Journal of Family History

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of Family History
''Happy'' Marriages in Early Nineteenth-Century France
Denise Z. Davidson
Journal of Family History 2012 37: 23
DOI: 10.1177/0363199011428123
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‘‘Happy’’ Marriages in Early
Nineteenth-Century France
Journal of Family History
37(1) 23-35
ª 2012 The Author(s)
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DOI: 10.1177/0363199011428123
http://jfh.sagepub.com
Denise Z. Davidson
Abstract
This article uses familial correspondence to examine how bourgeois families conceived of marriage in
the early nineteenth-century France. It argues that the companionate model of marriage, which was
gaining influence during these years, did not replace the earlier model of the arranged marriage but
rather was integrated into it. Marriages continued to be arranged by families but bourgeois couples
also sought love and companionship in marriage. Their sense of ‘‘happiness’’ was a very bourgeois kind
of happiness, however, based on economic security and domestic peace within the constraints of familial obligations.
Keywords
marriage, emotion, happiness, France, bourgeoisie
This article attempts to answer a deceptively simple question: what defined a ‘‘happy’’ marriage in early
nineteenth-century France? The question was inspired by the familial correspondence the author has
been examining for a project about bourgeois networking and survival strategies during and after the
French Revolution, where the author defines the bourgeoisie around a set of practices and sentiments
rather than purely economic criteria.1 Family connections were arguably the most important of these
networks, and marriages served as the basis, the foundation, for these families. They functioned as glue
for creating new links that would hopefully prove beneficial for all the members of both families. As a
result, marriage could not be taken lightly, and most bourgeois marriages continued to be arranged by
family members, not the individuals involved. ‘‘Arranged marriages’’ meant literally that: virtually all of
the marriages in the families examined for this study which the author has been studying were negotiated
by friends and family members, often before the future spouses even had the opportunity to meet. The
new ideal of the ‘‘companionate marriage’’ may have been growing increasingly influential during these
years, but the ‘‘marriage of convenience’’ remained the norm for the vast majority of those in the middle
and upper classes, and even those of humble origin.
Although the ideal relationship between romantic love and matrimony was a matter of debate
among theorists of marriage during these years, the overall consensus was that marriages of convenience—when two people of similar backgrounds united for larger, familial concerns rather than
flights of passion—would be built on a more solid foundation than love matches.2 As Patricia
History Department, Georgia State University, Atlanta, GA, USA
Corresponding Author:
Denise Z. Davidson, History Department, Georgia State University, PO Box 4117, Atlanta, GA 30302, USA
Email: [email protected]
24
Journal of Family History 37(1)
Mainardi’s work on images of adultery makes clear, however, in a legal system that made divorce
impossible, marriages of convenience could result in high levels of spousal infidelity. While such
behavior may have been accepted, if not expected, of the aristocracy before the revolution, it
appeared deeply threatening to a new social order based on stable, patriarchal families. And with
a new inheritance system based on equal distribution among all heirs, not primogeniture, female
infidelity seemed especially unacceptable.3 One of the interesting facets of this moment of transition, from the aristocratic model of marrying for the sake of maintaining or improving a family’s
social and political position to the perhaps more bourgeois model of companionate marriage, is that
marriage was supposed to accomplish two potentially contradictory goals at the same time. Spouses
were picked by families and marriages were arranged with larger familial, political, and economic
goals in mind. At the same time, however, couples were expected to lead their lives together and thus
to be compatible, and preferably even to love each other.
The transition to the companionate model of marriage in Europe has been studied by many
scholars using a wide variety of approaches. Although there is great disagreement over its extent,
timing, and significance, most scholars date this transition to the late eighteenth century, and most
refer to Rousseau as essential to understanding its origins, along with the general enlightenment
emphasis on individual autonomy.4 Lawrence Stone’s work on the family and marriage in England
suggests a thorough transition to the companionate model by the late eighteenth century, when, he
argued, ‘‘the choice of a spouse was increasingly left in the hands of the children themselves and was
based mainly on temperamental compatibility with the aim of lasting companionship.’’5 In contrast,
Adeline Daumard’s work on the nineteenth-century French bourgeoisie suggests that families continued to influence, even select outright, spouses for their children: ‘‘Most marriages in bourgeois
and aristocratic society were marriages of convenience . . . certain were mariages d’affaire, but
in contrast to common assumptions, marriages of convenience could be marriages of inclination
. . . It is nonetheless obvious that love could not develop between people who had never had the
opportunity to meet.’’6 The essays in The History of Private Life make similar statements about
nineteenth-century marriages, at times proposing contradictory readings of the practices and conceptions of marriage among the bourgeoisie. While love grew in importance, these authors suggest that
emotions remained secondary to matters of interest: ‘‘In the second half of the nineteenth century
more and more people hoped to reconcile strategic marriage with love and happiness.’’ Still, ‘‘sexuality, a central part of every modern marriage, in the nineteenth century was merely a backdrop to
married life. What usually held bourgeois households together was the need to protect inherited
wealth.’’7 Peter Gay—whose five-volume study of the bourgeoisie from Victoria to Freud focuses
largely on sexuality and emotions—contradicts the last quotation from the History of Private Life.
He emphasizes the depth of love and sexual passion among the couples he studied: ‘‘The bourgeois
record is rich in such passions, and they traverse lovers’ lives, from adolescence to elderly maturity.
When business or family affairs forced them apart, wives rushed to join husbands and husbands,
wives; children are, in much of this middle-class correspondence, as in middle-class diaries, interesting, amusing, often cherished footnotes, the source of lighthearted anecdotes and the targets of
earnest advice. The bond that mattered, surpassing all others, was that between spouses.’’8 One can
no doubt find evidence to support each of these arguments as families and couples differed widely in
their practices and attitudes toward love, sex, and marriage. Another factor to consider is change
over time, as it appears that love and sexual passion grew increasingly central to definitions of a
happy marriage over the course of the nineteenth century.
