The Project Gutenberg eBook of History Of Civilization in England, Vol. II, by Henry Thomas Buckle.

BY

HENRY THOMAS BUCKLE.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

NEW EDITION.

TORONTO:
ROSE-BELFORD PUBLISHING COMPANY,
60 YORK STREET.
1878.

ANALYTICAL TABLE OF CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

The consideration of these great changes in the English mind, has led me into a digression, which, so far from being foreign to the design of this Introduction, is absolutely necessary for a right understanding of it. In this, as in many other respects, there is a marked analogy between investigations concerning the structure of society and investigations concerning the human body. Thus, it has been found, that the best way of arriving at a theory of disease is by beginning with the theory of health; and that the foundation of all sound pathology must be first sought in an observation, not of the abnormal, but of the normal functions of life. Just in the same way, it will, I believe, be found, that the best method of arriving at great social truths, is by first investigating those cases in which society has developed itself according to its own laws, and in which the governing powers have least opposed themselves to the spirit of their times.[1] It is on this account that, in[2] order to understand the position of France, I have begun by examining the position of England. In order to understand the way in which the diseases of the first country were aggravated by the quackery of ignorant[3] rulers, it was necessary to understand the way in which the health of the second country was preserved by being subjected to smaller interference, and allowed with greater liberty to continue its natural march. With the light, therefore, which we have acquired by a study of the normal condition of the English mind, we can, with the greater ease, now apply our principles to that abnormal condition of French society, by the operations of which, at the close of the eighteenth century, some of the dearest interests of civilization were imperilled.

In France, a long train of events, which I shall hereafter relate, had, from an early period, given to the clergy a share of power larger than that which they[4] possessed in England. The results of this were for a time decidedly beneficial, inasmuch as the church restrained the lawlessness of a barbarous age, and secured a refuge for the weak and oppressed. But as the French advanced in knowledge, the spiritual authority, which had done so much to curb their passions, began to press heavily upon their genius, and impede its movements. That same ecclesiastical power, which to an ignorant age is an unmixed benefit, is to a more enlightened age a serious evil. The proof of this was soon apparent. For when the Reformation broke out, the church had in England been so weakened, that it fell almost at the first assault; its revenues were seized by the crown,[2] and its offices, after being greatly diminished both in authority and in wealth, were bestowed upon new men, who, from the uncertainty of their tenure, and the novelty of their doctrines, lacked that long-established prescription by which the claims of the profession are mainly supported. This, as we have already seen, was the beginning of an uninterrupted progress, in which, at every successive step, the ecclesiastical spirit lost some of its influence. In France, on the other hand, the clergy were so powerful, that they were able to withstand the Reformation, and thus preserve for themselves those exclusive privileges which their English brethren vainly attempted to retain.

This was the beginning of that second marked divergence between French and English civilization,[3] which had its origin, indeed, at a much earlier period, but which now first produced conspicuous results. Both countries had, in their infancy, been greatly benefited by the church, which always showed itself ready to protect the people against the oppressions of the crown[5] and the nobles.[4] But in both countries, as society advanced, there arose a capacity for self-protection; and early in the sixteenth, or probably even in the fifteenth century, it became urgently necessary to diminish that spiritual authority, which, by prejudging the opinions of men, has impeded the march of their knowledge.[5] It is on this account that Protestantism, so far from being, as its enemies have called it, an aberration arising from accidental causes, was essentially a normal movement, and was the legitimate expression of the wants of the European intellect. Indeed, the Reformation owed its success, not to a desire of purifying the church, but to a desire of lightening its pressure; and it may be broadly stated, that it was adopted in every civilized country, except in those where preceding events had increased the influence of the ecclesiastical order, either among the people or among their rulers. This was, unhappily, the case with France, where the clergy not only triumphed over the Protestants, but appeared, for a time, to have gained fresh authority by the defeat of such dangerous enemies.[6]

The consequence of all this was, that in France,[6] every thing assumed a more theological aspect than in England. In our country, the ecclesiastical spirit had, by the middle of the sixteenth century, become so feeble, that even intelligent foreigners were struck by the peculiarity.[7] The same nation, which, during the Crusades, had sacrificed innumerable lives in the hope of planting the Christian standard in the heart of Asia,[8] was now almost indifferent to the religion even of its own sovereign. Henry VIII., by his sole will, regulated[7] the national creed, and fixed the formularies of the church, which, if the people had been in earnest, he could not possibly have done; for he had no means of compelling submission; he had no standing army; and even his personal guards were so scanty, that at any moment they could have been destroyed by a rising of the warlike apprentices of London.[9] After his death, there came Edward, who, as a Protestant king, undid the work of his father; and, a few years later, there came Mary, who, as a Popish queen, undid the work of her brother; while she, in her turn, was succeeded by Elizabeth, under whom another great alteration was effected in the established faith.[10] Such was the indifference of the people, that these vast changes were accompanied without any serious risk.[11] In France, on the other hand, at the mere name of religion, thousands of men were ready for the field. In England, our civil wars have all been secular; they have been waged, either for a change of dynasty, or[8] for an increase of liberty. But those far more horrible wars, by which, in the sixteenth century, France was desolated, were conducted in the name of Christianity, and even the political struggles of the great families were merged in a deadly contest between Catholics and Protestants.[12]

