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Essentials of Hypertension: The 120/80 paradigm 1st
THE PALGRAVE MACMILLAN SERIES IN INTERNATIONAL POLITICAL COMMUNICATION
ARAB NATIONAL MEDIA AND POLITICAL CHANGE
Recording the Transition
Fatima El-Issawi
The Palgrave Macmillan Series in International Political Communication
Series Editor
Philip Seib
University of Southern California, USA
Aim of the Series
From democratization to terrorism, economic development to conflict resolution, global political dynamics are affected by the increasing pervasiveness and influence of communication media. This series examines the participants and their tools, their strategies and their impact.
More information about this series at http://www.springer.com/series/14418
Fatima El-Issawi
Arab National Media and Political Change
Recording the Transition
Fatima El-Issawi
University of Essex, UK
London School of Economics
London, UK
The Palgrave Macmillan Series in International Political Communication
ISBN 978-1-137-53215-2 ISBN 978-1-349-70915-1 (eBook)
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The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, express or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made.
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Introduction
Driving through the crowded streets of Cairo in the summer of 2012, my taxi driver could not hide his excitement while pointing to large posters featuring stars of talk shows, the lengthy televised broadcasts which keep Egyptians in front of the small screen each evening, watching live heated political debates. This was the year-long rule of the Muslim Brotherhood, when media and politics acquired an unprecedented dynamism, boosted by an equally strong antagonism. It was customary for coffee shops to display large television screens for their customers to watch the debates. An entrenched taboo, that of critiquing the president, had fallen: On his satirical show el Bernameg, Bassem Youssef broke audience records mocking the president, an unprecedented action in the Egyptian media landscape. Other taboos were shaken, but not strongly enough to fully erode them. Cairo by night had a different flavour than in years past; it buzzed with raging political debates that monopolised the small screen. As the TV anchor Reem Maged told me, under the former regime, “This is a nation where the only topic they could debate was football matches”. A year later, the only buzzing to be heard was the blunt propaganda in praise of the military-backed regime. The debate was over.
In the aftermath of the uprisings that shook the Arab world in 2010, the power of digital activism in triggering political change has been the subject of extensive debate, policy discussions, and academic research.1
Much less interest has been dedicated to traditional media and its impact on framing the complex political changes in the Arab world, despite its crucial impact in shaping the values, beliefs, and identity of Arab audiences post-uprisings2 and the primacy of television as a major source of news for Arab audiences, for both politics and entertainment.3 Stigmatized for decades as nothing more than a tool for dispersing the regime’s misinformation, national media in the so-called Arab Spring countries rose to prominence post-uprising(s) to become the main provider of information on national affairs to an audience avidly debating national politics. These audiences wanted to view the political upheaval through the eyes of their own national media, instead of the pan-Arab satellite TV channels they had previously depended upon. The immediate aftermath of the uprisings saw the chaotic outbreak of hundreds of new media enterprises, from media conglomerations to small personal projects, all locked in fervent competition to win a say in the new political arena.
The revival of national media post-uprising(s) triggered unrealistically high expectations for a “new era” of national media, evolving from a platform for blunt propaganda to a professional and credible provider of information for national audiences. However, the “awakenings” of this industry, which had been mismanaged and manipulated for decades, were handicapped by endemic challenges such as a lack of uniform professional standards; repressive regulatory frameworks and out-dated structures; issues of self-regulation and editorial standards; excessive political and ideological bias; blurred distinctions between opinions, rumours, and facts; and influence and pressure from the state and media owners alike, just to name a few.4 Early hopes that this industry could play an effective, positive role in sustaining the fragile democratization processes faded, with political polarization taking the national media hostage. Journalists adopted an extremely antagonistic tone and enthusiastically played the roles of activist or preacher. Post-uprising, the political transition to democracy has oscillated wildly, the path lined on both sides with many trammels and beset with outbursts of autocracy and violence. The challenges are tremendous.
The role of media in democratic change, particularly its impact on promoting or stifling the fragile and often tumultuous democratization process, was and remains the object of much academic and policy analysis.5 In the wake of the so-called “Third Wave” of democratization in the 1970s, encompassing southern Europe, Latin America, and parts of East and Southeast Asia, the transition to democracy of Eastern European states, and the move from apartheid to democracy in South Africa, the media was
indeed instrumental in countering hegemonic discourse in some cases; but in others, it was less effective. Interest in the role of media in consolidating tenuous transitions to a democratic order finds its roots in the liberal conception of freedom of the press as one of the cornerstones of a healthy democracy.6 Celebrated as a chief feature of the Western liberal model, the “watchdog” role of media in monitoring and redressing a regime’s wrongdoing is difficult to implement in a previously closed and heavily manipulated media industry. While media played a major role in fostering legitimacy for new democratic institutions transitioning away from authoritarian rule, it at times assumed an inhibiting role, actively consolidating the status quo and delegitimizing democratic change.
While most scholarly work on the relationship between media and democracy is grounded in a Western context, the experience of the recent political change under the aegis of the so-called Arab Spring presents an invaluable opportunity to extend the comparative analysis of media systems and democratization to the Arab context, with the aim of analysing whether the existing literature on the relationship between media and democratization is corroborated or contested by these new democratic experiments. In so doing, this study adopts an inclusive conception of democracy, going beyond the election of competent elites to recognize the importance of civic cultures that embed democratic practices in all of life’s facets.7
This book summarises the main findings of a large volume of field research I conducted in Tunisia, Egypt, and Libya between 2012 and 2015 with journalists from print and broadcast media.8 My chief aspiration is to provide original narratives of the political transformations in the so-called Arab Spring countries as told by the lived experiences of the journalists reporting on them. By engaging with journalists’ narratives and perceptions of political and media democratization, the book aims to provide a comparative analysis of media and political transitions unfolding in fluid and fast-moving environments, while taking into consideration the particularities of the former regimes and national contexts.
This book aspires to answer key questions on the relationship between traditional media and political change in the context of tumultuous Arab transitions to democracy. In so doing, it aspires to fill gaps of knowledge surrounding the complex and multi-layered interplay between media and politics in the context of Arab transitions to democracy, and the impact national media brings to this process, a topic which is still largely underresearched. Based on the extant international scholarly work on media
and democratization, we seek to complement and extend the discussion beyond the Western context. The aim of this analysis is twofold: Firstly, it analyses the interplay between national media and political actors to understand to what extent media is contributing to fostering or impeding the fragile political transformations. Secondly, the study dissects dynamics of transformations within traditional newsrooms themselves during their difficult evolution towards embracing open and professional practices.
The notion of media “systems” has been fairly criticized for failing to accommodate changes in the media industry in the globalized world following the digital revolution that transcended the boundaries of nationstates and conventional mass media. This research pays special attention to the interactions between old and new media in the lived experiences of traditional journalists, working with notions of “media space” or “media landscape” whereby the connections between media institutions, technologies, and practices are better reflected.9
Based on extensive empirical research, the analysis adopts an original and unexplored perspective, investigating the specific pathways developed by Arab media in transition and unearthing media practices and values in detail. By engaging with a fluid media landscape as it adapts to the uncertainties of the transition, the study aims to draw a profile of the news community and journalists’ understanding of their profession, their perceptions of political and media democratization, and their identity as active agents in this process, with specific research on distinct groups within these larger communities—such as the talk show hosts in Egypt.10 The research was conducted with traditional journalists, those who work in institutional media where production follows editorial processes defined by the institution, as opposed to the unstructured forms of free expression favoured by cyber-activists. The notion of traditional media encompasses print and broadcast media outlets, but also new websites where the process of production follows internal institutional mechanisms. National media are defined as those media outlets that are governed by national rules and regulations on media, and target national audiences as opposed to pan-Arab media outlets that target audiences across regional borders.
The empirical research applies a thematic analysis11 of semi-structured interviews with journalists using the following topic guide:
• Journalists’ understanding of professional journalism and their relationship to their news sources
• Regulatory reforms in the media sector
• The process of institutionalization of media outlets and newsrooms
• The process of identity change for journalists
• Censorship and self-censorship
• Shifting dynamics developed between media and the political sphere
• Media funding schemes and their impact on media production
Prior to field visits, which were conducted in various phases of political transitions in each country covered by the study, a list of contacts was built through meticulous monitoring of the media in order to guarantee that the samples provided an accurate and balanced representation of this industry. Indicators such as age, gender, media genre, and position within the institutional hierarchy were taken into consideration in building samples of around 50 journalists in each country, in addition to other stakeholders such as media owners, union representatives, and media experts. While following the topic guide, the interviews were focused on the personal stories of journalists, allowing them to reflect on their professional journey while referring to practical examples from their own career and daily practice. In addition to qualitative interviews, the analysis used data from sustained media monitoring that followed relevant developments such as the reform of media regulations, and media debates around topics such as editorial independence, media funding, and the future of state media. This monitoring informed case studies used in various chapters. All the interviews were originally conducted in Arabic. The quotes as they appear have been translated into English.
