:' i |i i i l>K>** H i i.'mmat U.<,i U ii * if |L it | iiii i ii H i i ni 4**n.^^y«tja: 
 
Cornell University Library 
 DC 146.M31A5 1905 
 
 V.I 
 
 Polish letters. 
 
 924 024 303 897 
 
'ism h- 
 
 Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924024303897 
 
POLISH LETTERS 
 Volume I 
 
FOUR HUNDRED AND FORTY-FIVE COPIES OF 
 THIS WORK ON ITALIAN HANDMADE PAPER, AND 
 SIX COPIES ON JAPANESE VELLUM, HAVE BEEN 
 PRINTED FOR MEMBERS. TEN ADDITIONAL 
 COPIES HAVE BEEN ISSUED COMPLIMENTARY TO 
 MR. WILLIAM K. BIXBY, THE OWNER OF THE 
 ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT. 
 
 THE COUNCIL. 
 
'e AN -Paul AlARAT. 
 
 Med-rH^m Savant Politique 
 
 y 
 
POLISH LETTERS 
 
 By 
 JEAN PAUL MARAT 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL 
 UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPT 
 
 Issued by 
 
 THE BIBLIOPHILE SOCIETY 
 
 FOR MEMBERS ONLY 
 
Copyright, J(jO^, by 
 The Bibliophile Soctety 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
I'"Ar,siMiLE PACK OF MS — Lr/lri's Polonui 
 
 SlTs 
 
Facsimile page of autograph letter, signed by "le Dr. Marat". 
 
Baron de Korff, Councillor of State of Russia, Con- 
 servator of the Library of St. Petersburg, saw this 
 volume to-day at my house. On this occasion, he told 
 me that Marat had a brother, who, at the epoch of the 
 Revolution, went to Russia. He asked the Empress 
 Catherine*s permission to change his name. He as- 
 sumed that of M. de Bouderie, and under that name 
 taught French to M. de Korff. 
 
 Bouderie died, at an advanced age, only five or six 
 years ago. 
 
 Sunday, Sept. 2, 18G0. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 "Listen!" cries the white-bearded Polish 
 patriot, Conrad Tronsko. "Listen! if two 
 hundred thousand men were collected over a 
 mine and you should give me a lighted match, 
 saying, ' Poland shall be saved, but these two 
 hundred thousand men must be blown into 
 fragments,* you would not have finished your 
 sentence before the mine were exploded." 
 
 This theatrical, melodramatic exaggeration 
 was typified in the mad reality of the French 
 Revolution. Jean Paul Marat, self-styled 
 "Prophet and Martyr of Liberty," "Nation's 
 Advocate," "People's Friend," "The Political 
 Censor," as presented in the mirror of history, 
 seems its maddest exponent. 
 
 There was method in his madness. His 
 reiterated demand that every traitor to the 
 
 [1] 
 
country should be ruthlessly cut off and ex- 
 terminated was the demand of a physician 
 who sacrifices any diseased part of the body 
 to save the rest. It was only the implicit de- 
 mand of every great general that all the foes 
 of his cause should fall before the onslaught 
 of his army. The military commander takes 
 death and destruction for granted, and the 
 sacrifice of half a million men in war does not 
 shock the moral sense of the world, because it 
 is accompanied by the pomp and circumstance 
 of battle, the specious and enthralling enthu- 
 siasm of glory, the passion of patriotism. 
 
 The unwarranted prejudice of historians 
 has been largely responsible for the abhor- 
 rence with which Marat has been almost uni- 
 versally regarded from his day to ours. His 
 undoubted services in the cause of popular 
 liberty have been disregarded, and his true 
 character as a man, a physician, a philoso- 
 pher, a scientist, a statesman has been per- 
 sistently misrepresented. Recently in France 
 a disposition has been shown to revise the 
 historical estimate of some of the leaders of 
 the Revolution. Bougeart, Chevrement, Ca- 
 banes and others have gone back to original 
 sources, with a view to rehabilitating the mem- 
 ory of "The People's Friend." They have 
 
 [2] 
 
allowed him to appear as his own advocate, 
 in his own defence, as it were, and have 
 shown his motives, his principles, his public 
 and private life, his ambitions, his virtues, and 
 his family. 
 
 With all the documents and facts which 
 they have discovered and published, it is com- 
 paratively easy to draw a satisfactory picture 
 of the man. 
 
 Paul Lacroix, some fifty years ago, wrote: 
 "There were two Marats, — the Marat who 
 is known to every one, and the other Marat 
 whose existence no one at the present day ever 
 suspects; the one that was the pupil and ad- 
 mirer of Rousseau, the lover of nature, the 
 learned author of many discoveries worthy of 
 mention in chemistry and physics, the ener- 
 getic and brilliant writer who produced a book 
 of philosophy worthy of the philosopher of 
 Geneva — this one wrote only scientific, philo- 
 sophical, and literary works ; he was a doctor in 
 the Comte d'Artois's body-guard; he died, or 
 rather he disappeared, at the end of the year 
 1789, to give place to his namesake." 
 
 It is true that Marat's scientific career 
 makes small display when compared with the 
 extraordinary role that he filled during the 
 Revolution, but ever the same personality 
 
 [3] 
 
faces us, — the bantam-cock of science, of 
 politics, eager, ambitious, zealous, jealous, im- 
 patient of contradiction, masterful, because so 
 certain in his convictions, motives, purpose. 
 Whether demanding for his discoveries in 
 light and electricity and medicine title from 
 the Academies of Europe, or for his services 
 in defending the people's rights admittance 
 into the National Assembly, or striving to 
 teach the English their electoral duties, he is 
 always the self-asserting prophet, not caring 
 so much for reward as for recognition; stren- 
 uous indeed in urging that his views be 
 adopted, but desirous of getting the sole glory 
 of being their promulgator and advocate. 
 This does not detract from the value of the 
 services that he rendered, but it makes him a 
 less sympathetic figure. There is much that 
 is tragic in his restless, impetuous, fierce, and 
 frantic career; much of romance also. For- 
 tunately, the story may be told very largely in 
 his own words. 
 
 II 
 
 It is usually assumed in the various biogra- 
 phies of Marat that his ancestry was of Span- 
 ish origin. His father, whose name was Jean 
 Mara or Maxa, was born in 1703, at Cagliari 
 
 [4J 
 
in the island of Sardinia. For some reason — 
 religious, political, or pecuniary — he emi- 
 grated to Switzerland, and was received as an 
 inhabitant of Geneva in March, 1741, having, 
 some three months previously, married Louise 
 Cabrol, the daughter of a French wig-maker, 
 who had found his way from Castres in Lan- 
 guedoc. The marriage register declares " Sieur 
 Jean'* to have been the son of "Sieur Antoine 
 Maxa Bonfils, peintre et dessinateurj^ leaving 
 it to the imagination of the investigator to 
 explain the discrepancies in name and calling. 
 From the fact that the word Mara is Hebrew, 
 from the fact that at least one of the witnesses 
 to the marriage-contract, Paul Abraham Men- 
 dez, was a Jew, from the fact that he was 
 called a proselyte, from certain characteristics 
 of the famous Marat, it would not be hazard- 
 ous to conjecture that the unknown founder 
 of the family in Sardinia was of Jewish blood. 
 Jean Mara was for a time employed as a 
 chemist in a calico factory. Afterwards he 
 went to the little town of Boudry, where he 
 lived in a modest house between the Lion d'Or 
 and the police station. Here two sons and 
 two daughters were born. In the parish reg- 
 ister appears the following notice: Jean Paul 
 Mara, pis de Monsieur Jean Paul Mara, pro- 
 
 [5] 
 
selyte de Cagliari en Sardaigne, et de Madame 
 Louise Cabrol^ de Geneve, est ne le 24 Mai, et 
 a ete baptise le 8 Juin, 1743; n ay ant point de 
 parrain et ayant pour marraine Madame Ca- 
 brol, gran'-'tnere de Venfarit. 
 
 Jean Marat moved with his family to Neu- 
 chatel, where he hved fourteen or fifteen years, 
 employed as a teacher. There is no founda- 
 tion for the statement that he was a physician, 
 but he was evidently a scholar. 
 
 In one of his reminiscences of early days 
 Marat thus speaks of the influences of his 
 childhood : 
 
 *'Born with an impassionable spirit, a fiery 
 imagination, a frank, tenacious, eager charac- 
 ter, a straightforward mind, a heart open to 
 all lofty passions, and especially to the love of 
 glory, I have done nothing to change or de- 
 stroy these gifts of nature and everything to 
 cultivate them. 
 
 "By unusual good fortune I had the advan- 
 tage of receiving a very careful education in 
 my father's home, of escaping all those vicious 
 early habits which weaken and degrade a 
 man, of avoiding all the pitfalls of youth, and 
 of reaching virility without ever having yielded 
 to the stress of the passions. I was pure till 
 I was one and twenty, and I had already 
 
 [61 
 
for a long time accustomed myself to quiet 
 meditation. 
 
 "The only passion which preyed on my 
 soul was the love of glory; but this was as yet 
 nothing more than a fire smouldering in the 
 ashes. 
 
 "I acquired from nature the stamp of my 
 spirit, but I owe to my mother the develop- 
 ment of my character; for my father never 
 aspired to make me anything else than a sa- 
 vant. This worthy woman, whose loss I still 
 mourn, trained my early years; she alone 
 caused my heart to bloom with philanthropy, 
 love of justice and of glory; precious senti- 
 ments — soon they became my only passions, 
 and from that time they determined the course 
 of my life. Through my hands she caused to 
 flow the assistance which she lavished on the 
 needy, and the personal note of interest with 
 which she talked of them inspired me with 
 the same feeling. 
 
 "Love of mankind is the basis of the love 
 of justice; for the idea of that is developed not 
 less by sentiment than by reason. I had my 
 moral sense developed when I was eight years 
 old. At that age, I could not endure to see 
 any one unfairly treated, the spectacle of 
 cruelty made me boil with indignation, and 
 
 [7] 
 
any injustice made my heart swell as if I 
 had been compelled to submit to a personal 
 outrage. 
 
 "During my early years I was physically 
 very weak. Consequently I was unacquainted 
 with petulance or heedlessness, or with the 
 sports of childhood. I was docile and earnest, 
 and my teachers secured perfect obedience by 
 treating me gently. I was never flogged but 
 once, and the sense of an unjust humiliation 
 made such a powerful impression on me that 
 it was impossible to bring me back to that 
 teacher. I went two whole days without tak- 
 ing food. I was then eleven years old; from 
 this single incident an idea may be gathered 
 of the firmness of my character. My father 
 and mother having failed to make me yield, 
 and the paternal authority seeming to be 
 threatened, I was locked into a chamber; un- 
 able to resist the indignation which was chok- 
 ing me I opened the window and threw myself 
 into the street. Fortunately, the window was 
 not very high, but still I was severely hurt by 
 the fall; I still carry the scar on my forehead. 
 
 "Thoughtless persons who reproach me 
 with being obstinate will see by this that I 
 was early so ; but what they will perhaps refuse 
 to believe is that from my tender years I was 
 
 [8] 
 
consumed with a thirst for glory; a passion 
 that often changed its object during the various 
 epochs of my hf e, but never for an instant left 
 me. At five I wanted to be a schoolmaster; 
 at fifteen, a professor; at eighteen, an author; 
 a creative genius at twenty. This is what 
 Nature and the teachings of my childhood 
 made of me ; circumstances and reflection have 
 done the rest. 
 
 " I was thoughtful at fifteen, an observer at 
 eighteen, a thinker at twenty-one. From the 
 age of ten I acquired the habits of a studious 
 life. Mental exertion became a genuine ne- 
 cessity, even when I was ill, and my sweetest 
 pleasures I found in meditation." 
 
 In one of Marat's school-books, still in ex- 
 istence, occurs the autograph of his name with 
 the words etudiant en humanite appended. 
 He seems to have left home early. He went 
 to Southern France, studying the sciences, 
 medicine, literature, philosophy, and politics 
 at Toulouse and Bordeaux, where he spent 
 several years. He learnt Italian, English, 
 Spanish, German, Dutch, Greek, and Latin. 
 In 1760 he petitioned King Louis XV to at- 
 tach him to the Abbe Chappe d'Auteroche's 
 expedition to Tobolsk to witness the transit 
 of Venus, but his request was not granted. 
 
 [91 
 
At Bordeaux he is said to have been tutor in 
 the family of Paul Nairac, deputy to the Na- 
 tional Assembly. Twenty years later he com- 
 peted for a prize offered by the Academy of 
 that city for the best eulogy on Montesquieu, 
 and nearly a century later, in 1883, it was 
 published there as a curiosity of literature. 
 
 The influence of Montesquieu on Marat 
 was profound. Like Montesquieu, he be- 
 came interested in scientific studies, traveled 
 all over Europe, investigating political and 
 social institutions; like him he went to Eng- 
 land and wrote on the British Constitution; 
 like him he studied the philosophy of human 
 laws. Montesquieu, as early as 1721, wrote 
 his Lettres Persaries^ satirizing the society and 
 morals, the political decadence, and the re- 
 ligious hypocrisy of the French. Marat at a 
 very early age wrote several romances in the 
 same general style. One, entitled Les Aven- 
 tures du Jeiine Comte Potovski, was pub- 
 lished posthumously, in 1847, as Roman du 
 Coeur. His Lettres Polonaises bears, in title 
 and general form, a still closer resemblance 
 to the Lettres Persanes. This has remained 
 in manuscript form until the present day, when 
 it came into the hands of Mr. William K. 
 Bixby, a member of the Bibliophile Society. 
 
 [10] 
 
The letters were ostensibly written by a 
 young Polish prince traveling incognito, first to 
 France, then to England, then to Holland, and 
 finally to Switzerland, where a hermit — a dis- 
 appointed man who has turned his back on 
 the great society into which he was born — 
 develops various heretical and pessimistic 
 opinions which seem to the young traveler 
 well founded until he meets an older and 
 wiser philosopher who reconciles him with life 
 again. 
 
 Politics absorbed Marat's attention in later 
 life, and so it is curious to find him causing his 
 hermit, who of course is only a lay-figure, 
 proving to his own satisfaction that the God 
 of the Hebrews and the God of the Christians 
 are alike unworthy of comparison with the 
 God of the Universe, and urging that "to flee 
 pain and to seek pleasure ought to be man's 
 first care and the motive of all his actions." 
 
 The only date in the manuscript is 1770. 
 In a letter from Marat to Philippe-Rose 
 Roume de Saint Laurent, who had almost 
 succeeded in securing for Marat the position 
 of director of an Academy of Sciences in Ma- 
 drid, he says: 
 
 "In my childhood I cultivated literature, 
 and with some success, I venture to say. 
 
 [11] 
 
Hardly had I reached the age of eighteen, 
 when our pretended philosophers made vari- 
 ous attempts to attach me to their party. 
 The aversion with which I had been inspired 
 for their principles kept me away from their 
 meetings and protected me from their baleful 
 teachings. This aversion only increased in 
 proportion as my reasoning powers grew 
 stronger, and for a long time it established the 
 object of my reflections. 
 
 "The desire to devote myself to the sciences 
 and to avoid the dangers of dissipation had 
 impelled me to cross over to England. There 
 I became an author, and my first work was 
 calculated to combat materialism by develop- 
 ing the influence of the soul on the body and 
 of the body on the soul. This was the epoch 
 of my misfortunes. 
 
 "At first I preserved my incognito; but I 
 submitted my work to the criticism of a man 
 of ability, M. de La Rochette, a French gen- 
 tleman, appointed in 1760 commissioner-gen- 
 eral for the exchange of prisoners of war in 
 England." M. de La Rochette, not knowing 
 who the author was, made his criticisms with 
 perfect candor, declaring that he had read 
 with the greatest interest the parts which were 
 not too scientific and within his comprehen- 
 
 [12] 
 
sion. "This work," he said, "seems to me 
 well thought out and well written, full of new 
 ideas, of fine views, profound details, and very 
 often these profound details are enlivened by 
 charming pictures. Some negligences may be 
 discovered in the diction: these are blemishes 
 on a handsome face; they have a decidedly 
 other effect than if they were on a vulgar 
 physiognomy. Let me say in closing that I 
 like the boldness that reigns from one end of 
 the work to the other." 
 
 Marat sent a copy of his manuscript to 
 George, Lord Lyttleton, the poet and histo- 
 rian, who wrote to him as follows: 
 
 In reading with attention the manuscript you have 
 been good enough to send me, I have much admired 
 the author's learning and talents. This work contains 
 many things beyond the limits of my criticism, igno- 
 rant as I am indeed of anatomy and little versed in 
 matters of metaphysics; but I owe it to the marks of 
 esteem you have wished to show me, and to the honor 
 you have done me in lending me your manuscript be- 
 fore pubhcation, to inform you frankly of objections 
 that may be made either to the matter or to the style. 
 I should be very glad to consult you as to some passages 
 that need enlightenment, if you can put on one side 
 the reasons that make you wish to preserve an incog- 
 nito, up to the point of doing me the honor of a visit 
 on Sunday at eleven in the morning. Rest assured 
 that your secret will not be divulged, Sir, by your very 
 honored and obedient servant, Lyitleton. 
 
 [13] 
 
Lord Lyttleton also recommended Marat to 
 Pushkin, the Russian ambassador, who urged 
 him to go to St. Petersburg. It may have 
 been the result of these good offices that 
 Marat's younger brother Henri went to Russia, 
 where, taking the name of M. de Boudry, from 
 his native place, he became professor of 
 French literature at the Academy of Tsarsko- 
 ye-Selo with the rank of colonel, and had 
 among his private pupils Prince Alexander 
 Gortchakof, the chancellor of the empire. 
 
 Marat, still preserving anonymity, pub- 
 lished in London in 1773, in two octavo vol- 
 umes of 534 pages, the work which he had 
 submitted to these critics and others. It was 
 entitled "A Philosophical Essay on Man, 
 being an attempt to investigate the principles 
 and laws of the reciprocal influence of soul 
 and body." Marat says: "At last my work 
 appeared and made a sensation. An account 
 of it may be seen in the Westminster Magazine 
 (of June or July, 1773), edited by a society of 
 literary men. I will say nothing now of the 
 praise that was lavished on it, but I cannot 
 pass in silence the severe criticism which was 
 made on the scornful way in which I treated 
 our pretended philosophers, in a note which is 
 to be found at the beginning of the work." 
 
 [14] 
 
Dr. Auguste Cabanes goes so far as to say 
 that Marat in his studies of the reciprocal in- 
 fluence of the soul on the body and of the 
 body on the soul prepared the way for all the 
 modern doctrines evolved by Comte and the 
 Positivist School, and he cites as proof of 
 Marat's advanced views this brief passage: 
 "The reason for the differences in minds is to 
 be found in the disposition of the organs. 
 The impetuous ^Eschylus, the tender Tibul- 
 lus, the touching Fenelon, the sublime Cor- 
 neille, the profound Montesquieu, the incon- 
 sequential Voltaire, every man, in a word, owes 
 the turn and character of his mind to the 
 constitution of his body. Joined to coarse 
 organs the soul loves lively amusements, noisy 
 pleasures; joined to delicate organs it prefers 
 refined pleasures, peaceful amusements. Bril- 
 liant colors are the favorites with robust men; 
 they are passionately fond of martial music, 
 penetrating odours, strong liquors. Delicate 
 and sensitive persons, on the other hand, like 
 tender colors, half-tints, touching music, the 
 mode called amoroso, the sweet perfume of 
 the rose and the jasmine." 
 
 [15] 
 
Ill 
 
 While Marat was living in England he be- 
 came interested in the great struggle between 
 Wilkes and the Crown, and he proposed to 
 take from the King the nomination of Mem- 
 bers of Parliament to be elected, and to ex- 
 clude from Parliament every citizen who held 
 any office conferred by the King; also to make 
 a public verification of the finances. These 
 measures included a fairer representation of 
 the public. 
 
 Marat desired to stir the people to the ne- 
 cessity of electing enlightened and virtuous 
 men, and he saw that the only way to awaken 
 the English from their lethargy, was to 
 point out to them the inestimable benefit of 
 freedom, the frightful evils of despotism, to 
 communicate to their spirits the sacred fire 
 which flamed in his. He says: 
 
 "I had in French a treatise all ready, but 
 how bring a book to the attention of a nation 
 strongly prejudiced against everything foreign 
 unless it should appear in the language of the 
 country ? I translated it, and, in order to 
 make it still more interesting to its readers, I 
 extracted from the history of England almost 
 all of the examples which supported my prin- 
 ciples. To devour thirty mortal volumes, to 
 
 [16] 
 
make extracts from them, to adapt them to 
 my treatise, to translate and print it, was the 
 work of three months. That was a short 
 space of time for so much, and it took all of 
 my activity, and my zeal was boundless. 
 During this space of time I worked regularly 
 twenty-one hours every day; scarcely did I 
 take two hours of sleep, and in order to keep 
 myself awake, I addicted myself so exclusively 
 to strong coffee that it almost cost me my life 
 — its effect being much worse than that of 
 the excessive work. 
 
 *'At last the treatise issued from the press. 
 The extreme desire which I had to get it out 
 in time kept my courage up to this moment; 
 so when I had put it into the publishers' hands, 
 thinking that I had nothing more to do than 
 to wait calmly for it to succeed, I fell into a 
 kind of lethargy akin to stupor; all the powers 
 of my mind were dazed; I lost my memory, I 
 was utterly dull, and I remained nearly a 
 fortnight in that miserable state, only emerg- 
 ing from it by the aid of music and rest.'' 
 
 The book into which Marat put so much of 
 his life bore the following title: 
 
 " The Chains of Slavery | a work wherein 
 The clandestine and Villainous attempts of 
 princes to ruin liberty | are pointed out | anc 
 
 [17] 
 
the I Dreadful scenes of despotism disclosed.] 
 To which is prefixed | An Address to the Elec- 
 tors of Great Britain | in order to draw their 
 timely attention to the choice of | proper Rep- 
 resentatives in the next Parliament. | London :| 
 vitam im'pendere vero \ Sold by J. Almon, op- 
 posite Burlington House, in Piccadilly; | T. 
 Payne, at the Mews Gate, and Richardson 
 Urquhart,| near the Royal Exchange.] 
 
 MDCCLXXIV " 
 The title and address filled twelve pages; 
 there were four pages of contents, and two 
 hundred and fifty-nine pages of text. The 
 address to the electors is good, vigorous writ- 
 ing: he tells the English electors to vote down 
 those who would purchase their votes; those 
 who hold places at court; those who solicit the 
 honor of being their representatives ; those who 
 are decorated with pompous titles, but have 
 nothing of nobility except the name, the lux- 
 ury, and the vices ; those who have only riches ; 
 those who have not reached the age of dignity, 
 and are given over to pleasure and dissipation. 
 He bids them select for their representatives 
 men distinguished for their ability, their in- 
 tegrity, their civic virtues; men versed in pub- 
 lic affairs; men whom an upright mediocrity 
 has protected from the reefs of poverty; men 
 
 [18] 
 
whose scorn for display frees them from the 
 allurement of ambition; men who have never 
 breathed the infected atmosphere of the court; 
 men whose wise maturity adorns an irre- 
 proachable life; men always distinguished by 
 their love for justice, always coming forward 
 as the protectors of injured innocence, and in 
 whatever duties engaged, keeping in view only 
 the welfare of society and the glory of their 
 country. 
 
 The style of this treatise may be seen from 
 a few representative selections : 
 
 "The approach to despotism is sometimes 
 gentle and seductive: there are only games, 
 festivals, dances, and songs. But in these 
 games the people do not see the evils which 
 are threatening; they give themselves up to 
 pleasure and fill the air with their songs of 
 gayety , — heedless because they are given over 
 to amusements; and the wise man already de- 
 tects the ills that threaten the country from 
 afar and are destined some day to destroy it. 
 
 "While sports, festivals, spectacles, amuse- 
 ments of all sorts absorb the attention, the 
 country is forgotten; gradually freedom is lost 
 out of sight; soon even the idea of it is gone, 
 and at last false notions of it begin to prevail. 
 For citizens always occupied with their labor, 
 
 [19] 
 
with their business, with their ambition, with 
 their pleasures, it soon becomes only the means 
 of acquiring without hindrance, of possessing 
 without molestation, and of getting enjoyment 
 without interference. 
 
 "After having caused the country to be for- 
 gotten, the next step is to crush it out in all 
 hearts. Men united by liberty and for liberty 
 cannot be enslaved; to reduce them to sub- 
 jection they must have divided interests; and 
 time never fails to bring this about. 
 
 "To become absolute, finesse can do little 
 without force. In a free country princes at- 
 tack the enemy, make conquests, and serve as 
 citizens or volunteers. But at the head of 
 men attached to their country, they dare not 
 make any attempt upon it; therefore they re- 
 quire mercenaries and so they all are eager to 
 hire troops as soon as they can. 
 
 "It is not everything to put on foot a nu- 
 merous army; it must be supported; therefore, 
 in laboring to have mercenary forces, princes 
 have labored to have the wherewithal to keep 
 them. Thus in order to keep people obedient, 
 the ruling power robs them of their liberty and 
 at the same time of the most beautiful of their 
 rights, and compels them to pay the very hand 
 that enslaves them. 
 
 [20] 
 
**To remain free, one must be perpetually 
 on guard against those that govern; nothing 
 is easier than to destroy the man who is free 
 from suspicion, and a people's too great se- 
 curity is always the precursor of their servi- 
 tude. But as an uninterrupted attention to 
 public affairs is out of the reach of the masses, 
 too much occupied moreover with their own 
 affairs, there must needs be in the State men 
 who keep their eyes all the time open on the 
 Cabinet, who follow the intrigues of the Gov- 
 ernment, who detect their ambitious projects, 
 who sound the alarm at the approach of the 
 tempest, who awaken the nation from its leth- 
 argy, who show the abyss which is opening 
 under their feet, and who make haste to point 
 out the one on whom public indignation ought 
 to rest. 
 
 "Thus the greatest misfortune which can 
 befall a free state where the prince is powerful 
 and enterprising, is that there should be neither 
 public discussions nor effervescence nor par- 
 ties. All is lost when the people become in- 
 different, and without caring for the preserva- 
 tion of its rights, no longer take part in its 
 affairs; instead of seeing freedom arising ever 
 from the j&res of sedition. 
 
 "In a well-ordered State, the liberty of the 
 
 [21] 
 
press ought to be boundless for writers who 
 are watching pubHc functionaries. And as 
 plots against the country are always hatched 
 in darkness, as princes call no witnesses to 
 their meetings to work under their observa- 
 tion, as they deal directly with their agents, as 
 they very rarely transmit written instructions 
 to the wretches who take it upon themselves 
 to execute their schemes, it ought to be 
 permitted to denounce them at the slightest 
 provocation. 
 
 "In States where the Constitution is vicious 
 enough to give free course to the sly machina- 
 tions of the prince, writers who watch over his 
 agents cannot be too much on their guard. 
 When they attack the government, it is ad- 
 visable that they confine themselves to chief 
 accusations, proof of which they can furnish. 
 A single inconsiderate slip on their part would 
 suffice to ruin the best cause. 
 
 "The tone in which the plea is made for the 
 public cause is not indifferent to the cause of 
 liberty. When a protest is made against op- 
 pression, it is important that it be done in a 
 serious, animated, pathetic, but never frivo- 
 lous tone. The arrows of satire strike at the 
 tyrant, never at tyranny. Moreover, satirical 
 writings serve only to tighten the chains of 
 
 [22] 
 
servitude. Even though wise men should not 
 regard them as always exaggerated, such 
 writings would still fail of their purpose; by 
 making ridiculous the worse passions of the 
 people, they cause them to laugh at their own 
 sufferings, diminish their resentment against 
 the authors of their tribulations, and tend to 
 make them bear the yoke patiently. 
 
 "To go beyond the bounds of decency 
 likewise injures the public cause; coarse in- 
 vectives gain the ill will of men without pas- 
 sion, disgust worthy people, and alienate those 
 cold patriots who hang only by a thread to 
 the cause of liberty. 
 
 "Nor by violent shocks do princes begin to 
 overthrow the edifice of liberty; they craftily 
 undermine its foundations; they introduce 
 changes little by little. But the people's eyes 
 are not sufficiently trained nor are their senses 
 keen enough to take note of these innovations 
 or to foresee their consequences. And even 
 if they notice them at last, there is not always 
 suflBcient resolution to put an end to them. 
 The very first signs of innovation must be 
 vigorously combated, if servitude is to be 
 avoided. When abuses have been permitted 
 to grow indurated it is very hard to reform 
 them; often even there is no time. 
 
 [23] 
 
"To preserve their liberties, the people 
 must be ever ready to espouse the cause of 
 the oppressed against the prince; when citizens 
 stand aloof and divide their interests, they are 
 subjugated gradually and it is all up with 
 liberty. But instead of being prompt to de- 
 fend the rights of others, every one must needs 
 see his own compromised many times before 
 he will make up his mind to defend them. 
 
 "Now it is incredible how often Govern- 
 ment in fostering its unjust enterprises takes 
 advantage of this lack of enterprise and how 
 often patience is folly. 
 
 " If the first time when Charles I of England 
 laid his impure hands on his subjects' property 
 or plunged them in innocent blood, the people 
 had taken up arms, marched straight against 
 the tyrant and put to death on the scaffold, 
 before his eyes, the instruments of his cruel- 
 ties, they would not have groaned so many 
 years under the most frightful oppression. 
 
 "I do not mean that I would have recourse 
 every instant to violent measures; but under 
 the pretext of not disturbing the public tran- 
 quillity, these lazy citizens do not see that they 
 are gaining nothing by their cowardice except 
 to be more audaciously oppressed. 
 
 " If the Government is tempted by sacrile- 
 
 [24] 
 
gious ambition to attack the public liberty, 
 the people have their chains forged by their 
 own cowardice." 
 
 He goes on to declare that nothing is so 
 favorable to despotism as the Christian re- 
 ligion, for the reason that it has nothing 
 exclusive, nothing local, nothing more favor- 
 able to one country than to another, because 
 it embraces all men in its charity, razes the 
 barriers that separate nations, and makes all 
 men brethren. How then, he asks most 
 naively, can men who yearn only for things 
 above, take to heart things below.? 
 
 As soon as Marat had sufficiently recovered 
 to take any interest in affairs he found that 
 the English government had bought up his 
 printers and prevented the work from ap- 
 pearing. Then he determined to send out 
 copies to the patriotic societies of Northern 
 England, but here again his efforts were 
 foiled; he was surrounded with spies and his 
 correspondence was intercepted. He osten- 
 sibly left England for the Hague, but returned 
 from Holland, staying several weeks at Car- 
 lisle, Berwick, and Newcastle, where he dis- 
 covered the whole depth of the conspiracy 
 against him. 
 