The effect this difference produced on the intellect of the two countries is very obvious. The English, concentrating their abilities upon great secular matters, had, by the close of the sixteenth century, produced a literature which never can perish. But the French, down to that period, had not put forth a single work, the destruction of which would now be a loss to Europe. What makes this contrast the more remarkable is, that in France the civilization, such as it was, had a longer standing; the material resources of the country had been earlier developed; its geographical position made it the centre of European thought;[13] and it had possessed a literature at a time when our ancestors were a mere tribe of wild and ignorant barbarians.

The simple fact is, that this is one of those innumerable instances which teach us that no country can rise to eminence so long as the ecclesiastical power possesses much authority. For, the predominance of the spiritual classes is necessarily accompanied by a corresponding predominance of the topics in which those classes delight. Whenever the ecclesiastical profession is very influential, ecclesiastical literature will be very abundant, and what is called profane literature will be very scanty. Hence it occurred, that the minds of the French, being almost entirely occupied with religious[9] disputes, had no leisure for those great inquiries into which we in England were beginning to enter;[14] and there was, as we shall presently see, an interval of a whole generation between the progress of the French and English intellects, simply because there was about the same interval between the progress of their scepticism. The theological literature, indeed, rapidly increased;[15] but it was not until the seventeenth century that France produced that great secular literature, the counterpart of which was to be found in England before the sixteenth century had come to a close.

Such was, in France, the natural consequence of the power of the church being prolonged beyond the period which the exigencies of society required. But while this was the intellectual result, the moral and physical results were still more serious. While the minds of men were thus heated by religious strife, it would have been idle to expect any of those maxims of charity to which theological faction is always a stranger. While the Protestants were murdering the Catholics,[16] and the Catholics murdering the Protestants, it was hardly likely that either sect should feel tolerance for the opinions of its enemy.[17] During the sixteenth century,[10] treaties were occasionally made between the two parties; but they were only made to be immediately broken;[18] and, with the single exception of l'Hôpital, the bare idea of toleration does not seem to have entered the head of any statesman of the age. It was recommended by him;[19] but neither his splendid abilities, nor his unblemished integrity, could make head against the prevailing prejudices, and he eventually retired into private life without effecting any of his noble schemes.[20]

Indeed, in the leading events of this period of French history, the predominance of the theological spirit was painfully shown. It was shown in the universal determination to subordinate political acts to religious opinions.[21] It was shown in the conspiracy of Amboise, and in the conference of Poissy; and still more was it[11] shown in those revolting crimes so natural to superstition, the massacres of Vassy and of St. Bartholomew, the murder of Guise by Poltrot, and of Henry III. by Clement. These were the legitimate results of the spirit of religious bigotry. They were the results of that accursed spirit, which, whenever it has had the power, has punished even to the death those who dared to differ from it; and which, now that the power has passed away, still continues to dogmatize on the most mysterious subjects, tamper with the most sacred principles of the human heart, and darken with its miserable superstitions those sublime questions that no one should rudely touch, because they are for each according to the measure of his own soul, because they lie in that unknown tract which separates the Finite from the Infinite, and because they are as a secret and individual covenant between Man and his God.

How long these sad days [22] would, in the ordinary course of affairs, have been prolonged in France, is a question which we now perhaps have no means of answering; though there is no doubt that the progress[12] even of empirical knowledge must, according to the process already pointed out, have eventually sufficed to rescue so great a country from her degraded position. Fortunately, however, there now took place what we must be content to call an accident, but which was the beginning of a most important change. In the year 1589, Henry IV. ascended the throne of France. This great prince, who was far superior to any of the French sovereigns of the sixteenth century,[23] made small account of those theological disputes which his predecessors had thought to be of paramount importance. Before him, the kings of France, animated by the piety natural to the guardians of the church, had exerted all their authority to uphold the interests of the sacred profession. Francis I. said, that if his right hand were a heretic, he would cut it off.[24] Henry II., whose zeal[13] was still greater,[25] ordered the judges to proceed against the Protestants, and publicly declared that he would ‘make the extirpation of the heretics his principal business.’[26] Charles IX., on the celebrated day of St. Bartholomew, attempted to relieve the church by destroying them at a single blow. Henry III. promised to ‘oppose heresy even at the risk of his life;’ for he said, ‘he could not find a prouder grave than amidst the ruins of heresy.’[27]