Chapter 2 presents the main features of the media regulatory reform in Tunisia, Libya, and Egypt, along with a comparative analysis of the trends and challenges of media reform. Topics include media funding and ownership regulation, coercive legal dispositions, and attempts to liberate national media from the grip of Ministries of Information. Special attention is paid to the privatization of the national media, often celebrated as the pathway to liberate media practices from governments’ grip (while excessive privatization is criticized as potentially leading to a fragmented and fractious media landscape). The free-market approach to media liberalization has arguably three central flaws: it excludes broad social interests, leads to a concentration of media ownership, and promotes cultural uniformity.12 In a transitional context, different political forces and religious, and ethnic or sectarian groups often aim to control the national media, leading to a lack of genuine independence and a reduction of the public interest in order to serve partisan, religious, or ethnic interests.13
Chapter 3 reflects on how Arab journalists define professional journalism in relation to their sources, the representation of diverse point of views, and media activism.14 It reflects on the complexity of journalists’ own perceptions of their roles and identities, and how these perceptions are shaped and constrained by cultural and political factors. The chapter provides a comparative analysis of journalists’ experiences of professionalism, taking into consideration international experiences and current academic literature on the subject.15 With the relative and informal opening of the media and political spheres post-uprising(s), traditional journalists were faced with the challenge of reviewing their entrenched self-censorship habits and dubious relations with political actors. The continuous swing between reverential, radical, and monitory models in reporting politics shows the difficulty of reconciling old and new habits, that is, what journalists were used to doing and the new models introduced by professional training and audiences’ changing expectations. The internal resistance to change within newsrooms is best reflected by the return of the “patriotic” journalist ideal in opposition to the Western “watchdog” model, with the latter being negatively painted by journalists as a denial of so-called “patriotic duty”.16
Chapter 4 maps the forms of interactions and collusions between journalists and political actors. The political role of journalists during these transitions is particularly important, due to the re-fragmentation of the political sphere in the aftermath of regimes’ fall.17 The excessive political engagement of journalists caught in the “ideological crossfire”18 postuprising(s) is to be expected, given the media’s transition from a closed to an open and professional institution. Players in the political system often use public communication to “mediate their respective positions and reach or break agreements”.19 In such contexts, the role of journalists as intermediaries is crucial.
Existing research on the role played by Arab traditional media as agents of political change largely focuses on pan-Arab satellite television channels, but there is little consensus on the effectiveness of these networks in fostering real change in this region.20 This chapter concentrates on the national media, previously used by regimes primarily as a platform for propaganda, and their role in the sweeping political changes in the region. The postuprising(s) phase witnessed an expanded function for talk show hosts willing to employ their personal agency to support various ideological agendas and political camps.21 Egyptian talk show moderators were particularly vocal and prominent. The chapter also investigates the complex interplay
between these media stars and the political agents, drawing on data from field interviews in Egypt and media monitoring, as well as existing international scholarly analysis on media elites.22 While the role of Egyptian talk shows was pivotal in disseminating information to the masses before the events of January 201, post-uprising, these shows became the main platform for political lobbying in service of conflicting ideological camps and interests, adopting a heightened, emotionally charged tone. After the military coup, these shows transformed into a platform for incitement and antagonism, to the extent that they featured blunt calls for social exclusion and physical eradication of political opponents.
Chapter 5 pays special attention to the thorny process of reforming state media, from a redundant and stale structure to a provider of quality public-service information. For a short time post-uprising(s), state media journalists managed to include diversity and fair representation into their practices. Major progress was achieved, including newsrooms’ rebellion against the official communiqué they were accustomed to using as a primary (often only) source when covering highly polemic events. Many media outlets adopted a larger scope of field, reporting not only on national events, but also on the daily needs and problems of local citizens. The chapter dissects the handicaps that have obstructed state media reform: practices of self–censorship, interdependence with the political sphere, and the state media’s seemingly immutable identity as guardians of the regime. The combination of professional training and relative independence from executive powers has so far helped sustain the state media reform in Tunisia. However, this success remains highly fragile, as Tunisia still lacks the inclusive new structures that would protect this reform from changing political tides.23
New forms of political activism by traditional journalists and the interactions between old and new media in traditional newsrooms are the subjects of analysis in Chap. 6. In journalism studies, the notion of professionalism is deeply connected to the normative roles of the liberal and social-responsibility models.24 New journalistic practices, such as citizen or grassroots journalism, challenge the traditional notions of professionalism and threaten “the jurisdictional claims of professionals”.25 Despite this, cyber-activist and citizen journalists proved increasingly effective, especially in breaking news on polemic events, when traditional media were not able or willing to report on them, even after the regime lost control over traditional media. This chapter looks into the use of social media by traditional journalists to network with other producers and connect with
their audiences, but also to access news and information. Specifically we consider the growing trend among journalists to adopt a personal, emotional style that mimics that of bloggers, thus leading to a blurred identity, that is, at once journalist and activist. Divisions within the journalistic community, impacted by both the inclusion of citizen journalists in traditional newsrooms and the adoption of bloggers’ engaged style in reporting on highly divisive political developments, are meticulously described in the chapter, along with reflections on traditional journalists’ experiences and perceptions of their relationship to the blogosphere.
Chapter 7 analyses and questions the role of traditional Arab journalists as agents of democratic change in the particularly arduous and unpredictable transition from autocracy. Solidly linked to both political setbacks and successes, media democratization is itself a major factor in shaping the outcome of the transition. As Voltmer argues, “transitions to democracy are social experiments that affect virtually all aspects of a society”.26 The fall of national media into antagonism and its excessive use to incite political adversity have been a tough blow to this process. In Egypt, excessive media antagonism led to creation of a public opinion supportive of repressive measures and the suppression of rights and press freedoms. The persistent characterization of political adversaries as “others”—dangerous enemies that needed to be eradicated from within—exacerbated the antagonism of these transitions and in some cases, led to a relapse into autocracy.27 While reflecting on existing literature on the role of media as an agent to support democratic change,28 the chapter attempts to complement it by drawing on specific examples from Arab journalists’ experiences.
Beyond its academic and policy contribution, the book aspires to present an important advocacy tool, providing original insight for regulatory reforms in the countries studied, as well as media development programmes in the region, based on assessment by journalists themselves of their roles and needs. Most importantly, this book is the story of the journalists’ itinerary in reporting knotty political transformations while coping with the dramatic implications for their lives as citizens. It is the story of the journalists’ struggle for professional legitimacy and independence amid a surge of repressive measures against freedom of expression and civil liberties in the name of fighting terrorism and preserving national security as well as raging violence. According to a local NGO in Cairo, the Arabic Network for Human Rights Information, to date at least 60 Egyptian journalists have been put behind bars for doing their job, a record number.29
Some of them were arrested at their offices, and their current whereabouts are kept secret by security services.30 This book is also the story of these political transformations and public debates, narrated through the eyes of professional journalists.
Finally, this book is about Arab journalism, but it is meant to be itself a journalistic work as much as an academic one. In recording the experiences of these journalists, I was continuously navigating between the dual roles of journalist and academic. For long years, I was, like them, in the region reporting on complex political developments in a fluid and unsafe environment as a correspondent for international media organizations. Some of their daily challenges are the same as what other journalists encounter as they struggle for independence anywhere in the world; other challenges are unique to them. This book aspires, most of all, to convey their voice.
NOTES
1. See Nezar AlSayyad and Muna Guvenc, “Virtual Uprisings: On the Interaction of New Social Media, Traditional Media Coverage and Urban Space during the ‘Arab Spring’,” Urban Studies (2013); Asef Bayat, Life as Politics: How Ordinary People Change the Middle East (US: Stanford University Press, 2013); Simon Cottle, “Media and the Arab Uprisings of 2011: Research Notes,” Journalism 5 (2011); Christos A. Frangonikolopoulos and Ioannis Chapsos, “Explaining the Role and the Impact of the Social Media in the Arab Spring,” GMJ: Mediterranean Edition 1 (2012).
2. See Walid El Hamamsy and Mounira Soliman, Popular Culture in the Middle East and North Africa: A Postcolonial Outlook (New York: Routledge, 2013).
3. Arab Media Outlook, “Arab Media: Exposure and Transition,” Dubai Press Club, Dubai, (2012); Asda’ABurson-Marsteller, “Arab Youth Survey 2012,” May 2, 2012, accessed September 2014, http://asdaabm.com/ content.php?menu=research&page=69.
5. Vicky Randall, “The Media and Democratization in the Third World,” Third World Quarterly, 3 (1993); Thomas Skidmore (ed.), Television, Politics and the Transition to Democracy in Latin America (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993); Silvio Waisbord, “The Mass Media and Consolidation of Democracy in South America,” Research in Political Sociology 7 (1995); Katrin Voltmer, The Media in Transitional Democracies (Cambridge: Polity, 2013).
6. Fred S. Siebert, Wilbur Schramm and Theodore Peterson, Four Theories of the Press (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1956).
7. Peter Dahlgren, Media and Political Engagement: Citizens, Communication and Democracy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009).
8. The project “Arab Revolutions: Media Revolutions” was funded by Open Society Foundations and conducted field research in Tunisia, Libya and Egypt with traditional journalists of national media on the link between democratization and media as well as national media democratization.
9. See Terry Flew and Silvio Waisbord, “The Ongoing Significance of National Media Systems in the Context of Media Globalization,” Media, Culture & Society (2015): 1–17.
10. See Fatima El Issawi, “Egyptian Media Under Transition: In the Name of the Regime…In the Name of the People?,” POLIS, London School of Economics, March 2014; Sahar Khamis, “The Transformative Egyptian Media Landscape: Changes, Challenges and Comparative Perspectives,” International Journal of Communications 5 (2011).
12. James Curran, “Rethinking the Media as a Public Sphere,” in Communication and Citizenship: Journalism and the Public Sphere, ed. P. Dahlgren and C. Sparks (London: Routledge, 1991), 47.
13. See Silvio Waisbord, “Latin America,” in Public Sentinel: News Media & Governance Reform, ed. Pippa Norris (Washington, DC: The World Bank, 2010).
14. Hussain Amin, “Freedom as a Value in Arab Media: Perceptions and Attitudes among Journalists,” Political Communication 2 (2002); Nayla Hamdy, “Arab Investigative Journalism Practice,” Journal of Arab & Muslim Media Research 1 (2013).
15. Clifford G. Christians and others, Normative Theories of the Media, Journalism in Democratic Societies (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2009); Remy Rieffel, Que sont les médias? [What are the Media?] (Paris: Gallimard, 2005).
16. Fatima El Issawi and Bart Cammaerts, “Shifting Journalistic Roles in Democratic Transitions: Lessons from Egypt,” Journalism 17, no. 5 (2016).
