No More Learning

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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14430
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


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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:


## p. 14432 (#626) ##########################################

14432
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. The same retinue
surrounds him when he puts on his boots, when he takes them
off, when he changes his clothes to mount his horse, when he
returns home to dress for the evening, and when he goes to
his room at night to retire. "Every evening for six years,” says
a page, “either myself or one of my comrades has seen Louis
XVI. get into bed in public,” with the ceremonial just described.
“It was not omitted ten times to my knowledge, and then acci-
dentally or through indisposition. The attendance is yet more
numerous when he dines and takes supper; for besides men there
are women present,- duchesses seated on the folding-chairs, also
others standing around the table. It is needless to state that
in the evening when he plays, or gives a ball, or a concert,
the crowd rushes in and overflows. When he hunts, besides the
ladies on horses and in vehicles, besides officers of the hunt and
((
:
»
»


## p. 14433 (#627) ##########################################

HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
14433
»
(
of the guards, the equerry, the cloak-bearer, gun-bearer, surgeon,
bone-setter, lunch-bearer, and I know not how many others, all
the gentlemen who accompany him are his permanent guests.
And do not imagine that this suite is a small one: the day
M. de Châteaubriand is presented, there are four fresh additions;
and “with the utmost punctuality” all the young men of high
rank join the King's retinue two or three times a week.
Not only the eight or ten scenes which compose each of
these days, but again the short intervals between the scenes, are
besieged and carried. People watch for him, walk by his side,
and speak with him on his way from his cabinet to the chapel,
between his apartment and his carriage, between his carriage and
his apartment, between his cabinet and his dining-room. And
still more, his life behind the scenes belongs to the public. If
he is indisposed and broth is brought to him, if he is ill and
medicine is handed to him, "a servant immediately summons the
'grande entrée. » Verily the King resembles an oak stifled by
the innumerable creepers which from top to bottom cling to its
trunk.
Under a régime of this stamp there is a want of air; some
opening has to be found: Louis XV. availed himself of the chase
and of suppers; Louis XVI. of the chase and of lock-making.
And I have not mentioned the infinite detail of etiquette, the
extraordinary ceremonial of the state dinner, the fifteen, twenty,
and thirty beings busy around the King's plates and glasses, the
sacramental utterances of the occasion, the procession of the reti-
nue, the arrival of “la nef,” “l'essai des plats, all as if in a
Byzantine or Chinese court. On Sundays the entire public, the
public in general, is admitted; and this is called the grand cou-
vert,” as complex and as solemn as a high mass. Accordingly,
to eat, to drink, to get up, to go to bed, to a descendant of Louis
XIV. , is to officiate. Frederick II. , on hearing an account of
this etiquette, declared that if he were the King of France his
first edict would be to appoint another king to hold court in his
place. In effect, if there are idlers to salute, there must be an
idler to be saluted. Only one way was possible by which the
monarch could have been set free; and that was to have recast
and transformed the French nobles, according to the Prussian
system, into a hard-working regiment of serviceable function.
aries. But so long as the court remains what it is, – that is
to say, a pompous parade and a drawing-room decoration, the
XXIV-903


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14434
HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
King himself must likewise form a showy decoration, of little use
or of none at all.
THE TASTES OF GOOD SOCIETY
From «The Ancient Régime. Copyright 1876, by Henry Holt
IMILAR circumstances have led other aristocracies in Europe to
S
has given birth to the court, and the court to a refined
society. But the development of this rare plant has been only
partial. The soil was unfavorable, and the seed was not of the
right sort. In Spain, the King stands shrouded in etiquette like
a mummy in its wrappings; while a too rigid pride, incapable of
yielding to the amenities of the worldly order of things, ends in
a sentiment of morbidity and in insane display. In Italy, under
petty despotic sovereigns, and most of them strangers, the con-
stant state of danger and of hereditary distrust, after having tied
all tongues, turns all hearts toward the secret delights of love,
or toward the mute gratifications of the fine arts. In Germany
and in England, a cold temperament, dull and rebellious to cult-
ure, keeps man up to the close of the last century within the
Germanic habits of solitude, inebriety, and brutality. In France,
on the contrary, all things combine to make the social sentiment
flourish; in this the national genius harmonizes with the political
régime, the plant appearing to be selected for the soil before-
hand.
The Frenchman loves company through instinct; and the rea-
son is, that he does well and easily whatever society calls on him
to do. He has not the false shame which renders his northern
neighbors awkward, nor the powerful passions which absorb his
neighbors of the south. Talking is no effort to him, he having
none of the natural timidity which begets constraint, and no
constant preoccupation to overcome. He accordingly converses at
his ease, ever on the alert; and conversation affords him extreme
pleasure. For the happiness which he requires is of a peculiar
kind, - delicate, light, rapid, incessantly renewed and varied, in
which his intellect, his self-love, all his emotional and sympa-
thetic faculties, find nutriment; and this quality of happiness is
provided for him only in society and in conversation. Sensitive
as he is, personal attention, consideration, cordiality, delicate flat-
tery, constitute his natal atmosphere, out of which he breathes


