readings, had studied the commentaries, and
was almost qualified for producing an edition of this
author. Yet, if asked to give a general view of him,
to write a condensed sketch in six pages, he could
not possibly do this, and he candidly acknowledged
it. At Oxford and Cambridge studious undergradu
ates read aU the Latin authors, even those of the
silver age — Statins, Claudian, Manilius, Mncrobius,
Aulus Gellius ; they are thoroughly versed In Greek
also ; and they have made Greek verses from the time
of leaving school. But they are devoid of ideas,,jthey
know the dry bones of antiquity, but are unable to
feel its spirit ; they do not picture to themselves its
civUIsatlon as a whole, the special characteristic of a
southern and polytheistic spirit, the sentiments of an
athlete, of a dialectician, of an artist. Look, for
example, at Mr. Gladstone's extraordinary commen
taries on Homer. Nor has Mr. Grote, in his great
" History of Greece," done anything more than write
the history of constitutions and political debates.
Twenty years ago the Universities were the nurseries
' of Greek, - Latin,"*mathematics ; were very exclusive,
and maintained the exclusiveness very strongly ;
were extremely indisposed to afford free scope to
human intelligence; the natural sciences, and philo
sophical history, and EngUsh composition were all
uncultivated. Recently, however, ne-w discoveries
and continental methods of education have gained
entrance ; still, even at this day, the system of edu
cation Is better fitted for strengthening than for
expanding the mind ; graduates leave the Univer-

312 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
sitles as they leave a course of gymnastics, bringing
away with them no conception whatever of man or
the world. Besides, there is one ready made, and
very acceptable, which a young man has no diffi
culty in adopting. In France no fixed limit bounds
his thoughts ; the Constitution, ten times altered, has
no authority ; the religion is that of the Middle Ages ;
the old forms are in discredit, the new are merely
chalked out. From the age of sixteen he is assailed
by doubt ; he oscillates ; if he has any brains, his
most pressing need is to construct for himself a body
of convictions, or at least of opinions. In England
the moul^ Is prepared ; the religion Is almost rational,
and the .Constitution almost excellent; awakening in
telligence there finds the broad lines of future beliefs
already traced. The necessity for erecting a complete
habitation is not felt; the utmost that appears want
ing relates to the enlargement of a Gothic window,
the cleansing of a cellar, the repair of a staircase.
English intellect, being less unsettled, less excited,
is less active, because it has not scepticism for a
spur. To the education of the youth and the young man,
add that of the adult and the man of experience.
In the first place, all written or spoken literature con
spires to furnish the latter with facts rather than theo
ries ; I have already Indicated the character of English
journals, reviews, and oratory ; that of the books
is like unto it, not of the solid works alone, but also
of the novels, so full of details, so circumstantial, so life
like, these novels being in literature what Dutch art is
In painting. It is also necessary to note and place in
the foreground the travels which are the complement
of education, the occupation of a holiday, a custom, a

THE ENGLISH MIND. 3 1 3
pleasure, almost an affectation, and, as a consequence,
the taste for reading works of travel. Mr. Murray
paid Livingstone £9,000 for his travels ; judging from
the price paid, one can imagine what the sale must
have been, and from the sale one can estimate the
curiosity of the pablic. In fine, it is necessary to take
into account the experience of business, as it is here
understood, the information which each person collects
from reports of the proceedings, and from the meetings
of the association to which he belongs, the figures,
documents, statistics, and comparative tables which he
must study and understand in order to act efficaciously
and with success In the larger or smaller circle of his
private or public interests. Through all these chan
nels, open from infancj- to the close of life, exact infor
mation flows into an EngUsh head as Into a reservoir.
But the proximity of these waters does not yet suffice
to explain their abundance ; there is a slope which
invites them, an innate disposition peculiar to the race
— to wit, the liking for facts, the love of experlmen.t,
the instinct of Induction, the longing for certitude.
Whoever has studied their literature and their philo
sophy, from Shakespeare and Bacon to the presertt
day, knows that this inclination is hereditary, and
appertains to the very character of their minds — that
it is bound up with their manner of comprehendlrtg
truth. According to them the tree must be judged by
its fruit, and speculation proved by practice ; they do
not value a truth unless it evokes useful applications.
Beyond practical truths lie only vain chimeras. Such
Is man's condition; a restricted sphere, capable of
enlargement, but always walled in ; a sphere 'within
which knowledge must be acquired, not for Its own
sake, but in order to act — science itself being valuable ¦

314 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
only to the office which verifies it and for the purpose
which It serves.
That being granted, it appears to me that the ordi
nary furnishing of an English head becomes discern
ible. As well as I can judge, an educated Englishman
possesses a stock of facts three or four times in excess
of that possessed by a Frenchman of corresponding
position — at least in aU that relates to language, geo
graphy, political and economical truths, and the per
sonal impressions gained in foreign parts by contact
with men and living objects. On the other hand. It
frequently happens that the EngUshman turns his big
trunk to less account than the Frenchman does his
little bag. This is perceptible in many books and
reviews ; the English Writer, though very well in
formed, being limited in his range. Nothing is rarer
among them than free and full play of the soaring and
expanding inteUect, Determined to be prudent, they
drag their car along the ground over the beaten track ;
with two or three exceptions, not one now makes
readers think. More than once, when in England,
after having conversed with a man, I was surprised at
his store of knowledge, alike varied and sound, and
also to find him so deficient in ideas. At this moment
I can recall five or six who were so largely endowed
as to be entitled to take general views. They paused,
however, half way, arriving at no definite conclu
sion. They did not even experience a desire to co
ordinate their knowledge in a sort of system ; they
possessed only partial and isolated Ideas ; they did not
feel either the inclination or the power to connect
them together under a philosophical conception. Their
language bears the beet witness to this, it being
extremely difficult to translate somewhat lofty abstrac-

THE ENGLISH MIND. 3 1 s
tions into English. Compared with French and, above
all, with German, it is what lyatin is to Greek, In
French nothing is more natural than the formula,
" the beautiful, the good, and the true ;" if it be literally
rendered in English, it has a repulsive and uncouth
appearance ; if It be expressed in the common terms,
the version becomes unfaithful. Their library of words
is wanting in an entire row of compartments, namely,
the upper ones ; they have no ideas wherewith to fill
them. Some drawbacks and several advantages flow from
this. General Ideas are frames divided Into compart
ments ; once they have been formed by the mind It is
merely necessary to apply them in order at a glance to
grasp a subject as a whole and in its parts. The conse
quence is that the mental processes are simplified and
accelerated, and if the step be taken from speculation
to practice, the power of organisation is facilitated.
The word to " organise," which dates from the Revolu
tion and the First Empire, exactly summarises the
faculties of the French mind, the success of well-
ordered and distributive reason, the vast and happy
effects of the art which consists in simplifying, classi
fying, subtracting. Thinkers of the eighteenth century
cultivated it In their closets ; it was put In practice
by their successors in active life who belonged to the
Assembly and the Councils of State. Its memorials
are the Civil Code, the University, the military, eccle
siastical and judicial organisations, our great admini
strative systems, the principal parts of our social
machinery. Every nation which does not possess it is
destitute also of its results. In place of a legal code,
it will have a bundle of legal precedents, and, in place
of a School of Law, Inns of Court governed by routine.

3i6 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
I have heard the EngUsh lament many such deficien
cies. Their legislation is so shrouded in obscurity,
that before they can purchase a piece of land, they
must consult one or two lawyers as a preliminary, who
may occupy a month in examining the vendor's title, in
order to determine whether the purchase will not give
occasion for legal proceedings. C  tells me that
many of the Government Departments, and the Admi
ralty in particular, are in a sad state. Complaints are
made of confusion, sinecures, expenses disproportloned
to results, procrastination, and the clashing of authori
ties. The mechanism Is in a muddle, because no prin
ciple has been followed in its construction. In all
things they advance, and correct defects, only by grop
ing their way ; they gain a knowledge of affairs only
by dint of attention, of toil, and of businesslike grind
ing; they are as empirical In their procedure as 'the
Chinese. On the other hand, when the acquisition of the
power of generalising is easy and rapid, the mind runs
the risk of becoming sluggish, and this is the case with
the French. Frequently on leaving college, nearly
always before they are five-and-twenty, they have
learned to Indulge in generalisations, and as they find
them very handy, they apply them to all subjects ;
thenceforward they cease to learn anj'thing, believing
themselves to be sufficiently well stocked with informa
tion. They confine themselves to reasoning, and they
often reason in a vacuum. They are not informed as
to the point at issue, they have acquired no specific and
conclusive facts ; they are unconscious of their short
comings, they never seek for what they require, and
they retail the phrases of an old newspaper. They
forget that it is necessary to be always versed In the

THE ENGLISH MIND. 317
things of the hour, to be alwaj's adding to the mental
heap, so as never to be taken at unawares, and to be
always ready for any event. Not only are mediocre
minds among us tainted with this defect, but the very
highest inteUects are not exempt from the reproach ;
I -know but two who, having passed forty, continue
their researches, and have succeeded in renewing their
intellectual youth. On the contrary, according to
C  , the culture of the English is almost unlimited ;
even in mature years they travel, gain new information,
complete and rectify their acquirements ; they strive,
especiaUy in economic and political matters, to main
tain their views on a level with the fluctuations of
things. They are pleased with facts as such, are satis
fied to note, and are careful to retain them. Accumu
lated in this wise, they form a continuous deposit at
the bottom of the mind of an EngUshman, constituting
a solid stratum of good sense ; fbr, disjointed and half
visible though they be, yet they are there, they make
their weight felt, they ¦wUl influence the resolutions
he may take. Even though Umited in range and
destitute of ideas, he will guard himself, as if by
instinct, from committing very serious blunders ; he
wiU vaguely feel that what is desirable lies on one
side, not on the other. The scattered items of infor
mation he has collected about the United States, India,
China, the effect of universal suffrage or of commercial
freedom, wiU dispose him beforehand to adopt the
wisest course, and free public discussion will end in
incllnlna' him towards the most sensible conclusion.
Thus fortified, he approves of an expedition like that
to Abyssinia, while he would never have sanctioned
an expedition like that to Mexico; he desires the
gradual extension of the suffrage, but would protest

3i8 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
against the sudden enfranchisement of the mob. In
this way he is protected against casualties and theories ;
his constitution never falls Into the hands of specu
lators, nor his affairs into the hands of desperadoes.
Such are the effects of public good sense, resembling so
many rivulets, which fertilise the several flelds through
which they flow. We have beheld its fountain-head ;
it Is a deep and dark basin, constantly full, and con
stantly expanding with new additions — I mean of
actual facts, which, accumulated and filtered drop by
drop, form an inexhaustible reservoir, and spread
themselves in an hundred small, salutary streams over
the whole domain of action.
When praising the fondness of the English for facts,
it must be noted that this applies to ethical as well as
physical facts, they are ardent observers of what
passes within their minds as well as what passes with
out. On this head I happen to have in my hand two
long letters addressed to a friend by two brides a month
after their marriage. I regret that good taste forbids
their publication. They both appear to have been
written in order to show the innate custom and the
inherited talent of accurate observation as applied by
the one to material concerns, and by the other to ethi
cal facts. The one minutely describes her husband's
person, his figure, the colour of his hair, his complexion,
his country seat, the several rooms and their arrange
ment, the furniture, the park, the carriage drives,
adding statistics of his Income, the family connections,
and the neighbours whom it is right to visit. The
other develops as exactly and in detail all her states
of feeling from the day when, at an archery meeting,
she first met her future husband. Both conclude in
almost the same terms: — "And now, I am the hap-

THE ENGL TSH MIND. 3 1 9
piest woman In the world." The one is commonplace,
the other refined ; the one can use her eyes, the other
can use her heart. But, in the delicate examination of
the conscience, as in the heavy descriptive catalogue,
there is the same lucidity and absence of fine writing.
Nothing is recounted except facts ; there are no general
reflections ; in the psychological narrative and in the
statistical exposition, everything Is documentary. It
is clear to me that their sole desire was to inform their
correspondent, the one about her social status, the
other about her private feelings, and that any addition
or development would have appeared Idle talk to both
alike. In default of these letters, let the reader peruse
the contemporary English novels, which are pervaded
by the same spirit. They are compact packets of
trivial material and ethical facts, the latter abounding,
and often being of great value. No other literature
contains examples of sentiments more clearly set forth
and elaborated, of the hidden labour whereby character
is formed, of the gradual formation of a passion, a
vice, or a virtue, of the Insensible gradation whereby,
year after year, the mind Is moulded. The writers of
these works have alone understood the Infant, and the
manner in which the infant becomes a man. In proof
of this read the novels of George Eliot. Since the time
of Locke, psychology has been indigenous In England ;
it goes hand in hand with statistics and political/
economy. The two means for attaining a previsioii
almost correct, and an almost sure management of\
human affairs, are perfect acquaintance with all the
external marks which betoken man, and an accurate
divination of the inner marks which constitute man.