17. Chantal Mouffe and Ernesto Laclau, Hegemony and Socialist Strategy: Towards a Radical Democratic Politics (London: Verso, 1985), 127.
18. James Curran, ‘Rethinking the Media as a Public Sphere”.
19. Paolo Mancini, “The Public Sphere and the Use of News in a ‘Coalition’ System of Government,” in Communication and Citizenship: Journalism and the Public Sphere, ed. Peter Dahlgren and Colin Sparks (London: Routledge, 1991), 142.
20. Muhammad I. Ayish, “Political Communication on Arab World Television: Evolving Patterns,” Political Communication 2 (2002); Kai Hafez, “Arab Satellite Broadcasting,” Real Arab World 1 (2006).
21. Fatima El-Issawi, “In Post-Revolution Egypt, Talk Shows Redefine the Political Landscape,” Foreign Policy, October 10, 2013, accessed November 10, 2015, http://foreignpolicy.com/2012/10/10/in-postrevolution-egypt-talk-shows-redefine-the-political-landscape/.
22. Remy Rieffel, L’elite des journalistes: Les herauts de l’information [Journalists’ Elite] (Paris: Sociologie D’Aujourd’hui, 1984); Serge Halimi, Les nouveaux chiens de garde [The New Watchdogs] (Paris: Liber-Raisons D’Agir, 1997).
23. Larbi Chouikha, La difficile transformation des medias [The Difficult Transformation of Media] (Tunis: Finzi, 2015).
24. Silvio Waisbord, Reinventing Professionalism: Journalism and News in Global Perspective (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2013).
25. Seth C. Lewis, “The Tension between Professional Control and Open Participation,” Information, Communication & Society 6 (2012): 850.
26. Katrin Voltmer, “The Mass Media and the Dynamics of Political Communication in Processes of Democratization: An Introduction,” in Mass Media and Political Communication in New Democracies, ed. Katrin Voltmer (London: Routledge, 2006), 1.
27. Chantal Mouffe, On the Political (London: Routledge, 2005).
28. See Daniel Hallin and Paolo Mancini, Comparing Media Systems: Three Models of Media and Politics (NY: Cambridge University Press, 2004); James Franck Hollifield and Calvin C. Jillson (ed.), Pathways to Democracy. The Political Economy of Democratic Transitions (London: Routledge, 2000); Vicky Randall, “The Media and Democratization in the Third World,” Third World Quarterly 3 (1992); Thomas Skidmore (ed.), Television, Politics and the Transition to Democracy in Latin America (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993).
29. See a list prepared and released by the Arabic Network of Human Rights Information detailing names of Egyptian journalists behind bars as of July 2015, http://anhri.net/?p=146255.
30. Committee to Protect Journalists, “Egypt Arrests Three Journalists in Five Days, Whereabouts of Two Unknown,” October 26, 2015, accessed November 10, 2015, https://cpj.org/2015/10/egypt-arrests-threejournalists-in-five-days-where.php.
Regulatory Media Reform: The Legacy of the Past and Burdens in the Present
Historically throughout the Arab world, national governments have used repressive laws to muzzle the national media and implement a culture of self–censorship. Regimes have used their Ministries of Information to ensure that media content is not infringing on entrenched red lines and to preserve their ability to enforce predetermined narratives and autocratic practices.
The processes of media reform launched post-uprising(s) were attempts to abolish repressive features in the regulatory framework. This goal has not been met, as a heavy arsenal of restrictive legal dispositions persists that make professional journalistic practices practically impossible. Attempts to abolish Ministries of Information have been generally unsuccessful, with new regimes opting for the reinstatement of these ministries as a “necessary measure” to discipline the chaotic media landscape that prevailed in the aftermath of the old regimes’ fall.
In this chapter, I will present an overview of the main features of the media industries in Tunisia, Libya, and Egypt, looking at commonalities and particularities in these landscapes. I will analyze the major features of media reform and the main handicaps that threaten its successes. I will also present principal amendments and changes within the regulatory framework governing national media, both state-run and private. (It is important to note that a later chapter will deal in detail with state-run media and the reform of this media sector.)
Media reform in Tunisia can be considered the most advanced in terms of moving to an open and diversified media landscape. However, this reform process remains very fragile—basic features of the plan still need to be approved by the new, largely conservative parliament, the first elected after the political transition post-uprising. Many doubt the new electorate’s willingness to embrace progress and their sympathy towards these reforms. Journalists and media outlets continue to face physical and verbal attacks and legal intimidation, raising questions regarding the effectiveness of this process. New legal dispositions prescribed by anti-terror laws threaten to impose additional restrictions on independent reporting.
a. Old Media: The Same Old Story
The media industry in Tunisia has undergone drastic changes since the Jasmine revolution of 2011, moving away from a unilateral narrative toeing the regime’s line to a diversified landscape reflecting the dynamism of the new political and social scene. A comprehensive legal and institutional reform process was launched immediately after the uprising with the aim of removing the repressive features of the old media system and introducing liberal ones. The Tunisian media was known as being among the most heavily censored media industries in the Arab world. As such, it was managed and controlled by a number of governmental bodies that insured media content adhered closely to the official discourse. Taking a “carrot and stick” approach, the government used advertisement and public subsidies as efficient control mechanisms, rewarding those outlets that were reverential and sanctioning those that were critical, thus jeopardizing the survival of independent media projects.1
In its bid to present an image of reform, the Ben Ali regime allowed the introduction of private broadcast media in its later years, in what was perceived internally and internationally as a cosmetic attempt to modernise national media. The audio-visual sector, previously under heavy government control, was opened up to private broadcasters, leading to the launch of two private television channels2 and ten radio stations. The nature of the ownership of this private media sector, tied to the regime through friendship, family, or de facto nepotism, meant that its media content was as reverential as that provided by state media. The prohibition of private broadcast media from tackling politics made their impact on
public opinion essentially null and void. According to a World Bank report released in May 2014, Tunis-based radio and TV stations, in addition to newspapers and magazines, were at least part-owned by a member of the Ben Ali family.3 In regard to print media, the regime tolerated private presses but imposed several restrictions that hindered their viability, such as depriving them of advertisements coming from public administrations.
State and private media alike had to abide by editorial rules set by the regime, especially the prohibition of tackling the inner affairs of the Ben Ali family and topics such as corruption, the wealth disparity, or poverty. The Ministry of Communications held overall responsibility for the management of Tunisian media, while the Ministry of Interior was responsible for approving applications for new print publications. Neither Ministry released clear criteria or made any attempt to justify their decisions. The system of license provision for private broadcast was equally inconsistent and overrun by nepotism.4 The approval or rejection of a license application was linked to politics without due process of any kind.
A major player in this landscape was the Agency for External Communication, created in 1990 as part of the Ministry of Communications. The agency was responsible for distributing the advertising revenues from public administrations—fundamental for the economic viability of various media outlets—to these organizations. The agency was also tasked with encouraging international media outlets to publish friendly and positive reports on the regime by sponsoring journalistic trips to Tunisia or even paying direct remunerations for such publications.5 One of the most prominent beneficiaries of these trips was the former French Minister of Foreign and European Affairs, Michèle Alliot-Marie. She was forced to step down after the French press published the news of her Christmas holiday to Tunisia while the uprising was raging.6
Another important player, The Tunisian Internet Agency7 (rebranded now as Attounissiya Internet) was responsible for policing online content, effectively blocking online pages containing any content that could annoy the regime or question its practices. After the revolution, access to the internet became uncensored; as a result, the agency has struggled to redefine its identity. Recently, the agency’s management has frequently spoken out against attempts to return to an era of internet filtering.8 For instance, the agency resisted calls for imposing a blanket ban on access to pornographic websites, a ban that was overruled by Tunisia’s highest court.9 The management of radio and television signal distribution was the jurisdiction of the National Broadcasting Corporation or Office National de Télédiffusion (ONT).
It was the regime’s control instrument, operating in part by restricting access to the frequencies that enabled transmissions of broadcast content.10 It is currently under the oversight of the new broadcast regulator (HAICA) and has assumed a purely technical function.
The fall of the Ben Ali regime was followed by an immediate suspension of the functions of most of these bodies. The Ministry of Communications that used to oversee the sector11 was abolished, and the previously powerful Agency for External Communications was largely stripped of its prerogatives. However, no comprehensive restructuring of the former media system and its main agents was implemented.
The end of the previously rigidly regulated and monotone industry unleashed a long-repressed and eager appetite for publishing. According to the National Authority for the Reform of Information and Communication (INRIC), the body that was tasked by the first interim government with overseeing the reform of the media, as of November 2011, a total of 228 new Tunisian print publications had sprung up post-uprising,.12 Since then, a large number of these publications have simply vanished. There are today a dozen dailies and around 30 periodicals, in addition to roughly 30 public TV and radio stations, and around 10 private television stations.13 Print publications formerly owned by the ruling party14 and which used to act as a platform for disseminating its ideology and narratives, were shut down, and their staffs merged into the state owned media. The Prime Minister’s office confiscated those outlets that once belonged to the Ben Ali family and nominated “judicial administrators” to oversee their new management. The ownership situation and future of these outlets remains unclear. The Prime Minister’s office also created a special unit for managing relations with national and international media, including granting accreditations for foreign correspondents, and dissolved the Agency for External Communications in January 2014, merging its staff and resources with that of the Prime Minister.15 However, there are no clear rules on the distribution of public advertising revenues.
b. Regulatory Reforms: The Struggle for Legitimacy
The regulatory reform of Tunisian media focused primarily on abolishing the repressive legal features governing the media and setting the basis for a liberal and modern new legal framework. However, the process was hampered by a lack of support from politicians and fading enthusiasm from journalists. In the aftermath of the revolution, a
consultative non-statutory body called the National Authority for Reform of Information and Communication (INRIC) was formed and entrusted with leading the media reform.16 Composed of media professionals and legal experts and led by the internationally renowned Tunisian journalist Kamel Labidi, the new authority worked under the remit of the High Authority for the Achievement of the Revolutionary Objectives (Haute instance pour la réalisation des objectifs de la revolution, de la réforme politique et de la transition démocratique). The latter body was tasked with laying the foundations for the new republic—a function that was terminated in October 2011 when the Constituent Assembly was elected. The new body was charged with “proposing reforms for the information and communication sectors with consideration of international criteria on freedom of expression”.17
These authorities produced three essential decrees; the first of these was the rewriting of the Press Code. The old Press Code (Law 32–1975), which had been amended four times in recent history—in 1988, 1993, 2001, and 2006—was heavily restrictive.18 Physical and financial penalties were imposed on journalists for threatening “internal and external state security” and “public order”, pursuant to vaguely worded legal dispositions. The Ministry of Interior applied these penalties arbitrarily and directed them mostly against those expressing political dissent. Defamation was treated as a criminal offense with prison terms imposed for “defamatory” speech expressed against public officials, the president, state institutions, foreign heads of state and foreign diplomats, and religious groups.19 The length of defamation sentences depended on the official status of the defamed.