Despite the fact that the companionate model had emerged during the eighteenth century, and
probably spread and gained influence among most social classes over the course of the nineteenth
century, it is clear that among bourgeois families in France, arranged marriages remained prevalent throughout the period.9 This article examines how these two seemingly contradictory models
of marriage could have coexisted. How did individuals and families reconcile the need to forge
Davidson
25
marriages that would further family members’ larger goals of building and strengthening their social
and economic positions with the new idea of finding personal happiness and satisfaction through a
marriage based on love and affection? To develop an answer to this question, the author draws here
on familial correspondence to examine how the members of a set of interrelated bourgeois families
conceived of happiness in marriage. What, then, was a ‘‘happy’’ marriage? It appears to have been one
that made both families feel confident that the spouses would care for each other in every sense of the
term: emotionally, financially, and physically. In other words, interest and ‘‘love,’’ which signified
compatibility more than romantic passion, were both essential in the minds of those who sought to
construct happy marriages for their children.
In a recent essay, Dena Goodman deconstructs the love versus duty dichotomy by examining two
cases, that of an unhappy marriage which was the result of free choice (Manon Phlipon and
Jean-Marie Roland) and a happy one that resulted from family arrangements. The happy marriage
brought together Sophie Sylvestre and Bernard de Bonnard, who were sixteen and thirty-six years of
age when they married in 1780, at which point Bernard immediately took on the role of the
Rousseauist tutor teaching Sophie how to be a good wife. Goodman uses this example to force us
to rethink the meaning of arranged and companionate marriages: ‘‘The point is not that Bernard was
particularly cynical but that the Rousseauist ideal of companionate marriage was fully compatible
with the arrangements, dowries, and interests behind this match. If Bernard and Sophie became
poster children for companionate marriage, they entered into marriage with considerations of
interest paramount.’’10 As in the families examined here we see how the companionate model did
not replace the process of arranging marriages, but rather became integrated into it.11
This question about happy marriages leads directly to broader questions about what constituted
‘‘happiness’’ during this period and how people conceived of the self and subjectivity. Jan
Goldstein’s work on the emergence of the postrevolutionary self through the ideas and methods
of Victor Cousin’s philosophy courses demonstrates how a particular concept of the self as defined
and created by the volonté of these empowered bourgeois men came into existence in the early nineteenth century.12 But what about female selves? Goldstein’s study comes to the conclusion that the
Cousinian model of selfhood excluded women as it defined them as lacking the requisite will. In her
reading of women’s letters about marriage during the second half of the eighteenth century, however, Dena Goodman found clear expressions of powerful female selves who chose to avail themselves of the option to avoid marriage altogether.13 Goodman’s study draws attention to a problem in
the typical account of marriage as a choice between duty and love in the eighteenth century as it
neglects the option that women had to express their subjectivity by opting not to marry.
It is also possible that the individual self had not completely taken hold of the ways people conceived of themselves, and that a familial conception of identity continued to dominate.14 ||A passage
from an 1834 article by the conservative Catholic writer Chateaubriand suggests that he, at least,
believed that French society continued to be ‘‘organized around groups and by families,’’ and not yet
‘‘the individual, the way it seems to be becoming, the way one can already see it in formation in the
United States.’’15 In her work on suffrage legislation in France from 1789 to 1848, Anne Verjus has
similarly postulated a ‘‘familialiste’’ approach to voting laws, which granted suffrage not to individual
men but to men designated as heads of household. She argues that ‘‘familialism’’ prevailed over individualism at least through the first half of the nineteenth century.16 This ‘‘familialism’’ is visible in the
importance placed on being a good father who participated in raising and educating his children.
Domestic bliss was a goal for men and women alike, and texts and images encouraging male involvement in the household, the space in which good citizens would be raised and trained, multiplied during
the revolutionary period.17
To answer the question of how people sought to find and build happy marriages, this article relies
upon letters written by Catherine Françoise Arnaud-Tizon née Descheaux, the wife of a former Jacobin textile manufacturer from Lyon who lived in Rouen from 1796 until the 1820s.18 She maintained
26
a lively and regular correspondence with her eldest daughter and son-in-law, Amélie and Pierre
Vitet, who lived in Paris during those years. Writing typically every five to seven days, she sent them
long, detailed letters covering every topic imaginable.19 Most of Catherine’s letters are addressed to
Pierre, as he more took the time to respond to her more regularly than her own daughters. Pierre was
only about seven years younger than his mother-in-law and they developed a surprisingly close relationship. In 1806, while her younger daughter was visiting Paris, Catherine thanked Pierre for being
such a reliable correspondent: ‘‘I received your letter my dear son. You thank me for the trifles which
it pleases me to send you. It is I who owes you gratitude for your untiring obligingness in sending me
your news, and your compensating for the laziness of our young ladies whom I cannot convince to
take up the habit of writing. You are spoiling them my dear Vitet; you are encouraging their laziness
through your exactitude.’’20 It is hard to believe that the close epistolary relationship that evolved
between Pierre and Catherine was a result purely of his ‘‘fidelity’’ and ‘‘exactitude.’’ They no doubt
enjoyed communicating with each other, and the bond between them must have been quite strong as
a result.
Pierre often served as the key mediator between his in-laws and the family of a potential
spouse, a role best explained by his background, lifestyle, and personality. He was the son
of Louis Vitet, a widely published doctor and former mayor of Lyon who then became a deputy
to the French legislative body, the Council of 500, during the Directory. Unlike his father,
Pierre never practiced a profession or held public office. He lived as a rentier, meaning that
he lived off of the rents and proceeds of his many properties, and seems to have devoted a large
proportion of his days to maintaining his extensive correspondence.21 Pierre and Amélie married in 1801 and settled for the rest of their lives in Paris, where Pierre had many useful contacts. He was a trusted and capable spokesman who knew how to exercise discretion during the
early phases of nuptial discussions. Details on these negotiations appear in Catherine’s letters
as she sent him instructions and responded to his inquiries. Because of the weighty nature of
the task of choosing a spouse for one’s child, families exerted considerable effort to ensure that
the potential spouse had the correct social and economic credentials to guarantee a good alliance, while at the same time trying to consider the compatibility of the couple. They relied
upon intermediaries during the early phases of this investigation to avoid embarrassment should
the marriage not take place. To begin, this article examines Catherine’s instructions to Pierre
regarding these important first steps, and how she worked to create successful marriages for
her children. Following these hopeful, happy moments, the article turns to a less happy example, that of the Arnaud-Tizons’ niece, Adèle, who married the younger brother of the Maréchal
Suchet, Gabriel Suchet. Gabriel brought disgrace to the family as he faced financial ruin in
1817, forcing his in-laws and his wealthy brother to come to his rescue.