 He found that three of the societies in 
 
 [25] 
 
question had sent him "letters of affiliation" 
 in a "golden box," which had, during his 
 absence, been left with his publisher, and 
 removed thence by the ministerial emissaries 
 in his name. The Newcastle society insisted 
 on contributing to the expense of the edition. 
 All the societies decreed him the " civic crown." 
 But the Government had at least succeeded 
 in stopping the circulation of the book in time 
 for the elections. In fact, Marat states that 
 he was subsequently informed by one of his 
 patients, who was a member of Parliament, 
 that Lord North had expended more than 
 eight thousand guineas in achieving this 
 object. 
 
 A new edition of his work was sent out from 
 Newcastle, but it was too late for its purpose; 
 the elections were over before it was suffi- 
 ciently disseminated to do any good. How 
 far Marat was justified in his claim that the 
 British Government pursued and persecuted 
 him cannot now be told, but it seems certain 
 that he went to Edinburgh for a time, and 
 there practised medicine and gave lessons in 
 French. In June, 1775, the University of St. 
 Andrews conferred upon him the degree of 
 Doctor of Medicine. The diploma, which 
 was in Latin, said: 
 
 [26] 
 
*' Since it is fair and reasonable that those 
 who by long study have secured a knowledge 
 of the useful arts should receive a reward 
 suitable for their diligence, and obtain a dis- 
 tinction from the vulgar ignorant through 
 special honors and privileges that shall bring 
 them some advantages and individual defer- 
 ence; since among the immense rights long 
 granted to the University of St. Andrews, it 
 has that of attaching to itself capable men in 
 each division of the Faculty, and of making 
 them share in the honors which it enjoys; 
 since Jean Paul Marat, a very distinguished 
 Master of Arts, has given all his attention to 
 medicine for many years and has acquired 
 great skill in all the branches of this science; 
 with the approbation of many doctors of medi- 
 cine, the supreme rank of M.D. has been 
 conferred upon him; by these presents we 
 have granted the master who has appeared in 
 person before us and has been named above 
 free and perfect liberty to profess and prac- 
 tise in any way the art of medicine, and to do 
 all that appertains to this art; so that all the 
 privileges, advantages, emoluments, and hon- 
 orariums that are accorded in all countries to 
 Doctors of Medicine, may be accorded him, 
 and it is our wish that he be honored with the 
 
 [27] 
 
title of M.D., and that he henceforth be re- 
 garded by all as a doctor in good and regular 
 standing." 
 
 That same year he published in London in 
 pamphlet form, at the price of one shilling and 
 sixpence, An Essay on Gleet, of which only one 
 copy is now known to be extant. He seems 
 to have made a special study of Optics, and 
 was remarkably successful as an oculist. He 
 wrote still another pamphlet in English and 
 published it also in England. It was en- 
 titled An Enquiry into the Nature, Cause and 
 Cure of a Singular Disease of the Eyes, hitherto 
 unknown and yet commonly ^produced by the use 
 of certain mercurial preparations. The dedi- 
 catory note offering the essay to the Royal 
 Society is dated January, 1776. He advo- 
 cated electricity as superior to the methods 
 hitherto used in treatment of the eyes, and he 
 urged the Society to appoint a committee to 
 examine his theories, which he claimed to have 
 fortified by a number of typical cases, suc- 
 cessfully treated by him, one of them an 
 American gentleman who had consulted him 
 in Edinburgh. 
 
 Marat seems also to have received a degree 
 from Dublin University. He claimed to have 
 spent a year in Ireland, but when is quite 
 
 [28] 
 
uncertain. His Essay on Man, translated into 
 French and expanded into three volumes, was 
 brought out in Amsterdam, — two volumes in 
 1775, and the third in 1776. In his letter to 
 Roume de Saint Laurent he gives a curious 
 account of the treatment to which it was 
 subjected. He says: 
 
 "After having witnessed the success of my 
 work in English I published it in French under 
 the title De F Homme. Several of our philos- 
 ophers who are in the habit of getting new 
 foreign scientific books before they are put on 
 sale received copies of this. They realized 
 the blow which I aimed at their principles. 
 Their first care was to prevent the work from 
 being noticed in the journals; then they pre- 
 vented it from being introduced into France. 
 
 " The printer had sent a package containing 
 copies of it from Amsterdam to Rouen. On 
 its arrival, it was entered at the Custom-house, 
 where it was held up three months, at the end 
 of which time I received a letter from my 
 publishers urging me to use the influence of 
 my friends to gain for it admittance to the 
 capital. I addressed myself to the Chambre 
 de la Librairie. The officer on duty pretended 
 to know nothing about the matter, but after 
 
 [29] 
 
some investigations he gave me to understand 
 that my book had been prohibited. 
 
 "On hearing this I expressed my surprise, 
 being unable to conceive how a work intended 
 to combat materialism could be regarded as 
 dangerous. I declared that I wished to know 
 who it was that had entered a complaint, and 
 that I was going to present a memorial to the 
 Keeper of the Seals demanding that it should 
 be examined by the Sorbonne. He tried to 
 appease me, and promised that I should 
 shortly have an explanation. 
 
 "At the end of a week I went to find him, 
 and he informed me that the package was to 
 be sent back to Amsterdam. A year later I 
 learned that the larger part of the edition 
 had been disposed of in Italy and Portugal. 
 Finally it was allowed to be brought into Paris ; 
 the copies which came were taken up in a few 
 days, and since then I have been asked many 
 times to reprint it. 
 
 " Grieved to see that these gentlemen could 
 possibly have represented as dangerous a book 
 destined to confound them, and resolved to 
 take from them every pretext for the future, I 
 put at the head of it a dissertation against the 
 materialists. With the approbation of the 
 Sorbonne I was going to press with this work, 
 
 [30] 
 
thus revised and enriched, when I made your 
 acquaintance, and you know that I withdrew 
 it from the forms with the intention of offering 
 it as my homage to Spain. 
 
 "I combated the principles of modern phil- 
 osophy : hence the implacable hatred which its 
 apostles have visited upon me. It is doubt- 
 less not of a kind to humiliate me in the eyes 
 of wise men; but you will soon see that I am 
 destined to bring upon my head their persecu- 
 tions on more than one account. As they 
 leave nothing undone to spread their miserable 
 domain, they multiply in all ways: our Fac- 
 ulties, our Academies are peopled with them, 
 and, without being able to avoid them, I have 
 had to meet them in all my enterprises." 
 
 IV 
 
 Armed with his degrees Marat reappears in 
 Paris ready to do battle with all the Conser- 
 vative forces of the Academy. He had ap- 
 plied a derogatory adjective to Voltaire, and 
 the "prince of critics" was not slow to dip his 
 pen into the gall of revenge. Thus he speaks 
 of Marat's work: 
 
 "The author is penetrated with the noble 
 zeal to teach all men what they are, and to 
 bring to their knowledge all the secrets that 
 
 [ 31 ] 
 
have been sought for so long in vain. May 
 we be allowed to tell him at the very outset 
 that a genius as brilliant as he, on entering 
 into this vast and difficult career, ought to 
 have some consideration for those who have 
 already passed through it. 
 
 "It would have been wise and useful to 
 show us new truths, without scorning those 
 that have been announced to us by Buffon, 
 Haller, Le Cat, and so many others. He 
 ought to have begun by doing justice to all 
 those who have tried to make us know man, 
 by winning the sympathies of the being whereof 
 he speaks; and when one has nothing to say 
 except that the seat of the soul is in the lining 
 of the brain, he ought not to lavish scorn for 
 himself to such a degree as to revolt all his 
 readers whom he would certainly do well to 
 please." 
 
 And after assuring Marat that God had not 
 made him his quarter-master {marechal-de- 
 logis), and therefore he had better not try to 
 find where the soul resides; after congratulat- 
 ing him on the great empire of nothingness 
 over which he reigns, he advises him to be less 
 insulting to those who have accomplished 
 something in this world. He declares that 
 when this long three-volume declamation has 
 
 [32] 
 
been read it is found to contain nothing but 
 what has been said again and again for the 
 past three thousand years. 
 
 Marat pretended later not to care "because 
 the Marquis de Ferney, grieved at seeing him- 
 self put into his proper place in my work on 
 Man, tried to amuse his readers at my ex- 
 pense." Undoubtedly Marat was sincere in 
 adding: "Perhaps I am mistaken, but it seems 
 to me that insults and irony wound less than 
 the sense of having deserved them." He was 
 evidently never troubled with any dubiety as 
 to his own merits. 
 
 "I have spent twenty-five years in private, 
 reading the best works of Science and Litera- 
 ture, in the study of Nature, in deep researches, 
 and in meditation. I think I have almost 
 exhausted the combinations of the human 
 mind on morals, philosophy, and politics to 
 obtain the best results. I have eight volumes 
 of metaphysical, anatomical, and physiological 
 investigations on Man. I have twenty con- 
 taining discoveries in the various branches of 
 physics: several have already been published; 
 the others are in my portfolios. I took with 
 me into my study the sincere wish to be useful 
 to humanity, a holy respect for the Truth, a 
 realization of the limits of human wisdom, and 
 
 [33] 
 
my dominating passion, — the love of glory, 
 — which was the one thing that decided the 
 choice of the subjects I treated, and made me 
 always reject every topic in which I could not 
 promise myself to be original, to arrive at the 
 Truth or great results; for I cannot bring 
 myself to rehash a subject well-treated or to 
 take advantage of the work of others." 
 
 Shortly after his return to Paris, in June, 
 1777, he was appointed Physician to the Body- 
 guards of the Comte d'Artois, the King's 
 brother. The brevet for this appointment is 
 still extant. It states that the Count being at 
 Versailles, and having a favorable report of 
 Sr. Jean Paul Marat's excellent life and habits, 
 his lights and experience in medicine, wishing 
 to give him a token of his good will, orders the 
 certificate to be sent to the said Sieur Marat, 
 so that he may enjoy the honors, prerogatives, 
 and advantages thereto attaching, and may 
 take that title in all public and private acts. 
 He held this position until April, 1786. He 
 had rooms in the Rue de Bourgogne, Faubourg 
 Saint-Germain. His salon was adorned with 
 porcelains, rare flowers, and expensive pic- 
 tures by the best artists of the day. He seems 
 also to have been fond of jewels. In this 
 personal luxury he was at the furthest remove 
 
 [34] 
 
from the same Marat, living in the sewers, 
 dressed in rags, and bitterly assailing the 
 Mayor of Paris because he took time to shave 
 and brush his hair. He must have had a 
 considerable practice: Brissot in his Memoirs 
 states that his fee for a visit was thirty-five 
 livres. Having succeeded in curing the Mar- 
 quise de Laubespine of what seemed like con- 
 firmed consumption, his reputation rapidly 
 spread. He became known as le medecin des 
 incurables. He had the courage not to resort 
 to bleeding for every ill, and anticipated mod- 
 ern bacteriology in relying upon a careful 
 examination of the sputum of pulmonary pa- 
 tients. He used also a specific of his own 
 invention, an eau miner ale factice anti-pidmo' 
 nique, which, according to the analysis made by 
 the Abbe Teissier, of the Faculty of Medicine 
 and the Royal Society, and reported in the 
 Gazette de la Sante in 1778, consisted of nothing 
 else than chalk water with a slight infusion of 
 fixed alkali. 
 
 This secret remedy, and the fact that such 
 distinguished personages as M. Prevost, Treas- 
 urer-General of Bridges and Highways, the 
 Marquis de Gouy, M. du Clusel, Intendant of 
 Tours, the Marquis de Choiseul, and other 
 members of the nobility besought his aid, 
 
 [35] 
 
did not fail to arouse criticism and jealousies. 
 It was asserted that Madame de Laubespine 
 had not consumption, but only a nervous 
 cough. Attacks were made upon him in the 
 papers, and a complaint lodged by Marat with 
 the Commissioner of le Chatelet shows that 
 several rival doctors insulted him at the house 
 of a patient; called him a quack, prevented 
 him from making his regular visit, struck him 
 on the head, pulled out his hair by the hand- 
 ful, and left on his features painful excoria- 
 tions, broke his sword, drew him out of the 
 house, and again assaulted him. 
 
 Marat begins immediately with character- 
 istic sensitiveness to detect the more insidious 
 cabals of his rivals. In his letter to Roume de 
 Saint-Laurent he says: "After ten years spent 
 in London and Edinburgh in making every 
 kind of researches, I came back to Paris. 
 Many invalids of distinguished rank, given up 
 by their physicians and cured by me, joined 
 my friends and laid themselves out to keep me 
 in the capital. I yielded to their solicitations : 
 they promised me good fortune; I found only 
 insults, mortifications, tribulations. 
 
 "The report of the brilliant cures which I 
 effected brought me a prodigious throng of 
 sick people; my door was all the time assailed 
 
 [36] 
 
by the carriages of people who came from 
 everywhere to consult me. In the practice of 
 my profession, the knowledge of nature gave 
 me great advantages; the quickness of eye 
 and the assuredness of touch, in a multitude 
 of successful cases, caused me to be called le 
 medecin des incurables. 
 
 *'My success gave umbrage to the physi- 
 cians of the regular school, who were pained 
 when they counted up the magnitude of my 
 gains. They consoled themselves by forming 
 the project of cutting off the sources of them. 
 I could prove, if it were necessary, that they 
 held frequent meetings to devise the most 
 efficacious means of defaming me. 
 
 **rrom that time forth calumny flies in 
 every direction ; and from all sides my patients 
 receive anonymous letters calculated to alarm 
 them in regard to me. To be sure a great 
 number of persons whose friendship for me is 
 based on esteem undertook my defence; but 
 their voices were drowned by the clamors of 
 my opponents. All these facts are of public 
 notoriety. 
 
 "The unpleasant features inseparable from 
 the practice of medicine had more than once 
 made me yearn for the quietude of the study; 
 I consequently gave myself up entirely to my 
 
 [37] 
 
favorite studies. Could I have expected that 
 I was to awaken a new source of envy?" 
 
 In describing the phenomena of what he 
 called the igneous fluid, Marat narrowly es- 
 caped discovering the modern theory that heat 
 is a mode of motion. He says: "Since it is 
 only by penetrating bodies, that is to say, by 
 causing agitation in their tissues, that the 
 igneous fluid dilates them, volatilizes them, 
 consumes them, it is clear that it acts on them 
 only by the movement of their globules." 
 
 He had an idea that this igneous fluid was 
 diaphanous and not opaque; that it had 
 weight, since heated bodies grew lighter as 
 they cooled; that it was extremely mobile, as 
 was proved by the wind propagating a fire; 
 and that it was endowed with great expansive 
 force; that it was compressible and non-elastic. 
 He distinguished it carefully from the lumi- 
 nous fluid and from electricity. An enthu- 
 siastic correspondent of the Journal de Paris 
 for Oct. 25, 1779, declares that ** Marat's 
 discoveries in regard to fire are certainly of an 
 epoch-making character in the history of the 
 sciences," and he is indignant that so many 
 puerilities in the papers usurp the place that 
 
 [38] 
 
ought to be devoted to describing Marat's multi- 
 farious experiments with the camera obscura 
 and the solar microscope, which render visible 
 the igneous fluid, electric matter, even the air. 
 
 A review of the work appearing in a later 
 issue of the same paper calls it "the com- 
 pletest and best-written treatise on this sub- 
 ject.'' At the time he was making these 
 experiments he invited Franklin to be present, 
 and it is a pity that the great American scien- 
 tist did not speak more fully in his diary of 
 their character and value. He seems to have 
 been unable to attend Marat's lectures. In 
 his Eleincmtary Notions of Optics, published 
 in a pamphlet in 1784, he undertook to show 
 that Newton's seven colors were reducible to 
 three, — yellow, blue, and red. 
 
 The French Academy had no intention of 
 taking sides with this extravagant claimant, 
 who had, moreover, as they had some reason 
 to suppose, scornfully refused to become a 
 member of that distinguished body. They 
 appointed a committee to investigate Marat's 
 theory, but after waiting many weeks, fretted 
 by the author's reiterated demands for their 
 criticism, which was promised again and 
 again, they brought in a perfunctory and 
 trivial report, unworthy of schoolboys. 
 
 [39] 
 
VI 
 
 Marat did not propose to give up the battle. 
 In 1787 he published a French translation in 
 two volumes of Newton's Optics, accompanied 
 with his own labors in this field by collecting 
 his articles into one volume, entitled Me- 
 moires Academiques, or New Discoveries in 
 Regard to Light. In the meantime a number 
 of learned societies had offered prizes to stim- 
 ulate discussion of various scientific questions. 
 The Academy of Lyons proposed to deter- 
 mine whether the experiments whereby New- 
 ton established the different refrangibility of 
 the heterogeneous rays were decisive or illu- 
 sory. Marat competed, and, failing to win 
 the gold medal, asserted that the illustrious 
 committee, not knowing which of the eight 
 papers submitted was the best, decided the 
 matter by counting the pages. The Academy 
 of Sciences, Belles Lettres, and Arts at Rouen 
 proposed to discover the true causes for the 
 colors visible in fragments of glass, soap-bub- 
 bles, and other extremely delicate, diaphanous 
 substances. This time Marat won the prize. 
 He also competed when, in 1786, the Royal 
 Society of Montpellier asked for a discussion 
 of Newton's explanation of the rainbow, but 
 it is not known what the result was. 
 
 [40] 
 
Marat was no less interested in electricity. 
 He published his Recherche s Physiques sur 
 VElectricite in 1782, under the auspices of the 
 Academy, and his experiments seem to have 
 attracted much attention. He assured Roume 
 de St. Laurent that a northern sovereign 
 offered him 24,000 livres a year and 12,000 
 livres of half pay to go to his kingdom and 
 work out a complete course of physics. This 
 flattering offer he refused, because he was at 
 that time on the point of putting his genius 
 and his enthusiasm in the service of Spain. 
 Le Dru, the son of Dr. Le Dru, called Comus 
 because he had performed such wonderful 
 feats of legerdemain throughout Europe, 
 charged Marat with plagiarizing his father's 
 experiments and apparatus. It was but a 
 step from electricity to medical electricity, and 
 here again Marat was involved in a fierce 
 quarrel. The Royal Academy of Rouen, in 
 1783, offered as a subject for debate: "To 
 what degree and under what conditions can 
 we count on electricity, both positive and neg- 
 ative, in the treatment of diseases.^" Marat, 
 signing only the initial "M" to his manu- 
 script, competed, and had the pleasure of 
 seeing his work crowned, and was granted an 
 order on the treasury for the gold medal. At 
 
 [41] 
 
the same time the Academy expressed regret 
 that "the author had not put more amenity 
 into his expressions in repeating the opinion 
 of an estimable man, a member of nine learned 
 societies, almost all of which had rewarded his 
 efforts.'* 
 
 Marat printed his essay in a volume of one 
 hundred and eleven pages in 1784, and in his 
 preface, referring to his severe treatment of 
 his opponent, the Abbe Bertholon, he says : 
 
 "Fearing that my pen may have let fall 
 some expression which good breeding would 
 reprobate, I carefully reread my memoire, and 
 I could not find a single term which should 
 bring offence to a self-respecting author; 
 whence I inferred that the animadversion of 
 the Academy was simply a testimony of es- 
 teem which it felt was due to one of its mem- 
 bers whose antagonist it was crowning." He 
 added: "In spite of the consideration which I 
 have manifested in various passages in my 
 memoire for the worthy Academician, perhaps 
 my refutation will be found severe. It would 
 have been a lack of zeal for humanity to have 
 been gentle in refuting a system which, be- 
 cause of the thoughtless eulogies lavished upon 
 it, might be dangerous." 
 
 Dr. Cabanes calls attention to the fact that 
 
 [42] 
 
at that time electrotherapy was a new rem- 
 edy, and was hailed as a universal panacea. 
 Many cures had indeed been effected by it, 
 but the tendency was to exaggerate its virtues, 
 and Marat had the good sense to perceive its 
 possibilities of failure. He asks: "By what 
 fatality has it come about that the art of 
 healing, an art so necessary and still so im- 
 perfect, should owe the greatest measure of 
 its progress to empiricism, to blind and baleful 
 routine, which effects a few cures only at the 
 cost of a thousand deaths.'^" In his memoire 
 he carefully avoids "every hypothesis, every 
 uncertain experiment, every dubious princi- 
 ple, every risky conclusion: only facts," he 
 says, "but simple and constant facts, form 
 the source of all his reasonings." 
 
 The Journal de Mcdecine in 1785 said: 
 "This important subject could have been 
 treated successfully only by a man of the pro- 
 fession who added the lights of physics to the 
 light of physiology. But these sciences are 
 equally familiar to M. Marat and it is known 
 that in both he has won his spurs." 
 
 The Abbe Bertholon immediately attacked 
 Marat's work in an article signed "L'Abbe 
 Sans" and published in the Annee litteraire. 
 Marat was not slow to reply. He published 
 
 [43] 
 
in 1785 his "Observations on the absolute 
 need of having a soHd and luminous theory, 
 before opening a shop of medical electricity." 
 It is said that he had also a duel with the 
 Academician Charles, a professor of physics, 
 whose lectures at the Louvre acquired great 
 celebrity. Some historians have given vivid 
 accounts of Marat's appearance at one of these 
 public entertainments in 1784 or 1785. When 
 the lecturer scornfully asked, "Who is this 
 Marat whom Voltaire so justly treated as a har- 
 lequin.^" leaping to his feet, he exclaimed, 
 "Here is this Marat! and he is ready to un- 
 mask false scientists and to chastise the inso- 
 lent." Charles paid no attention to him, and 
 went on with his experiments. Then Marat 
 drew his sword, and compelled the other to 
 defend himself, which he did with such success 
 that Marat fell fainting with a sword thrust 
 through his arm. According to other ac- 
 counts, Marat went to the professor's rooms 
 at the Louvre and had some kind of a quarrel. 
 They did not fight then and there, but Marat 
 sent Charles a letter, still in existence, saying: 
 "You will find in me a generous enemy who 
 would blush to take his adversary by surprise 
 and be willing to gain advantage by his su- 
 periority." "To convince you," he added, 
 
 [44] 
 
*' bring a witness; I will bring another." The 
 duel in reality did not come off. According to 
 a document recently discovered, Marat went 
 to Charles's dwelling in the Louvre to demand 
 an explanation of his turning him into ridicule 
 by comparing him with Le Sieur Comus. 
 Charles gave him a violent blow over the left 
 eye and broke his sword. Marat called upon 
 Antoine-Joachim Thiot, Commissaire at the 
 Chatelet, to aflSrm the damage done to his 
 person, and seems to have brought suit against 
 Charles. Later, during the Terror, Marat 
 used his power to save his adversary's life, 
 saying: "This Charles is a miserable fellow, 
 who shamefully maltreated me in my youth. 
 1 will write to the minister to set him at liberty 
 if he is in detention, — to refrain from inter- 
 fering with him if he is free." 
 
 VII 
 
 Even after the Revolution was in full 
 swing, Marat could not refrain from keeping 
 up his quarrel with the Scientists who had so 
 neglected him, scouted him, or scorned him. 
 "When the National Assembly proposed to reg- 
 ulate the Learned Societies, the People's 
 Friend published a work entitled Modem 
 Charlatans or Letters on Academic Charla- 
 
 [45] 
 
tanism, Marat's journal announcing it said: 
 "The People's Friend, having found among 
 the papers of a famous man a very piquant 
 manuscript, has felt it his duty to have them 
 printed for public edification." 
 
 Undoubtedly these letters, v^hich were 
 twelve in number and addressed to " Camille," 
 were written long before they issued from 
 rimprimerie de Marat, in 1791. Some of 
 the sentences sound like the letters of " Kamia 
 to his friend Shava at Warsaw." As for in- 
 stance: "We no longer believe in God, but we 
 believe in the devil; we make sport of the 
 martyrs, but we revere the magicians." 
 
 "These lazy, dissipated Frenchmen," says 
 Marat, "rise very late; they spend their fore- 
 noons breakfasting, reading le Journal de 
 Paris, receiving and paying visits. They 
 drive out; after dinner they go to the theatre, 
 then to some little supper; and if they manage 
 to get a few moments of leisure they waste it 
 in loading their memories with the news of 
 the day as subject for tittle-tattle. This is 
 practically their every-day life from one end 
 of the year to the other. Why should not 
 these gentlemen amuse themselves as others 
 do ? I am willing, provided it be not at our 
 expense. It is not right to be satisfied with 
 
 [46] 
 
taking the name of savant in order to get 
 fraudulent use of the prince's benefits or, 
 rather, the bread of the poor." 
 
 Marat continues his attacks on many of the 
 scientific men of his day, and naturahy emits 
 his venom on the Academy itself, which, he 
 says, "has met 11,409 times, published 380 
 eulogies, and given 3,956 approbations, so 
 many on new recipes for rouges, for hair po- 
 mades, for corn-plasters, ointments for dog- 
 bites, as well as for the most advantageous 
 forms for false top-knots, wigs, syringe-pipes, 
 and a thousand other objects of like im- 
 portance." 
 
 One other interesting pamphlet Marat pub- 
 lished in 1785. In June of that year two 
 aeronauts, Pilatre de Rozier and Romain, 
 made an ascension at Boulogne. Their bal- 
 loon took fire, and they were killed. Marat, 
 in a series of letters signed by " L'Observateur 
 Bon Sens," gave his reasons for the catas- 
 trophe, and it is now of interest to note that he 
 anticipated the modern use of balloons in 
 warfare. 
 
 He said: "A balloon of suitable size would 
 be an excellent means of correspondence be- 
 tween two armies, combined to regulate ac- 
 cording to circumstances their marches, coun- 
 
 [47] 
 
termarches, junction, etc., simply by agreeing 
 upon the hours when the signal should be 
 given, the time it would be kept in sight, and 
 upon certain figures placed on the surface of 
 the balloon; this correspondence would com- 
 bine the advantage of never being interrupted, 
 the certainty of secrecy, and the quickness of 
 lightning. It would also be an excellent 
 means of giving from a great distance the 
 signal of assistance to a place hard pressed by 
 the enemy, and a rallying-sign for a fleet too 
 widely scattered to allow vessels far off and 
 under the horizon to make out ordinary 
 signs." 
 
 He apparently had little faith in dirigible 
 balloons. He said: **I shall not take up the 
 question so often raised as to the possibility of 
 steering against the wind; but I do not fear to 
 claim that, even if the aerostat should be aban- 
 doned to its mercy, and in spite of its inconstant 
 blowing, it would be sometimes easy to take 
 advantage of a favorable current to carry aid 
 to unfortunate people shut up in inaccessible 
 places or to send letters to a besieged city over 
 the heads of a hostile army." 
 
 It will be remembered how this was exem- 
 plified in the famous siege of Paris, eighty-five 
 years later. 
 
 [48] 
 
VIII 
 
 Marat was constantly stung by the allega- 
 tions of his enemies and rivals that he was a 
 medical quack and a scientific ignoramus; that 
 he was a man who promised great things, but 
 was incapable of fulfilling his engagements. 
 His long letter to Roume de Saint Laurent 
 was fortified with forty or fifty documents 
 corroborating his claims as a scientist or prov- 
 ing that the members of the Academy were 
 leagued together to injure him. He claimed 
 that his enemies even attacked his private 
 character, but he defied them to discover a 
 single illegal action attached to his name. "I 
 defy any one under heaven," he cried, "to 
 reproach me for any wrongdoing." 
 
 He did not go to Spain, and his scientific 
 career was now brought to a definite conclu- 
 sion by the approach of the French Revolu- 
 tion, in which he was destined to take such a 
 prominent and sinister part that until recently 
 he may seem to have had no past, to be merely 
 an apparition, as in the old wars the Powers 
 of Nature, the Gods themselves, descended 
 suddenly to share in the battles, only to dis- 
 appear as suddenly as they came. 
 
 Here is a picture of the man as he appeared 
 to a painter of his day : ** He was of the smallest 
 
 [49] 
 
stature, — scarcely five feet tall; nevertheless 
 he was strongly built, without being either 
 coarse or fat; his shoulders and chest were 
 wide; his abdomen not prominent; his thighs 
 were short and wide apart; his legs somewhat 
 bowed; his arms strong, and he gesticulated 
 with them vigorously and gracefully. On a 
 rather short neck he carried a head of a very 
 pronounced character. His face was large 
 and bony, his nose prominent and projecting. 
 His mouth was of medium size, and one of the 
 corners was frequently contracted; his lips 
 were thin; his brow lofty; his eyes grayish 
 yellow, bright, animated, keen, calm, naturally 
 gentle, even caressing, and they looked you 
 full in the face. The brows were thin; his 
 complexion livid and sallow; his beard was 
 black; his hair brown and unkempt. He 
 walked holding his head high and thrown 
 back, and with a sort of rhythmic quickness, 
 with a waving motion, owing to a balancing 
 of the hips. His ordinary pose was to cross 
 his arms vigorously across his chest. When 
 talking in company, he expressed himself vehe- 
 mently and almost always ended his sentence 
 with a movement of his foot, which he set 
 forward, striking the ground with it, and sud- 
 
 [50] 
 
denly rising on his toes as if to lift his slight 
 figure to the height of his opinion. 
 
 "The tone of his voice was manly, sonorous, 
 somewhat thick and with startling quality. 
 A defect in his speech made it hard for him 
 to pronounce clearly the letters 'C and *S/ 
 which he confused in his utterance with the 
 sound of *G' without any other noticeable 
 effect than to make his elocution rather heavy; 
 but the depth of his thought, the abundance 
 of his speech, the simplicity of his manner, 
 and the brevity of his discourse made one 
 entirely forget this maxillary sluggishness. 
 
 *'On the tribune, if he began without ob- 
 stacle or indignation, he took his stand with 
 assurance and dignity, his form thrown back, 
 his right hand on his hip, his left arm extended 
 across the desk, his head erect, turned three 
 quarters, and leaning a little toward the right 
 shoulder. 
 
 ''If, on the other hand, he was compelled 
 while on the tribune to overcome the yells of 
 the aristocrats, the tricks of bad faith, and the 
 president's despotism, he waited with con- 
 stancy, quiet, and with audacity for his chance 
 to speak; he assumed a bold attitude, crossed 
 his arms diagonally over his chest, and as he 
 leaned toward the left he gave his face and 
 
 [51] 
 
his eyes a sardonic character, all the cynicism 
 of which he succeeded in expressing in his 
 speech. 
 
 "He dressed in a careless fashion; his heed- 
 lessness in this respect denoted absolute igno- 
 rance of conventions, of fashion, and of taste. 
 Generally he wore a green coat, carried in his 
 belt a sword and pistols, and had on his head 
 a handkerchief or the bonnet of the Sans- 
 Culottes." 
 
