People on the continent generally form to themselves a more or less republican picture of English society. In the public life of the nation this is certainly very observable,—as also in their domestic habits, in which selfishness is strangely prevalent. Grown-up children and parents soon become almost strangers; and what we call domestic life[90] is therefore applicable only to husband, wife, and little children living in immediate dependence on their father; as soon as they grow up, a republican coldness and estrangement take place between them and their parents. An English poet maintains, that the love of a grandfather to his grandchildren arises from this—that in his grown-up sons he sees only greedy and hostile heirs,—in his grandchildren, the future enemies of his enemies. The very thought could never have arisen but in an English brain!
In the relations and tone of society, on the other hand, from the highest step to the very lowest, not a trace of any element of republicanism is to be found. Here, everything is in the highest degree ultra-aristocratic—it is caste-like. The present so-called great world would probably have taken a different form and character if a Court, in the continental sense of the word, had given tone and direction in the highest instance.
Such a one, however, does not here exist. The Kings of England live like private men; most of the high officers about the Court are little more than nominal, and are seldom assembled except on occasions of great ceremony. Now, as somewhere in society a focus must be organized, from which the highest light and the highest authority in all matters connected with society must emanate, the rich aristocracy seemed here called to assume this station.
It was, however, spite of all its wealth and puissance, not yet qualified to maintain such a station unquestioned. The English nobility, haughty as it is, can scarcely measure itself against the French in antiquity and purity of blood (if any value is to be attached to such things), and in no degree against the higher German nobility, which is for the most part intact.[91] It dazzles only by the old historic names so wisely retained, which appear through the whole of English history like standing masks; though new families, often of very mean and even discreditable extraction, (such as descendants of mistresses, and the like), are continually concealed behind them. The English aristocracy has indeed the most solid advantages over those of all other countries—from its real wealth, and yet more from the share in the legislative power allotted to it by the Constitution: but as it is not upon these grounds that it chooses to assert or to justify its supremacy, but precisely upon its assumed noble blood and higher extraction, the pretension must, unquestionably, appear to the rest of the world doubly ludicrous. The members of the aristocracy probably had an instinctive feeling of this; and thus, by a tacit convention—not nobility, not wealth, but an entirely new power was placed upon the throne, as supreme and absolute sovereign—Fashion: a goddess who in England alone, reigns in person, (if I may so express myself), with despotic and inexorable sway,—though always represented to mortal eyes by a few clever usurpers of either sex.
The spirit of caste, which, emanating from this source, descends through all stages of society in greater or less force, has received here a power, consistency and full development, wholly unexampled in any other country. The having visited on an intimate footing in a lower class is sufficient to ensure you an extremely cold reception in the very next step of the ladder; and no Brahmin can shrink with more horror from all contact with a Paria, than an ‘Exclusive’ from intercourse with a ‘Nobody.’—Every class of society, as well as every field, in England is separated from every other by a hedge of thorns. Each has its own manners and turns of expression,—its ‘cant’ language, as it is called, and, above all, a supreme and absolute contempt for all below it. Of course every reflecting person sees at a glance, that a society so constituted must necessarily become eminently provincial (kleinstädtisch, i. e. small-townish) in its several coteries; and this strikingly distinguishes it from the large and cosmopolitan society of Paris.
Now, although the aristocracy, as I have remarked, does not stand as such on the pinnacle of this strange edifice, it yet exercises great influence over it. It is indeed difficult to become fashionable without being of good descent; but it by no means follows, that a man is so in virtue of being well born—still less of being rich. It sounds ludicrous to say, (but yet it is true), that the present King for instance, is a very fashionable man; that his father was not in the least degree so, and that none of his brothers have any pretension to fashion;—which unquestionably is highly to their honour:—for no man who has any personal claims to distinction, would be frivolous enough long to have either the power or the will to maintain himself in that category. On the other hand, it would be a doubtful and critical matter to affirm decidedly what are the qualities which secure the highest places in that exalted sphere. You see alternately the most heterogeneous qualities occupy a post in it; and political motives, in a country like this, cannot be entirely without influence: yet I believe that caprice and luck, and, above all, women, here, as in the rest of the world, do more than anything else.
