Bonaparte continuant a s'addresser an Sous-Prefet, lui dit, "Que fait le Prefet?" 'Il est parti a la premiere nouvelle du changement survenu a Paris.' "Et sa femme?" 'Elle etait partie plutot.'—"Elle avait donc prit le devant. Paie l'on bien les octrois et les droits reunis?"—'Pas un sou.'—"Y-a-t-il beaucoup d'Anglais a Marseilles?" Ici Mons. le Sous-Prefet raconta a Bonaparte tout ce qui s'etait passe naguere dans ce port, et avec quels transports on avait accueilli les Anglais. Bonaparte, qui ne prenait pas grand plaisir a ce recit y mit fin en disant au Sous-Prefet, "Dites a vos Provencaux que l'Empereur est bien mecontent d'eux."

Arrive a Bouilledon, il se s'enferma dans ua apartment avec sa soeur (Pauline Borghese)—Des sentinels furent places a la porte. Cependant des dames arrivees dans un galerie qui communiquait avec cette chambre, y trouverent un militaire en uniform d'officier Autrichien, qui leur dit, "Que desirez vous voir, Mesdames?" 'Nous voudrions voir Napoleon.' "Mais ce'st moi, Mesdames." Ces dames le regardant lui dirent en riant, 'Vous plaisantez, Monsieur; ce n'est pas vous qui etes Napoleon.' "Je vous assure, Mesdames, ce'st moi. Vous vous imaginez donc que Napoleon avait l'air plus mechant. N'est pas qu'on dit que je suis un scelerat, un brigand?" Les dames n'eurent garde de le dementir, Bonaparte ne voulant pas trop les presser sur ce point detourna le conversation. Mais toujours occupe de sa premier idee, il y revint brasquement: "Convenez en Mesdames, leur dit il, maintenant que la Fortune m'est contraire, on dit que je suis un coquin, un scelerat, un brigand. Mais savez vous ce que c'est que tout cela? J'ai voula mettre la France au dessus de l'Angleterre, et j'ai echoue dans ce projet."



CHAPTER IV.

STATE OF FRANCE UNDER NAPOLEON—CONTINUED.

AGRICULTURE.

To one unacquainted with the present division of society, and the condition of each of its branches in France; to one who had only cast his eye, in travelling, over the immense tracts of cultivated land, with scarcely an acre of waste to diversify the scene, and who had permitted first impressions to influence his judgement, it might appear, that in agriculture, France far excelled every other country in the world. In England, we have immense tracts of common in many of the counties;—in Scotland; we have our barren hills, our mosses, and moors;—in America, the cultivation bears but a small proportion to the wilds, the swamps, and the forests. In our beautiful provinces in the East Indies, the cultivation forms but a speck in the wide extent of common, and forest, and jungle. Why should France furnish a different spectacle? Why should the face of the country there wear a continual smile, while its very heart is torn with faction, and its energies fettered by tyranny? There are many who maintain that this state of the country is the happy effect of the revolution; but it will, I conceive, not be difficult to shew, that though certainly a consequence of the great change, it is far from being a happy one. We surely would not pronounce it a happy state of things, where the interests of all other branches of the community were sacrificed to promote the welfare of the peasantry alone.

The peasantry, no doubt, when their rights are preserved to them, as they are the most numerous, so they become the most important members of a civil society. "Although," as is well observed by Arthur Young, "they be disregarded by the superficial, or viewed with contempt by the vain, they will be placed, by those who judge of things not by their external appearance, but by their intrinsic worth, as the most useful class of mankind; their occupations conduce not only to the prosperity, but to the very existence of society; their life is one unvaried course of hardy exertion and persevering toil. The vigour of their youth is exhausted by labour, and what are the hopes and consolations of their age? Sickness may deprive them of the opportunity of providing the least supply for the declining years of life, and the gloomy confinement of a work-house, or the scanty pittance of parochial help, are their only resources. By their condition may be estimated the real prosperity of a country; the real opulence, strength, and security of the public are proportionate to the comfort which they enjoy, and their wretchedness is a sure criterion of a bad administration."

I have quoted this passage at length, in order that I might shew that France supplies us in this case, as in many others, with a wide exception from those general rules in politics which time and experience had long sanctioned. We shall in vain look at the state of the peasantry of that country as affording a criterion of the situation of any other branch of the community. It did not remain concealed from the deep and penetrating eye of Napoleon, that if the peasantry of a country were supported, and their condition improved, any revolution might be effected; any measure, however tyrannical, provided it did not touch them, might be executed with ease. For the sake of the peasantry, we shall perceive that the yeomanry, the farmers, the bourgeoisie, the nobility, were allowed to dwindle into insignificance. His leading principle was never to interfere with their properties, however they may have been obtained; and he invariably found, that if permitted to enjoy these, they calmly submitted to taxation, furnished recruits for his conscription, and supported him in every measure.

In tracing the causes and effects of the various revolutions which take place among civilized nations, political writers have paid too little attention to the effects of property. France affords us an interesting field for investigation on this interesting question; but the narrow limits of our work will not admit of our indulging in such speculations. We cannot, however, avoid remarking by the way, that the facility of effecting a revolution in the government of France, so often shewn of late, has arisen, in a great measure, from this state of the property of the peasantry. Under the revolution they gained this property, and they respected and supported the revolutionists. Under Napoleon, their property was respected, and they bore with him, and admired him. Louis commenced by encouraging them in the idea that their rights would be respected, and they remained quiet:—his Ministers commenced their plans of restoring to the noblesse their estates, and the King immediately lost the affections of the peasantry. They welcomed Napoleon a second time, because they knew his principles: They have again welcomed their King, because they are led to suppose that experience has changed the views of his Ministers: but they suspect him, and on the first symptom of another change they will join in his expulsion.

The nobility, the great landed proprietors, the yeomanry, the lesser farmers, all the intermediate ranks who might oppose a check to the power of a tyrannical prince, are nearly annihilated. The property of these classes, but more particularly of the nobility, has been subdivided and distributed among the peasants; become their own, it has, no doubt, been much better managed, for it is their immediate interest that not an acre of waste ground should remain. They till it with their own hands, and, without any intermediate agents, they draw the profits. Lands thus managed, must, of course, be found in a very different state from those whose actual proprietor is perhaps never on the spot, who manages through stewards, bailiffs, and other agents, and whose rank prevents the possibility of his assisting, or even superintending, the labour of his peasantry.

Having shewn the causes of the present appearance of France, we must describe the effects, by presenting to our readers the picture which was every where before our eyes in traversing the country. The improvement in agriculture, or to speak literally, in the method of tilling the soil, is by no means great. The description of the methods pursued, and of the routine of crops, given by Arthur Young, corresponds very exactly with what we saw. It may be observed, however, that the ploughing is rather more neat, and the harrowing more regular. To an English eye both of these operations would appear most superficial; but it ought to be considered, that here nature does almost every thing, little labour is necessary, and in many parts of the country manure is never used: but the defect in the quality of the cultivation is somewhat compensated by the quantity. Scarce an acre of land which would promise to reward the cultivator will be found untilled. The plains are covered with grain, and the most barren hills are formed into vineyards. And it will generally be found, that the finest grapes are the produce of the most dry, stony, and seemingly barren hills. It is in this extension of the cultivation that we trace the improvement; but there must also be some considerable change for the better, though not in the same degree, in the method of cultivation, which is demonstrated by the fact, that a considerable rise has taken place in the rent and price of land. In many places it has doubled within the last twenty-five years; an arpent now selling for 1000 francs, which was formerly sold for 500.

It is, however, extraordinary, that these improvements have, as yet, only shewn their influence in the dress of the peasantry, and no where in the comfort or neatness of their houses. Between Calais and Paris, their houses are better than we found them afterwards on our way to the south. In that direction, also, they were almost invariably well clothed, having over their other clothes (and not as a substitute for a coat) a sort of blue linen frock, which had an appearance of attention to dress, not to be seen in other parts of the country, for the peasantry in most other parts, though neatly clothed, presented, in the variety of their habits and costumes, a very novel spectacle. The large tails, which give them so military an appearance, and impress us with the idea that they have marched, are by no means a proof of this circumstance; for we were informed, that the first thing done in most instances, was to deprive the conscripts of their superabundant hair. But the long tail and the cocked hat, are worn in imitation of the higher orders of older time. It is indeed a sight of the most amusing kind to the English eye, to behold a French peasant at his work, in velvet coat and breeches, powdered hair, and a cocked hat. But we do not mean to give this as the usual dress of the peasants, although we have frequently met with it. Their dress is very often as plain, neat, and sufficient, as their houses are the reverse.

In Picardy, the luxuriant fruit-trees which surround the cottages and houses, give an appearance of comfort, which is not borne out by the actual state of the houses on a nearer inspection. Near Laon, and towards the frontiers of French Flanders, the condition of the peasantry appeared exceedingly comfortable. Their dress was very neat, and their houses much more substantial, and, in some parts, ornament was added to strength. In this district, the people had the advantage of being employed in the linen manufacture in their own houses, besides their ordinary agricultural occupations; and their condition reminded us of the effects of this intermixture of occupations presented by a view of Clydesdale in Scotland, or of the West Riding of Yorkshire.

