No More Learning

I am far from sharing, for my part, the opinions of Taine regard-
ing the French Revolution; and I think that on the whole, if he has
ruthlessly and profitably set before us naked, as it were, some of its
worst excesses as well as its most essential characteristics, he has
nevertheless judged it imperfectly. He has taken into consideration
neither the generosity of its first transport, nor the tragic circum-
stances in the midst of which it was forced to develop, nor the
fecundity of some of the ideas that have spread from it through the
world. He has judged Napoleon no better. This is because he was
without what is called in France the “military fibre. ” And finally
I think that he has imperfectly judged contemporary France. For
while he has carefully pointed out some of the faults that are unhap-
pily ours, he has scarcely accounted to the race for other qualities
which are nevertheless also its own,-its endurance, its flexibility, its
spirit of order and economy; I will even say its wisdom, and that
underlying good sense which from age to age, and for so many
years now, have repaired the errors of our governments.
But from the point of view that I have chosen, I have no need
of dwelling upon the particular opinions of Taine; and not having
expressed my own upon his Shakespeare or upon his Rubens, I shall
not express them upon his Napoleon. I merely say that in attempt-
ing history he has been compelled to see that men cannot be treated
like abstractions, and that to speak truth the moral sciences are
decidedly not natural sciences. He has been obliged to admit to
himself that the verities here were constituted after another order,
and could not be reached by the same means. In his endeavor to
explain, in some of the most beautiful pages he ever wrote, the gen-
esis, the slow and successive formation, the laborious formation, of


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HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
14407
(
>
.
the ideas of conscience and of honor, he was unable to find either
a physical basis » or an animal origin” for them. He became
equally aware that there were no beautiful crimes nor beautiful
monsters, as he had believed in the days of his youth; and he felt
that to affect, in the presence of the massacres of September or of
the Reign of Terror, the serene indifference of the chemist in his lab-
oratory, was not to serve the cause of science, but to betray that of
humanity. And as he was accused of contradicting himself in this
point, I well know that he yielded to the weakness of recording, in
some sort, his old and his new principles. « This volume, like those
that have preceded it,” he wrote in 1884, in the Preface to the third
volume of his Revolution,' «is written only for the lovers of moral
zoology, for the naturalists of the intellect,
and not for the
public, which has taken its stand and made up its mind concern-
ing the Revolution. ” Only he forgot to tell us what a naturalist of
the intellect” is, and what above all is moral zoology. ” He might
as well have spoken of immaterial physics”! But he deceived him-
self strangely if he did not believe that he had written for the
public,” and with the purpose of changing our preconceived opinion
(parti pris), whatever it was, toward the Revolution, or of trying
to substitute his own for it. Why did he not simply say that the
more closely he studied human acts, the better he saw their dis-
tinguishing and original character; that without abandoning any of
his former principles, he had simply bent their first rigidity to the
exigencies of the successive problems that he had studied; and that
after cruelly ridiculing at the outset the subordination of all ques-
tions to the moral question, he had himself gone over to that side ?
If this was an avowal that cost him little, perhaps, it is neverthe-
less the philosophical significance of his Origins of Contemporary
France,' and it is the last limit of the evolution of his thought.
It is moreover in this way that the unity of his system and the
extent of his influence are explicable. No, I repeat that he did not
contradict himself at all, if his object was to determine what might
be called the concrete conditions of objective knowledge; and such
indeed was his object, or at least, the result of his work. In liter-
ature first, then in art, and finally in history, he wished to set a
foundation for the certainty; and — let us reiterate it - "separate the
reality of things from the fluctuations of individual opinion. ” If all
the world agree in placing Shakespeare above Addison, Coriolanus)
or Julius Cæsar' above Cato,' and all the world prefers the meth-
ods of government of Henry IV. to those of Robespierre, there are
reasons for it which are not merely sentimental, but positive; and
out of the midst of school or party controversy, Taine desired to
draw the evidence of them and an incontestable formula for them.


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HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
And in truth, he himself yielded more than once to the attraction of
the subject he chose at first only as material for experiments. So it
sometimes happens that a naturalist lingers in admiration over an
animal he meant only to dissect. Taine likewise forgot his theories
at times in the presence of Raphael and Michael Angelo, of Rem-
brandt or of Rubens, and he even forgot that he was a theorist. But
neither is his History of English Literature properly speaking, a
history of English literature, nor his Origins of Contemporary France)
a history of the Revolution: they are only a demonstration of the
objectivity of the critical judgment by means of the history of the
Revolution or of English literature.
To feel convinced of this, it is enough to read those of his works
that I have not yet mentioned: his Essay on Titus Livius,' his
Journey to the Pyrenees,' his Thomas Graindorge,' his Notes on
England,' or his Note-Books of Travel. Not only does he never
lose sight in them of his principal object, but in all that he sees or
in all that is told him, he notes or retains only what is in accordance
with his critical preoccupations. A landscape to him is not a land-
scape, but a milieu; and a characteristic custom is not a characteris-
tic custom for him, but a commentary on the race.
In the museums
of Italy as in the streets of London, he sees only permanences of
qualities” or “convergences of effects. ” If it happens that he be-
comes interested in the spectacle of things, he repents of it and
recovers himself. Facts are for him only materials; and they have
value in his eyes only in so far as they enter into the construction
of his edifice. And doubtless this is why not only the English do not
admit the truth of his Notes on England, but the French still less
the truth of those that he set down in his Note-Books of Travel. '
On the other hand, here is the very reason for the range and
depth of his influence, if in all that we have just said of him we
need change only a few words in order to say it of an Auguste
Comte, of a Hegel, or of a Spinoza. These are great names, I am
well aware! But when I consider what before Taine were those ideas
that he has marked with the seal of his literary genius, so hard at
tiines, but so vigorous; when I recall in what a nebulous state, so to
speak, they floated in the mind; and when I see to what degree they
now form the substance of contemporary thought, — their merit, that
cannot be contested, is to have recreated methods; and though there
are other merits in the history of thought, there are none greater.
There lay his honor, and there rests his claim to glory. He has re-
newed the methods of criticism. It is this that the future will not forget.
One can discuss the value of his opinions, literary, æsthetic, historical;
one can refuse to take him for guide, - combat him, refute him per-
haps; and one may prefer to his manner of writing, so powerful and