XXX.
FRENCH WIT AND ENGLISH HUMOUR.
ON this rich soil flourish many original varieties of
talent, all differing in aspect from what they have
among us, the one sort being of larger growth, the
other being stunted and distorted. Let me first speak
of the variety of talent which is most commonly attri
buted to the French. I mean wit. This is the art
of stating things in a pleasant way. My English
friends think that it forms part of the French tempera
ment. Sir Henry Bulwer writes in his " France :
Social, Literary, and Political " : — " I asked two little
village boys, one seven the other eight years old, what
they meant to be when they were men ? Says one,
' I shall be the doctor of the village ;' ' And you, what
shall you be ? ' said I to the other ; ' Oh ! if brother's
a doctor, I'll be curS. He shall kill the people, and
I'll bury them — so we shall have the whole village
between us.' " At Besan9on I once heard two soldiers
who were lying on a slope talking together ; the one
rising up said : " Come, it is time to begin work
again." His comrade answered, " Pooh, lie quiet, our
coppers will come all the same." A German general
relates in his memoirs that after a day's skirmish a
French hussar, who was brought in prisoner, had a

FRENCH WIT AND ENGLISH HUMOUR. 321
huge slash across his face. The general said, " Have
you received a sabre cut, my poor fellow ? " " Pooh,
I was shaved too closely this morning," was the reply.
An ancient writer remarked that the two qualities
most in fashion among the Gauls were courage and
wit,'* and his Latin sentence exactly defines the spirit
of conversation, the talent for coining apothegms, the
liking for short, sharp, neat, impromptu, and happy
phrases, launched with gaiety or malice.. Foreigners
greatly admire this gift ; they say that it is accom
panied with taste, and that both of them are universal
and developed among us. A little work-girl dresses
well, has nice ways, and a pleasing address ; a soldier
and a workman are wide awake, circumspect, prepos
sessing in appearance, and they can take and give a
joke ; this Is the Southern " ingegno," spontaneous,
easy, brilliant. That of the North is far more hampered
and backward. In England a'man belonging to the
people is a lout, being a sensible lout at the best ; while
the members of the lower middle class are but guys
clad in gaudy apparel, a long course of training being
necessary in order to refine them. Civilisation here is
not natural, but acquired, and neither elegance, nor
beauty is to be found except among the upper class.
Among us a trace of it is perceptible in all classes, and
that diffuses much pleasure and embellishment over
human existence.
So far as I can judge, the English do not know how
to amuse themselves by means of conversation. A
Frenchman accounts the happiest moment of his life
the period after supper In the private society of weU-
educated and Intelligent men. The brains of aU pre-
» Duas res industriosissimi persequitur gem Qallonm, rem militarem
et argute loqw T

322 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
sent are then In a state of agitation and effervescence.
They converse and think in unison about the most
exalted subjects, skipping from one to another in
short, pithy phrases, and their general Ideas, briskly
launched, flutter like a swarm of Insects. In the space
of two hours the untrammeUed talk has made the tour
of the globe. Each one contributes a condensation of
his thoughts in a jesting or serious style, with exag
geration, a dash of paradox and play of fancy, without
meaning his sallies to be literally Interpreted, and
seeking anything else than a relaxation for his mind.
Philosophy, science, morals, art, literature, all the
treasures of the human Intellect are there handled, not,
in heavy ingots, or in large sacks, but in pretty port
able golden coins, beautifully engraved, and sparkling
and jingling ¦with a cheerful clink, as they are lightly
manipulated by delicate fingers. It seems to me that
these coins are rare in England, and that, in addition,
they are not current. They are regarded as too thin ;
their alloy gives -rise to suspicions. Far more readi
ness is shown in handling the rough and ponderous
metal of which I have already spoken. The conversa
tion indulged In Is chiefly instructive ; most frequently
"^ there is no conversation at all. Several inconveniences
arise from this, and tedium is one of them ; the mind
wants entertainment. In Italy there, are the opera
and love-making, in Germany philosophy and music,
in France the Intellectual flreworks just described.
Here, nothing is to be found except conscientious
labour and useful production, assured and agreeable
comfort. Happiness is not complete, however, when
one enjoys a fine carriage, a well-appointed house,
regular occupation, a seat in Parliament, and the pros
pect of a seat in Paradise; for amid all these good things.

FRENCH WIT AND ENGLISH HUMOUR. 323
there are times when one yawns and feels depressed.
Then the luggage is got ready, one steps on board a
steamer, and proceeds in quest of change, of something
to distract one's thoughts, of a glimpse of the sun.
As a compensation, the English make better after-
dinner speeches than we do. Some of them may be
read every week in the newspapers ; several are de
livered at every dinner where politicians, geographers,
political economists, and men of science meet together ;
at the dinners of the Corporation, at dinners given in
honour of distinguished personages or of illustrious
foreigners. I can recall one at which, although un
worthy of the honour, I was present in company of one
of my French friends, a celebrated traveller. After
dinner, the chairman first proposed the Queen's health,
and then the healths in turn of several persons present,
saying, " I have the honour to propose the health of
our eminent guest," so and so ; then added a few
sentences of praise, uttering the whole with grave cor-
diaUty, enlivened here and there with humour. For
my part, I greatly admired the happy way in which
he spoke, and especially the avoidance of what might
weary his hearers. After the guest's health had been
drunk, he rose and repUed, " I thank the gentlemen
present and our worthy chairman for the flattering
distinction," &c. Then followed some details, varying
with the traveUer's experience. The explorer of the
NUe promised to join the first expedition sent forth to
discover the sources of that river. The Arctic traveller
said that his capacity for wintering amid ice had been
developed by the hardy system of EngUsh education,
and by early devotion to field-sports. The colonist
from Western Australia remarked that the place was
well adapted for an English colony. Moreover, each

324 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
gave vent to a little paean over the energy of the Saxon
race, the spread of English civilisation, the future of
humanity, the advance of science. All present ap
plauded by beating the table with their knives or
hands ; some cries of " hear, hear," were uttered ; and
one, two, three, four hurrahs were raised ; some stood
on their chairs and saluted the speaker by raising their
glasses ; the feeling of good-fellowship became conta
gious, and the excitement was at it's height. To this
rather loud orchestra the successive speeches formed
appropriate solos ; the common-places of which they
were composed were not misplaced ; they did not repel
by their coarseness, weary by their heaviness, nor
shock by their solemnity — at least, the English table-
companions were attuned to the occasion. My friend,
the French traveller, would not join in the chorus ; he
whispered a request in the chairman's ear to be dis
pensed from making a speech. I asked him, " Why
do you shirk your turn ?" Because either they would
think what I should say was in bad taste, or else I
should think so myself." He disliked spun-out sen
tences ; thinking it affectation to indulge in them,
especially at dessert ; he preferred to launch a neat
phrase, to carry on a jesting conversation with his
neighbour, smilingly and in an undertone, to shadow
forth his Ideas. Here one does not hint a thing, but
gives a detailed explanation ; one likes to have it
developed and emphasized ; even at table one submits
to the labour and burden of this. I suppose chat they
derive pleasure from having their nerves braced and
their wills influenced by a collective excitement ; a
dinner of this sort is akin to a meeting, and ends more
or less formally in resolutions, subscriptions, in a pro
paganda and in action.

FRENCH WIT AND ENGLISH HUMO UR. 325
A slashing journal affirms that no one can speak /
French without lying; the tongue exaggerates, "A
thousand thanks," "I am enchanted with it," "A
charming man." It is forgotten, however, that the
hearer takes off the necessary discount. The truth is,
that our speech and our written style are filled with
indications, half- expressed meanings, and nice distinc
tions. It seems to me that Lafontaine, Madame de
Sevigne, Voltaire, Montesquieu, and Courier cannot be
perfectly translated into English. Their perfume
evaporates, their grace fades, their vivacity becomes
heavy. A reviewer lately found fault with Renan's
" Vie de Jesus " on account of the " beautiful am
biguous sentences which appeared to express a point
delicately, and expressed two contradictory things.'"
Many English do not understand these refinements,
and they charge our literature with falsity because
their literary sense Is obtuse. We can reply to them,
in turn, that they cannot discuss without threatening
one another with their fists. Their literary disputes
are conducted with extraordinary virulence ; in France
the same style of discussion would lead to daily duels.
Happily, they consider that duelling Is absurd, and that
no defamatory piece of writing justifies an appeal to
arms. Their debates resemble their boxing-matches ;
the combatants, having in turn mauled and knocked
each other down, shake hands and bear no malice.
After several months of reading of this kind, one
becomes accustomed to it, and ends by finding that the
plainness of the language is fully counterbalanced by
the frankness of the accent, by the strength of the
conviction, by the soUdity of the reasoning, by the
sincerity of the indignation, by the manly and sus
tained tone of the eloquence. It matters not if French

326 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
-wil be wanting ; they have a form of It for their own
use, which is indeed far from agreeable, but is entirely
original, is powerful, poignant, and even slightly bitter
in taste, like their national beverages. They call it
" humour ;" generally It is the pleasantry of a man
who, though joking, maintains his gravity. It abounds
in the writings of Swift, Fielding, Sterne, Dickens,
Thackeray, and Sydney Smith ; and in this particular
the "Book of Snobs " and " Peter Plymley's Letters"
are masterpieces. Much of It, more racy of the soU and
rougher in quality, is to be found in Carlyle. Some
times It leads to buffoonery, sometimes to studied sar
casm. It powerfully affects the nerves, and becomes
lastingly imprinted on the memory. It is the product
of imaginative drollery, or ef concentrated indignation.
It delights in striking contrasts and in unexpected
disguises. It clothes madness in the garments of
reason, or reason in the garments of madness. Hein-
rich Heine, Aristophanes, Rabelais, and Montesquieu,
at times, are those out of England who have been most
largely endowed with it. Still there is a foreign
element which must be abstracted from the three last.
French sprightliness, joy, gaiety is a kind of good
wine only grown in the lands of the sun. In its Insular
and pure state it always leaves an after-taste of vinegar.
The man who jests here is seldom kindly and is never
happy ; he feels and forcibly censures the inequalities
of life. This yields him no amusement, for he suffers
inwardly and Is irritated. In order to study oddities
carefuUy, and deliberately sustain a piece of irony, it
is necessary to be continuously affected by sadness and
Indignation. Perfect examples of this style must be
sought for in the works of great writers, yet it is so
indigenous that it is daily met with in ordinary con-

FRENCH WJT AND ENGLISH HUMOUR. 327
versation, in literature, in political discussions, and it
is the current coin of Punch. The following is a
specimen taken at random from an old number. It is
a " Letter from the Secretary of the Treasury to a
member of Parliament." " House of Commons Library.
— Dear Sir, — Lord P. has handed me the letter in
which you inform him that the session is drawing to a
close, that you have given to his lordship's policj'' a
support alike judicious and unceasing, and that your
services merit a recompense in the shape of a place.
In reply to your letter, I beg leave to remark that
your first proposition Is the only one about which her
Majesty's Government has the pleasure to agree with
you ; and for my own part, I have the honour to be,
dear sir, your very faithful and obedient servant."
Do you like ale ? Drink It, your palate will become
habituated to it ; as a beverage it Is wholesome, and,
on the whole,, strengthening. So is English humour.

