This goes so far that God is prefigured according to this model. The "harmonies of nature" are construed into the delicate attentions of Providence； on instituting filial affection the Creator "deigned to choose for our best virtue our sweetest pleasure."[18] - The idyll which is imagined to take place in heaven corresponds with the idyll practiced on earth. From the public up to the princes， and from the princes down to the public， in prose， in verse， in compliments at festivities， in official replies， in the style of royal edicts down to the songs of the market-women， there is a constant interchange of graces and of sympathies. Applause bursts out in the theater at any verse containing an allusion to princes， and， a moment after， at the speech which exalts the merits of the people， the princes return the compliment by applauding in their turn.[19] - On all sides， just as this society is vanishing， a mutual deference， a spirit of kindliness arises， like a soft and balmy autumnal breeze， to dissipate whatever harshness remains of its aridity and to mingle with the radiance of its last hours the perfume of dying roses. We now encounter acts and words of infinite grace， unique of their kind， like a lovely， exquisite little figure on old Sèvres porcelain. One day， on the Comtesse Amélie de Boufflers speaking somewhat flippantly of her husband， her mother-in-law interposes， "You forget that you are speaking of my son." - "True， mamma， I thought I was only speaking of your son-in-law." It is she again who， on playing "the boat，" and obliged to decide between this beloved mother-in-law and her own mother， whom she scarcely knew， replies， "I would save my mother and drown with my mother-in-law."[20] The Duchesse de Choiseul， the Duchesse de Lauzun， and others besides， are equally charming miniatures. When the heart and the mind combine their considerations they produce masterpieces， and these， like the art， the refinements and the society which surrounds them， possess a charm unsurpassed by anything except their own fragility.
III. Personality Defects.
The failings of character thus formed. - Adapted to one situation but not to a contrary situation. - Defects of intelligence. - Defects of disposition. - Such a character is disarmed by good-breeding.
The reason is that， the better people have become adapted to a certain situation the less prepared are they for the opposite situation. The habits and faculties that serve them in the previous condition become prejudicial to them in the new one. In acquiring talents adapted to tranquil times they lose those suited to times of agitation， reaching the extreme of feebleness at the same time with the extreme of urbanity. The more polished an aristocracy becomes the weaker it becomes， and when no longer possessing the power to please it not longer possesses the strength to struggle. And yet， in this world， we must struggle if we would live. In humanity， as in nature， empire belongs to force. Every creature that loses the art and energy of self-defense becomes so much more certainly a prey according as its brilliancy， imprudence and even gentleness deliver it over in advance to the gross appetites roaming around it. Where find resistance in characters formed by the habits we have just described？ To defend ourselves we must， first of all， look carefully around us， see and foresee， and provide for danger. How could they do this living as they did？ Their circle is too narrow and too carefully enclosed. Confined to their castles and mansions they see only those of their own sphere， they hear only the echo of their own ideas， they imagine that there is nothing beyond the public seems to consist of two hundred persons.
Moreover， disagreeable truths are not admitted into a drawing-room， especially when of personal import， an idle fancy there becoming a dogma because it becomes conventional. Here， accordingly， we find those who， already deceived by the limitations of their accustomed horizon， fortify their delusion still more by delusions about their fellow men. They comprehend nothing of the vast world， which envelops their little world； they are incapable of entering into the sentiments of a bourgeois， of a villager； they have no conception of the peasant as he is but as they would like him to be. The idyll is in fashion， and no one dares dispute it； any other supposition would be false because it would be disagreeable， and as the drawing rooms have decided that all will go well， all must go well. Never was a delusion more complete and more voluntary. The Duc d'Orléans offers to wager a hundred louis that the States-General will dissolve without accomplishing anything， not even abolishing the lettre-de-cachet..
After the demolition has begun， and yet again after it is finished， they will form opinions no more accurate. They have no idea of social architecture； they know nothing about its materials， its proportions， or its harmonious balance； they have had no hand in it， they have never worked at it. They are entirely ignorant of the old building[21]
in which they occupy the first story. They are not qualified to calculate either its pressure or its resistance.[[22]] They conclude， finally， that it is better to let the thing tumble in， and that the restoration of the edifice in their behalf will follow its own course， and that they will return to their drawing-room， expressly rebuilt for them， and freshly gilded， to begin over again the pleasant conversation which an accident， some tumult in the street， had interrupted.[23] Clear-sighted in society， they are obtuse in politics. They examine everything by the artificial light of candles；they are disturbed and bewildered in the powerful light of open day.