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14409
manner
C
so telling, often charged with too many colors, and generally too
emphatic, the
of such-and-such of his contemporaries, –
the treacherous charm of Sainte-Beuve, the fleeting grace of Renan:
but no one more than he is certain of having made an epoch”; and
to grasp the full meaning of this phrase, it suffices to reckon, in the
history of the literatures, how many there are to whom it can be
applied!
f. forunching
CHARACTERISTICS OF THE ENGLISH MIND
From Notes on England)
THE
HE interior of an English head may not unaptly be likened
to one of Murray's Handbooks, which contains many facts
and few ideas; a quantity of useful and precise informa-
tion, short statistical abridgments, numerous figures, correct and
detailed maps, brief and dry historical notices, moral and profit-
able 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 per-
sonal guidance during a journey. A Frenchman requires that
everything and every piece of writing should be cast in a pleas.
ing form; an Englishman is satisfied if the substance be useful.
A Frenchman loves ideas in and for themselves; an Englishman
employs them as instruments of mnemonics or of prevision. . . .
The impression produced is the same if we consider in turn
the journals, the reviews, and the oratory of the two nations.
The special correspondent of an English journal is a sort of
photographer who forwards 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 extremely lengthy and de-
tailed: a Frenchman would abridge and lighten them; they leave
on him a feeling of weariness: the whole is 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


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HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
notable anecdotes, and to sum up the whole in a clear idea,
embodied in a telling phrase. Nor is the difference less percepti-
ble 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 commences 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 additional workmanship in
order to fit them for general use. Moreover, in Parliament and
public meetings, English eloquence is hampered by documents,
while French eloquence evaporates in theories.
English education tends to produce this result. . . . Recently,
however, new 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 universities 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 difficulty 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 inost pressing need is to
construct for himself a body of convictions, or at least of opin-
ions. In England the mold is prepared; the religion is almost
rational, and the Constitution excellent; awakening intelligence
there finds the broad lines of future beliefs already traced. The
necessity for erecting a complete habitation is not felt; the
utmost that appears wanting relates to the enlargement of a
Gothic window, the cleansing of a cellar, the repair of a stair-
case. English intellect, being less unsettled, less excited, is less
active, because it has not skepticism for a spur.
Through all channels, open from infancy to the close of life,
exact information flows into an English 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 experiment, the instinct of induction, the longing for cer-
titude. Whoever has studied their literature and their philosophy,


## p. 14411 (#605) ##########################################

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14411
from Shakespeare and Bacon to the present 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 compre-
hending 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 re-
stricted 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 only to
the office which verifies it and for the purpose which it serves.
That being granted, it appears to me that the ordinary fur-
nishing of an English head becomes discernible. 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 all that relates to language,
geography, political and economical truths, and the personal im-
pressions gained in foreign parts by contact with men and living
objects. On the other hand, it frequently happens that the Eng-
lishman 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 informed, being
limited in his range.
Nothing is rarer among them than free
and full play of the soaring and expanding intellect. 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 conclusion. 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 best witness to this, it being extremely difficult to
translate somewhat lofty abstractions into English. Compared
with French, and above all with German, it is what Latin is to
Greek.
Their library of words is wanting in an entire
row of compartments, — namely, the upper ones; they have no
ideas wherewith to fill them.


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HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
TYPICAL ENGLISH MEN AND WOMEN
From Notes on England
Since my
A
.
T BOTTOM the essential thing in a country is man.
arrival I have made a collection of types, and I class them
with those I had collected last year.
Arranged in
groups, the following are those which have struck me most:
First, 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 and blooming,
their flesh magnificent; 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-humor, some-
times of good-nature, generally of awkwardness.
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 less 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-colored knee-breeches;
they are magnificent in shape and amplitude — their calves espe-
cially are enormous. . . . The coachmen are prodigiously broad-
shouldered and well developed: how many yards of cloth must
be required to clothe such figures ? These are the favorites of
creation, the best fed, the most easy-going, all chosen and picked
in order to act as specimens of the nation's physique.
There is the same athletic and full-fleshed type among the
gentlemen; I know four or five specimens among my acquaint-
ances. 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 respiration; his blood gave
a tinge of pink to his hands, his neck, his temple, and even
underneath his hair: when he compressed his eyelids, his physi-
ognomy was as disquieting and heavy as that seen in the por-
traits of Henry VIII. ; when in repose, in presence of this mass
of flesh, one thought of a beast for the butcher, and quietly com-
puted twenty stone of meat. Toward 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
they turn to horrible and tragical caricature.


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14413
The last variety is seen among the common people, where
spirits take the place of port, among other places in the low
streets which border the Thames: several apoplectic and swollen
faces, whereof the scarlet hue turns almost to black; worn-out,
blood-shot eyes like raw lobsters; the brute brutalized. Lessen
the quantity of blood and fat, while retaining the same bone and
structure, and increasing the countrified look; large and wild
beard and mustache, tangled hair, rolling eyes, truculent 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 bull.
All this is rare enough; these are the extremes of type. Much
more common is the laboring animal: the great bony body, full of
protuberances and projections, not well set up, ungainly, clumsy,
slightly automatic, but of strong build, and as capable of resist-
ance as of effort. It is not less common among gentlemen, clergy-
men, the liberal professions, than among the people.
Place in this powerful frame of bones and muscles the lucid,
calm, active intelligence developed by special education, or by
complete education, and you will have the fine variety of the
same type: the serious, capable man, worthy of commanding, in
whom during the hour of need one may and one ought to place
confidence, 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 pronoun-
cing decisions, governing fortunes or lives, he will be beautiful,
morally beautiful. This body can contain the soul without suc-
cumbing
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 natural-
ist 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 well-developed bust and shoulders, blooming
cheeks, active, and without 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


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HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
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 silk 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 head is nobler.
Yet, even when the physiognomy and the form are common-
place the whole satisfies the mind: a solid bony structure, and
upon it healthy flesh, constitute what is essential in a living
creature.
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 delicate foreign ladies, and attributes it to riding
on horseback and the long walks which English ladies take in
the country. To these advantages are joined several inconven-
iences: the fair complexion is easily and quickly spoilt; 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 after-
wards you will perhaps have at your side a housekeeper, 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 color of
blue china, huge white teeth — forming the tricolor flag. In other
cases the type becomes exaggerated: one sees extraordinary
asparagus-sticks planted in spreading dresses. Moreover, 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 one-
self to endure them. Is this a cause, or an effect, of the carniv-
orous régime? 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, jewelry — the whole
employed sometimes to caparison gigantic jades who recall dis-
charged heavy-cavalry horses, sometimes 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
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.
a
groom.