In one of Catherine’s early letters, which treated ongoing negotiations for the marriage of her second daughter, Victoire, in 1807, she described how she understood her role as the mother of a marriageable daughter. ‘‘I confess that all this has made me anxious. I feel the weight of my
responsibility for the happiness of my dear Victoire. But in doing all that the affection which I feel
for her inspires in me, I think that I have no reason to reproach myself.’’22 When a misunderstanding
arose regarding the dowry, Catherine asked Pierre to clarify the situation, and sent him the details he
needed to communicate: ‘‘We will give to Victoire, as we did with your wife, 50,000 livres in cash
plus a trousseau which we estimate at 6,000 livres including some diamonds. In addition, we give
our word of honor that there will never be any inequality in the division [of our wealth] among our
children.’’23 In the end, this first discussion of marriage for Victoire fell through, and she would end
up being sought after by a young man from Rouen, Jacques Barbet, whose father had founded one of
the city’s most successful textile businesses.24 They were also Protestants, an issue that seems to
have had little significance for Catherine whose letters make virtually no reference to religious
practice or belief.
Davidson
27
Catherine wrote to Pierre and Amélie as soon as the arrangements had been settled. She was
delighted with the man who was to become her new son-in-law and seemed optimistic about
their future. ‘‘The final agreement was reached yesterday morning, and in the evening Victoire
was introduced to her future husband, whose only flaw in my mind is that he is a bit young. He
is only 23 years old. Victoire saw him last winter at all the balls, and had no difficulty in reaching a decision. The young man seems very sweet and very happy to ally himself with us.’’25
Catherine expressed no concern about her daughter’s age, which fit the norm for these families:
she was seventeen and a half. Victoire’s older sister, Amélie, was only sixteen when she married Pierre, who was twenty-nine at that time, the typical age for men in these families to
marry. Barbet would go on to form a partnership with Victoire’s brother, Ludovic ArnaudTizon; the marriage thus represented a business opportunity for both families. Of course that
does not mean that Victoire’s happiness did not enter into the equation, as we saw in the quotation about a mother’s sense of responsibility for her daughter’s happiness, but it appears that
happiness meant something quite different from what we may think of it today. The word
seems to have been used as shorthand for a whole range of economic and social concerns more
than an emotion experienced out of an individual’s sense of satisfaction or joy.26
The marriage arrangements for the one Arnaud-Tizon son allow us to consider the question of
how boys’ marital happiness may have differed from that of girls. Ludovic was twenty-five years
old, and his parents disagreed about whether it was the proper time for him to consider marriage.
In 1812, Catherine wrote to Pierre to say that she thought it would be a good idea for Ludovic to
marry in order to make him lead a more serious lifestyle and for him to develop a taste for work.
Her accounts of Ludovic’s life in Lyon, where he had been living to oversee the family’s business
properties during the previous few years, give the impression that he liked fancy balls and dancing a
bit too much for her taste. ‘‘Le papa (she always referred to her husband this way) does not share my
opinion, and seems to think that it would be better for Ludovic not to rush into anything. In the end,
this grown boy will do what he wishes, and he has decided to go to Paris to discuss all of this with
you; until then you should take no action.’’27 Here, we see how she bowed to her son’s wishes in
ways she never did with her daughters. Men generally wed after reaching the age of majority and
thus had the right to marry on their own accord. In reality, however, most needed their families’ support to provide their financial contribution to the marriage as sons typically received dowries just as
daughters did. In every marriage contract, examined for this study, the families of the bride and
groom made equivalent contributions.
About a month later, in May 1812, Catherine wrote to Pierre to ask him to begin negotiations:
Ludovic, still hoping to marry and wishing to obtain the one about whom we have already spoken, I am
writing in his name and in the name of le papa to request that you negotiate this matter. Le papa would
like to give 30,000 livres in cash. You should consult with Barbet [her other son-in-law] about the best
manner for making this offer . . . Please believe me, my dear friend, when I tell you how much we
appreciate the steps which you are taking on our behalf. You are contributing to the happiness of your
brother, who is already deeply grateful. For me, I confess that I wish to see my son established and that
the good that is said of the young lady upon whom he has laid eyes makes me desire ardently that he will
be able to get her.28
Men hoped to ‘‘obtain’’ the women they sought in marriage; girls could only hope to be selected.
Catherine would never have sought to ‘‘obtain’’ a husband for her daughters. This language, and the
conception of marriage that it renders visible, was compatible with the legal system which defined
women as subordinate to their husbands.
The negotiations were still in progress six weeks later, when Catherine sent Pierre another letter,
doubling the size of the dowry that had been proposed earlier. ‘‘I am hurrying to respond to give you
28
the information you requested: my son will receive a dowry of 60,000 livres; he has earned about
20,000. He is currently a partner in the factory, and as of January he will be an equal partner
with his father.’’29 The richness of this material allows us to glimpse into bourgeois marital
strategies, the significance of money in the negotiations, and the role of mothers as matchmakers.
We also see that, as a man, Ludovic got to pick his potential bride, while the girls in the family had
their future husbands ‘‘picked’’ for them. To stay focused on the issue of how happy marriages were
conceived, however, we can see how each marriage represented both an opportunity for building
the kinds of alliances that could help all of the members of the extended family and the desire to
assure the happiness of the two individuals most directly involved. Here, his happiness seems
to resemble more on our contemporary sense of marital bliss, as it largely revolved around his
‘‘getting’’ the young woman whom he desired for a wife.