Towards Fontainbleau, and to the east of Paris, on the road of Soissons, the peasantry inhabit the old villages, or rather little towns, and no cottages are to be seen on the lands. No gardens are attached to the houses in these towns. The houses have there an appearance of age, want of repair, and a complete stagnation of commerce. And even the peasantry there seemed considerably reduced, but they were always well dressed, and by no means answered Arthur Young's description. Still their houses denoted great want of comfort; very little furniture was to be seen, and that either of the very coarsest kind, or of the gaudy and gilded description, which shewed whence it came. The intermixture is hideous. In the parts of the country above named; the food often consisted of bread and pork, and was better than what we found in the south. But even here, the small number of pigs, the poor flocks of sheep, and, indeed, the absence of any species of pasture for cattle, demonstrated that there was not a general or extensive consumption of animal food or the produce of the dairy.

The little demand for butcher meat, or the produce of pasture, is probably, as Arthur Young has hinted, one great cause of the continuance of the fallow system of husbandry in France; for where there is no consumption of these articles, it is impossible that a proper rotation of crops can be introduced.

In noticing the causes of the decided improvement in the condition of the peasantry, we may observe in passing, that the great consumption of human life, during the revolution, and more particularly under Napoleon's conscription, must have considerably bettered the condition of those who remained, and who were able for work, by increasing the price of labour.

The industry of the peasants in every part of the country, cannot be sufficiently praised—it as remarkable as the apathy and idleness of tradesmen and artificers. Every corner of soil is by them turned to account, and where they have gardens, they are kept very neat. The defects in the cultivation arise, therefore, from the goodness of the climate, the ignorance or poverty of the cultivators, or from inveterate prejudice.

We must now say a few words with regard to the state of agriculture and the condition of the peasantry between Paris and Aix, and more especially in the south of France. Here also every acre of land is turned to good account, but the method of tilling the land is very defective. The improvements in agriculture, in modern times, will be found to owe their origin to men of capital, of education, and of liberal ideas, and such men are not to be found here. The prejudices and the poverty of their ancestors, have not ceased to have their effects in the present generation, in retarding the improvement in the tillage, and in the farm instruments. They are, in this respect, at least a century behind us. From the small subdivisions in many parts of the country, each family is enabled to till its own little portion with the spade; and where the divisions are larger, and ploughs used, they will invariably be found rude, clumsy, enormous masses of wood and iron, weak from the unskilfulness of the workmanship, continuing from father to son without improvement, because improvement would not only injure their purses, but give a deadly wound to that respect and veneration which they have for the good old ways of their ancestors. There is endless variety in the shape and size of the French plough; but amid the innumerable kinds of them, we never had the good fortune to meet one good or sufficient instrument.

The use of machinery in the farm-stead is unknown, and grain, as of old, is very generally trodden by oxen, sometimes on the sides of the high roads, and winnowed by the breath of Heaven.

In the south of France, we met with much more regular enclosure than around Paris; but even here, little attention is bestowed in keeping the fences in repair. Hedges are, however, less necessary in the south than elsewhere; for there is a complete want of live stock of every description, and no attention paid to the breeding of it. This want does not strike the traveller immediately, because he finds butcher meat pretty good in the small towns; excellent in the larger cities, and cheap everywhere. But he will find, that France is, in this respect, much in the same state with India. Animal food is cheap, because the consumption is very limited. In France, but more particularly in the south, I should say that not one-sixth of the butcher meat is consumed by each man or woman which would be requisite in England. Bread, wine, fruit, garlic, onions and oil, with occasionally a small portion of animal food, form the diet of the lower orders; and among the higher ranks, the method of cooking makes a little meat go a great way. The immense joints of beef and mutton, to which we are accustomed in England, were long the wonder of the French; but latterly, they have begun to introduce (among what they humorously term plats de resistance) these formidable dishes.

Excepting in the larger towns, butcher meat, particularly beef and mutton, is generally ill fed. In the part of the south, where we resided during the winter, the beef was procured from Lyons, a distance of above 200 miles. In the south, the breed of cattle of every description is small and stinted, and unless when pampered up for the market, they are generally very poor and ill fed. The traveller is everywhere struck with the difference between the English and French horses, cows, pigs, sheep, &c. and in more than the half of France, he will find, for the reasons formerly assigned, an almost total want of attention to these useful animals among the farmers. At Aix, where we were situated, there was only one cow to be found. Our milk was supplied by goats and sheep; and all the butter consumed there, excepting a very small quantity made from goat's milk, was also brought from Lyons. This want is not so much felt in Provence; because, for their cookery, pastry, &c. they use olive oil, which, when fresh, is very pleasant.

The want of barns, sheds, granaries, and all other farm buildings, is very conspicuous in the south. The dairy is there universally neglected, and milk can only be had early in the morning, and then in very small quantity; nay, the traveller may often journey a hundred miles in the south of France without being able to procure milk at all; this we ourselves experienced. The eye is nowhere delighted with the sight of rich and flourishing farm-steads, nor do the abundant harvests of France make any shew in regular farm-yards. All the wealth of the peasantry is concealed. Each family hides the produce of their little estate within their house. An exhibition of their happy condition would expose them to immediate spoliation from the tax-officers. In our own happy country, the rich farm-yard, the comfortable dwelling-house of the farmer, and the neat smiling cottage of the labourer, call down on the possessors only the applause and approbation of his landlord, of his neighbours, and of strangers. They raise him in the general opinion. In France, they would prove his ruin.

To conclude these few observations on the state of agriculture, we may remark, that the revolution has certainly tended greatly to promote the extension of the cultivation, by throwing the property of the lands into the hands of the peasantry, who are the actual cultivators, and also by removing the obstructions occasioned by the seignorial rights, the titles, game laws, corvees; yet I think there cannot be a doubt, that, aided by capital, and by the more liberal ideas of superior farmers benefiting by the many new and interesting discoveries in modern agriculture, France might, without that terrible convulsion, have shewn as smiling an aspect, and the science of agriculture been much further advanced.

If, by the revolution, the situation of the peasantry be improved, we must not forget, on the other hand, that to effect this improvement, the nobility, gentry, yeomanry, and, we might almost add, farmers, have been very generally reduced to beggary. The restraint which the existence of these orders ever opposed to the power of a bad king, of a tyrant, or of an adventurer, might have remained, and all have been happier, better, and richer than they are now.

* * *

COMMERCE.

It was probably the first wish of Napoleon's heart, as it was also his wisest policy, that the French should become entirely a military, not a commercial nation. Under his government, the commerce of France was nearly annihilated. It was however necessary, that at times he should favour the commercial interest of the towns in the interior, from which he drew large supplies of money, and his constant enmity against the sea-port towns of Marseilles and Bourdeaux, induced him to encourage the interior commerce of France, to the prejudice of the maritime trade of these ports. Under Napoleon, Paris, Lyons, Rouen, and most of the large towns which carried on this interior commerce, were lately in a flourishing state. In these towns, if not beloved, he was at least tolerated, and they wished for no change of government. But at Marseilles, and at Bourdeaux, he was detested, and a very strong royalist party existed, which caused him constant annoyance. At Bourdeaux, it may be recollected, that the Bourbons were received with open arms, and that that town was the first to open its gates to the allies. It was also among the last that held out. I was in that town while the royalist party were still powerful, while every thing shewed a flourishing commerce, while the people were happy; the wine trade was daily enriching the inhabitants, and they blessed the return of peace, and of their lawful princes. In two days the face of things was changed. A party of soldiers, 300 strong, were dispatched by Napoleon, under the command of General Clausel. The troops of the line here, as everywhere else, betrayed their trust, and joined the rebels, and Bourdeaux was delivered up to the spoiler.

Never was there a more melancholy spectacle than that now afforded by the inhabitants of this city. You could not enter a shop where you did not find the owners in tears. We were then all hastening to leave France. They embraced us, and prayed that our army might soon be among them to restore peace and the Bourbons. Here I am convinced that Bonaparte is hated by all but the military. Yet what could a town like Bourdeaux effect, when its own garrison betrayed it?

Besides the bad effects of Bonaparte's policy on the commerce of France, I must notice the wide influence of another cause, which was the natural result of the revolution. Although at first an attack was only made against the noblesse, yet latterly, every rich and powerful family was included among the proscribed, and all the commercial houses of the first respectability were annihilated. These have never been replaced, and the upstart race of petty traders have not yet obtained the confidence of foreigners. The trade of France is therefore very confined; and even were opportunities now afforded of establishing a trade with foreign nations, it would be long before France could benefit by it, from the total want of established and creditable houses.

The manifest signs of the decay of commerce in France cannot escape the observation of the traveller, more especially if he has been in the habit of travelling in England. The public diligences are few in number, and most miserably managed. It is difficult to say whether the carriage, the horses, or the harness, gives most the idea of meanness. Excepting in the neighbourhood of large towns, you meet with not a cart, or waggon, for twenty that the same distance would show in England. The roads are indeed excellent in most parts; but this is not in France, as in most countries, a proof of a flourishing commerce. It is for the conveyance of military stores, and to facilitate the march of the troops, that the police are required to keep the roads in good repair. The villages and towns throughout France, are in a state of dilapidation from want of repair. No new houses, shops, and warehouses building, as we behold every where in England. None of that hurry and bustle in the streets, and on the quays of the sea-port towns, which our blessed country can always boast. The dress of the people, their food, their style of living, their amusements, their houses, all bespeak extreme poverty and want of commerce.