XXXI.
ENGLISH PAINTINGS AND ENGLISH PAINTERS.
VISITED the Kensington Museum, the National
Gallery, and afterwards the Exhibition. All
English art, both ancient and modern, is collected
there ; moreover, I have seen two exhibitions at Paris
of contemporary English paintings. No evidence is
more abundant and instructive for exhibiting the tastes
of the English mind as regards physical beauty, the
following being the most conspicuous traits :
Examples of high art painting, of nude figures,
or of those draped in the classical or Italian style, are
few and feeble ; there are some very artificial sacred
pictures, and some large sentimental and historical, but
unsubstantial productions, such as " Edith and the
Monks finding the Body of Harold," by Hilton, and
the " Death of General Wolfe," by West. The great
and noble classical school of painting, the sentiment
of a fine form as understood and loved, after the man
ner of the Revival, the correct and learned Paganism
which David and M. Ingres have perpetuated in France,
have never taken root among them. Their school is
a branch of the Flemish School, a gnarled and stunted
branch, which ends by dropping off, but in an entirely
original manner.
They descend from Vandyck, through Lely and

PAINTINGS AND PAINTERS. 329
Kneller. In the eighteenth century many of them,
like Gainsborough and Reynolds, preserved a vivid
sentiment of Flemish colouring and flesh in their great
portraits and in their landscapes. They are men of
the North who, following the Antwerp masters, persist
in understanding the man, nature, and physical poetry
of a humid country. Among Gainsborough's works
are "Nancy Parsons," "Lady Dunstanville," the "Blue
Boy," and other portraits, the " Watering Place," the
" Market Cart," and sea pieces ; in these the carnations
are soft and clear, the tones of the blue or pale yellow
silk are smooth and blended, the whites <jf the creased
collars harmonise with those of the face, the distances
melt into indistinct vapour, relief is given to objects,
not by precision of contour but by gradation of tint ;
they gradually stand forth from the murky air. The
artist is endued ¦with all the riches, all the sadnesses,
all the refined sensualities, all the penetrating and
studied charms of colour. Among the works of
Reynolds are "Miss Price," "Lady Elizabeth Forster,"
"Miss Boothby," "Georgina Spenser," "Duchess of
Marlborough," "Marquis of Hastings," "Marquis of
Rockingham," " Mrs. Stanhope," " Lord Heathfield,"
the "Banished Lord," the "Holy Family," the
"Graces;" he belongs to the same school, and also in
part to that of Rembrandt, only modernised. The
excellent engravings in black style, wherein so many
portraits of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries
have been reproduced, also exhibit the Dutch sentiment
of light and shade combined by masses of vague darks.
There is something of Flemish colouring in Hogarth's
pictures, less harsh and matter of fact than his engrav
ings, and the traces of it may also be found in Constable,
WUkie, Lawrence, and Turner,

330 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
But, from its very origin, the English vigour pene
trated the Flemish surface, and made known Its presence
by effects more or less marked. The painter ceased to
be a painter merely ; the soul, the thought, the invisible
interior received as much of his attention as the living
body itself; he soon gave the former the preference,
and exhibited sometimes the moral tendency, sometimes
the shade of melancholy, sometimes profound pensive
reverie, sometimes the distinction of aristocratic haughti
ness. Gainsborough's " Blue Boy " already possesses
the expressive and wholly modern physiognomy by
which a work faUing within the painter's province
oversteps the limits of painting. His "Musidora" has
such delicate feet and so intelligent a head that she is
no simple girl bathing, but a lady. In the same way
Reynolds Is a descendant, though a remote one, of Van
dyck, but he is so much refined and spiritualised as to
appear to be separated from his ancestor by an entire
world. His " Three Graces " have nothing strtless and
primitive about them ; we recognise that they are ladies
by something stiff and patrician In their attitude and
their appearance, and we vaguely feel that, in spite of
being draped as goddesses, each of them possesses a
carriage, a steward, and fifteen footmen in yellow stock
ings. His "Banished Lord" is a sentimental elegy,
and after the manner of Young. His great noblemen
are no longer easy-going and well-dressed cavaliers,
who are equally ready for a combat or a ball, but are
not good for anything else; such simplicity of pure
and genuine painting does not satisfy him ; he has set
his wits to work, has sounded the depths of the Inner
man, has said to himself that "one never puts Into
another's head more than Is contained in his own," and
fortified by that reflection, he has pourtrayed reflecting

PAINTINGS AND PAINTERS. 331
souls. By degrees the moral element becomes subordi
nated to the phj^sical ; painting will be converted into
a system of psychology ; the sensation of the eyes will
be treated as an accessory, and the painted canvas will
be but the foreground, a curtain behind which the
intelligence and the soul perceive in the distance ideas,
purposes, lessons, studies of character and of manners.
Hogarth was the flrst who set forth this theory and
put it in practice. According to him it is indispensable,
in order to impart interest to a physical type, that it
be the expression and the counterpart of a moral type.
In fact, he treated painting as a moralising novelist, in
the manner of Defoe and Richardson, and his pictures
are sermons against vice. When we gaze upon them
we forget the painting and become spectators of a
tragedy or of a domestic comedj'. Figures, costumes,
attitudes, all the accessories, are summaries of characters,
biographical abridgments. They form a concerted series,
they compose a progressive history, they are the illus
trations of a text half revealed ; under the surface,
chapter by chapter, we read the text Itself, Note in
the "Marriage a la Mode" the sorrowing gesture of
the old steward, who foresees the ruin of the house, and
deprecates with uplifted hands the gross and sensual
folly of the bridegroom. The mind follows the prece
dents and the consequences, comprehends their necessity,
and arrives at a conclusion as after hearing a sermon.
Less conclusive but not less literary in character are
the works of WiUiie — the "VlUage Festival," the
"Blind Fiddler," the "Parish Beadle," " Blindman's
Buff," " A Wedding." He is a painter of humble life,
a Teniers, If you wUl, but a reflecting, observing, think
ing Teniers, who Is in quest of interesting types and
moral maxims. His pictures abound in ingenious

332 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
designs, happy satires, instructive points, like Scott's
" Antiquary " and Eliot's " Adam Bede." He furnishes
matter for thought and amusement; but outside the
sphere of painting and around him many others are
writers and poets, who have mistaken their vocation, as
he has done.
Among the artists who have gone astray. Turner is
one of the greatest and the most mistaken. Nowhere
can we more clearly discern the error of a man of talent,
who, being qualified for addressing the senses, under
takes to address himself to the intelligence and the
soul. The collection of his works fUls three rooms.
There are some very beautiful, simple, and imposing
landscapes by him, wherein may be found a profound
and, I venture to add, an exalted, appreciation of
living nature, such as "Knighton Bank," "Frosty
Morning," " BUgh Sands," " Cattle in Water," " St.
Mawes, Cornwall;" but these are In his earliest style.
By degrees the sensation of the eye, the optical effect,
appeared to him of secondary importance ; the emotions
and reveries of the speculative and reasoning brain
obtained the empire over him ; he felt a wish to paint
gigantic, and philosophic, and humanitarian epics ; he
believed himself to be the first of painters, and I have
been told that he died insane. In any case, his paint
ing degenerated into lunacy, much in the same way as
the prose and poetry of Victor Hugo. " Apollo killing
the Python," " Snowstorm — Hannibal and his Army
crossing the Alps," "The Deluge," " The Destruction
of Sodom," "Light and Colour," "The Morning after
the Deluge," "Rain, Steam, and Speed — the Great
Western Railway," "A Snowstorm — Steamboat off a
Harbour's Mouth," and thirty or forty others, care-
Uy coUected by himself, and arranged according to

PAINTINGS AND PAINTERS. 333
his instructions in a place apart, compose an extra
ordinary jumble, a sort of churned foam, a wonderful
litter in which shapes of every kind are buried. Place
a man in a fog, in the midst of a storm, the sun in his
eyes, and his head swimming, and depict, if you can,
his impressions upon canvas ; — these are the gloomy
visions, the vagueness, the delirium of an imagination
which becomes deranged through overstraining.
At the present day the centre of gravity which kept
art in position has been displaced by the growing
exaggeration of mental and cerebral life, English
painters have an affinity to the Dutch masters in some
external particulars, by the small size of their canvases,
by the choice of their subjects, by the taste for reality,
by the exactness and minute treatment of details. But
the spirit has changed, and their painting is no longer
picturesque. Compare, for example, the animals of
Potter with the carefuUy wrought and studied animals
of Landseer, more particularly his deer and his dogs.
The English painter does not love the animal for its
own sake, as a living creature, nor yet on account of
its form standing out In relief, or of Its coloured
shape harmonising with the surroundings ; he looks
deeper; he has meditated, and he refines. He humanises
his animals ; he has philosophic, moral, and sentimental
ends in viaw. He desires to suggest a reflection ; he
acts the part of a fabulist. His painted scene is a
species of enigma, of which the key is written below.
For example, "Peace and War," "Dignity and Im
pudence," ""Low Life and High Life," "Alexander
and Diogenes," a "Dialogue at Waterloo," are all
explained by types and attitudes of dogs. The pro
cedure of the figure-painters is the same. In their
opinion the essential thing is the anecdote, the Utile

334 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
romance, the literary story, the aspect of manners they
take for their subject; the charm, the harmony, the
beauty of the outlines and the tones are ranked as
accessories ; this applies to Maclise, Leslie, Hunt, and
to one of the most famous among them, Mulready. I
have seen twenty pictures by him — " First Love," the
" Wolf and the Lamb," " Open your mouth and shut
your eyes," the "Battle Interrupted," the "Younger
Brother," the " Vicar of Wakefield's Wife." Nothing
could be more expressive, greater efforts have never
been expended in addressing the mind through the
medium of the senses, in giving a good illustration of
an idea or of a truth, in collecting within the compass
of twelve square inches a larger heap of psychological
observations. What patient and penetrating critics !
What judges of man ! What a variety of skilful com
binations ! What aptitude for rendering the moral
feeling by the physical appearance ! What capital
vignettes they would make for an edition of Sterne,
Goldsmith, Crabbe, Thackeray, and George Eliot.
Here and there I perceive masterpieces in this style ;
for instance, Johnson's " Lord aud Lady Russell taking
the Sacrament." Lord Russell is about to mount the
scaffold, his wife looks him full in the face to see if he
be reconciled with God. This ardent gaze of the wife
and the Christian is admirable ; she is now at ease, and
assured of her husband's salvation. Yet what a pity
that. Instead of using the pen, they have determined to
employ the pencil !