The new Press Code (Decree 115–2011 of November 2, 2011) guarantees “freedom of exchanging, publishing, and receiving news and views of all kinds”. It recognizes some of most important and basic media rights, such as journalists’ access to information, the confidentiality of sources, and journalists’ protection against physical or economic threats as a result of exercising these rights, expressing opinions, or disseminating information. The new code abolishes all forms of licensing for print publications, replacing the old licensing process with a notification procedure before the judiciary. The decree imposes transparency on funding, ownership, editorial management, and circulation of these publications. Furthermore, it adopts anti-monopoly measures, such as prohibiting any single individual from owning two political publications that exceed 30% of the overall daily circulation of similar publications at the national level. The majority of prison sentences, including those for defamation and slander, have
been abolished in favour of fines, with imprisonment reserved for a very limited number of offenses. Among those offenses are endorsing terrorism or war crimes, incitement to religious or racial hatred, disseminating ideas about racial discrimination, and publishing information related to legal cases of rape against minors.20 In its final report, INRIC stated that these restrictions would be “limited to what it is necessary to satisfy a legitimate interest and according to the required measures in a democratic society”.21 Most importantly, the new text stipulates a unified sentence for defamation, regardless of the status of the defamed person.
A second decree (Decree 41–2011 dated May 26, 2011), allows journalists unprecedented access to governmental documents, a matter that was strictly denied under the former regime. The new decree obliges governmental bodies to facilitate access by journalists and the public to these documents. If a public administration refuses to disclose documents, it can be sued and held accountable.22 However, this decree was criticized for its many exceptions, which threaten to transform it into a cosmetic guarantee.
The third decree, (Decree number 116–2011 dated November 2, 2011), guarantees freedom for the broadcast sector and establishes an independent regulator—the High Independent Authority for Audiovisual Communication, Haute Authorit eIndependante de le Communication Audiovisuelle or HAICA—tasked with overseeing the broadcast industry. Some restrictions were imposed on this newborn freedom, mostly the obligation to respect privacy, religious practice, the protection of children, and public health. The old restrictions related to the “protection of public order” and “national security” were not abolished, but were limited to special cases. According to former HAICA member Riad Ferjani, the definition of what can be considered a violation of national security was limited to few well-defined cases, namely, the dissemination of hate speech and direct calls for infighting, thus following the definitions of such crimes in international treaties ratified by Tunisia.23
Based on the decree establishing the new regulatory body, HAICA is composed of nine members representing various sectors in society.24 This participatory structure aims to bring together journalists, media owners, and representatives of the political power, and the judiciary system, in order to guarantee inclusive representation and thereby avoid any political manipulation. This is crucial, since HAICA exercises significant regulatory, consultative, and judicial powers, including approving new operating licenses, producing license specifications (cahiers de charge) for public broadcasting outlets, and ensuring the plurality of the media’s output,
especially in political programs and during electoral campaigns. Most importantly, the independent body is empowered to sanction offenses committed by media outlets with gradually increasing penalties, ranging from infringement notices to fines and ultimately to the suspension or even withdrawal of operating licenses in extreme cases. The authority enjoys a binding say in all related law proposals as well as in the nomination of the heads of public broadcasters. It is considered “a tribunal of first instance,” which is to say, all its decisions on imposing sanctions can be appealed through the judicial system.25
While Decree 41 was endorsed immediately, Decrees 115 and 116 proposed by INRIC were enforced by the government only in October 2012 after being approved by the Constituent Assembly. Ultimately the INRIC’s team resigned, citing the continuous delays in implementing their dispositions, especially establishing a broadcast regulator, as an attempt by the Ennahda-led governing coalition to revert to old practices of media manipulation and evidence of a general lack of political will to support media reform.26
c. HAICA and Independence from Politics
The new broadcast regulator is a fragile body facing several challenges, chief among which is asserting its legitimacy in the eyes of the public and the new political powers that be. Although enshrined in laws, the birth of this independent body was continuously delayed and became a wrestling match between the Ennahda-led government and the secularist opposition.27 The HAICA was finally endorsed by the government and effectively born in May 2013. The government and its opposition also battled over granting the new regulator an executive power, via a biding say on the appointment of high-ranking managers in state broadcasting media, a process previously used by the regime to assert control over state media. The government continuously resisted giving up this prerogative, although the new regulator legally holds exclusive right over the nomination to these posts. For instance, the Ennahda-led government—popularly called the Troika government28—appointed five directors of public radio stations without consulting HAICA in August 2013.29 The government’s nomination of a new head of state-owned television in August 2012 who is considered to be close to Ennahda, as well as the nomination of new director for the state-owned Essabah publishing house who was accused of formerly being a member of security forces, sparked an uproar in the journalistic community.30
Another crucial battlefield for HAICA is the right to enforce its laws and regulations regarding content as they pertain to privately owned broadcasters. HAICA’s efforts to hold private broadcasters accountable has brought them into conflict with media barons vying to expand their influence over politics and economics; as a result, private media owners have frequently accused the regulator of attempting to inhibit media freedom. Providing a solution to the chaos reigning in media landscape that prevailed in the aftermath of the regime’s fall is another thorny challenge for the new regulator. Eight “pirate” television stations and ten “pirate” radio stations sprang up post-uprising, benefiting from the lawless environment of the times. HAICA urged the owners of these stations to adhere to the licensing process and formally apply, threatening to halt their operations otherwise.31 In addition, HAICA has to determine the status of those channels which received licenses under the former regime, as well as those who received provisionary licenses based on the recommendations of INRIC,32 many of which did not start operations.
Much of HAICA’s legitimacy has come from its being acknowledged in the country’s new constitution.33 Attempts to reduce the far-reaching powers of this body, transforming it into little more than an advisory committee, have failed by virtue of campaigns launched by civil society groups and the media community.34 The new constitution explicitly recognized the new regulator but changed the manner in which its members are chosen, stipulating they will be elected by the parliament, thus sparking valid fears for the body’s independence and its potential misuse for political purposes. According to Article 125 of the new constitution, all independent constitutional bodies “are elected by the People’s Assembly to which they present their annual report and before which they are responsible. They are elected by qualified majority”. Article 127 of the constitution clearly sets the prerogatives of HAICA, entrusting it with “the regulation and the development of the audiovisual sector. It seeks to ensure freedom of expression and information, the right of access to information and the establishment of a pluralistic and impartial media landscape. The authority enjoys a regulatory power in its area of competence and must be consulted for bills related to its area of competence”. According to the same article, HAICA is composed of nine members who should be “independent, neutral, competent, experienced and with integrity”. They should perform their duties “for a single term of six years with one-third of the body’s members renewed every two years”.35
The constitutional reforms stipulating an election process were largely criticized by the National Union for Tunisian Journalists. The professional syndicate particularly condemned the new composition of this body and the lack of input from the professional community. Many fear that HAICA’s transformation into an elected body will make it subject to under-the-table deals between political parties.36 The new regulatory body has yet to prove that it can exercise its functions in the face of interference aiming to undermine its independence.37 In the press sector, self-regulation is uniformly gaining popularity despite extreme political and media polarization. The National Union for Tunisian Journalists announced its plans to establish a national council for journalists which will assume an ethical role. One major task for this body would be to set a procedure for reviewing readers’ complaints, as well as the adoption of an ethical code for print journalists. Despite its obvious importance and popularity, this project is yet to be implemented.