 IX 
 
 Marat's industry and determination were 
 almost beyond belief. Pamphlets, posters, 
 addresses, letters, treatises, were all the time 
 falling from his pen, and his editorials in the 
 various journals which he published would 
 fill dozens of volumes. Many of them were 
 written under the most extraordinary circum- 
 stances — fleeing from refuge to refuge, while 
 threatened with arrest, with assassination, 
 while deprived of all the comforts and most 
 of the necessities of life. The dreadful skin 
 disease from which he suffered such agonies 
 was contracted in the underground vaults 
 where he was compelled to hide. It is be- 
 lieved that many of the arbitrary acts of tru- 
 culent cruelty attributed to him were due to 
 
 [52] 
 
the exacerbation of his nerves caused by the 
 intolerable itching which this eczema pro- 
 duced, and from which he found relief only 
 by sitting in his bath. 
 
 It is certain that he was not by nature cruel. 
 Indeed, the sight of suffering impressed him 
 painfully, and it has been surmised that one 
 reason for his giving up the practice of surgery 
 was his dislike to cause pain. He got the idea 
 firmly fixed in his mind that it was better for 
 a few to perish than for the wdiole people to 
 be wretched. His argument was: "There is 
 a conspiracy against the people; if these per- 
 fidious enemies of liberty were stronger than 
 we, they would murder us without pity; then 
 stab them without mercy." "I am accused of 
 being cruel," he cried, "but when I think that 
 by avoiding a few drops of blood there is 
 danger that it will flow in great streams, I 
 grow indignant in spite of myself at our false 
 maxims of humanity and our foolish consider- 
 ation for our cruel enemies. Imbeciles that 
 we are! we fear to cause them a scratch; we 
 are satisfied to scatter them, and we idiotically 
 lead them to attack us. Let them be masters 
 but for one day, you will see them scouring the 
 provinces sword and fire in hand, felling under 
 their blows all those that offer them the least 
 
 [53] 
 
resistance, massacring the friends of the father- 
 land, murdering women and children, and 
 burning our cities to ashes.'* 
 
 Marat has been charged by critics with the 
 responsibility for the September massacres, 
 but he was not alone responsible: Duplain, 
 Panis, Sergent, L'Enfant, Jourdeuil, De- 
 forgues, Lecroc, Duffort, Cally, the other 
 members of the Committee of Public Safety, 
 justified the Commune in having executed 
 the conspirators detained in the prisons, on 
 the ground that, as foreign foes called by the 
 aristocratic party were at the gates of the city, 
 it was unsafe to leave these intestinal foes to 
 murder women and children. 
 
 He declared that the disastrous event of 
 September 2-3 was provoked by the denial 
 of justice, when the criminal court ** white- 
 washed" the conspirator Montmorin, Gov- 
 ernor of the Royal Chateau of Fontainebleau ; 
 that "because the conspirators were snatched 
 from the sword of justice, they fell under the 
 hatchet of the people; that in spite of this 
 justifiable evocation of mob law an attempt 
 had been made to separate all the great crimi- 
 nals and the counter-revolutionists from the 
 poor debtors and petty delinquents, but the 
 mob massacred them all without discrimina- 
 
 [54] 
 
tion." Again and again, Marat appealed to 
 the French people to strike at the traitors in 
 their midst: *'By civism, by philanthropy, by 
 humanity, I have felt that it was my duty to 
 advise this severe measure, demanded by the 
 safety of the State. If I have advised striking 
 off five hundred criminal heads, it was for the 
 sake of saving five thousand innocent lives. 
 Had it been done in time our fields would not 
 have been filled with widows and orphans 
 reduced to despair; famine and poverty would 
 not have desolated the State for four consecu- 
 tive years; it would not have been overturned 
 by factions, or torn by barbarous hordes of 
 foes, after having been torn so long by its 
 unnatural children." 
 
 "No one abhors the shedding of blood more 
 than I do," cried Marat, "but to prevent its 
 flowing in seas, I urge that a few drops be 
 shed." 
 
 This reiterated demand urged upon the 
 Sans-Culottes that vengeance should be sum- 
 marily executed against every aristocrat, tak- 
 ing it for granted that without exception all 
 those who had been in any way connected 
 with the former regime were opposed to the 
 
 [55] 
 
new doctrines, the new State, has been re- 
 sponsible for the abhorrence with which His- 
 tory has regarded Marat. After the massacre 
 of the Champs de Mars, which he described 
 with soul-stirring eloquence, attributing it in 
 large measure to the perfidy of Mothier, for- 
 merly the Marquis de Lafayette, and after the 
 elections of 1791 so discouraging to the friends 
 of Liberty, Marat summed up what he had 
 accomplished : 
 
 "All that a man of sense and a man of 
 heart could do to save his country I have done 
 to defend mine. Alone and without support, 
 I have fought for two whole years against the 
 commissioners of sections, the municipal ad- 
 ministrators, the chiefs of police, the courts of 
 justice, the tribunal of State, the government, 
 the prince, the National Assembly itself, and 
 often with success. I have exposed the black 
 designs of the court, detected its snares, its 
 artifices, its plots; I have disconcerted the 
 conspirators, prepared the fall of Le Chatelet 
 and brought about that of the adored minister. 
 I have unmasked the Parisian general, raised 
 the army and the fleet against their despotic 
 chiefs; more than once I have compelled its 
 venal committees to resign, to suspend or to 
 revise their projected decrees; I have struggled 
 
 [56] 
 
against oppressors of every kind; I have res- 
 cued a hundred thousand victims from judicial 
 tyranny. More than once I have made the 
 tyrant on his throne turn pale, and dismiss his 
 frightful agents. Always in arms against the 
 traitors to the fatherland, indignant at their 
 crimes, and shocked at their atrocities, I have 
 torn away their mask, I have made a spectacle 
 of them, I have covered them with oppro- 
 brium; I have scorned their calumnies, their 
 impostures, their defamations; I have braved 
 their resentment, their fury. Exposed to their 
 wrath, I have been pursued again and again 
 by the ministers and the municipal adminis- 
 tration. Twenty military expeditions directed 
 against me, and a whole army mobilized to 
 tear me away from the people, have only in- 
 creased my audacity. A price has been put 
 on my head; five cruel spies put on my tracks, 
 and two thousand assassins paid to slay me, 
 have not for an instant succeeded in making 
 me betray my duty. 
 
 "To escape the steel of the assassins, I have 
 been obliged to betake myself to a subterra- 
 nean life; hunted out from time to time by 
 battalions of alguazils, compelled to flee, wan- 
 dering through the streets in the dead of night, 
 and often not knowing where to find refuge, 
 
 [57] 
 
in the midst of weapons pleading the cause of 
 Hberty, defending the oppressed with my head 
 on the block, and thus growing ever more 
 redoubtable to our oppressors and the public 
 rascals. 
 
 "This kind of life, the mere recital of which 
 freezes the most callous heart, I have led for 
 eighteen long months without one moment 
 complaining, without once asking for rest or 
 recreation, without heeding the loss of my 
 health, of my estate, and without blanching 
 at the sight of the sword always pointed at my 
 heart. What do I say.^ I have preferred it 
 to all the advantages of corruption, to all the 
 seduction of fortune, to all the glory of a crown. 
 I might have been advanced, caressed, feted, 
 if I had been willing merely to keep silent, 
 and how much gold would have been lavished 
 on me if I had been willing to dishonor my 
 pen! I have repulsed the corrupting metal, 
 I have lived in poverty, I have preserved my 
 heart pure. I might have been a millionaire 
 to-day if I had been less scrupulous and if I 
 had not always forgotten myself." 
 
 For once he felt discouraged, and was ready 
 to give up the battle: 
 
 " I am going to abandon to my creditors the 
 remains of the little which I have left, and 
 
 [58] 
 
without money, without assistance, without 
 resources, I shall betake myself to vegetate in 
 the only corner of the earth where I may still 
 breathe in peace. Preceded by the clamors of 
 calumny, defamed by the public rascals whom 
 I have unmasked, loaded with the curses of all 
 the enemies of our country, abhorred by the 
 great and by the men in power, and set down 
 by all ministerial cabinets as a monster to be 
 stifled, perhaps I shall soon be forgotten by 
 the people to whose advantage I have immo- 
 lated myself; happy if the regrets of patriots 
 accompany me; but I take with me the honor- 
 able testimony of my conscience and I shall be 
 followed by the esteem of mighty spirits. 
 
 "However frightful may have been my fate 
 during my long captivity, and however sad the 
 prospect that opens before me, I shall never 
 regret the sacrifices that I have made for my 
 country or the good that I have wished to 
 accomplish for humanity. I have fought 
 without cease till this day, and I have not 
 deserted the post of danger till it was taken by 
 storm. If there is in France a single man of 
 insight and determination who dares to re- 
 proach me with having too soon despaired of 
 the public safety and with a lack of constancy, 
 
 [59] 
 
let him come and take my place and retain it 
 for only a week. 
 
 "Citizens, I ask of you neither regrets nor 
 gratitude — do not even preserve the memory 
 of my name ; but if ever some unexpected turn 
 of destiny brings you victory, remember to 
 make it assured by taking advantage of your 
 success, and never forget, to assure your 
 triumph, the advice of a man whose life was 
 devoted to establishing among you the reign 
 of justice and liberty." 
 
 XI 
 
 Marat had his moment of personal triumph, 
 and the dramatic scene in which it occurred 
 furnishes one of the few instances where he 
 stood forth as an orator. 
 
 At the National Convention of 1792, Marat, 
 having been elected, presented himself, and 
 was instantly surrounded by a throng of 
 deputies, who threatened him and shouted 
 *' A has! a has de la tribune!^* Perfectly un- 
 moved he began to speak: 
 
 "Gentlemen, I have in this assembly a 
 great number of personal enemies." 
 
 At this instant three-quarters of the assem- 
 bly rose to their feet crying, "We all are; yes, 
 we all are!" 
 
 [60] 
 
Marat went on: "I have in this assembly a 
 great number of personal enemies; I recall 
 them to a sense of shame; not by clamors, 
 threats, insults, is a man found guilty; not by 
 shouting a man down can you prove him a 
 criminal. I thank the secret hand which has 
 brought into your midst a vain phantom to 
 frighten timid men, to divide good citizens, and 
 make unpopular the Paris deputation. I 
 thank my persecutors for having given me an 
 occasion to show you my whole soul.'* 
 
 After claiming that neither Danton nor 
 Robespierre favored a dictatorship, but that 
 he himself proposed it, he went on: 
 
 " I believe that I am the first political writer, 
 and perhaps the only one in France since the 
 Revolution, to propose a dictator, a military 
 tribune, triumvirs, as the one means of crush- 
 ing traitors and conspirators. If the opinion 
 is reprehensible I am the only person to blame; 
 if it is criminal I invoke on my head alone the 
 nation's vengeance. I therefore offer myself 
 as a devoted victim; but before condemning 
 me, deign to hear me." He goes on to show 
 how he had proclaimed his opinions from the 
 house-top: "Can they, then, be regarded as 
 crimes.? No, certainly not: had they been 
 mistaken, they would never have been any- 
 
 [61] 
 
thing more than simple errors; had they been 
 extravagant, their author would have been re- 
 garded only as blinded or crazy. Traitors 
 hide in darkness, where their plots are laid; 
 no plotter preaches his doctrine from the roofs. 
 I have submitted my opinions to the examina- 
 tion of the public; if they are dangerous my 
 enemies should proscribe them by battling 
 them with solid reasons and not by anathe- 
 matizing me; they should destroy their baleful 
 influence by refuting them, not by threatening 
 my head with the sword of tyranny. 
 
 " Besides, gentlemen, what do you reproach 
 me with having done? When the eternal 
 treasures of a perfidious court and its creatures, 
 when the perpetually reviving plots of the ene- 
 mies of the Revolution, when the sanguinary 
 schemes of the tools of despotism threatened 
 to annihilate liberty; when the faithless rep- 
 resentatives of the school, the unjust deposi- 
 taries of authority, the unworthy ministers of 
 the laws, in conspiracy with an atrocious 
 prince, brought the country to the edge of the 
 abyss; when the venal legislators, prostituting 
 their august ministry to make tyrannical laws, 
 enchained the people to slay them ; when pub- 
 lic functionaries were occupied only in favoring 
 traitors; when the magistrates protected with 
 
 [62] 
 
the sacred justice the enemies of the State 
 while massacring with the sword of tyranny 
 the friends of the fatherland, the defenders of 
 liberty; when, by the concerted attacks of 
 these villains, the country was ready to perish, 
 who of you, gentlemen, would have dared to 
 impute to me as a crime the fact that, in the 
 agony of my despair, I had called down upon 
 their criminal heads the weapon of the popular 
 vengeance ? 
 
 *'Who of us will dare make it a crime that 
 I recommended the only means of public 
 safety left to us ? The people, without obey- 
 ing my voice, had the good sense to feel that 
 it was indeed their one resource; they em- 
 ployed it again and again to avoid perishing. 
 The bloody scenes of July 14, October 6, 
 August 10, September 2, saved France. Why 
 were they not directed by skilful hands? 
 
 " I myself, fearing these terrible movements 
 of an ungovernable multitude, grieved to see 
 the axe strike indiscriminately all the guilty 
 and confound the small delinquents with great 
 malefactors; desiring to have it fall only on 
 the principal counter- revolutionists, I sought 
 to submit these terrible and unruly movements 
 to the wisdom of a chief, an upright patriot 
 and statesman who should have found and 
 
 [63] 
 
executed the chief conspirators, to cut off at 
 a single stroke the thread of all machinations, 
 save bloodshed, restore calm and establish 
 liberty. Follow my writings: with this in 
 view I have demanded that the people should 
 name a dictator, a military tribune. To fore- 
 stall the abuses and dangers of such an office, 
 I recommended that it should be restricted to 
 the power of inflicting capital punishment on 
 the leaders of the conspirators, that its dura- 
 tion should be limited to a few days, and that 
 the citizen judged worthy of filling it should 
 be chained by the foot to a cannon ball in 
 order that he might be at every instant under 
 the hand of the people in case he chanced to 
 forget his duties. 
 
 "If this salutary measure had been taken 
 immediately after the capture of the Bastille, 
 how many disasters would have been pre- 
 vented! If at that time five hundred traitor- 
 ous lives had been sacrificed, one hundred 
 thousand patriots would not have been killed, 
 one hundred thousand patriots would not have 
 been threatened with death, the State would 
 not have been so long torn by factions, over- 
 whelmed by seditions, delivered over to 
 troubles, to anarchy, to poverty, to famine, 
 to civil war; it would not have been in danger 
 
 [64] 
 
of becoming the prey to hordes of barbarians, 
 of so many despots leagued against us." 
 
 Then, after again defending his own con- 
 duct and refuting the charge that he was 
 ambitious, he ended: " Gentlemen, let us cease 
 wasting precious time in vain altercations, in 
 scandalous debates. Let us fear to give con- 
 sistency to absurd reports, adroitly spread by 
 the foes of the fatherland, with the design of 
 retarding the great work of the Constitution; 
 and in order to put these very persons to a 
 painful proof, let me urge you to consecrate 
 the Declaration of Rights, to lay the sacred 
 foundation of a just and free government 
 which should secure the future of France, 
 establish liberty, and assure the happiness of 
 the people, for which I am ready at any 
 moment to give my life." 
 
 His eloquence had its effect, but Vergniaud 
 mounted the tribune and began a maladroit 
 attack on Marat. He was followed by Boi- 
 leau, who demanded that Marat, whom he 
 called a monster, should be charged with 
 law-breaking. 
 
 Marat again arose: "I have just been re- 
 proached with having still charged against me 
 decrees of arrest launched by the instruments 
 of despotism, decrees of accusation called 
 
 [65] 
 
forth at this tribunal by popular representa- 
 tives prostituted to the court : these are brevets 
 of honor of which I am proud ; as to those v^ho 
 cannot appreciate them, I observe that the 
 people, when they called me here to defend 
 their rights, annulled these arbitrary decrees, 
 have judged my case and pronounced me 
 devoid of fault." 
 
 Nevertheless he claimed that his enemies, 
 perverting an article in his journal, accused 
 him of being a traitor and a schemer, with 
 designs of overturning the State, of throwing 
 it into trouble and confusion by causing the 
 National Convention to be slaughtered. He 
 had the article in question read aloud and 
 then resumed: 
 
 "Permit me, gentlemen," he said, "to recall 
 you to yourselves after the attack of fury to 
 which you have just yielded. Suppose through 
 the negligence of my printer my paper of that 
 day had not appeared; you would have handed 
 me over to the sword of tyranny. But no, I 
 would not have perished like a coward: have 
 no cjuestion about it; if the fatal decree had 
 been passed, I should have escaped from the 
 rage of my persecutors by blowing my brains 
 out before your eyes." 
 
 As he said those words he took his pistol 
 
 [66] 
 
and directed it to his temple. Vergniaud 
 came back to the charge and was hooted 
 down. Boileau, Cambon, and others tried to 
 speak, but were given no opportunity. Marat 
 was the hero of the hour. When later the 
 convention lictened to charges against Marat, 
 and he was publicly examined as to whether 
 he had advocated murder and pillage, the 
 reestablishment of a king, the degradation and 
 abolition of the convention, and when he was 
 unanimously acquitted, he won another tri- 
 umph, which he thus records: 
 
 "Hardly had the tribunal honorably ac- 
 quitted me when the hall rang with the most 
 enthusiastic applause, which w^as reached in 
 turn from the neighboring rooms, the vesti- 
 bules, and the courts of the palace, all crowded 
 with zealous patriots. Two of the most ardent 
 ones darted toward the parquet to lift me to 
 their shoulders; I absolutely refused to give 
 in to them; but I was compelled to retire to 
 the back of the hall and yield to the wishes of 
 a multitude eager to embrace me. Many 
 civic crowns were put on my head. The 
 municipal officers, the native guards, the can- 
 noniers, the gendarmes, the hussars who sur- 
 rounded me, fearing lest I should be crushed 
 
 [67] 
 
in the press, formed two lines and took me 
 into their midst. 
 
 "They halted at the head of the grand 
 staircase in order that the citizens might better 
 see me. Outside the court, from the palace 
 to the convention, the streets and the bridges 
 were covered with an innumerable throng 
 crying at the top of their voices and without 
 intermission : * Vive la Republique! Vive la 
 Liberie! Vive Marat! * 
 
 "Numberless spectators at the casements 
 kept up the applause; the most aristocratic 
 were forced to follow this example; more than 
 two hundred thousand people lined the streets 
 from the palace to the convention; on the 
 bridges and the church steps they formed 
 amphitheatres where men, women, and chil- 
 dren were massed. 
 
 "The cortege accompanying me was im- 
 mense. When we neared the convention 
 several officers of the municipality went ahead 
 with many of the national guard, to announce 
 my arrival and ask permission to march into 
 the hall. 
 
 "Lasource, the President, wants to dissolve 
 the session. The patriots vote against it and 
 the hommes d'etat precipitately take to flight. 
 
 "The Sapper Rocher, who was at the head 
 
 [68] 
 
of the National Guard, appears at the bar and 
 begins to speak : * Citizen President, we bring 
 back to you this worthy Marat. We shall 
 succeed in confounding all his enemies. I 
 have already defended him at Lyons, I will 
 defend him here, and whoever wishes to have 
 Marat's head will also have the Sapper's 
 head.' 
 
 "Permission to march in is granted. In- 
 stantly men, women, children, soldiers, munic- 
 ipal officers throng through the doors crying, 
 * Vive la Repuhlique! Vive la Montagne! Vive 
 Maratl' I am carried in by the national 
 guards who surrounded me, and set down 
 in the midst of the Mountain. There I has- 
 ten to take off the civic crowns with which the 
 people had loaded my head and which I had 
 been compelled to keep. The hall resounds 
 with applause. After being clasped in the 
 arms of my worthy colleagues, I present my- 
 self at the tribune. 
 
 " Legislators, the testimonies of public spirit 
 of joy which are bursting forth in this enclosure 
 are a homage rendered to the National Rep- 
 resentation, to one of your colleagues whose 
 sacred rights had been violated in my person. 
 I was perfidiously charged with crime; a 
 solemn trial has made my innocence trium- 
 
 [69] 
 
phant. I bring you a pure heart, and I shall 
 continue to defend the rights of man, of the 
 citizen, and of the people, with all the energy 
 which heaven has given me. 
 
 "The acclamations were redoubled, the 
 cries of ' Vive la Republique! Vive la Mon- 
 tagne! Vive Mar at!' began anew; hats were 
 flung into the air." This was the apotheosis 
 of Marat. 
 
 XII 
 
 He had suffered more than any other of the 
 Revolutionists. As Danton, Momoro, Brune, 
 and Fabre d'Eglantine of the so-called Section 
 du Theatre Fran^ais said in their memorable 
 vote: "From the depths of the vaults where 
 Lafayette's poniards had kept him hidden, he 
 had lifted up a proud and independent voice 
 in his patriotic journal, and proclaimed the 
 great political truths whose brilliancy strikes 
 all eyes so long veiled in dense darkness. Not 
 content with having, almost alone, unmasked 
 the traitor Lafayette when Paris and all France 
 were prostrate at his feet, he has found time 
 to produce works which have for their special 
 object the aim which a National Convention 
 ought to propose. Marat, the people's friend, 
 rich in civic virtues but poor as Rousseau, has 
 
 [70] 
 
many times been deprived of the fruits of his 
 virtues by the satellites of despotism and 
 robbed of his fortune, and has only honorable 
 debts left." 
 
 And they called upon Roland, Minister of 
 the Interior, to furnish the necessary sum for 
 the paper, printing, and publishing of the new 
 works which Marat was preparing solely for 
 the triumph of the great cause of liberty. 
 
 An idea of Marat's industry may be gathered 
 from a personal note which he printed in his 
 journal in January, 1793, only six months 
 before his trao^ic death: 
 
 "Many of my readers have complained of 
 the interruption of my sheet for several days; 
 I owe them an explanation. They may judge 
 if I have been in a condition to bring it out, 
 overwhelmed as I am with crushing occupa- 
 tions. And in the first place, I must tell them 
 that out of the twenty-four hours of the day 
 I give only two to sleep, one only to the table, 
 to my toilet, and to my domestic affairs. Be- 
 sides those that I consecrate to my duties as 
 the people's deputy, I spend six regularly in 
 receiving the complaints of a host of the un- 
 fortunate and the oppressed whose defender 
 I am, in making their claims valid through 
 petitions or memorials, in reading and answer- 
 
 [71] 
 
ing a multitude of letters, in seeing through 
 the press an important work which I am 
 printing, in taking notes on all the interesting 
 events of the Revolution, in putting my obser- 
 vations on paper, in receiving denunciations; 
 finally, in editing my journal. These are my 
 daily occupations; so I have no fear of being 
 accused of slothfulness. It is more than three 
 years since I have taken a quarter of an hour 
 of recreation." Apparently he was too busy 
 to formalize his marriage with Simonne Evrard, 
 as in a letter dated Jan. 1, 1792, he had sol- 
 emnly promised to do. She was satisfied with 
 "all his tenderness as a guarantee of his 
 fidelity"; and a grateful Republic and his own 
 family ever regarded her as his wife. 
 
 XIII 
 
 In 1788, Marat, while undergoing persecu- 
 tion at the hands of the Scientists, wrote: 
 "One is not fitted to be the Apostle of the 
 Truth unless one has the courage to be its 
 martyr." 
 
 No one can deny that he was a martyr. 
 When in June, 1793, the rumor was abroad 
 that the volunteers of the Departments were 
 marching against Paris, he wrote in his journal: 
 "Perhaps they would like to see the Dictator 
 
 [72] 
 
Marat. They will find him in bed, a poor 
 devil who would give all the dignities of earth 
 for a few hours of health, but always a hundred 
 times more concerned with the people's mis- 
 fortune than his own disease." 
 
 On July 13, Charlotte Corday, admitted by 
 Marat's orders as he was writing in his bath, 
 stabbed him to the heart. His death was 
 instantaneous. 
 
 The convention, which he had so trium- 
 phantly entered on the 24th of April, paid him 
 extraordinary honor. David was commis- 
 sioned to paint the picture of Marat dying for 
 his country; Beauvallet was asked to make 
 his bust for the General Council. It was sug- 
 gested that the nation should pay his debts. 
 The convention voted to attend his funeral in 
 a body. A deputation from the Section du 
 Thedtre-Fran^ais came and asked for his 
 heart to be preserved forever in its hall. One 
 citizen presented a motion that Marat's body 
 embalmed should be sent to all the depart- 
 ments in order that even after its dissolution it 
 might still inspire the love of liberty in souls 
 truly republican. Various sections contended 
 for the honor of burying him. 
 
 The funeral took place at five o'clock in the 
 afternoon of Tuesday, July 16. The bier was 
 
 [73] 
 
carried by twelve men; young girls dressed in 
 white and young lads carrying branches of 
 cypress surrounded the body. The conven- 
 tion, the authorities, the clubs, the people 
 followed in a long procession. Patriotic songs 
 were sung by the cortege; minute guns were 
 fired at the Pont-Neuf . He was buried in the 
 garden of the Cordeliers. The president of 
 the convention made an eloquent discourse. 
 Then as the people filed by a speech was made 
 to each section. The monument designed by 
 J. F. Martin, a sculptor, was constructed of 
 granite blocks in a sort of mound surmounted 
 by a quadrangular pyramid with an urn. 
 The inscription read: "Here lies Marat, the 
 People's Friend, assassinated by the People's 
 Enemies, July 13, 1793." 
 
 Two days later, Marat's heart was trans- 
 ported to the Club des Cordeliers, and with 
 great ceremony placed in an agate vase en- 
 riched with jewels, once "so long and so 
 uselessly exposed by our former kings to the 
 admiration of the public." A member of the 
 Club pronounced an oration, in which he 
 exclaimed: "O heart of Jesus, O heart of 
 Marat, you have the same rights to our wor- 
 ship"; and continuing the Biblical figures, 
 compared the Jacobins to the Apostles, the 
 
 [74] 
 
shopkeepers to the pubKcans, and the aristo- 
 crats to the Pharisees, and said: ** Marat's 
 companion is perfectly Uke Mary: the one 
 saved the infant Jesus in Egypt; the other 
 rescued Marat from the sword of Lafayette, 
 who hke Herod would have slaughtered him." 
 Another orator even raised Marat above 
 Christ. "Marat," he exclaimed, "was not to 
 be compared with Jesus. That man caused 
 superstition to be born; he defended kings: 
 Marat had the courage to wipe them out of 
 existence." Still another said: "The com- 
 parison with Jesus is just in more than one 
 way. Like Jesus, Marat ardently loved the 
 people, and loved only the people; like Jesus, 
 Marat detested the nobles, the priests, the 
 rich, the rascals; like Jesus, he led a poor and 
 frugal life." He was actually canonized! 
 Men adopted his protection under the name 
 of Saint Marat! In some schools children 
 were taught to make the sign of the cross at 
 the mention of the names of Marat and the 
 Polish patriot Lazowski. In front of a res- 
 taurant in the Rue aux Ours the bust of Marat 
 was put up in place of a statue of the Virgin, 
 with a double inscription. On one side, " He 
 was the People's Friend and a deep observer," 
 
 [75] 
 
and on the other, "Not being able to corrupt 
 him, they assassinated him." 
 
 For months there were festivals in honor of 
 "the patriot martyr." Ladies wore brooches 
 and rings with his portrait; a coiffure a la 
 Marat also came into vogue. Men had for 
 scarf-pins Queverdo's portrait reproduced, and 
 for watch charms little busts in solid silver. 
 Fans with colored effigies, and snuff-boxes 
 with Marat's profile on the cover, were popu- 
 lar. A watch of that day had its case orna- 
 mented with the faces of Marat and Lepelle- 
 tier in exquisite enamel. Buildings, streets, 
 squares, clubs, villages, adopted or com- 
 pounded the name of the popular idol. No 
 less than thirty-six towns are known to have 
 made this change. Hundreds of children were 
 named after him. In the civil registers were 
 such names as Brutus-Marat, Marat-Brutus, 
 Rousseau-Marat, Marat-la Montague, Julie- 
 Marat, Sans-Culottes-Marat. A life of the 
 King of Naples, published in 1816, asserts that 
 Joachim Murat, who was an ardent revolu- 
 tionist, begged permission of Marat himself, 
 during his lifetime, to change the second letter 
 of his name to "a"; another states that the 
 petition was addressed to the Assembly. 
 
 On September 24, 1794, the ceremony of 
 
 [76] 
 
transferring Marat's remains to the church of 
 Sainte- Genevieve was celebrated with great 
 pomp. At the door of the Temple a herald 
 read in a loud voice the decree conferring on 
 Jean Paul Marat the palms of Immortality. 
 
 It was a short-lived immortality. In Jan- 
 uary of the next year the gothic pyramidal 
 monument to Marat on the Place du Carrousel 
 was torn down, the people aiding; criers were 
 selling a pamphlet entitled "The Crimes of 
 Marat." At one of the theatres Marat's bust 
 was thrown down and his name was hissed. 
 In the Cour des Jacobins he was burnt in 
 effigy, and the ashes were treated with every 
 possible insult. His bust was flung into the 
 sewer, the people shouting, " Marat, voila ton 
 pantheon,'' 
 
 In Marat's "Plan for a Constitution" the 
 people had discovered monarchical tendencies. 
 This was sufficient to account for the reaction. 
 But the madness of the times is nowhere seen 
 more vividly than in this worship and "de- 
 pantheonization" of the People's Friend. The 
 wave that rose so high had to sink to corre- 
 sponding depths. It was like the tidal flux 
 that follows an earthquake. A long time is 
 required to restore the just equilibrium. 
 
 [77 ] 
 
XIV 
 
 Marat was distinctly the journalist of the 
 French Revolution. His own pronounced 
 recommendation for style consisted in clear- 
 ness, precision, and energy. He expressly 
 disclaimed all attempts at ornamentation. 
 He won his influence by constantly hammering 
 away at the same ideas, with almost identically 
 the same apparatus of language. He uses an 
 extraordinarily limited vocabulary. He de- 
 lights in tautologies, in heaping up phrases 
 with portentous accretion of epithets; he is 
 always calling names and making accusations. 
 He lashes the Parisians at every opportunity. 
 He proclaims the Abbe Sieyes un fourhe par- 
 venu; Du Rochefoucauld and Liancourt laches 
 courtisans; Mirabeau vil scelerat convert de 
 crimes et (TopprobrCy and he tells the "traitor 
 Lafayette" that he vows eternal hatred against 
 him as long as he plots against Liberty. He 
 pursues Necker with fiendish energy till finally 
 he drives him from ofl&ce and into exile. 
 Scarcely one of the men of his day meets his 
 approval. But he never wearies of singing 
 his own great deeds and great suggestions. 
 He is absurd in his vainglory and boastfulness. 
 He constitutes himself the censor of all politics 
 and of all measures and of all men. He 
 
 [78] 
 
glories in his sufferings and his tribulations, 
 in his poverty and his unpopularity. He tells 
 the story of his long struggle with all the 
 circumstantiality of a second Saint Paul. He 
 would win more sympathy in our day if he 
 had not played so persistently on the brazen 
 trumpet of the eternal moil The Gallic ego- 
 tism so compatible with his diminutive stature 
 makes it rather difficult to be fair to him. He 
 surrounds his noble thoughts and his lofty 
 ideals with too much of the slime of his frothy 
 mouthings. Though he contented himself 
 with no self-panegyrics, with reiterating his 
 doctrines apart from his persecutions, he would 
 have assuredly appeared as the greatest States- 
 man of his day, as the prophet of Democracy, 
 as indeed he was. 
 