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14415
THE RACE CHARACTERS EXPRESSED IN ART
From (Art in the Netherlands. ) Copyright 1870, by Leypoldt & Holt
LET
us consider the common characteristics of the Germanic
race, and the differences by which it is opposed to the
Latin race. Physically we find a whiter and softer skin,
generally speaking; blue eyes, often of a porcelain or pale hue,
paler as you approach the north, and sometimes glassy in Hol-
land; hair of a flaxy blond, and with children, almost white.
The body is generally large, but thick-set or burly, heavy and
inelegant. In a similar manner the features are apt to be irreg-
ular; especially in Holland, where they are flabby, with project-
ing cheek-bones and strongly marked jaws. They lack, in short,
sculptural nobleness and delicacy. You will rarely find the feat-
ures regular, like the numerous pretty faces of Toulouse and Bor-
deaux, or like the spirited and handsome heads which abound in
the vicinity of Rome and Florence. You will much oftener find
exaggerated features, incoherent combinations of form and tones,
curious fleshy protuberances, so many natural caricatures. Taking
them for works of art, living forms testify to a clumsy and fan-
tastic hand through their more incorrect and weaker drawing.
Observe now this body in action, and you will find its ani-
mal faculties and necessities of a grosser kind than among the
Latins: matter and mass seem to predominate over motion and
spirit; it is voracious and even carnivorous. Compare the appe-
tite of an Englishman, or even a Hollander, with that of a
Frenchman or an Italian: those among you who have visited the
countries can call to mind the public dinner-tables,-- and the
quantities of food, especially meat, tranquilly swallowed several
times a day by a citizen of London, Rotterdam, or Antwerp. In
English novels people are always lunching; the most sentimental
heroine, at the end of the third volume, having consumed an
infinite number of buttered muffins, cups of tea, bits of chicken,
and sandwiches. The climate contributes to this: in the fogs of
the North, people could not sustain themselves, like a peasant of
the Latin race, on a bowl of soup or a piece of bread flavored
with garlic, or on a plate of macaroni. For the same reason the
German is fond of potent beverages.
Enter, in Amsterdam, one of these little shops, garnished with
polished casks, where glass after glass is swallowed of white,


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HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
yellow, green, and brown brandy, strengthened with pepper and
pimento. Place yourself at nine o'clock in the evening in a
Brussels brewery, near a dark wooden table, around which the
hawkers of crabs, salted rolls, and hard-boiled eggs circulate:
observe the people quietly seated there, each one intent on him-
self; sometimes in couples, but generally silent, smoking, eating,
and drinking bumpers of beer, which they now and then warm
up with a glass of spirits: you can understand sympathetically
the strong sensation of heat and animal plenitude they feel in
their speechless solitude, in proportion as superabundant solid
and liquid nourishment renews in them the living substance, and
as the whole body partakes in the gratification of the satisfied
stomach.
One point more of their exterior remains to be shown, which
especially strikes people of southern climes, and that is the slug-
gishness and torpidity of their impressions and movements.
Many a time have I passed before a shop-window to contemplate
some rosy, placid, and candid face,-a mediæval madonna making
up the fashions.
It is the very reverse of this in our land and
in Italy, where the grisette's eyes seem to be gossiping with the
chairs for lack of something better, and where a thought, the
moment it is born, translates itself into gesture. In Germanic
lands the channels of sensation and expression seem to be ob-
structed: delicacy, impulsiveness, and readiness of action, appear
impossible; a southerner has to exclaim at their awkwardness
and lack of adroitness.
In brief, the human animal of this race is more passive and
more gross than the other. One is tempted to regard him as
inferior on comparing him with the Italian or southern French-
man, so temperate, so quick intellectually, who is naturally apt
in expression, in chatting and in pantomime, possessing taste and
attaining to elegance; and who without effort, like the Proven-
çals of the twelfth and the Florentines of the fourteenth cen-
tury, become cultivated, civilized, and accomplished at the first
attempt.
This same
reason and this same good sense establish and
maintain amongst them diverse descriptions of social engagements,
and first the conjugal bond.
But very lately, a wealthy
and noble Hollander named to me several young ladies of his
family who had no desire to see the great Exposition, and who
remained at home whilst their husbands and brothers visited
.


## p. 14417 (#611) ##########################################

HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
14417
>
Paris. A disposition so calm and so sedentary diffuses much
happiness throughout domestic life; in the repose of curiosity
and of desire, the ascendency of pure ideas is much greater;
the constant presence of the same person not being wearisome,
the memory of plighted faith, the sentiment of duty and of self-
respect, easily prevails against temptations which elsewhere tri-
umph because they are elsewhere more powerful.
I can say as much of other descriptions of association, and
especially of the free assemblage. This, practically, is a very
difficult thing To make the machine work regularly without
obstruction, those who compose it must have calm nerves and be
governed by the end in view. One is expected to be patient in
a meeting,” to allow himself to be contradicted and even vili
fied, await his turn for speaking, reply with moderation, and sub-
mit twenty times in succession to the same argument enlivened
with figures and documentary facts. It will not answer to fling
aside the newspaper the moment its political interest flags, nor
take up politics for the pleasure of discussion and speech-making,
nor excite insurrections against officials the moment they become
distasteful, which is the fashion in Spain and elsewhere. You
yourselves have some knowledge of a country where the gov-
ernment has been overthrown because inactive and because the
nation felt ennui. Among Germanic populations, people meet
together not to talk but to act: politics is a matter to be wisely
managed; they bring to bear on it the spirit of business: speech
is simply a means, while the effect, however remote, is the end in
view. They subordinate themselves to this end, and are full of
deference for the persons who represent it. How unique! Here
the governed respect the governing; if the latter prove objection-
able they are resisted, but legally and patiently; if institutions
prove defective, they are gradually reformed without being dis-
rupted. Germanic countries are the patrimony of free parlia-
mentary rule. . To act in a body, no one person oppressing
another, is a wholly Germanic talent, and one which gives them
such an empire over matter; through patience and reflection they
conform to the laws of physical and human nature, and instead
of opposing them profit by them.
If now from action we turn to speculation, - that is to say, to
the mode of conceiving and figuring the world, — we shall find
the same imprint of this thoughtful and slightly sensualistic
genius. The Latins show a decided taste for the external and
XXIV-902


