She is a miniature lady， and she knows it； she is fully up in her part， without effort or inconvenience， by force of habit； the unique， the perpetual instruction she gets is that on her deportment； it may be said with truth that the fulcrum of education in this country is the dancing-master.[38] They could get along with him without any others； without him the others were of no use. For， without him， how could people go through easily， suitably， and gracefully the thousand and one actions of daily life， walking， sitting down， standing up， offering the arm， using the fan， listening and smiling， before eyes so experienced and before such a refined public？ This is to be the great thing for them when they become men and women， and for this reason it is the thing of chief importance for them as children. Along with graces of attitude and of gesture， they already have those of the mind and of expression. Scarcely is their tongue loosened when they speak the polished language of their parents. The latter amuse themselves with them and use them as pretty dolls； the preaching of Rousseau， which， during the last third of the last century， brought children into fashion， produces no other effect. They are made to recite their lessons in public， to perform in proverbs， to take parts in pastorals.
Their sallies are encouraged. They know how to turn a compliment， to invent a clever or affecting repartee， to be gallant， sensitive， and even spirituelle. The little Duc d'Angoulême， holding a book in his hand， receives Suffren， whom he addresses thus： "I was reading Plutarch and his illustrious men. You could not have entered more apropos."[39] The children of M. de Sabran， a boy and a girl， one eight and the other nine， having taken lessons from the comedians Sainval and Larive， come to Versailles to play before the king and queen in Voltaire's "Oreste，" and on the little fellow being interrogated about the classic authors， he replies to a lady， the mother of three charming girls， "Madame， Anacreon is the only poet Ican think of here！" Another， of the same age， replies to a question of Prince Henry of Prussia with an agreeable impromptu in verse.[40] To cause witticisms， trivialities， and mediocre verse to germinate in a brain eight years old， what a triumph for the culture of the day！ It is the last characteristic of the régime which， after having stolen man away from public affairs， from his own affairs， from marriage， from the family， hands him over， with all his sentiments and all his faculties， to social worldliness， him and all that belong to him.
Below him fine ways and forced politeness prevail， even with his servants and tradesmen. A Frontin has a gallant unconstrained air， and he turns a compliment.[41] An Abigail needs only to be a kept mistress to become a lady. A shoemaker is a "monsieur in black，" who says to a mother on saluting the daughter， "Madame， a charming young person， and I am more sensible than ever of the value of your kindness，" on which the young girl， just out of a convent， takes him for a suitor and blushes scarlet. Undoubtedly less unsophisticated eyes would distinguish the difference between this pinchbeck louis d'or and a genuine one； but their resemblance suffices to show the universal action of the central mint-machinery which stamps both with the same effigy， the base metal and the refined gold.
IV. ENJOYMENT.
The charm of this life. - Etiquette in the 18th Century. - Its perfection and its resources. -Taught and prescribed under feminine authority.
A society which obtains such ascendancy must possess some charm； in no country， indeed， and in no age has so perfect a social art rendered life so agreeable. Paris is the school-house of Europe， a school of urbanity to which the youth of Russia， Germany， and England resort to become civilized. Lord Chesterfield in his letters never tires of reminding his son of this， and of urging him into these drawing-rooms， which will remove "his Cambridge rust." Once familiar with them they are never abandoned， or if one is obliged to leave them， one always sighs for them. "Nothing is comparable，" says Voltaire，[42] "to the genial life one leads there in the bosom of the arts and of a calm and refined voluptuousness； strangers and monarchs have preferred this repose， so agreeably occupied in it and so enchanting to their own countries and thrones. The heart there softens and melts away like aromatics slowly dissolving in moderate heat， evaporating in delightful perfumes." Gustavus III， beaten by the Russians， declares that he will pass his last days in Paris in a house on the boulevards；and this is not merely complimentary， for he sends for plans and an estimate.[43] A supper or an evening entertainment brings people two hundred leagues away. Some friends of the Prince de Ligne "leave Brussels after breakfast， reach the opera in Paris just in time to see the curtain rise， and， after the spectacle is over， return immediately to Brussels， traveling all night." - Of this delight， so eagerly sought， we have only imperfect copies， and we are obliged to revive it intellectually. It consists， in the first place， in the pleasure of living with perfectly polite people； there is no enjoyment more subtle， more lasting， more inexhaustible. Man's self-esteem or vanity being infinite， intelligent people are always able to produce some refinement of attention to gratify it. Worldly sensibility being infinite there is no imperceptible shade of it permitting indifference. After all， Man is still the greatest source of happiness or of misery to Man， and in those days this everflowing fountain brought to him sweetness instead of bitterness. Not only was it essential not to offend， but it was essential to please； one was expected to lose sight of oneself in others， to be always cordial and good-humored， to keep one's own vexations and grievances in one's own breast， to spare others melancholy ideas and to supply them with cheerful ideas.