The Press. — London, England, 1858-12-25 00:00:00

SUPPLEMENI"FO b.c (lEiI rt6l. LONDON, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 25, 1858. No. 295.--Vol. VI. Al iltraturt. Madame la Marquise de Pompadour. Par M. Capefigue. London: Jeffs. IT has been our destiny—by whichever minister ing genius directed—to peruse a fair proportion of those gossiping discursive narrations which M. Capefigue pleasantly and complacently entitles "histories." As after-dinner reading, when hygienic rules forbid any stress upon the brain, these "histories" are agreeable enough. The style, though unifbrittly slip-sop and occasionally ungrammatical, is flowing and easy. The reflec tions are just so far raised above puerility as to escape being absolutely dull. And the narrative ambles trippingly on, conciliating rather reverie than sleep, like the urbane garrulity of some octogenarian of " the old school," full of semi scandalous reminiscences of Fox, Sheridan, and the Regent. If any qualities in M. Capefirtues productions awaken graver feelings than amusement, they are,—a facile treatment of questions of foreign policy, indicating a certain amount of diplomatic experience ; and an advocacy of the ancien regime fearless and consistent enough to command our respect, if it cannot win our sympathy. This advocacy is carried, indeed, to an extreme, at the present day well-nigh unique. Every conceivable virtue of that self-condemned fabric is dwelt upon with enthusiasm. Every blemish is either lovingly veiled, or, where forced into notice, is placed in such softened and tender light, that, spite of ourselves, we are fain as we gaze to echo that sentiment, so popular on occasions of general mourning—" After all, black is a most becoming colour !" In the work before us, however, if the " whole hog " absolutist is as inflexibly consistent as ever, the diplomatist at least has completely belied his character and his train ing There are two ways of injuring a cause—by an adroit attack, and by a maladroit defence. Of the two, the latter is decidedly the most damaging. Towards an open enemy we can present at least a guarded and watchful front. But the friend ship which, in its rapturous demonstrations, reverses our position and, at the same time, pinions our arms with an embrace, is of all perils the most perilous. Such however is the form—the grossly un diplomatic form—in which M. Capefigue has here manifested his friendship for the Bourbons. If there is one phase of the Bourbon r6gitne from the contemplation of which the Faubourg St. Germain should turn with special repugnance, it is the reign of Louis XV. In that reign all the pullulating vices of absolutism seem to have reached their highest development. The mo narch himself, illiterate, feeble, selfish, and depraved, exemplified with almost typical accuracy the demoralizing effects of irresponsible power. The aristocracy. imitating, on, if possible, an exaggerated scale, the moral deformities of the centre round which it revolved, distributed—as was inevitable where feudalism still ruled supreme—the contaminating virus through the entire ot . the social system. The poorer classes, depraved by innoculation, debased and ignorant from contempt and neglect, were not the less bigoted and superstitious ; while the priest hood, breathing an atmosphere thus vitiated on either side, and claiming entire exemption from the wholesome check of public responsibility, fell, as human beings so placed must ever fall, into a state of demoralization fully on a par with that around them. Now, one would imagine a phase of social de composition like this the very last to which an admirer of the ancien regane would desire to call attention. Or if the subject must be handled—if its treatment ranged itself under that canonized category, the duty of the historian "—then at least such an admirer would surely select the least putrescent portions of the matter before him, and place these in the strongest and most favour able light. Not so, however, does the ex diplomatist M. Capefigue look at the thing. Whether from an obliquity of moral vision, singular, though not perhaps unique, in a man so emphatically orthodox ; or whether from the not very refined idea that a bad cause is best gained by boldly "brazening it out," M. Cape figue has chosen precisely the mast repulsive aspect, and certainly one of the least decorous characters, of this deplorable epoch as the ve hicles of his latest panegyric on absolute monarchy. It is true that his preface gravely asserts, The author's object has been to " refute by authentic documents all the calumnies " disseminated against the Marchioness by means " of pamphlets written in England, in Holland, and in Prussia, and accepted as truth by a " whole school of historians." But, even setting aside the obvious prudence of leaving filth un stirred, we confess ourselves at a loss to detect any approach to a "documentary refutation of calumnies " in the work before us. We beg pardon !