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HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
decorative aspect of things, for a pompous display feeding the
senses and vanity, for logical order, outward symmetry, and pleas-
ing arrangement,-in short, for form. The Germanic people, on
,
the contrary, have rather inclined to the inward order of things,
to truth itself, - in fact, to the fundamental. Their instinct leads
them to avoid being seduced by appearances, to remove mystery,
to seize the hidden even when repugnant and sorrowful, and not
to eliminate or withhold any detail, even when vulgar and un-
sightly. Among the many products of this instinct, there are
two which place it in full light through the strongly marked con-
trast in each of form and substance; namely, literature and reli-
gion. The literatures of Latin populations are classic, and nearly
or remotely allied to Greek poesy, Roman eloquence, the Italian
Renaissance, and the age of Louis XIV. ; they refine and ennoble,
they embellish and prune, they systematize and give proportion.
Their latest masterpiece is the drama of Racine, who is the
painter of princely ways, court proprieties, social paragons, and
cultivated natures; the master of an oratorical style, skillful com-
position, and literary elegance. The Germanic literatures, on the
contrary, are romantic: their primitive source is the Edda' and
the ancient sagas of the north; their greatest masterpiece is the
drama of Shakespeare, - that is to say, the crude and complete
representation of actual life, with all its atrocious, ignoble, and
commonplace details, its sublime and brutal instincts, the entire
outgrowth of human character displayed before us, now in a
familiar style bordering on the trivial, and now poetic even to
lyricism, always independent of rule, incoherent, excessive, but of
an incomparable force, and filling our souls with the warm and
palpitating passion of which it is the outcry.
This race, thus endowed, has received various imprints, accord-
ing to the various conditions of its abiding-place. Sow a number
of seeds of the same vegetable species in different soils, under
various temperatures, and let them germinate, grow, bear fruit
and reproduce themselves indefinitely, each on its own soil, and
each will adapt itself to its soil, producing several varieties of the
same species so much the more distinct as the contrast is greater
between the diverse climates. Such is the experience of the
Germanic race in the Netherlands. Ten centuries of habitation
have done their work: the end of the Middle Ages shows us
that in addition to its innate character, there is an acquired char.
acter.


## p. 14419 (#613) ##########################################

HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
14419
(
>
The country is an outflow of mighty waters, which, as they
reach it, become sluggish and remain stagnant for want of a fall.
Dig a hole anywhere and water comes. Examine the landscapes
of Van der Neer and you will obtain some idea of the vast slug-
gish streams, which, on approaching the sea, become a league
wide, and lie asleep, wallowing in their beds like some huge,
flat, slimy fish, turbid and feebly glimmering with scaly reflec-
tions. The plain is oftentimes below their level, and it is only
protected by levées of earth. You feel as if some of them were
going to give way; a mist is constantly rising from their sur-
faces, and at night a dense fog envelops all things in a bluish
humidity. Follow them down to the sea, and here a second and
more violent inundation, arising from the daily tides, completes
the work of the first. The northern ocean is hostile to man.
Look at the Estacade of Ruysdael, and imagine the frequent
tempests casting up ruddy waves and monstrous foaming billows
on the low, flat band of earth, already half submerged by the
enlargement of the rivers.
Here there had to be good sound heads, a capacity to sub-
ject sensation to thought, to endure patiently ennui and fatigue,
to accept privation and labor in view of a remote end, - in short,
a Germanic race; meaning by this, men organized to co-operate
together, to toil, to struggle, to begin over and over again and
ameliorate unceasingly, to dike streams, to oppose tides, to drain
the soil, to turn wind, water, flats, and argillaceous mud to
account, to build canals, ships, and mills, to make brick, raise
cattle, and organize various manufacturing and commercial
enterprises. The difficulty being very great, the mind was
absorbed in overcoming it; and turned wholly in this direction,
was diverted from other things. To subsist, to obtain shelter,
food, and raiment, to protect themselves against cold and damp,
to accumulate stores and lay up wealth, left the settlers no time
to think of other matters: the mind got to be wholly positive
and practical.
Compared with other nations of the same stock, and with a
genius no less practical, the denizen of the Netherlands appears
better balanced and more capable of being content. We do not
see in him the violent passions, the militant disposition, the over-
strained will, the bulldog instincts, the sombre and grandiose
pride, which three permanent conquests and the secular establish-
ment of political strife have implanted in the English; nor that
7


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14420
HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
restless and exaggerated desire for action which a dry atmo-
sphere, sudden changes from heat to cold, a surplus electricity,
have implanted in the Americans of the United States. He lives
in a moist and equable climate: one which relaxes the nerves
and develops the lymphatic temperament, which moderates the
insurrections, explosions, and impetuosity of the spirit; soothing
the asperities of passion, and diverting the character to the side
of sensuality and good-humor.
All circumstances, moral and physical, their geographical and
political state, the past and the present, combine to one end, -
namely, the development of one faculty and one tendency at the
expense of the rest, shrewd management and temperate emotions,
a practical understanding and limited desires; they comprehend
the amelioration of outward things, and this accomplished they
crave no more.
Consider their work: its perfection and lacunæ indicate at
once the limits and the power of their intellect. The profound
philosophy which is so natural in Germany, and the elevated
poetry which flourishes in England, they lack. They fail to
overlook material things and positive interests in order to yield
to pure speculation, to follow the temerities of logic, to attenuate
the delicacy of analysis, and to bury themselves in the depths of
abstraction. They ignore that spiritual turmoil, those eruptions
of suppressed feeling, which give to style a tragic accent; and
that vagabond fancy, those exquisite and sublime reveries, which
outside of life's vulgarities reveal a new universe.
They
are epicureans as well as gourmands in the matter of comfortable
living; regularly, calmly, without heat or enthusiasm, they glean
up every pleasing harmony of savor, sound, color, and form that
arises out of their prosperity and abundance, like tulips on a
heap of compost. All this produces good sense somewhat limited,
and happiness somewhat gross.
Such, in this country, is the human plant; we have now to
examine its art, which is the flower. Among all the branches of
the Germanic trunk, this plant alone has produced a complete
flower; the art which develops so happily and so naturally
in the Netherlands proves abortive with the other Germanic
nations, for the reason that this glorious privilege emanates from
the national character as we have just set it forth.
To comprehend and love painting requires an eye sensitive to
forms and to colors, and without education or apprenticeship, one
a