I was at some pains in ascertaining whether, in many of their manufactures, they were likely to rival us or injure our own.—I cannot say I have found one of consequence. There are indeed one or two articles partially in demand among us, in which the French have the superiority; silks, lace, gloves, black broad cloth, and cambric are the chief among them. The woollen cloths in France are extremely beautiful, and the finer sorts, I think, of a superior texture to any thing we have in England; but the price is always double, and sometimes treble of what they sell for at home, so that we have not much to fear from their importations. Few of the French can afford to wear these fine cloths.

French watches are manufactured at about one half of the English price; but the workmanship is very inferior to ours, and unless as trinkets for ladies' wear, they do not seem much in estimation in England. The cutlery in France is wretched. Not only the steel, but the temper and polish, are far inferior to ours. A pair of English razors is, to this day, a princely present in France. Hardware is flimsy, ill finished, and of bad materials. All leather work, such as saddlery, harness, shoes, &c. is wretchedly bad, but undersells our manufactures of the same kind by about one half. Cabinet work and furniture is handsome, shewy, insufficient, and dear. Jewellery equal, if not superior to ours in neatness, but not so sufficient. Hats and hosiery very indifferent. In glass ware we greatly excel the French, except in the manufacture of mirrors. Musical instruments of all descriptions are made as well, and at half the English price, in France. In every thing else, not here mentioned, as far as my memory serves me, I think I may report the manufactures of France greatly inferior to those in England. I have sometimes heard it stated, that in the manufacture of calicoes, muslins, and other cotton goods, the French are likely to rival us. On this subject I was not able to obtain the information I wished for, but one fact I can safely mention, the price of all these goods is at present, in most parts of France, nearly double what it is in England or Scotland, and their machinery is not to be compared with our own.

* * *

WEALTH OF THE NATION AND ITS DIVISION.

To the traveller in France, every thing seems to denote extreme poverty, and that extending its influence over all ranks of society; and certainly, compared with England, France is wretchedly poor. But many of its resources remain hidden, and it is certain, that on the demands of its despotic ruler, France produced unlooked-for supplies. His wars have now greatly exhausted this hidden treasure, and there is, fortunately for the peace of the world, very little money left in the country. The marks of the wealth of the country, both absolutely, and in relation to other countries, are to be found in the manner of living, and extent of fortunes of its inhabitants; in the size, comfort, and style of their houses; in their dress and amusements; in the price of labour; the salaries of office; the trade and commerce of the country; the number of country houses, of banks, &c. In examining each of these heads, we shall find that France is a very poor country.

The sum of two thousand pounds a-year is reckoned a noble fortune in France, and very, very few, there are that possess that sum.

One thousand pounds a-year constitutes a handsome fortune for a gentleman; and four hundred for a bourgeois, or for one employed in trade or commerce. Few of the nobility are now possessed of fortunes sufficient to maintain a carriage; and none under the rank of princes, in France, have now more than one carriage.

The style of living is wretched: only the first, and richest houses, can afford to entertain company, and those but seldom. It requires a large fortune to maintain a regular cook; in half the houses they have only a dirty scullion, who, among her other work, cooks the dinner. In the other half, a traiteur sends in the dinner; or if a bachelor, the master of the house dines at a table d'hote, as a pensionaire.

The interior management of the French houses denotes extreme poverty. Some few articles of splendid furniture are displayed for shew in one or two rooms, while the rest of the house is shut up, and left dirty and ill furnished.

Of their dress and amusements I have already said enough, to shew that they denote poverty, and I shall say more when I come to the French character.

The price of labour is far lower than what we are used to, fluctuating from fifteen to twenty pence a-day. The salaries of office are, throughout France, not above one-third what they are in England. Of the want of trade and commerce I have already spoken. The public banks are very few in number, and only to be found in very large and commercial towns. Country houses and fine estates, there are none, or where they are found, it is in a state of dilapidation.

Where, then, is the wealth of France? I was at some pains to solve this question. The remaining wealth of France is divided among the generals of Napoleon; the army furnishers and contractors; the prefects, sub-prefects; the numerous receivers and collectors of taxes; and, lastly, but chiefly, the peasantry. It may appear strange to those who are not acquainted with the present state of France, that I have mentioned the peasants among the richest; but I am convinced of the fact. The peasants in France have divided among themselves the lands and property of the emigrants. Napoleon drew supplies from them; but very politically maintained them in their possessions. Their condition, and the condition of the lands, shew them to be in easy circumstances. They are well clothed, and abundantly, though poorly fed.

France is, in fine, a very poor country, compared with our own; but it is not without resources, and its wealth will remain concealed as long as it is under Napoleon; for whoever shewed wealth, was by him marked out as an object of plunder. By allowing unlimited power to his emissaries and spies, he was able to discover where the wealth lay, and by vesting the same power in his prefects, sub-prefects, receivers, and gend'armes, he seized on it when discovered. In the public prints, previous to his downfall, we may observe almost continually the thanks of Government to the farmers, proprietors, and others, for their patriotic exertions in supplying horses, grain, &c. In these cases, the patriotic farmers had bands of gend'armerie stationed over them, who drove away their horses, their cattle and grain, without the hope even of payment or redress of any kind. Nothing denotes more the poverty of the country, than the want of horses, of cows, and all kinds of live stock.

In no country in the world is there found so great a number of beggars as in France; and yet there are not wanting in every town establishments for the maintenance of the poor. These beggars are chiefly from among the manufacturing classes; the families of soldiers and labourers. The peasants are seldom reduced to this state, or when reduced, they are succoured by their fellow peasants, and do not beg publicly. The national poverty has had the worst effects on the French character; in almost every station in life they will be found capable of meanness. What can be more disgusting, than to see people of fashion and family reduced to the necessity of letting to strangers their own rooms, and retiring into garrets and other dirty holes—demanding exorbitant prices, and with perfect indifference taking half or a third—higgling for every article they purchase—standing in dirty wrappers at their doers, seeing the wood weighed in the street, on terms of familiarity with tradesmen and their own servants. All this you see in France daily; but on this subject I have elsewhere made observations.

As connected with this part of the subject, a few words must be said on the condition of the towns and villages; for although I had at first intended to treat this, and the situation of the different ranks, as separate subjects; yet they seem to come in more naturally at present, when speaking of the wealth of France and its division. The towns throughout France, as well as the villages, particularly in the south, have an appearance of decay and dilapidation. The proprietors have not the means of repair. It is customary (I suppose from the heat of the climate), to build the houses very large; to repair a French house, therefore, is very expensive: and it will generally be seen, that in most, houses only one or two rooms are kept in repair, and furnished, while the rest of the house is crumbling to pieces. This is the case with all the great houses; in those of the common people we should expect more comfort, as they are small, and do not need either expensive repair or gay furniture; but comfort is unknown in France. On entering a small house in one of the villages, we find the people huddled together as they are said to do in some parts of England and Scotland. Men, women, dogs, cats, pigs, goats, &c.—no glass in the windows—doors shattered—truckle-beds—a few earthen pots; and with all this filth, we find, perhaps, half a dozen velvet or brocade covered chairs; a broken mirror, or a marble slab-table; these are the articles plundered in former days of terror and revolution. All caffes and hotels in the villages are thus furnished.

The streets in almost every town in France are without pavement. Would any one believe, that in the great city, as the French call it, there is a total want of this convenience? On this subject, Mercier, in his Tableaux de Paris, has this remark: [42]"Des qu'on est sur le pave de Paris, ou voit que le peuple n'y fait pas les loix;—aucune commodite pour les gens de pied—point de trottoirs—le peuple semble un corps separe des autres ordres de l'etat—les riches et les grands qui ont equipage ont le droit de l'ecraser ou de le mutiler dans les rues—cent victimes expirent par annee sous les rues des voiture."

Besides the want of pavement to protect us from the carriages, and to keep our feet dry, we have to encounter the mass of filth and dirt, which the nastiness of the inhabitants deposits, and which the police suffers to remain. The state of Edinburgh in its worst days, as described by our English neighbours, was never worse than what you meet with in France. The danger of walking the streets at night is very great, and the perfumes of Arabia do not prevail in the morning.

The churches in all the villages are falling to ruin, and in many instances are converted into granaries, barracks, and hospitals; manufacturing establishments are also in ruins, scarcely able to maintain their workmen; their owners have no money for the repair of their buildings. The following description of the changes that have taken place in the French villages, is better than any thing I can give; and from what I have seen, it is perfectly correct:

[43]"Avant la revolution, le village se composait de quatre mille habitans. Il fournissait pour sa part, au service general de l'Eglise et des hopitaux, ainsi qu'aux besoins de l'instruction cinq eclesiastiques, deux soeurs de la charite, et trois maitres d'ecol. Ces derniers sont remplace par un maitre d'equitation, un maitre de dessin et deux maitres de musique. Sur huit fabriques d'etoffes de laisne et de coton, il ne reste plus qu'une seule. En revanche il s'est etabli deux caffes, un tabaque, un restaurat, et un billiard qui prosperent d'une maniere surprenante. On comptait autrefois quarante charretiers de labour; vingt-cinq d'entre eux sont devenus couriers, piqueurs, et coches. Ce vuide est remplie par autant de femmes, qui dirigent la charette et qui pour se delasser de tems en tems menent au marche des voitures de paille ou de charbon. Le nombre de charpentiers, de macons, et d'autres artisans est diminue a peu pres de moitie. Mais le prix de tout les genres de main d'oeuvre ayant aussi augmente de moitie—cela revient au meme—et la compensation se retablit. Une espece d'individus que le village fournit en grande abondance, et dans des proportions trop fortes ce sont les domestiques de luxe et de livree. Pour peu que cela dure on achevera de depeupler le campagne de gens utiles qui le cultivent pour peupler les villes d'individus oisifs et corrompus. Beaucoup de femmes et de jeunes filles, qui n'etaient que des couturiers, et des servantes de femmes, ont aussi trouve de l'avancement dans la capitale, et dans les grandes villes. Elles sont devenues femmes de chambre—brodeuses—et marchandes des modes. On dirait que le luxe a entreprit de pomper la jeunesse; toutes les idees et tous les regards sont tournes vers lui a aucun epoque anterieure le contingent du village en hommes de loi—huissiers—etudiants en droits, medicins, poetes et artistes, ne s'etait eleve au dela de trois ou quatre; il s'eleve maintenant a soixante deux, et une chose qu'on n'aurait jamais su imaginer autrefois c'est qu'il y a dans le nombre autant de peintres, de poetes, de comediens, de danseuses de theatre et de musiciens ambulans, qu'une ville de quatre vingt mille hommes aurait pu en fournir il y a trente ou quarante ans."