XXXII.
MODERN PAINTERS AND RUSKIn's CRITICISMS.
OWING to the attention being wholly concentrated
upon the moral element in man, the optical sensi
bility of English painters is blunted and unhinged. I
do not think that paintings more displeasing to the eye
have ever been produced. It Is hard to imagine more
crude effects, more exaggerated and violent colouring,
more extreme and glaring dissonances, a falser and
more abrupt commingling of tones. In Hunt's " Two
Gentlemen of Verona," blue-tinted trees stand forth
against the brown earth and scarlet clothes ; " Christ,
the Light of the World," is set in a greenish-yellow
atmosphere, resembling that perceived on ascending to
the surface of turbid water after a plunge. In MlUais'
" Daughters of Noah leaving the Ark," the violet of
the dress, and the manner in which it is relieved by its
surroundings, is a thing to be seen. In Crowe's " Pope
. presented to Dryden" are light blue waistcoats and red
velvet coats, while the accessories are brought into full
and harsh relief, apparently for a wager. Mulready's
"Bathers" seem to be made of porcelain. In the
" Eve of St. Agnes " of Millais, a lady in a low-bodied
evening dress is represented through the medium of a
studied effect of twilight, as having the appearance of

336 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
a corpse-like green, and the chamber is of the same
hue. On every hand there are landscapes In which
blood-red popples are set in grass of the tint of a green
parrot ; apple trees in blossom, whereof the staring
white of the petals against the dark branches is painful
to the sight ; a green churchyard in the sunlight,
where each blade of grass shows its brightness like
the blade of a penknife ; sunsets which might certainly
be taken for displays of fireworks. Indeed, the con
dition of their retina Is peculiar. In order to com
prehend this, recourse must be had to analogies, and
they may be found in twenty details of daily Ufe, in the
red and violet, the lees of wine, the raw-green, tints with
which their children's books are coloured, in the flaunt
ing and overdone dresses of their women, in the aspect
of their meadows, their flowers, their landscapes beheld
under a sudden gleam of sunshine. Perhaps it must be
admitted that in every country the external appearances
of things educate the eye, that its customs form its
tastes, that there is a secret affinity between the
arrangement of its artificial decorations and the colours
of its natural sights. Here, in fact, the brUliancy, the
freshness, the opulence of the style of dress recall the
splendours, the youthfulness, fhe magnificence, the
contrasts and appearances of the vegetation. Resem
blances may be detected between their mauve and violet
silks and the changing colours of the distances and the
clouds, between their gauze scarfs, their fleecy lace
shawls, and the pale or splendid haze of their horizons.
Yet a number of effects which are harmonious in nature,
are displeasing when painted ; they are unfit for repre
sentation on canvas, at least they should not be repro
duced in all their nakedness. In the latter state they
produce discord. In default o^ the surroundings with

PALYTERS AND CRITICISMS. 337
which they harmonise. For nature has many resources
at her disposal which are wanting in painting — among
others, the full sun, real light, the sparkle of daylight
on water, the scintillation of sunbeams upon a green
leaf. These are the supreme values which dominate all
the others, and relieve them of their excessive crude-
ness ; deprived of this atmosphere, the others produce
as unpleasant an effect as a chord from which the leading
note is omitted. They must, therefore, be transposed in
order to be expressed. No painter, no artist, is a pure
copyist. He invents, even while he confines himself
to translating ; for that which Nature executes through
the medium of one system of means and values, he is
obliged to render by another system of values and means.
Herein is the mistake of contemporary English painters.
They are faithful, but literally so. After seeing their
country, it is obvious that the majority of their effects
are truthful. This picture really represents a piece of
English turf vivified by a recent shower. This other
one represents the white morning sky ; the glittering
sands at low water ; the bright green or violet hue of
undulating waves. This one represents the ears of corn
against the pale-yeUow hue of the sheaves, the ruddy
purple heaths under the sun on a lonely common. On
reflection the exactitude of all this cannot be denied ;
better stiU, we recall that the sight of the real land
scape gave pleasure, and we experience surprise at
feeling dissatisfied in presence of the painted landscape.
This is because the translation is nothing but a tran
scription. It Is because, desiring to be faithful in one
thing, they have misrepresented the whole. With the
patience of fastidious workmen, they have put on can
vas one by one the unmodified sensations of their eyes.
Meanwhile they meditated, moralised, following as

338 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
poets the soft or sad emotions which the real landscape
awakened in their souls. Between the workman and
the poet the artist has had no place. Their patience
commands applause. We feel that we should be
touched in the presence of the original ; their copj^,
however, is but a memorandum, and we gladly turn
away from it because It is ugly.
A man bas arisen among them to justify and elevate
their practice into theory, namely John Ruskin ; an
admirer and a friend of Turner, an earnest, impassioned,
and original writer, perfectly competent, very studious,
very popular, and possessing a thoroughly English
intellect. Nothing Is more precious than personal,
independent, and well-ordered impressions, especially
when, like his, they are boldly expressed ; they lead
us to reconsider our own. There is no one to whom
Ruskin's works, such as " Modern Painters," and the
" Stones of Venice," fail to suggest topics for thought.
His first principle Is that the Uteral truth and the
characteristic detaU must be loved with enthusiasm :
" Every class of rock, earth, and cloud must be known
by the painter with geologic and meteorologic accu
racy." " When there are things in the -foreground
of Salvator of which I cannot pronounce whether they
be granite, or slate, or tufa, I affirm that there "is in
them neither harmonious union nor simple effect, but
simple monstrosity." Titian worked with the most
laborious botanical fidelity. " Witness his ' Bacchus
and Ariadne,' in which the foreground is occupied by
the common blue iris, the aquUegia, and the wild rose."
"The foreground of Raffaelle's 'Miraculous Draught of
Fishes ' is covered with plants of the common sea cole-
wort." And all these plants are painted with scrupu
lous accuracy. But truth is only a means to produce

PAINTERS AND CRITICISMS. 339
beauty : art goes farther still ; its proper object Is to
awaken lofty emotions. Nor is it satisfied with produc
ing sensible pleasure. " This pleasure may well be the
base of the impression, but it must also be combined
with a feeling of joy, next with a feeling of love for the
object painted, next with a perception of the bounty of
a higher intelligence, and finally with an outburst of
gratitude and veneration for this intelligence. No
impression can in anywise be regarded as an impres
sion of beauty unless it be composed of these emotions ;
in like manner we cannot say that we have an idea of
a letter, if we only perceive its perfume without under
standing its contents and its purport." This is, indeed,
the aesthetic system of a man of the North, an idealist
and a Protestant, and all his judgments are in the same
vein. He cares little for picturesque painting ; a sen
sation pleasing to the eye has no value for him. " The
old landscape painters only exhibited mechanical and
technical qualities. I refer only to Claude, Gaspar
Poussin, Salvator Rosa, Cuyp, Berghem, Both, Ruys
dael, Hobbima, Teniers (in his landscapes), P, Potter,
Canaletti, and the various Van somethings and Bach
somethings, more especially and malignantly those who
have libeUed the sea." " The object of the great body
of the professed landscapists of the Dutch school is
merely to display manual dexterities of one kind or
another ; and their effect on the public mind is so
totaUy for evil, that though I do not deny the advan
tage an artist of real judgment may derive from the
study of some of them, I conceive the best patronage
that any monarch could possibly bestow upon the arts
would be to collect the whole body of them into one
gallery, and burn it to the ground." On this head many
persons wUl hope that Mr Ruskin may never bo

3+0. NOTES ON ENGLAND.
appointed king under any pretext whatsoever. He is
equally hard upon Italian painting, upon Its spirit,
upon its worship of the athletic and perfect human
form. According to him, the mythological and nude
subjects which compose one-half of it have been pro
duced in order to gratify sensuality, and take rank with
opera ballets. In early times, " art was employed in
the display of religious facts;" in Raffaelle's time
"religious facts were employed by him to give the
display of art." " The crowned Queen- Virgin of
Perugino sank into a simple Italian mother in Raffaelle's
' Madonna of the Chair.' " Was this, then, a healthy
change ? No. It would have been healthy if it had
been effected " with a pure motive, and the new truths
would have been precious If they had been sought for
truth's sake  He could think of the Madonna as
an available subject for the display of transparent sha
dows, skilful tints, and scientific foreshortenings — as a
fair woman forming, if well painted, a pleasant piece of
furniture for the corner of a boudoir, and best Imagined
by combination of the beauties of the prettiest conta-
dlnas  It was thus that RaffaeUe thought of the
Madonna." Shortly afterwards Mr. Ruskin depicts
with faith and awe the apparition of Jesus showing
Himself to His disciples at the lake of Galilee ; and he
contrasts Raffaelle's cartoon of the " Charge to Peter "
with the actual occurrence. "Note the handsomely-
curled hair and neatly- tied sandals of the men who had
been out all night in the sea-mists and on the slimy
decks. Note their convenient dresses for going
a-fishing, with trains that lie a yard-along the ground,
and goodly fringes, all made to match — an apostolic
fishing costume. Note how Peter especially (whose
chief glory was in his wet coat girt about him and

PAINTERS AND CRITICISMS. 3ji
naked limbs) is enveloped in folds and fringes, so as to
kneel and hold the keys with grace  The whole
group of the apostles, not round Christ, as they would
have been naturally, but straggling away in a line,
that they may all be shown." " Beyond is a pleasant
ItaUan landscape, full of villas and churches." " The
simple truth Is that the moment we look at the picture,
we feel our belief of the whole thing taken away. . , .
It is all a mere mythic absurdity, and faded decoction
of fringes, muscular arms, and curly heads of Greek
philosophers  Whatever they could have fancied
for themselves about the wild, strange, infinitely stern,
infinitely tender, infinitely varied veracities of the life
of Christ, was blotted out by the vapid fiuew'es of
RaffaeUe." It Is eas}^ to condemn a painter, even a
very great one, when something is required of him
whereof he never dreamt. RaffaeUe's design was to
represent fine and serious men — well shaped, well
posed, weU grouped, well clad, and he never thought of
doing anything else. Mr. Ruskin reproaches him for
having represented St. Paul as a meditative Hercules,
leaning upon a conqueror's sword, and he adds that no
artist has yet painted the real St. Paul. Better is it
that he has not been painted: "the ugly little Jew,"
to use M. Renan's phrase, was beautiful as to his mind
only, and his mind is in his Epistles. RaffaeUe was
right; in contradistinction to literature, painting has
the Uving body for its object, and does not depict the
soul except indirectly and as an accessory. Mr. Ruskin
calls upon the latter art to perform the functions of the
former. " The principal object in the foreground of
Turner's ' BuUding of Carthage,' is a group of children
saUing toy boats." That, according to him, is one of
the most elevated of thoughts, worthy of epic poetry,

342 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
for these infants at play manifest the maritime aptitude
and the future greatness of Carthage. On the contrary,
" Claude, in subjects of the same kind, commonly
introduces people carrying red trunks with iron locks
about, and dweUs with infantine delight on the lustre
of the leather and the ornaments of the iron." What
if the red suit and the burnish act as a set-off, as com
plements, as useful values for arresting, retaining, or
preparing the vision, resembling the scale of a horn or
hautboy in a symphony ; he who omits the scale has
no ear ; can he who omits the burnish and the red
have eyes ?
Thus the fact, the actual thing, the material and
physical object, is to be studied for its own sake, is to
be placed intact and faithfully upon canvas, with its
own physiognomy and all its detail, is to be so per
fectly rendered and framed that a special scientific man,
botanist or geologist, wUl find a trustworthy record in
the picture ; nothing being aUowed for ornamentation,
for the gratification of the senses, for the secret exigen
cies of the eye ; beyond that, and as a contrast, are
the impressions of the moral personality, the silent
communing of the soul with Nature, the dull and pro
longed re-echoing of a deep-seated ego, full of vibrating
fibres, a great inner harp which responds with unlooked-
for sounds to aU exterior strokes ; such is the object of
art. To them, this powerful ego Is the principal person
age of the world. Unseen it dominates and encompasses
the things which appear ; their worth consisting In hav
ing a meaning for it, in corresponding in some respects
to it, in drawing out from or completing in It some
latent emotion. The spiritual being Is the centre to
which the rest gravitates. To secure this leading place,
it was essential that it should be extremely strong and

PAINTERS AND CRITICISMS. 343
absorbent. It is so, in truth, and one perceives this
upon considering the principal traits of the English
character, the need of independence, the power of
initiating, the energy and obstinacy of the will, the
strength and ruggedness of the concentrated and con-
treUed passions, the rough but unheard working of the
interior machinery, the vast and tragic spectacle which
a compact soul furnishes to itself, the habit of intro
spection, the seriousness with which they have always
regarded human destiny, their moral and religious pre
occupations, aU the remains of faculties and instincts
which were formerly displayed by the hand of Shake
speare and in the heart of the Puritans. Confining
oneself to the moderns, one may say that in every
Englishman there is a trace of Byron, Wordsworth,
and Carlyle — three minds entirely dissImUar, and yet
resembling each other in a point which is at once a
strength and a weakness, and which for lack of other
terms I ffiall venture to style the hypertrophy of the
ego. V