 XV 
 
 A posthumous treatise from the pen of 
 Marat could not fail to have a peculiar interest. 
 It is curious that it should wait for a century 
 and a quarter for publication and then appear 
 for the first time in English, — all the more 
 curious from the fact that Marat's earliest 
 w^orks were written and brought out in Eng- 
 lish. The question naturally arises: What 
 proof is there that it is the work of Marat .'^ 
 
 [79] 
 
M. Chevremont, in a note speaking of Marat's 
 posthumous romance which was pubhshed in 
 1847 under the title Aventures du Jeune Comte 
 Potoivski, says: 
 
 "To Marat is attributed another unpub- 
 lished romance, but purely philosophical, 
 under the title Lettres Polonaises. Thanks to 
 the obliging communication of M. Gabriel 
 Charavay we possess in numerous extracts the 
 substance of this work, and we declare it, once 
 for all, not to be Marat's, even though it were 
 signed by him. Nothing could be more illog- 
 ical than to attribute to Marat, essentially 
 spiritualistic, as is shown by his works, a 
 romance so full of materialism that one might 
 believe it to be from the pen of Baron d'Hol- 
 bach." 
 
 A comparison between the two accompany- 
 ing fac-simile autograph letters written by 
 Marat, and kindly furnished by the British 
 Museum, and the chirography of this manu- 
 script (two pages of which appear in fac-simile 
 in the front of this volume), which the generous 
 spirit of Mr. Bixby has put at the service of 
 The Bibliophile Society, leaves no room to 
 doubt the genuineness of the Polish Letters. 
 The fac-similes will render the unmistakable 
 resemblance plain to every reader. This ex- 
 
 [80] 
 
Facsfmile page of MS. — Ldtres PoIoiumscs. 
 
1^ 
 
 tsi 
 
 c 
 
 L. 
 
 
 (I) 
 
 < 
 
 < 
 
 u. 
 O 
 
 (>: 
 (*i 
 H 
 H 
 u: 
 •-) 
 
 a 
 o 
 
 Lb 
 
 o 
 
 c 
 
 < 
 
 (±2 
 
 en 
 
 U 
 
 < 
 
ternal similarity is also abundantly confirmed 
 by the internal evidence. The latter part of 
 the treatise is exactly in line with Marat's 
 political development. One could predict 
 from many pregnant sentences the socialistic, 
 democratic views of the Revolutionary leader. 
 Indeed, with characteristic realization of their 
 value, he makes use in his later works of the 
 teaching he promulgates in this: 
 
 "For a man to possess superfluity is robbery 
 of him who lacks, and for this the latter has a 
 claim of indemnification from the former." 
 
 "Every lazy man who eats in idleness the 
 bread gained by the labor of another is a 
 felon." 
 
 "Justice consists in perfect equality. The 
 legitimacy of the social pact is necessarily 
 founded on the equality of right, the advan- 
 tages and penalties which the laws impose on 
 each member of the association, and can have 
 potency only as long as the equality exists." 
 
 "No form of government is legitimate, ex- 
 cept that in which the people, as a body, has 
 the sovereignty. The will of all is the supreme 
 command." 
 
 "The power which kings arrogate to them- 
 selves is illegitimate. The people themselves 
 
 [81] 
 
are powerless to confer it upon them, for the 
 people cannot renounce their liberty." 
 
 It is interesting and instructive to trace 
 throughout Marat's writings the evolution of 
 the thoughts and theories presented, some- 
 times tentatively, in the Polish Letters. 
 
 Thus as early as 1778, Marat offered a 
 society in Berne a " Plan of Criminal Legisla- 
 tion," and two years later had it printed at 
 Neuchatel. This was advertised in 1790 as 
 about to appear in Paris. He felt that it 
 would shock public opinion. "But what 
 difference does it make.^" he asks. "I have 
 to speak to wise men, and care only for their 
 opinion." His first law is: "Social order is 
 the support of the State. All that troubles it 
 therefore ought to be punished." 
 
 He argues in favor of equal rights, reciprocal 
 advantages, mutual assistance. Liberty, jus- 
 tice, peace, harmony, happiness should be its 
 fruits. He exclaims: "Perish arbitrary laws, 
 made for the happiness of a few individuals, 
 to the prejudice of the human race, and perish 
 also those odious distinctions which render 
 certain classes the enemies of other, which 
 cause the multitude to suffer that a few may 
 be happy, and the few to dread lest the multi- 
 tude be happy." 
 
 [82] 
 
He argues that "if Society compels men to 
 respect the estabhshed order, then it ought 
 before everything else to put them out of the 
 temptations of want. It owes them an assured 
 living, proper clothing, absolute protection, 
 help in sickness and care in old age; for they 
 cannot give up their natural rights except as 
 far as Society furnishes them with a lot 
 preferable to the state of Nature." 
 
 Very characteristic is his treatment of 
 property : 
 
 "The usurper founds his right to it as being 
 the stronger; as if violence could ever establish 
 a sacred right. 
 
 "The possessor founds his right to it as be- 
 ing the first occupant; as if a thing were justly 
 acquired by having first put hand on it. 
 
 "The heir founds his right to it on inheri- 
 tance; as if one could dispose in favor of 
 another of that which he has not. 
 
 "The farmer founds it on his labor; doubt- 
 less the fruit of your labor belongs to you ; but 
 farms presuppose soil, and by what title do 
 you take possession of a foot of this earth 
 which was given in common to all the inhabi- 
 tants ? Do you not realize that only after an 
 equal redivision of all could your quota be 
 assigned to you? Moreover, after this divi- 
 
 [83] 
 
sion would you have any right to the land you 
 cultivate, more than is absolutely necessary 
 for your existence ? 
 
 "Perhaps you will say that the number of 
 the inhabitants of the earth is ceaselessly 
 changing, and therefore this division would 
 be impossible. But is it less just because it is 
 impracticable? The right of possession de- 
 rives from the right of living; thus, everything 
 that is indispensable for our existence is ours, 
 and nothing superfluous can legitimately be- 
 long to us while others lack necessities. That 
 is the legitimate foundation of all property, 
 both in the state of Society and in the state of 
 Nature." 
 
 He gives a vivid picture of the unfortunate 
 poor, reduced to indigence by unjust neighbors 
 or by illness, and compelled to beg or steal; if 
 he steals he is condemned to be punished. 
 "Unjust judges!" he cries, "remember that 
 humanity is the first of the virtues and justice 
 the first of the laws." 
 
 He answers the objection that this opens 
 the door to anarchy: "No industry or property 
 is uncertain; who would wish to cultivate the 
 soil if another might reap the harvest.^ The 
 arts would no longer be pursued if the work- 
 man was not sure of the fruits of his labor, and 
 
 [84] 
 
commerce would be annihilated if one could 
 claim from the merchant the commodity which 
 he offered for sale. What man would ever 
 think of sparing to-day what he risked taking 
 to-morrow? And what man would make up 
 his mind to marry, if he found he could not 
 bring up his children ? Thus the earth would 
 soon become a vast desert and Society would 
 no longer exist." 
 
 "But Society," he replies, "has no claim to 
 exist except in as far as it conduces to the 
 happiness of the human race, and can there 
 be any doubt that the multitude are always 
 sacrificed to the few?" 
 
 He would allow no beggary; almsgiving 
 causes nothing but vice; he would therefore 
 make men earn their living, teach them a 
 trade, found public workshops, where they 
 would be received. 
 
 He recognizes the difficulties in the way of 
 this, and has no hope of seeing these abuses 
 immediately remedied, but he is writing for 
 free men! He argues in favor of the preven- 
 tion of crime rather than its punishment. He 
 is in absolute favor of Free Speech, but would 
 allow no anonymous libels, which he would 
 repress by punishing the printers and sellers. 
 
 The second part treats of false crimes 
 
 [85] 
 
against the State. He objects to making any 
 special crime of the murder of a prince. He 
 would not diminish the horror which such a 
 crime ought to inspire, but he would restore 
 the true relations of things. He enumerates 
 the true crimes against the State: first of all, 
 abandonment of the country, bribery, cor- 
 ruption, selling of justice, peculation, depre- 
 dation, arson, debauching the army, corrupt- 
 ing the officers; anything that sacrifices the 
 happiness of the many to that of the few. 
 Refusal to obey just laws should result in 
 punishment, prison, banishment. 
 
 One must remember that theft and many 
 minor crimes in that day were punished by 
 death. Marat was more gentle. His views 
 of sexual immorality are lofty; he sees woman 
 always abused; he would restore the balance. 
 He would punish the men; save unfortunate 
 women, reduced by poverty to prostitution, 
 imprison those that corrupt the young, make 
 seducers marry their victims, repress liber- 
 tinage by force of public opinion. He would 
 proscribe every gambling establishment, every 
 place of debauchery, every evil resort; pro- 
 scribe all spies and informers, usurers; would 
 make the poor work, furnish them the tools, 
 and banish the lazy. In order to combat the 
 
 [86] 
 
preponderance of the rich over the poor he 
 would have estabHshed in each city a poor 
 man's lawyer charged to defend the unfortu- 
 nate. 
 
 When he comes to speak of crimes he says : 
 "I hear the voice of nature, my heart fails me 
 and the pen falls from my hand." 
 
 Marat's views sound extremely modern. 
 They may be derived from Rousseau and 
 Montesquieu, but he himself had worked them 
 out with a lofty idea of human progress. 
 
 At first he is inclined to believe in a princely 
 head to the State, but later, in his growing 
 disgust with the selfishness of rulers, he de- 
 clares that he had never conversed with any 
 military ofiScers without compelling them to 
 confess that they would obey the orders of 
 their king even if he commanded them to set 
 fire to the four quarters of a city and massacre 
 all the inhabitants. 
 
 *'I knew particularly well a lieutenant of 
 the king's body-guard," he says, "who more 
 than once avowed that he would stab his 
 mother to the heart rather than resist his 
 prince's orders. I shuddered with horror. 
 *And you,' he asked in turn, *what would you 
 do in my place.?' 'I,' replied Marat, *I 
 would stab all the kings of the earth sooner 
 
 [87] 
 
than turn my hand against the authors of my 
 being, rather than attempt the hfe of an inno- 
 cent person.' '' 
 
 Again and again he arrives at the same 
 conclusion: that the State has the right to 
 compel its citizens to work, since that is the 
 law of Nature, but when they are willing and 
 their labor does not suffice to support them, 
 the State owes them a sufficient amount of 
 food, wholesome lodging, suitable clothing, 
 the wherewithal to educate their children, care 
 in sickness and infirmity; in sum, an existence 
 sufficiently endurable to keep them from 
 wearing out from fatigue, and he reminds his 
 readers that unless the representatives of the 
 Nation come to this, they will see three-fourths 
 of the people demanding the redistribution of 
 the land, — a day nearer than people imagine. 
 It must have been as a gospel to the common 
 people, so long trodden down by selfish rulers 
 and a still more selfish nobility, to hear these 
 ringing words reiterated by "The People's 
 Friend." What is said and re-said, with an 
 air of authority and with the stamp of sincerity, 
 finally makes its way. The number of new 
 ideas was not so great as to be confusing. In 
 this respect Marat was like Mahomet; he 
 never wearied of repetition. 
 
 [88] 
 

 How many times did he not say, "No form 
 of government is legitimate except that in 
 which the people, as a body, have the sover- 
 eignty " ? 
 
 The will of all is the Supreme law." 
 The shepherd is the equal of the monarch." 
 All my morality," he declares, "is included 
 in the maxim: 'Be obedient to the laws of 
 your country.'" With all his eloquence he 
 protests against any restriction of the right of 
 suffrage. He calls on all unfortunate citizens 
 to reclaim this right, and reminds them that 
 resistance to oppression is founded on natural 
 law, civil law, and political law, and that it 
 had been solemnly consecrated by the Na- 
 tional Assembly itself. That was why he 
 urged the people to rise and put down the 
 aristocrats. They were the sworn enemies of 
 the poor and unfortunate. As long as the 
 nobles lived the people would have no chance. 
 So with Marat it was war to the knife. He 
 declared that the only way of punishing the 
 enemies of the people was to kill them. 
 "Death! Death!" he cries: "that should be 
 the punishment of traitors bent on destroying 
 you; that is the only one that freezes them into 
 despair; for the despot with all his power can 
 never raise the dead to life again. Then copy 
 
 [89] 
 
the example of your implacable enemies ; never 
 go without arms, and in order that they may 
 not escape you, through the dragging slowness 
 of the preliminaries of punishment, stab them 
 on the spot or blow their brains out." Again: 
 "Five or six heads cut off might assure you 
 peace, liberty, and happiness; a false humanity 
 restraining your blows will cost the lives of 
 millions." 
 
 He also kept reiterating his own principles, 
 his utter freedom from self-seeking, his love 
 for humanity, his zeal for freedom and justice. 
 Thus he publishes his "Oath": 
 
 "I swear on the altars of Truth that justice 
 and liberty shall always be my favorite deities, 
 as they always have been; 
 
 "I swear that I will always regard my 
 country as my mother, have for her all the 
 tenderness of a son, devote to her service all 
 the faculties of my body and my soul, defend 
 her at the peril of my life, and, if necessary, 
 perish for her safety; 
 
 "I swear to respect to my last breath such 
 decrees of the National Assembly as are in 
 conformity with the Declaration of Rights, 
 the sole legitimate foundation of the Consti- 
 tution; maintain those that do not attack it, 
 
 [90j 
 
trample on those that are contrary to it and 
 take no rest till they are repealed; 
 
 *'I swear to have for the king all the senti- 
 ment dictated by reason and humanity; to 
 pity him as an easy-going man when he allow^s 
 himself to be ruled by his wife, his relations, 
 his favorites, or his lackeys; to esteem him as 
 an upright man when he shows himself bent 
 on fulfilling his duties, and to respect him as 
 more than a sage when he is seen in good faith 
 holding at a distance the scoundrels that ad- 
 vise him to enchain the nation; when he is 
 seen driving from his presence and crushing 
 with the weight of his indignation those that 
 are bold enough to use his name to conspire 
 against liberty; 
 
 *'I swear to denounce to the people every 
 functionary neglecting his duties, unfaithful, 
 fraudulent, and to make such exposure of his 
 misdemeanors that he shall be dismissed or 
 punished ; 
 
 " I swear to reveal to the public every project 
 directed against the common weal, to invoke 
 the vigor of the laws against its culpable 
 authors, even though they should be my 
 dearest relatives or my best friends; 
 
 "I swear that I will never sacrifice the rights 
 of the people to the depositaries of authority, 
 
 [91] 
 
and will die of starvation sooner than sell 
 their interests; 
 
 "Finally, I swear to make it my glory to 
 instruct the people in their rights, to inspire 
 them with the boldness to defend them, and 
 to lash them every day till they have won them 
 back. 
 
 "Such is my civic oath. Never has a re- 
 spectable man taken one more sincere, and I 
 flatter myself that it will have the approbation 
 of true patriots. If public functionaries ven- 
 ture to criticise it, I invite them to take one 
 that is better." 
 
 Marat reveals himself in every line. We 
 can see the man small of stature, but every 
 inch impregnated with the sense of his im- 
 portance as the apostle of Liberty. With no 
 spirit of self-seeking did he force himself into 
 notoriety. His zeal and sincerity were gen- 
 uine. He set up his ideal for the people and 
 endured every insult and every kind of perse- 
 cution sooner than abandon the advanced 
 position on which he took his stand. 
 
 In spite of his errors, we cannot help re- 
 garding him as one of the prophets of the 
 world. With this conception of him we find 
 a peculiar interest in the Polish Letters, which 
 are now printed for the first time. Their 
 
 [92] 
 
study into the comparative civilizations of 
 France, England, Holland, and Switzerland; 
 their political, social, and moral observations, 
 — throw a peculiar light on the Marat of the 
 Revolution. The little dramatic touch at the 
 very end hints at the antinomy of Marat's 
 aristocratic temptation and his utter renuncia- 
 tion of it as he grew in mental stature. One 
 can believe the story that at one time he in- 
 vented a coat-of-arms and was inclined to 
 adopt the patrician particle *'de" before his 
 name. 
 
 At all events, we realize what a leader 
 Marat was. In our day he would have been 
 an ultra-socialist, but the fierce destructiveness 
 which he preached would have been directed 
 not against people, but against abuses. 
 
 [93] 
 
POLISH LETTERS 
 
INTRODUCTORY 
 
 Few are the books which teach men useful 
 truths, and these are books 'par excellence. 
 There are others which impart only errors; 
 these are pernicious books. There is a third 
 class which teach nothing and learn nothing, 
 and only destroy what the others have estab- 
 lished. This writing may perhaps belong to 
 the last class, but it will certainly partake 
 somewhat of the nature of the others. 
 
 Those who have not renounced the right of 
 reason, and who none the less are true to the 
 faith, will here find grave matter of astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 The hbertine will make it his support. 
 
 The hypocrite will fulminate against it his 
 pious anathemas. 
 
 The zealous theologian and the cheap poli- 
 tician will vote to condemn it to the flames; 
 let that pass, — if they only leave the author 
 in peace. 
 
 But for what good is this work ? Importu- 
 
 [97] 
 
nate reader, must I tell thee everything? I 
 will not answer thee, with the philosophers, 
 that Truth is blind; for, as long as there are 
 still some agreeable illusions, some innocent 
 chimeras, it is always cruel to enlighten men 
 as to their errors. 
 
 Despite the fact that it is very difficult for 
 self-love to resist the temptations of publishing 
 new thoughts, this work would certainly have 
 never seen the light, though the reflections 
 which it contains had to die with me. But a 
 thousand others will make the same reflections. 
 The times of ignorance are past. The reason- 
 ing spirit is the spirit of the century. The 
 frightful truth, therefore, must force its way up 
 to the light; and who knows if others will use 
 the same precaution as I to mollify its features ? 
 
 I shall not say by what accident these letters 
 fell into my hands; one can easily divine for 
 what reason. 
 
 [08] 
 
Kara temporum felicitate ubi sc tit ire quae 
 veils, et quae sentias dicere licet. 
 
 Tacit. Hist. I. 
 
 Rare and happy is the time when one is at 
 Hberty to think, and to say what one thinks. 
 
POLISH LETTERS 
 
 (Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracoiv.) 
 My family has at length ceased to persecute 
 me! With what joy my heart is overflowing! 
 Dear friend, share my transports. 
 
 My father has no longer any desire to oppose 
 my inclinations; he is willing that I should 
 follow my own taste: happy change! But 
 there is still an obstinate old uncle to wheedle, 
 and I fear this will not be so easy. Meanwhile 
 it is proposed that I travel through the civilized 
 countries of Europe. I am to have a liberal 
 income and my younger brother as my travel- 
 ing companion; and to my father's kindness 
 I owe these welcome propositions: happy 
 change! In his dear letter not a word of 
 reproach ! Can you believe it ? What a de- 
 licious impression is made by joy on a heart 
 that has been long the abode of sadness! Why 
 am I not at this moment reunited to my 
 family ? Why can I not unbosom my feelings 
 in their midst ? 
 
 [101] 
 
So I shall be able to live as I please and to 
 be a man, and why not just as well to-day as 
 to wait till to-morrow? 
 
 Devoted, as you know, to study, could I be 
 content, now that I have tasted the pleasures 
 of the wise, to be nothing but an overgrown 
 schoolboy ? 
 
 An enemy by temperament to tyranny I am 
 so also by reason; I am nevertheless willing to 
 obey the wishes of my relatives. 
 
 Still my joy is not quite unalloyed; I am 
 conscious that something is still lacking. Must 
 I tell you ? I am going still farther away from 
 
 you ! O my dear How can I endure 
 
 this sad thought ? Only by the cheering hope 
 of soon embracing you and of being reunited 
 to you forever. 
 
 Written at Dantzic, May 11, 1770. 
 
 {Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 
 S has joined me. After so long an 
 
 absence you can't imagine how charmed I 
 was to see him again; but the pleasure I ex- 
 perienced at his arrival was soon disturbed by 
 the mortification caused me by the state of his 
 mind, his character; he is so frivolous; so 
 dissipated. Though so closely related — shall 
 
 [102] 
 
I confess it to you, dear friend ? — we are not 
 suited to each other. 
 
 I have begun preparations for our departure. 
 We purpose to go first to France, and we shall 
 go there by sea when the wind is favorable, by 
 the first ship which sails for that country. 
 
 I send you two manuscripts which I cherish 
 as my life, for you are the only person to whom 
 I am willing to confide them. 
 
 I do not think that, on reading them, you 
 will be much astonished at the novelty of the 
 thoughts; at all events, you will see that your 
 friend has not wasted his time. 
 
 {From Shava to Kamia at Dantzic.) 
 You are leaving us, Pouski,* to wander in 
 remote regions in quest of knowledge. What 
 have you to do with so much knowledge of all 
 this science of which you are so avid ? Do 
 you expect to become happier as you get wiser ? 
 Ungrateful, do you count for nothing the 
 charms of friendship, its sweet intercourse, 
 the sighs and tears of a friend ? In proportion 
 as his affection for you increases grows your 
 insensibility, which drives you still farther 
 
 * Marat was undecided at first as to the name of his hero. 
 In the following pa,?*" of the Manuscript the name Pouski 
 was scratched out and Kamia substituted. — Ed. 
 
 [103] 
 
from him. Fly then, ungrateful, since nothing 
 can keep you back. But whither is my grief 
 driving me ? It is not you who are fleeing : it 
 is cruel destiny thwarting us. When I read 
 your letter I must confess, dear friend, my 
 heart was like to break. In endeavoring to 
 reconcile you to your father, I thought I should 
 restore you to the bosom of your family; but 
 alas! instead of this, I have driven you still 
 farther away! Wretch that I am! why cannot 
 I express to you the misery I feel ? Alarmed 
 at the journey which you have in contempla- 
 tion, I feel my friendship for you redouble its 
 strength ; and still further to augment my woes, 
 the recollection of those sweet moments which 
 we once passed together comes vividly to my 
 mind, and this only tends to make me more 
 sensible of your absence. My heart is torn 
 with remorse. Oh, how I repent of my neg- 
 lectful attitude toward you, that I have not 
 done to you all the kind offices that I wished! 
 
 What afflicts me most is the danger you are 
 about to incur. I dread that ocean you are 
 going to brave. I cannot think of the furies 
 of that treacherous element without trembling 
 with fear and anxiety on your account. 
 
 While you are sailing on that vast abyss, oh, 
 why can I not at least enchain the storms? 
 
 [104] 
 
why can I not remove the dangerous 
 shoals ? 
 
 (From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracoiv.) 
 Continual calms have held us in port until 
 
 to-day. 
 
 This morning the wind arose and gently 
 
 filled the sails of the ships. I hear the cheerful 
 
 shouts of the sailors, who are filled with joy. 
 Transitory delusion! the clouds begin to 
 
 lower, and the tempest bursts upon our ship. 
 
 (From Kamia io his Friend Shava at Cracoiv.) 
 For some time I have retained the Polish 
 dress, but as I was everywhere received with 
 ceremony, and whenever I went out had a 
 crowd of followers, who had assembled for the 
 express purpose of seeing me, I resolved to 
 adopt the dress of the country and sent for a 
 tailor. 
 
 These fellows are personages of importance, 
 and nothing is more amusing than to hear 
 their glib conversation. I will here repeat to 
 you the monologue of my sartorial friend, 
 which he articulated between his teeth, for the 
 good reason that he held between his lips a 
 long band of paper, while he adjusted another 
 between his fingers. 
 
 [105] 
 
"You have a singular fashion of dress in 
 your country, Monsieur, and it must be con- 
 fessed that there is no country on earth where 
 men dress better than in France. . . . Does 
 Monsieur wish his suit made in the latest 
 style ? . . . I trust Monsieur will be satisfied 
 with my workmanship. I served my appren- 
 ticeship with one of the most famous masters 
 of Paris." 
 
 While thus prating, my man took my meas- 
 ure in all dimensions ; this over, he left, leaving 
 me astounded at the freedom of his manners. 
 He came again this morning with my suit. 
 
 If you only saw me in these ridiculous 
 accoutrements, — strangled at the neck, the 
 waist, and the knees, and bound in a sort of 
 fetters, as if one were afraid that I should stir ! 
 What a difference between this and the noble, 
 easy dress of the Poles! 
 
 The only appropriate place that I can see 
 for the dress a la Franf.aise is the army ; not so 
 cumbersome and not so embarrassing: as our 
 long coat, it is admirably suited for men who 
 have to be constantly moving in all directions, 
 and often have to run away. 
 
 Written at Paris, the 
 
 [106] 
 
{From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracoiv.) 
 
 This is the land of enchantments. Here 
 are to be seen singing machines, magicians 
 who have the gift of making things invisible, 
 beasts which have that of divining. But, 
 among the women of the court, above all, are 
 prodigies to be witnessed; the young, the old, 
 the cadaverous, all have a blooming complex- 
 ion. At sixty, as at twenty, their cheeks are 
 like roses. Age does not affect their skin, 
 blanches not their hair, or makes them bald. 
 It does them no injury save in the wasting of 
 the body or in adding to its bulk, and she 
 whom one would judge from her gait to be a 
 walking skeleton has, like a young girl, a florid 
 complexion, glossy black hair, and white teeth. 
 
 At undressing (at least so say the wags), 
 these beauties despoil themselves of their 
 charms. On going to bed, they remove the 
 lilies and the roses from their cheeks; some 
 even leave their beautiful locks on the toilet 
 table, and others their teeth and their busts, 
 nay, even one of their eyes. 
 
 If all this is true, — why then I should be 
 curious to see these fair dames rejuvenate 
 themselves; I should open my eyes. 
 
 Written at Paris, the 
 
 [107] 
 
(From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 The French cannot play — even two to- 
 gether — in silence. They fear to be alone. 
 Paying and receiving visits is their great occu- 
 pation, and in this occupation they consider 
 their time well employed. 
 
 In their conversation, however, their sole 
 object seems to be to make a display of their 
 talents. Whatever they are doing, whether 
 they speak or keep silent, they strive always to 
 give you a favorable opinion of their personal 
 qualities, and by a singular antithesis this 
 excessive vanity is united with excessive mod- 
 esty; for although all their witticisms, all their 
 gestures, are made to present the speakers 
 with advantage, they nevertheless wish to con- 
 ceal carefully from you this fact. Should you 
 praise them, they skilfully demur; not because 
 they do not wish your applause, but because 
 you are bestowing it upon them too cheaply. 
 What you see amounts to nothing. They have 
 far more taste, more skill, more courage, more 
 intellect, than they appear to have. On such 
 and such occasions they have made iSner 
 repartees, and it is well that you should know 
 it. In such and such a battle they were much 
 more seriously wounded, and they are careful 
 to tell you so. 
 
 [108] 
 
Here the women dress to please the men, 
 and the men to please the women. The two 
 sexes are occupied in trying to captivate each 
 other, but by their agreeable manners they try 
 to succeed in this. Thus their intercourse is 
 unembarrassed, their married women free and 
 easy; and although they soon abandon them- 
 selves to a charming familiarity, decorum is 
 always observed in their reunions and they 
 incessantly say sweet and delightful things to 
 one another. 
 
 Amongst them conversation hardly ever 
 touches on morality, politics, or religion; they 
 have long since abandoned these dry subjects 
 to those whose business it is to discuss them; 
 but light comedy, ballads, new songs, short 
 stories, pretty verses, witticisms, humorous 
 repartees, enigmas, epigrams, mottoes, im- 
 promptus, laces, ribbons, gew-gaws, are the 
 inexhaustible sources of conversation. On 
 these all-important subjects, each does his 
 best to say pretty things, and indeed succeeds 
 very well. 
 
 In the world of fashion, so careful to dis- 
 tinguish itself from the common herd who 
 speak only naturally, it is not enough to unite 
 the talent of saying pretty things w^ith that of 
 saying them well, but one must express them 
 
 [109 J 
 
in an extraordinary manner and in unusual 
 phraseology. 
 
 They have even gone so far as to banish all 
 rationahty from their brilliant social gather- 
 ings; any approach to common sense is for- 
 bidden; they blush no less when they inadver- 
 tently let fall a judicious word than one would 
 do elsewhere in being detected in saying a 
 vicious one. With this talent of being able to 
 talk without saying anything, they unite that 
 of being competent to converse on every sub- 
 ject without the least hesitation. Their con- 
 versation is hardly anything else than a heap 
 of words without ideas, a volubility in saying 
 clever things that offends the wise and discon- 
 certs the sensible. 
 
 Although they meet only to divert them- 
 selves, their conversations seem to me to be 
 hardly pastimes. For one who acts only the 
 part of spectator at their reunions, they are 
 nothing more than an amusement, but for 
 those who take part, it is a play, — a play in 
 which each one endeavors to surpass the 
 others. 
 
 I know here men of intelligence who, though 
 flattered by their brilliant success, have aban- 
 doned their role as too exacting. A person of 
 
 [110] 
 
sense to whom I had communicated my 
 observations remarked: 
 
 "Amongst us, in whose society one scarcely 
 ever speaks except in order to shine, each one 
 strives to contribute something, as his share, 
 to the common amusement. Should he desire 
 wit, he applies to books (composed expressly 
 for those who are deficient in that commodity) 
 and engages a teacher, and they spend no 
 small part of their time in studying their 
 lessons and in preparing themselves for its 
 accurate rehearsal." 
 
 The worst of it is, they do not amuse them- 
 selves at all, and all their efforts to have a good 
 time end only in wearying them to death. 
 The infallible effect of their pretensions to wit 
 is to render their social intercourse uniformly 
 lanffuishinff and tiresome. Such is their own 
 experience, and so great is their folly that they 
 continue to throw themselves into society 
 despite of all the disgust they therein expe- 
 rience. 
 
 The greatest madness of these frivolous 
 fools is that they imagine that their little talent 
 is full of charms; if they only knew how utterly 
 disgusting they are, shame would make them 
 renounce their course of life forever. 
 
 The few who think, and who laugh at these 
 
 [111] 
 
lovely conversations, say in justification of 
 their countrymen: "The women rule the con- 
 versation, and in their school the men contract 
 the taste for bagatelles and lose their good 
 sense. The gentler sex, not being able to rise 
 to the elevation of the men, pull the latter 
 down to their own level." 
 