Another mark of the poverty of France at present occurs to me: In every town, but particularly in the large cities, we are struck with numbers of idle young men and women who are seen in the streets. Now that the army no longer carries away the "surplus population of France," (to use the language of Bonaparte), the number of these idlers is greatly increased. The great manufacturing concerns have long ceased to employ them. France is too poor to continue the public works which Napoleon had every where begun. The French have no money for the improvement of their estates, the repair of their houses, or the encouragement of the numerous trades and professions which thrive by the costly taste and ever-varying fashion of a luxurious and rich community. Being on the subject of taste and fashion, I must not forget that I noticed the dress and amusements of the French as offering a mark of their poverty. The great meanness of their dress must particularly strike every English traveller; for I believe there is no country in the world where all ranks of people are so well dressed as in England. It is not indeed astonishing to see the nobility, the gentry, and those of the liberal professions well clothed, but to see every tradesman, and every tradesman's apprentice, wearing the same clothes as the higher orders; to see every servant as well, if not better clothed than his master, affords a clear proof of the riches of a country. In the higher ranks among the French, a gentleman has indeed a good suit of clothes, but these are kept for wearing in the evening on the promenade, or at a party. In the morning, clothes of the coarsest texture, and often much worn, or even ragged, are put on. If you pay a lady or gentleman a morning visit, you find them so metamorphosed as scarcely to be known; the men in dirty coarse cloth great coats, wide sackcloth trowsers and slippers; the women in coarse calico wrappers, with a coloured handkerchief tied round their hair. All the little gaudy finery they possess is kept for the evening, but even then there is nothing either costly or elegant, or neat, as with us. In their amusements also is the poverty of the people manifested. A person residing in Paris, and who had travelled no further, would think that this observation was unjust, for in Paris there is no want of amusements; the theatres are numerous, and all other species of entertainment are to be found. But in the smaller towns, one little dirty theatre, ill lighted, with ragged scenery, dresses, and a beggarly company of players, is all that is to be found. The price of admittance is also very low. The poverty of the people will not admit of the innumerable descriptions of amusements which we find in every little town in England: amateur concerts are sometimes got up, but for want of funds they seldom last long. My subscription to one of these at the town where we resided, was five francs per month, or about a shilling each concert. This may be taken as a specimen of the price of French amusements.

STATE OF RELIGION.

THE order of the priesthood in France had suffered greatly in the revolution. They were everywhere scouted and reviled, either for being supporters of the throne, or for being rich, or for being moderes. Napoleon found them in this condition; he never more than tolerated them, and latterly, by his open attack and cruel treatment of their chief, he struck the last and severest blow against the church. Unable to bear the insults of the military, deprived of the means of support, many of the clergy either emigrated or concealed themselves. In the principal towns, indeed, the great establishments took the oath of allegiance to the tyrant; but the inferior clergy and the country curates met nowhere with encouragement, and were allowed to starve, or to pick up a scanty pittance by teaching schools in a community who laughed at education, at morality, and religion.

Many of the churches, convents, and monasteries were demolished; many were converted into barracks, storehouses, and hospitals. We saw but one village church in our travels through France, and even in the larger towns we found the places of public worship in a state of dilapidation. I went to see the palace of the Archbishop at Aix; out of a suite of most magnificent rooms, about 30 in number, one miserable little chamber was furnished for his highness. In the rest, the grandeur of former days was marked by the most beautiful tapestry on some part of the walls, while other parts had been laid bare and daubed over with caps of liberty, and groupes of soldiers and guillotines, and indecent inscriptions. The nitches for statues, and the frames of pictures, were seen empty. The objects which formerly filled them were dashed to pieces or burnt.

The conduct of the people at the churches marked the low state of religion: the higher ranks talked in whispers, and even at times loudly, on their family concerns, their balls and concerts. The peasantry and lower ranks behaved with more decency, but seemed to think the service a mere form; they came in at all hours, and staid but a few minutes; went out and returned.

We had in our small society some very respectable clergymen; but I am sorry to say, we had one instance shewing the immoral tendency of the celibacy of the clergy.

Very few of the convents remain. I have detailed our visit to one of them in my journal; we found every thing decent and well conducted, but not with any thing like the strictness and rigour we expected. At Aix there was a small establishment of Ursulines, a very strict order; there was also a penitentiary establishment of Magdalenes, the rules of which were said by the people of Aix to be of the most inhuman nature. The caterers for the establishment were ordered to buy only spoilt provisions for food; fasting was prescribed for weeks together; and the miserable young women lay on boards a foot in breadth, with scarce any clothing. Their whole dress, when they went out, consisted of a shift and gown of coarsest hard blanket stuff. They were employed in educating young children. I once met a party of them walking out with their charges, who were chanting hymns and decorating these miserable walking skeletons with flowers.

We had also at Aix a very celebrated preacher named De Coq. I went to hear him, and, though much struck with his fluency of language, did not much admire his style of preaching; there was too much of cant and declamation, and at times he made a most intolerable noise, roaring as if he were addressing an army. This man, however, succeeded in drawing tears from the audience; but this did not surprise me, for it is astonishing how easily this is accomplished. This reminds me of a scene which I witnessed one evening at the theatre at Aix. We were seated next an old Marquise with whom we were acquainted. The tragedy of Merope, and particularly the part of the son Egistus, was butchered in a very superior style; the Marquise turned to my sister, and said to her, "Oh how touching! how does it happen that it does not make you cry? But you shall see me cry in a minute; I shall just think of my poor son whom Napoleon took for the conscription." She then by degrees worked herself up into a fit of tears, and really cried for a pretty tolerable space of time. A most amusing soliloquy took place at our house the night before the national guard left Aix, in pursuit of Bonaparte. This lady came to pay us a visit; and after crying very prettily, she exclaimed, "Oh, the barbare, he has taken away my son—he has ruined my concert which I had fixed for Thursday—we were to have had such music!—and Jule, my son, was to have sung; but Jule is gone, perhaps to——Oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu!—and I had laid out three hundred pounds in repairing my houses at Marseilles, and not one of them will now be let—and I had engaged Cipre (a fiddler), for Thursday; and we should have been so happy."—But this is a most extraordinary episode to introduce when talking of the state of religion.

Some measures taken latterly by the King, seem to have been but ill received by the French, and they then shewed how little attention they were inclined to pay to religious restraints, which were at variance with their interests and their pleasures: I allude to the shutting of the theatres and the shops on Sunday. Perhaps, considering the nature of their religion, and the long habit which had sanctioned the devoting of this day to amusement, the measure was too hasty. Certain it is, that neither this measure, nor the celebration of the death of Louis XVI. did any good to the Bourbon cause. The last could not fail to awaken many disagreeable feelings of remorse and of shame: It was a kind of punishment to all who had in any way joined in that horrid event. At Aix, the solemn ceremony was repeatedly interrupted by the noise of the military. We remarked one man in particular, who continued laughing, and beating his musket on the ground. On leaving the church, our landlord told us, he was one of those who had led one of the Marseilles bands at that time; and that there were in that small community, who had assembled in church, more than five or six others of the same description. How many of these men must there have been in all France whose feelings, long laid asleep, were awakened by such a ceremony!

ADMINISTRATION OF JUSTICE.

NAPOLEON'S greatest ambition was to inter-meddle with everything in the kingdom. With most of the changes which his restless spirit has produced, the French have no great reason to be satisfied; but all agree, that with regard to the administration of justice, and the courts, for the trial of civil suits in France, the alterations which he has introduced, have been ultimately of essential benefit to the country. Previous to his accession to the government, the sources of equity were universally contaminated, and the influence of corruption most deeply felt in every part of the constitution of their courts. On the accession of Napoleon to the throne, the most respectable and able men among the judges and magistrates were continued in their appointments, and the vacancies, occasioned by the dismission of those found guilty of corruption, (many of whom had, during the confusions of the revolution, actually seized their situations), were supplied, in frequent instances, by those of the older nobility, whose characters and principles were known and respected. In addition to this, the civil and the criminal codes were both carefully revised. In this revisal, the greatest legal talents in the nation were employed. The laws of different nations, more particularly of England, were brought to contribute in the formation of a new code; and by a compilation from the Roman, the French and the English law, a new institute, or body of civil and criminal justice, was formed, intended for the regulation of the whole kingdom. Previous to this change, it must be observed, that the laws, in the different provinces of the kingdom, were in some measure formed upon, and always interwoven with, the particular observances and customs of their respective provinces; the inevitable consequence was, that every province, possessing different usages, had also a different code. [44]"La bizarrerie des loix," says Mercier, "et la variete des coutumes font que l'avocat le plus savant devient un ignore des qu'il se trouve en Gasgogne, ou en Normandie. Il perd a Vernon, un proces qu'il avoit gagne a Poissy. Prenez le plus habile pour la consultation, et la plaidoyerie, eh bien, il sera oblige d'avoir son avocat et son procureur, si on lui intente un proces dans le resort de la plupart des autres parlemens." The consequence of this was an uncertainty, intricacy, and want of any thing like regulating principles in the laws, and an incoherency and inconsistency in the administration of both civil and criminal justice.