A last example is the marriage arrangements for the youngest child in the Arnaud-Tizon family, a
daughter who married into yet another Lyonnais family in 1816. ‘‘I cannot tell you how much the
young man impressed us. I liked his frankness. He is in perfect harmony with us on every matter. His
type of business pleases us. Altogether, this alliance leaves us nothing to desire. I am sure that you
will agree with it, as will all of the family . . . This marriage flatters me even more [knowing that]
interest cannot be the motive. I understand easily my dear children that anyone who knows you
wants to ally with you, and [thus] that your sister owes her happiness to you.’’30 It is curious that
she said ‘‘interest cannot be a motive,’’ here as she had just been discussing his business and what
it meant for this ‘‘alliance.’’ She may have been referring to the fact that by this point their financial
situation had weakened and they would not be able to pay Adèle’s dowry up front.31 Regardless of
Catherine’s effort to minimize the role of ‘‘interest’’ here, it is clear that she and her relatives continued to conceive of marriage as an alliance of families, and that families were much more than
groups of isolated, individual selves who might or might not get along with each other. Rather, each
individual depended in an essential sense on the behavior and successes of the others. Here, it is
helpful to return to Dena Goodman’s findings which suggest that the companionate model had been
integrated into the process of arranging marriages. ‘‘Happiness’’ meant finding personal satisfaction
in the context of a beneficial familial alliance, and based on these letters, it seems that few would
have ever considered separating these two aspirations which were so completely interwoven as to
seem one.
Finally, we need to turn our attention to the ‘‘unhappy’’ marriage mentioned earlier, that between
Catherine’s niece, Adèle Arnaud-Tizon and Gabriel Suchet. After spending his money living lavishly and socializing with the highest ranks of Parisian society, Suchet faced financial ruin in
1817. His father-in-law, Pierre-Marie Arnaud-Tizon, oversaw the liquidation of his wealth and the
repayment of his creditors in an effort to save the family honor.32 This story illustrates the dire consequences of an unhappy marriage, not just for the two individuals involved but for the entire family.
Divorce had just become illegal again, after having been legal between 1792 and 1816. A legal
separation could have been pursued, but the families did everything possible to avoid that. Instead,
as this financial and familial crisis emerged, both the Arnaud-Tizon and the Suchet families, along
with their close friends and allies, coordinated their efforts to salvage the family’s wealth, save the
wife’s dowry, protect their honor, and defend the long-term interests of the family and the couple’s
children, a girl and a boy.
Writing to Pierre in March 1816 as the family began to hear about Suchet’s financial difficulties,
Catherine expressed a combination of concern and guilt as she could see what was on the horizon:
‘‘God willing, he [Suchet] will change his style of life, to save both his health and his purse. I confess
that having been involved in [arranging] this marriage, I feel great chagrin about all of this and I am
afraid that it will lead to disagreement between the husband and wife which would be worst of all.’’33
She expressed similar feelings in a letter dated about a year later where she described the efforts of
her brother-in-law, Pierre-Marie Arnaud-Tizon to ‘‘conserve intact his fortune to save it for his
Davidson
29
daughter and grandchildren.’’ She then asks a rhetorical question about how Suchet could have been
so blind as to build up more than 400,000 francs in debt with very little real property to cover it. She
moves immediately from the man and his errors to the consequences of his decisions: ‘‘he is plunging the entire family into great chagrin. I will have a heavy heart for a long time [as] I contributed to
this fatal marriage.’’34
Catherine took up her pen again the very next day to share her thoughts and feelings on this
family crisis. Adèle Suchet’s mother had died just before the crisis erupted, and Catherine
found a silver lining in that early passing in that Adèle’s mother did not have to live through
seeing her daughter suffer. She referred to Adèle’s mother as her sister even though they were
sisters-in-law, a typical practice among these families. ‘‘This calamity consoles me for the loss
of my poor sister; I thank providence that it took her in time to keep her from experiencing this
most violent form of chagrin. I assure you, my dear friend, that life is truly full of grief. Thinking that all of my children are happy, I will leave it without regret, but I am too preoccupied by
my sorrow [which] blinds me to their tenderness. Madame Suchet has shown great strength.
God-willing, she will remain strong to preserve for her children the honorable existence to
which they should aspire. I am too upset to respond to the contents of your letter.’’35 Catherine’s highly emotional reaction to this financial calamity makes it clear that, for this family
at least, ‘‘happiness’’ meant economic security. To be happy was first of all to be safe from
financial ruin and the dishonor that accompanied it. Suchet’s economic woes caused intense
pain and suffering, worse perhaps even than the death of a loved one.
The Suchet couple ended up living apart for several years, with Adèle moving back and forth
between Paris, where she could lead an independent—though expensive—life, and Rouen, where
she lodged with her father and immediately became depressed and forlorn. Catherine’s analysis
of the situation makes it clear that there was no happy solution for the wife of a man who had made
so many bad choices.
Madame Suchet is very unhappy . . . She wishes to return to Paris but knows how difficult it would be for
her to maintain her household. She does not talk about any of this, but it is easy to read her thoughts. She
is not discussing plans to leave anytime soon, but rather keeps on saying that she is only happy sitting by
the fire at her father’s house. [But] she is not free to remain there either. Yesterday evening she came to
our house with him [her father] and Clémence [her daughter]. She slept the whole evening and never said
a word. If her father is keeping her from leaving, he is wrong to do so. He needs to allow her to do as she
wishes, and when she sees that she does not have enough money, she will accept her fate.36
It is clear that, while her husband’s financial difficulties had made her suffer, she was unhappier still
to be living as a dependent in her widowed father’s household in Rouen.
Finally, after years of tension and separation, Suchet came to visit his wife and her family in
Rouen in 1821, much to the relief of Catherine, who described the family reunion in a letter to
Pierre: ‘‘He was well received by all of the family. Sunday he dined with his wife’s grandmother and Thursday he will be dining at the Barbet residence with all the family reunited
along with a few outsiders. For me, I was satisfied to see him come. His presence here will
have a good effect and the public is ready to pardon wrongs when the family seems to have
forgotten them. We must remember that Clémence [their daughter] is seventeen, and the years
leading up to the age of twenty seem not to have twelve months.’’37 Here, again the interconnected nature of these people’s lives becomes readily apparent. One man’s mistakes had consequences for all, particularly for succeeding generations. The reference to Clémence, at age
seventeen, needing to have her marital arrangements settled before the ripe old age of twenty
makes clear how families felt under great pressure to find suitable mates for girls, how they had
to ensure their ‘‘happiness’’ while working under great time constraints.