On the whole, fashionable Englishmen, however unable they may be to lay aside their native heaviness and pedantry, certainly betray the most intense desire to rival the dissolute frivolity and ‘jactance’ of the old Court of France in their fullest extent; while in exactly the same proportion the French now seek to exchange this character for old English earnestness, and daily advance towards higher and more dignified purposes and views of existence.
A London Exclusive of the present day is in truth nothing more than a bad, flat, dull impression of a ‘roué’ of the Regency and a courtier of Louis the Fifteenth: both have, in common, selfishness, levity, boundless vanity, and an utter want of heart; both think they can set themselves above everything by means of contempt, derision and insolence; both creep in the dust before one idol alone—the Frenchman of the last age, before his King—the Englishman of this, before any acknowledged ruler in the empire of fashion. But what a contrast if we look further! In France, the absence of all morality and honesty was at least in some degree atoned for by the most refined courtesy; the poverty of soul, by wit and agreeableness; the impertinence of considering themselves as something better than other people, rendered bearable by finished elegance and politeness of manners; and egotistical vanity in some measure justified, or at least excused, by the brilliancy of an imposing Court, a high-bred air and address, the perfect art of polished intercourse, winning ‘aisance,’ and a conversation captivating by its wit and lightness.—What of all this has the English ‘dandy’ to offer?
His highest triumph is to appear with the most wooden manners, as little polished as will suffice to avoid castigation; nay, to contrive even his civilities so, that they are as near as may be to affronts:—this indeed is the style of deportment which confers upon him the greatest celebrity. Instead of a noble, high-bred ease,—to have the courage to offend against every restraint of decorum: to invert the relation in which our sex stands to women, so that they appear the attacking, and he the passive or defensive party;—to treat his best friends, if they cease to have the stamp and authority of fashion, as if he did not know them,—“to cut them,” as the technical phrase goes; to delight in the ineffably ‘fade’ jargon, and the affectation of his ‘set;’ and always to know what is ‘the thing:’—these are pretty nearly the accomplishments which form a young ‘lion’ of the world of fashion. If he has, moreover, a remarkably pretty mistress, and if it has also happened to him to induce some foolish woman to sacrifice herself on the altar of fashion, and to desert husband and children for him, his reputation reaches its highest ‘nimbus.’ If, added to this, he spends a great deal of money, if he is young, and if his name is in the ‘Peerage,’ he can hardly fail to play a transient part; at any rate he possesses in full measure all the ingredients that go to make a Richelieu of our days. That his conversation consists only of the most trivial local jests and scandal, which he whispers into the ear of a woman in a large party, without deigning to remark that there is anybody in the room but himself and the happy object of his delicate attentions; that with men he can talk only of gambling or of sporting; that, except a few fashionable phrases which the shallowest head can the most easily retain, he is deplorably ignorant; that his awkward ‘tournure’ goes not beyond the ‘nonchalance’ of a plough-boy, who stretches himself at his length on the ale-house settle; and that his grace is very like that of a bear which has been taught to dance,—all this does not rob his crown of a single jewel.
Worse still is it, that, notwithstanding the high-bred rudeness of his exterior, the moral condition of his inward man must, to be fashionable, stand far lower. That cheating is prevalent in the various kinds of play which are here the order of the day, and that when long successfully practised it gives a sort of ‘relief,’ is notorious: but it is still more striking, that no attempt is made to conceal that ‘crasse’ selfishness which lies at the bottom of such transactions,—nay, that it is openly avowed as the only rational principle of action, and ‘good-nature’ is laughed at and despised as the ‘comble’ of vulgarity. This is the case in no other country: in all others, people are ashamed of such modes of thinking, even if they are wretched enough to hold them. “We are a selfish people,” said a favourite leader of fashion, “I confess; and I do believe that what in other countries is called ‘amor patriæ’ is amongst us nothing but a huge conglomeration of love of ourselves: but I am glad of it; I like selfishness; there’s good sense in it;”—and he added, not satirically, but quite in earnest, “Good-nature is quite ‘mauvais ton’ in London; and really it is a bad style to take up, and will never do.”