The improvements introduced by the late Emperor, have therefore, considered under this point of view, been of no common benefit to the kingdom, as they have given, to some measure, certainty, principle and consistency, the essential attributes of good laws, to what was formerly a mass of confusion.

At Aix, where we resided, the head court is held for four provinces, and there is a college for the study of law and divinity. Most of the acquaintances I there formed were gentlemen belonging to the law; many of them had been liberally educated, were men of talents, and some of them possessed acquirements which would have done honour to any bar. The opinion of all these was strongly in favour of the new codes; and they go so far as to say, that when the matter comes under consideration, there are very few things which the present government will change, and very few judges who will lose their situations.

They allowed, however, that latterly, Napoleon had forgotten his usual moderation, and, incensed against the importation of foreign merchandise, had instituted a court, and formed a new and most rigorous code for the trial of all cases of smuggling and contraband trade. But fortunately for the people, this court had scarcely commenced its severe inflictions, when the deposition of Napoleon, and the subsequent peace with England, rendered its continuance unnecessary. The punishments awarded by this court, were, in their rigour, infinitely more terrible than that of any other in Europe. There was pot the slightest proportionment of the punishment to the offence. For the sale of the smallest proportion of contraband goods, the unfortunate culprit was condemned immediately to eight or ten years labour amongst the galley-slaves. For the weightier offences, the importation of larger quantities of forbidden goods, perpetual labour, and even death, were not unfrequently pronounced.

I was informed, that when Napoleon commanded the Senate to pass the decree for the institution of this court, one of the members asked him, if he believed he would find Frenchmen capable of executing his orders, and enforcing such laws? His answer was, "my salaries will soon find judges;" and the consequence of this determination, upon his part, was, that while he paid the judges of the other tribunals at Aix by a miserable annuity of one hundred and fifty pounds, and two hundred pounds, the judges of the court of contraband were ordered to receive seven hundred pounds and eight hundred pounds. Napoleon was perfectly right in his opinion; that such was the want of honour and principle, and such the excessive poverty of France, that these salaries would soon find judges. I have heard from unquestionable authority, that, for the last vacancy which was filled up in that court, there were ten candidates.

The court-room, in which this law tribunal was held, is now occupied by a society of musical amateurs, and a concert was given there, during our stay at Aix, once every week. One of the lawyers, in talking of this court, informed me, that in that very room, where the judges of the court of contraband sat, he had played in comedy and tragedy, pleaded causes, had taken his part in concerts, and danced at balls, under its several revolutions, its different political phases of a theatre, a court of justice, a concert and a ball-room. Exactly similar to this was the fate of the churches, palaces, and the houses of individuals under Napoleon, which were alternately barracks, hospitals, stables, courts of justice, caffes, restaurats, &c.

The penal code of the late Emperor breathes throughout a spirit of humanity, which must astonish every one acquainted with his character. The punishment of death, which, according to Blackstone, may be inflicted by the English law in one hundred and sixty different offences, is now in France confined to the very highest crimes only; the number of which does not exceed twelve. A minute attention has been paid to the different degrees of guilt in the commission of the same crime; and according to these, the punishments are as accurately proportioned as the cases will permit. One species of capital punishment has been ordained instead of that multitude of cruel and barbarous deaths which were marshalled in terrible array along the columns of the former code. This punishment is decapitation. The only exception to this is in the case of parricide, in which, previous to decapitation, the right hand is cut off; and in the punishment for high-treason, in which the prisoner is made to walk barefoot, and with a crape veil over his head to the scaffold, where he is beheaded. Torture was abolished by Louis XVI., and has never afterwards been resumed.

After Napoleon had it in view to form a new code for France, he was at great pains to collect together the most upright and honourable, as well as the most able amongst the French lawyers; the principal members of whom were Tronchet, one of the counsel who spoke boldly and openly in defence of the unfortunate Louis XVI., Portalis, Malville, and Bigot de Preameneau. Under such superintendance, the work was finished in a short time.

The trial by jury has been for some time established in France; but the Emperor, dreading that so admirable an institution, if managed with an impartial hand might, in too serious a manner, impose restraint upon his individual despotism, took particular care to subject those crimes, which he dreaded might arise out of the feelings of the public, to the cognisance of special tribunals. All trials originating out of the conscription, are placed under the care of a special court, composed of a certain number of the criminal judges and military officers. In France, there is no grand jury; but its place is supplied by that which they have denominated the Jure d'Accusation. This is a court composed of a few members amongst the civil judges, assisted by the Procureur-General or Attorney-General. Their juries for the trial of criminals are selected from much higher classes in society than with us in England; a circumstance the effect of absolute necessity, owing to the extreme ignorance of the middling ranks and the lower classes. In the conducting of criminal trials, the manner of procedure is in a great measure different from our English form. A criminal, when first apprehended, is carried, before the magistrate of the town, generally the Mayor. He there undergoes repeated examinations; all the witnesses, are summoned and examined, in a manner similar to the precognitions taken before the Sheriff of Scotland, and the whole process is nearly as tedious as upon the trial. All the papers and declarations are then sent with the accused, to the Jure d'Accusation, who also thoroughly examine the prisoner and the witnesses; if grounds are found for the trial, the papers are immediately laid before the "Cour d'Assize." Before this court, the prisoner is again specially examined by its president. His former declarations are compared and confronted with his present answers, and the strongest evidence against him, is often in this manner extracted from his own story. It might certainly be imagined, that with all these precautions, it would be scarcely possible that the guilty should escape. The very contrary is the case, and I have been informed by some of the ablest lawyers in the courts here, that out of ten prisoners, really guilty, six haves good chance of getting clear off. They ascribe this to two principal causes, 1st, That the proceedings become so extremely tedious and intricate, that it is impossible for the jury to keep them all in their recollection, and that, forgetting the general tenor of the evidence, they suffer the last impressions, those made by the counsel for the prisoner, to bias their judgment, and to regulate their verdict. In the 2d place, It is customary for the president of the court to enter into a long examination and cross-examination of the prisoner, (assisted and prompted in his questions by the rest of the judges), in a severe and peremptory style, and what is too often the case with the judge, in his anxiety to condemn, to identify himself with the public prosecutor. He appears, in the eye of the jury, more in the light of an interested individual, anxious to drag the offender in the most summary manner to the punishment of the law, than as an upright and unbiassed judge, whose duty it is coolly to consider the whole case, to weigh the evidence of the respective witnesses, to consider, with benevolent attention, the defence of the prisoner, and, after all this, to pronounce, with authoritative impartiality, the sentence of the law. This naturally prejudices the jury in favour of the prisoner; and few, even in our own country, who may have been witness to the common routine of our criminal procedure, will not themselves have felt that immediate and irresistible impression, which is made upon the mind of the spectator, when he sees on one side the solemn array of the court, the judges, the officers, and all the terrible show of justice; and on the other, the trembling, solitary, unbefriended criminal, who awaits in silence the sentence of the law. One difference, however, between the effects produced by the respective criminal codes of France and England, ought to be here remarked. In England, owing to the principles and practice of our criminal law, it too frequently happens, that the most open and notorious criminals escape, whilst the less able, but more innocent offenders, those who might be easily reclaimed, who have gone little way in the road of crime, but who are less able to do themselves justice at their trial, fall an easy sacrifice to the rigour of our criminal code. In France, owing to the custom of the cross-examinations of the prisoner, by the president and the different judges, this can never happen. The notoriety of his character prevents the common feelings of compassion in the breasts of the jury; the severity of the interrogations renders it impossible that any fictitious story, when confronted with his former examinations before the magistrate and the Jure d'Accusation, can long hold together, and he is, in this manner, generally convicted by the evidence extracted from his own mouth upon the trial.

The present style of French pleading is exactly what we might be led to expect from the peculiar state of manners, and the particular character of that singular people. It is infinitely further removed from dry legal ratiocination, and much more allied to real eloquence, than any thing we met with in England. Any one who is acquainted with the natural inborn fluency in conversation of every individual whom he meets in France, may be able to form some idea of the astonishing command of words in a set of men who are bred to public speaking. One bad effect arises from this, which is, that if the counsel is not a man of ability, this amazing volubility, which is found equally in all, serves more to weaken than to convince; for the little sense there may be, is spread over so wide a surface, or is diluted with such a dose of verbiage, that the whole becomes tasteless and insipid to the last degree. But this fluency, on the other hand, in the hands of a man of talents and genius, is a most powerful weapon. It hurries you along with a velocity which, from its very rapidity, is delightful; and where it cannot convince, it amuses, fascinates, and overpowers you.