The relation between the independent body and the current secular government is as troublesome as it used to be with Ennahda-led governing coalition. The recent government intervention to sack two senior executives from Tunisian state television sparked wide criticism and was slammed by the head of the Tunisian national journalists’ syndicate Naji Baghouri as “an arbitrary government intervention” and a “war on media”. The government’s decision to sack the tow executive and to replace them in breach of HAICA’s constitutional rights took the decision after the TV channel broadcasted a picture of the severed head of a teenager beheaded by Islamists, sparking public outcry although the picture did not clearly show the severed head.38
d. Legal Uncertainty and Anti-Terror Laws
The media reform in Tunisia was largely successful in dismantling most of the oppressive features of the former media system and in introducing new liberal features. Many have praised the new constitution adopted by the former Constituent Assembly on January 2014 as a major step towards enhancing freedom of expression. Article 31 of the new constitution guarantees freedoms of opinion, thought, expression, and media and publication without prior censorship. Article 32 guarantees the right to information and the right of access to information and communication networks.39
However, daily practices and governmental policies are not consistent with these guarantees. The judiciary system uses double standards in dealing with legal cases against journalists, applying both the new press code and the old repressive penal code. The frequent application of prison sentences in
legal cases pursuant to the penal code is transforming the judiciary into the government’s main tool to quell freedom of the press. Effective liberalization of Tunisia’s media sector will not be achieved without a comprehensive judicial review of all texts dealing with journalists’ offences, including the penal code.40 Legal cases targeting journalists on various grounds have become daily practice in Tunis. In addition to restrictions applied historically in the name of safeguarding national security, journalists also face new restrictions introduced post-uprising, manifested mainly in accusations of violating Islamic values. Among the many journalists facing these charges is Nabil Karoui, the director general of the privately owned Nessma TV station, which aired the French-Iranian film Persepolis including a scene depicting the main character talking to God. The lawsuit, which was filed by more than 140 lawyers, accused Karoui and two of his employees of complicity in airing a foreign film that would disturb public order and undermine public morality. In May 2012 Karoui was ultimately fined around $1,500.41
Lately, pressure and intimidation have intensified. TV camera operator Mourad Meherzi was arrested on charges including promoting a conspiracy to commit violence against government officials for filming an egg being thrown at a government minister in August 2013. Meherzi, if convicted, could face a possible seven-year prison sentence.42 In July 2015 Nour Edine Mbarki, the editor-in-chief of the privately owned news website Akher Khabar Online, was accused of complicity in the Sousse terrorist attack that killed at least 39 people, pursuant to the old antiterror law.43 The only evidence of his complicity was Mbarki’s publishing of a photograph depicting a car that purportedly transported the gunman. In addition to legal intimidation, journalists also face abuse at the hands of law enforcement agencies and police; increasing incidents of attacks against reporters criticizing security forces have prompted Reporters Without Borders to urge the government to take action.44
The gains of the Jasmine revolution in opening up the media and political spheres are threatened by governmental policies and decisions aimed at curbing media freedom. The government’s withdrawal of a freedom of information bill that was meant to replace Decree 41was widely criticized by media freedom groups.45 The bill was finally ratified by the parliament in March 2016, a development that was considered a victory for the Tunisian civil society especially that many exceptions on citizens’ right to access information were abolished. A highly controversial draft law was approved by the Council of Ministers in April 2015 granting additional powers and
protection to the security forces by banning any criticism against them. The draft law criminalizes any criticism of the country’s security forces and would impose a two-year jail term for those convicted of the offense; a ten-year jail term is imposed for acquisition or use of any security secret.46 The draft law is yet to be endorsed by the parliament.
The new anti-terror law adopted by the Tunisian parliament in 24 July 2015 sparked outcry from rights groups.47 According to Saloua Ghazouani, Director of ARTICLE 19 Tunisia, the main concern over this law is its broad and ill-defined provisions granting immunity to security forces, which could be interpreted as putting government employees above scrutiny and thus restricting freedom of expression and media.48 The law also includes articles that prohibit praising or condoning terrorism and inciting terror; broad interpretation of these articles could result in penalizing all street movements, protests, and civil society groups’ activities. In addition, the law allows extended incommunicado detention and weakens due process guarantees, such as allowing the police to interrogate a suspect without a lawyer for 15 days. The new adopted bill is fomenting fears of a resurgence of police state repression: it was implemented to replace a law adopted in 2003 under Ben Ali’s regime, a law under which about 3,000 people, many of whom were political dissidents, were tried on terrorism charges based on confessions extracted under torture.49 Aside from these individual measures, the future of media reform remains uncertain. The newly elected parliament is expected to vote on the decree laws 115 and 116; they can decide to adopt, amend, or reject them. According to Kamel Labidi, the current parliament is not particularity sensitive to the need for a professional and independent media industry.50
II. EGYPT: POLARIZATION AND COUNTER-REVOLUTION MEDIA
Since Egypt won independence from the United Kingdom in 1952, the country’s media has been largely state-owned. The nationalization of the press in 1956 created a heavy apparatus of state-owned media with the sole mission of voicing the regime’s message. The re-introduction of private media in late seventies helped diversify the media content, but failed to challenge existing taboos. National media remains governed by a set of heavily bureaucratic bodies tasked with not only organizing but also controlling the media content and operations.
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years of age, in the most approved method of saying “Turn Out.” So far indeed has our zeal in this laudable undertaking carried us, that we have actually communicated our ideas upon the subject to a lady, who, to quote from her own advertisement, “enjoys the advantages of an excellent education, an unblemished character, and an amiable disposition.” We are happy to inform our friends and the public in general that Mrs. Simkins has promised to devote her attention to this branch of female education. By the end of next month she hopes to be quite competent to the instruction of pupils in every mode of expressing “Turn Out”—the Distant Hint, the Silent Bow, the Positive Cut, the Courteous Repulse, and the Absolute Rejection. We trust that due encouragement will be given to a scheme of such general utility.
In the meantime, until such academy, or seminary, or establishment shall be opened, we invite our fair readers to the study of an excellent model in the person of Caroline Mowbray. Caroline has now seven-and-twenty lovers, all of whom have successively been in favour, and have been successively turned out. Yet so skilfully has she modified her severity, that in most cases she has destroyed hope without extinguishing love: the victims of her caprice continue her slaves, and are proud of her hand in the dance, although they despair of obtaining it at the altar. The twenty-seventh name was added to the list of her admirers last week, and was (with the most heartfelt regret we state it) no less a personage than the Hon. Gerard Montgomery. Alas! unfortunate Gerard!
Quantâ laboras in Charybdi, Digne puer meliore flammâ
He had entertained us for some time with accounts of the preference with which he was honoured by this miracle of obduracy, and at last, by dint of long and earnest entreaty, prevailed upon us to be ourselves witness to the power he had obtained over her affections. We set out therefore, not without a considerable suspicion of the manner in which our expedition would terminate, and inwardly anticipated the jests which “The King of Clubs” would infallibly broach upon the subject of Gerard’s “Turn Out.”
Nothing occurred of any importance during our ride. Gerard talked much of Cupids, and Hymen; but, inasmuch as we were not partakers of his passion, we could not reasonably be expected to partake of his inspiration.
Upon our arrival at Mowbray Lodge we were shown into a room so crowded with company that we almost fancied we had been ushered into the Earl’s levee instead of his daughter’s drawing-room. The eye of a lover, however, was more keen. Gerard soon perceived the Goddess of the Shrine receiving the incense of adulation from a crowd of votaries. Amongst these he immediately enrolled himself, while we, apprehensive that our company might be troublesome to him, hung back, and became imperceptibly engaged in conversation with some gentlemen of our acquaintance. To speak the truth, on our way to the Lodge these “Thoughts on Turn Out” had been the subject of our reveries, and whatever expressions or opinions we heard around us appeared to coincide with the cogitations with which we were occupied. We first became much interested in the laments of an old gentleman who was bewailing the “Turn Out” of a friend at the last election for the county of——. Next we listened to an episode from a dandy, who was discussing the extraordinary coat “turned out” by Mr. Michael Oakley at the last county ball. Finally, we were engaged in a desperate argument with a Wykehamist, upon the comparative degree of talent “turned out” from each of the public schools during the last ten years. Of course we proceeded to advocate the cause of our foster-mother against the pretensions of our numerous and illustrious rivals. Alas! we felt our unworthiness to stand forward as Etona’s panegyrist, but we made up in enthusiasm what we wanted in ability. We ran over with volubility the names of those thrice-honoured models, whose deserved success is constantly the theme of applause and the life-spring of emulation among their successors. We had just brought our catalogue down to the names of our more immediate forerunners, and were dwelling with much complacency on the abilities which have during the last few years so nobly supported the fair fame of Eton at the Universities, when our eye was caught by the countenance of our hon. friend, which at this moment wore an appearance of such unusual despondence, that we hastened immediately to investigate the cause. Upon inquiry, we learned that Montgomery was most romantically displeased, because Caroline had refused to sing an air of which he was passionately fond. We found we had just arrived in time for the finale of the dispute. “And so you can’t sing this to oblige me?” said Gerard. Caroline looked refusal. “I shall know better than to expect such a condescension again,” said Gerard, with a low sigh. “Tant mieux!” said Caroline, with a low curtsey. The audience were unanimous in an unfeeling
laugh, in the midst of which Gerard made a precipitate retreat, or, as O’Connor expresses it, “ran away like mad,” and we followed him as well as we could, though certainly not passibus æquis. As we moved to the door we could hear sundry criticisms on the scene. “Articles of ejectment!” said a limb of the law. “The favourite distanced!” cried a Newmarket squire. “I did not think the breach practicable!” observed a gentleman in regimentals. We overtook the unfortunate object of all these comments about a hundred yards from the house. His wobegone countenance might well have stopped our malicious disposition to jocularity; nevertheless we could not refrain from whispering in his ear, “Gerard! a decided turn out!” “I beg your pardon,” said the poor fellow, mingling a smile’ for his pun with a tear for his disappointment, “I beg your pardon; I consider it a decided take in.”
SOLITUDE IN A CROWD.
“This is to be alone; this, this is solitude.” B .
R ! Were you ever alone in a crowd? If not, thank your stars, and bestow a grain of pity upon those who must return a different response to the question. A crowded solitude, if we may use such a strange expression, is, in sober sadness, as melancholy a sensation as human nature is capable of enduring.
A crowded solitude! If you are young, thoughtless, and talkative, you will be astonished at the idea; and there will be nothing extraordinary in your surprise. The ancient poets—poor ignorant souls!—have given us a very different description of being alone. They have defined various kinds of solitude, suited to various descriptions of men; but all of them are alike founded on mistaken notions and groundless prejudice. Were we to follow their opinions, we should place the solitude of the lover in whispering groves, purling rills, and moonlight; that of the sage in a library or an observatory; that of the poet in a dish of vegetables and a Sabine farm; and à fortiori, that of the Etonian in an uncarpeted domicile, with a fractured window on the one side and a smoking fire on the other. Is this solitude? Far from it! We must most strenuously contend that true solitude is to be found in a multitude.