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HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
14435
with difficulty. He would suffer almost as much in being im-
polite as in encountering impoliteness in others. For his instincts
of kindliness and vanity there is an exquisite charm in the habit
of being amiable; and this is all the greater because it proves
contagious. When we afford pleasure to others there is a desire
to please us, and what we bestow in deference is returned in
attentions. In company of this kind one can talk; for to talk is
to amuse another in being oneself amused, a Frenchman find-
ing no pleasure equal to it. Lively and sinuous conversation to
him is like the flying of a bird: he wings his way from idea to
idea, alert, excited by the inspiration of others, darting forward,
wheeling round and unexpectedly returning, now up, now down,
now skimming the ground, now aloft on the peaks, without sink-
ing into quagmires or getting entangled in the briers, and claim-
ing nothing of the thousands of objects he slightly grazes but
the diversity and the gayety of their aspects.
Thus endowed and thus disposed, he is made for a régime
which for ten hours a day brings men together; natural feeling
in accord with the social order of things renders the drawing-
room perfect. The King, at the head of all, sets the example.
Louis XIV. had every qualification for the master of a house-
hold: a taste for pomp and hospitality, condescension accompanied
with dignity, the art of playing on the self-love of others and of
maintaining his own position, chivalrous gallantry, tact, and even
charms of intellectual expression. "His address was perfect:
whether it was necessary to jest, or he was in a playful humor,
or deigned to tell a story, it was ever with infinite grace, and a
noble refined air which I have found only in him. ” “Never was
man so naturally polite, nor of such circumspect politeness, so
powerful by degrees, nor who better discriminated age, worth,
and rank, both in his replies and in his deportment.
His salutations, more or less marked, but always slight, were of
incomparable grace and majesty.
He was admirable
in the different acknowledgments of salutes at the head of the
army and at reviews.
But especially toward women
there was nothing like it.
Never did he pass the most
indifferent woman without taking off his hat to her; and I mean
chambermaids whom he knew to be such.
Never did
he chance to say anything disobliging to anybody.
Never
before company anything mistimed or venturesome; but even to
the smallest gesture, his walk, his bearing, his features, all being


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14436
HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
(
(
ness.
proper, respectful, noble, grand, majestic, and thoroughly nat-
ural. ”
Such is the model; and nearly or remotely, it is imitated up
to the end of the ancient régime. If it undergoes any change,
it is only to become more sociable. In the eighteenth century,
except on great ceremonial occasions, it is seen descending step
by step from its pedestal. It no longer imposes that stillness
“
around it which lets one hear a fly walk. ” “Sire,” said the Mar-
shal de Richelieu (who had seen three reigns), addressing Louis
XVI. , “under Louis XIV. no one dared utter a word; under
Louis XV. people whispered; under your Majesty they talk
aloud. ” If authority is a loser, society is the gainer: etiquette,
insensibly relaxed, ailows the introduction of ease and cheerful-
Henceforth the great, less concerned in overawing than in
pleasing, cast off stateliness like an uncomfortable and ridiculous
garment,“ seeking respect less than applause. It no longer suf-
fices to be affable: one has to appear amiable at any cost, with
one's inferiors as with one's equals. ” The French princes, says
again a contemporary lady, "are dying with fear of being defi-
cient in graces. ” Even around the throne “the style is free and
playful. ” The grave and disciplined court of Louis XIV. became
at the end of the century, under the smiles of the youthful
Queen, the most seductive and gayest of drawing-rooms. Through
this universal relaxation, a worldly existence gets to be perfect.
"He who was not living before 1789,” says Talleyrand at a later
period, knows nothing of the charm of living. ”
It was too great: no other way of living was appreciated; it
engrossed men wholly. When society becomes so attractive, peo-
ple live for it alone. There is neither leisure nor taste for other
matters, even for things which are of most concern to man, such
as public affairs, the household, and the family. With respect to
the first, I have already stated that people abstain from them, and
are indifferent; the administration of things, whether local or gen-
eral, is out of their hands and no longer interests them. They
only allude to it in jest; events of the most serious consequence
form the subject of witticisms. After the edict of the Abbé
Terray, which threw the funds half into bankruptcy, a spectator
too much crowded in the theatre cried out, "Ah, how unfortunate
that our good Abbé Terray is not here to cut us down one-half! ”
Everybody laughs and applauds. All Paris, the following day,
is consoled for public ruin by repeating the phrase. Alliances,