One thing struck me as remarkable in the French form of trial, which perhaps might be with benefit adopted by England. All exceptions and challenges to jurymen are made in private, and not, as with us, in open court. This is a more delicate method, and no man's character can suffer (as is sometimes the case in England) by being rejected. The trial by jury is very far from being popular in France; indeed, upon an average I have heard more voices against it than advocates for its continuance. The great cause for this dissatisfaction is that which leads to various other calamitous consequences in that kingdom,—the want of public spirit in France.—The French have literally no idea of any duties which they must voluntarily, without the prospect of reward, undertake for their country. It never enters their heads that a man may be responsible for the neglect of those public duties, for the performance of which he receives no regular salary.—There is a constant connection in their minds, between business and payment, between money and obligation: and as for that noble and patriotic spirit which will undergo any labour from a disinterested sense of public duty, it is long since any such feeling has existed, and it will probably, if things continue in their present state, be long before it will exist again in France.

It might be imagined, from the advantages in the administration of criminal justice, that France was in this respect equal, if not superior to Britain.—This, however, is by no means the case. The written criminal code of France is indeed apparently more humane, and the civil code less intricate and voluminous than with us in England. But there is a wide and striking difference between this code, drawn up with all the luminousness of speculative benevolence, and the manner in which the same code is carried into execution: What signifies the purity of the code, if the executive part of the system, the nomination of the judges, the direction of the sentences, and the reversal of the whole proceedings, was submitted to the power, and constituted part of the iron prerogative, of a despotic Sovereign. It was the constant practice of the late Emperor to appoint, whenever it was necessary for the accomplishment of his own ends, what he denominated a COUR PREVOITALE—a species of court consisting of judges of his own selection, who, with summary procedure, condemned or acquitted, according to the pleasure of its master. Not only was this court erected, which was in every respect under the controul of the Emperor, but by means of his police emissaries, of those pensioned spies whom he insinuated into all the offices, and the remotest branches of the political administration, he contrived to overawe the different judges, to keep them in perpetual fear of the loss of their official situation, and in this manner to beat down the evidence, to bias the sentence, and finally, to direct the verdict. The judicial situations became latterly so completely under the influence of the creatures of the Court, that I was informed by the lawyers, that no judge was sure of remaining for two months in his official situation.

Upon the important subject of criminal delinquency, I am sorry to say the only information I contrived to collect was extremely unsatisfactory. I had been promised, by an intelligent barrister, with whom I had the good fortune to become acquainted, a detailed opinion upon the state of criminal delinquency in France; but in the meantime Napoleon landed from Elba, and my friend was called away from his civil duties to join the national guard, who were marched, when it was too late, in pursuit of Bonaparte.

From the calendar of crimes, however, which I had the opportunity of examining at the Aix assizes, as well as from the decided opinion of many of the lawyers there, I should be induced to hazard the opinion, that the crimes of robbery, burglary, and murder, are infinitely less frequent than in England. The great cause of this is undoubtedly to be attributed to the excellence of their police. Wherever such a preventive as the system of Espionage, and that carried to the perfection which we find it possessing in that country, exists, it is impossible that the greater crimes should be found to any alarming decree. There is a power, a vigour and an omnipresence in this effective police, which can check every criminal excess before it has attained any thing like a general or rooted influence throughout the kingdom; and its power, under the administration of Napoleon, was exerted to an excessive degree in France. Such a mode, however, of diminishing the catalogue of crimes, could exist only under a state of things which the inhabitants of a free country would not suffer for a moment; and indeed, to anyone possessing but the faintest idea of what liberty is, there is something in the idea of a system of espionage which is dreadful. It is like some of those dark and gigantic daemons, embodied by the genius of fiction, the form of which you cannot trace, although you feel its presence, which stalks about enveloped in congenial gloom, and whose iron grasp falls upon you the more terrible, because it is unsuspected. Fortunately such a monster can never be met with in a free country. It shuns the pure, and untainted atmosphere of liberty, and its lungs will only play with freedom in the foul and thick air of a decided despotism.

The effects of this system of espionage, in destroying every thing upon which individual happiness in society depends; the free and unrestrained communication of opinion between friends, and even the confidence of domestic society, can hardly be conceived by any one who has lived in a free country. Upon this subject, I had an opportunity of conversing with a most respectable and intelligent British merchant, who, previous to the revolution, had been a partner in a banking-house in the French metropolis; and afterwards had the misfortune of being kept a prisoner in Paris for the last twelve years. The accounts he gave us regarding the excessive rigour of the police, and the jealousy of every thing like intercourse, were truly terrible. It had become a maxim in Paris, an axiom whose truth was proved by the general practice and conduct of its inhabitants, to believe every third person a spy. Any matter of moment, any thing bordering upon confidential communication, was alone to be trusted entre quatre yeux. The servants in every family, it was well known, were universally in the pay of government. They could not be hired till they produced their licenses, and these licenses, to serve as domestics, they all procured from the office of the police. From that office their wages were as certain, and probably (if the information they conveyed was of importance), more regularly paid than those they received from their masters. Even, therefore, in the most secret retirement of your own family, you could never speak with perfect freedom. Mr B——, the gentleman above mentioned, informed me, that before he dared to mention, even to his wife or family, any subject connected with the affairs of the day, or when they wished to speak freely and unrestrainedly upon any point whatever, every corner of the room was first examined, the chinks of the doors, and the walls of the adjoining apartments underwent a similar scrutiny; and even then they did not dare to introduce any subject which was nearly connected with the political government of the country.

A lawyer, who lived upon the same floor with this gentleman, was astonished, one morning, by the entry of the police officers into his room at four in the morning, without the slightest previous warning. They pulled him out of bed—hurried him away to the police office, kept him in strict custody for several days, seized all his papers; and having at last discovered that their suspicions were ill-founded, and that he had been secured upon erroneous information, he was brought back to his lodgings by the same hands, and in the same summary manner in which he had been removed; and he is to this day ignorant of the cause of his detention, or the nature of the offence of which he had been suspected.

Amongst the few English who, along with Mr B. were detained in Paris, it was naturally to be expected, that the precautions taken to deceive the police, and to prevent the suspicion of any secret intercourse, were still more severe and rigorous than were used by the native French. As the subjects of this country, they naturally became the objects of continual suspicion, and were more strictly watched than any other persons. They contrived, however, to procure, although at distant intervals, the sight of an English newspaper. Nine or ten months frequently elapsed without their receiving any intelligence from England. When they had the good fortune to procure one, the precautions necessary to be adopted were hardly to be believed. The same gentleman informed me, that upon receiving an English paper, he did not venture to mention the circumstance even to his wife and children, lest, in their joy, some incautious words might have escaped from them before the servants of the family, in which case, detection would have been immediate, and imprisonment inevitable. Keeping it, therefore, entirely to himself, he concealed it from every eye during the day, and at night, after the family had gone to bed, he sat up, lighted his taper, and, when every thing was still and silent about him, ventured, only then, to read over the paper, and to get by heart the most important parts of the intelligence regarding England; and he afterwards transmitted the invaluable present to some secret friend, who, in the same manner, dared only to peruse it at midnight, and with the same precautions.

A very sensible distinction has been made in the French code, in the difference of punishment which is inflicted upon robbery, when it has or has not been accompanied by murder; and the consequence of such distinction is, that in that country the most determined robberies are seldom, as they often are with us, accompanied with murder; whilst the accurate proportionment of punishment to the crimes, encourages persons possessing information to come forward, and removes those natural scruples which all must feel, when they reflect that they may be the chief instruments in bringing down a capital penalty upon the head of an individual, whose trivial offence was in no respect deserving of this last and severest punishment of the law.

The crime of which I heard most frequently, and of which the common occurrence may be traced to the miserable condition to which trade and commerce were, during the last few years, reduced in France, and to that general laxity of moral conduct which even now distinguishes that country, was Fraudulent Bankruptcy. The merchant, no longer possessing the means of making his fortune by fair speculation, has recourse to this nefarious mode of bettering his condition. He settles with his creditors for a small per centage; disposes of his property by fictitious sales, ventes simulees, and thus enriches himself upon the ruin of his creditors. At a small town in the south of France, where I for sometime resided, there were several individuals, who, it was well known, had made their fortunes in this manner; and at Marseilles it had, as I understood, become in some measure a common practice. The crime is seldom discovered, attended at least with those circumstances of corroborative evidence which are necessary in bringing it to trial. Upon detection, accompanied by complete proof, the punishment is severe. It consists in being condemned for fourteen years, or for life, to the galleys, and in branding the delinquent with letters denoting his crime: B F for Fraudulent Bankruptcy. At one of the trials of the Aix assizes, at which I was present, a young man of excellent family, son of the Chevalier de St Louis, was convicted of this crime, and although it was proved that he had been deceived by his partner, a man of decidedly bad character, but possessed of deep cunning, he was condemned for fourteen years to the galleys: Owing to a flaw in the process, the sentence was set aside by the Cour de Cassation, or Supreme Court of Appeal at Paris, and a new trial was ordered.

From the same cause, which I have mentioned above, the perfection of their police, petty theft is not of such common occurrence in France as in England. The country, in short, at the time when we passed through it, was very quiet, and few crimes were committed; but on the disbanding of the troops, a great change may be expected. These restless creatures must find work, or they will make it for themselves. It is a hard question how the un-warlike Louis is to employ them. Many talk of the necessity of sending an immense force to St Domingo; and it would appear wise policy to devise some expedition of this nature, which would swallow up the restless, the profligate, and the abandoned.

It is not our intention, nor indeed would the limits of our work permit, of entering into the question of what ought to be the conduct of the King. But there is another question, from answering which we can scarcely escape.