## p. 14421 (#615) ##########################################

HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
14421
.
which takes pleasure in the juxtaposition of tones, and is delicate
in the matter of optical sensations; the man who would be a
painter must be capable of losing himself in viewing the rich
consonance of red and green, in watching the diminution of light
as it is transformed into darkness, and in detecting the subtle
hues of silks and satins, which according to their breaks, recesses,
and depths of fold, assume opaline tints, vague luminous gleams,
and imperceptible shades of blue. The eye is epicurean like the
palate, and painting is an exquisite feast served up to it. For
this reason it is that Germany and England have had no great
pictorial art. In Germany the too great domination of abstract
ideas has left no room for the sensuousness of the eye.
One of the leading merits of this art is the excellence and
delicacy of its coloring. This is owing to the education of the
eye, which in Flanders and in Holland is peculiar.
Here,
as at Venice, nature has made man a colorist. Observe the differ-
ent aspect of things according as you are in a dry country, like
Provence and the neighborhood of Florence, or on a wet plain
like the Netherlands. In the dry country the line predominates,
and at once attracts attention: the mountains cut sharp against
the sky, with their stories of architecture of a grand and noble
style; all objects projecting upward in the limpid air in varied
prominence. Here the low horizon is without interest, and the
contours of objects are softened, blended, and blurred out by the
imperceptible vapor with which the atmosphere is always filled;
that which predominates is the spot. A cow pasturing, a roof in
the centre of a field, a man leaning on a parapet, appear as one
tone among other tones. The object emerges: it does not start
suddenly out of its surroundings as if punched out; you are
struck by its modeling, - that is to say, by the different degrees
of advancing luminousness, and the diverse gradations of melting
color, which transform its general tint into a relief, and give to
the eye a sensation of thickness. You would have to pass many
days in this country in order to appreciate the subordination of
the line to the spot. A bluish or gray vapor is constantly rising
from the canals, the rivers, the sea, and from the saturated soil; a
universal haze forms a soft gauze over objects, even in the finest
weather. Flying scuds, like thin, half-torn white drapery, float
over the meadows night and morning. I have repeatedly stood
on the quays of the Scheldt contemplating the broad, pallid, and
slightly rippled water, on which float the dark hulks. The river


## p. 14422 (#616) ##########################################

14422
HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
an
shines; and on its flat surface the hazy light reflects here and
there unsteady scintillations. Clouds ascend constantly around the
horizon; their pale, leaden hue and their motionless files sug-
gesting an army of spectres,- the spectres of the humid soil,
like so many phantoms, always revived and bringing back the
eternal showers. Towards the setting sun they become ruddy;
while their corpulent masses, trellised all over with gold, remind
one of the damascene copes, the brocaded simarres, and the em-
broidered silks, with which Jordaens and Rubens envelop their
bleeding martyrs and their sorrowful Madonnas. Quite low down
on the sky the sun seems enormous blaze subsiding into
smoke. On reaching Amsterdam or Ostend the impression again
deepens; both sea and sky have no form; the fog and inter-
posed showers leave nothing to remember but colors. The water
changes in hue every half-hour — now of a pale wine tinge, now
of a chalky whiteness, now yellow like softened mortar, now
black like liquid soot, and sometimes of a sombre purple striped
with dashes of green. After a few days' experience you find
that in such a nature, only gradations, contrasts, and harmonies-
in short, only the value of tones is of any importance.
You have seen the seed, the plant, and the flower. A race
with a genius totally opposed to that of the Latin peoples makes
for itself, after and alongside of them, its place in the world.
Among the numerous nations of this race, one there is in which
a special territory and climate develop a particular character
predisposing it to art and to a certain phase of art. Painting is
born with it, lasts, becomes complete; and the physical milieu sur-
rounding it, like the national genius which founds it, gives to
and imposes on its subjects its types and its coloring. We find
four distinct periods in the pictorial art of the Netherlands; and
through a remarkable coincidence, each corresponds to a distinct
historic period. Here, as everywhere, art translates life; the talent
and taste of the painter change at the same time, and in the
same sense as the habits and sentiments of the public.
The first period of art lasts about a century and a half (1400–
1530). It issues from a renaissance; that is to say, from a great
development of prosperity, wealth, and intellect. Here, as in Italy,
the cities at an early period are flourishing, and almost free.
In these swarming hives an abundance of food and habits
of personal activity maintain courage, turbulence, audacity, and
even insolence, — all excesses of brutal and boundless energy;


## p. 14423 (#617) ##########################################

HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
14423
-
these weavers were men, and when we encounter men we may
expect soon to encounter the arts.
At the end of the fourteenth century Flanders, with Italy, is
the most industrious, the wealthiest, the most flourishing coun-
try in Europe.
A Flemish renaissance underneath Christian ideas, - such in
effect is the twofold nature of art under Hubert and John Van
Eyck, Roger Van der Weyde, Hemling, and Quintin Matsys; and
from these two characteristics proceed all the others. On the
one hand, artists take interest in actual life; their figures are
no longer symbols like the illuminations of ancient missals, nor
purified spirits like the Madonnas of the school of Cologne, but
living beings and bodies. They attend to anatomy, the perspect-
ive is exact, the minutest details are rendered of stuffs, of archi. .
tecture, of accessories, and of landscape; the relief is strong,
and the entire scene stamps itself on the eye and on the mind
with extraordinary force and sense of stability; the greatest mas-
ters of coming times are not to surpass them in all this, nor
even go so far. Nature evidently is now discovered by them.
The scales fall from their eyes: they have just mastered, almost
in a flash, the proportions, the structure, and the coloring of
visible realities; and moreover they delight in them. Consider
the superb copes wrought in gold and decked with diamonds,
the embroidered silks, the flowered and dazzling diadems, with
which they ornament their saints and divine personages, all of
which represents the pomp of the Burgundian court. Look at
the calm and transparent water, the bright meadows, the red
and white flowers, the blooming trees, the sunny distances, of
their admirable landscapes. Observe their coloring,- the strong-
est and richest ever seen,- the pure and full tones side by side
in a Persian carpet, and united solely through their harmony,
the superb breaks in the folds of purple mantles, the azure
recesses of long falling robes, the green draperies like a summer
field permeated with sunshine, the display of gold skirts trimmed
with black, the strong light which warms and enlivens the whole
scene: you have a concert in which each instrument sounds its
proper note, and the more true because the more sonorous.
They see the world on the bright side and make a holiday of it,
- a genuine fête, similar to those of this day, glowing under a
more bounteous sunlight; and not a heavenly Jerusalem suffused
with supernatural radiance, such as Fra Angelico painted. They