 From this habit we have described of talking 
 merely for talking's sake, arise that levity and 
 frivolity with which foreigners universally 
 reproach them. 
 
 They can take nothing seriously; they turn 
 everything to ridicule, and jest on every subject 
 alike; to them all things appear absurd. To 
 make a sensible answer or a blunder is the 
 only thing that would cause them to blush. 
 
 Just see how the spirit of pleasantry spoils 
 everything. 
 
 {From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 Vanity is the disease of the French, but 
 this rage for distinction has for objects : luxury, 
 manners, wit. 
 
 They believe themselves men of merit when 
 they have a rich wife, good manners, a dis- 
 tinguished exterior, some euphemistic phrases, 
 and some pretty compliments. In this way, 
 they neglect nothing to acquire distinction. 
 
 [112] 
 
Their earnest desire is to make a splendid 
 appearance in the world, at the risk even of 
 loss of fortune. In order to appear opulent 
 they renew their furniture, though it should 
 be still new, because it is out of fashion. They 
 recast their plate, however fine, the style hav- 
 ing changed. A man will give up building his 
 house when it is half finished because the 
 popular ideas of architecture have undergone 
 a change. But stronger even than all this is 
 their rage to distinguish themselves by their 
 w^it. Although naturally far from insensible 
 to the pleasures of friendship, it is not rare to 
 see a Frenchman sacrifice his friend for the 
 sake of a witticism. 
 
 Altogether too high a price is lavished on 
 the face, manners, fine demeanor, gibberish, 
 dress, — and too little attention is paid to the 
 stern duties of life. You can conceive how 
 the morality of people whose sole aim is 
 pleasure must be relaxed; it has indeed be- 
 come extremely gay. '*Take time by the 
 forelock," is their grand maxim. They have 
 put their morality into a song; and, in order 
 not to blush for anything, they have formed 
 the resolution to laugh at everything. 
 
 From the habit of busying themselves about 
 nothing, of looking only at the externals, 
 
 [ 113 ] 
 
arise that levity and frivolity with w^hich 
 foreigners so greatly reproach the French. 
 To this disposition can also be traced their 
 great calamities. They judge a man by his 
 dress alone. They prefer the pleasure of 
 passing for happy to that of being so in reality. 
 This ostentatious display of happiness affords 
 their self-love the keenest pleasure of which it 
 is capable. 
 
 The French are indeed much influenced by 
 mere verbiage; and that which cannot be 
 obtained by appealing to their reason may be 
 surely got by appealing to their vanity. 
 
 These amiable qualities eclipse the others, 
 and make their vices venial, for they cease 
 to be odious when blended with gayety and 
 elegance. 
 
 Thus everything cedes to the powerful at- 
 traction of pleasure, — laws, preconceived 
 opinions, nothing can withstand its charms, — • 
 not even austere Virtue herself. 
 
 Written at Paris, the 
 
 {Frorti Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow,) 
 The French are of as easy access to for- 
 eigners as to their own countrymen. At 
 the end of two days at most their friendship 
 is at its highest degree; but rarely is it 
 
 [114 1 
 
strong and constant. I believe that I know 
 the reason. 
 
 The Frenchman is gay and Uvely by tem- 
 perament; he has also a natural desire to 
 communicate his ideas. This vivacity makes 
 him readily yield his heart; but it also leads 
 him into forming foolish attachments from 
 which he soon disengages himself. The ex- 
 treme dissipation in which they live, especially 
 in the capital, affects them in such a manner 
 that they do not take so keen an interest in 
 one another that it should be permanent. 
 When a sufficient number have assembled to 
 amuse themselves, that is all they wish; no 
 one is sought after, no one is de trop. 
 
 The Frenchman is vain. He cannot live 
 without admirers. His perichant is therefore 
 to make friends, and he readily gives his 
 friendship to any one who will give him praise 
 in exchange. He has no fatherland; he is a 
 citizen of nowhere; he is only a man. For 
 him all foreigners are compatriots. Hence it 
 follows that the foreigner finds in France all 
 he can desire. It is his ideal country. 
 
 {From, Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 
 Yesterday I was presented at court; and 
 
 for me it w^as no small pleasure to see the old 
 
 [115] 
 
monarch advance with an air of gravity in the 
 midst of his courtiers, all of whom pressed 
 zealously around him. 
 
 To please him the youths behaved as if they 
 were old men, overwhelmed with the weight 
 of years; some affected a trembling voice; 
 some inclined their heads to one side, while 
 others with their eyes fixed upon him waited 
 in stupid gravity for the favor of a look. 
 
 But what amused me most was the play of 
 secret emotions which agitated the courtiers, 
 — their malicious glances, their sarcastic 
 smiles, — and above all the embarrassment 
 of the monarch. 
 
 To satisfy the vanity of his favorite minions, 
 all he had to do was to vouchsafe them a smile 
 or to speak a word to them in presence of the 
 whole court. A whispered word is sufiicient 
 to swell with pride him that receives this favor, 
 to such an extent as to make him despise his 
 friends and relatives. If the monarch treats 
 another coolly it suffices to render the courtier 
 sad and inconsolable. 
 
 Whilst each of the courtiers was endeavor- 
 ing to attract his majesty's attention, I con- 
 sidered in silence the strength of opinion. 
 What limit, said I to myself, is there to its 
 power when it can thus put in disorder an 
 
 [1161 
 
entire people at the sight of a single man? 
 For a prince of merry mood, and a wit withal, 
 what an inexhaustible source of amusement 
 would this avidity of his courtiers for his favor 
 afford him! How he could enjoy himself at 
 the expense of his court by playing with their 
 passions! In a twinkling he could subdue 
 the most haughty beauty to regard with favor 
 the suitor she despised. Again at a glance he 
 could inflate the heart of the gallant with such 
 high hopes that he would in his turn despise 
 the beauty now inclined to accept his pro- 
 posals. With a smile, with a glance, he could in 
 turn make stupid intellectual; sad, gay; vain, 
 humble; submissive, proud, — all those who 
 approached him, and it would be, methinks, 
 a spectacle equally as amusing as that which 
 availed to set these secret springs in action. 
 
 But, dear friend, you love useful reflections: 
 I am going to be serious. 
 
 Seeing, as I did, the veneration of the French 
 for their king; seeing the care of the court to 
 imitate their prince and the eager interest the 
 rest of the nation take in court affairs, — I 
 think there is absolutely nothing the prince 
 could not do with the minds of his subjects; 
 I verily believe that he could make saints of 
 them if he so wished. 
 
 [117] 
 
What a power, to be sure, that might be, in 
 the hands of a wise prince, over the imitative 
 minds of such a people! In place of that 
 endless multitude of laws enacted for their 
 government, let the ruler simply set to the 
 court the example of the virtues he wished to 
 see practised, and in a short time vice would 
 be banished without an edict. 
 
 The more I reflect on the powerful influence 
 exerted by the monarch on the minds of his 
 subjects, the more am I convinced that he has 
 not their welfare at heart, and that, instead of 
 desiring to see himself imitated as a god, he 
 would rather have the pleasure of exercising 
 his authority as a master. 
 
 In the midst of these bitter reflections, I 
 could not, however, refrain from excusing the 
 prince. What virtue can a man possibly have 
 who is placed by his birth in the highest rank, 
 debarred from intercourse with the wise, never 
 seeing the unfortunate, incessantly flattered by 
 vile sycophants, and blinded by the miscreants 
 who wish to share his authority.? 
 
 What motive to distinguish himself on a 
 throne when by its brilliancy alone it lifts him 
 above all other men.? 
 
 What means has he of distinguishing him- 
 self in the midst of a court composed of low 
 
 [118] 
 
flatterers, who pretend to admire his most 
 trivial actions, raise to the sky all his httle 
 merit, and offer incense even to his vices ? 
 
 Were he born with supernatural talents, 
 how could he cultivate them? Princes have 
 no example to follow, no emulation, no rivals, 
 or should they have any, every endeavor is 
 exerted to make the victory easy to the prince 
 as if they feared that he should acquire any 
 virtue. All who approach him give in to him. 
 Far from trying to conquer, they restrain their 
 efforts, and display prowess and address only 
 as far as is necessary to make him appreciate 
 the victory and to flatter his amour propre. 
 
 Taking all this into consideration, when I 
 see these exalted personages proud and 
 haughty, I can only pity their ignorance and 
 be astonished at their stupidity. What man, 
 placed in the same circumstances as they, 
 would not pay the same price for his empty 
 honors ? Yet if nothing was done to corrupt 
 them, whatever might be their actions they 
 would never want flatterers, and that, too, 
 for diametrically opposite courses of conduct. 
 When they take the most merciless vengeance 
 on their enemies, there is nothing more glo- 
 rious, according to the courtiers, than to hurl 
 thunderbolts against those who have had the 
 
 [119] 
 
temerity to oppose them. Again, should they 
 on some occasions show mercy, their followers 
 admire their clemency. One part of their 
 lives is praised at the expense of the other. 
 Suppose princes should give themselves the 
 amusement of taking their courtiers literally, 
 and saying: "Choose either clemency or 
 severity to praise and then keep to your 
 choice." Treated on all occasions as chil- 
 dren, they get nothing but hollow flattery. 
 They are entirely ignorant of their own real 
 merit, and can have no idea of the sweetness 
 of well-deserved praise. Woe to the princes 
 desirous of glory who command such vile 
 specimens of humanity! They lose the most 
 delightful element of praise, the consciousness 
 of having deserved it. 
 
 Written at Paris, the 
 
 (From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 To see the manner in which the French 
 receive one another, one would take them all 
 for brothers; to hear the sweet compliments 
 they are perpetually paying, their protesta- 
 tions of friendship, their obliging and disin- 
 terested offers of service, one would believe 
 that their grand passion, the greatest delight 
 of their existence, was to render one another 
 
 [ UO] 
 
reciprocal favors; but immediately after all 
 this, to see the ill turns they do one another, to 
 hear their cutting remarks about the absent, 
 their withering sarcasms, all their revilings, 
 one cannot help being somewhat puzzled 
 what to make of the cordiality which they 
 manifest to one another in public. 
 
 Struck with this contrast, I could not refrain 
 a few days ago from asking a bright, intelligent 
 gentleman what could be the reason of it. 
 "Sir," said he, "you offer me a riddle to solve 
 which we French are often requested to ex- 
 plain to foreigners; but here is the key. In 
 France politeness is regarded as the first of 
 the virtues: it is with us the mark of gentle 
 birth and shows that its possessor has always 
 moved in the best society; we all, therefore, 
 strive to be polite that we may be thought 
 persons who have enjoyed these advantages. 
 
 "According to our ideas politeness consists 
 in never offending any one to his face, but, on 
 the contrary, saying sweet, pleasant things to 
 him. With regard to the absent, it is quite 
 another thing; and as, unfortunately, among 
 us there reigns no less jealousy, envy, ani- 
 mosity, hatred, than among other nations, we 
 are no less slanderous and malign. 
 
 "This contrast is one of our absurdities, 
 
 [121] 
 
which gives good occasion to foreigners to 
 laugh at our expense. To tell the truth, I 
 daresay I have myself often acted my part in 
 the play. 
 
 "When you witness the manner in which 
 our sayers of fine compliments receive one 
 another, you are not a little surprised to hear 
 them change their fair speeches into ridicule 
 as soon as their guests have turned their backs. 
 How amusing it is to see them turn in a mo- 
 ment on the person who has just received 
 their homage and tear him to pieces, despite 
 their declarations of respect and professions 
 of being his most obedient servants! 
 
 "A scene still more diverting is when their 
 assumed kindness and constrained politeness 
 are betrayed by their bitterness in their quar- 
 rels and disputes; their fine compliments are 
 then speedily changed into invectives." 
 
 I could not help admiring this man's 
 naivete; it seems to me, however, that there 
 is something more than absurdity in such a 
 practice. 
 
 Since politeness consists in saying only 
 pleasing things, you are often likely to say 
 what you do not think, or what you know to 
 be false; in other words, speak contrarily to 
 your sentiments. Thus the ruder and more 
 
 [m] 
 
unmannerly nations accuse the French of 
 being false. 
 
 This reputation is dangerous. The French 
 are no less frank, cordial, and sincere than 
 their enemies. There are no truer friends or 
 warmer hearts to be found anywhere than in 
 this country, nor perhaps in greater numbers. 
 They freely aid their friends with their purses, 
 counsels, and swords, and when a Frenchman 
 has once pledged to you his word, you may 
 rely with all confidence upon him. This is 
 no less the case in Paris than throughout the 
 provinces. But the extreme dissipation in 
 which they live at the capital has the effect of 
 making them less interested in one another 
 and therefore less constant in their friendship. 
 
 I avow that I cannot help regarding this 
 politeness, this seductive art which the French 
 make so sweet, as destructive to frankness and 
 open-heartedness. 
 
 But it is counterfeit coin," one may reply, 
 although it is current. Only some inex- 
 perienced new arrival is deceived by these 
 honeyed words; these fine phrases in the mouth 
 of a Frenchman are nothing but mere verbiage, 
 which impose on no man of sense; they them- 
 selves attach to them no meaning whatever. 
 
 ** Moreover, that feeling of honor with which 
 
 [123] 
 
 
they are imbued does away with the evil ett'ects 
 of their pohteness, and gives them an air of 
 ingenuousness. They think that nothing is 
 better suited to a gentleman than an appear- 
 ance of frankness, and they therefore univer- 
 sally assume this demeanor." 
 
 But there are certainly some evil effects of 
 this politeness, which nothing can compensate. 
 
 As politeness makes respect and considera- 
 tion the necessary accompaniments of rank 
 and fashion, the vilest of men and those who 
 hate one another most exchange this empty 
 compliment. With what coin, then, do the 
 French pay for the genuine virtues ? 
 
 Accustomed from childhood to lavish in- 
 discriminately the same marks of respect on 
 the opulent rascal and titled scoundrel as on 
 the man of worth and merit, the Frenchman's 
 admiration of virtue is at best but vague and 
 shadowy; indeed, he comes at last to lose all 
 idea of it whatever. From their readiness to 
 show respect to the unworthy, they have for- 
 gotten what it is to have real merit, and have 
 given themselves up to flattery. 
 
 Prodigal, as they are, of compliments, and 
 so extravagant in their expressions, when they 
 wish to make some true and serious expression 
 of friendship they have not terms in which to 
 
 [124] 
 
express themselves. In their eternal compli- 
 ments they prostitute to a nobody the words 
 of affection, emotion, attachment, adoration. 
 What words remain to them with which to 
 address a friend, father, or benefactor ? Thus, 
 in consequence of honoring and cherishing 
 every one, they seem to honor and cherish no 
 one, and all their protestations have degen- 
 erated into the merest persiflage. 
 
 Their politeness very easily forsakes them, 
 as I have already told you, to give place to 
 chagrin, to railing jokes, to outrageous ex- 
 pressions; and, in the privacy of their own 
 homes, those gentry — so polite, so affable — 
 are found to be not a whit better than other 
 human beings. 
 
 But this statement must not be taken too 
 generally. 
 
 There is amongst them a class of men of 
 genuine merit, and this class is even quite 
 numerous. They indeed have all the amiable 
 qualities which veritable politeness bestows, 
 without the ridiculous traits of its imitators. 
 They think with nobleness, and speak with 
 the same spirit. They are injurious to none, 
 not even to the absent; but they say nothing 
 flattering save to those whom they really love 
 and esteem, and the others they are content to 
 
 [ 1'^^ ] 
 
treat with toleration. If they sometimes pay 
 attention to trifles, it is in order to let no 
 opportunity escape of giving pleasure. If 
 they confer an obligation, they do it so 
 promptly and with so good a grace that it 
 seems done for their own satisfaction and that 
 the recipient should feel that, instead of re- 
 ceiving, he has bestowed a favor. Should 
 they at any time shine in conversation, it is to 
 say things delicately in such a way that every 
 one should leave their company satisfied with 
 himself. Polite without meanness, frank with- 
 out rudeness, helpful without affectation, com- 
 plaisant without flattery, kind without deceit, 
 such is their character. 
 
 It seems to me also that in France the 
 soldier has more frankness, with less affecta- 
 tion, than the rest of his countrymen; he is no 
 less frivolous, however, but with less display. 
 
 Written at Paris, the 
 
 (From, Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 There is here a singular species of the 
 genus homo called petits maitres. Occupied 
 for a part of their lives in dressing and un- 
 dressing and in giving glances at the mirror, 
 they pass the rest of their time in women's 
 dressing-rooms, where they serve as lady's^ 
 
 [126] 
 
maids, and in running from one social function 
 to another for the purpose of exhibiting their 
 personal graces. 
 
 These fellows have not the power of reason. 
 They have no knowledge whatever on any 
 subject that interests the rest of mankind, and 
 their virtue is on a parity with their intelligence. 
 None the less, they possess a thousand little 
 agreeable talents, such as that of posing easily 
 in all sorts of positions, of inclining gracefully, 
 of extending a leg agreeably, of playing with 
 a snuff-box, of being connoisseurs in ribbons 
 and laces, of speaking with a tone of authority, 
 and, above all, of impressing you by their airs 
 of importance, and of making those who do 
 not happen to be blessed with these same 
 talents realize that they are persons of dis- 
 tinction. 
 
 These walking dolls affect also an extreme 
 delicacy of constitution, as if their natural 
 softness was not enough. They dare not walk 
 in the sunshine, they cry at the prick of a pin, 
 and shiver at the breath of a zephyr. 
 
 What an idiotic way, said I to myself, of 
 trying to ingratiate one's self with the ladies! 
 For how can a fellow hardly able to bear the 
 weierht of the coat that covers him be able to 
 supply the place of a brave man in the career 
 
 [ 127 ] 
 
of love ? And yet the women love these fellows 
 to distraction. They consult them about their 
 choice of furniture, about their jewels, etc. 
 They even admit them to the sanctuary of 
 Vesta, — no doubt to recompense them for 
 their goodness in turning themselves into 
 women. 
 
 If the exterior of these hermaphrodites is so 
 odd, the turn of their minds is no less so. 
 Frivolous in demeanor they give their most 
 serious attention to trifles, and treat all serious 
 subjects as if they were only worth laughing 
 at. They talk about everything, give opinions 
 about everything, make sport of everything, 
 and forget everything. The following, which 
 I overheard a few days ago, is a specimen of 
 their manner of reasoning: 
 
 "Marquith, thou hatht not the — the — '* 
 said one of those exquisites to another. " Thou 
 art w'ong. It is perhaps the chef d'ceuvre of 
 the human bwain, and I am thurprithed that 
 an amateur like thee hath tho long delayed. 
 . . . Wead it, and that, too, ath thoon ath 
 pothible. Thou wilt there find, upon my 
 word and honor, all the dithcoverith, made 
 and to be made, ecthplained with much 
 method, • — all the twuths, known and un- 
 known, tweated with the gweatetht good 
 
 [128] 
 
tathte; and I think that if government would 
 take heed to recompenth the author. . . ." 
 
 He was not yet done with his profound 
 reflections, but, turning to a lady beside him, 
 said: "Ah, well, Madame, may one take the 
 liberty to athk you if all your little family are 
 well. I twutht there hath been nothing but 
 twuthful pwomises; athuredly mignonne ith 
 not unfaithful. . . ." All at once, taking hold 
 of his chin, he smiled and said: "By the way, 
 I mutht acquaint you with a thingular dithpute 
 I had lately at the Cafe de la Regence with a 
 thertain very intelligent fellow. They were 
 talking of the courth of the thun. He main- 
 tained that it wath not the thame time, at 
 the thame moment, in all partth of the earth. 
 But I endeavored to pwove to him that he 
 should exthept noon, thinth at noon the thun 
 ith always perpendicular to the horithon. I 
 weferred the matteh to the President'th wife, 
 who hath three thun-dials in her garden. He 
 burtht out laughing, and ath I could not con- 
 vinth him of his ewor, I turned on my heel 
 and left my original to himthelf.'' 
 
 During this most sapient discourse I was 
 standing with wide-open eyes ; I could not help 
 wondering how so much silliness and self- 
 
 [129 ] 
 
conceit could be contained in one little head. 
 Written at Paris, 
 
 {From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 As there are here petits viaitres, so there are 
 also petites maitresses, occupied in the same 
 way about their dress, in striving to get 
 adorers, and in turning wisdom into folly. 
 
 They take no more time to their toilet than 
 the exquisites, but they make greater sacrifices 
 to beauty. "What have these women left 
 undone," remarked a sensible gentleman to 
 me to-day, "to augment their charms ? Some 
 of them have ruined their stomachs with drugs 
 in order to get a languishing appearance. 
 Others have had their teeth pulled that they 
 should be replaced in more regular order. 
 Others again have had their faces excoriated 
 in the hope of acquiring a fresher complexion 
 with the new skin. 
 
 Can you believe it, Shava, the more I de- 
 spise a petit maitre^ the more do I admire a 
 petite maitressel There are no women that 
 know better than they how to look out for 
 their own interests. They know how fleeting 
 joy is, and they have discovered the art of 
 making it last. Instead of the brief pleasure 
 of enjoyment they prefer the restless, burning 
 
 [130] 
 
ardor of lovers, — blended of desires and 
 hopes. Instead of the pleasure of being 
 caressed they prefer that of being admired; 
 and they neglect nothing to gain their object. 
 I have often had the pleasure of noticing a 
 coquette surrounded by a circle of men. With 
 what art she arouses their attention while 
 talking to them only of trifles! How well she 
 knows how to say pretty things to them, and 
 to draw them out to answer her in the same 
 vein! Well does she understand how to com- 
 pel them to rack their brains to find compli- 
 ments adapted to feed her vanity! 
 
 A smile to one, a glance to another, a slight 
 tap of the fan to a third, — these are the 
 charms she makes use of to retain her ad- 
 mirers; with this coin she renders them all 
 attentive and attaches them to her chair, but 
 the best joke of the whole thing is that her 
 most humble w^orshipers are the most haughty 
 detractors of her sex. 
 
 I should think that nothing could be more 
 calculated to expose a woman to the evil 
 desio:ns of men than these airs of listlessness. 
 This, however, is not the case. For if they 
 use a thousand means to attract gallants, they 
 take no less pains to prevent all undue famil- 
 iarity. We thus see them surrounded by a 
 
 [131] 
 
multitude of sighing adorers, whom they have 
 the art of retaining at their feet for whole 
 years, while feeding them on nothing but 
 hopes. This small stratagem is the only 
 charm they employ, like a strong position in 
 war upon which the whole strength of the 
 assailants is brought to bear. 
 
 It must be confessed, however, that these 
 charming creatures, notwithstanding all their 
 precautions, sometimes prove to be women. 
 But even when such a misfortune happens to 
 the petite maitresse she takes care not to be 
 prodigal of her favors. She continues none 
 the less to defend the fortress, only allowing 
 the gallant on occasions, few and far between, 
 to carry off some slight trophies. She thus 
 succeeds in enjoying her pleasures unalloyed 
 with evil consequences. She allows none to 
 have the satiety of possession. She quaffs her 
 cup of pleasure in peace. 
 
 To this I know but one drawback; it is that 
 happiness lasts not forever. Youth has fled; 
 the tear and wear of years begin to be felt. 
 Her worshipers forsake her, and bear their 
 incense to other shrines. But when the world 
 leaves her, she also leaves it, and does so with 
 truly heroic courage. It is quite common to 
 see such women (while still full of life) bury 
 
 [132 ] 
 
themselves in convents, and terminate in 
 sanctification lives which have been spent in 
 worldly vanity. 
 
 Written at Paris, the 
 
 {From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 In France politeness is regarded as the great 
 virtue of men of every degree; gallantry is the 
 mark of the man of fashion, — gallantry, that 
 art of cleverly drawing from the slightest thing 
 matter to praise w^omen. 
 
 In this country even little lads who still 
 stammer their baby talk are heard saying 
 sweet things to the ladies. At a more ad- 
 vanced age the men make of this a serious 
 study. Even in old age they cannot give up 
 their regard for the sex. Not content with 
 making senility weak and miserable it would 
 seem that Nature here takes pleasure in also 
 making it ridiculous. 
 
 You see here gray-haired, toothless Adonises 
 making languishing eyes at the beauties; 
 pleasant fellows, whose pulse hardly beats and 
 whose blood is frozen in their veins, sigh and 
 talk of flames and amorous passion. They 
 do not confine themselves to mere talk; fearing 
 lest father Time should steal a march on them, 
 these superannuated lovers lay in a new pro- 
 
 [133] 
 
vision of strength at the chemist's shop. Yet 
 if they only knew how to assort themselves, to 
 pay their addresses to persons of advanced age : 
 but no ; they turn their amorous glances on the 
 young beauties, and shamelessly try to sup- 
 plant the youths ; in fact they cannot make up 
 their minds to leave the field until they are 
 unceremoniously ejected. 
 
 Love is charming, Shava, but it is a game at 
 which youth alone can play. Budding charms 
 are not meant for wrinkled apes, nor are 
 cadaverous, stumbling dotards meant to cull 
 kisses from blooming cheeks. 
 
 Written from Paris, the 
 
 (From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 In Paris the pretty ladies amuse themselves 
 in receiving and reading, and this is the re- 
 finement of coquetry, for though they appear 
 en negligee, they do not the less on that account 
 take care to dress expressly for the receptions. 
 This morning the Chevalier de St. Amoier, 
 F., and I paid a visit of this sort to a beauty. 
 We found her in bed, buried in her pillows, 
 and in a negligee that seemed to enhance her 
 charms. Her hair was in delightful disorder, 
 her lace was slightly deranged, and her cheeks 
 were like roses. 
 
 [134 ] 
 
After the usual compliments, I withdrew to 
 a little distance, but F., who is a lady-killer, 
 seated himself near the bed. When we asked 
 her about the state of her health, she informed 
 us that she was very ill, though her statement 
 seemed rather doubtful; and while she was 
 complaining of insomnia, she would extend 
 sometimes her arm, sometimes her leg, with 
 the most captivating grace. Her looks were 
 so animated; she moved under her covers in 
 a manner that implied so much, that I could 
 hardly believe that the dear little creature was 
 much concerned about her migraine. 
 
 As I was the only one of the company who 
 had drunk of the cup of this Circe, and already 
 felt the sweet poison coursing in my veins, she 
 was not slow to notice my uneasiness, and far 
 from being touched by my condition she had 
 the cruelty to irritate my distemper by her 
 cutting raillery; for this purpose she merci- 
 lessly took advantage of my silence to treat me 
 as if I was as insensible as a piece of marble. 
 Fortunately for my peace of mind, some one 
 came in. It was some friends of the lady and 
 two young gentlemen in whose company we 
 were to pass the day in the country. And as 
 all rose to receive them, I took advantage of 
 the opportunity to leave my place, without 
 
 [135] 
 
giving the company further occasion to be 
 merry at my expense. 
 
 A moment afterwards we were shown into 
 another room. And while they were preparing 
 luncheon our hostess got up. 
 
 The conversation was quite gay and ani- 
 mated. After luncheon our fair entertainer 
 had to make a second toilet before she could 
 go out. As, among the guests, there were 
 some intimate friends of the lady I managed 
 to slip again with them into her boudoir. 
 While she was under the hands of her maids, 
 and the lady-killers were doing their utmost 
 to entertain her, I was greatly amused at their 
 witticisms, and never, I think, did I enjoy 
 myself more. Her thick hair was spread over 
 her shoulders, and she was regarding herself 
 in a mirror while talking politics to the fops 
 who surrounded her. 
 
 What a fine transition from a battle to an 
 opera, from a romance to a tortoise-shell 
 comb! With what grace she would interrupt 
 her moral reflections to ask for a pin or a 
 cosmetic ! 
 
 While they were all thus occupied, I noticed 
 that they were inclined to talk rather than to 
 listen, and I therefore concluded that the best 
 thing one could do to make oneself agreeable 
 
 [136] 
 
in the company of those eternal jabberers 
 would be to keep silent. This I accordingly 
 did, and found that my plan worked splen- 
 didly. 
 
 Written at Paris. 
 
 (From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracotv.) 
 In other countries each class of people has 
 its own peculiar manners, or, so to speak, the 
 spirit of its condition. Not so, however, in 
 France. Although the different ranks of so- 
 ciety are perhaps nowhere more widely differ- 
 entiated, the people of the humblest standing 
 are not so much occupied in their work that 
 they cannot very well ape the manners of their 
 superiors. And as the capital sets the fashion 
 to the provinces, and the people of high breed- 
 ing and fine manners give it to the rest of the 
 nation, nearly the same polish is remarked 
 pervading all social ranks. The doctor is a 
 wit; the literary man, a gallant; the merchant, 
 the financier, the lawyer, are all distinguished 
 by some showy quality. Even among the 
 clergy themselves — those recluses who are 
 separated from the rest of mankind, in order 
 to become sanctified — you find much of the 
 same worldly spirit, that is to say, of the vanity 
 of distinguishing themselves by fine clothes 
 
 [137] 
 
and manners. And as you may easily imagine, 
 these vain pursuits of the world make a vivid 
 contrast in the character of the reverend 
 doctor and that of the apostle. 
 
 It is indeed curious to see a jolly lawyer and 
 a jovial abbot enjoying themselves together, 
 making love to the girls in public, drinking to 
 the health of Cupid, amusing themselves in 
 making love songs and singing them to fair 
 ladies. 
 
 How highly edifying it is on entering a 
 church to see in the pulpit a well-powdered 
 doctor, who adjusts his cassock and takes 
 snuff with the utmost grace, and is wholly 
 absorbed in his own personal appearance, — 
 to hear him show off his wit in the sacred 
 place, and darken everything by his affected 
 phrases! 
 
 I once heard one of these clergymen, dressed 
 in full canonicals, hold forth on the day of 
 vengeance and on the punishment of the 
 damned in terms so florid, humiliate himself 
 under the hand of Him who wields the thun- 
 derbolt in tones so affected, that this self- 
 satisfied saint never once lost his foppish airs. 
 
 They may say what they like, but I cannot 
 help believing that, of all countries, France is 
 
 [138] 
 
the one in which they best understand the art 
 of scoffing. 
 
 Written at Orleans, 
 
 {From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 I STILL continue to have much pleasure in 
 this place. I am at present at the country-seat 
 of the Marquis of L. He is a very handsome 
 man, of noble presence and of very amiable 
 disposition. He is highly educated, mild, and 
 affable. He likes his male acquaintances 
 almost as much as he does his mistresses; and 
 had Fortune treated him better, he would be 
 one of the most accomplished of cavaliers. 
 
 He has not as yet been able to make up his 
 mind to submit to the yoke of Hymen, but he 
 lives under that of Love, and for this he has 
 admirable endowments. He has the most 
 delightful gardens in the world, where you 
 everywhere meet with rippling brooks, little 
 groves, cool grottoes, and little nooks artfully 
 contrived for love or for lovers. Everything 
 seems to invite you and to awaken desire. 
 You there see statues of nymphs and naiads 
 grouped with satyrs and tritons; playful games 
 and the caresses of love are so happily painted 
 on the walls of his cabinets that they would 
 inspire the most frigid with amorous desires. 
 