Are the majority of the French nation well affected to the Bourbons? This is a question which is put to every person who returns from France. It is a natural, a most important, but a most difficult one to answer. I endeavoured, by every method in my power, by a communication with those gentlemen of the province where I resided, whose characters and situations entitled them to implicit credit; by endeavouring to satisfy myself as to the real sentiments of the peasantry, and by a perusal of those documents regarding the state of the country, which were believed the most authentic, to acquire upon this subject something like satisfactory information. As to the sentiments entertained at present by the generality of the French people upon this subject, I cannot speak, but with regard to the period which I passed in France, which began in November 1814, and ended at the time of the landing of Napoleon from Elba, I have no hesitation in declaring, that it appeared to me, that the majority of the French nation were at that time hostile to the interests of the Bourbons. On the other hand, in consulting the same sources of information as I have above enumerated, it was as evident that they are not generally favourable to the restoration of the Imperial Government under Napoleon. What appeared at that period to be the general desire of the nation, was the establishment of a new constitution, formed upon those principles, embracing those new interests, and compatible with that new state of things which had been created by the revolution. It was on this account that they favoured Napoleon.

The situation of France then exhibited perhaps one of the most singular pictures ever presented to view by a civilized nation; a people without exterior commerce, and whose interior trade and manufactures, except in some favourite spots, was almost annihilated; whose youth was yearly drained off to supply the army, but whose agriculture has been constantly improving, which, for the last twelve years, had been subjected to all the complicated horrors of a state of war, but which, after all this, could yet earnestly desire a continuance of this state. A nation where there was scarcely to be found an intermediate rank between the Sovereign and the peasantry—for since the destruction of the ancienne noblesse, and more particularly, since all ranks have been admitted to a participation in the dignities conferred on the military, all have become equally aspiring, and all consider themselves upon the same level:—A nation where, notwithstanding the division into parties, possessing the most opposite interests and opinions, and pulling every different way, the greater part certainly desired a government similar to Napoleon's, and would even unite to obtain it:—A nation who talked of nothing but liberty, and yet suffered themselves to be subjected to the conscription, to the loss of their trade, to the severest taxes, the greatest personal deprivations, and the most complete restraint in the expression of their opinions—to the continued extortions of a military chief, the most despotic who ever reigned in a European country, and whose acts of oppression are truly Asiatic; and who tamely bore all this oppression, supported by their national vanity, because they wish to bear the name of the great people: Great, because their ambition is unbounded; great as a nation of rapacious and blood-thirsty soldiers; great in every species of immorality and vice! Who, led away by this miserable vanity, have been false to their oaths, so recently pledged to a mild and virtuous prince, very unfit to rule such a race of villains, because he is mild and virtuous.

But it is not generally believed, that the majority in France favoured Napoleon, though it is but a natural consequence of the state of the country; I shall therefore enumerate the divisions of ranks, and the sentiments of each.—All allow that the army were his friends; on that subject, therefore, I shall say nothing.—Next to the army, let us look to the civil authorities.—All these were in his favour—all that part of the civil authorities at least, who have the immediate management of the people.—It is in vain that the heads of office in Paris, the miserable bodies styled the Chambers of Parliament and the Counsellors of the realm, were favourably inclined towards the King.—Napoleon well knew that these were not the men who rule France.—France, as an entire kingdom, may be said to be governed by these men; but France, subdivided, is governed by the prefects, and the gens-d'armes of Napoleon.—Not a man of these was displaced by the King, and although they were all furious in their proclamations against the usurper, they, with few exceptions, joined him, and these few exceptions were removed by him.—The most powerful men in France under Napoleon were these prefects and gens-d'armes, and knowing their power, he was always cautious in their selection; wherever he conceived that they really favoured the Bourbon interest, he removed them.

Next, the whole class of Receveurs were his devoted friends.—These men were all continued in place under the un-warlike reign of Louis, but where no conscription and no droits reunis were to be enforced, they had poverty staring them in the face.—Is it unnatural that they should favour him whose government enriches them?

To the shadows of nobility, to the ghost of aristocracy which had re-appeared under the King, no power or influence can be attributed,—they dared not think, and could not act.

The better classes of the inhabitants of the cities, whether the traders and manufacturers, or the bourgeoise of France, are those who were the most decided enemies of Bonaparte: but let us look how their arm is weakened and palsied by the situation of their property.—They have many of them purchased the lands of the emigrants at very low prices, and, in many instances, from persons who could only bestow possession without legal tenure.—These feel uneasy in their new possessions; they dread the ascendancy which the nobility might still obtain under their lawful Sovereign: Napoleon came proclaiming to them that he would maintain them in their properties. Nor were all the traders and manufacturers his enemies.—He encouraged the trade of Lyons, for example, of Paris, of Rouen, and other interior towns, and he pitted these interior towns against the sea-ports of Bourdeaux, Marseilles, &c. Thus, even with commercial men, he had some friends.—And here, in mentioning Paris, I must observe, that the most slavish deference is paid by the whole of France to the opinions, as well as the fashions, which prevail at the capital. From the encouragement which he offered to its interior trade, from the grand works which he was constantly carrying on, affording labour to the idle rabble; from the magnificent spectacles supplied by his reviews, fetes, and festivities, and most of all, from the celebrated system of gulling and stage-trick, practised by his police, and through the medium of the press—From all these circumstances, it arises, that Napoleon was no where so much beloved as at Paris; and Napoleon took good care that Paris afforded to all France an example such as he would wish them to follow.—It is difficult to say why the French should tamely follow the example of their despot; but they forgot that he was a despot, and they were not singular as a nation in following the example of their chief, though, perhaps, they carried their obedience to a more slavish pitch than any other people.—"En France (says Mons. Montesquieu) il en est des manieres et de la facon de vivre, comme des modes, les Francais changent des meurs selon l'age de leur Roi,—Le Monarque pouvait meme parvenir a rendre la nation grave s'il l'avait entrepris."

Next in rank, though, from their numbers and influence, perhaps, after the army, the most powerful body in the community, the situation of the peasants must be considered. They had either seized upon, or purchased, at a low rate, the lands of the emigrants, and the national domains; these they had brought into the best state of cultivation; without the interference of any one, they directly drew the profits. The oppression in agriculture, which existed before the revolution, whether from the authority of the Seigneurs, from the corvees, from tythes, game laws, &c. all are done away—become rich and flourishing, they are able to pay the taxes, which, under Napoleon, were not so severe as is generally supposed.—But they had every thing to fear from the return of the noblesse, and from the re-establishment of the ranks and order which must exist under the new constitution of France. Can it then be considered that the peasantry should see their own interest in maintaining the revolutionary order of things? The more unjust their tenure, the more cause have they to fear; and unenlightened as many of them are, their fears once raised, will not easily be controlled. Napoleon had most politically excited alarm among them, and they are favourably inclined towards him. This powerful body have no leaders to direct them: The respectable and wealthy farmer, possessing great landed property; the yeoman, the country gentleman,—all these ranks are abolished. Where the views of the Sovereign are inimical to the peasantry, as was imagined under Louis XVIII. that body will powerfully resist him; where they were in concert, as under Napoleon, that body became his chief support next to his military force.

It is not enough that Louis XVIII. had never invaded their property—it is not enough that in different shapes he issued proclamations, and assurances, that he had no such intentions,—the peasantry felt insecure; and they dreaded the influence of his counsellors, and of the noblesse. The low rabble of France, at all times restless, and desirous of change, were favourable to Napoleon;—they wished for a continuance of that thoughtless dissipation, and dreadful immorality, which he encouraged; they wished for employment in his public works,—they looked for situations in his army.

It may then be said, that among all ranks Napoleon had friends. Who then were against him? All those who wished for peace: all those who desired the re-establishment of the church: all those who had the cause of morality and virtue at heart—all the good,—but, alas! in France, they were few in number.

I have only enumerated the great and leading parties in the community. It was my intention to have touched on the sentiments of the different professions, but I have been already too tedious; I shall here only enumerate a few of the classes, who, as they are thrown out of bread by the return of the Bourbons, and the new system of government, will be ever busily employed in favouring a despotic and military government, a continuance of war, and of a conscription.

1st, All the prefects, collectors of taxes, and their agents, who were employed in the countries subjected to Napoleon.

2d, The many officers, and under agents, employed in the conscription, and in collecting the droits reunis.

3d, The police emissaries of all ranks, forming that enormous mass who conducted the grand machine of espionage, directed the public spirit, and supplied information to the late Emperor.

4th, All the rich and wealthy army contractors, furnishers, &c. &c.

Having attempted to shew that the situation of the people in France was highly favourable to the views of the usurper, let me now observe, that there are other circumstances which greatly aided his cause.

1st, The vanity of the nation was hurt: they had not forgotten their defeat by the allies, and the proceedings of Congress, in confining within narrow bounds, that nation, who, but a year ago, gave laws to the continent, had tended to aggravate their feelings. It is difficult for any nation to shrink at once into insignificance, from the possession of unlimited power; it is impossible for France to maintain an inglorious peace.

2d, The spirit of the nation had become completely military. One year of peace cannot be supposed to have done away the effects of twelve years of victory.

3d, The general laxity of morals, and the habits of dissipation and idleness, which have followed from the revolution, and have been taught by the military, and especially by the disbanded soldiers, were favourable to him.