## p. 14424 (#618) ##########################################

14424
HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
•
copy the real with scrupulous accuracy, and all that is real: the
ornaments of armor, the polished glass of a window, the scrolls
of a carpet, the hairs of fur, the undraped body of an Adam
and an Eve, a canon's massive, wrinkled, and obese features,
a burgomaster's or soldier's broad shoulders, projecting chin, and
prominent nose, the spindling shanks of a hangman, the over-
large head and diminutive limbs of a child, the costumes and
furniture of the age; their entire work being a glorification of
this present life. But on the other hand, it is a glorification of
Christian belief.
When a great change is effected in human affairs, it brings
on by degrees a corresponding change in human conceptions.
After the discovery of the Indies and of America, after the
invention of printing and the multiplication of books, after the
restoration of classic antiquity and the Reformation of Luther,
any conception of the world then formed could no longer remain
monastic and mystic. The tender and melancholy aspiration of
a soul sighing for the celestial kingdom, and humbly subjecting
its conduct to the authority of an undisputed Church, gave way
to free inquiry nourished on so many fresh conceptions, and dis-
appeared at the admirable spectacle of this real world which man
now began to comprehend and to conquer,
While the
mind is expanding, the temperature around it becomes modified
and establishes the conditions of a new growth.
Society,
ideas, and tastes, have undergone a transformation, and there is
room for a new art.
Already in the preceding epoch we see premonitory symp-
toms of the coming change. From Hubert Van Eyck to Quintin
Matsys, the grandeur and gravity of religious conceptions have
diminished, Nobody now dreams of portraying the whole of
Christian faith and doctrine a single picture; scenes
selected from the Gospel and from history,-Annunciations, shep-
herd adorations, Last Judgments, martyrdoms, and moral legends.
Painting, which is epic in the hands of Hubert Van Eyck,
becomes idyllic in those of Hemling, and almost worldly in those
of Quintin Matsys. It gets to be pathetic, interesting, and pleas-
ing. The charming saints, the beautiful Herodias, and the little
Salome of Quintin Matsys, are richly attired noble dames, and
already laic: the artist loves the world as it is and for itself, and
does not subordinate it to the representation of the supernatural
world; he does not employ it as a means but as an end. Scenes
in
are


## p. 14425 (#619) ##########################################

HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
14425
(
of profane life multiply: he paints townspeople in their shops,
money-changers, amorous couples, and the attenuated features
and stealthy smiles of a miser. Lucas of Leyden, his contem-
porary, is an ancestor of the painters whom we call the lesser
Flemings: his Presentation of Christ' and 'The Magdalen's
Dance' have nothing religious about them but their titles; the
evangelical subject is lost in the accessories: that which the
picture truly presents is a rural Flemish festival, or a gather-
ing of Flemings on an open field. Jerome Bosch, of the same
period, paints grotesque, infernal scenes. Art, it is clear, falls
from heaven to earth; and is no longer to treat divine but human
incidents. Artists in other respects lack no process and no
preparation: they understand perspective, they know the use of
oil, and are masters of modeling and relief; they have studied
actual types; they know how to paint dresses, accessories, archi-
tecture, and landscape, with wonderful accuracy and finish; their
manipulative skill is admirable.
One defect only still chains
them to hieratic art, which is the immobility of their faces, and
the rigid folds of their stuffs. They have but to observe the
rapid play of physiognomies and the easy movement of loose
drapery, and the renaissance is complete; the breeze of the age
is behind them, and already fills their sails. On looking at their
portraits, their interiors, and even their sacred personages, as in
the Entombment' of Quintin Matsys, one is tempted to address
them thus: « You are alive - one effort more!
Come, bestir
yourselves! Shake off the Middle Age entirely! Depict the
modern man for us as you find him within you and outside of
you. Paint him vigorous, healthy, and content with existence.
Forget the meagre, ascetic, and pensive spirit, dreaming in the
chapels of Hemling. If you choose a religious scene for the
motive of your picture, compose it, like the Italians, of active
and healthy figures, only let these figures proceed from your
national and personal taste. You have a soul of your own, which
is Flemish and not Italian: let the flower bloom; judging by the
bud it will be a beautiful one. ” And indeed when we regard
the sculptures of the time, such as the chimney of the Palais de
Justice, the tomb of Charles the Bold at Bruges, and the church
and monuments of Brou, we see the promise of an original and
complete art, less sculptural and less refined than the Italian, but
more varied, more expressive, and closer to nature; less subject
to rule but nearer to the real; more capable of manifesting spirit


## p. 14426 (#620) ##########################################

14426
HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
It is so
and personality, the impulses, the unpremeditated, the diversities,
the lights and darks of education, temperament, and age, of the
individual; in short, a Germanic art which indicates remote suc-
cessors to the Van Eycks and remote predecessors of Rubens.
They never appeared; or at all events, they imperfectly ful.
filled their task. No nation, it must be noted, lives alone in the
world: alongside of the Flemish renaissance there existed the
Italian renaissance, and the large tree stifled the small plant.
It flourished and grew for a century: the literature, the ideas,
and the masterpieces of precocious Italy imposed themselves on
sluggish Europe; and the Flemish cities through their commerce,
and the Austrian dynasty through its possessions and its Italian
affairs, introduced into the North the tastes and models of the
new civilization. Towards 1520 the Flemish painters began to
borrow from the artists of Florence and Rome. John of Mabuse
is the first one who, in 1513, on returning from Italy, introduced
the Italian into the old style, and the rest followed.
natural in advancing into an unexplored country to take the path
already marked out! This path, however, is not made for those
who follow it; the long line of Flemish carts is to be delayed
and stuck fast in the disproportionate ruts which another set of
wheels has worn. There are two traits characteristic of Italian
art, both of which run counter to the Flemish imagination. On
the one hand, Italian art centres on the natural body: healthy,
active, and vigorous,- endowed with every athletic aptitude, that
is to say, - naked or semi-draped, frankly pagan, enjoying freely
and nobly in full sunshine every limb, instinct, and animal fac-
ulty, the same as an ancient Greek in his city or palæstrum; or,
as at this very epoch, a Cellini on the Italian streets and high-
ways. Now a Fleming does not easily enter into this conception.
He belongs to a cold and humid climate; a man there in a state
of nudity shivers. The human form here does not display the
fine proportions nor the easy attitudes required by classic art: it
is often dumpy or too gross; the white, soft, yielding flesh, easily
flushed, requires to be clothed. When the painter returns from
Rome and strives to pursue Italian art, his surroundings oppose
his education; his sentiment being no longer renewed through
his contact with living nature, he is reduced to his souvenirs.
Moreover, he is of Germanic race: in other terms, he is organi-
cally good in his moral nature, and modest as well: he has diffi-
culty in appreciating the pagan idea of nudity; and still greater