30
Conclusion: Bourgeois Happiness
Marriage had always been, and arguably continues to be, at least partially about property and
lineage. What was perhaps new in this period was the idea that marriage should also be about love
and passion, but this was a very bourgeois kind of love based on being satisfied with what one was
given. Happiness thus depended on learning to appreciate one’s situation and to bend one’s emotional life to reality, to find a way to blend utility with pleasure. That, apparently, was the key to
happiness for these couples. For women, especially, happiness meant accepting the spouse chosen
for them and making the best of it. In a recent article on marriage in Balzac’s novels, but with reference to earlier treatments of the subject, particularly Rousseau’s La Nouvelle Héloı¨se, Brigitte
Mahuzier draws our attention to an important point: ‘‘to make the other want what I want him or
her to want is the goal of democratic totalitarianism . . . It is much more efficient to have women,
or any subaltern, voluntarily participate in their own subjection than to force them to do so.’’38 Dena
Goodman makes a similar point when she argues that ‘‘when a woman entered into marriage . . .
whether by means of an arrangement worked out by her relatives, or through her own initiative, she
gave up her liberty and submitted herself to her husband for life.’’39 In contrast to the strong-willed
male selves of Goldstein’s study, girls and women were trained from an early age to bow their
volonté to that of others, first their parents and then their husbands. Making sure that they married
while still very young helped to ensure their flexibility, their willingness to learn to be the kind of
wife their husband wanted them to become. To a lesser extent, good bourgeois sons were expected to
bow their wills to their parents as well. However, they had the chance to become heads of household
someday, which meant that they would have the responsibility of ensuring their own progeny’s happiness by properly managing the family’s assets to be able to pass them on to succeeding generations
through dowries and inheritance.
Here, we come to the heart of the definition of being bourgeois during this period. In The Cult of
the Nation in France, David Bell includes a quotation dating from the mid-eighteenth century that
suggests how central bourgeois moderation was to notions of French national character. ‘‘The word
alone ‘bourgeois customs’ calls to mind in France uniformity in taste, modesty, union, concord, the
calm of families, decency in morals, chastity in marriage, thrift, privacy, study of literature and laws:
but all of these virtues have been cruelly ridiculed by the ingeniously wicked spirit of brilliant
French society [the aristocracy].’’40 The values listed here applied to the first decades of the nineteenth century as well, when the chaos and conflicts experienced during the revolutionary period
reinforced this desire to avoid risk by relying on family members whose destinies were so intertwined. The attitudes of the people whose lives we glimpse in these letters fit this description of
‘‘bourgeois customs.’’ In contrast, the spendthrift Suchet brother had gotten too caught up in his aristocratic pretentions and suffered the consequences. Aside from this errant family member, the bourgeois men and women discussed in this article sought happiness and satisfaction by avoiding scandal
and seeking comfort in their domestic arrangements. All of them seem to have accepted the basic
premise that one person’s life was just a small component of a living, breathing, multigenerational
and entity: the family. The concept of the individual may have dominated the political and philosophical treatises of this period, but the family still trumped the individual in many of life’s most
important decisions. A happy marriage thus meant finding individual satisfaction while working
toward the economic and social success of one’s larger familial and kinship networks.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank Annie Jourdan, who commented on an earlier version of this article, which was presented
at the Consortium on the Revolutionary Era, 1750–1850 Conference in Savannah, Georgia (USA) in February
2009. Allan Pasco, my fellow panelist at the conference, provided some useful suggestions. Anne Verjus, with
whom I have conversed at length on the subject addressed here, also read an earlier version.
Davidson
31
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication
of this article.
Funding
The author disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication
of this article: a Fulbright Research Grant for France, a Research Initiation Grant from Georgia State University,
and a National Endowment for the Humanities Summer Stipend.
Notes
1. The literature on the French bourgeoisie during this period is too large to list here. Two of the most relevant
studies are Sarah Maza, The Myth of the French Bourgeoisie: An Essay on the Social Imaginary, 1750-1850
(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2003) and David Garrioch, The Formation of the Parisian
Bourgeoisie, 1690-1830 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996). There is also a growing body
of work on the history of emotions. See especially William M. Reddy, The Navigation of Feeling: A
Framework for the History of Emotions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001) and Allan H.
Pasco, Revolutionary Love in Eighteenth- and Early Nineteenth-Century France (Surrey, England and
Burlington,VT: Ashgate, 2009).
2. Patricia Mainardi, Husbands, Wives, and Lovers: Marriage and Its Discontents in Nineteenth-Century
France (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003), 5–6.
3. Mainardi, Husbands, Wives, and Lovers, 218–19. On the consequences of revolutionary legislation on the
family, see Suzanne Desan, The Family on Trial in Revolutionary France (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 2004); Jennifer Heuer, The Family and the Nation: Gender and Citizenship in Revolutionary France, 1789-1830 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2005); and Mary Trouille, Wife Abuse in
Eighteenth-Century France (Oxford: SVEC, 2009), which concludes with cases from the early nineteenth
century.
4. Two recent publications that address this issue of the philosophical origins of the companionate marriage
model are Lynn Hunt, Inventing Human Rights, a History (New York: Norton, 2007), 61–62 and Brigitte
Mahuzier, ‘‘Contracts and Conflicts in Balzac’s Early Works,’’ Dix-Neuf 11 (2008): 29–30. Like Hunt,
Anthony Giddens draws a connection between the rise of the self, the novel, and romantic love in marriage.
See his The Transformation of Intimacy: Sexuality, Love and Eroticism in Modern Societies (Stanford:
Stanford University Press, 1992), 38–42.
