of which the last phrase falls to the benefit of
some happy sub-lieutenant or some provincial bigwig."
"The provincial women I have met in Paris," said Lousteau, "were, in
fact, rapid in their proceedings--"
"My word, they are strange," said the lady, giving a significant shrug
of her shoulders.
"They are like the playgoers who book for the second performance,
feeling sure that the piece will not fail," replied the journalist.
"And what is the cause of all these woes?" asked Bianchon.
"Paris is the monster that brings us grief," replied the Superior
Woman. "The evil is seven leagues round, and devastates the whole
land. Provincial life is not self-existent. It is only when a nation is
divided into fifty minor states that each can have a physiognomy of its
own, and then a woman reflects the glory of the sphere where she reigns.
This social phenomenon, I am told, may be seen in Italy, Switzerland,
and Germany; but in France, as in every country where there is but
one capital, a dead level of manners must necessarily result from
centralization."
"Then you would say that manners could only recover their individuality
and native distinction by the formation of a federation of French states
into one empire?" said Lousteau.
"That is hardly to be wished, for France would have to conquer too many
countries," said Bianchon.
"This misfortune is unknown in England," exclaimed Dinah. "London does
not exert such tyranny as that by which Paris oppresses France--for
which, indeed, French ingenuity will at last find a remedy; however, it
has a worse disease in its vile hypocrisy, which is a far greater evil!"
"The English aristocracy," said Lousteau, hastening to put a word in,
for he foresaw a Byronic paragraph, "has the advantage over ours
of assimilating every form of superiority; it lives in the midst of
magnificent parks; it is in London for no more than two months. It lives
in the country, flourishing there, and making it flourish."
"Yes," said Madame de la Baudraye, "London is the capital of trade and
speculation and the centre of government. The aristocracy hold a 'mote'
there for sixty days only; it gives and takes the passwords of the day,
looks in on the legislative cookery, reviews the girls to marry, the
carriages to be sold, exchanges greetings, and is away again; and is so
far from amusing, that it cannot bear itself for more than the few days
known as 'the season.'"
"Hence," said Lousteau, hoping
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