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HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
14437
-
battles, taxation, treaties, ministries, coups d'état-the entire
history of the country is put into epigrams and songs. One day
in a group of young people belonging to the court, one of them,
as the current witticism was passing around, raised his hands in
delight and exclaimed, “How can one help being pleased with
great events, even with disturbances, when they give us such
wit! ” Thereupon the wit circulates, and every disaster in France
is turned into nonsense. A song on the battle of Hochstädt was
pronounced poor, and some one in this connection said: “I am
sorry that battle was lost, the song is so worthless. ”
Even when eliminating from this trait all that belongs to the
sway of impulse and the license of paradox, there remains the
stamp of an age in which the State is almost nothing and society
almost everything. We may on this principle divine what order
of talent was required in the ministers. M. Necker, having given
a magnificent supper with serious and comic opera, « finds that
this festivity is worth more to him in credit, favor, and stability
than all his financial schemes put together.
His last
arrangement concerning the vingtième excited remark only for
one day, while everybody is still talking about his fête; at Paris,
as well as in Versailles, its attractions are dwelt on in detail,
people emphatically declaring that M. and Madame Necker are a
grace to society. ” Good society devoted to pleasure imposes on
those in office the obligation of providing pleasures for it. It
might also say, in a half-serious, half-ironical tone, with Voltaire,
« that the gods created kings only to give fêtes every day pro-
vided they differ; that life is too short to make any other use of
it; that lawsuits, intrigues, warfare, and the quarrels of priests,
which consume human life, are absurd and horrible things; that
man is born only to enjoy himself; ” and that among the essen-
tial things we must put the superfluous” in the first rank.
According to this, we can easily foresee that they will be as
little concerned with their private affairs as with public affairs.
Housekeeping, the management of property, domestic economy,
are in their eyes vulgar, insipid in the highest degree, and only
suited to an intendant or a butler. Of what use are such per-
sons if we must have such cares? Life is no longer a festival
if one has to provide the ways and means. Comforts, luxuries,
the agreeable, must flow naturally and greet our lips of their
own accord. As a matter of course and without his intervention,
a man belonging to this world should find gold always in his
a


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14438
HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
(
pocket, a handsome coat on his toilet table, powdered valets in
his antechamber, a gilded coach at his door, and a fine dinner on
his table; so that he may reserve all his attention to be expended
in favors on the guests in his drawing-room. Such a mode of
living is not to be maintained without waste; and the domestics,
left to themselves, make the most of it. What matter is it, so
long as they perform their duties ? Moreover, everybody must
live, and it is pleasant to have contented and obsequious faces
around one. Hence the first houses in the kingdom are given
up to pillage. Louis XV. , on a hunting expedition one day,
accompanied by the Duc de Choiseul, inquired of him how much
he thought the carriage in which they were seated had cost. M.
de Choiseul replied that he should consider himself fortunate to
get one like it for 5,000 or 6,000 francs; but “his Majesty,
paying for it as a king, and not always paying cash, might have
paid 8,000 francs for it. ” “You are wide of the mark,” rejoined
the King; "for this vehicle, as you see it, cost me 30,000 francs.
The robberies in my household are enormous, but it is
impossible to put a stop to them. ”
In effect, the great help themselves as well as the little
either in money, or in kind, or in services. There are in the
King's household fifty-four horses for the grand equerry, thirty-
eight of them being for Madame de Brionne, the administratrix
of the office of the stables during her son's minority; there are
two hundred and fifteen grooms on duty, and about as many
horses kept at the King's expense for various other persons,
entire strangers to the department. What a nest of parasites
on this one branch of the royal tree! Elsewhere I find Madame
Elisabeth, so moderate, consuming fish amounting to 30,000
francs per annum; meat and game to 70,000 francs; candles to
60,000 francs: Mesdames burn white and yellow candles to the
amount of 215,068 francs; the light for the Queen comes to
157, 109 francs.
The street at Versailles is still shown, formerly
lined with stalls, to which the King's valets resorted to nourish
Versailles by the sale of his dessert. There is no article from
which the domestic insects do not manage to scrape and glean
something The King is supposed to drink orgeat and lemon-
ade to the value of 2,190 francs; "the grand broth, day and
night,” which Madame Royale, aged six years, sometimes drinks,
costs 5,201 francs per annum.
Towards the end of the preceding
reign the femmes-de-chambre enumerate in the dauphine's outlay