We are aware that the solitude we are now discussing is not that which is generally understood by the term. Many persons have probably never heard of any but a corporeal solitude; that which we are describing is mental. The one is to be found in caves and Caucasus; the other in theatres and Almack’s. The former delights in moonshine—the latter in candelabras; the first sets a great value upon the silence and pure air of the country—the second gives the preference to the noise and squeeze of the fashionable world; and which of these is real solitude—the corporeal, which is removed from the sight and hearing of all objects; or the mental, which both hears and sees a variety of things, and is utterly unconscious that it does either?
We are distrustful of our powers of description, and will therefore endeavour to illustrate our meaning by examples. We are provided with
plenty, for we have still in our recollection Lady Mordaunt’s last “At Home.” All the world was there. Whist, music, dancing, and last, not least, eating, were all going on in the usual style at the same time; the squeeze in the rooms was beyond parallel in the annals of ton; and of course we found more solitude in that evening than we had done throughout the whole season. We made our entrée when her ladyship was in her highest glory: she was bowing to one, smiling to another, and curtseying to a third, and straining every nerve and feature to do the proper to all her guests: this, however, was as impossible as the number of her satellites was innumerable; the tumult was tremendous; and there was so much bowing, and begging pardon, and getting out of the way, that it was quite impracticable to advance or recede a step. Good breeding and bare elbows were thrust in our faces alternately; we with difficulty preserved our toes from the frequent attacks made on them by kid slippers, and with still greater difficulty preserved our hearts from the sweet smiles that said “I beg ten thousand pardons.” It was a vortex of delight, and we were hurried so rapidly in its eddies, that much time elapsed ere we were able to collect our editorial serenity, in order to make a few observations on the scene before us.
The multitude at length began very slowly to diminish; and, having lodged ourselves in an unperceived corner of the music-room, we proceeded, according to our ancient custom, to speculate upon character. Our attention was first attracted by a tall gentleman of a very noble appearance, who was leaning against a pillar, in an attitude of profound meditation. His dress was after the English fashion, but the cast of his features, and his short curling hair, sufficiently denoted him to be a foreigner. His eyes were fixed directly upon us, but we satisfied our curiosity by an attentive survey, without fear of detection, as his mind was evidently some furlongs distant. Upon inquiry we heard that he was an Indian chieftain, by name Teioninhokarawn (we have doubts as to the correctness of our orthography). He had done considerable services to the British arms in the American war, and had now been invited by her ladyship as the lion of the evening. He had been surrounded without intermission by a tribe of quizzers, loungers, and laughers, but one glance was sufficient to convince us that Teioninhokarawn was—alone.
We observed Lady Georgiana Wilmot standing at the other side of the room, the very picture of fatigue. She had been singing much, and was
evidently quite exhausted. Λ young star of fashion was moving towards her with a languishing step; and, as we had a strong curiosity to hear his address, we changed our station for that purpose. “‘Pon my soul,” the gentleman began with a bow, “you are divine to-night.” “Am I?” said the lady, with a vacant gaze. “Never heard you in better voice,” returned her assailant. Her ladyship knew it was the tone of flattery, so she smiled, but she had neither spirits nor sense sufficient to attempt an answer. We immediately decided that Lady Georgiana was—alone.
We next proceeded to the card-room. At first the din, and the disputing, and the quarrelling was so loud, that we doubted whether we should find any solitude there; but another look convinced us of our mistake. Lord Mowbray was evidently—alone. He was walking up and down, deliberating whether he should sacrifice his conscience or his place at to-morrow’s division. Not less apparent was the solitude of the Duchess of Codille; although her Grace was busily engaged at cassino with a select party of right honourables. She had been for a long time alone in the contemplation of her new brocade, and was recalled into company by the vociferation of her partner, “Rat me if I ever saw your Grace play so ill!”
We were about to retire to the ball-room, when we remarked our noble hostess reclining on an ottoman, seemingly quite exhausted with fashionable fatigue. She was still, however, exerting herself to do the agréable, and was talking with appalling rapidity to every one who approached her, although utterly unconscious of what she heard or said. We advanced to pay our respects, and were saluted with “Ah, my lord! what has kept you away so long? And there’s Ellen, poor thing, dying to see you! Ellen, love!” With some difficulty we explained to her ladyship that she was mistaken as to our rank. “Eh! Mon Dieu! Sir Charles,” she exclaimed. “Pardonnez—but I’m really dead with ennui.” We allowed ourselves to be knighted without further explanation, and made a precipitate retreat, for we perceived that her ladyship, after the labour of the evening, would be very glad to be—alone.
The first survey we took of the ball-room presented us with nothing but cheerful faces and laughing eyes; at the second, we discovered even here much and melancholy loneliness. There were moralists without sense, and country squires without acquaintance; beaux without a thought, and belles without a partner. We hastened to make a closer study of the various characters which presented themselves.
We first addressed ourselves to Mr. Morris, a respectable Member of Parliament, with whom we had become acquainted the year before in Norfolk. “What! you’re not a dancer, Mr. Morris?” we began. “By the Lord, sir,” he returned, “if this Bill passes——” We passed on, much vexed that we had intruded on our worthy friend’s solitude.
We were hastening to accost Maria Kelly, a very interesting girl, whose lover had lately left this country for Minorca, when we were attracted by a conversation between an exquisite and our old acquaintance, General Brose. “Ah! General,” said the dandy, “how long have you ceased to foot it?” “Foot!” interrupted the General, “by Jupiter! their cavalry was ten thousand strong.” The old man was decidedly—alone.
Before we could reach the recess in which Maria was sitting, she had been assailed by an impertinent. “May I have the honour and felicity——” he began. The poor girl started from her reverie with a sort of vacant gaze, and replied, “He sailed last Tuesday, sir!” “Sola in siccâ,” said the impertinent, and lounged on. We had not the barbarity to speak to her.
Old Tom Morley, the misanthrope, had been admiring a wax taper in an unthinking sort of way ever since we entered the room. We went up, prepared to be witty upon him; but we had hardly opened our mouth when he cut us short with “For God’s sake leave me alone!” and we left him— alone. We were proceeding in our observations, when we saw Ellen Mordaunt, the beautiful daughter of our hostess, surrounded by a set of dashing young officers, at the other end of the room. We had just began to examine the features of one of them, who was somewhat smitten, and appeared prodigiously alone, when the idol herself turned upon us that bright and fascinating eye,
Which but to see is to admire, And oh! forgive the word to love!
We had originally inserted here a rhapsody on Ellen’s glance, which would have occupied, as our printer assures us, three pages and a half; but, in mercy to our friends, we have erased this, and shall content ourselves with stating that we were alone for at least ten minutes, before we recollected that it was five o’clock, and that we ought to think of retiring from the solitude of Lady Mordaunt’s “At Home.”
POLITENESS AND POLITESSE.
“I cannot bear a French metropolis.” J .
W have headed our article with two words which are very often, and certainly very improperly, confounded together. Nobody needs to be told that the one is from the English, the other from the French vocabulary; but there may perhaps be some who will be surprised to hear that the one expresses an English, the other a French quality.
Frown if you will, Monsieur Duclos, we must maintain that the English are the only people who have a true idea of politeness. If we are wrong, our error may be excused for the feeling which prompts it; but we believe we are right, and we will try to make our readers believe so.
The English are kind in their politeness—the French are officious in their politesse; the politeness of the English is shown in actions—the politesse of the French evaporates in sound; English politeness is always disinterested—French politesse is too often prompted by selfishness.
When we consider the various forms of these qualities, we appear to be discriminating between the rival merits of two contending beauties, who reign with equal dominion, and divide the admiration of an adoring world. There are many who prefer the ingenious delicacy of politeness, and we congratulate them on their truly English feeling; there are perhaps more who are attracted by the coquettish vivacity of politesse, and we do not envy them their French taste.
A variety of instances of both these traits must have occurred to everybody, but as everybody does not behold the shades of character through the exact medium of an editorial microscope, we will endeavour to bring out more distinctly those examples which seem to us to bear immediately on the subject.
When you dine with old Tom Hardy, he gives you little more than a joint of meat, a bottle of excellent port, and a hearty welcome; when Lord Urban “requests the honour” of your company, you are greeted with every delicacy the season can afford; you are pampered with every wine, “from humble port to imperial tokay,” and you are put to the blush by every form of
adulation that a wish to be civil can devise. Yet we had rather dine once with Tom Hardy than a hundred times with Lord Urban; for the mutton of the one is cooked by politeness, and the turtle of the other is dressed by politesse.
About a month ago, as we were shooting in the north of England with the son of a celebrated Tory baronet, we were encountered by Mr. Ayscott, a landed proprietor notorious for his Whig principles. We were somewhat surprised to see the latter divest himself of all prejudices in a moment; he came up to our companion with the greatest appearance of cordiality, shook him by the hand, reminded him that politics ought not to interfere among friends, knew he was fond of dancing, and hoped to see him frequently at Ayscott. Now this really looked like politeness; for politeness is that feeling which prompts us to make others happy and pleased with themselves, and which for this purpose puts off all dislike, all party spirit, all affectation of superiority. But when we were informed the next day that Mr. Ayscott had seven marriageable daughters, we decided that his behaviour was not politeness, but politesse.
We remember, shortly after Mrs. C. Nugent eloped with an officer in the dragoons, we were riding in Hyde Park with poor Charles, who endeavoured to bear his loss unconcernedly, and betrayed not, except to a close observer, the canker that preyed upon his heart. We were met in the Park by Sir Harry Soulis, an intimate acquaintance of our friend. He was riding at a brisk pace, but the moment he observed us he pulled up, and his flexible features immediately assumed the appearance of unfeigned sympathy. He came up to us, and began, “Ah Charles! How are you? How is this unfortunate business to end? I feel for you, Charles! Upon my soul, I feel for you! You know you may command me in anything”—and he rode on with the same air of nonchalance that he had first worn. Immediately afterwards we met Colonel Stanhope, who also halted, and entered into conversation. He inquired after our friend’s health, addressed a few indifferent remarks to us on the weather, bowed, and passed on. We are sure Nugent felt, as we should have felt under such circumstances: Soulis had wounded his feelings—Stanhope had spared them. The officiousness of the former was politesse—the silence of the latter was politeness.
