Foreigners assert that the English have more of this restless disposition than any other people in Europe.
Il faut que votre ville de Londres soit un triste séjour.—I asked the person who made this remark to me, wherefore he thought so?—Parceque, answered he, tous vos jeunes gens que je vois en France s’ennuyent à la mort.—But, said I, there are a great many of your countrymen in London.—Assurément, answered he, with polite insolence, cela fait une différence.
Our climate is accused of producing this ennuy. If I rightly remember, I formerly hinted some reasons against this opinion, and of late I begin to suspect that the excessive wealth of certain individuals, and the state of society in our capital, are the sole causes of our having a greater share of that malady among us than our neighbours. The common people of England know nothing of it:—neither do the industrious of any rank, whether their object be wealth, knowledge, or fame. But in England there is a greater number than in any other country, of young men, who come to the possession of great fortunes before they have acquired any fixed and determined taste, which may serve as a resource and occupation through life.
When a youth has acquired a habit of application, a thirst of knowledge, or of fame, the most ample fortune which can fall to him afterwards, cannot always destroy dispositions and passions already formed—Particularly if the passion be ambition, which generally gives such energy to the mind, and occasions such continued exertions as sufficiently ward off lassitude and tædium; for wealth cannot lull, or pleasure enervate, a mind strongly inspired by that active principle. Such therefore are out of the present question. But when a full and uncontrolled command of money comes first, and every object of pleasure is placed within the reach of the unambitious, all other pursuits are too frequently despised; and every taste or accomplishment which could inform or strengthen the mind, and fill up the tedious intervals of life, is neglected.
A young man in this situation is prone to excess, he seldom waits the natural returns of appetite of any kind;—his sensibility is blunted by too frequent enjoyment;—what is desired to-day, is lothed to-morrow;—every thing at a distance, which bears the name of pleasure, is an object of desire;—when present, it becomes an object of indifference, if not of disgust.—The agitations of gaming are tried to prevent the horrid stagnation of indolence:—All amusements lose their relish, and serve to increase the languor they were meant to expel.
As age advances, caprice, peevishness, and tædium augment:—The scene is often changed; but the same fretful piece is constantly acted till the curtain is dropt, or is pulled down by the impatient actor himself before the natural end of the drama.
Does not all this happen in France and Germany?—Doubtless; but not so often as in England, for the reasons already mentioned. In France, a very small proportion of young men have the uncontrolled possession of great fortunes. They have not the means of gratifying every desire, and indulging every caprice. Instead of spending their time in clubs or taverns, with people of their own age, the greater part of the young nobility pass their evenings with some private family, or in those societies of both sexes to which they have the entrée. There the decorum due to such company restrains of course the vivacity and wantonness of their behaviour and conversation; and adventures occur which interest and amuse, without being followed by the nausea, languor, and remorse, which often succeed nights spent at the gaming-table, or the licentiousness of tavern suppers.
Nothing has a better influence on the temper, disposition, and manners of a young person, than living much in the company of those whom he respects. Exclusive of the improvement he may receive from their conversation, he is habituated to self-denial, and must relinquish many indulgencies which lead to indolence and languor.