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HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
14439
"four pairs of shoes per week; three ells of ribbon per diem, to
tie her dressing-gown; two ells of taffeta per diem, to cover the
basket in which she keeps her gloves and fan. ” A few years
earlier the King paid 200,000 francs for coffee, lemonade, choco-
late, orgeat, and water-ices; several persons were inscribed on the
list for ten or twelve cups a day: while it was estimated that
the coffee, milk, and bread each morning for each lady of the
bedchamber cost 2,000 francs per annum.
We can readily understand how, in households thus managed,
the purveyors are willing to wait. They wait so well that often
under Louis XV. they refuse to provide, and "hide themselves. ”
Even the delay is so regular that at last they are obliged to
pay them five per cent. interest on their advances; at this rate, in
1778, after all Turgot's economic reforms, the King still owes
nearly 800,000 livres to his wine merchant, and nearly three
millions and a half to his purveyor. The same disorder exists
in the houses which surround the throne. “Madame de Gué-
ménée owes 60,000 livres to her shoemaker, 16,000 livres to her
paper-hanger, and the rest in proportion. ” Another lady, whom
the Marquis de Mirabeau sees with hired horses, replies to his
look of astonishment, “It is not because there are not seventy
horses in our stables, but none of them are able to walk to-day. ”
Madame de Montmorin, on ascertaining that her husband's debts
are greater than his property, thinks she can save her dowry of
200,000 livres; but is informed that she had given security for a
tailor's bill, which, “incredible and ridiculous to say, amounts to
the sum of 180,000 livres. ” “One of the decided manias of these
days,” says Madame d'Oberkirk, “is to be ruined in everything
and by everything. " "The two brothers Villemer build country
cottages at from 500,000 to 600,000 livres; one of them keeps
forty horses to ride occasionally in the Bois de Boulogne on
horseback. ” In one night M. de Chenonceaux, son of M. and
Madame Dupin, loses at play 700,000 livres. "M. de Chenon-
ceaux and M. de Francueil ran through seven or eight millions
at this epoch. ” « The Duc de Lauzun, at the age of twenty-six,
after having run through the capital of 100,000 crowns revenue,
is prosecuted by his creditors for nearly two millions of indebt-
edness. ” “M. le Prince de Conti lacks bread and wood, although
with an income of 600,000 livres,” for the reason that "he buys
and builds wildly on all sides. ”
(c
((
»
((


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14440
HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
Where would be the pleasure if these people were reasonable ?
What kind of a seignior is he who studies the price of things?
And how can the exquisite be reached if one grudges money?
Money, accordingly, must flow and flow on until it is exhausted,
first by the innumerable secret or tolerated bleedings through
domestic abuses, and next in broad streams of the master's own
prodigality,- through structures, furniture, toilets, hospitality, gal-
lantry, and pleasures. The Comte d'Artois, that he may give the
Queen a fête, demolishes, rebuilds, arranges, and furnishes Baga-
telle from top to bottom, employing nine hundred workmen day
and night; and as there is no time to go any distance for lime,
plaster, and cut stone, he sends patrols of the Swiss guards on
the highways to seize, pay for, and immediately bring in all carts
thus loaded.
The Marshal de Soubise, entertaining the King
one day at dinner and over night, in his country-house, expends
200,000 livres.
Madame de Matignon makes a contract to be
furnished every day with a new head-dress, at 24,000 livres per
annum. Cardinal de Rohan has an alb bordered with point lace,
which is valued at more than 100,000 livres, while his kitchen
utensils are of massive silver.
Nothing is more natural, considering their ideas of money:
hoarded and piled up, instead of being a fertilizing stream, it is
a useless marsh exhaling bad odors. The Queen, having presented
the dauphin with a carriage whose silver-gilt trappings are decked
with rubies and sapphires, naïvely exclaims, “Has not the King
added 200,000 livres to my treasury ? That is no reason for keep-
ing them! ” They would rather throw it out of the window
which was actually done by the Marshal de Richelieu with a
purse he had given to his grandson, and which the lad, not know-
ing how to use, brought back intact. Money, on this occasion,
was at least of service to the passing street-sweeper that picked
But had there been no passer-by to pick it up, it would
have been thrown into the river. One day Madame de B- -
being with the Prince de Conti, hinted that she would like a
miniature of her canary-bird set in a ring. The prince offers to
have it made. His offer is accepted, but on condition that the
miniature be set plain and without jewels. Accordingly the min.
iature is placed in a simple rim of gold. But to cover over the
painting, a large diamond, made very thin, serves as a glass.
Madame de B— having returned the diamond, "M. le Prince
it up.
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14441
de Conti had it ground to powder which he used to dry the ink
of the note he wrote to Madame de B— on the subject. ” This
pinch of powder cost four or five thousand livres, but we may
divine the turn and tone of the note. The extreme of profusion
must accompany the height of gallantry; the man of the world
being important in the ratio of his contempt for money.
POLITE EDUCATION
From «The Ancient Régime. Copyright 1876, by Henry Holt
T.
VE Duc de Lauzun finds it difficult to obtain a good tutor for
his son; for this reason, the latter writes, “he conferred the
duty on one of my late mother's lackeys who could read
and write tolerably well, and to whom the title of valet-de-
chambre was given to insure greater consideration. They gave
me the most fashionable teachers besides; but M. Roch (which
was my mentor's name) was not qualified to arrange their les-
sons, nor to qualify me to benefit by them. I was, moreover,
like all the children of my age and of my station, dressed in the
handsomest clothes to go out, and naked and dying with hunger
in the house: ” and not through unkindness, but through house-
hold oversight, dissipation, and disorder; attention being given to
things elsewhere. One might easily count the fathers who, like
the Marshal de Belle-Isle, brought up their sons under their own
eyes, and themselves attended to their education methodically,
strictly, and with tenderness. As to the girls, they were placed
in convents: relieved from this care, their parents only enjoy
the greater freedom. Even when they retain charge of them, the
children are scarcely more of a burden to them. Little Félicité
de Saint-Aubin sees her parents “only on their waking up and
at meal-times. ” Their day is wholly taken up: the mother is
making or receiving visits; the father is in his laboratory or
engaged in hunting. Up to seven years of age the child passes
her time with chambermaids, who teach her only a little cate-
chism, with an infinite number of ghost stories. " About this
time she is taken care of, but in a way which well portrays the
epoch. The marquise her mother, the author of mythological
and pastoral operas, has a theatre built in the chateau; a great
crowd of company resorts to it from Bourbon-Lancy and Mou-
lins: after rehearsing twelve weeks the little girl, with a quiver