5. Lawrence Stone, The Family, Sex, and Marriage in England, 1500-1800 (New York: Harper and Row,
1977), 392. More recent work on English ideas about marriage deviates from Stone, as in an article by
Ingrid H. Tague where she argues that ‘‘love . . . was recognizable not so much as an internal, emotional
state but through the conditions of marriage it created: conditions in which both partners understood and
accepted their complementary roles.’’ ‘‘Love, Honor, and Obedience: Fashionable Women and the Discourse of Marriage in the Early Eighteenth Century,’’ Journal of British Studies 40 (2001): 76–106, quotation 85.
6. ‘‘La plupart des mariages dans la société bourgeoise et aristocratique étaient des mariages de convenance
. . . certains mariages étaient des mariages d’affaire . . . mais, contrairement à une idée reçue, les mariages
de convenance pouvaient être des mariages d’inclination . . . . Il est évident toutefois que l’amour ne pouvait naı̂tre que chez ceux qui avaient eu l’occasion de se rencontrer.’’ Adeline Daumard, ‘‘Affaire, amour,
affection: le mariage dans la société bourgeoise au XIXe siècle,’’ Romantisme 68 (1990): 45. Unless otherwise stated, all translations are the author’s.
7. Michelle Perrot and Anne Martin-Fugier, ‘‘The Actors,’’ in The History of Private Life, Vol. 4, From the
Fires of Revolution to the Great War, ed. Michelle Perrot, trans. Arthur Goldhammer (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 1990), 186 and Alain Corbin, ‘‘Intimate Relations,’’ in Ibid., 593.
32
8. Peter Gay, The Bourgeois Experience: Victoria to Freud, Vol. 1, Education of the Senses (New York:
Oxford University Press, 1984), 133.
9. On the continued prevalence of arranged marriages throughout the century, see Perrot and Martin-Fugier,
‘‘The Actors,’’ in A History of Private Life 4: 309–10. This chapter contains interesting details on engagements, marriage contracts, wedding gifts, and other practices associated with bourgeois weddings. See also
the classic article by Pierre Bourdieu, ‘‘Les stratégies matrimoniales dans le système de reproduction,’’
Annales: Economies, Sociétés, Civilisations 27 (1972): 1105–27. Bourdieu reminds us that although marital strategies focused on matters of interest, there was always room for the assertion of individuality. An
overview of marital arrangements, with examples drawn from the German middle classes, is David Sabean,
‘‘Aesthetics of Marriage Alliance: Class Codes and Endogamous Marriage in the Nineteenth-Century Propertied Classes,’’ in Family History Revisited: Comparative Perspectives, eds. Richard Wall, Tamara K.
Hareven, and Josef Ehmer (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 2001).
10. Dena Goodman, ‘‘Marital Choice and Marital Success: Reasoning about Marriage, Love, and Happiness,’’
in Family, Gender, and Law in Early Modern France, ed. Suzanne Desan and Jeffrey Merrick (University
Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2009), 37.
11. Anne Verjus and the author develop a similar argument in their recent book, Le Roman conjugal:
Chroniques de la vie familiale à l’époque de la Révolution et de l’Empire (Seyssel: Champ Vallon, 2011).
12. Jan Goldstein, The Post-Revolutionary Self: Politics and Psyche in France, 1750-1850 (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 2005).
13. Dena Goodman, ‘‘Letter Writing and the Emergence of Gendered Subjectivity in Eighteenth-Century
France,’’ Journal of Women’s History 17 (2005): 9–37 and ‘‘Marriage Calculations in the Eighteenth Century: Deconstructing the Love vs. Duty Binary,’’ Proceedings of the Western Society for French History 33
(2005): 146–62.
14. On changing conceptions of the self in this period, see Dror Wahrman, The Making of the Modern Self:
Identity and Culture in Eighteenth-Century England (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004).
15. François-René, vicomte de Chateaubriand, ‘‘L’Avenir du monde,’’ Revue des Deux Mondes, April 15,
1834, 236–37, quoted in Karen Offen, European Feminisms 1700-1950: A Political History (Stanford:
Stanford University Press, 2000), 89.
16. Anne Verjus, Le Cens de la famille: Les femmes et le vote, 1789-1848 (Paris: Belin, 2002) and Le bon Mari:
Une histoire politique des hommes et des femmes à l’époque révolutionnaire (Paris: Fayard, 2010).
Verjus’s work demonstrates that it was not the abstract male individual who was enfranchised during the
revolutionary period but rather an idealized père de famille.
17. See Annie Jourdan, La Révolution batave entre la France et l’Amérique (1795-1806) (Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2008), chap. 5.
18. Catherine’s husband, Claude Arnaud-Tizon, served as a municipal officer in 1791 and 1792, while Louis
Vitet, father of Pierre Vitet (later to be their son-in-law) was mayor. Here, we see how political and marital
strategies overlapped. Claude dropped out of municipal politics for much of 1793, during which time Lyon
broke from the National Convention and then was laid siege to by troops sent by the Jacobin-controlled
government. When the Lyon municipality admitted defeat in October 1793, a new set of ‘‘authorités consitutées’’ was named by the Jacobins, and Claude once again became a municipal official, until those
‘‘authorités constitutées’’ were purged from the municipal council with the fall of Robespierre and the
so-called Thermidorean Reaction. It was at that point that the family fled Lyon to settle in Rouen, where
Claude’s brother, Pierre-Marie, had relocated earlier along with his wife, who had grown up there. On
Lyonnais politics during the Revolution, see W. D. Edmonds, Jacobinism and the Revolt of Lyon, 17891793 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990) and Paul R. Hansen, The Jacobin Republic under Fire: The Federalist Revolt in the French Revolution (University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2003).
19. On letter writing and its role in the creation of female subjectivity, see Dena Goodman, Becoming a Woman
in the Republic of Letters (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2009). On the norms of correspondence, with
Davidson
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29.
33
both style and content analysis, see Marie-Claire Grassi, L’art de la lettre au temps de La nouvelle Héloise
et du Romantisme (Geneva: Slatkine, 1994).