These were the opinions expressed, in the sixteenth century, by the heads of the oldest monarchy in Europe.[28] But with such feelings, the powerful intellect of Henry IV. had not the slightest sympathy. To suit the shifting politics of his age, he had already changed his religion twice; and he did not hesitate to change it a third time,[29] when he found that by doing so[14] he could ensure tranquillity to his country. As he had displayed such indifference about his own creed, he could not with decency show much bigotry about the creed of his subjects.[30] We find, accordingly, that he was the author of the first public act of toleration which any government promulgated in France since Christianity had been the religion of the country. Only five years after he had solemnly abjured Protestantism, he published the celebrated Edict of Nantes,[31] by which, for the first time, a Catholic government granted to heretics a fair share of civil and religious rights. This was, unquestionably, the most important event that had yet occurred in the history of French civilization.[32] If it is considered by itself, it is merely an evidence of the enlightened principles of the king; but when we look at its general success, and at the cessation of religious war which followed it, we cannot fail to perceive that it was part of a vast movement, in which the people themselves participated. Those who recognize the truth of the principles I have laboured to establish, will expect that this great step towards religious liberty was accompanied by that spirit of scepticism, in the[15] absence of which toleration has always been unknown. And that this was actually the case, may be easily proved by an examination of the transitionary state which France began to enter towards the end of the sixteenth century.

The writings of Rabelais are often considered to afford the first instance of religious scepticism in the French language.[33] But, after a tolerably intimate acquaintance with the works of this remarkable man, I have found nothing to justify such an opinion. He certainly treats the clergy with great disrespect, and takes every opportunity of covering them with ridicule.[34] His attacks, however, are always made upon their personal vices, and not upon that narrow and intolerant spirit to which those vices were chiefly to be ascribed. In not a single instance does he show any thing like consistent scepticism;[35] nor does he appear to be aware that the disgraceful lives of the French clergy were but[16] the inevitable consequence of a system, which, corrupt as it was, still possessed every appearance of strength and vitality. Indeed, the immense popularity which he enjoyed is, almost of itself, a decisive consideration; since no one, who is well informed as to the condition of the French early in the sixteenth century, will believe it possible that a people, so sunk in superstition, should delight in a writer by whom superstition is constantly attacked.

But the extension of experience, and the consequent increase of knowledge, were preparing the way for a great change in the French intellect. The process, which had just taken place in England, was now beginning to take place in France; and in both countries the order of events was precisely the same. The spirit of doubt, hitherto confined to an occasional solitary thinker, gradually assumed a bolder form: first it found a vent in the national literature, and then it influenced the conduct of practical statesmen. That there was, in France, an intimate connexion between scepticism and toleration, is proved, not only by those general arguments which make us infer that such connexion must always exist, but also by the circumstance, that only a few years before the promulgation of the Edict of Nantes, there appeared the first systematic sceptic who wrote in the French language. The Essays of Montaigne were published in 1588,[36] and form an epoch, not only in the literature, but also in the civilization, of France. Putting aside personal peculiarities, which have less weight than is commonly supposed, it will be found that the difference between Rabelais and Montaigne is a measure of the difference between 1545 [37] and 1588,[17] and that it, in some degree, corresponds with the relation I have indicated between Jewel and Hooker, and between Hooker and Chillingworth. For, the law which governs all these relations is the law of a progressive scepticism. What Rabelais was to the supporters of theology, that was Montaigne to the theology itself. The writings of Rabelais were only directed against the clergy; but the writings of Montaigne were directed against the system of which the clergy were the offspring.[38] Under the guise of a mere man of the world, expressing natural thoughts in common language, Montaigne concealed a spirit of lofty and audacious inquiry.[39] Although he lacked that comprehensiveness which is the highest form of genius, he possessed other qualities essential to a great mind. He was very cautious, and yet he was very bold. He was cautious, since he would not believe strange things[18] because they had been handed down by his forefathers; and he was bold, since he was undaunted by the reproaches with which the ignorant, who love to dogmatize, always cover those whose knowledge makes them ready to doubt.[40] These peculiarities would, in any age, have made Montaigne a useful man: in the sixteenth century they made him an important one. At the same time, his easy and amusing style [41] increased the circulation of his works, and thus contributed to popularize those opinions which he ventured to recommend for general adoption.