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HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
of arrows and blue wings, plays the part of Cupid, and the cos-
tume is so becoming she is allowed to wear it for common during
the entire day for nine months. To finish the business they send
for a dancing-fencing master, and still wearing the Cupid cos-
tume, she takes lessons in fencing and in deportment. “The
«
entire winter is devoted to playing comedy and tragedy. ” Sent
out of the room after dinner, she is brought in again only to
play on the harpsichord or to declaim the monologue of Alzire
before a numerous assembly. Undoubtedly such extravagances
are not customary: but the spirit of education is everywhere the
same; that is to say, in the eyes of parents there is but one
intelligible and rational existence,- that of society,— even for
children; and the attentions bestowed on these are solely with a
view to introduce them into it or to prepare them for it.
Even in the last years of the ancient régime, little boys have
their hair powdered, “a pomatumed chignon [bourse), ringlets, and
curls”; they wear the sword, the chapeau under the arm, a frill,
and a coat with gilded cuffs; they kiss young ladies' hands with
the air of little dandies. A lass of six years is bound up in a
whalebone waist; her large hoop-petticoat supports a skirt covered
with wreaths; she wears on her head a skillful combination of
false curls, puffs, and knots, fastened with pins, and crowned with
plumes, and so high that frequently the chin is half-way down
to her feet ”; sometimes they put rouge on her face.
She is a
miniature lady, and she knows it: she is fully up in her part,
without effort or inconvenience, by force of habit; the unique,
the perpetual instruction she gets is that on her deportment: it
may be said with truth that the fulcrum of education in this
country is the dancing-master. They could get along with him
without any others; without him the others were of no use. For
without him, how could people go through easily, suitably, and
gracefully, the thousand and one actions of daily life,- walking,
sitting down, standing up, offering the arm, using the fan,
listening and smiling, before eyes so experienced and before such
a refined public? This is to be the great thing for them when
they become men and women, and for this reason it is the
thing of chief importance for them as children. Along with
graces of attitude and of gesture, they already have those of the
mind and of expression. Scarcely is their tongue loosened when
they speak the polished language of their parents. The latter
amuse themselves with them and use them as pretty dolls; the
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preaching of Rousseau, which during the last third of the last
century brought children into fashion, produces no other effect.
They are made to recite their lessons in public, to perform in
proverbs, to take parts in pastorals. Their sallies are encouraged.
They know how to turn a compliment, to invent a clever or
affecting repartee, to be gallant, sensitive, and even spirituelle.
The little Duc d'Angoulême, holding a book in his hand, receives
Suffren, whom he addresses thus: "I was reading Plutarch and
his Illustrious Men. You could not have entered more àpropos. ”
The children of M. de Sabran, a boy and a girl, one eight, and
the other nine, having taken lessons from the comedians Sainval
and Larive, come to Versailles to play before the King and Queen
in Voltaire's Oreste'; and on the little fellow being interrogated
about the classic authors, he replies to a lady, the mother of three
charming girls, “Madame, Anacreon is the only poet I can think
of here! ” Another, of the same age, replies to a question of
Prince Henry of Prussia with an agreeable impromptu in verse.
To cause witticisms, insipidities, and mediocre verse to germinate
in a brain eight years old - what a triumph for the culture of
the day! It is the last characteristic of the régime which after
having stolen man away from public affairs, from his own affairs,
from marriage, from the family, hands him over, with all his sen-
timents and all his faculties, to social worldliness,- he and all
that belong to him. Below him fine ways and forced politeness
prevail, even with his servants and tradesmen. A Frontin has a
gallant unconstrained air, and he turns a compliment. An abigail
needs only to be a kept mistress to become a lady. A shoe-
maker is monsieur in black," who says to a mother on salut-
ing the daughter, Madame, a charming young person, and I am
more sensible than ever of the value of your kindness; ” on which
the young girl, just out of a convent, takes him for a suitor and
blushes scarlet. Undoubtedly less unsophisticated eyes would dis-
tinguish the difference between this pinchbeck louis d'or and a
genuine one; but their resemblance suffices to show the universal
action of the central mint — machinery which stamps both with
the same effigy, the base metal and the refined gold.
»
a
A society which obtains such ascendency must possess some
charm: in no country indeed, and in no age, has so perfect
a social art rendered life so agreeable. Paris is the schoolhouse
of Europe, - a school of urbanity to which the youth of Russia,