But their distinct shades were never so fully impressed upon our minds as upon a visit which we lately paid to two gentlemen, during a short tour. The first specimen of their dissimilarity is to be found in the letters by
which we were invited to partake of their hospitality. They were as follows:
“As Mr. P. Courtenay will in the course of his tour be within a few miles of Melville Lodge, Mr. Melville hopes that he will not turn southward without allowing him, for one day at least, the gratification of his company.
“Melville Lodge, August 1820.”
“D P ,—You’ll pass within eyeshot of my windows on your way to Eastbourne. I am sure you’ll stop a moment to ask your old friend how he does, and we will try to detain you for the night.
“Yours, as sincerely as ever, “M W .
“P.S. The girls would send love if I’d let ’em.
“Hastings, August 1820.”
Our first visit was paid at Melville Lodge. We have known Mr. Melville long, and we know him to be one who is generally actuated by good motives; and when he is swayed by interested ones is himself unconscious of the fact. On the whole, his character is such that when he is absent we feel the strongest inclination to like him, and when we are in his company we feel an equally strong inclination to say, “Mr. Melville, you are a fool.” We arrived at the Lodge in good time to prepare for dinner, with its usual accompaniments of bows from our host, compliments from our hostess, and smiles from their daughters. A small party was invited to meet us, which somewhat diminished the frequency of the compliments we were doomed to undergo, while it rendered those which were actually forced upon us infinitely more distressing. We pass over the civilities we received at dinner, the care taken to force upon us the choicest morsels of fish, flesh, and fowl; the attention with which Mr. Melville assured us that we were drinking his very best champagne. We hasten to take notice of the far more perplexing instances of politesse which rendered miserable the evening. When tea and coffee had been disposed of, the Misses Melville sat down to the piano; and, as we are passionately fond of music, and the ladies excel in it, we should have been perfectly happy if we had been allowed to enjoy that happiness unmolested. Diis aliter visum est. Our sisters were known to be tolerable singers; à fortiori, we must be downright nightingales ourselves. Upon the word of an editor, we never committed any further outrage upon
harmony than what takes place when we join in the chorus of our witty associate Mr. Golightly or our well-meaning friend Mr. O’Connor, and we were now required to assist the Misses Melville in “La mia Dorabella.” Horrible idea! Peregrine Courtenay warbling Italian! His Majesty of Clubs sinking into an opera-singer! Politesse was sure he could sing—politesse knew he had a sweet voice—politesse knew we only refused from modesty. Politesse was disappointed, however, for we were immovably determined not to be made a fool. Nevertheless we felt somewhat uncomfortable at being the subject of general observation, and this feeling was not diminished by what followed. Politesse, in the shape of Mrs. Melville, whispered it about that the fat silent young gentleman in the black coat was a great writer, who had published an extraordinary quantity of learning, and was likely to publish an extraordinary quantity more. This was all intended to flatter our vanity, and the consequence was that we were bored throughout the remainder of the evening by hearing whispers around us, “Is that the gentleman Mrs. Melville was speaking of?” “I guessed who he was by the family likeness!” “I knew he was an author directly!” “How odd that he should be so reserved!” At the suggestion of politesse Mrs. Melville next discovered that we were precisely a year older than Kitty, and Mr. Melville hinted in a loud whisper that the girl would have ten thousand pounds. Finally, politesse prepared for us the great state bedroom; and, when we retired, insisted upon it that we had spent a most miserable evening. Alas! Politeness had hardly the grace to contradict politesse upon this point.
How different was the reception we received on the following day! Our old friend Mr. Warren rose from his armchair as we entered, with a look that set formality at defiance; Mrs. Warren put by her work to observe how much we were grown; and their two daughters greeted with a smile, beautiful because it was unaffected, the scarce-remembered playmate of their childhood. The flowers which Elizabeth was painting, the landscape which Susan was designing, were not hastily concealed at the approach of their guest; nor was our old acquaintance Shock, who was our favourite puppy ten years ago, driven in his old age from the parlour rug at the appearance of an idler dog than himself. The few friends who met us at dinner were not prepared to annoy us by accounts of our abilities and attainments. The conversation was general and entertaining; and on reconsideration we perceived that Mr. Warren took pains to draw out what talent we possessed, although we could not at the same time perceive that
such was the object of his attention. In the evening Elizabeth entertained us with Handel and Mozart, and Susan sang us some simple airs, in a voice perhaps the more engaging because it was uncultivated. We were allowed to enjoy the “melody of sweet sounds” unmolested and unobserved. The quadrille which followed was not danced with the less spirit because the Brussels carpet supplied the place of a chalked floor, and a single pianoforte was substituted for the formality of a band. We were happy—because we were permitted to enjoy our happiness in our own way; we were amused— because we did not perceive the efforts which were made for our amusement. “This,” we exclaimed, as we buttoned our coat, and proceeded on our journey the next morning—“this is real politeness.”
In spite of the endeavours of those who would dress our native manners in a Parisian costume, politesse will never be the motive by which England as a nation will be characterized. As long as France shall be the mother of light heads, and Britain of warm hearts, the Frenchman will show his politesse by the profundity of his bow, and the Englishman will prove his politeness by the cordiality of his welcome. Who is not content that it should be so?
A WINDSOR BALL.
W have often thought that the endeavours of a dancing master go but a very little way to prepare a lady for a ball. Were it possible to procure such an acquisition, we should recommend to our sisters not only a maître à danser, but a maître à parler, inasmuch as it is usually much easier to dance than to talk. One does not immediately see why it should be so; dancing and talking are in a ball-room equally mechanical qualifications; they differ indeed in this, that the former requires a “light fantastic toe,” and the other a light fantastic tongue. But for mind—seriously speaking, there is no more mind developed in small-talk than there is in chassez à droit.
We do not admire the taste of Etonians who dislike dancing; we are not of the number of those who go to a ball for the purpose of eating ice. On the contrary, we adore waltzing, and feel our English aversion for the French much diminished when we recollect that we derive from them Vestris and quadrilles. Nevertheless, if anything could diminish the attachment we feel for this our favourite amusement, it would be that we must occasionally submit to dangle at the heels of an icy partner, as beautiful, and, alas! as cold as the Venus de’ Medicis; whose look is torpor, whose speech is monosyllables; who repulses all efforts at conversation, until the austerity, or the backwardness of her demeanour, awes her would-be adorer into a silence as deep as her own. Now all this gravity of demeanour, in the opinion of some people, is a proof of wisdom: we know not how this may be, but for our own part we think with the old song, “’Tis good to be merry and wise,” and if we cannot have both—why, then the merry without the wise.
These are the ideas which occur to us upon looking back to the last time that we heard “Voulez vous danser?” played at the Town Hall. Start not, fair reader! do not throw us into the fire; we will not be very libellous; and if you shall erroneously suppose that your own defects have afforded matter for our malicious pen, we are sure your indignation will forthwith subside when you recollect that you may possibly have listened to the colloquial raptures of Gerard Montgomery, or been honoured with an editorial tête-àtête by the condescension of Peregrine Courtenay. Think over your favourite partners. Did any one ask your opinion of the Bill of Pains and
Penalties? It could be no one but Sir Francis Wentworth. Did any one hold forth upon the beauties of a Scotch reel? Of a surety it was Mr. Alexander M‘Farlane. Did any one observe to you that a quadrille was a “strange cross-road, and very hilly?” Doubt not but it was the all-accomplished Robert Musgrave. Did any one remark upon the immorality of waltzing? Thrice-honoured fair one! You have danced with Martin Sterling.
Alas! we intended, as Mr. Musgrave would say, to drive straight to the Town Hall, and we have got out of our road a full page. It is indeed a cruel delay in us, for we know, reader, say what you will, you have been all the time turning over the leaf to meet with a spice of scandal. Well, then, suppose all preliminaries adjusted; suppose us fairly lodged in the ballroom, with no other damage than a ruined Cavendish and a dirtied pump; and suppose us immediately struck dumb by the intelligence that the beautiful, the fascinating Louisa had left the room the moment before we entered it. It was easy to perceive that something of the kind had occurred, for the ladies were all looking happy. We bore our disappointment as well as we could, and were introduced to Theodosia—— No! we will refrain from surnames—— Theodosia is a woman of sense (we are told so, and we are willing to believe it), but she is very unwilling that any one should find it out. As in duty bound, we commenced, or endeavoured to commerce, a conversation by general observations upon the room and the music. By-theby, we strongly recommend these generalities to our friends in all conversations with strangers; they are quite safe, and can give no offence. In our case, however, they were unavailing—no reply was elicited. A long pause. We inquired whether the lady was fond of “The Lancers?” To our utter astonishment we were answered with a blush and a frown which would have put to silence a much more pertinacious querist than the Etonian—we ventured not another word. Upon after-consideration, we are sure that the lady was thinking of a set of dashing young officers instead of a set of quadrilles.
We were next honoured by the hand of Emily. When we have said that she is backward, beautiful, and seventeen, we have said all we know of the enchanting Emily. Far be it from us to attack with unwarrantable severity the unfortunate victim of mauvaise honte; we merely wish to suggest to one for whose welfare we have a real regard, that modesty does not necessarily imply taciturnity, and that the actual inconvenience of a silent tongue is not altogether compensated by the poetical loquacity of a speaking eye.
