THE NOBILITY

There are two parties among the nobles: the conservatives and the liberals, the men of the past and the men of the future. The first declare for the alliance of the throne and the altar, respect for all ancient usages, and the absolute maintenance of etiquette. Irreconcilable adversaries of philosophy, Anglomania, and the Encyclopedia, they regard the changes in costume, the abandonment of liveries, the vogue of foreign fashions, with annoyance and contempt. The second, uniting to the advantages of patrician rank the convenient charms of independence, joyfully adopt the cabriolets, the frock coats, the simplicity of English dress. They applaud republican tirades at the theatres, the subversive discourses of the academies, the anti-Christian theories of the philosophers. They speak of the old social edifice as Gothic architecture. Their rank and privileges, the débris of their former puissance, are being undermined beneath their feet. What of it? This “little war,” as Count de Ségur says, pleases and diverts them. They do not feel its attacks as yet; they only see the spectacle. Slaves of fashion, they go to pay court to D’Alembert, Diderot, Marmontel, Raynal, a word of praise from whom they prefer to the favor of a prince of the blood. Equality begins to make its appearance in the world. On many occasions, literary tables take precedence over those of nobility. In high society one often sees second or third rate literary men treated with a consideration and attention not obtained by provincial nobles. But let no one be deceived—all this democratic, almost republican machinery, is as yet simply an optical illusion. Ancient usage, as the same liberal Count de Ségur again affirms, preserves between the nobility and the middle classes an immense interval which even men of the most distinguished talents cross in appearance rather than in reality. There is more familiarity than equality. The great trees which are unconsciously losing their roots are still very proud of their foliage. Family splendors, great households, feudal existences, attributes of power, all seem vivacious and eternal. The classes of the old social order, with their hierarchy, their luxury, their blazons, their riches and power, are like “those brilliant pictures formed of a thousand colors and traced with sand on the crystals of our festivities, wherein one may admire magnificent castles, gay landscapes, and rich harvests, which the lightest breath would be enough to efface and cause to disappear.”

Do not believe, moreover, that the nobility, in spite of its decadence, has lost its former prestige. No, it is still elegant, loyal, full of courtesy and politeness. The most insignificant of the provincial gentry preserve their traditions. They have frequented the salons of the commandant or intendant, they have met on a visit some ladies of Versailles. Hence they all have some inkling of the changes in dress and fashion. “The most uncivilized of them accompanies his departing guests, hat in hand, to the foot of his front steps, thanking them for the honor they have done him. The most clownish, being near a woman, furbishes up from the depths of his memory some remnant of chivalrous gallantry. The poorest and most retired is careful of his coat of ‘king’s-blue’ and his cross of St. Louis so that he may, on occasion, pay his respects to the neighboring great lord or the prince on his travels.”[3] The nobles of the court, too futile, dissipated, and Voltairean, must not cause us to forget the provincial nobles who live quietly, collected, austere, respecting principles, usages, and dogmas, enduring an honorable poverty without complaint, unwilling to go begging favors at Versailles, and preparing in retreat to support nobly the storms whose approach they forebode already.