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HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
Germany, and England resort to become civilized. Lord Ches-
terfield in his letters never tires of reminding his son of this,
and of urging him into these drawing-rooms, which will remove
"his Cambridge rust. ” Once familiar with them they are never
abandoned; or if one is obliged to leave them, one always sighs
for them. Nothing is comparable,” says Voltaire, to the
genial life one leads there, in the bosom of the arts and of
calm and refined voluptuousness; strangers and monarchs have
preferred this repose — so agreeably occupied and so enchanting -
to their own countries and thrones. The heart there softens and
melts away like aromatics slowly dissolving in moderate heat,
evaporating in delightful perfumes. ” Gustavus III. , beaten by
the Russians, declares that he will pass his last days in Paris in
a house on the boulevards; and this is not merely compliment-
ary, for he sends for plans and an estimate. A supper or an
evening entertainment brings people two hundred leagues away.
Some friends of the Prince de Ligne “leave Brussels after break-
fast, reach the opera in Paris just in time to see the curtain rise,
and after the spectacle is over, return immediately to Brussels,
traveling all night. ”
Of this delight, so eagerly sought, we have only imperfect
copies; and we are obliged to revive it intellectually. It consists,
in the first place, in the pleasure of living with perfectly polite
people: there is no enjoyment more subtle, more lasting, more
inexhaustible. The self-love of man being infinite, intelligent
people are always able to produce some refinement of atten-
tion to gratify it. Worldly sensibility being infinite, there is no
imperceptible shade of it permitting indifference. After all, man
is still the greatest source of happiness or of misery to man;
and in those days the ever-flowing fountain brought to him
sweetness instead of bitterness. Not only was it essential not to
offend, but it was essential to please: one was expected to lose
:
sight of oneself in others, to be always cordial and good-humored,
to keep one's own vexations and grievances in one's own breast,
to spare others melancholy ideas, and to supply them with cheer-
ful ideas. "Was any one old in those days ? It is the Revolu-
tion which brought old age into the world. Your grandfather,
my child, was handsome, elegant, neat, gracious, perfumed, play-
ful, amiable, affectionate, and good-tempered, to the day of his
death. People then knew how to live and how to die; there
was no such thing as troublesome infirmities. If any one had the


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HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
14445
gout, he walked along all the same and made no faces; people
well brought up concealed their sufferings. There was none of
that absorption in business which spoils a man inwardly and
dulls his brain. People knew how to ruin themselves without
letting it appear, like good gamblers who lose their money with-
out showing uneasiness or spite. A man would be carried half
dead to a hunt. It was thought better to die at a ball or at
the play, than in one's bed between four wax candles and horrid
men in black. People were philosophers: they did not assume
to be austere, but often were so without making a display of
it. If one was discreet, it was through inclination, and without
pedantry or prudishness. People enjoyed this life, and when the
hour of departure came they did not try to disgust others with
living. The last request of my old husband was that I would
survive him as long as possible, and live as happily as I could. ”
[So discourses her beautiful grandmother to George Sand. ]
DRAWING-ROOM LIFE
From “The Ancient Régime. Copyright 1876, by Henry Holt
O *
NE can very well understand this kind of pleasure in a sum.
mary way, but how is it to be made apparent ? Taken by
themselves the pastimes of society are not to be described:
they are too ephemeral; their charm arises from their accompani-
ments. A narrative of them would be but tasteless dregs, — does
the libretto of an opera give any idea of the opera itself? If
the reader would revive for himself this vanished world, let him
seek for it in those works that have preserved its externals or
its accent; and first in the pictures and engravings of Watteau,
Fragonard, and the Saint-Aubins, and then in the novels and dra-
mas of Voltaire and Marivaux, and even in Collé and Crébillon
fils: then do we see the breathing figures and hear their voices.
What bright, winning, intelligent faces, beaming with pleasure
and with the desire to please! What ease in bearing and gest-
ure! What piquant grace in the toilet, in the smile, in vivacity
of expression, in the control of the flute-like voice, in the
coquetry of hidden meanings! How involuntarily we stop to look
and listen! Attractiveness is everywhere, — in the small spirituelle
heads, in the slender hands, in the rumpled attire, in the pretty