XXXIII,
ENGLISH POETRY AND RELIGION.
rjlO a mind thus attuned, the true medium of expres-
/ -¦- sion Is poetry. In proportion as the English are
( inferior In the other arts. Is their superiority In this
\ one. To my thinking there is no poetry which equals
theirs, which makes a stronger and sharper impression
on the mind, of which the words are more charged with
meaning, or which more faithfuUy reproduces-the strug
gles and aims of the inner being, of which the grasp is
more effective and firm, and which move^ the Indivi
dual and deep-seated fibres within us so as to draw forth
from them such splendid and far-reaching harmonies.
On this head it would occupy too much space were I to
pass their literature in review ; I content myself with
citing only one recent poem, ^" Aurora Leigh," by
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, an exiiraurdingry work,
which is also a masterpiece ; I repeat that space fails
me in order that I may state, after having perused it
; JKeaJty.times, how beautiful I consider it to be. It
contains the confession of a generous, heroic, and
impassioned spirit, one superaboundlng in genius, of
which the culture has been complete, of a philosopher
and a poet dwelling amid the loftiest ideas, and sur
passing the elevation of her Ideas by the nobUity of her

ENGLISH POETRY AND RELIGION. 345
instincts, wholly modern by her education, by her high-
mindedness, by her daring, by the perpetual vibration
of her strained sensibility, wound up to such a pitch
that the slightest touch awakens in her a vast
orchestra and the most wonderful symphony of con
cords. It is all soul, and the inward monologue, the
sublime song of a young girl's and artist's great heart,
attracted and irritated by an enthusiasm and a pride as
strong as her own ; the sustained contrast of the mas
culine and feminine utterance, which, amid the out
bursts and the variations on the same theme, continually
become separated and opposed in greater measure, till
at last, suddenly combining, they unite in a prolonged,
mournfhl, and exquisite duo, of which the strain is so
lofty and so penetrating as to be wholly unsurpassable.
Formerly, an epic poem turned upon the foundation and
destruction of cities, and the strife of gods ; this one
turns on the struggles of ideas and passions, on the
transformations of characters ; Its authpr having drawn
her materials, not from the outer, but from the inner
life; and large though the epic framework is, the inner
Ufe is stiU ample enough to fill It. The vicissitudes of
a soul so redundant and fuU of life are as important as
the encoimters of armies. In default of legends and
dl-vlne apparitions. It has forecasts of the infinite,
dreams and aspirations which comprise the world, a
wild or luminous conception of beauty and of truth, its
hell and its heaven, dazzling visions, ideal vistas which,
unlike those of Homer, do not open upon a tradition,
nor, like those of Dante, upon a dogma, but upon the
highest peaks of modern ideas, in order to reunite at a
still loftier eminence around a sanctuary and a God.
There is nothing official in this God ; he is the God of
the soul, of a fervid and fruitful soul, in which poetry

346 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
becomes piety, which develops Its noble instincts all
around, and diffuses over infinite nature its sentiment
of holy beauty. The whole is set forth in a style
almost unique, which is less a style than the most
daring, most sincere, and most faithful notation, cre
ated at every moment and in every variety for the
purpose, so that one never thinks about the words,
beholding directly, and, as it were, face to face, the
UvIng thought leap forth with its quiverings, its sur
prises, its soarings suddenly checked. Its unheard-of
flights from sarcasm and familiarity up to ecstasy ; a
strange language, but true down to the minutest
details, the only one fltted for translating the heights
and depths of the inner life, the approach, the arrival,
and the turmoil of inspiration, the sudden concentra
tion of a crowd of ideas, the unexpected outburst of
imagery, and the endless Illuminations which, like the
aurora borealis, successively flash forth in a lyrical
Imagination. " Never flinch.
But still, unscrupulously epic, catch
Upon the burning lava of a song,
The full-veined, heaving, douhle-breasted age :
That when the next shall come, the men of that
May touch the impress with reverent hand, and say,
' Behold — hehold the paps we all have sucked !
This bosom seems to heat still, or at least
It sets ours heating ; this is living art.
Which thus presents and thus records true life.' "
A style like that is the natural complement of such
thoughts. " Let ns think
Of forms less, and the external. Trust the spirit,
As sovran nature dees, to make the form ;
For otherwise we only imprison spirit
And not embody. Inward evermore
To outward — so in life, and so in Art,
'Which still is Ufe."

ENGLISH POETRY AND RELIGION. 347
Poetry, thus understood, has but one personage, the
inner being, and but one style, the cry of a triumphant
or broken heart.
The more I reflect upon this conformation of the
EngUsh mind, on their habit of introspection, on the
pre-eminence of the moral being, the necessity for
regarding nature through the eyes of the moral being
from first to last, the more clearly do I arrive at an
understanding of the strong and innumerable roots of
that serious poem which Is here called religion. In
order to comprehend with exactness its value and
authority, it is essential to distinguish two things — on
the one hand the wording of the editor, on the other
the sentiment of the reader.
This wording varies according to the views of the
different sects — Quakers, Presbyterians, Wesleyans,
Unitarians, Anglicans ; but that of the last is the most
commonly accepted. And with reason, for the Church
of England has on her side antiquity, her alUance with
the State, her privileges, her endowments, her bishops
seated in the House of Lords, her preponderance in the
Universities, her mean position between two extremes,
between the faith, the dogma, and the spirit of the
Puritans, and the faith, the dogma, and the spirit of
the Roman Catholics. In the first place, she is an old
and legal compromise, and this suits the majority,
which everywhere loves compromises, willingly follows
tradition, and Is obedient to the law. Moreover, she is
rich, she is a power in the State, she has ties among
the aristocracy, she has good connections, she Is one of
the organs of the Constitution, and, in virtue of all
these titles, she finds favour among statesmen, among
Conservatives, among men of the world, among aU
those who wish to be considered "respectable." To

348 N^TES ON ENGLAND.
crown all, her Prayer-Book is very beautiful, her ser
vices are noble and Impressive, her conduct is semi-
tolerant, she permits some play to the free judgment
of the individual. Thus accredited, she proposes and
imposes her version, and it may be said that this ver
sion is generally admitted. There are three distinct
parties in this State Church : one, which is the more
aristocratic, leans more upon authority,, has thie greater
fondness for ritual, is called the High Church ; the
other, which is more popular, more ardent, more eager
to make conversions and renovate the heart, is called
the Low Church party. Both of them, being rather
narrow and inflexible, leave scope for the operations of
a Liberal party, the Broad Church, which includes the
minds that are the most eminent and conciliatory,
and the best qualified for reconciling science and faith.
Thanks to the latter party, the gulf which separates
lay thought from ecclesiastical tradition has ceased to
be Impassable.
Among several other polemic and dogmatic treatises,
I have just read Alford's " Greek Testament," one of
the most' authorised commentaries on the Scriptures.
He does not go so far as the German critics ; bis his
torical judgment is burdened by foregone conclusions,
yet his concessions are sufficiently large to satisfy com
mon sense. According to him the Evangelists are not
in perfect accord ; sometimes even, more especially as
regards chronology, they contradict each other. " This
is because they were not mere speaking-trumpets,
channels of the Holy Ghost, but simple, holy men in
spired by it." They had common materials from which
to write, to wit, tradition and some imperfect texts,
but these materials were " subject to all the varieties of
diction, arrangement, omission, and addition which a

ENGLISH POETRY AND RELIGION. 349
narrative admits of when it is the offspring of several
individual minds and several different places." Each
narrator, according to the nature, the defects, and the
compass of his Information, his memory, his imagina
tion, and his sentiment, left his mark upon it. The
whole is true, but it is true as a whole only. Now,
between the divine kernel and the human covering,
the dividing point is not clear ; each person may cut
off more or less, and even in the Church itself many
persons cut off a large portion. According to Dean
Stanley, being a Christian does not consist in believing
in particular events in the life of Jesus, In particular
dogmas revealed by Jesus, but in Jesus Himself, in the
moral and religious spirit with which the Gospels are
inspired. He explains the gift of tongues in the same
way as M. Renan. He admits, like the German theo
logians, that the Gospels, such as we have them, were
composed long after the Epistles of St. Paul. His
comments on these Epistles are in the style of modern
criticism, being marked by the details, the judgment,
the independent and piercing forecasts which now-a-
_^days distinguish a commentary on Dante or Pascal.
He depicts Corinth, with Its sea and its temples, after
Pausanlas, after the reports of travellers, after the ex
perience of his own travels. He exhibits St. Paul dic
tating to Sosthenes, a disciple who sits beside him, and
who stops every now and then to remind him of an
omission. " We can imagine that the letter to which
St. Paul replied was unrolled before him in such a
manner that he could see at a glance the difficulties
suggested, raise objections in turn, sometimes citing
them in the very words employed, and sometimes in
his own language." He effectively describes and ex
plains St. Paul's style, a style as powerful and wonder-

350 NOTES ON ENGLAND
ful as the matter itself; a style jerky and forced, owing
to the interior emotion, wholly composed of outbursts
or of rough fragments of burning thoughts leaping
and clashing like pieces of lava amid flame and smoke ;
he likens it in some respects to that of Thucydides,
better still to that of Cromwell. He shows the Elelsraic
temperament and the Oriental imagination of the
Apostle, apropos of which he recalls the state of mind
characteristic of the Prophets and the Psalmists, and
he goes the length of pointing out the relics of a
similar form of mental exaltation among the Maho
metan dervishes. In short, according to him, in order
to understand the era of the Evangelists it Is neces
sary above all to form a conception of enthusiasts and
of the scenes of enthusiasm such as formerly occurred
among the Puritans, and may now be found in the
" shoutings " of America. Mr. Jowett carries criti
cism farther still. When reading the New Testa
ment he puts the common version on one side,
and takes that of Lachmann, the flrst being to the
second what the Sophocles and Thucydides of the
Revival are to those of Dindorf and of Becker, or
what the " Pens^es " of Pascal, published by the Port-
Royal, are to the same " Pens^es " edited by M. Feu-
gere. The faith of the early Christians did not
exactly resemble ours. " They believed that the end
of the world and the second coming of Christ were at
hand ;" transported with their conversion they lived
in a species of "ecstasy;" their faith was simple and
child-like, " it was the belief of men who did not try
to penetrate the designs of Providence, and who had
never dreamed about the perspectives of the future ;
it was the sentiment of men who thought about the
coming of Christ as we think about the return of a

ENGLISH POETRY AND RELIGION. 351
lost friend, many of them having seen him upon earth,
and being unable to believe that he had been taken
away for ever." Regarding the outside only, and from
the world's point of view, they left the impression
which would now be made by a sect of Dissenters,
poor dreamers whom the men of, the world would con
sider fanatical, narrow-minded, eccentric, and even
dangerous. Their language bears marks of their
mental disposition. The words justice, faith, charity
are much more vague as used by St. Paul than by us ;
they correspond to a more excited frame of mind, to a
less definite play of ideas. When he says that Adam's
sin is imputed to us, he Is moved by an outburst of
passion, he writes in the style of the Hebrews ; this
merely means " that we are all as one man by the com
munity of our evil nature," and by this community,
and not otherwise, are we aU united in Adam's trans
gression. The excitement and the imagination of the
Apostle and the Oriental are manifested by his fre
quent use of " very nearly," and his figures of speech
are not formidas. When he speaks of redemption and
sin offering, he alludes to a Jewish custom. Between
this stormy and inspired spirit, which comes out of the
Synagogue, speaks in ejaculations, thinks in blocks,
and the lucid, exact, discursive modern intellect, which
separates and follows, one by one, the mass of precise
ideas, the difference is enormous. It would be absurd,
and horrible in addition, to elevate local metaphors
into phUosophical doctrines. The reader sees for him
self the consequence of principles like these — to wit,
the advent of philology, of criticism, of psychology,
the renovation of theology, the transfiguration of
dogma. The effect of this is visible already. Distin
guished men, historians, clergymen, have resigned