Being again left to ourselves, we sunk by degrees into a profound fit of authorship, and were in imminent danger of becoming misanthropic, when we were roused from our reverie by a tap on the shoulder from George Hardy, and an inquiry, “what were our dreams?” We explained to him our calamities, and assured him that, had it not been for his timely intervention, we should certainly have died of silence. “Died of silence!” reiterated our friend; “God forbid! when Corinna is in the room!” And so saying, he halfled, half-dragged us to the other end of the room, and compelled us to make our bow to a girl of lively manners, whom he described to us in a whisper as “a perfect antidote for the sullens.” Our first impression was, “she is a fool;” our second, “she is a wit;” our third, “she is something between both!” Oh! that it were possible for us to commit to paper one-half of what was uttered by Corinna! Our recollection of our tête-à-tête is like the recollection of a dream. In dreams we remember that we were at one moment in a mud-built cottage, and were the next transported to a Gothic chapel, but by what means the transmutation of place was effected our waking thoughts are unable to conceive. Thus it was when we listened to Corinna. We were hurried from one topic to another with an unaccountable velocity, but by what chain one idea was connected with its predecessor we cannot imagine. The conversation (if conversation it may be called, where the duty of talking devolves upon one person) set out with some mention of fresco; from hence it turned off to Herculaneum, and then passed with inconceivable rapidity through the following stages:—Rome—the Parthenon—National Monument at Edinburgh—Edinburgh Review Blackwood—Ebony bracelets—Fashion of short sleeves—Fashion in general dress in Queen Elizabeth’s time—“The Abbot”—Walter Scott— Highland scenery. In the Highlands we lost our route for some minutes, and soon afterwards found ourselves (we know not how) at Joannina, in company with Ali Pasha. By this time we were thoroughly wearied, and were unable to keep up regularly with our unfeeling conductress, so that we have but a very faint idea of the places we visited. We remember being dragged to the Giant at the Windsor Fair, from whence we paid a flying visit to the Colossus of Rhodes; we attended Cato, the lady’s favourite pug, during a severe illness, and were shortly after present at the Cato Street conspiracy. We have some idea that after making the tour of the Lakes, we set out to discover the source of the Nile. In our way thither we took a brief survey of the Lake of Como, and were finally for some time immersed in
the Red Sea. This put the finishing stroke to our already fatigued senses. We resigned ourselves, without another struggle, to the will and disposal of our sovereign mistress, and for the next half-hour knew not to what quarter of the globe we were conveyed. At the close of that period we awoke from our trance, and found that Corinna had brought us into the Club-room, and was discussing the characters of the members with a most unwarrantable freedom of speech. Before we had time to remonstrate against this manifest breach of privilege, we found ourselves in the gallery of the House of Lords, and began to think we never should make our escape from this amusing torture. Fortunately, at this moment a freeholder of—— entered the room. One of the candidates was a friend of Corinna’s, and she hurried from us, after a thousand apologies, to learn the state of the poll.
Sic nos servavit Apollo.[3]
Our next companion was Sappho the Blue-stocking. We enjoyed a literary confabulation for some time, for which we beg our readers to understand we are in every way qualified. The deep stores of our reading, enlivened by the pungent readiness of our wit, are bonâ fide the admiration of London as well as of Windsor belles; we beg our friends to have this in mind whenever they sit down to peruse us. But to proceed. We very shortly perceived that Sappho was enchanted with our erudition, and the manner in which we displayed it. She was particularly pleased with our critiques on “Zimmerman upon Solitude,” and was delighted by the praise we bestowed (for the first time in our life) on Southey’s “Thalaba.” We had evidently made considerable progress in her affections, when we ruined ourselves by a piece of imprudence which we have since deeply regretted. We were satirical—this satire is the devil!—we were satirical upon German literature. The lady turned up her nose, turned down her eyes, bit her lip, and looked—we cannot explain how she looked, but it was very terrific. We have since heard she is engaged in translating Klopstock’s “Messiah” into the Sanskrit.
We were next introduced to one of those ladies who are celebrated for the extraordinary tact which they display in the discovery of the faults of their sex. Catherine is indeed one of the leaders of the tribe. She has the extraordinary talent which conveys the most sarcastic remarks in a tone of the greatest kindness. In her the language of hatred assumes the garb of
affection, and the observation which is prompted by envy appears to be dictated by compassion. If in her presence you bestow commendation upon a rival, she assents most warmly to your opinion, and immediately destroys its effect by a seemingly extorted “but.” We were admiring Sophia’s beautiful hair. “Very beautiful!” said Catherine, “but she dresses it so ill!” We made some allusion to Georgiana’s charming spirits. “She has everlasting vivacity,” said Catherine, “but it’s a pity she is so indiscreet.” Then followed something in a whisper which we do not feel ourselves at liberty to repeat. We next were unguarded enough to find something very fascinating in Amelia’s eyes. “Yes,” replied Catherine, “but then she has such an unfortunate nose between them.” Finally, in a moment of imprudent enthusiasm, we declared that we thought Maria the most interesting girl in the room. We shall never (although we live, like our predecessors, Griffin and Grildrig, to the good old age of forty numbers), we shall never, we repeat, forget the “Some people think so!” with which our amiable auditress replied to our exclamation. We saw we were disgraced, and, to say the truth, were not a little pleased that we were no longer of Catherine’s Privy Council.
Now all these ladies are foolish in their way. Theodosia is a silent fool, Emily is a timid fool, Corinna is a talkative fool, Sappho is a learned fool, and Catherine is a malicious fool. With their comparative degrees of moral merit we have nothing to do; but in point of the agreeable, we hesitate not to affirm that the silent fool is to us the more insupportable creature of the five.
We lately were present at a large party, where an Etonian, for whom we have a great esteem, was terribly abused by a witty Marchioness for his inflexible taciturnity. Without entering upon the merits of this particular case, let us be allowed to plead in behalf of our sex, that a gentleman may be silent when a lady is silly, and that it is needless for a beau to be entertaining where a belle is decidedly impracticable.
LOVERS’ VOWS.
“What grace hast thou, thus to reprove These worms for loving?” S .
W were engaged the other day in making some purchases at Flint’s, when Lady Honoria Saville entered, attended by the Hon. George Comyn. As the lady is a professed coquette, and the gentleman a professed dangler, we conceived it by no means improper to play the listener; for the conversation of these characters is seldom such as to require much secrecy. We therefore placed ourselves in a convenient situation for hearing whatever was said by the beau, the belle, and the milliner, which last I consider the most rational person of the three. The questions which were put to her by her ladyship escaped us; they seemed to be conveyed, not in the language of common mortals, but in signs which were to us incomprehensible. Without exposing ourselves to the notice of either party, we were beyond measure amused at the timely aid which the milliner’s descriptions of her wares afforded to the lover’s description of his passion; for whenever the latter was at a loss for words, the former stepped in to finish his sentence, and occasionally gave a point to it, in which lovers’ vows are generally deficient.
When they first made their appearance, the gentleman was deposing upon oath to the truth of something of which his companion seemed to entertain doubts. He had run through some of the usual forms of adjuration, such as Sun, Moon, Stars, Venus, and Blue Eyes, when he was stopped by “Lovers’ vows, Comyn! lovers’ vows! Where do they come from?” “Where?” repeated the gentleman, in a theatrical attitude; “they come from a sincere affection, from a passionate heart, from a devoted adoration, from ——” “From Paris, I assure you, madam,” said the milliner, who was turning over some silks. “But I wonder, Comyn!” resumed her ladyship, “I wonder you can continue to bore me with this nonsense! Lovers’ vows have given me the vapours these last five years, and, after all, what are they worth?” “Worth!” reiterated the fop; “they are worth the mines of Peru, the diamonds of Golconda, the sands of Pactolus!” “They are worth five
shillings a pair, madam,” said the milliner, “and it’s really throwing them away.” She was talking of some kid gloves.
“You gentlemen,” said her ladyship, “must think us very weak creatures, if you fancy that we are to be imposed upon by any folly you choose to utter. Lovers’ vows have been proverbial since the days of Queen Bess, and it would be strange if, in 1820, we should not have found out what they are made of.” “In my case,” said the exquisite, “your ladyship is cruel in supposing them to be made of anything but the purest sincerity.” “They are made of the finest materials,” said the milliner, “and your ladyship can see through them like glass.” She was holding up to the window some stuff with a hard name, which we know nothing about. “Say what you will, Comyn,” said her ladyship,
Men were deceivers ever; One foot on sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never.
“Lovers’ vows are never intended to last beyond a day!” “Your ladyship is unjust!” replied the dandy; “they will last when all other ties shall be broken; they will last when the bond of relationship shall be cancelled, and the link of friendship riven; they will last——” “They will last for ever, madam, and wash afterwards!” said the milliner. She was speaking of some scarfs.
“Really, George,” observed her ladyship, “you would think me an egregious fool if I were to believe one quarter of what you say to me. Speak the truth, George, for once, if it is in your nature—should I not be folle— folle beyond measure?” “You love to trifle with my passion,” sighed the Honourable; “but this is what we must all expect! Fascinating as you are, you feel not for the woes of your victims; you are more insensible than flints—nothing is dear to you.” “Flint’s will make nothing dear to your ladyship,” said the milliner, wrapping up the parcel.
“In this age of invention,” said Lady Honoria, “it is surprising to me that no one has invented a thermometer to try the temperature of lovers’ vows. What a price would a boarding-school miss give for such an invention! I certainly will make the suggestion to young Montgomery, that writes the sonnets!” “Good God!” cried the worshipper, “where shall I send for such a test of sincerity? I would send to the suns of India, to the snows of Tobolsk;
I would send to the little-toed ladies of China, and the great-hatted chieftains of Loo-Choo; I would send——” “Shall I send it to your ladyship’s house?” said the milliner, holding up the parcel.
“Well,” said her ladyship, rising to leave the shop, “I shall contend no more with so subtle a disputant; my opinion of lovers’ vows remains unchanged, and I desire you won’t pester me with them at the Opera this evening, or I shall positively die of ennui.” We saw that this was meant as an assignation, and the Honourable George Comyn saw things in the same light. “How,” he cried, “how shall I thank your ladyship for this condescension? How shall I express the feelings of the heart you have rescued from despair? Language is too poor, utterance is too weak, for the emotion which I feel; what can I say?” “Much obliged to your ladyship,” said the milliner.
