French & English

by Philip Gilbert Hamerton

And yet, delightful as may be the pleasures of malice and uncharitableness, they must always be alloyed by the secret misgiving that the foreigner may possibly, in reality, not be quite so faulty as we describe him and as we wish him to be. But the pleasure of knowing the truth for its own sake, when there is no malice, is a satisfaction without any other alloy than the regret that men should be no better than they are.

One of my objects in this book has been to show real resemblances under an appearance of diversity. Not only do nations deceive themselves by names, but they seem anxious to deceive themselves and unwilling to be undeceived. For example, in the matter of Government, there is the deceptive use of the words “Monarchy” and “Republic.” When we are told, for the sake of contrast, that England is a Monarchy and France a Republic, it is impossible, of course, to deny that the statement is nominally accurate, but it conveys, and is disingenuously intended to convey, an idea of opposition that does not correspond with the reality. The truth is that both countries have essentially the same system of Government. In both we find a predominant Legislative Chamber, with a Cabinet responsible to that Chamber, and existing by no other tenure than the support of a precarious majority. The Chamber in both countries is elected by the people, with this difference, that in France the suffrage is universal and in England very nearly universal. In short, the degree of difference that there is does not justify the use of terms which would be accurate if applied to countries so politically opposite as Russia and the United States. Again, in the matter of religion, to say that France is “Catholic” and England “Protestant” conveys a far stronger idea of difference than that which would answer to the true state of the case. In each country we find a dominant Orthodoxy, the Church of the aristocracy, with its hierarchy of prelates and other dignitaries; and under the shadow of the Orthodoxy, like little trees under a big one, we find minor Protestant sects that have no prelates, and also tolerated Jews and unbelievers. Stated in this way the real similarity of the two cases becomes much more apparent, the most important difference (usually passed over in silence) being that co-establishment exists in France for two Protestant sects and for the Jews, whilst it does not exist in England.

It is an obstacle to accurate thinking when differences are made to appear greater than they are by the use of misleading language.[1] France and England are, no doubt, very different, as two entirely independent nations are sure to be, especially when there is a marked diversity of race, but the distance between them is perpetually varying. I hope to show in this volume how they approach to and recede from each other. The present tendency is strongly towards likeness, as, for example, in the adoption by the English of the closure and county councils, which are both French institutions; and it might safely be predicted that the French and English peoples will be more like each other in the future than they are now. Democracy in politics and the recognition of complete liberty of conscience, both positive and negative, in religion, will be common to both countries. Even in matters of custom there is a perceptible approach, not to identity, but to a nearer degree of similarity. The chauvinist spirit in both countries recognises this unwillingly. A nobler patriotism may see in it some ground of hope for a better international understanding.

As it is unpleasant for an author to see his opinions misrepresented, I may be permitted to say that in politics I am a pure “Opportunist,” believing that the best Government is that which is best suited to the present condition of a nation, though another might be ideally superior. When a country is left to itself a natural law produces the sort of Government which answers for the time. I look upon all Governments whatever as merely temporary and provisional expedients, usually of an unsatisfactory character, their very imperfection being a sort of quality, as it reconciles men to the inevitable change. To make a comparison far more sublime than our poorly-contrived political systems deserve, they are moving like the sun with all his cortège of planets towards a goal that is utterly unknown. Or it is possible that there may be no goal whatever before us, but only unending motion. The experimental temper of our own age is preparing, almost unconsciously, for an unseen and unimaginable future. It is our vain desire to penetrate the secret of that future that makes all our experiments so interesting to us. France has been the great experimental laboratory during the last hundred years, but England is now almost equally venturesome, and is likely, before long, to become the more interesting nation of the two.