 [139] 
 
A few days ago he gave a jete to the ladies 
 of his neighborhood. As the fete was truly 
 splendid, they praised his good taste; but it 
 seemed to me that they did not pay much 
 attention to their host. I even dared to think 
 that they regarded me with looks which led 
 me to believe that I was not displeasing to 
 them. While waiting the dinner hour, we 
 walked in the gardens, where we found in an 
 arbor tables covered with baskets of flowers 
 and fruits. Scarcely had we approached the 
 place when musicians, attired as rural divini- 
 ties, regaled us with charming symphonies. 
 When we had done ample justice to this ex- 
 quisite treat we separated into groups, each 
 of which went off in a different direction. 
 Chance so ordered it that I found myself in 
 the company of the two youngest ladies of the 
 company. I was at first charmed with their 
 beauty, then with their merry humor and the 
 playful vivacity of their wit, and I soon began 
 to feel that I was falling in love. I did not 
 know to which of the two young ladies I 
 should give the preference. For some time I 
 remained in this state of incertitude, dealing 
 out sweet words, sometimes to the one and 
 sometimes to the other; my devotion was 
 
 [140] 
 
marked, but owing to an unforeseen accident 
 was but of short duration. 
 
 At table I found myself seated beside a very 
 beautiful lady, who, though no longer in the 
 flower of her age, yet had the art of preserving 
 the freshness and gayety of youth. As she 
 saw that I was somewhat absent-minded and 
 occupied in gazing at her fair neighbor, she 
 apparently undertook to draw me out of my 
 reverie and incessantly plied me with all her 
 allurements. After coffee we went into a grove, 
 and she took my arm, determined not to let it 
 go. While walking she continued to poke fun 
 at me as to my distraction, but while joking 
 she said a thousand things to me so kind and 
 flattering that she made me quite forget her 
 charming rivals. Perhaps the desire of pleas- 
 ing made her choose a longer road than she 
 would otherwise have taken, but whilst she was 
 conversing the sweet tones of her voice were 
 accompanied by looks so animated, such fiery 
 passion glowed in her handsome eyes, that it 
 was utterly impossible to look at her without 
 emotion. She was not slow to perceive the 
 effect of her charms on my heart, even before 
 I had time to tell her, and she was pleased to 
 augment my passion by a thousand little 
 
 caresses. 
 
 [141] 
 
If I am not deceived, this beauty had some 
 incHnation for me. However that might be, 
 I now only thought of taking advantage of the 
 favorable circumstances in which we were 
 placed, and I hoped that she herself would not 
 make me long languish. 
 
 I tell you these things perhaps a little too 
 vainly, but you know I do not pride myself 
 on my modesty. Perhaps you will not felici- 
 tate me. What should I say ? — 
 
 This is the land of intrigues. There are 
 few ladies who have not some gallants, and 
 few men who have not some mistresses. In 
 the midst of people so busied in love affairs, 
 I should be ashamed to remain idle. 
 
 Written near Paris, 
 
 {From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 The great business of French society men is 
 to meet ladies and then to boast of their en- 
 joyments. Once admitted to their confidence, 
 that is to say, when they have seen you several 
 times, they will talk to you of nothing but their 
 successes in love. It is amusing to hear them 
 then drag from the shades of mystery secret 
 intrigues, to trumpet them on the housetops. 
 Formerly none but the handsome young beaux 
 dared even to think of ingratiating themselves 
 
 [142 J 
 
with the beauties. Nowadays the belles have 
 to do battle with a greatly more numerous 
 corps. All that have the slightest pretension 
 to wit or good looks wish to be regarded as 
 favorites with the sex; and many a man who 
 has nothing to recommend him either in face 
 or figure has, by his own showing, made a 
 whole court throw down their arms before 
 him. To hear them talk you would take 
 them for Herculeses. 
 
 To say sooth, however, the vaunting of 
 these homely coxcombs is not altogether base- 
 less. In a country where the women pass 
 their lives in trying to please the men, and 
 the men's most serious business in life is to 
 inspire the ladies with the tender passion, — 
 in a country where fashion demands that a 
 husband who wishes to pass for a man of 
 fashion should leave the care of his wife to 
 another, while he, on his part, makes love to 
 his neighbor's wife, — in a country where 
 conjugal faith is held in derision, what can be 
 expected but a thousand intrigues ? 
 
 But where conjugal love is not scoffed at, 
 there are everywhere to be found among the 
 French true and faithful hearts. Friendship, 
 it has been said, has its birth in the midst of 
 kind oflSces. But all these agreeable little 
 
 [143] 
 
attentions and kindnesses which fashion pre- 
 scribes to be shown to the ladies are no better 
 than so many awkward rusticities when they 
 encroach into the sacred sphere of the husband. 
 Moreover, among the French how many times 
 a Galba poses as a Maecenas! 
 
 I have often been shocked at this custom 
 which Frenchmen have of boasting over the 
 pleasures they have enjoyed in their intimacies 
 with ladies, and it seems to me that these proud 
 champions hardly know how to serve best 
 their own vanity. No sooner, say they, are 
 they introduced to a lady than she loses her 
 head. How reap glory from such an easy 
 conquest? enjoy a beauty who gives herself 
 away? That sort of victory can be had for 
 money! But to reach the heart of a lady who 
 defends herself, attack her, drive her into her 
 fortress, and triumph over all her resistance, 
 that indeed would be a victory of which one 
 might have good reason to glory. 
 
 The price of the victory is measured by its 
 difficulty, and the triumph is glorious in pro- 
 portion to its rarity. Would you know the 
 measure of your achievement, appreciate the 
 value of your conquest? A simple kiss from 
 a chaste woman is of more value than the 
 greatest favors of a Lais. I would exult in 
 
 [144 ] 
 
conquering the resistance of aLucretia, but not 
 the feeble, affected resistance of a court wanton. 
 
 Moreover, one is not always better loved by 
 a belle for having gained her greatest favors. 
 She uses you as a tool, and eats your bread 
 with the sauce of imagination. 
 
 But these brave fellows are no more delicate 
 on the subject of gratitude than they are on 
 that of honor. In point of fact, what an amount 
 of ingratitude it requires to trample under foot 
 the charms which one has enjoyed! If the 
 world must learn of the weakness of lovely 
 girls, must the information come from the 
 mouth of those who have had the manliness, or 
 baseness, as you may choose to term it, to take 
 advantage of such frailty.^ 
 
 Let the clown or the scoundrel treat a lady 
 thus despitef ully : but let the lover to whom 
 she may have yielded beware not to use against 
 her such arms ; it is the lowest depth of infamy. 
 
 I cannot help feeling indignant on account 
 of these injured ladies. If I were a pretty 
 girl, I could not bear to see myself thus treated 
 with contempt. I would take vengeance on 
 these cowards; I would let them perish sooner 
 than consent to see them crown their passions 
 at my expense, nor should I for a moment 
 trust my reputation to such dangerous hands. 
 
 [145 ] 
 
(From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 Of all people on earth the French are per- 
 haps the greatest slaves of opinion. Light and 
 gentle, and incessantly governed by custom, 
 they let themselves be carried away by the 
 torrent without ever bothering themselves 
 about the reason. In their habits they follow 
 the fashion; they follow it in their dealings, in 
 their manners at table, in their furniture, in 
 their conversation, in their accent, in their 
 thoughts, in their marriage ceremonies. Some- 
 times they talk only to point a jest, to equivo- 
 cate, often in enigmatical sentences; they are 
 generally affected and given to " highf alutin." 
 Their minds, their very motives, depend on 
 fashion ; they dare not see or feel but according 
 to it; even in their inmost hearts fashion has 
 established its empire. The intellect, virtue 
 itseK, depends on fashion. One becomes a 
 bigot, another a clergjnnan; one a strong 
 thinker, another an atheist; such a one is a 
 savant, another an ignoramtis; one man a 
 debauchee, another temperate, — according to 
 the dictates of all-dominant fashion. A born 
 actor, the Frenchman disguises himself by 
 his manners, his duty, his good-nature. Never 
 himself, he plays the part of an assumed char- 
 acter. Everything with him is artificial, even 
 
 [146] 
 
his virtues and vices. The result of this is a 
 disagreeable appearance of uniformity. For 
 as each one tries to be like the others, there 
 are no marked characters. The French all 
 resemble one another. There are no originals 
 among them. 
 
 From this there results an extreme depravity 
 of judgment. For where fashion is every- 
 thing, ridicule becomes the greatest of evils. 
 Defects are regarded with the same eye as 
 vices; men cease to abhor vice and to admire 
 virtue; the ideas of good and evil are perverted. 
 
 What a pity that a people who are so favored 
 in all respects by Nature, and who could dis- 
 tinguish themselves above all others by their 
 wisdom and virtue, should be so frivolous from 
 system and so depraved from ostentation! 
 
 Let me give you the explanation of this 
 enigma. The Frenchman is full of vanity and 
 cannot brave ridicule. Thus he religiously 
 avoids novelty when he thinks he will be sin- 
 gular, but seeks it eagerly when he has reason 
 to believe that his example will be followed. 
 
 Written at Marseilles, 
 
 (From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 
 Although the French all resemble one 
 
 another, it is not because they are not ambi- 
 
 [147] 
 
tious of distinction. The bourgeoisie look 
 down on the mechanics; the lawyers despise 
 the bourgeoisie; the financiers treat with con- 
 tempt the lawyers; the magistracy regard as 
 beneath them the financiers, while the courtiers 
 spurn the magistracy ; and each of these classes 
 uses every effort to keep itself apart from the 
 class below. 
 
 The society ladies in particular neglect no 
 means to avoid being confounded with the 
 bourgeoisie. When the latter wear long man- 
 tles, the former wear short, and long ones 
 when the others wear short. But as they can 
 never adopt a fashion without its being imme- 
 diately copied, they have to keep changing it 
 every day, and have constantly to rack their 
 brains to invent something new. 
 
 To their fine dress the aristocracy attempt 
 to add a haughty bearing. But they have not 
 succeeded in this. In vain they try to impress 
 the others with a sense of their greatness, and 
 to inspire the lower ranks with awe. Their 
 power is little, though their rank is high. They 
 are reduced to the necessity of striking with 
 their pomp the masses, who worship them at 
 a distance. They leave no means untried to 
 keep up the respect and consideration which 
 their show and splendor give them even in the 
 
 [148] 
 
eyes of their equals. But though most anxious 
 to keep up all their retinue and display, they 
 not unf requently find themselves unable to do 
 so on account of the low state of their finances. 
 Not long since a most admirable expedient 
 occurred to the patricians to distinguish them- 
 selves from the vulgar herd. Not being able 
 any longer to shine by the splendor of their 
 habiliments or the dignity of their demeanor, 
 they determined nevertheless to gain their 
 object by a manner of life which certainly 
 does seem rather unnatural. In their homes 
 the husbands live apart from their wives; they 
 have separate beds, separate rooms, separate 
 servants. Instead of wishing to be loved by 
 their children, they are content to be respected 
 by them. For the sweet names of father and 
 mother they have substituted those of Mon- 
 sieur and Madame. Free and easy with 
 strangers, they assume airs of ceremony in the 
 bosom of their families. Nothing natural for 
 them, not even joy and sadness. For the 
 flowing simplicity of conversation they have 
 substituted some strange, inflated jargon, which 
 renders them unintelligible even to themselves. 
 They have even actors who sell them fun by 
 weight and measure, and flatterers who sell 
 them eulogies; and when they mourn they 
 
 [149 ] 
 
have mutes who sell them tears. And as if 
 they feared to enjoy the sunshine in common 
 with the lower orders, they change day into 
 night and night into day. There are some 
 indeed in Paris who never saw the sun rise. 
 
 To distinguish themselves from the bour- 
 geoisie the ladies of quality join scandal to 
 their love of pleasure. Full of disdain for the 
 virtues of their sex, they relinquish their gen- 
 tleness, timidity, modesty to the women of the 
 low people. They speak in loud tones in 
 public and always with an air of decision; 
 they sing free and easy songs; tell coarse 
 stories, and never know what it is to blush. 
 I have seen one of this sort of women, rather 
 elevated with wine, set herself up as an oracle 
 at the table of a gentleman from the provinces. 
 She was a little brunette, with black eyes and 
 turned-up nose; nothing stopped her; nothing 
 embarrassed her; she knew everything; she 
 solved all difficulties. In less than five min- 
 utes she passed in review the lives of three 
 great monarchs. She criticised severely Henry 
 the Fourth, but elevated the virtues of Louis 
 the Fourteenth to the skies, concluding by 
 admiring the graceful style with which he 
 danced. 
 
 The epithets which their pride has substi- 
 
 [150] 
 
tuted for the sweet names of father, mother, 
 husband, wife, have loosened the ties of con- 
 sanguinity. Banished from their conversa- 
 tion, these names of love never recall to their 
 minds the bonds of Nature, the different re- 
 lationships of the members of society, their 
 several rights and duties. In consequence of 
 always observing ceremony in the bosom of 
 their families, the members of the household 
 soon begin to view each other with indiffer- 
 ence. For love originates in sweet familiarity 
 and in the midst of these delightful outpourings 
 of the heart which constitute its charms. 
 
 Thus conjugal love has departed, and faith 
 to marriage vows is regarded as a virtue of old 
 time. 
 
 Far from daring to show to others the deli- 
 cacy of his choice and the prize he has won in 
 his beloved companion, a husband of the 
 uppertendom would not dare to be even seen 
 with her in public. Marriage here is regarded 
 by the man only as a matter of expediency; in 
 contracting it he consults neither his eyes nor 
 his heart. It costs only the dowry! What 
 cares he for the lady's beauty ? He would not 
 give a sou for the woman whom he marries! 
 With his money he can have a whole seraglio 
 of beauties. Whether she is amiable or not 
 
 [151] 
 
is nothing to him. With his money he can 
 supply all that she lacks. 
 Written at Marseilles, 
 
 (From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow,) 
 
 What an amazing contrast there is here 
 between the demeanor of the women of society 
 and that of their daughters! 
 
 Brazen-faced and shameless, the mothers 
 put all their arts in play to stimulate the de- 
 sires of the men. Modest and timid, the 
 daughters cannot sustain the looks of the 
 aggressive sex ; they are afraid to please, dread 
 the power of their charms, and tremble at the 
 thought of their ascendency. They dare not 
 use their eyes or their ears, and at the slightest 
 advances you will see these gentle creatures 
 take refuge under the maternal wing. 
 
 Such is the almighty power of opinion in 
 France. 
 
 Here it is an unwritten but firmly estab- 
 lished law that girls should not afford the 
 slightest reason for being talked about. Those 
 who have had the misfortune to distinguish 
 themselves in any way have good cause to 
 remember it to their sorrow. It is only when 
 they become wives that they obtain the privi- 
 lege of acting according to their own sweet 
 
 [152] 
 
wills. Therefore it is that no sooner are they 
 married than they strive eagerly as wives to 
 indemnify themselves for the time they have 
 lost as maids. It is then that the door is 
 opened to gallant lovers, and that they have 
 no longer any fear of going farther than they 
 would wish. Then it is that modesty is dis- 
 carded, since they have no longer any use for 
 it. 
 
 In a preceding letter I told you that here the 
 men were the greatest detractors of female 
 virtue, and, in truth, they are not far wrong. 
 But I speak only of society women, that is to 
 say, of those women who by reason of their 
 leisure and fortune make open profession of 
 their desire to live solely for pleasure. The 
 men have every opportunity to become ac- 
 quainted with such women, and know that 
 they are not to be depended upon. They 
 understand that these ladies are besieged more 
 from motives of interest than for pleasure or 
 esteem; they know also the base means em- 
 ployed to entrap them, and how easily they 
 are won. Judge if they would be very likely 
 to care much for their affection. 
 
 When you examine these women with an 
 indifferent eye you find that you have much 
 better reason to praise them for their talents 
 
 [153] 
 
than for their morals; and that is not strange. 
 Finding that they have no need of virtue in 
 order to please, they are content to have agree- 
 able manners. Thus, lacking the virtues of 
 their sex, they obtain more flattery than re- 
 spect, more celebrity than esteem. This, how- 
 ever, does not give them the least concern, for 
 they have learned to dispense with esteem, and 
 to content themselves very well with flattery. 
 
 Let us here say of the women what we have 
 already said of the men. Those who to the 
 qualities that constitute the ornament of their 
 sex have added the charming manners of 
 society are the most fascinating creatures in 
 the world ; and they are not so rare that I have 
 not had the happiness of meeting several. 
 
 Written at Grenoble, 
 
 (From Kamia to his Elder Brother at Lisle.) 
 A FEW days ago I was the happiest man in 
 the world; to-day I am the most wretched. 
 Although I know that you are little inclined 
 to pity me, I cannot help relating to you my 
 misfortune. 
 
 I had found means to form a liaison with 
 the wife of Colonel , as I think I ap- 
 prised you in one of my letters. My friends 
 suspected that I was smitten with the coquette, 
 
 [154 ] 
 
but no one ever imagined how far our intimacy 
 had gone, and, although I visited her every day 
 at her house, it was never suspected that I saw 
 her elsewhere. 
 
 One day when I had come to our rendezvous 
 at the accustomed hour, I awaited for a long 
 time the appearance of my faithless mistress. 
 Wearied at the delay, I was about leaving the 
 garden, when I saw her near a crossway. As 
 I was running to meet her, a handsome young 
 fellow came down through an alley opening in 
 a hedge, and was also advancing towards her. 
 In a moment we were face to face. For an 
 instant the lady stood dumbfounded; then, 
 recovering from her embarrassment, she bowed 
 to us and exclaimed: "What fate has led you 
 into my path ? I had wandered into this 
 solitude to enjoy a reverie, when I meet you 
 two gentlemen, the best adapted of all my 
 acquaintances to draw me out of my thought- 
 fulness." 
 
 I stood mute. The young man tried to 
 speak, but his voice failed him. She feigned 
 astonishment at our surprise; she made merry 
 at us, without, however, succeeding in putting 
 us in good humor. Heedless of where we 
 were going, we turned into an alley which led 
 to a secret door. 
 
 [155] 
 
On our way, she was the only one who 
 talked, while the youth and I ceased not to 
 cast glances at each other. At the door her 
 carriage awaited her. She made room for us 
 and we got in. When I had come somewhat 
 to myself I gazed at her fixedly; she avoided 
 my look, but she took secretly my hand, and 
 squeezed it. I was beginning to recover the 
 use of my voice, when we arrived at the door 
 of her house. In vain did she press me to 
 enter. My rival gave her his arm, and I beat 
 a hasty retreat. 
 
 Next morning I went to her house, but the 
 janitor, contrary to custom, told me that his 
 mistress was not to be seen. Two hours after- 
 wards I returned, and got the same answer. 
 Pierced to the quick, I forced my way in and 
 hastened to her apartment. She affected sur- 
 prise at my arrival; I pretended not to notice 
 it, and began to complain bitterly that she had 
 not kept her appointment with me the evening 
 before. 
 
 When I had ceased upbraiding her, she 
 burst out laughing and asked me if I was still 
 as green as when I first arrived at Paris. 
 Though I understood very well her banter, I 
 continued to answer her with reproaches. 
 
 "I am no lover of tiffs," said she, "and 
 
 [156 J 
 
would fain dispense with the present one, but 
 you are too honest a man to be jilted. You 
 complain that I have forsaken you; you are 
 astonished that I could banish you from my 
 heart to admit another; you accuse me of 
 levity. But should you not first rather look 
 at yourself? Why do you not always retain 
 the charm of novelty.? Why is it that you 
 have not for me sufficient attraction to keep 
 my love warm and constant.?'* 
 
 "You abandon me, then, cruel beauty," I 
 exclaimed; "you deprive me of my peace and 
 happiness; why do you not take from me my 
 life also.?" 
 
 To all my reproaches she only answered 
 with shouts of laughter. Then, all at once, 
 she became serious, and said: "Monsieur, you 
 have taken advantage of my weakness; please 
 have some regard for my reputation; I believe 
 you too much of a gentleman to add outrage 
 to injury, ... to ... ," and she left me. 
 
 She gave the climax to my misfortune in 
 tones so disdainful, she showed herself so cold 
 and heartless at my misery, that I was little 
 touched at the loss I had sustained. While 
 she pronounced my condemnation, the blush 
 of shame mantled my forehead, indignation 
 
 [157] 
 
closed my lips, and I left the house abruptly 
 without saying to her another word. 
 
 This beauty kissed me the other day, and 
 swore she would part with a kingdom for my 
 sake; but this fiery passion endured but for a 
 moment, and one might as well try to write on 
 the shifting sand or the changing sea as to put 
 faith in all the sweet, tender things which this 
 fickle fair one said to her ardent lover. 
 
 Written at Paris, the 
 
 (From Kamia to his Younger Brother at Paris.) 
 Though you may say that I have a mania 
 for moralizing, do not be afraid that I will 
 undertake to turn you away from your in- 
 trigues : since your only pleasure is in that sort 
 of life, by all means go ahead! 
 
 But take care that you be not the dupe of 
 some agreeable sharper, there being no lack 
 where you are of this class of merry fellows, 
 who make it a business to prey on the sim- 
 plicity of newcomers. 
 
 You frequent those agreeable places of 
 pleasure resorted to by everybody, and by 
 those who have ostensibly no other employ- 
 ment than to amuse, but who know only too 
 well how to impose on the simple. I have not 
 lived in Paris so long as you have, but believe 
 
 [158] 
 
I know better than you do the temptations to 
 be found there. 
 
 Marchionesses, baronesses, countesses, that 
 is to say, opulent women, maybe give their love 
 for the pleasure of it; but they do not sell their 
 charms to the persons they love, nor do they 
 receive presents from them. May not those 
 marchionesses of whom you tell me, who have 
 always open, grasping hands, be nothing but 
 adventuresses ? 
 
 You will find enclosed a draft for two hun- 
 dred louis. Let me say to you a word which, 
 I know, is hateful. Of the money which I 
 receive from the paternal mansion, you expend 
 more than half, and you are constantly asking 
 me for new supplies. I would willingly oblige 
 you sometimes; but remember that if some 
 one more worthy of the gift should apply to 
 me at the same time, you will not have the 
 preference. 
 
 Written at Lisle, the 
 
 {From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 While I was at breakfast the other day at 
 the house of an oflficer, a man with whom he 
 was but little acquainted came and asked him 
 to act as his second, that is to say, to come and 
 be a witness while he and his adversary tried 
 
 [159] 
 
to cut each other's throats, and if he should 
 fall the officer should strive to kill the survivor 
 in like manner. 
 
 In paying my host this modest compliment, 
 he tried to make him understand that he was 
 conferring no small honor upon him by his 
 choice of him as second. My host thanked 
 the man for the honor he had done him, and 
 to my no small surprise accepted the position 
 without the least hesitation. My astonish- 
 ment ceased, however, when I was informed 
 that the grand maxim with the French is, 
 *'Fear nothing," and that in order to be a man 
 of honor you must submit to nothing unworthy 
 of a brave man. Thus of all men the French 
 least value their lives, being ready to draw 
 their swords at the slightest offence and to 
 shed their blood for the merest trifles. 
 
 By always associating an offence with igno- 
 miny the French have made revenge a duty; 
 and so these people, so much cried up for the 
 gentleness of their manners, have the anoma- 
 lous character of being hard and implacable 
 and yet not cruel. 
 
 They fight their duels without anger; one 
 cuts his enemy's throat without the slightest 
 fear, while exposing himself to the hazard of 
 a like fate. 
 
 [160] 
 
This manner of thinking renders the French 
 but Httle fastidious about the duties of a man 
 of honor, accustomed, as they are, to intrust 
 all their merit to the point of a sword. The 
 Frenchman recognizes no virtues but deter- 
 mination, courage, and boldness, — no vice 
 but cowardice. Thus it is no rare thing to 
 find in France men of honor who are irreli- 
 gious, perjured, swindlers, and vagabonds. 
 
 They say that formerly this absurd fashion 
 of dueling was much more tyrannical. It 
 rendered the men so sensitive, so irritable, that 
 the least word — nay, even a look — was suf- 
 ficient to make them cut each other's throats. 
 
 Written at Lisle, the 
 
 {From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow,) 
 A GREAT maxim of the French, as I think I 
 have already told you, is to fear nothing. 
 Another of their unwritten laws is to be always 
 in good humor, especially in the company of 
 ladies. They therefore endeavor to observe 
 these two rules with religious exactitude. In 
 dangers they pique themselves on never 
 trembling with fear; although there are times, 
 it is insinuated, when they forget their rules. 
 In suffering they affect to be quite insensible 
 to pain, and it is no rare thing to hear them in 
 
 [161] 
 
the agonies of the coUc cracking jokes; others 
 make merry while suffering from wounds. 
 
 It is not a little amusing to see the smiles of 
 playful banter and the grimaces of pain de- 
 picted on their countenances. 
 
 But at the gambling-table this contrast 
 appears most striking; there you see their 
 faces disfigured by the different passions which 
 rend their hearts. 
 
 Last night I saw two officers much excited 
 over a game of chance. I was greatly amused 
 at watching their countenances. He whom 
 fortune favored, not content with his friend's 
 money, had the cruelty to make fun about his 
 losses. The loser strove hard to preserve his 
 good humor. At each throw of the dice he 
 lost heavily. He tried to jest, but could only 
 grin; he made desperate efforts to laugh, but 
 could do so with neither eyes nor lips, but only 
 with his voice. 
 
 (From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 The Frenchman is very insistent in regard 
 to his quality, and proud of his titles. But as 
 in France the seigneurs are not sufficiently 
 powerful to dispense with obedience to the 
 laws, as they are subject to the State like all 
 the rest, as the grandees are only grandees, and 
 
 [162 ] 
 
as their rank attracts nothing but respect, in 
 order to make their inferiors feel their im- 
 portance, to inspire them with awe, and at the 
 same time gain the consideration of their peers, 
 they eagerly seek court favor and practise all 
 sorts of means to obtain it, — influence, ser- 
 vility, intrigue. Thus obliged to lavish on 
 the prince and those in high places all the 
 tokens of respect which they themselves exact 
 from the people, they are no better than they 
 whom they affect to disdain; that is to say, 
 they are equally vile and abject. 
 
 And, I tell you, it is not a little amusing to 
 see the airs of dignity these vile 'proteges give 
 themselves on leaving the presence of the 
 prince, before whom they cringe, or act the 
 part of slaves in the antechamber of the man 
 in power. 
 
 From the insane rage of the Frenchman for 
 titles and court favor, and from his peculiar 
 views as to honor and politeness, results an 
 anomalous character composed of haughtiness 
 and meanness, of an excess of courage and an 
 excess of cowardice. 
 
 Thus is he seen, at the same time, to cherish 
 glory and slavery; unutterably vain, he puts 
 his neck under the yoke ; crowned with laurels, 
 he cringes in the presence of power; he weeps 
 
 [163] 
 
when he is in disfavor, laughs when he is in 
 chains; he is barbarous without anger, and 
 kind without affection. 
 
 By what strange anomaly, dear S., happens 
 it that all the fatal prejudices with which these 
 men are imbued, tending equally to corrupt 
 the mind and the heart, have only the effect of 
 making them ridiculous without making them 
 wicked ? 
 
 Written at Compiegne, 
 
 (From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 In this country respect and consideration 
 are always shown to power and influence. 
 From this unjust distribution of esteem, the 
 results are, on the one hand, the effeminate 
 indolence of the man in favor, and, on the 
 other, the baseness of him who pursues it, — 
 two things equally pernicious to the sublime 
 virtues and to high talents. 
 
 Thus one seldom sees in France a man of 
 real merit distinguished. Those who occupy 
 the chief places of state, and whose duty should 
 be to keep themselves well informed on politi- 
 cal matters, are satisfied to be good courtiers, 
 and to know court etiquette, while the am- 
 bitious little men creep in order to rise. 
 Here glory is often manifest devoid of honor, 
 
 [164 ] 
 
and, what is worse, without a moral basis. 
 A man often soHcits the patronage of one 
 whom, personally, he despises. 
 
 The French, however, do not always de- 
 spise talent, for they admire those who are 
 endowed with it. 
 
 Has a man gained celebrity? has he made 
 profound discoveries ? written soul-stirring 
 works ? — they run to see him as they would 
 to see some lusus naturae, some wonderful 
 prodigy. He cannot appear anywhere in 
 public without being the "observed of all 
 observers." If they invite him to their houses, 
 it is not to profit by his wisdom, but to have 
 the honor of boasting afterwards that he dined 
 at their tables. An absurd vanity makes them 
 think that they share his merit in affecting to 
 be his patrons. 
 
 Thus although France is, physically, a much 
 more extensive country than ancient Greece, 
 it has never presented scenes of such intellec- 
 tual greatness. 
 
 (From Kamia to his Friend Skava at Cracow.) 
 As to the French government, what shall I 
 
 tell you? 
 
 It is almost as free as that of the Turks. 
 
 However, they are not quite reconciled to it. 
 
 [165] 
 
There are in the state fundamental laws, 
 and bodies which are the depositaries of these 
 laws. 
 
 Do you wish to know what are those funda- 
 mental laws of the state ? 
 
 The crown is under the Sahc law; that is to 
 say, it does not descend to women. 
 
 To the prince alone belongs the legislative 
 power, the command of the army, and the 
 appropriation of the public funds; in other 
 words, the supreme power. His wishes, how- 
 ever, are subjected to some empty formalities 
 before they are put into execution. In divers 
 provincial capitals there is a court of justice, 
 named a parhament, and this court is charged 
 with the duty of ratifying the royal edicts. 
 But whether these magisterial bodies sanction 
 it or not, the royal edict always passes into 
 law. If they do not yield with good grace to 
 his orders, by force he makes his will theirs. 
 
 You may very well believe, however, that 
 the prince does not regulate everything. He 
 enacts laws only in as far as he needs them for 
 his own interests, and meddles only with those 
 that relate to the obligations of the nation 
 towards him. 
 
 In regard to the laws regulating the duties 
 of private persons towards one another, the 
 
 [166] 
 
French are governed by the customs and the 
 laws under which their forefathers lived four 
 hundred years ago. They vary somewhat in 
 the different provinces, where they have been 
 slightly modified from those given them by 
 the Roman emperors. 
 
 As to criminal laws, they follow very nearly 
 those established in other countries; so that 
 you see in this kingdom everything is done as 
 it pleases the king, and as it pleased the an- 
 cient Gauls and Romans. 
 
 But the worst thing about it is that the laws, 
 bad as they are, often remain invalid. They 
 are eluded by power or influence or address, 
 in such a way that they are only a yoke on the 
 poor and unfortunate. 
 