352 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
their positions In the University and In the Church
because their consciences no longer assented to the
Thirty-nine Articles. Bishop Colenso, of Natal, when
questioned by converts about the Old Testament, aud
asked to pledge his word of honour that it was all true,
fell into deep reflection, began to study the subject,
read the German explanations, and ended by publish
ing a book which relegated the Biblical stories to the
rank of myths.. One of my friends, who is very well
informed, estimates that out of twenty-four bishops
there are four who favour the liberal criticisms ema
nating from Oxford ; moreover, these find support
among a large number of influential and respected
I'aj'men, who approve of them. The modern spirit
filters through other fissures — by geology and natural
historj' — for which the English have great apti
tude, by the experimental psychology which they
have always cultivated. In truth, an Englishman
chiefly loves demonstrated facts, either external or in
ternal — the incontestable and existing facts of which
every one can at any moment gain experience either
within him or without. This disposition may give
birth to theories and even to a system of philosophy,
to theories like those of Lyell, of Huxley, of Darwin.
and of Tyndall, to a philosophy like that of J. S. Mill
and Herbert Spencer, Where such a taste predo
minates, it leads the mind towards one of the forms
cf positivism, and indeed, under diverse forms, espe
cially among men of science, positivism is no rarity
here. Among contemporary nations, among the French,
for instance, these things, in different proportions, are
very much alike. There, too, we flnd a symbol, a text
accepted by the majority, comprehensive or narrow in-

ENGLISH POETRY AND RELIGION. J53
terpretations admitted by several small groups, a scien
tific scepticism to suit some free-thinkers and several
men of science who devote themselves to a special pur
suit. In aU these things the points of resemblance are
striking, but they are merely superficial. The inner
emotion remains to be considered, the attitude of the
reader in presence of the accepted symbol; It Is in
this particular that the two nations differ irreconcile-
ably. An Englishman is naturally influenced by the
sentiment of the far-beyond. For him, beyond human
experience prolonged as far as It Is possible to imagine,
there is an abyss, a vast we know not what, whether
blankness or briUiancy ; and in this matter the most
determined votaries of pure experience are at one with
thebelievors. Beyond attainable things Herbert Spencer
expressly places something unattainable, the " unknow
able," the infinite basis, whereof we can touch but a
portion and the surface. If J, S. Mill dare not affirm
this infinity which oversteps all limits, he at least
admits it as a possibility. An expanse of darkness,
empty or peopled, enveloping the narrow circle wherein
flickers our little lamp, such is the common impression
made upon the sceptic's as well as upon the faithful by
the spectacle of things. Such an impression puts the
mind in a solemn attitude ; it does not proceed without
a tincture of terror ; the human being Is in presence of
an incommensurate and overwhelming spectacle ; he is
inclined to wonder and awe. As he is reflecting, prone
to moralise, he has no difficulty in recognising the far-
beyond in the moral, as in the material world. He
speedily feels that his power Is limited, his vaticination
short, his undertakings uncertain, that he resembles a
leaf carried away in a vast and angry current. During
days of sorrow, at the funerals of his relations, in sick-
A A

354 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
ness or in peril, when his dependence and ignorance
stand before him in sharp and dread outlines, this emo
tion becomes poignant. He turns his eyes towards the
great universal movement, towards the obscure and
imposing government of the whole. By dint of medi
tating, he tries to image it to himself, and, in default
of another image, he pictures It as the government of
some one, as the result of an intelligent and deter
minate guidance, as the work of a power and a mind to
which nothing is wanting of thpse things in which he
himself is deficient. Yet another step. If, amidst the
imperfections he discovers In himself, the gravest in his
eyes are his evil Inclinations, if he is chiefly concerned
with Ideas about the just and the unjust, if his con
science is awake and active, the primitive emotion
guided, rendered clear, and completed, terminates in
the conception of a moral Deity. Thomas Arnold
wrote to a person troubled with doubt, " Begin by re
garding everything from the moral point of Yiew, and
you will end by believing in God." Upon the struc
ture thus reared, at the summit of all these converging
pillars, this belief comes of itself and takes its place
there as the keystone of the arch. The mysterious,
the infinite, the far-beyond, becomes the mysterious
Providence, and the texts of Scripture and the Liturgy
are simply mediums for expressing the inarticulate
yearning of the heart.
Such is the soundless preparation, the inner ferment,
whereby the conception of God is formed and deve
loped. The chUd receives it from without like a graft.
But, in order that this graft should take hold, and
should not remain a piece of dead matter in the mind.
It is necessary that the mind should adapt itself, and
cling to It and impart its sap to It. This is not per-

ENGLISH POETRY AND RELIGION 353
formed but after tedious, hidden, and unconscious
labour. It ordinarily takes years for the junction to be
made and the foreign cutting to become transformed into
an acquired branch. As far as I can judge, this Is done
naturally and successfully in an English mind, accord
ing to the process I have described, by the conception
of the infinite powers which overwhelm us, by the con
centration of these shadowy powers in one person, and
by the installation of this personage on the throne of
the moral world. In this manner religion ceases to be
an official formula which men repeat, and becomes a
Uving sentiment which men feel. In order to be con
vinced of this the reader has but to study tho details
of daily life in the correspondence, in the biographies,
in the poems, in the romances, in all the spontaneous
evidences which cannot be suspected of hypocrisy.
Some time ago the newspapers published a letter which
a poor sergeant, slain at PetropaulowskI, wrote to his
wife Alice, on the eve of the engagement ; nothing
could be nobler, more touching, more profoundly ear
nest ; it was the testament of a soul. Among three
novels taken at random there are two in which at a
momentous crisis we perceive the intervention if not of
prayer at least of the solemn emotion of the human
being who feels that above his own head and every
head reigns infinite Justice. The doctrine may be dis
cussed ; in presence of the sentiment itself we can but
bow the head ; it is subUme.

XXXIV.

A TRIP THROUGH SCOTLAND.

T LEFT Manchester for Glasgow at two in the
-*- morning. At daybreak I saw the unvaried
English landscape, composed of a meadow and a hedge
row on a soil not naturally rich and fertile, as in
Flanders, but laboriously tUled, and forced by human
industry to yield Its increase. Beyond Carlisle the
ground is undulating, with long and high slopes which
serve for grazing ground ; It Is a solitude, neither trees
nor cultivated fields being visible; here and there is
a house ; sheep dot with white points the huge green
eminences. This everlasting green, always moist and
always pale, produces a curious impression.
Nearing Glasgow there are innumerable chimneys,
flaming blast-furnaces ; I counted as many as sixteen
in a heap. Glasgow, Uke Manchester, is a city of
iron and coal. It, too, is situated in the district which
is coloured black in the maps, and the Clyde makes of
it a port, connecting It with the ocean. One is inclined
to see in the physical characteristics of the locality the
forecast of its history : the green land, the flocks, the
dairy produce, the damp and cold climate, the barren
soil, engender a carnivorous, an energetic, a stubborn,
and an industrious creature; the coal, the iron, the

A TRIP THROUGH SCOTLAND. 357
proximity to the sea, the rivers adapted for ports,
tempt him to become a manufacturer and a merchant.
The population numbers nearly half a million. But
the sight of these vast hives is always painful ; bare
footed children crawl in the mud ; women in rags, and
whose torn gowns expose their persons, sit at street
corners suckling their infants. The climate is worse
than at Manchester. It is now the end of July, and
the sun is shining, still I do not find my overcoat too
heavy. Happily, the human frame can adapt itself to
its surroundings. Grown-up girls, lolling upon the
grass, have neither stockings nor shoes ; little boys are
bathing in the river. Besides, particular traits of
moral character yield a compensation. I am staying
in a hotel frequented by commercial travellers, and
during the twenty-four hours, especially at table, I see
scores of them. Their physiognomy is a combination
of landed proprietor, professor, and shoemaker, that
of our commercial travellers being a mixture of the
wag and the soldier. Now, in matters of business and
commerce the former character succeeds much better
than the latter ; and this distinction is not met with
among the commercial traveUers of the two countries
alone. In the luminous morning mist, amid a line of masts
and rigging, the steamboat sailed down the Clyde to
the sea. We proceeded along the indented and rugged
coast from one bay to another. These bays, being almost
entirely closed in, resemble lakes, and the large sheets
of water mirror an amphitheatre of green hills. All
the corners and windings of the shore are strewn with
white villas ; the water is crowded with ships ; a height
was pointed out to me whence three hundred saU may
often be counted at a time; a three-decker floats in

258 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
the distance like a swan among sea-mews. This vast
space spread forth and full of life, dilates the mind,
one's chest expands more freely, one joyfully Inhales
the fresh and keen breeze. But the effect upon the
nerves and the heart does not resemble that of the
Mediterranean ; this air and country, instead of pre
disposing to pleasure, dispose to action.
We enter a small vessel drawn by three horses,
which transports us along the Crinan canal, between
two banks of green turf. On the one side are rocks
covered with brushwood ; on the other, steep declivities
of a grey or reddish tinge ; this, indeed, is colour at
last, a pleasure for the eye, well mingled, matched, and
blended tints. On the bank and amid the bushes are
wUd roses, and fragile plants with white tufts smile
with a delicate and charming grace.
At the outlet from the canal we go on board a large
steamer, and the sea opens out wider than ever. The
sky Is exceedingly clear and brilliant, and the waves
break In the sunlight, quivering with reflections of
molten tin. The vessel continues her course, leaving
in her track a bubbling and boiling path ; sea gulls
follow unweariedly behind her. On both sides. Islands,
rocks, boldly-cut promontories stand in sharp relief in
the pale azure ; the scene changes every quarter of an
hour. But on rounding every point the infinite ocean
reappears, mingling its almost flat line with the curve
of the white sky.
The sun sets, we pass by Glencoe, and Ben Nevis
appears sprinkled with snow; the bay becomes narrower,
and the mass of water, confined amid barren mountains,
assumes a tragic appearance. Human beings have come
hither to little purpose; Nature remains indomitable
and wild ; one feels oneself upon a planet.

A TRIP THROUGH SCOTLAND. 359
We disembark near Fort William; the dying
twilight, the fading red rays on the horizon, enable
us to get a glimpse of a desolate country ; acres of
peat-bog, eminences rising from the valley between
two ranges of huge mountains. A bird of prey screams
amid the stlUness. Here and there we see some wretched
hovels ; I am told that those on the heights are dens
without windows, and from which the smoke escapes
through a hole in the roof. Many of the old men are
blind. What an unpropitious abode for man !
On the morrow we Ti'oyaged during four hours on the
Caledonian canal amidst solitudes, a monotonous row of
tree-less mountains, enormous green eminences, dotted
here and there with fallen stones. A few sheep of a
dwarf breed crop the scanty herbage on the slopes ;
sometimes the winter is so severe that they die ; in the
distance we perceive a shaggy ox, with savage eyes, the
size of a smaU ass. Both plants and animals perish,
or are stunted. In order to make such a land yield
anything it must first be replanted with trees, as has
been done in Sutherlandshire ; a tree renews the soil,
it also shelters crops, flocks and herds, and human
beings. The canal terminates in a series of lakes. Nothing
is more noble than their aspect, nothing more touch
ing. The water, embrowned by the peat, forms a vast
shining plain, surrounded by a circle of mountains. In
proportion as we advance each mountain slowly grows
upon us, becomes more conspicuous, stands forth with
its form and physiognomy ; the farther blue peaks melt
the one behind the other, diminishing towards tho
horizon, which they enclose. Thus they stand in
position like an assemblage of huge, mournful beings
around the black water wherein they are mirrored,

36o NOTES ON ENGLAND.
while above them and the' lake, from time to time, the
sun flashes through the shroud of clouds.
At last the solitude becomes less marked. The
mountains are half-wooded at first, and then wholly
so ; they dwindle down, the widening valleys are
covered with harvest ; the fresh and green verdure of
the herbage which supplies forage begins to clothe the
hollows and the slopes. We enter Inverness, and we
are surprised to find at almost the extreme north of
Scotland, on the border of the Highlands, a pretty and
lively modern town. It stretches along the two banks
of a clear and rapid river. Many houses are newly-
buUt ; we note a church, a castle, an iron bridge. In
every part are marks of cleanliness, forethought, and
special care. The window-panes shine, the frames
have been painted ; the beU-handles are of copper ;
there are flowers in the windows ; the poorest houses
are freshly white-washed. Well dressed ladies and
carefully-dressed gentlemen walk along the streets.
Even a desire to possess works of art is shown by
Ionian pillars, specimens of pure Gothic, and other
architectural gimcrackery, and these prove at least the
search after improvement. The land itself is clearly
of inferior quality ; industry, order, economy, and
labour have done everything. How great the. contrast
between all this and the aspect of a small town on the
shores of the Mediterranean, so neglected and filthy,
where the lower middle-class exist like worms in a
worm-eaten beam !
I spent eight days in the neighbourhood with a
friend. Nearly all the cottages are well-kept, or
renovated. The small farms and the labourers' huts
are surrounded with honeysuckle, and have gardens
attached, filled with blooming roses. It is true these too