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HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
features, in the demeanor. The slightest gesture, a pouting or
mutinous turn of the head, a plump little wrist peering from its
nest of lace, a yielding waist bent over an embroidery frame, the
rapid rustling of an opening fan, is a feast for the eyes and the
intellect. It is indeed all daintiness, a delicate caress for delicate
senses, extending to the external decoration of life, to the sinu-
ous outlines, the showy drapery, and the refinements of comfort
in the furniture and architecture.
Fill your imagination with these accessories and with these
figures, and you will take as much interest in their amusements
as they did. In such a place and in such company it suffices to
be together to be content. Their indolence is no burden to
them, for they sport with existence. At Chanteloup, the Duc de
Choiseul, in disgrace, finds the fashionable world flocking to see
him; nothing is done, and yet no hours of the day are unoccu-
pied. “The duchess has only two hours' time to herself, and
these two hours are devoted to her toilet and her letters: the
calculation is a simple one,- she gets up at eleven, breakfasts
at noon, and this is followed by conversation, which lasts three
or four hours; dinner comes at six, after which there is play
and the reading of the memoirs of Madame de Maintenon. ”
Ordinarily “the company remains together until two o'clock in
the morning. ” Intellectual freedom is complete. There is no
confusion, no anxiety. They play whist and tric-trac in the
afternoon and faro in the evening. “They do to-day what they
did yesterday, and what they will do to-morrow; the dinner-
supper is to them the most important affair in life, and their
only complaint in the world is of their digestion. Time goes
so fast I always fancy that I arrived only the evening before. ”
Sometimes they get up a little race, and the ladies are disposed
to take part in it, "for they are all very spry and able to run
around the drawing-room five or six times every day. ” But they
prefer indoors to the open air; in these days true sunshine con-
sists of candle-light, and the finest sky is a painted ceiling, - is
there any other less subject to inclemencies, or better adapted to
conversation and merriment? They accordingly chat and jest,
in words with present friends, and by letters with absent friends.
They lecture old Madame du Deffand, who is too lively, and
whom they style the little girl”; the young duchess, tender
and sensible, is her grandmama. ” As for "grandpapa,” M. de
Choiseul, “a slight cold keeping him in bed, he has fairy stories
»
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read to him all day long: a species of reading to which we are
all given; we find them as probable as modern history. Do not
imagine that he is unoccupied. He has had a tapestry frame put
up in the drawing-room; at which he works, I cannot say with
the greatest skill, but at least with the greatest assiduity.
Now our delight is in flying a kite: grandpapa has never seen
this sight, and he is enraptured with it. ” The pastime, in itself,
is nothing; it is resorted to according to opportunity or the taste
of the hour, - now taken up and now let alone,- and the abbé
soon writes: "I do not speak about our races, because we race no
more; nor of our readings, because we do not read; nor of our
promenades, because we do not go out. What then do we do?
Some play billiards, others dominoes, and others backgammon.
We weave, we ravel, and we unravel. Time pushes us on, and
we pay him back. ”
Other circles present the same spectacle. Every occupation
being an amusement, a caprice or an impulse of fashion brings
one into favor.
At present it is unraveling; every white hand
at Paris, and in the châteaux, being busy in undoing trimmings,
epaulettes, and old stuffs, to pick out the gold and silver threads.
They find in this employment the semblance of economy, an ap-
pearance of occupation,-in any event something to keep them in
countenance. On a circle of ladies being formed, a big unravel-
ing bag in green taffeta is placed on the table, which belongs to
the lady of the house; immediately all the ladies call for their
bags, and voilà les laquais en l'air. ”
It is all the rage.
They
unravel every day and several hours in the day; some derive
from it a hundred louis d'or per annum. The gentlemen are
expected to provide the materials for the work: the Duc de
Lauzun, accordingly, gives to Madame de V— a harp of nat-
ural size, covered with gold thread; an enormous golden fleece,
brought as a present from the Comte de Lowenthal, and which
cost two or three thousand francs, brings, picked to pieces, five
or six hundred francs. But they do not look into matters so
closely. Some employment is essential for idle hands, some
manual outlet for nervous activity; a humorous petulance breaks
out in the middle of the pretended work. One day, when about
going out, Madame de R- observes that the gold fringe on
her dress would be capital for unraveling; whereupon, with a
dash, she cuts one of the fringes off. Ten women suddenly
surround a man wearing fringes, pull off his coat, and put his
fringes and laces into their bags; just as if a bold flock of
(