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HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
14427
difficulty in comprehending the fatal and magnificent idea which
governs civilization and stimulates the arts beyond the Alps,-
namely, that of the complete and sovereign individual, emanci-
pated from every law, subordinating all else, men and things, to
the development of his own nature and the growth of his own
faculties.
Translated by J. Durand.
THE COMEDY OF MANNERS AT VERSAILLES
From "The Ancient Régime. Copyright 1876, by Henry Holt
10 APPROACH the King, to be a domestic in his household, an
usher, a cloak-bearer, a valet, is a privilege that is pur-
chased, even in 1789, for thirty, forty, or a hundred thou-
sand livres; so much greater the reason why it is a privilege to
form a part of his society,-- the most honorable, the most useful,
and the most coveted of all. In the first place, it is a proof of
race. A man to follow the King in the chase, and a woman to
be presented to the Queen, must previously satisfy the genealo-
gist, and by authentic documents, that his or her nobility goes
back to the year 1400. In the next place, it insures good for.
tune, This drawing-room is the only place within reach of royal
favors; accordingly, up to 1789, the great families never stir away
from Versailles, and day and night they lie in ambush. The
valet of the Marshal de Noailles says to him one night on clos-
ing his curtains, “At what hour will Monseigneur be awakened ? »
"At ten o'clock, if no one dies during the night. ” Old courtiers
are again found who, "eighty years of age, have passed forty-five
on their feet in the antechambers of the King, of the princes,
and of the ministers. ”
“You have only three things to
do,” says one of them to a 'débutant: «speak well of everybody,
ask for every vacancy, and sit down when you can. ”
Hence the King always has a crowd around him. The Com-
tesse du Barry says, on presenting her niece at court, the first of
August, 1773, “The crowd is so great at a presentation, one can
scarcely get through the antechambers. ” In December 1774, at
Fontainebleau, when the Queen plays at her own table every
evening, “the apartment, though vast, is never empty.
The crowd is so great that one can talk only to the two or three
persons with whom one is playing. ” The fourteen apartments,
»


## p. 14428 (#622) ##########################################

14428
HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
C
at the receptions of ambassadors, are full to overflowing with
seigniors and richly dressed women. On the first of January,
1775, the Queen “counted over two hundred ladies presented to
her to pay their court. ” In 1780, at Choisy, a table for thirty
persons is spread every day for the King, another with thirty
places for the seigniors, another with forty places for the officers
of the guard and the equerries, and one with fifty for the offi.
cers of the bedchamber. According to my estimate, the King, on
getting up and on retiring, on his walks, on his hunts, at play,
has always around him at least forty or fifty seigniors, and gen-
erally a hundred, with as many ladies, besides his attendants on
duty; at Fontainebleau, in 1756, although “there were neither
fêtes nor ballets this year, one hundred and six ladies were
counted. ” When the King holds a "grand appartement,” when
play or dancing takes place in the gallery of mirrors, four or
five hundred guests, the elect of the nobles and of the fashion,
range themselves on the benches or gather around the card and
cavagnole tables.
This is a spectacle to be seen, not by the imagination, or
through imperfect records, but with our own eyes and on the
spot, to comprehend the spirit, the effect, and the triumph, of
monarchical culture. In an elegantly furnished house, the dining-
room is the principal room; and never was one more dazzling
than this. Suspended from the sculptured ceiling peopled with
sporting cupids, descend, by garlands of flowers and foliage,
blazing chandeliers, whose splendor is enhanced by the tall mir-
rors; the light streams down in floods on gildings, diamonds, and
beaming, arch physiognomies, on fine busts, and on the capacious,
sparkling, and garlanded dresses. The skirts of the ladies ranged
in a circle, or in tiers on the benches, form a rich espalier cov-
ered with pearls, gold, silver, jewels, spangles, flowers, and fruits,
with their artificial blossoms, gooseberries, cherries, and strawber-
ries,” a gigantic animated bouquet of which the eye can scarcely
support the brilliancy. There are no black coats, as nowadays,
to disturb the harmony. With the hair powdered and dressed,
with buckles and knots, with cravats and ruffles of lace, in silk
coats and vests of the hues of fallen leaves, or of a delicate
rose tint, or of celestial blue, embellished with gold braid and
embroidery, the men as elegant as the women. Men and
women, each is a selection: they are all of the accomplished class,
gifted with every grace which race, education, fortune, leisure,
and custom, can bestow; they are perfect of their kind. There
are


## p. 14429 (#623) ##########################################

HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
14429
is not a toilet here, an air of the head, a tone of the voice, an
expression in language, which is not a masterpiece of worldly
culture, the distilled quintessence of all that is exquisitely elabo-
rated by social art. Polished as the society of Paris may be, it
does not approach this; compared with the court, it seems pro-
vincial. It is said that a hundred thousand roses are required
to make an ounce of the unique perfume used by Persian kings:
such is this drawing-room, — the frail vial of crystal and gold
containing the substance of a human vegetation. To fill it, a
great aristocracy had to be transplanted to a hot-house, and
become sterile in fruit and flowers, and then, in the royal alem-
bic, its pure sap is concentrated into a few drops of aroma. The
price is excessive, but only at this price can the most delicate per-
fumes be manufactured.
An operation of this kind absorbs him who undertakes it as
well as those who undergo it. A nobility for useful purposes is
not transformed with impunity into a nobility for ornament: one
falls himself into the ostentation which is substituted for action.
The King has a court which he is compelled to maintain. So
much the worse if it absorbs all his time, his intellect, his soul,
the most valuable portion of his active forces and the forces of
the State. To be the master of a house is not an easy task,
especially when five hundred persons are to be entertained; one
must necessarily pass his life in public, and be on exhibition.
Strictly speaking, it is the life of an actor who is on the stage
the entire day. To support this load, and work besides, required
the temperament of Louis XIV. : the vigor of his body, the extraor-
dinary firmness of his nerves, the strength of his digestion, and
the regularity of his habits; his successors who come after him
grow weary or stagger under the same load. But they cannot
throw it off; an incessant, daily performance is inseparable from
their position, and it is imposed on them like a heavy, gilded,
ceremonial coat.
The King is expected to keep the entire aristocracy busy;
consequently to make a display of himself, to pay back with his
own person, at all hours, even the most private, even on get-
ting out of bed, and even in his bed. In the morning, at the
hour named by himself beforehand, the head valet awakens him;
five series of persons enter in turn to perform their duty, and,
(although very large, there are days when the waiting-rooms can
hardly contain the crowd of courtiers. ” The first one admitted
is "l'entrée familière,” consisting of the children of France, the
(