Catherine Arnaud-Tizon to Pierre Vitet, November 13, 1806, Fonds Vitet, Archives Municipales de Lyon
(hereafter cited as AML) 84 II 12. ‘‘J’ai reçu votre lettre mon cher fils. Vous me faites des remerciements
pour des bagatelles qu’il m’est agréable de vous offrir. C’est bien moi qui vous en dois pour votre infatigable complaisance à me donner de vos nouvelles à tous, et à remédier à la paresse de nos petites dames, qui
je ne saurais trop engager à prendre l’habitude d’écrire. Vous les gâtez mon cher Viter; vous autorisez leur
paresse par votre exactitude.’’ The author modernized spelling and punctuation here and in the following
excerpts from these letters.
Pierre Vitet’s passive correspondence is held in the Fonds Vitet at the Lyon Municipal Archives. Also
in the collection are his correspondence journals where he meticulously recorded entries for each of
the letters he sent.
Catherine Arnaud-Tizon to Pierre and Amélie Vitet, October 31, 1807, AML 84 II 12. ‘‘Je vous avoue que
tous cela m’agite. Je sens le poids de ma responsabilité pour le bonheur de ma chère Victoire, mais en faisant tous ce que ma tendresse pour elle m’inspire, je crois n’avoir rien à me reprocher.’’
Catherine Arnaud-Tizon to Pierre and Amélie Vitet, November 14, 1807, AML 84 II 12. ‘‘Nous donnerons
à Victoire comme à votre femme 50 mille livres comptant un trousseau que nous évaluons à six mille livres
y compris quelques diamants, de plus notre parole d’honneur qu’il n’y aura jamais désségalité [sic] de partage entre nos enfants. Voila ce que je vous prie de communiquer à Roux.’’ ‘‘Roux,’’ here, refers to Vital
Roux, a close family friend and fellow Lyonnais, who by this point was serving as a director of the Banque
de France. These were very wealthy families.
Material on the Barbet family, and some on the Arnaud-Tizons, can be found in Jean-Pierre Chaline, Les
Bourgeois de Rouen: Une élite urbaine au XIXe siècle (Paris: Presses de la Fondation Nationale des
Sciences Politiques, 1982) and Serge Chassagne, Le Coton et ses patrons: France 1760-1840 (Paris: Editions de l’Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales, 1991), 552–66. Rouen was a center for the period’s cutting-edge textile technology, making printed cotton fabrics or calicos. The Arnaud-Tizon family
enterprise produced this kind of cloth.
Catherine Arnaud-Tizon to Pierre and Amélie Vitet, May 4, 1808, AML 84 II 12. ‘‘Les dernières paroles
ont été données hier matin et le soir la présentation du prétendu, qui n’a d’autre défaut à mon gré que d’être
un peu jeune; il n’ay que 23 ans. Victoire l’avait vu cette hiver à tous les bals et n’a eu nul peine à se
décider. Ce jeune homme parait fort doux et très content de s’allier à notre famille.’’
An interesting discussion of the ‘‘pursuit of happiness’’ as the equivalent of the ‘‘pursuit of wealth’’ and
how Jefferson transformed Locke’s ‘‘life, liberty, and property’’ into ‘‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness’’ appears in Darrin McMahon, Happiness: A History (New York: Grove Press, 2006), 314–31.
Catherine Arnaud-Tizon née Descheaux to Pierre Vitet, April 7, 1812, AML 84 II 12. ‘‘Le papa ne partage
pas mon opinion et a l’air de desirer que Ludovic ne se presse pas. Sur le tout ce grand garçon fera ce qui
l’arrangera et il a l’intention d’aller à Paris pour causer avec vous de tout cela; et jusqu’ à cette époque il ne
faut faire aucune démarche.’’
Catherine Arnaud-Tizon to Pierre and Amélie Vitet, May 31, 1812, AML 84 II 12. ‘‘Ludovic persistant à
vouloir se marier et désirant obtenir celle de qui nous avons déjà parlé souvent, je viens en son nom et en
celui du papa vous prier de vouloir bien négocier cette affaire. Le papa désirerait qu’on donne comptant les
30 mille livres. Vous vous consulterez avec Barbet pour la manière de s’y prendre pour faire cette demande.
. . . Croyez bien, mon cher ami, que toutes les démarches que vous ferrez nous seront très agréables à tous.
Vous contribuerez au bonheur de votre frère qui déjà en est pénétré de reconnaissance. Pour moi je vous
l’avoue je désire voir mon fils établi et le bien qu’on dit de la demoiselle sur qui il a jeté les yeux me fait
désirer ardemment qu’il puisse l’obtenir.’’
Catherine Arnaud-Tizon to Pierre and Amélie Vitet, July 12, 1812, AML 84 II 12. ‘‘Je m’empresse d’y
répondre pour vous donner de suite les renseignements que vous me demandez: mon fils sera doté de
34
30.
31.
32.
33.
34.
35.
36.
37.
60 mille livres; il a gagné vingt et quelques milles livres. Il est en ce moment associé . . . dans la fabrique et
au mois de janvier il aura le même intérêt que son père.’’
Catherine Arnaud-Tizon to Pierre Vitet, July 2, 1816, AML 84 II 12. ‘‘Je ne peux vous dire combien le
jeune homme nous a plu. Il a une franchise que j’aime. Il est de toute manière en rapport avec nous; le genre
de son commerce nous plait, aussi cette alliance ne nous laisse rien à désirer. Elle a votre assentiment et
aura celui je suis sûre de toute notre famille . . . Ce mariage me flatte d’autant plus que l’intérêt ne peut
en être le motif. Je conçois facilement mes chers enfants que lorsqu’on vous connaı̂t on a envie de s’allier à
vous et votre sœur vous devra son bonheur.’’
Having lost a great deal of money during the economic crises and wartime dislocations that took place during the final years of the Napoleonic Empire, they had to borrow from their son-in-law, Jacques Barbet, to
come up with Adèle’s dowry. Jacques Barbet to Pierre Vitet, April 25, 1825, AML 84 II 09.