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HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
as
)
tomtits, fluttering and chattering in the air, should suddenly dart
on a jay to pluck off its feathers: thenceforth a man who enters
a circle of women stands in danger of being stripped alive.
All this pretty world has the same pastimes, the men
well as the women. Scarcely a man can be found without some
drawing-room accomplishment, some trifling way of keeping his
mind and hands busy, and of filling up the vacant hour: almost
all make rhymes, or act in private theatricals; many of them are
musicians and painters of still-life subjects. M. de Choiseul, as
we have just seen, works at tapestry; others embroider or make
sword-knots. M. de Francueil is a good violinist, and makes vio-
lins himself; and besides this he is “watchmaker, architect, turner,
painter, locksmith, decorator, cook, poet, music-composer, and he
embroiders remarkably well. ” In this general state of inactivity
it is essential « to know how to be pleasantly occupied in behalf
of others as well as in one's own behalf. ” Madame de Pompadour
is a musician, an actress, a painter, and an engraver. Madame
Adelaide learns watchmaking, and plays on all instruments from
a horn to the jew's-harp; not very well, it is true, but as well as a
queen can sing, whose fine voice is never more than half in tune.
But they make no pretensions, The thing is to amuse oneself
and nothing more; high spirits and the amenities of the hour
cover all. Rather read this capital fact of Madame de Lauzun at
Chanteloup:—“Do you know," writes the abbé, that nobody
possesses in a higher degree one quality which you would never
suspect of her, - that of preparing scrambled eggs? This talent
has been buried in the ground, - she cannot recall the time she
acquired it; I believe that she had it at her birth. Accident
made it known, and immediately it was put to the test. Yester-
day morning, an hour forever memorable in the history of eggs,
the implements necessary for this great operation were all brought
out, – a heater, some gravy, some pepper, salt, and eggs. Behold
Madame de Lauzun, at first blushing and in a tremor, soon with
intrepid courage, breaking the eggs, beating them up in the pan,
turning them over, now to the right, now to the left, now up
and now down, with unexampled precision and success! Never
a more excellent dish eaten. » What laughter and gayety
in the group comprised in this little scene; and not long after,
what madrigals and allusions! Gayety here resembles a dancing
ray of sunlight; it flickers over all things, and reflects its grace
on every object.
(
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14449
THE DISARMING OF CHARACTER
W"
From «The Ancient Régime. Copyright 1876, by Henry Holt
HEN the affections and the intellect combine their refine-
ments, they produce masterpieces; and these, like the art,
the refinements, and the society which surrounds them,
possess a charm unsurpassed by anything except their own fra-
gility.
The reason is, that the better adapted men are to a certain
situation, the less prepared are they for the opposite situation.
The habits and faculties which serve them in the previous condi-
tion become prejudicial to them in the new one. In acquiring
talents adapted to tranquil times, they lose those suited to times
of agitation; reaching the extreme of feebleness at the same time
with the extreme of urbanity. The more polished an aristocracy
becomes, the weaker it becomes; and when no longer possessing
the power to please, it no longer possesses the strength to struggle.
And yet in this world, we must struggle if we would live. In
humanity as in nature, empire belongs to force. Every creature
that loses the art and energy of self-defense becomes so much
more certainly a prey, according as its brilliancy, imprudence, and
even gentleness, deliver it over in advance to the gross appetites
roaming around it. Where find resistance in characters formed
by the habits we have just described ? To defend ourselves, we
must first of all look carefully around us, see and foresee, and
provide for danger. How could they do this, living as they did ?
Their circle is too narrow and too carefully inclosed. Confined
to their castles and mansions, they see only those of their own
sphere, they hear only the echo of their own ideas, they imagine
that there is nothing beyond: the public seems to consist of two
hundred persons.
Moreover, disagreeable truths are not admitted into a drawing-
room, especially when of personal import; an idle fancy there
becoming a dogma because it becomes conventional. Here
accordingly we find those who, already deceived by the limita-
tions of their accustomed horizon, fortify their delusion still
more by delusions about their fellow-men. They comprehend
nothing of the vast world which envelops their little world: they
are incapable of entering into the sentiments of a bourgeois, or
of a villager; they have no conception of the peasant as he is, but
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HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE
as they would like him to be. The idyl is in fashion, and no one
dares to dispute it: any other supposition would be false because
it would be disagreeable; and as the drawing-rooms have decided
that all will go well, all must go well. Never was a delusion
more complete and more voluntary. The Duc d'Orléans offers
to wager a hundred louis that the States-General will dissolve
without accomplishing anything, not even abolishing the lettre-de-
cachet. After the demolition has begun, and yet again after it is
finished, they will form opinions no more accurate. They have
no idea of social architecture: they know nothing about either
its materials, its proportions, or its harmonious balance; they
have had no hand in it, they have never worked at it. They
are entirely ignorant of the old building in which they occupy the
first story. They are not qualified to calculate either its pressure
or its resistance. They conclude finally that it is better to let
the thing tumble in, and that the restoration of the edifice in
their behalf will follow its own course, and that they will return
to their drawing-room, expressly rebuilt for them, and freshly
gilded, to begin over again the pleasant conversation which an
accident - some tumult in the street — had interrupted. Clear-
sighted in society, they are obtuse in politics. They examine
everything by the artificial light of candles; they are disturbed
and bewildered in the powerful light of open day. The eyelid
has grown stiff through age. The organ so long bent on the
petty details of one refined life no longer takes in the popular
life of the masses, and in the new sphere into which it is sud-
denly plunged its refinement becomes the source of its blind-
ness.
Nevertheless action is necessary, for danger is seizing them
by the throat. But the danger is of an ignoble species, while
their education has provided them with no arms suitable for ward-
ing it off. They have learned how to fence but not how to box.