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HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
prince and princesses of the blood, and besides these, the chief
physician, the chief surgeon, and other serviceable persons. Next
comes the "grande entrée,” which comprises the grand chamber-
lain, the grand master and master of the wardrobe, the first gen-
tlemen of the bedchamber, the Dukes of Orleans and Penthièvre,
some other highly favored seigniors, the ladies of honor and in
waiting of the Queen, Mesdames, and other princesses, without
enumerating barbers, tailors, and various descriptions of valets.
Meanwhile spirits of wine are poured on the King's hands from
a service of plate, and he is then handed the basin of holy-water;
he crosses himself and repeats a prayer. Then he gets out of
bed before all these people, and puts on his slippers. The grand
chamberlain and the first gentleman hand him his dressing-gown;
he puts this on and seats himself in the chair in which he is to
put on his clothes.
At this moment the door opens, and a third group enters,
which is the entrée des brevets," - the seigniors who compose
this enjoy in addition the precious privilege of assisting at the
"petit coucher”; while at the same moment there enters a
detachment of attendants, consisting of the physicians and sur-
geons in ordinary, the intendants of the amusements, readers,
and others, and among the latter those who preside over physi-
cal requirements. The publicity of a royal life is so great that
none of its functions can be exercised without witnesses. At the
moment of the approach of the officers of the wardrobe to dress
the King, the first gentleman, notified by an usher, advances
to read him the names of the grandees who are waiting at the
door: this is the fourth entry, called “la chambre," and larger
than those preceding it; for, not to mention the cloak-bearers,
gun-bearers, rug-bearers, and other valets, it comprises most of
the superior officials, the grand almoner, the almoners on duty,
the chaplain, the master of the oratory, the captain and major
of the body-guard, the colonel-general and major of the French
guards, the colonel of the King's regiment, the captain of the
Cent Suisses, the grand huntsman, the grand wolf-huntsman, the
grand provost, the grand master and master of ceremonies, the
first butler, the grand master of the pantry, the foreign ambas-
sadors, the ministers and secretaries of State, the marshals of
France, and most of the seigniors and prelates of distinction.
Ushers place the ranks in order, and if necessary, impose silence.
Meanwhile the King washes his hands and begins his toilet.
Two pages remove his slippers; the grand master of the wardrobe


## p. 14431 (#625) ##########################################

HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
14431
draws off his night-shirt by the right arm, and the first valet of
the wardrobe by the left arm, and both of them hand it to an
officer of the wardrobe, whilst a valet of the wardrobe fetches
the shirt, wrapped up in white taffeta. Things have now reached
the solemn point, the culmination of the ceremony: the fifth
entry has been introduced; and in a few moments, after the King
has put his shirt on, all that is left of those who are known,
with other household officers waiting in the gallery, complete the
influx. There is quite a formality in regard to this shirt. The
honor of handing it is reserved to the sons and grandsons of
France; in default of these, to the princes of the blood or those
legitimated; in their default, to the grand chamberlain or to the
first gentleman of the bedchamber; — the latter case, it must be
observed, being very rare, the princes being obliged to be pres-
ent at the King's lever as well as the princesses at that of the
Queen. At last the shirt is presented, and a valet carries off the
old one; the first valet of the wardrobe and the first valet-de-
chambre hold the fresh one, each by a right and left arm respect-
ively; while two other valets, during this operation, extend his
dressing-gown in front of him to serve as a screen. The shirt is
now on his back, and the toilet commences.
A valet-de-chambre supports a mirror before the King, while
two others on the two sides light it up, if occasion requires, with
flambeaux, Valets of the wardrobe fetch the rest of the attire;
.
the grand master of the wardrobe puts the vest on and the doub-
let, attaches the blue ribbon, and clasps his sword around him;
then a valet assigned to the cravats brings several of these in a
basket, while the master of the wardrobe arranges around the
King's neck that which the King selects. After this a valet
assigned to the handkerchiefs brings three of these on a silver
salver; while the grand master of the wardrobe offers the salver
to the King, who chooses one. Finally the master of the ward-
robe hands to the King his hat, his gloves, and his cane. The
King then steps to the side of the bed, kneels on a cushion, and
says his prayers; whilst an almoner in a low voice recites the
orison Quæsumus, deus omnipotens. This done, the King announces
the order of the day, and passes with the leading persons of his
court into his cabinet, where he sometimes gives audience. Mean-
while the rest of the company await him in the gallery, in order
to accompany him to mass when he comes out.
Such is the lever, a piece in five acts. Nothing could be con-
trived better calculated to fill up the void of an aristocratic life:


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HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
a hundred or thereabouts of notable seigniors dispose of a couple
of hours in coming, in waiting, in entering, in defiling, in taking
positions, in standing on their feet, in maintaining an air of
respect and of ease suitable to a superior class of walking
gentlemen, while those best qualified are about to do the same
thing over in the Queen's apartment. The King, however, to
offset this, suffers the same torture and the same inaction as
he imposes. He also is playing a part: all his steps and all his
gestures have been determined beforehand; he has been obliged
to arrange his physiognomy and his voice, never to depart from
an affable and dignified air, to award judiciously his glances and
his nods, to keep silent or to speak only of the chase, and to sup-
press his own thoughts if he has any. One cannot indulge in
revery, meditate, or be absent-minded, when before the foot-
lights: the part must have due attention. Besides, in a drawing-
room there is only drawing-room conversation; and the master's
thoughts, instead of being directed in a profitable channel, must
be scattered about as if they were the holy-water of the court.
All hours of the day are thus occupied, except three or four
in the morning, during which he is at the council or in his
private room; it must be noted, too, that on the days after his
hunts, on returning home from Rambouillet at three o'clock in
the morning, he must sleep the few hours he has left to him.
The ambassador Mercy, nevertheless, a man of close application,
seems to think it sufficient; he at least thinks that “Louis XVI.
is a man of order, losing no time in useless things": his prede-
cessor indeed worked much less, scarcely an hour a day. Three
quarters of his time is thus given up to show.