4th, He came at the very time when his prisoners had returned from all quarters of the globe; he came again to unite them under the revered eagle, emblem of rapine and plunder, which they everywhere looked up to; in short, if it had been suggested to any one, possessing a thorough knowledge of the situation of France, to say at what time Napoleon was most likely to succeed, he must have pitched on the moment selected by him. There are indeed many circumstances which induce me to suppose, that the plan for his restoration had been partly formed before he left Fontainbleau; for it is well known, that he long hesitated—that he often thought of making use of his remaining force, (a force of about thirty thousand men), and fighting his way to Italy; that his Marshals only prevailed on him, and that he yielded to their advice, when he might have thought and acted for himself. The conduct of Ney favours the supposition: he selected for him the spot, of all others, the most favourable for his views, should they be directed to Italy; he stipulated for his rank, for a guard of veterans; he is described as using a boldness and insolence of speech to Napoleon, which he would not have dared to use, had there not been an understanding between them. He covered his treachery by a garb of the same nature, when in presence of his lawful Sovereign: open in his abuse of the usurper, while laying plans to join him.

There is a very peculiar circumstance in Bonaparte's character, which is, that at times, he makes the most unguarded speeches, forgetful of his own interest. Thus, when the national guard of Lyons begged permission to accompany him on his march, he said to them, "You have suffered the brother of your King to leave you unattended—go—you are unworthy to follow me." Thus, when at Frejus, he said to the Mayor,—"I am sorry that Frejus is in Provence; I hate Provence, but I have always wished your town well; and, ere long, I will be among you again." This speech, which I had from the Prefect of Aix, who was intimately attached to Napoleon and his interests, I know to be authentic. In it, even the place of his landing seemed to be determined. One thing is certain, that the plan, if not commenced before his abdication, was, at all events, begun immediately after; for a long time must have been necessary to arrange matters in such a manner that he should not find the slightest opposition in his march to Paris.

I have thus attempted to give my readers some account of the state of France under Napoleon. From this account, hastily written, they will draw their own conclusions. Mine, attached as I am to one party; knowing little of politics, only interested as a Briton in the fate of my country, are these:—That France decidedly wishes to live by war and plunder—that France deserves no such government as that of the virtuous Louis—that, till the soldiery are disbanded, and their leaders punished, France can never be governed by the Bourbons:—that the majority in the nation do not wish for Napoleon in particular, but for a revolutionary government, and that we have no right of interference with their choice: but that the propriety of our immediately engaging in war could not be doubted, for our very existence as a nation depended on such conduct—that we had the same right to attack Bonaparte, as we had to attack a common robber, more particularly, if this robber had repeatedly planned and devised the destruction of our property.

They will draw the happiest conclusions in favour of our own blessed country, from a comparison with France—looking on that unhappy nation, they will exclaim with me, in the beautiful words of La Harpe: [45]"J'excuse et n'envie point ceux qui peuvent vivre comme s'ils n'avoient ni souffert ni vu souffrir; mais qu'ils me pardonnent de ne pouvoir les imiter. Ces jours d'une degradation entiere et innouie de la nature humaine sont sous mes yeux, pesent sur mon ame et retombent sans cesse sous ma plume, destinee a les retracer jusqu'a mon dernier moment."[46]



CHAPTER V.

MODERN FRENCH CHARACTER AND MANNERS.

An Englishman never dreams of entering into conversation without some previous knowledge upon the point which is the subject of discussion. You will pass but few days in France before you will be convinced, that to a Frenchman this is not at all necessary. The moment he enters the room, or caffe, where a circle may happen to be conversing, he immediately takes part in the discussion—of whatever nature, or upon whatever subject that may be, is not of the most distant consequence to him. He strikes in with the utmost self-assurance and adroitness, maintains a prominent part in the conversation with the most perfect plausibility; and although, from his want of accurate information, he will rarely instruct, he seldom fails to amuse by the exuberance of his fancy, and the rapidity of his elocution. But take any one of his sentences to pieces, analyze it, strip it of its gaudy clothing and fanciful decorations, and you will be astonished what skeletons of bare, shallow, and spiritless ideas will frequently present themselves.

In England, it often happens, that a man who is perfectly master of the subject in discussion, from the effect of shyness or embarrassment, will convey his information with such an appearance of awkwardness and hesitation, as to create a temporary suspicion of dulness, or of incapacity. But upon further examination, the true and sterling value of his remarks is easily discernible. The same can very seldom be said of a Frenchman. His conversation, which delights at the moment, generally fades upon recollection. The information of the first is like a beautiful gem, whose real value is concealed by the encrustation with which it is covered; the other is a dazzling but sorry paste in a brilliant setting. [47]"Un Francais," says M. de Stael, with great truth, "scait encore parler, lors meme il n'a point d'idees;" and the reason why a Frenchman can do so is, because ideas, which are the essential requisites in conversation to any other man, are not so to him. He is in possession of many substitutes, composed of a few of those set phrases and accommodating sentences which fit into any subject; and these, mixed up with appropriate nods, significant gestures, and above all, with the characteristic shrugging of the shoulders, are ever ready at hand when the tide of his ideas may happen to run shallow.

The perpetual cheerfulness of the French, under almost every situation, is well known, and has been repeatedly remarked. One great secret by which they contrive to preserve this invariable levity of mind, is probably this extraordinary talent of theirs for a particular kind of conversation. An Englishman, engaged in the business and duties of life, even at his hours of relaxation, is occupied in thinking upon them. In the midst of company he is often an insulated being; his mind, refusing intercourse with those around him, retires within itself. In this manner he inevitably becomes, even in his common hours, grave and serious, and if under misfortunes, perhaps melancholy and morose. A Frenchman is in every respect a different being: He cannot be grave or unhappy, because he never allows himself time to become so. His mind is perpetually busied with the affairs of the moment. If he is in company, he speaks, without introduction, to every gentleman in the room. Any thing, the most trivial, serves him for a hook on which to hang his story; and this generally lasts as long as he has breath to carry him on. He recounts to you, the first hour you meet with him, his whole individual history; diverges into anecdotes about his relations, pulls out his watch, and under the cover shews you the hair of his mistress, apostrophizes the curl—opens his pocket-book, insists upon your reading his letters to her, sings you the song which he composed when he was au desespoir at their parting, asks your opinion of it, then whirls off to a discussion on the nature of love; leaves that the next moment to philosophize upon friendship, compliments you, en passant, and claims you for his friend; hopes that the connection will be perpetual, and concludes by asking you to do him the honour of telling him your name. In this manner he is perpetually occupied; he has a part to act which renders serious thought unnecessary, and silence impossible. If he has been unfortunate, he recounts his distresses, and in doing so, forgets them. His mind never reposes for a moment upon itself; his secret is to keep it in perpetual motion, and, like a shuttlecock, to whip it back and forward with such rapidity, that although its feathers may have been ruffled, and its gilding effaced by many hard blows, yet neither you nor he have time to discover it.

Nothing can present a stronger contrast between the French and English character, and nothing evinces more clearly the superiority of the French in conversation, and the art of amusement, than the scenes which take place in the interior of a French diligence. They who go to France and travel in their own carriages are not aware of what they lose.—The interior of a French diligence, if you are tolerably fortunate in your company, is a perfect epitome of the French nation.—When you enter a public coach in England, it is certainly very seldom that, in the course of the few hours you may remain in it, you meet with an entertaining companion. Chance, indeed, may now and then throw a pleasant man in your way; but these are but thinly sown amongst those sour and silent gentlemen, who are your general associates, and who, now and then eyeing each other askance, look as if they could curse themselves for being thrown into such involuntary contiguity.

The scene in a French diligence is the most different from all this that can be conceived. Every thing there is life, and motion, and joy.—The coach generally holds from ten to twelve persons, and even then is sufficiently roomy.—The moment you enter you find yourself on terms of the most perfect familiarity with the whole set of your travelling companions. In an instant every tongue is at work, and every individual bent upon making themselves happy for the moment, and contributing to the happiness of their fellow travellers. Talking, joking, laughing, singing, reciting,—every enjoyment which is light and pleasurable is instantly adopted.—A gentleman takes a box from his pocket, opens it, and with a look of the most finished politeness, presents it, full of sweetmeats, to the different ladies in succession. One of these, in gratitude for this attention, proposes that which she well knows will be agreeable to the whole party, some species of round game like our cross-purposes, involving forfeits. The proposal is carried by acclamation,—the game is instantly begun, and every individual is included: Woe be now to the aristocracy of the interior! Old and young, honest and dishonest, respectable and disrespectable, all are involved in undistinguished confusion—but all are content to be so, and happy in the exchange. The game in the meantime proceeds, and the different forfeits become more numerous. The generality of these ensure, indeed, from their nature, a punctuality of performance. To kiss the handsomest woman in the party, to pay her a compliment in some extempore effusion, or to whisper a confidence (faire une confidence) in her ear—all these are hardly enjoined before they are happily accomplished. But others, which it would be difficult to particularize, are more amusing in their consequences, and less easy, in their execution.

The ludicrous effect of this scene is much heightened by its being often carried on in the dark, for night brings no cessation; and we have ourselves, in travelling in this manner in the diligence, engaged in many a game of forfeits where, it is not too much to say, that our play-fellows, of both sexes, were certainly nearer to the grave than the cradle, being somewhere between fifty and fourscore. The scenes which then take place, the undistinguished clamours of young and old, the audible salutes from every quarter, which point to the perpetual succession of the forfeits, altogether compose a spectacle, which to a stranger is the most unexpected and extraordinary that can be possibly imagined.