I believe Parliamentary Government to be the only system possible and practicable in England and France at the present day. I believe this without illusion and without enthusiasm. The parliamentary system is so imperfect that it works slowly and clumsily in England, whilst in France it can hardly be made to work at all. With two parties the prize of succession is offered to the most eloquent fault-finder, with three a Cabinet has not vitality enough for bare existence. At the present moment the English Parliament inspires but little respect and the French no respect whatever. Still we are parliamentarians, not for the love of long speeches in the House, but from a desire to preserve popular liberty outside of it. The distinction here between England and France is that in France every parliamentarian is of necessity a republican, a freely-elected parliament being incompatible with monarchy in that country, whereas in England Queen Victoria, unlike her predecessor Charles I., has made it possible for her subjects to be parliamentarians and royalists at the same time.

In the variety of national and religious antipathies we sometimes meet with strange anomalies. Whenever there is any conflict between French Catholics and French Freethinkers the sympathy of all but a very few English people is assured to the Catholics beforehand, without any examination into the merits of the case, and the case itself is likely to be stated in England in such a manner as to command sympathy for the Catholics. This is remarkable in a country which is, on the whole, Protestant, as the very existence of the French Protestants (in themselves a defenceless minority) is due to the protection of the Freethinkers. Without that strictly neutral protection Protestant worship would no more be tolerated in France than it was in the city of Rome when the Popes had authority there. I may also remind the English reader that if genuine Catholics were to become masters of England all Protestant places of worship would be shut up, and the Anglican sovereign would have the alternative of Henri IV, whilst the heaviest political and municipal disabilities would weigh upon all who did not go to confession and hear mass. On the other hand, if Freethinkers, such as the present generation of French politicians, were masters of England, the worst evil to be apprehended would be the impartial treatment of all religions, either by co-establishment as in France, or by disestablishment as in Ireland. The bishops might be dismissed from the House of Lords, but the bishops and clergy of all faiths would be eligible for the House of Commons, as they are for the Chamber of Deputies.

It is now quite a commonly-received opinion in England that religion is “odiously and senselessly persecuted” in France, but nothing is said against the Italian Government for its treatment of the monastic orders. Neither does it occur to English writers that this is a case of a mote in the neighbour’s eye and a beam in one’s own. The Catholic Church has been robbed and pillaged by the French secular power, which allows her nearly two millions sterling a year in compensation, and keeps the diocesan edifices in excellent repair. The Catholic Church has been robbed and pillaged by the English secular power, which repairs none of her buildings and allows her nothing a year in compensation. In France the Jewish and Dissenting clergy are paid by the “persecuting” State, in England they get nothing from the State. Catholic street processions are forbidden in many of the French towns; in England they are tolerated in none. In France a Catholic may be the head of the State; in England he is excluded from that position by law. The French Government maintains diplomatic relations with the Holy See; a Nuncio is not received at the Court of St. James’s.

The French Government is described as persecuting and tyrannical because it has sent pretenders into exile after tolerating them for sixteen years. The English Government never tolerated pretenders at all, but kept them in exile from first to last—the last being their final extinction on foreign soil.

Another very curious and unfortunate anomaly is the instinctive opposition of French Republicans to England. It exists in degrees exactly proportioned to the degree of democratic passion in the Frenchman. When he is a moderate Republican he dislikes England moderately, a strong Republican usually hates her, and a radical Republican detests her. These feelings are quite outside of the domain of reason. England is nominally monarchical, it is true, but in reality, as every intelligent Frenchman ought to know, she has set the example of free institutions.

An hypothesis that may explain such anomalies as these, is that the ancient national antipathy which our fathers expressed in bloodshed has now, in each nation, taken the form of jealousy of the other’s progress, so that although each enjoys freedom for herself she can never quite approve of it in her neighbour. There is also the well-known dislike to neutrals which in times of bitter contention intensifies itself into a hatred even stronger than the hatred of the enemy. The French Freethinker is a neutral between hostile religions, and the English lover of political liberty is regarded as a sort of neutral by Frenchmen, since he has neither the virulence of the intransigeant nor the vindictiveness of the réactionnaire.