The notarial records related to these arrangements are in the Archives Départementales de la SeineMaritime, 2E/171. Two modern biographies provide information on the Suchet family: Bernard Bergerot,
Le Maréchal Suchet, Duc d’Albuféra (Paris, Tallandier, 1986) and Frédéric Hulot, Le Maréchal Suchet
(Paris: Pygmalion, 2009). Letters pertaining to the arrangements made between the Adèle’s father and Gabriel’s brother also appear in the Archives Nationales, Fonds Suchet, 384 AP 187 and 384 AP 188. On bankruptcy and the moral consequences of financial failure, see Erika Vause, ‘‘He Who Rushes Will Not Be
Innocent’: Commercial Values and Commercial Failure in Nineteenth-Century France,’’ French Historical
Studies (forthcoming).
Catherine Arnaud Tizon to Pierre Vitet, March 16, 1816, AML 84 II 12. ‘‘Dieu veuille qu’il prenne un autre
genre de vie pour sa santé et pour sa bourse. Je vous avoue que m’étant mêlée un peu de son mariage
j’éprouve bien du chagrin de tout cela et j’ai toujours peur que cela ne finisse par de la mésintelligence
entre le mari et la femme ce qui serait le pire de tout.’’
Catherine Arnaud Tizon to Pierre Vitet, Rouen, March 2, 1817, AML 84 II 13. ‘‘Il est dans la ferme
résolution de conserver intacte sa fortune à sa fille et à ses petits enfants; il ne veut grever ses propriétés
et il n’a dans son commerce qu’une somme qui serait loin de pouvoir faire face au déficit, et qui d’ailleurs
n’est pas disponible. Au reste l’état que Mr Suchet a envoyé de sa situation n’est pas fait pour donner
l’envie de le secourir. On voit 400 000 F et plus de dettes et bien peu de choses réelles pour les couvrir;
comment ce pauvre homme a-t-il pu s’aveugler à ce point? Dans quel chagrin il plonge toute sa famille.
J’ai un poids sur le cœur qui y restera longtemps; j’ai contribué à ce fatal mariage.’’
Catherine Arnaud Tizon to Pierre Vitet, Rouen, March 3, 1817, AML 84 II 13. ‘‘Ce malheur me console de
la perte de ma pauvre sœur; je bénis la providence qui l’a enlevée à temps pour lui éviter le plus violent de
tous les chagrins. Je vous assure mon cher ami que la vie est bien remplie d’amertumes. Pensant que tous
mes enfants sont heureux je la quitterais sans peine, mais le chagrin m’égare et je fais affront à leur tendresse. Mme Suchet montre beaucoup de force. Dieu veuille qu’elle la conserve pour conserver à ses
enfants l’existence honorable à la qu’elle ils doivent prétendre. Je suis trop troublée pour répondre au contenu de votre lettre.’’
Catherine Arnaud-Tizon to Pierre Vitet, December 2, 1818, AML 84 II 13. ‘‘Mde Suchet est bien triste . . .
et désire retourner à Paris et sent cependant combien il lui serra difficile de tenir son ménage avec son
revenu. Elle ne parle pas de tout cela mais il est facile de devenir sa pensée. Elle ne parle pas non plus
de son départ prochain mais elle ne cesse de dire qu’elle n’est bien qu’au coin de son feu chez son père.
Elle n’est pas libre d’y rester. Hier elle vint avec lui et Clémence passer le soir avec nous. Elle dormit toute
la soirée et ne nous a pas dit un mot; si son père l’empêche de partir il a grand tort. Il faut la laisser aller
jusqu’au bout et quand elle verra que l’argent ne peut suffire elle prendra son parti.’’
Catherine Arnaud-Tizon to Pierre Vitet, February 20, 1821, AML 84 II 13. ‘‘Il a été bien reçu par toute la
famille. Dimanche il a diné chez la bonne maman [Madame Vincent, Adèle Suchet’s maternal grandmother] et jeudi il dine chez Barbet avec la famille réunie et aussi quelques étrangers. A mon particulier
j’ai été satisfaite de le voir venir; sa présence ici fera bon effet et le public est tout prêt à pardonner des tords
Davidson
35
lorsque sa famille paraı̂t les avoir oubliés. Il faut penser que Clémence a dix sept ans et jusqu’à vingt les
années semblent n’avoir pas douze mois.’’
38. Mahuzier, ‘‘Contracts and Conflicts,’’ 30.
39. Goodman, ‘‘Marital Choice and Marital Success,’’ 30.
40. David A. Bell, The Cult of the Nation: Inventing Nationalism, 1680-1800 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press, 2001), 141, quoting d’Espiard/Castilhon. An abbreviated version appears in translation
in the book. The original French appears on Bell’s Web page, accessed August 11, 2011, https://jshare.
johnshopkins.edu/myweb/davidbell/: ‘‘Le mot seul de mœurs bourgeoises annonce en France l’uniformité
dans le goût de la parure, la modestie, l’union, la concorde, le repos des familles, la décence des mœurs, la
chasteté des mariages, la sage économie, la retraite, l’étude des lettres & des lois: or, toutes ces vertus ont
été cruellement dévouées au ridicule par l’esprit ingénieusement méchant de la brillante société française.’’
The original publication was Jean-Louis Castilhon, Considérations sur les causes physiques et morales de
la diversité du génie des mœurs, et du gouvernement des nations, Vols. 2 (Bouillon, 1769). Castilhon’s
book plagiarized large sections of d’Espiard de la Borde, L’Esprit des nations, Vols. 2 (The Hague,
1752 and 1753; Geneva, 1753).
Bio
Denise Z. Davidson is an associate professor of History at Georgia State University. She is the author of France
after Revolution: Urban Life, Gender, and the New Social Order (Harvard University Press, 2007) and coauthor, with Anne Verjus, of Le Roman conjugal: Chroniques de la vie familiale à l’époque de la Révolution
et de l’Empire (Seyssel: Champ Vallon, 2011). She is currently writing a book about bourgeois families and
their survival strategies during and after the French Revolution. She spent the 2010–2011 academic year as
a resident fellow at the National Humanities Center in North Carolina, funded by a Burkhardt Fellowship from
the American Council for Learned Societies.

Journal of Family History

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