 With regard to the revenues of the state, the 
 greater part of them are employed in the 
 pleasures of the prince, — to enrich his light- 
 o'-loves, to maintain a formidable army in 
 idleness, and to attempt, from time to time, 
 some ridiculous expedition. 
 
 The people generally are in a condition of 
 the most abject poverty, and that, too, al- 
 though their soil is fertile and the climate all 
 that could be desired. 
 
 But deeming the enfranchisement of the 
 people not worthy of a moment's considera- 
 
 [167] 
 
tion, the ministers shake the tree and gather 
 the fruit. 
 
 {From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 
 Here we have been for nearly two months 
 in the island so famous for its civil wars, its 
 sea power, and the wisdom of its government. 
 
 In crossing from France into England, one 
 is not a little surprised at the remarkable 
 difference of character in the inhabitants of 
 the two nations. 
 
 The French are gentle, affable, obliging, 
 lively, gay, frivolous, voluble, brave, pre- 
 sumptuous. The English are cold, dull, sober, 
 haughty, silent, insolent: they are stern of 
 aspect, hard of access, and seem to be full of 
 business. 
 
 The difference between the women is even 
 more striking. The English woman is indo- 
 lent, gentle, naive, reserved at first acquaint- 
 ance, but soon becomes familiar and conde- 
 scends even to small talk. But my object is 
 not so much to make you acquainted with the 
 English woman as to show you wherein she 
 differs from her French sister. 
 
 The English woman has a more striking 
 look, a complexion blended of lilies and roses, 
 golden hair, and blue eyes; but her features 
 
 [168] 
 
are not very regular, delicate, or marked. 
 The French woman is brown, with a rather 
 tawny complexion, dark eyes, chestnut hair, 
 more clear-cut and delicate features, and more 
 velvety skin. She is not so beautiful as the 
 English woman, but she is prettier, and her 
 beauty stands better an examination. 
 
 The women of this country are celebrated 
 for their beauty, and certainly the first glance 
 is in their favor. But their beautiful faces 
 express nothing, neither do their lovely eyes; 
 even their charming lips scarcely ever assume 
 a smile. They are beautiful statues, which 
 please the eye, if you wish, but do not touch 
 the heart. 
 
 In her manners the English woman is stiff 
 and starched, has an air of ceremony. The 
 French woman puts more grace into her ac- 
 tions ; she seasons everything with an agreeable 
 vivacity. On the first introduction the Eng- 
 lish woman is sweeter, colder, more listless; 
 the French woman sprightlier, gayer, more 
 familiar. The English woman is not, perhaps, 
 more chaste than the French woman; but she 
 is more modest, more reserved. In Paris one 
 often sees chastity without modesty; in Lon- 
 don, modesty without chastity. The English 
 woman has more good sense, more naivete; 
 
 [169] 
 
the French woman more boldness, intrigue, 
 wit, dissimulation. The latter seems made 
 for pleasure; the former, for wisdom. The 
 French woman is better adapted for a lover; 
 the English woman, for a husband. 
 Written at London, the 
 
 (From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 Englishmen are much less in the company 
 of the women than Frenchmen; their style of 
 conversation is also entirely different. 
 
 In France people talk incessantly; they 
 speak of everything and often of nothing. In 
 England scarcely a word is said. A doleful 
 silence reigns in all their assemblies. The 
 men talk only in monosyllables, and the little 
 that they do say is always either about politics 
 or money. When an English woman has 
 greeted you and said something to you about 
 the weather, she frequently does not open her 
 mouth for the rest of the day. 
 
 In France everywhere you find affable per- 
 sons who, by dint of their pleasant chit-chat 
 about trifles, have the art of entertaining a 
 whole company, of interesting their hearers 
 so deeply as to make them hold their breath, 
 and that, too, without the slightest fatigue to 
 the speaker. 
 
 [170] 
 
In England, no pretty trifling, no gay 
 stories! Nothing is known here of turning 
 bagatelles to account for a company's amuse- 
 ment; they open their mouths only to utter 
 grave sentences, to say them foolishly without 
 prelude, or to repeat trite platitudes. What- 
 ever may be his circumstances, good or bad, 
 the Englishman is never happy. He has not 
 the art of relaxing the cord to suit the occasion, 
 and when he is in the company of women, not 
 daring to treat them with any familiarity, he 
 has nothing to say. 
 
 What contributes still further to make 
 English society wearisome and offensive to 
 foreigners is the extreme reserve of the English 
 people. 
 
 The Frenchman receives the foreigner cor- 
 dially, and hastens to show him kindness. 
 The Englishman cares little or nothing for 
 foreigners, is bored to death with their com- 
 pany, and repulses them without concern. 
 
 In England they leave you more at liberty. 
 In France they do all in their power to amuse 
 you; and if the attentions of the Frenchman 
 are sometimes tiresome, the neglect of the 
 Englishman is always hateful. 
 
 It is said that it is from prudence that the 
 Englishman is not facetious, but I believe it is 
 
 [171] 
 
from coldness, and, if it were from prudence, I 
 should esteem him less. 
 
 It would be all very fine for beings whose 
 existence might extend to ten centuries to take 
 twenty years in order to find out to whom they 
 might give a kind reception or accord a smile; 
 but on this earth, where we have so short a 
 time to live, the essential thing is to take time 
 by the forelock. 
 
 To his lack of sociability the Englishman 
 joins an extreme prejudice against foreigners. 
 
 The Frenchman endeavors by his conversa- 
 tion and by his demeanor to give you a good 
 opinion of his nation. 
 
 The Englishman does his best to make you 
 feel that he esteems himself more than you, 
 and that he thinks his own nation superior to 
 every other in the world. 
 
 This absurd prepossession entertained by the 
 Englishman in favor of his own nation is not 
 perhaps a convincing proof of its superior merit. 
 But, however off ensive this national vanity may 
 be, it is not without some foundation in fact. 
 
 As the English are sufficiently rich to be able 
 to be independent of the rest of mankind, from 
 whom they are separated by seas of which 
 they themselves hold the empire, they feel 
 themselves quite above the rest of the world. 
 
 [172] 
 
Finally, there is an extreme antithesis in 
 the character of the inhabitants of the two 
 nations — France and England — even so far 
 as their very prejudices are concerned. 
 
 The Frenchman has for the Englishman the 
 prejudice of admiration; the Englishman has 
 for the Frenchman the prejudices of jealousy 
 and hatred. It is said that the French have 
 begun to abate much of their esteem for their 
 neighbors, and I am inclined to think that in 
 this they are not far wrong. 
 
 Written at London, the 
 
 (From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 In England as in France the women wish to 
 please the men, but do not choose the same 
 means. In order to please the French woman 
 has recourse to manners, to grace, to wit; the 
 English woman to her beauty, to her charms. 
 The French woman wants to be admired, the 
 English woman is satisfied with being looked 
 at. Moreover, the women here, always well 
 dressed, do not go into company, to the prome- 
 nades, to the theatres, or to church, except to 
 exhibit themselves. When they cannot go to 
 these places dressed as they would wish, they 
 absent themselves from them, as they would 
 from places where they had nothing to do. 
 
 [173] 
 
There are many coquettes here, but they 
 have nothing of the chit-chat and the Uttle 
 winsome ways of the French ladies; and it 
 must be confessed that they know very httle 
 about coquetry. 
 
 They do not tell the men little stories, little 
 romances; they do not sing them little songs; 
 they do not divert them with pretty little jokes; 
 they have not an air of animation; they do not 
 speak in the same musical tones, with the 
 same charming inflections; they have nothing 
 of the same allurements, and do not seem 
 spoilt by too much sweetness. 
 
 Gentle, timid, and almost without the art of 
 enchaining their admirers, they content them- 
 selves with the charms of beauty, and to dis- 
 play these to the greatest advantage seems to 
 be their sole mode of attracting lovers. In 
 the midst of a circle of men you see them 
 always occupied with this great object; their 
 looks, words, faces, seem to say to you, " Look 
 at me!" If they laugh, it is to show their 
 beautiful teeth; if they extend an arm, it is to 
 display its roundness; if they raise themselves 
 erect, it is to exhibit their swan-like necks, and 
 they are careful not to disarrange their pretty 
 pose, unless it be for the purpose of revealing 
 still further their charms. To see them, you 
 
 [174] 
 
would take them for pretty dolls, or, rather, 
 for pretty automatons in action. 
 
 From all this you see that the English co- 
 quette differs in no respect from the other 
 women, except that she is livelier and more 
 desirous of display than they. More reserved 
 at first than the French ladies, she soon be- 
 comes familiar and assumes a playful tone, 
 only she does not generally know so well as 
 they where to stop. 
 
 The habit of doing everything with a view 
 solely to the outside, of giving themselves up 
 entirely to the exterior, has, of course, much 
 influence on the conduct and conversation of 
 the women of this country. 
 
 They talk of nothing so willingly as they do 
 of coiffures, lace, dresses, ribbons, and for the 
 sake of these things they do not hesitate to 
 sacrifice their virtue. They judge a man 
 solely from his dress and figure. If one of 
 his shoulders is higher than the other, if he is 
 knock-kneed, or has a turned-up nose, or if 
 his dress is out of fashion, he may be sure of 
 a frigid reception. 
 
 In France, on the contrary, where the mind 
 counts for something, where intellectual en- 
 dowments are preferred to those of the body, 
 one often sees the man of genius win the day 
 
 [175 ] 
 
over his handsomer and better dressed rival. 
 But in England, of two rivals equally hand- 
 some, the one who has lace on his coat or 
 wears a splendid diamond is the one that 
 carries off the beauty. 
 
 As the women here judge the men wholly 
 from their exterior, it seems that the men 
 return the compliment. They admire the 
 women for their gentleness, airs of innocence, 
 and physical beauty, and nothing else; their 
 neighbors, on the contrary, estimate the 
 women more from their mental attributes 
 than their merely corporeal beauty. For this 
 distinction I honor the French. 
 
 Written at London, the 
 
 (From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 It seems to me, dear S., that joy is not the 
 same everywhere. In France it is gay, lively, 
 and sparkling; in England it is reflective and 
 taciturn. The English have all sorts of 
 amusements, but wherever you follow them 
 it seems as if they divert themselves sadly. 
 
 The press of ennui compels the men to seek 
 for recreation even more than they do any- 
 where else. In the hope of enjoying them- 
 selves, they assemble in the evenings in private, 
 exclusive societies called "Clubs"; not to con- 
 
 [176] 
 
verse, for they never talk about anything 
 (notwithstanding the fact that in the chapter 
 of their daily follies it seems to be a law never 
 to utter a joke), not even about politics, not 
 even about money, their favorite topics of 
 conversation. 
 
 In lieu of a snuff-box or some other of these 
 powerful supports of conversation used in 
 society, each has a pipe, a glass or a bowl of 
 punch, or some other liquor with which he 
 amuses himself. At these clubs they pass the 
 time in singing and drinking, and sometimes 
 even in laughing. But whether it is from 
 motives of economy or not I cannot say, but 
 certain it is that they imbibe their beverages 
 in too small quantities to have any effect. 
 The Bacchantes seem to have deserted these 
 places, for on these people wine seems to have 
 lost its power; it inspires them with neither 
 wit nor gayety; and the end of their seance 
 very well corresponds with its beginning. 
 
 But what is very singular is that their songs 
 are not gay like the table songs of the French. 
 Each one gives what he knows; and you not 
 unfrequently see the company regaled with a 
 song about a highwayman or a satirical ballad 
 on the politics of the time. 
 
 But what is stranger still is that they are not 
 
 [177] 
 
at liberty to enjoy themselves as they please. 
 He who presides at the entertainment, and 
 who usually takes very little part therein, holds 
 a gavel in his hand with which he regulates all 
 the movements of his fellow-members. At 
 one moment he gives the order to drink, at 
 another to sing; next moment he will forbid 
 laughter; and all without the slightest regard 
 to the feelings of the company. For me, I do 
 assure you it was a very curious spectacle to 
 see the subordination that prevails in these 
 associations. 
 
 'Tis said that the women have associations 
 of a like character, I do not doubt that they 
 amuse themselves quite as much as the men. 
 
 Remembering that I was in the midst of 
 these men so celebrated in the world for their 
 wisdom and the profundity of their intellect, 
 I did the best I could to enjoy their way of 
 amusing themselves. I pretended to laugh, 
 but without success. I left the place abruptly, 
 cursing my want of gayety. 
 
 Shall I tell you ? I have discovered that 
 the great object of these associations is not so 
 much pleasure as profit. Under the pretext 
 of cultivating pleasant acquaintances, they all 
 seek to make useful ones; thus each of the 
 associates, thinking but little of diversion, 
 
 [178] 
 
tries to make the most of the fraternity in the 
 way of business; for before a meeting breaks 
 up, if there is any new member present, each 
 of the habitues presents him with his card, 
 informing him that he is a dealer in such and 
 such goods. The first time that I was ad- 
 mitted, they overwhelmed me with these 
 favors. They all, including the accoucheur 
 and the maker of petticoats, solicited my 
 custom, although I made myself quite hoarse 
 assuring them that I had neither wife nor 
 daughter. 
 
 For this reason I can more readily believe 
 the boast that I once heard made by the presi- 
 dent of one of these societies, — that the 
 profits he had that year made from his amiable 
 brethren had paid his house rent for six 
 months. 
 
 You must not, however, infer from this that 
 the members of these associations do not seek 
 to assimilate with each other. But little mat- 
 ters it to them what the rallying point is. 
 They unite on account of some common attri- 
 bute, such as corpulence, thinness, irritability, 
 ugliness, and the like. This mode of associa- 
 tion is undoubtedly adopted so as to put them 
 at their ease, and to enable them to avoid the 
 pain of being laughed at by a whole company. 
 
 [179] 
 
They therefore ally themselves with friends 
 after their own hearts. 
 
 Written at Bristol, the 
 
 (From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 
 This is the country where law reigns, not 
 men. Admire who will the government of 
 Athens or Rome; in these illustrious examples, 
 you make me see the celebrity but not the 
 happiness of the people, the excess of power, 
 but never its legitimate exercise. Only in 
 England do I see the power wisely limited. 
 
 I will give you a slight sketch of this ad- 
 mirable government. 
 
 The supreme power is in the hands of the 
 nation. It is sovereign; by means of its depu- 
 ties united in a body, it makes the laws. The 
 decisions, however, of this assembly have not 
 the force of law until they are approved by 
 the peers of the realm, in like manner assem- 
 bled, and have obtained the king*s sanction. 
 
 The deputies of the nation, assembled in a 
 body under the name of Lower House, and the 
 peers of the realm, also similarly assembled, 
 under the name of Upper House, constitute 
 the Parliament. 
 
 As a consequence of their ancient privileges 
 the peers can reject a decision of the Commons, 
 
 [180] 
 
but the two bodies united can compel the king 
 to subscribe to their measures. 
 
 The laws made, the king is charged with 
 their execution, with unlimited power to make 
 them observed, but with no power to violate 
 them. He himself is under their sacred em- 
 pire, no less than the meanest of his subjects. 
 
 As I was once expressing my admiration of 
 the wisdom of the government and was exalt- 
 ing its beauties to the skies, a stocky little man 
 in whose company I found myself, and whom 
 I had not before much noticed, addressed me 
 as follows: 
 
 "The legislation of England is doubtless the 
 work of wisdom, but it is not so perfect as you 
 fondly imagine or as we English like to believe. 
 If our ancestors have been very careful to 
 limit the rights of the prince, they have not 
 been equally so to restrain his power. Here 
 the king is no more than the first magistrate 
 of the nation; he has no authority in the state; 
 he has not the management of the revenue; he 
 is maintained at the expense of the state; so 
 far, so good. 
 
 " But the prince nominates to all the offices, 
 — civil, ecclesiastic, and military; he pays out 
 of the public funds the pensions appropriated 
 to his employees. He has consequently a 
 
 [181] 
 
great number of creatures at his command; 
 and he is at perfect liberty to augment the 
 number of his attaches at pleasure. 
 
 "The prince, it is true, has no share in the 
 legislative power; but the exorbitant provision 
 assigned to him puts him in a position to buy 
 with ready money any number of creatures in 
 the senate, and by this means to divide and 
 corrupt the legislature itself in his favor. 
 
 "As the prince is the source of honor and 
 rewards, over and above the number of sena- 
 tors corrupted with gold and dignities, the 
 hope of advancement allures many others. 
 Thus the court party is always supported by 
 greedy and ambitious men, whom passion 
 renders bold and eloquent. Animated by 
 self-interestedness, they give their hearty sup- 
 port to all the measures of the prince. Again, 
 how many other members are there of the 
 legislature who, not possessing sufficient moral 
 courage to preserve their honor, allow them- 
 selves to be carried away by the torrent to 
 increase still further the court party! And 
 though the power of the prince extended no 
 further than to permit him to disturb the 
 legislature in the proper exercise of their 
 functions, and to make them consume in vain 
 debates the time which should be devoted to 
 
 [182] 
 
the welfare of the people, — a case of no un- 
 frequent occurrence, — even this alone would 
 be an untold evil. 
 
 "The prince cannot levy taxes, nor can he 
 dispose of the public funds; but he can corrupt 
 the treasurer; he can dissipate the state reve- 
 nues, and win the connivance of Parliament 
 by making sure of the majority of votes in the 
 senate. The king is the general of the army, 
 and although Parliament only accords him 
 subsidies for one year, what could not a bold, 
 enterprising prince do during this time who 
 would use his long arm, assured of the support 
 of the military, and who would not hesitate 
 for a moment, if necessary, to take off the 
 mask? 
 
 "It may be answered that the soldier is a 
 citizen, and the officer a man of honor. A 
 fine answer, truly! The soldier is indeed a 
 citizen, but his position is the meanest and 
 most wretched in the nation. He possesses 
 nothing in the country. Do you suppose that 
 mercenaries who sell themselves for six cents 
 a day would not be ready to do anything if 
 promised the spoil of the citizens, or would not 
 be perfectly willing, if they found it to their 
 advantage, to sell the state ? The officers are 
 men of honor; but how many would resist the 
 
 [183] 
 
temptation of wealth and power, and would 
 not prefer dignities to virtue? 
 
 " Despite of all this/' continued he, ** a king 
 of England who would attempt to make him- 
 self absolute would be the most foolish of men. 
 For as the members of the legislature who 
 forget their duty sell their honor at a high 
 price, as they sell their votes only for a time, 
 as they sell them only as far as they believe 
 they do not compromise their liberty, and as 
 they are citizens and would desert the prince 
 the moment they saw their country in danger, 
 although prevaricators they would still con- 
 sider themselves the guardians of the common 
 liberty. 
 
 "But supposing that there was no longer 
 any honor in the senate, and that its members 
 were totally corrupt. As the eyes of the nation 
 are incessantly turned on the government, as 
 the various constituencies are closely watching 
 the conduct of their representatives, the dis- 
 satisfaction, the murmurs, the wails of his 
 whole people would soon compel the prince 
 to abandon his ambitious projects. 
 
 *' Finally, even supposing that the army had 
 sold itself to the king, that the private and the 
 officer had alike forgotten their country for 
 mercenary gain, they would very soon see 
 
 [184] 
 
themselves surrounded by the rest of the king's 
 lieges, now become his enemies, and be com- 
 pelled to cede to the force of numbers. Thus 
 not being able to do anything against liberty, 
 except by the way of corruption, as long as 
 there remains any manhood, any principle of 
 honor in the representatives of the sovereign 
 power, the prince can never depend upon those 
 whom he corrupts to be his stepping-stones to 
 despotism, and all his efforts to make himself 
 feared can only culminate in making himself 
 detested. 
 
 "They may say what they please, but the 
 English will never be slaves as long as they 
 have the will to be free. 
 
 "The wisest resolve that a king of England 
 can make is to forswear every project of ambi- 
 tion. As long as he is satisfied with being 
 nothing but the guardian of the law, he will be 
 the idol of his people. 
 
 "In order to conceal their designs, false 
 politicians say that he has need of intrigue to 
 maintain his position. But what has he to 
 fear? Who would have the madness to op- 
 pose his rights ? The Parliament, by whom, 
 as long as he confines himself to his proper 
 sphere, he is respected? But let us suppose 
 for a moment that a rebellion against the king 
 
 [185] 
 
should happen. The king, being the source 
 of honor, has always, as would naturally be 
 expected, a great number of friends in the 
 Upper House, who are devoted, heart and soul, 
 to his interests. As for the Lower House, he 
 could with a word blot it out of existence. 
 How strange that men should be willing to 
 struggle to obtain a power which they could 
 never hope to enjoy! 
 
 "But even in the extreme case that both 
 houses should unite against the king. Assured 
 of the affection of his people, do you think that 
 they for a moment would quietly see him 
 oppressed ? 
 
 "Let false politicians say what they will, as 
 long as the king of England is the minister of 
 the law, by its strong arm is he intrenched on 
 a throne that can never be moved; and if that 
 throne should ever be shaken, it would only 
 be by an attempted violation of the law." 
 
 Written at London, the 
 
 (From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 I HAVE again seen my little man this morn- 
 ing in a cafe. He was engaged in reading in 
 the public journals the invectives which a 
 nobody — persecuted by the court — was 
 
 [186] 
 
shrieking against the ministry, and our con- 
 versation fell naturally on the government. 
 
 "Our government is spoken of abroad as 
 stormy and violent, and our enemies are not 
 at all unwilling to disseminate false ideas 
 concerning it. 
 
 "In a free state, where the prince has so 
 many favors to award, it is hardly possible that 
 there should not be a great many dissatisfied 
 and these malcontents make complaint. 
 
 " Under a free government, where the prince 
 always has so many temptations to extend his 
 favor, and the people are always keeping a 
 strict surveillance on his conduct, there must 
 needs be some subjects of complaint. But 
 these little storms which so frequently arise 
 among us are not to be feared. Here there 
 are no tribunes accompanied by viators, no 
 consuls followed by lictors, putting to death on 
 the spot any one who should dare to oppose 
 them; here there is no bloodshed, no citizens 
 despoiled or stigmatized. Their troubles only 
 give rise to murmurings and lampoons, which 
 serve to unmask traitors, to enrich the printers, 
 and to instruct the people. 
 
 ** It is not these noisy tempests that one has 
 to fear; it is the gloomy calm of a people, 
 ruled with a rod of iron, who dare not utter a 
 
 [187] 
 
complaint; it is the dire projects which are 
 hatched in silence, and the crimes which are 
 committed in hidden places. Seduced by base 
 ministers, our monarchs may give good reason 
 to some aggrieved persons to protest; but they 
 will never with impunity dip their hands in 
 the blood of their subjects.'* 
 
 Here he all at once stopped short ; and, as I 
 was much interested in his discourse, I begged 
 him to give me some further information as to 
 the laws of his country. He readily acceded 
 to my request, and in my next letter I will 
 gladly communicate to you the gist of what he 
 said. 
 
 Written at London, the 
 
 {From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 "You are doubtless surprised," said he, *'to 
 hear such different opinions on the subject of 
 our legislation. We become sensible, how- 
 ever, of its great advantages, when we compare 
 it with that of other nations; then we cannot 
 refrain from praising its wisdom to the skies. 
 Our enemies, who have never taken the pains 
 to become acquainted with it, contemn it; but 
 foreigners who visit us, charmed to breathe 
 the atmosphere of a government so much 
 milder than their own, are even more en- 
 
 [188] 
 
chanted with it than we English ourselves. 
 I am an Englishman, and I congratulate my- 
 self that I am. I know the beauties of the 
 government of my country, but I have wit- 
 nessed its action for too many years not to be 
 sensible also of its defects. 
 
 "The constitution of England is admirable 
 for the protection it affords the subjects from 
 oppression by the prince, and for fully securing 
 to them their liberty; but the principle, you 
 know, is universal, that nothing human is 
 perfect, and our legislation is certainly no 
 exception, as unfortunately our so much 
 vaunted liberty but too often degenerates into 
 license. 
 
 *'In order that nothing should be left to the 
 arbitrary will of the executive, our laws must 
 always be construed according to the letter. 
 Our social order is disturbed every day by a 
 thousand crimes unforeseen by our legislature, 
 and which are consequently confining the 
 magistracy to the strict line of their duty, but 
 it favors the ill-disposed. Supposing a man 
 wishes with impunity to injure another, he has 
 only to choose for his purpose a crime not 
 forbidden by the law. 
 
 "The laws having been enacted in order to 
 restrain men from crime, one has often only 
 
 [189] 
 
to violate them to excess in order to render 
 them entirely nugatory. 
 
 "For example the law (formerly) forbade a 
 man to take two wives : all he had to do was to 
 take three or four, or more! 
 
 "Again, the law forbids mutilation, but has 
 neglected to specify all the different parts of 
 the human configuration. One can therefore 
 cut off a man's nose until such time as a law 
 is enacted forbidding the cutting off of noses! 
 
 "Another imperfection of our laws is, that 
 the punishment is frequently out of all propor- 
 tion to the offence. 
 
 "If, for example, one should maHgn the 
 prince he would be hanged for it; and that is 
 the punishment that he would get if he should 
 set fire to the prince's palace, outrage his 
 person, or assassinate him. 
 
 "The honest debtor is condemned to perish 
 of hunger in prison: the villain is only exiled. 
 
 "The false witness, who only injures the 
 reputation of his victim, is pilloried; and the 
 punishment is no greater if he should take his 
 victim's life. 
 
 "The tribunals are the temples of justice, 
 the sanctuaries of the laws, the judges are 
 incorruptible and there is liberty of appeal; 
 but these temples or sanctuaries are filled with 
 
 [190] 
 
mercenaries who make traflSc of the law, who 
 blind the eyes of the judges and confound their 
 wisdom. There are a thousand formalities to 
 be observed ere one can obtain justice, and 
 men are often ruined in trying to get it; the 
 poor man, however just his claim may be, has 
 no chance of gaining his suit. 
 
 "The most insignificant subject may sue 
 the most powerful in the state, but he will 
 almost never get justice if he is without for- 
 tune. 
 
 "All the power of our kings does not enable 
 them to take an inch of land from the poorest 
 of the people; but the solicitors, the lawyers, 
 can appropriate whole estates, by virtue of the 
 very laws that were enacted to protect them. 
 
 *' In other countries justice is sold wholesale; 
 we sell it by retail. 
 
 " Who would believe it ? One of the greatest 
 defects of our constitution is that prerogative 
 of which Englishmen boast, — the right of 
 trial by a jury made up of their peers; for these 
 jurymen or judges are hardly ever worthy of 
 their position. In order to be able to distin- 
 guish between the guilty and the innocent, to 
 penetrate to the truth through the clouds of 
 chicanery and injustice which obscure it, it is 
 necessary to have a judicial mind, skilled and 
 
 [191] 
 
keen. Can we expect this of a tailor, of a 
 shoemaker, of a blacksmith, and the like, — 
 men whose intelligence is confined to their 
 vocations, without the slightest knowledge of 
 the law, and too often not even blessed with 
 common sense ? 
 
 " When the jury sit in judgment on a cause 
 they cannot leave the place in which they are 
 shut up until they are unanimous in their 
 verdict. The defendant has, it is true, the 
 right of challenging three of the jurors, but 
 among the remainder may there not be a secret 
 enemy or one prejudiced in the case, and yet 
 the innocence or the life of the accused depends 
 more or less on the opinion of the least of these 
 judges. 
 
 "The number of our laws, civil and crimi- 
 nal, is prodigious. The usual term of human 
 life scarcely suffices to make our best jurists 
 acquainted with them. 
 
 "The laws rarely change according to cir- 
 cumstances, as of course they ought, and it is 
 not unusual to see, at the present day, when 
 everything is changed, a suit decided in ac- 
 cordance with statutes enacted three hundred 
 years ago. 
 
 "In our enormous pile of laws there are 
 many contradictory to one another, because 
 
 [192] 
 
the last always do away with the preceding. 
 But in cases, no instances of which occur under 
 recent laws, we must have recourse to the 
 ancient. As the laws which are in force have 
 not yet been reduced by order of the legislature 
 into a code, an immense deal of study would 
 be required to become acquainted with them. 
 Thus it happens that the subjects of the state 
 can never become fully cognizant of their 
 rights and duties. 
 
 " Hence also our eternal litigation. So and 
 so believes his affair decided, but soon finds 
 the action renewed against him by virtue of 
 another law of which he did not even suspect 
 the existence." 
 
 Written at London, the 
 
 {From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 "Our police are exceedingly inefficient, so 
 much so in fact that one is not safe under 
 his own roof or in the street, in the town or in 
 the country. 
 
 "The riff-raff, which is here very numerous, 
 is also very insolent and aggressive. Those 
 who are appointed guardians of the public 
 safety are either men of no account, or of evil 
 life, — some of them, in fact, having been 
 highwaymen. 
 
 [193] 
 
"The judges are for the most part infamous 
 scoundrels, who take ransom for robbers and 
 levy contributions from lewd women. 
 
 "You are no doubt surprised that I have 
 endeavored to make you acquainted with our 
 government by exposing to you its flaws in- 
 stead of its beauties; but, had I adopted the 
 latter method, I know that I should not so 
 soon have come to a conclusion. Were it not 
 for these faults which I have shown you, and 
 some others that I have not mentioned, our 
 legislation would be the very masterpiece of 
 politics. 
 
 "These defects would not perhaps be irre- 
 mediable if Parliament, whose grand object 
 seems to be to defend the common liberty 
 against the encroachments of the Crown, 
 would sometimes devote a portion of their 
 time to the maintenance of good order and to 
 the promotion of the happiness of the people. 
 
 "For the defects of our police administra- 
 tion the prince is evidently responsible. If, 
 instead of slumbering on his throne, he would 
 wake up to the welfare of his subjects; if, 
 instead of shutting his eyes to these abuses, he 
 would declare himself on the side of law and 
 order; if, instead of conferring marks of dis- 
 tinction on a set of infamous judges, notorious 
 
 [194 ] 
 
as the vilest miscreants in the kingdom, he 
 would drag them to justice, and immolate to 
 the public vengeance those wretches who ren- 
 der odious their authority by the abuse they 
 make of it, and who, not content with making 
 by their negligence their fellow-citizens mis- 
 erable, proceed still further and corrupt them 
 by their example, — all would go well. 
 
 "I cannot believe that the prince's negli- 
 gence is involuntary, the consequence of abuses 
 which have been long permitted to grow. I 
 much fear that when these abuses shall have 
 reached their height, the remedy adopted for 
 their repression will be fatal to liberty. 
 
 "Look at other countries where soldiers 
 guard the public safety, some one will perhaps 
 say : * In them there is no disorder.' Woe to us 
 if we ever adopt such a terrible remedy! 
 
 "It is not that these imperfections in our 
 laws could not be corrected. But our legis- 
 lators are men, that is to say, beings subject 
 to forgetfulness of their duties. They waste 
 their time in idle discussions. They also are 
 apt to forget the dignity of their position. 
 