—there is indeed a whole chapter dedi cated to the proof that the Marchioness of Pompadour was the child, not of a butcher, but of a " purveyor of meat"—and was, moreover, a young lady provided by her anxious mother with " a most brilliant education." To M. Capefigue, with whom noble birth and humble birth are clearly synonyms for virtue and vice, a "refuta tion" of this kind is evidently most important. To ourselves, we confess that the rehabilitation of the lady's antecedents seems rather to tell against than for her. At any rate, it makes her more amenable to the homely reproach, " She ought to have known better ! " But with regard to the graver accusations, which affect, not his heroine's virtue—of that there can of course be no ques tion—but her freedom from some of the coarsest forms of vice, 11. Capeflgue supplies literally nothing which has even the semblance of •` docu mentary refutation." His method, where he meets with a difficulty, if remarkable for sim plicity and concision, is, certainly, entirely free from any approach to that " philosophical spirit " for which he everywhere professes such profound contempt. It consists in purely asserting, with virtuous indignation, that, whatever a low-bred and degenerate world may think to the con trary, M. Capefigue utterly and entirely dis believes " the atrocious calumny " under re view : Is it true (he asks) that Male. de Pompabur was the complacent go-between of the King's promiscuous amours? I repeat, it u odioau tu imayixe it Subsequently to the GRA'rIS. solemn Easter sacrament, prepared by Father Sacy, no relation beyond that of a lively and profound friendship existed between the King and the Marchioness ;—I have never believed in sacrilege., in hypocritical communions ! • The King was pious (!) in the midst of his foibles of the heart (!) ; the Marchioness was in the hands, indeed, of an indulgent director, bat one incapable of playing with the holy sacraments of the altar. And by way of "documentary proof" of the above assertions, we have the following foot note : The Marchioness no longer makes use of rouge—which announces a reform.—Jouraal de Burlier, Annie 17:A. ) If M. Capefigue had been satisfied with this curious testimony to Mme. de Pompadour's piety and her Confessor's sense of the sacred duties of his office, no harm at least—if no good—would have been done. But will it be believed that, after this unique " refutation," our skilful ex diplomatist proceeds to cite, in the following page, an authenticated case in which " the Pompa dour " actually did personate something very like the shameless character which history has ascribed to her! The argument he curiously draws from this is, that, as only one case of the kind is recorded by an authority which he chooses to recognize (that of Mine. d'Hausset), so only one case of the kind can possibly have occurred ! This style of reasoning, followed throughout the book, has certainly the merit of novelty, if not of originality. For, after all, there is no real originality in taking the views, opinions, and judgments of the rest of the world, and simply converting them from affirmative into negative propositions. Such, however, appears to us to be, literally and exclusively, M. Capefigue's modus operandi. Where historians unanimously condemn, M. Capefigue decidedly approves; where they approve, he condemns. The true philosophy of history is evidently contained, for him, in that tradition of our earlier age, " the rule of contrary." Illustrations may be culled from any page, opened at hazard. A few will amuse our readers, while they justify our criticism. It would, we repeat, be difficult to find any single point, in the whole range of history, on which more unanimous censure has been passed than on the reign of Louis XV. All sides—all shades of political opinion, from the Henri quintist down to the red republican —agree in characterizing his rule as among the most humi liating, the most disastrous of modern times. For anybody but M. Capefigue, this notorious fact would be rather embarrassing. But that in genious gentleman simply ignores it, and calmly informs us, in a careless parenthesis, that Louis XV. was a prince " who honoured and elevated France" ! Ordinary mortals, in England at least, cherish the idea that continuous and flagrant violation of any oue of the Ten Commandments is irrecon aileable with sound pretensions to piety. M. Capefigue is entirely of an opposite opinion. Drawing no useless veil over the French king's infamous vices—detailing without comment his revolting amours with four sisters of the "si illastre famine de Neale "—touching incidentally on depravities of far coarser kind, but no less • But how reonucile this charitable incredulity with the King's " faithful observance of all the external duties of reli gion," praised in another passage ? I