A TRIP THROUGH SCOTLAND. 361
low-built dwellings have often only a ground floor, and
are narrow, because the cost of building materials is so
high. It is also true that the ill- ventilated bed occu
pies an enclosed space in the wall because of the
extreme cold in winter. Yet these drawbacks of soil
and climate have been a spur to man. Everywhere, in
the lowliest cottages, there are books — the Bible in the
first place, in addition a few biographical works, books
of travel, guides to health, hand-books of fishing,
agricultural treatises, from eight to twenty volumes in
aU. Nearly all the Scotch peasants can read and
write. Our entertainers shook hands with all the
honest women and young girls, telling us to do like
wise ; the latter showed no signs of embarrassment.
Each peasant considers himself master in his home,
independent in spiritual as in temporal things, charged
with his salvation, and this imparts to him a natural
dignity. The rich and the gentry do not keep them
selves to themselves, nor remain apart out of distrust,
dislike, selfishness, as in France; they deliver public
lectures, they expend some of their income on public
works. A church built by one of them was pointed
out to me ; another, who has erected a suspension
bridge, requests the passengers in a notice to walk
their horses across It. The wall round his park is but
two feet in height; every one may enter, to injure
anything being alone forbidden.
Between Keith and Aberdeen I met an excursion
train, in which all the carriages were crowded. Their
occupants were going to a religious meeting, a gather
ing for edification, and the expression of Protestant
emotion ; a Revival which many celebrated preacher^
were to address. The crowd is so great that it is neces
sary to telegraph for more carriages, and yet in many

362 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
carriages young girls may be seen sitting upon men's
knees. My neighbour says that twenty thousand per
sons will be present ; some of them come from great
distances, from fifty to sixty miles. During the stop
page of the train, the women began to sing a psalhi
with an air of sincerity and conviction ; the sacred
music here is always grave and sweet, and never fails
to afford me pleasure. The carriages are third-class,
and their occupants are shopkeepers, workmen, agri
cultural labourers, all of them dressed like our lower
middle class ; their clothes, made of grey or brown
cloth, are clean and often new ; their physiognomies
are lively and inteUigent ; the race appears more active,
more astute than in England. These are the common
people, but they are clearly better cultured than our
villagers. On arriving at the hotel, which was a temperance
one, I found on the landlady's table, amid many moral
romances and books of devotion, a tract containing an
apology for Revivals. In it the exclamations, the
faintings, and the impassioned manifestations are jus
tified. " In the highest circles, a mother, a father, are
beside themselves for joy when a son returns whom
they had given up for lost, and no one condemns their
conduct as irrational ; how much more natural Is It to
act likewise when the soul suddenly feels that It is
saved, being redeemed by grace?" A clergyman
censures Sir Walter Scott in a newspaper for having
brought the Covenanters Into disfavour by his novels.
To me it seems that the Presbyterian form of Protes
tantism is the appropriate poem here, sad, grandiose,,
limited in range, excellently fitted for leading man to
look inwards, for rendering him inclined to labour, and
for making him endure the burden of life.

A TRIP THROUGH SCOTLAND. 363
At service, on Sunday, there are no paintings,
statues, or instrumental music. The church is a plain
meeting-house, supplied with seats, furnished with a
gallery on the first-floor, very well adapted for public
lectures ; in truth, divine service here is nothing but a
moral lecture. The minister takes for his text, " We
must work out our own salvation," must not wait for
help from others, must make an effort, must act by
ourselves ; God will help us, grant us His grace, not
because of our exertions (it being given gratuitously),
but in proportion to our e.Kertions. The sermon was
weU delivered, soberly and judiciously, being devoid of
set phrases or ejaculations. Though rather abstract,
the precept is practical and may awaken reflections
and individual reasoning in some heads, more especially
in winter or when rain falls, • To follow continuously
such argumentation with the help of the Old or New
Testament text is an occupation elevating to the mind
and provocative of work for the conscience. Besides
the sermon, the service consisted of reading certain
passages of Scripture, especially from St. Paul ; of
prayers in prose spoken aloud, psalms and hymns sung
by the congregation. The prayers and the hymns were
correctly Insipid and wholly modern ; no one has really
known how to address God since the great literary age
of Shakespeare and MUton. But the psalms, though
feebly rendered, are sustained by the strength of their
sentiment and spirit ; even at this day a soul in
trouble, conscious of its responsibility, can enter into
their meaning ; they are the dialogue of the human
heart and the Eternal Judge alone and face to face.
By means of them, amidst controversial theology, dry
preaching, and monotonous labour, the moral sentiment
expands into a poetical flower. It is not too much to

364 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
have one flower, one only, in a religion of which the
usages and the dogmas resemble a thicket of briars.
The congregation was very attentive ; I am told that
Scotland Is even more religious than England ; the
most rigid Presbyterianism has not been considered in
Scotland to be sufficiently rigid. In 1843, many per
sons thought that the presentation of ministers by a
patron was contrary to the law of God ; hence was
formed the Free Church, which is maintained by the
voluntary subscriptions of Its members. She became
the equal of the Established Church within the space
of a few years. At present she has an income of
£300,000 sterling; she has founded 700 schools; she
has adherents in every village. From the trifling
importance of the point in dispute, from the thorough
ness of the separation that was effected, from the
promptitude, the vastness, and the cost of the work
which was accomplished, may be estimated the theo
logical susceptibility and the zeal of the contributors.
The like remark applies to Sunday observance ; com
pared with that of Edinburgh, a London Sunday Is
pleasant. The surrounding landscape Is very neat .and very
pretty ; the soil appears to be mediocre ; but the tillage
is less regular than in England. A ruder Nature
lends herself more reluctantly to discipline; the sur
face is undulating and would please a painter. Flowers
abound, they are delicate and dainty, more particularly
the wild roses, which bloom along all the road-sides.
Small, clear, and murmuring streams meander through
the meadows. On the slopes the violet heaths are
spread like a silken carpet under the scanty firs.
Higher stUl are large patches of evergreen wood, and,
as soon as the mountain is approached, a brown circle

A TRIP THROUGH SCOTLAND. 365
of barren eminences may be discerned towards the
horizon. At the end of an hour the desert begins ;
the climate is inimical to life, even to that of plants. A
tarn, the tint of burnt topaz, lies coldly and sadly
between stony slopes whereon a few tufts of fern and
heather grow here and there. Half a league higher is
a second tarn, which appears still more dismal in the
rising mist. Around, patches of snow are sprinkled on
the peaks, and -these descending in rivulets produce
morasses. The small country ponies, with a sure
instinct, surmount the bog, and we arrive at an
elevation whence the eye, as far as it can reach,
embraces nothing but an amphitheatre of desolate, yet
green summits ; owing to the destruction of the timber,
everything else has perished ; a scene of ruined nature
is far more melancholy a spectacle than any human
ruins. On our return across the lake, a bag-piper
played on his instrument. The music is strange and
wild, its effects harmonising with the aspect of the
bubbling streams, veined with striking or sombre re
flections. The same simple note, a kind of dance
music, runs through the whole piece in an incorrect
and odd manner, and continually recurs, but It is
always harsh and rough ; it might be likened to an
orange shriveUed with the cold and rendered bitter.
These are the Highlands. From Braemar to Perth
we journey through them for many long miles. It is
always a soUtude; sometimes five or six valleys in
succession are wholly bare, and one may travel for an
hour without seeing a tree ; then for another hour it is
rare merely to see in the distance a wretched twisted
birchen-tree, which is dying or is dead. It would be
some compensation if the rock were naked, and ex
hibited its mineral structure in all its fulness and

366 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
ruggedness. But these mountains, of no great ele
vation, are but bosses with flabby outlines, they have
fallen to pieces, and are stone heaps, resembling the
remains of a quarry. In winter, torrents of water
uproot the heather, leaving on the slopes a leprous,
whitened scar, badly tinted by the too feeble sun. The
summits are truncated, and want boldness. Patches of
miserable verdure seam their sides and mark the oozing
of springs ; the remainder is covered with brownish
heather. Below, at the very bottom, a torrent ob
structed by stones, struggles along its channel, or
lingers in stagnant pools. One sometimes discerns a
hovel, with a stunted cow. The grey, low-lying sky,
completes the impression of lugubrious monotony.
Our conveyance ascends the last mountain. At
length we see a steep declivity, a great rocky wall;
but it is unique. We descend again, and enter a
habitable tract. Cultivation occurs flrst on the lower
parts, then on the slopes ; the declivities are wooded,
and then entire mountains ; forests of firs spread their
sombre mantle over the crests ; fields of oats and barley
extend on all sides ; we perceive pretty clumps of trees,
hruses surrounded by gardens and flowers, and then
culture of all descriptions upon the lessening hills, here
and there a park and a modern mansion. The sun bursts
forth and shines merrily, but without heat ; the fertile
plain expands, abounding in promises of convenience
and pleasure, and we enter Perth thinking about the
historical narrations of Sir Walter Scott, and the con
trast between the mountain and the plain, the revillngs
and scornings interchanged between the inhabitants of
the Highlands and the Lowlands. From Perth to
Edinburgh the landscape continues attractive and
varied. More undulating, more fragmentary, poorer

A TRIP THROUGH SCOTLAND. 367
than England, Scotland is more picturesque ; Nature,
less uniform and less tractable, is not there a mere
manufactory of milk and meat.
So is Edinburgh compared with London. Instead
of a regular, modern, and flat city, the centre of busi
ness, of comfort, and of luxurj', we find an old city
rich in contrasts, extending over three valleys and
several eminences, where steep streets, tall houses, the
multipUed imprints of the past, afford unexpected
views. A feudal castle crowns one of the heights.
Thence, in descending towards Holyrood, along the
sides of the street, old-fashioned alleys plunge abruptly
towards the bottom ; these are the wynds and closes,
genuine dens of the middle ages, whereof the walls
blackened by rain and smoke have retained their
leprosy during four hundred years. Round or square
towers cling together and hang over. Narrow, odd-
looking and Ul-shapen windows are barred like the
air holes of a prison. Stone stairs, with low and slimy
steps, wind in the obscurity of the interior, amidst
creeping shadows of which a ray of light makes us
feel the depth. On the steps are crowds of infants,
with bare feet, white skulls, and crouching men taking
food, recalling the fantastic figures, the semi-glooms,
the strange guests which people the cellars of Rem
brandt. Quantities of statues, of Gothic and chiefiy Grecian
monuments, and two picture galleries. The Calton
Hill, with its colonnade and two or three temples,
aspires to be an Acropolis, and the erudite, lettered,
and philosophical city styles itself the Northern
Athens. But how greatly out of place is antique
architecture here ! The pale haze, scourged by the
wind fioats and spreads itself in all directions. A

368 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
vapoury veil lingers on the declivity of the Calton Hill
and winds around its columns. The climate is at
variance with these forms of a dry and w^rm country,
and the wants, the tastes, the habits of the people here
are more at variance still. For example, in this place
the prevailing temptation is to give way to drunken
ness ; and temperance societies oppose It by a mixture
of Biblical maxims and utUitarian arguments. Con
cerning this subject, I saw placards on which two
expressive figures are pourtrayed, the one representing
" a man," the worker, the other " a thing," the
drunkard ; while appropriate precepts are written
underneath. Sixpence a day for ale and tobacco
make so much at the year's end, and It is proved by
statistics that with this sum so many articles of bedding
or of furniture, so many pairs of shoes, so many shirts
may be purchased along with the indispensable Family
Bible. This calculation and this mention of the Bible
are traits of character. On entering the picture gallery
afterwards, and looking at the three or four great
works by Vandyck, one by Garafolo, one by Veronese,
and especially two sketches of women by Tintoret, I
felt as if transported to the opposite side of the globe.