 "With all its faults the legislation of Eng- 
 land is the best that exists. The little, the 
 low-minded, who love protection and seek 
 court favor, and those who would fain share 
 
 [195] 
 
with the prince the pleasure of oppressing 
 their fellow-citizens, will not declare them- 
 selves in its favor; but the noble-minded, whose 
 only wish is to obey the laws, appreciate its 
 full value. I say more: England is perhaps 
 the only country in the world that a wise man 
 would choose as an asylum." 
 Written at London, the 
 
 (FroTn Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 There is here a species of grave men 
 (named in Paris faineants, here politicians) 
 who vegetate only in the cafes; there is their 
 element. 
 
 This species of the genus homo is composed 
 of those sages who neglect their own business 
 to manage that of other people ; it is not indeed 
 the small affairs of their neighbors, but rather 
 the quarrels of kings, the interests of nations, 
 that they undertake to regulate, and their 
 solicitude often causes them no end of trouble 
 and embarrassment. I saw some of them the 
 other day, in the cafe Smyrna, looking very ill 
 at ease on account of the news just come from 
 Germany relative to the dismemberment of 
 Poland. 
 
 Now, you must not think that our other 
 politicians take things so much to heart. Even 
 
 [196] 
 
as to the affairs that concern the nation they 
 are never disquieted with overmuch zeal; they 
 are very easily consoled on the occurrence of 
 reverses, and, assuming an additional stock 
 of patience, face them boldly. They are 
 genuine statesmen. It is for the generals and 
 those engaged on the field of battle to tremble; 
 for their part, they manage everything with 
 admirable sang froid. 
 
 Although these important sages have so 
 much business on their hands, they have no 
 lack of leisure, and, for a part of the day at 
 least, forget the dignity of their office. 
 
 In the morning they are up betimes; but it 
 is only to ascertain what kind of weather it is, 
 and from what quarter the wind is blowing. 
 Having thoroughly investigated into these 
 serious matters, they go to their places. But 
 hardly have they taken their seats, when they 
 appear perfectly overwhelmed with the weight 
 of their existence. They commence to yawn, 
 and for three hours they do nothing but that. 
 I may mention also that they can only speak 
 and think according to the newspapers. You 
 have perhaps sometimes noticed with what 
 avidity they seize the papers on their arrival, 
 and how they all at once become silent. They 
 lose the use of their voices until a certain hour 
 
 [197] 
 
of the day. Then they find their tongues and 
 they look at one another for a long time, and 
 seem to bargain as to who shall make the first 
 overture. 
 
 If amid these grave and reverend seigniors 
 there is found one who has the gift of speech, 
 the others all flock about him; and, like a little 
 potentate in the midst of his court, he becomes 
 the oracle of the assembly. None of the mem- 
 bers dare think but according to him; they 
 decide on nothing but in accordance with his 
 decisions. On his conclusions are founded 
 their hopes and fears. Then for the rest of 
 the day they are merry or sad according to the 
 ideas which they formed in the morning. 
 
 Talking of cajes, I may mention that when 
 I first entered one in this country I was aston- 
 ished not to hear that deafening hum of voices 
 with which the ears are regaled in France. 
 The English do not all speak at the same time, 
 as the French do; when talking they listen to 
 each other, and they have little to say. The 
 reason, I suppose, is that they talk for the 
 pleasure of conversing, and not for the purpose 
 of showing off, as is the fashion of their 
 neighbors. 
 
 Written at York, the 
 
 [198] 
 
{From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 
 The English despise as much as the French 
 venerate the opinion of others. It would 
 seem that each of these nations was the oppo- 
 site of the other. 
 
 The English do not recognize the authority 
 of custom, they dare oppose it boldly. Far 
 from being infected with the common folly, 
 each follows manfully his own inclinations, 
 the Englishman making his happiness depend 
 upon himself more than upon what people say 
 about him. Therefore there is here no want 
 of originals. This antithesis between the two 
 countries seems to me to extend to their 
 governments. 
 
 In England the prince is not absolute. Out 
 of the senate, the members have only titles 
 without power. Thus it is that the great do 
 not concern themselves about the court, and 
 those in humble station do not care for the 
 great; and as all are free from that dread and 
 veneration which is manifested so commonly 
 in France for the monarch, it is not regarded 
 either as a duty or as an honor to imitate him. 
 
 The English have been accused of being 
 inconstant and capricious; but I doubt much 
 that they are any more so than their neighbors. 
 But they act with more freedom and less con- 
 
 [199] 
 
straint, and do not hesitate to show themselves 
 always exactly as they are. 
 
 You will perhaps be surprised that I have 
 not compared our own country with others; 
 but I have purposely avoided the parallel. 
 A man can hardly be a disinterested judge 
 where his own country is concerned. 
 
 {From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 When we compare the higher ranks of 
 French and English, the result is altogether 
 in favor of the latter. In England persons of 
 the upper class are, as a rule, fairly well edu- 
 cated; they are enlightened on the subject of 
 their laws; up to a certain point they are well 
 versed in politics and finance. Most of them 
 are well read in history and have studied sev- 
 eral languages. They possess a literature and 
 have taste for the fine arts; some of them are 
 even distinguished in the sciences. We must 
 also say that they are less vain, less proud, less 
 arrogant as to their high lineage and eminence 
 than the French. 
 
 In France the nobility are almost all content 
 with the distinction of being courtiers, of being 
 au fait in matters of etiquette, and of being 
 thoroughly acquainted with the long list of 
 society regulations. Nevertheless, if the 
 
 [200 ] 
 
French cannot boast of so much soHd knowl- 
 edge as the Enghsh, they make up for this in 
 their knowledge of lace ; they know better how 
 to ride, dance, and fence, and say sweet things 
 to the ladies. 
 
 If we pass from the high to the middle class, 
 the same observations hold good. Gentlemen 
 and men of fortune are better educated in 
 England than in France. The military man, 
 the lawyer, the artist, the man of letters, the 
 clergyman, are in England less agreeable, but 
 they have more of the spirit of their class. 
 
 Between the lower classes of both countries 
 there is no marked difference. Their ideas 
 are necessarily circumscribed by their daily 
 toil. But the son of labor in France is gentler 
 and more polite; in England, haughtier and 
 more insolent. 
 
 This dissimilarity always arises from the 
 dissimilarity of their governments. In France 
 the monarch is everything. To him belongs 
 the glory of the laws, the glory of public en- 
 terprises, the glory of battles; even though, in 
 fact, he does nothing. His ministers, his 
 generals, his counsellors, are never anything 
 else than men without merit, who owe their 
 positions to patronage and keep them by 
 intrigue. 
 
 [201 ] 
 
But in England, where the king is not 
 absolute, and where the grandees form a body 
 that mediates between the king and people, 
 the nobles are obliged to understand the con- 
 stitution, to be cognizant of their own rights, 
 those of the citizens and those of the people, 
 and this study necessarily involves those of 
 politics and history. 
 
 As the nobles possess the first offices of 
 state, as their promotion and honors depend 
 partly upon their ability, and as the standing 
 of each peer in the senate is proportioned to 
 his talent in influencing men's minds, it is 
 imperative upon them to study eloquence and 
 to become orators. 
 
 Without power against the laws, without 
 authority out of the senate, possessed of titles 
 without the reality, of the melancholy pre- 
 rogative of making themselves respected with- 
 out being able to make their power felt, they 
 attach less value to their rank, they are less 
 puffed up with their dignities, and prefer that 
 their distinction should not be honorary only, 
 but be conferred upon them as rewards for 
 their actual services. 
 
 Do not imagine, however^ dear Shava, that 
 the great here are always admirers of merit. 
 Polished by the fine arts, corrupted by luxury 
 
 [202 ] 
 
and idleness, wearied with everything, dis- 
 gusted with everything, to cast off a httle of 
 their ennui, to stimulate somewhat the lan- 
 guishing desires of hearts worn out with 
 pleasure, they often run after novelties. Thus 
 while they frequently treat cavalierly a philos- 
 opher or an historian, they rival each other in 
 their attentions to a player on the flute or a 
 ballet-dancer. 
 
 Far from being ignored, as they are in 
 France, the people in England possess the 
 sovereign power. From their bosom are taken 
 the legislators of the nation. A great number 
 of citizens are admitted into Parliament, and, 
 as a greater number aspire to this honor, a 
 still greater number have rights to defend and 
 interests to watch over. The people can rise 
 up in judgment against the ministers, nay, 
 against the sovereign himself, and give their 
 advice on affairs of state. Here, therefore, the 
 men of middle rank must necessarily have 
 their minds better cultivated than the men of 
 like condition in France. 
 
 As for the people of the humblest rank, their 
 manner of life is hard here as elsewhere. 
 Occupied incessantly in work in order to live, 
 they have not time for education, and are of 
 course ignorant. But their life is a freer and 
 
 [203] 
 
happier one than that of the lowly in France, 
 protected, as they are, by the laws from the 
 oppression of the great. They are more 
 haughty and aggressive than in France, where 
 they are always dazzled by the display of the 
 rich and the hauteur of the nobles, and 
 weighed down by their own abject poverty. 
 
 {From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 The Englishman is generally more self- 
 assertive than the Frenchman. He is also of 
 a more solid turn of mind; it must not be 
 supposed, however, that there is any want of 
 lightheads in England. We see fops here as 
 well as in France, but in infinitely less number. 
 The free and easy air, the elegant manners 
 that seem so natural to your French petit 
 maitre, are so attractive that the English fop 
 leaves nothing undone in order to acquire 
 them ; but, as they are not to the manner born, 
 all their efforts to become "lady-killers" 
 (agreables) only serve to make them ridiculous. 
 They can neither stand, bend, dance, sing, nor 
 laugh with grace. They dress without taste 
 and in most extraordinary fashion, and pro- 
 vided nobody is dressed like them they 
 imagine themselves better dressed than any- 
 body else. 
 
 [204] 
 
In France this kind of man is at least good 
 for something; if for nothing else, he serves to 
 amuse the women and to hand them their pins 
 at their toilet; but here they do not know how 
 to say pretty things to the beauties, nor to 
 elicit pretty sayings from them in return. 
 
 For a part of the day they are occupied in 
 dressing and undressing themselves. All the 
 time which they do not pass at their toilet, they 
 spend in inventing some new style of coat, in 
 lengthening or shortening the sleeves, in in- 
 creasing or decreasing the number of buttons, 
 or in finding out some new kind of hat-band, 
 or in making some other discovery of the like 
 importance. 
 
 As they have without limit the passion of 
 women to be regarded with admiration, the 
 important business of their lives is to dress 
 themselves and to show off their fine clothes. 
 
 When I see these small men, so full of vice 
 and meanness, of weakness and ignorance, 
 frequenting the theatres, the promenades, and 
 other public places, for the purpose of exhib- 
 iting their graces ; when I see them so devoured 
 by the love of notoriety and of rendering them- 
 selves the objects of admiration, — I cannot 
 restrain myself from laughing. Truly they 
 have reason to be proud ! 
 
 [205] 
 
The dominant folly of these lightheads is 
 to imagine that their behavior is full of charms. 
 If they only knew how absurd it is, they would 
 for very shame renounce it forever. At any 
 rate one might think that this mania for throw- 
 ing away their character would have its effect 
 in covering them with ridicule, or at least in 
 keeping them from increasing in numbers. 
 
 Written at London, 
 
 {From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow,) 
 As I was going the other day with a Spaniard 
 to visit the monuments of the famous West- 
 minster Abbey, we were stopped in a neigh- 
 boring street by a great multitude of people 
 which had collected to see the corpse of an old 
 man who had just cut his own throat. Not 
 being able to force our way through the crowd 
 we went into St. James's Park, where our 
 conversation fell upon the subject of the 
 English. 
 
 Surprised to see among a people of a de- 
 meanor so cold and impassive such violent 
 resolutions, such tragic scenes, the image of 
 fury and the effect of fiery passions, the Span- 
 iard took the trouble of extricating me from 
 my embarrassment. 
 
 "Of all national characters," said he, "that 
 
 [206] 
 
of the English is perhaps the most simple, but 
 it is nevertheless the most superficially ex- 
 amined and the least understood. 
 
 "Foreigners regard the English as an alto- 
 gether peculiar species of men. I have heard 
 some describe them as at the same time pro- 
 found thinkers yet shallow reasoners, cruel 
 yet charitable, cold yet passionate; as men, in 
 short, in whom Nature seemed to have taken 
 pleasure in uniting all the most contradictory 
 attributes. What a freak! a mixture of cold- 
 ness, indolence, haughtiness, resolution, frank- 
 ness, and good sense goes to make up this 
 people's widely admired character. 
 
 "You believe the English subject to fiery 
 passions because suicide is so very common 
 among them, but in this you are deceived by 
 appearances. The Englishman is naturally 
 cold and tranquil. If sometimes he appears 
 excited, violent, it is only when he has been 
 heated by the bottle. For the last twenty 
 years I have made a study of the English, and 
 in that time have had good reason to change 
 my opinion of them. If the Englishman often 
 turns against his own person his weapons of 
 fury, it is because life is to him of less impor- 
 tance than to us. 
 
 "Among the causes of the Englishman's 
 
 [207] 
 
propensity for self-destruction, the following 
 are those which have struck me most: 
 
 "He has but little imagination, and has 
 slight regard for what other people think of 
 him. Follow him in his conduct and examine 
 the objects of his pleasures. They are almost 
 all physical, — the table, the bottle, the pipe, 
 the girls, the theatre, these are his amusements. 
 But, mind you, he does not seek in these 
 objects the pleasures that others find therein. 
 He dearly loves the bottle, but he drinks only 
 for drinking's sake. He loves the table, but 
 only for the animal pleasure of eating. He 
 loves the girls, but only as the means of satis- 
 fying his bodily appetite. He finds his happi- 
 ness in the gratification of his senses, and does 
 not expect to find it elsewhere. Thus since 
 he is not restrained to any degree by the 
 prejudices or the decencies of life, the fear of 
 dishonor or infamy, he acts always according 
 to his own sweet will; and his actions, to those 
 who do not rightly know his character, often 
 have all the appearance of great moral 
 sacrifices. 
 
 "The Englishman has no religion. Death 
 for him is nothing but the cessation of exist- 
 ence. He does not feel himself obliged, either 
 by duty or by the fear of God, to support the 
 
 [208 ] 
 
weight of life when it has become to him a 
 burden, and he rids himself of it without the 
 shghtest hesitation. 
 
 "The Enghshman sometimes lays out for 
 himself a plan of happiness ; but if his projects 
 fail, he is no longer sensible of his life save 
 from its wearisomeness ; for him it has no 
 longer any value; he takes leave of it without 
 regret, and terminates it for the merest trifle. 
 Too feebly attached to life to support its cares, 
 he always prefers not to live at all than to live 
 in wretchedness. He often commits suicide 
 to escape laborious work, fatigue, and hunger. 
 
 "Having naturally but little sensibility, he 
 cares not much for the pleasures of life, and 
 for the same reason he is not concerned about 
 the momentary pain which accompanies a 
 violent death. 
 
 " With regard to the women, if they appear 
 at times to be subject to violent passions, there 
 are good reasons for this. Tender by tem- 
 perament, and removed in their youth from 
 intercourse with men and at the same time 
 much addicted to the reading of romances, 
 they incessantly nourish their minds with the 
 desires of their hearts. They thus heat their 
 heads, and when they cannot satisfy their 
 passions, they act tragic roles. 
 
 [209 ] 
 
"Besides, hysterical affection is very com- 
 mon among them, inducing bodily ailments 
 which drive them to madness and despair." 
 
 On closer examination I find that this man 
 was right. 
 
 In discussion the Englishman preserves his 
 sang froid. In quarrels he is never angry. 
 Reduced to despair, he never for a moment 
 loses his presence of mind. Having once 
 formed his resolution, he never changes it. 
 It is true, if you attempt to move him, he will 
 not cede to your arguments: but you will find 
 him tranquil; he will listen to what you say. 
 All this is very simple; as he feels the weight 
 of his miseries, and as all your fine reasoning is 
 ineffectual to remove from him the burden, he 
 adheres in silence to his first resolution and 
 puts himself to death. 
 
 The high opinion which is entertained of 
 this nation in other countries is not altogether 
 the effect of ignorance ; the pride of the English 
 is in great measure responsible for it. 
 
 When the English talk about themselves, 
 they invariably pose as men of the greatest 
 merit. According to their own showing, they 
 are men of rare and singular gifts. Strangers 
 are at first inclined to smile at these preten- 
 sions; but they are repeated so often and with 
 
 [210] 
 
such confidence, that their hearers begin un- 
 consciously to be imposed upon, and at last 
 come to believe them. 
 
 These flatteries are everywhere repeated, 
 and those who are not inclined to form so high 
 an estimate of the national character, not 
 knowing the origin of the current preposses- 
 sions, are at a loss what to say. Struck by the 
 contrast between the people and their reputa- 
 tion, and finding nothing to justify the high 
 common opinion, they dare not voice their 
 own sentiments, but timidly acquiesce in the 
 absurd prejudices, and repeat the eulogiums 
 which they inwardly disavow. 
 
 Between you and me, the English are not 
 very extraordinary, and God knows what 
 foundation there is for this strange madness 
 of looking upon them as perfect beings! 
 
 Written at London, the 
 
 (From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracoiv.) 
 Having tried to convey to you some idea of 
 the French and English, I shall now say a word 
 to you concerning the manner in which the 
 national prejudices affect the welfare of the 
 two states. 
 
 Both in France and England you meet with 
 a great deal of education. Literature, the 
 
 [211] 
 
arts, the sciences are very much cultivated; 
 artists and all kinds of savants are trained ; but 
 there is no system of public education, no plan 
 which has for its object to rear men for the 
 state, to make citizens. That this should be 
 the case in France is nothing strange, but it is 
 truly wonderful that there should be no syste- 
 matic plan of education in England. 
 
 In France and in England, almost the same 
 education is given to those who are born with 
 fortunes. When they have been given some 
 very crude notions of things of very little use 
 — that is to say, when their heads have been 
 stuffed with a ridiculous heap of the rubbish 
 usually taught — their education is complete. 
 And so you afterwards find them in posts which 
 they are entirely unqualified to fill. 
 
 In France the young folks pass from the 
 hands of pedants into those of women, by 
 whom they are introduced into the world, 
 where they imbibe new maxims. Then come 
 the prejudices of society. That is what the 
 French consider public education. 
 
 But in England the youths pass from college 
 to foreign travel, whence they bring back the 
 most ridiculous notions imaginable. Returned 
 to their families and friends, all the further 
 instruction they receive is relative to the means 
 
 [212] 
 
by which they can make their fortunes and 
 get on in the world. 
 
 Thus it is that the Frenchman is almost 
 always guided by public opinion; the English- 
 man, by principle. The latter reasons: the 
 former feels, acts; but he does not reflect nor 
 foresee. Imagine the difference this must 
 make in their respective governments. 
 
 Some one has wisely said, that the happiest 
 state is that in which virtue is not regarded as 
 a merit. In England, therefore, where virtue 
 is so very remarkable, you might conclude that 
 it is rare, and in this you would be right. But 
 in France, where virtue is laughed at, you 
 might believe that the last degree of corruption 
 prevailed, but in this you would be wrong. 
 
 The Frenchman has the opinion of others 
 for his guide; the Englishman has for it the 
 utmost contempt. But if the latter is more 
 logical and less ridiculous in his conduct, he 
 is on that account all the more dangerous. 
 
 When a man considers the opinion of his 
 fellows as of no account, what motive has he 
 for serving them.? The love of the pubhc 
 good ? But where is the man so much the 
 friend of law and order as to love humanity 
 with such a generous spirit ? Take from them 
 a few men whose minds have been educated by 
 
 [213 ] 
 
reading about ancient virtues, and you will not 
 need to make further search among them. 
 
 With a single eye to his own interest the 
 Englishman seeks it with avidity, and without 
 scruple. Without the slightest compunction 
 he takes advantage of other men's misfortunes, 
 and stops at nothing in his course of self-ag- 
 grandizement unless checked by the fear of 
 punishment. Thus guided by the basest of 
 self-interests, corruption has reached such a 
 height that all their actions are infected by it. 
 Probity is venal where they have instituted a 
 tariff on all the virtues, and there are few men 
 indeed who do not know the price of their 
 services. It is vain for them to boast that they 
 are unceremonious, frank; the brusk rudeness 
 of their manners does not by any means ex- 
 clude them from fraud and artifice. There 
 are few countries, I assure you, where hypoc- 
 risy and intrigue are more common. 
 
 As the Englishman has the utmost contempt 
 for public opinion, he cares not a jot for what 
 people say about him. If he has plenty of 
 money at his disposal, being surrounded inces- 
 santly by temptation, he becomes dissolute, 
 unscrupulous, and addicted to a thousand 
 vices. 
 
 But there are prejudices and conventions to 
 
 [214] 
 
which we owe the sweets of civil society and 
 the security of private intercourse; and these 
 same prejudices proscribe crime better than 
 the law that forbids it. Not only do they 
 proscribe the crimes which the law forbids, 
 they also repress actions which the law has 
 not foreseen or has not provided against. 
 
 The manners of the English are formed by 
 the laws ; in as far as the laws are sure of being 
 executed, the Englishman is compelled to ob- 
 serve them; he has thus perforce a certain 
 degree of honesty. The greater part of them, 
 however, having only as much honesty as the 
 law requires, are not, on this account, the less 
 dishonest. 
 
 Among the French the laws are sometimes 
 illusory, or they are flexible and impotent ; but 
 manners take the place of laws. There is no 
 punishment, it is true, pronounced against the 
 breach of good manners; but shame and in- 
 famy are its chastisement, and these are the 
 very things of which the Frenchman stands 
 most in dread. 
 
 In England this motive is so little under- 
 stood that the greatest criminal is not infamous 
 unless he receives the punishment of his crime. 
 Public opinion adds nothing to the sanctions 
 of the law. They regard breaches of the law 
 
 [215] 
 
as purely personal matters, and a criminal is 
 regarded as perfectly clear from the moment 
 he has satisfied the law's demands. It is not 
 uncommon to see criminals insolently braving 
 disgrace as they are dragged off to punishment. 
 
 I do not mean that public opinion can do 
 everything. As manners become loose it 
 grows indulgent, more delicate than severe. 
 People revolt at gross crimes, while they pass 
 over with leniency the pleasant vices. 
 
 There is this advantage, however: public 
 manners may become depraved, but the foun- 
 dation of their character remains uncorrupted; 
 while the virtues may not have much stamina, 
 the vices have no root. 
 
 The disorderliness of a Frenchman's mind 
 does not affect the natural kindness of his 
 heart, does not strike a blow at his frankness. 
 His vanity only makes him amiable; and the 
 more he tries to please, the more does his 
 tendency to love increase; and that very friv- 
 olity, which is opposed to the cultivation of 
 his talents and virtues, at the same time safe- 
 guards him from atrocious and premeditated 
 crimes. And if he keeps in the way of duty, 
 it is from internal, rational motives, and not 
 from the dread of the law's severity. Re- 
 strained by religious motives and by their 
 
 [21G ] 
 
respect for public opinion, weak men among 
 the French are upheld in the way of duty. 
 In England, being free from these salutary 
 restraints, they have the misfortune of not 
 being able to depend on their virtue, and thus 
 become too often the instruments of the vices 
 of those who govern them. 
 
 If you sometimes find honest Englishmen, 
 they are actuated by no good motive, their 
 probity springs from an impure source, for 
 their self-interest being their only object, they 
 have no better means of promoting it than by 
 appearing honest. 
 
 Thus with a heart devoid of feeling, a harsh 
 character, an unscrupulous mind, and de- 
 graded sentiments, the Englishman still has a 
 sort of honesty which serves to protect him 
 from the reproaches of his fellow-men. 
 
 In France this influence of public opinion 
 is felt even in the lowest ranks : humiliated by 
 his poverty, the Frenchman will often resist 
 the most seductive opportunities. The un- 
 fortunate Englishman, under the pressure of 
 his wants, always succumbs to temptation. 
 
 If this principle, relaxed though it be, is 
 still so productive of good, what a change for 
 the better should we not witness where it is uni- 
 versal! Take, for example, the military; and 
 
 [217] 
 
among them only those who make common 
 cause against cowardice. How much soH- 
 darity in their league! If men of principle, 
 men of honor, would, in the same way, come 
 to a common understanding, the rogues would 
 have a sorry role to play. 
 
 Formerly, it is said, the sentiment of honor 
 was more fastidious. When a man was 
 known to have acted dishonorably, at once all 
 decent men took sides and did justice on him 
 by their open scorn. Nowadays we are not 
 so particular; we make many allowances for 
 shady men. Thus the number of unsavory 
 individuals one meets goes on continually 
 augmenting; but only among the rich, the 
 great, and the men in office, whose power and 
 influence obtain for them that consideration 
 which in the days of yore was accorded to 
 merit. 
 
 In order to enjoy the estimation which pomp 
 and display give them in the eyes of the silly 
 vulgar, the great will do everything to keep it 
 up ; and, as they are shunned as soon as they 
 are ruined, they prefer to maintain themselves 
 on the resources of crime rather than limit 
 their luxurious life. You will see those osten- 
 tatious persons making lavish presents and 
 refusing to pay their debts, sacrificing to pride 
 
 [218 J 
 
what they owe to justice. Thus do they throw 
 away on display the glory of the virtues and 
 fail in the performance of the most sacred 
 duties. 
 
 Written at Portsmouth, the 
 
 {From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 With regard to the amenities of society the 
 French have still a great advantage over the 
 English. 
 
 Politeness has been defined as the art of 
 assuming the virtues which one really has not. 
 It may be so. . . . It will be so if considera- 
 tion is desired without suavity, suavity without 
 kindness, respect without attachment. But 
 those marks of respect which the Frenchman 
 is obliged to manifest to his superiors, those 
 marks of esteem which he owes to his equals, 
 and those marks of kindness which he owes to 
 his inferiors, confer upon him the social vir- 
 tues, though he should be devoid of the true 
 principles which should inspire them. They 
 safeguard him from that brutal rudeness, that 
 frankness which would make men hate each 
 other and break all the bonds of society. 
 
 Men who from various considerations re- 
 spect one another, if they at all times spoke 
 their thoughts simply and undisguisedly, 
 
 [219] 
 
p^ould very soon become mortal enemies. 
 This is the veil of decency which politeness 
 suspends and which it forbids to be lifted. 
 
 Furthermore, the practice of these social 
 virtues is a means of preserving one's natural 
 kindness. By want of attention to them, one's 
 morals are apt to become more or less de- 
 praved; but the deviations from strict pro- 
 priety are of a delicate rather than a barbarous 
 nature. 
 
 One revolts at gross crimes, while one read- 
 ily condones agreeable peccadillos. 
 
 I grant, nevertheless, that the Englishman 
 is wiser than the Frenchman; the words of 
 some philosopher suflSce to influence for good 
 the conduct of the former, while the latter 
 needs the example of a virtuous and enlight- 
 ened ruler. 
 
 Written at Portsmouth, 
 
 {From Kamia to his Friend Shava at Cracow.) 
 Another thing that gives the English a 
 great superiority over the French is the pre- 
 tension of the latter to wit. In France this 
 pretension has become a mania, and has ren- 
 dered men indifferent to the things which 
 should affect them most; nay, to such an 
 extent has it gone, that it makes men despise 
 
 [220] 
 
their own profession. Instead of seeking dis- 
 tinction in their different occupations, the 
 magistrate, the soldier, the doctor, the Hterary 
 man, having become men of society, become 
 ambitious only to shine. 
 
 This taste for frivohties makes them foro-et 
 the essential, and sacrifice to vain amusement 
 the precious time which should be devoted to 
 self -instruction. This desire to please is de- 
 structive of all healthy emulation, and be- 
 comes eventually fatal to the arts, sciences, 
 and to the state itself. 
 
 Never was there a time when there were 
 more brilliant wits and fewer men of distinc- 
 tion in the different professions. 
 
 Very frequently, however, in renouncing all 
 ambition to become distinguished for some- 
 thing that would promote the public welfare, 
 they do not succeed in making themselves 
 pleasant and agreeable; for women dominate 
 society, and fashion being, like themselves, 
 capricious, taste becomes depraved. 
 
 The French are under the influence of 
 another prejudice, which gives the English a 
 great advantage over them. The French have 
 their noblesse. They regard work as the lot 
 of the common herd, the canaille. They de- 
 spise trades, arts, and commerce. One of the 
 
 [221 ] 
 
greatest privileges of living in their country, 
 they think, is that it confers the most distinc- 
 tion on a gentleman. He can live with folded 
 arms. Therefore he would much rather lan- 
 guish in poverty than get rich by working in 
 the sciences, the arts, or in commerce. By 
 entering upon honest, useful labor, he would 
 be afraid of losing caste. Thus it is that 
 poverty transmutes gentlemen into an infinite 
 number of low, ignorant parasites. 
 
 In England, on the contrary, one is not con- 
 sidered more honorable for leading a life of 
 idleness than for earning an honest livelihood 
 by some useful occupation. Every one there 
 whose income is insuflScient for his support 
 thinks it no disgrace, but contrariwise an 
 honor, to live by his profession, or by the 
 labor of his hands. This state of matters 
 gives to the state infinitely more savants, more 
 merchants, more sons of industry, and more 
 educated and intelligent people than are to be 
 met with in France. 
 
 But let me not be understood as saying that 
 the English have the advantage in every re- 
 spect over their neighbors, the French; very 
 far from it. 
 
 The Englishman believes that it is a virtue 
 
 [222] 
 
to be an Englishman. This may perhaps be 
 an advantage; but why, instead of affecting to 
 despise his neighbors, does he not try to sur- 
 pass them in everything? 
 
 The men of mark among them are by no 
 means exempt from natural vanity; but, in 
 boasting of the glory of their compatriots, they 
 neglect the promotion of their fame as indi- 
 viduals. 
 
 And now when I am about to take leave of 
 the English and French, let me tell you in two 
 words the impression that my observations of 
 the people of these two nationalities have 
 made upon me. 
 
 The Frenchman has more faults; the Eng- 
 lishman, more vices. The virtues of the latter 
 are rigid and austere, those of the former are 
 mild and beneficent. The former knows bet- 
 ter the rights of humanity, the latter knows 
 better how to fulfil the duties he owes it. 
 
 When you have lived among the French, 
 you feel attracted to them; you leave them 
 with regret, and whatever men may do else- 
 where abroad to oblige you, the Frenchman's 
 enchanting manner of obliging you is such 
 that nothing can quite take its place. But 
 it is in vain to try to cultivate the acquaint- 
 
 [223 ] 
 
ance of the English. You never can get to 
 love or esteem them. When you pass from 
 them to other lands, their government is all 
 that you regret. 
 
 [224 ] 
 
Friutcrs and Binders, Norwood, Mass. 
 U. S, A. 
 

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