xxxv.
RETURN HOME, FRENCHMEN AND ENGLISHMEN.
LEAVING Edinburgh on the left, one beholds the
sea, surrounded by distant mountains, which
gradually diminish in height, and form a delicate and
carefully-wrought border to the great shining deep.
Berwick Is passed, looking lively and picturesque, with
its red-tUed houses and tranquil harbour, in which lie
a few vessels. Farther on comes Newcastle, where the
coal descends directly into ships for the supply of the
coast towns of the North Sea, a city of coal and manu
factories, black, smoky, and gloomy as a prison. Along
the whole route the country is flat, and almost entirely
destitute of trees or hedges ; at intervals, however, a
smaU wooded cove shelters a hamlet. But from one end
to the other of this journey the sea is in sight, and the
train skirts the coast, now being encompassed by, and
now overhanging, a belt of rocks. The heart dilates
before this vast shimmering sheet of water ; the indis
tinct, even line, merges into the lower edge of the
sky ; tiny hillocks of foam fleck its azure with white
spots. Two or three ships flit like birds In the dis
tance ; overhead, the great pale sky curves its vault,
and we forget the troubled spectacle of the human ant-
heap in reflecting afresh upon the calmness, the. sim
plicity, and the dl'vlne immutabiUty of things.
B B

370 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
At York in the morning. A graceful and clear
river shines softly between rows of Gothic towers;
farther off is a bridge, a heap of black boats ; we cross
the water in a ferry-boat ; there is nobody In the streets ;
the air reaches our cheeks as fresh as in the country.
We pass by old-fashioned houses, of which each story
overlaps the one below it ; we see low archways, curved
doors studded with large naUs. Grass grows in the
interstices of the pavement ; in a square near the
cathedral, trees, centuries old, spread their leafy domes.
All is green, clean, peaceful, savouring of olden times,
as In a Flemish city. The vast and venerable cathedral
forms an addition to the resemblance. Intact without,
this Gothic colossus rears itself higher and more spa
cious than Notre-Dame, with massive power, imder
the three towers which crown It, Within, the icono
clasts of the Reformation have stripped it ; it is white
washed, naked, and dismal. The only remnant of the
old ornamentation is the enclosure of the choir, a laby
rinth of carving, of statuettes, of hangings, of small
sculptured pulpits, which commingle their forms with
deUcate and endless fantasy. How charming are. these
quiet old cities ! But in the hurry of the journey such
spectacles flit before the mind like so many pieces of
scenery. From York to London. — As my duty must be per
formed to the end, I remain in a third-class carriage
for nine hours, in order to have a good view of the
commonalty. The two most striking types are those
I have previously met with — the sturdy individual
and the worn-out individual, the one having the
figure and broad shoulders of an athlete, ruddy com
plexion, red whiskers, eyes of a bull, rough gestures,
a gruff or threatening expression, yet turning at

RETURN HOME. 37 1
times to kindliness when a smile lights it up or he is
spoken to politely ; the other having twinkling eyes,
compressed features, his neckcloth tightened to the
verge of strangulation, at once worn out and starched.
Looking at the country people, I note that none have
the form and mien of our peasants — that shrewd,
defiant, yet astonished look which proclaims another
species, a descendant of the labourers under compulsion,
an ancient fellah, an intelligent yet uncultured race,
still bound to the soil on which his heart is set, and
which is the limit of all his thoughts. The villagers
who enter at the intermediate stations have more the
appearance of workmen or of small tradespeople ; in
truth an English farm is as much a manufactory as any
other, giving employment to day labourers and bailiffs.
From York to London the landscape confirms this idea.
A square of verdure enclosed by a hedge, then another,
and so on in succession, always of large extent, of
monotonous regularity, without any of the varieties
which denote small properties and peasant culture.
In the same carriage with me is a Newcastle family,
the husband, the wife, and her mother, smaU trades
people, pretty well dressed and in new clothes. They
are going to Venice for pleasure, and yet they are not
rich, seeing that they travel third-class. Journeying
so far in so uncomfortable a way, and at a cost neces
sarily considerable, manifests a very strong passion for
travel. Families by no means well-to-do, with which
I am" acquainted, expend all their surplus in the
same fashion ; with their forty or fifty pounds of sav
ings they go to the Continent every year — to Holland,
to Norway. They put nothing aside ; each year has to
provide for Its wants and suffice for its labour. My
three fellow-passengers prepare themselves conscien-

372 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
tiously ; they have their Murray, a manual of Italian
phrases, a special guide-book filled with figures for the
passage over the Alps. The mother wearing spectacles,
respectable, silent, resigned, sits bolt upright with the
patience of a stoic upon the hard wooden seat. The
wife cons Italian phrases, and looks up the words In a
pocket dictionary. Her husband is qualified to fight
the battle of modern existence ; active, energetic, a face
pitted with small-pox, earnest and ardent eyes. What
strange visitors to Venice ! Nevertheless, they are
sensible folks, capable of learning, and who, if they do
not appreciate painting, will bring back with them all
kinds of information and useful notions. Since leaving
Glasgow I have conversed with numbers of my fellow-
passengers of the middle or lower class, a commercial
traveUer, a house-painter, shopkeepers, tavern-keepers.
They never indulge In empty chatter ; they have not
too absurd ideas about foreigners ; they are by no
means hasty in speech ; they are never boasters ; lliave
always found that they possess a fund of upright and
rational ideas.
London, Dover, and the Steamer In the rain. — From
London to Dover In the first-class, a would-be gentle
man proposed a game of cards to his neighbours, at
which bets were made, every stake being five pounds.
At first they refused, then they suffered themselves to
be persuaded, and naturally they lost, I calculate that
in an hour the card-player gained one hundred and
fifty pounds. What struck me were the players' faces ;
not one wrinkle, not one gesture, not a single exclama
tion ; concentrated and suppressed pride ; but I divined
the attraction, the dull and strong passion, the obsti
nacy, the determination to conquer. One of them, a
stout and big man with the face of an immovable ox.

FRENCHMEN AND ENGLISHMEN. 373
constantly doubled his stake, drawing out his bank
notes with the nir of a combatant in a boxing-match.
The risk pleases them, and produces the same effect on
their minds that spirits do upon their palates.
One of my friends returned at the same time as
myself, and we compared the result of our observations.
Which of the two forms of civilisation is tho more
valuable, that of England or that of France ? That is
too vague ; we must divide and distinguish. Three
things are superior in England.
The Political Constitution. — It is stable, and is in
no dangCr, like ours, of being forcibly overturned
and remodelled every twenty years. It is liberal,
and permits individuals to take part as actors or
assistants Trn public affairs, instead of regarding
them with mere curiosity ; it confides their guidance
to the upper class, which is best qualified to direct
them satisfactorily, and which finds In so doing their
natural occupation, in place of withering or being cor
rupted for want of something to do, as with us. It
lends itself without perturbations to continued improve
ments, and tends In practice to good government, that
which pays the most respect to individual initiative,
and confides power to the most worthy. The Eng
lish Three per Cents, are at 94 ; the citizens speak and
form associations at pleasure : no Press in the world is
equally well informed, nor are any assemblies equally
competent. Religion. — It subordinates rites and dogmas to mo
rality. It inculcates self-government, the supremacy
of conscience, the cultivation of the will. It leaves a
sufficiently large space to interpretation and to indivi
dual sentiment. It is not actually hostile to the spirit of
modern science, nor to the tendencies of modern times.

374 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
Its ministers are married ; it founds schools ; it approves
of action ; it does not counsel asceticism. Thus asso
ciated with the laity. It has authority over them; a
young man entering life, the adult providing for his
career, are restrained and guided up to a certain point
by a coUection of ancient, popular, and fortifying
beUefs, which furnish them with rules of conduct and
an exalted Idea of the world. Among us a young man
of twenty, being obliged to frame this rule by and for
himself, does not succeed in doing so till late, some
times does so imperfectly, or never does it at all.
The Greatness of the Acquired Wealth, combined with
the Increased Power of Producing and Amassing. —
Every useful work executed centuries ago, is trans
mitted and accumulated without loss; England has not
been invaded for eight hundred years, and has had no
civil war for two centuries. At the present day her
capital is several times larger than that of France.
The tokens of comfort and opulence are more numerous
there than in any other country of the world. Examine
the statistics, the calculations of her commerce, of her
industry, of her agriculture, of her annual profits. This
is true of moral as well as of physical matters ; not
only does England understand better than France how
to manage her public and private affairs, enrich her
soil, improve her cattle, superintend a manufacture,
clear, colonize, and turn to account distant countries ;
but she knows still better how to cultivate herself. If
we consider but the select few, we shall find, it appears,
minds in France of equal calibre, except where politics
are concerned, to the most notable minds of England,
perhaps even a few superior minds, of wider and more
philosophic range, at once more comprehensive and of
finer mould. But the majority of those with an average

FRENCHMEN AND ENGLISiJMEN 3 . .*
intellect, a country gentleman, an ordinary clergyman,
is endowed here with more extensive and more solid
knowledge. Assuredly, his head is better furnished,
his inteUectual furniture being less old-fashioned and
less incomplete. Above all, the number of persons
adequately informed and capable of forming an opinion
in political matters is much greater. Compare one of
our English clergymen and English gentlemen with
the bourgeois and curis of France ; or, better still,
examine in turn the daily food of their inteUects, the
English newspaper and the French newspaper, espe
cially a French gazette of a small town and an English
gazette of a small town; the distance is prodigious.
Now, it is not the select few, it is the average majority
which gives the tone, inspires opinion, conducts affairs.
On the other hand, three things are better in France,
The Climate. — This Is self-evident; yet without
personal experience and prolonged reflection it is hard
to imagine the effect of six or eight degrees of latitude
at the least. In warding off bodily suffering and mental
sadness. The Distribution of Wealth. — There are four or five
miUIons of landed proprietors in France, and properties
after death are divided in equal portions among the
chUdren, On the whole, then, our institutions, our
instincts, our habits combine to provide that no one
has too large a slice, and that every one has a small
one. Many live poorly, but nearlj' all can exist with
out too great difficulty. The wretched are less wretched ;
the labourer, entirely dependent upon the work of his
hands, does not feel that beneath him yawns a dreadful
abyss, a black and bottomless pit, in which, owing to
an accident, a strike, an attack of sickness, he and
his famUy wUl be engulfed ; having fewer wants ajid

376 NOTES ON ENGLAND.
fewer children he bears a lighter burden; besides, want
debases him less, and he is less drunken.
Domestic and Social Life. — Several circumstances
render it more easy and more enjoyable. In the
first place, the natural temperament is gay, more
open, and more neighbourly. Then the absolute, or
nearly absolute, equality established by law or by
custom between, parents and children, between the
eldest son and his younger brothers, between husband
and wife, between the noble and the commoner,
between the rich and the poor, suppresses much con
straint, represses much tyranny, prevents much super
ciliousness, smoothes many asperities. In France, in
the narrow domestic circle, the members open their
hearts, enter into the spirit of the moment, combine to
live together freely and affectionately; in the large
social circle, they chat, display a half-confidence, meet
together in order to pass an hour freely and pleasantly.
There is less constraint at home and in society ; kindli
ness and politeness supplant subordination with advan
tage. To my mind a human being among us feels less
frequently and less heavily the pressure of another
rough and despotic human being's hand upon his head.
Final cause of expansion : one may say everything in
conversation, tell a story and uphold a theory to the
end. Romances, criticism, art, philosophy, violent
curiosity, have not to submit to the trammels which
religion, morality, and official propriety Impose upon
them across the Channel. At Paris we think with
more independence, with a more entire disinterested
ness, in a wholly abstract style, without pre-occupying
ourselves about the consequences, without standing in
dread of the thunders of public reprobation.
In fine, all these differences contribute to render the

FRENCHMEN AND ENGLISHMEN. 377
Englishman more powerful and the Frenchman happier.
The costume of the former is more substantial, that of
the latter more comfortable. The former has reason
for enlarging his garment which cramps him at the
corners, the latter would act wisely in avoiding thoSe
hasty movements which may rend his flimsy material.
But it appears to me that each of them has the stylo
of dress which he prefers.

THE END.

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