This, then, is the first open declaration of that scepticism, which, towards the end of the sixteenth century, publicly appeared in France.[42] During nearly three generations, it continued its course with a constantly increasing activity, and developed itself in a manner similar to that which took place in England. It will not be necessary to follow all the steps of this great process; but I will endeavour to trace those which, by their prominence, seem to be the most important.

A few years after the appearance of the Essays of Montaigne, there was published in France a work, which though now little read, possessed in the seventeenth[19] century a reputation of the highest order. This was the celebrated Treatise on Wisdom, by Charron, in which we find, for the first time, an attempt made in a modern language to construct a system of morals without the aid of theology.[43] What rendered this book, in some respects, even more formidable than Montaigne's, was the air of gravity with which it was written. Charron was evidently deeply impressed with the importance of the task he had undertaken, and he is honourably distinguished from his contemporaries, by a remarkable purity both of language and of sentiment. His work is almost the only one of that age in which nothing can be found to offend the chastest ears. Although he borrowed from Montaigne innumerable illustrations,[44] he has carefully omitted those indecencies into which that otherwise charming writer was often betrayed. Besides this, there is about the work of Charron a systematic completeness which never fails to attract attention. In originality, he was, in some respects, inferior to Montaigne; but he had the advantage of coming after him, and there can be no doubt that he rose to an elevation which, to Montaigne, would have[20] been inaccessible. Taking his stand, as it were, on the summit of knowledge, he boldly attempts to enumerate the elements of wisdom, and the conditions under which those elements will work. In the scheme which he thus constructs, he entirely omits theological dogmas;[45] and he treats with undissembled scorn many of those conclusions which the people had hitherto universally received. He reminds his countrymen that their religion is the accidental result of their birth and education, and that if they had been born in a Mohammedan country, they would have been as firm believers in Mohammedanism as they then were in Christianity.[46] From this consideration, he insists on the absurdity of their troubling themselves about the variety of creeds, seeing that such variety is the result of circumstances over which they have no control. Also it is to be observed, that each of these different religions declares itself to be the true one;[47] and all of them are equally based upon supernatural pretensions, such as mysteries, miracles, prophets, and the like.[48] It is because men forget these things, that they are the slaves of that confidence which is the great obstacle to all real knowledge, and which can only be removed by taking such a large and comprehensive view, as will show us how all nations cling with equal zeal to the tenets in which they have been educated.[49] And, says Charron, if we[21] look a little deeper, we shall see that each of the great religions is built upon that which preceded it. Thus, the religion of the Jews is founded upon that of the Egyptians; Christianity is the result of Judaism; and, from these two last, there has naturally sprung Mohammedanism.[50] We, therefore, adds this great writer, should rise above the pretensions of hostile sects, and, without being terrified by the fear of future punishment, or allured by the hope of future happiness, we should be content with such practical religion as consists in performing the duties of life; and, uncontrolled by the dogmas of any particular creed, we should strive to make the soul retire inward upon itself, and by the efforts of its own contemplation, admire the ineffable grandeur of the Being of beings, the supreme cause of all created things.[51]

Such were the sentiments which, in the year 1601, were for the first time laid before the French people in their own mother-tongue.[52] The sceptical and secular spirit, of which they were the representatives, continued to increase; and, as the seventeenth century advanced, the decline of fanaticism, so far from being confined to a few isolated thinkers, gradually became common, even among ordinary politicians.[53] The clergy, sensible of the danger, wished the government to check the progress of inquiry;[54] and the pope himself, in a formal remonstrance with Henry, urged him to remedy the evil, by prosecuting the heretics, from whom he[23] thought all the mischief had originally proceeded.[55] But this the king steadily refused. He saw the immense advantages that would arise, if he could weaken the ecclesiastical power by balancing the two sects against each other;[56] and therefore, though he was a Catholic, his policy rather leaned in favour of the Protestants, as being the weaker party.[57] He granted sums of money towards the support of their ministers and the repair of their churches;[58] he banished the Jesuits, who were their most dangerous enemies;[59] and he always had with him two representatives of the reformed church, whose business it was to inform him of[24] any infraction of those edicts which he had issued in favour of their religion.[60]

Thus it was, that in France, as well as in England, toleration was preceded by scepticism; and thus it was, that out of this scepticism there arose the humane and enlightened measures of Henry IV. The great prince, by whom these things were effected, unhappily fell a victim to that fanatical spirit which he had done much to curb;[61] but the circumstances which occurred after his death, showed how great an impetus had been given to the age.

On the murder of Henry IV., in 1610, the government fell into the hands of the queen, who administered it during the minority of her son, Louis XIII. And it is a remarkable evidence of the direction which the mind was now taking, that she, though a weak and bigoted woman,[62] refrained from those persecutions which, only one generation before, had been considered a necessary proof of religious sincerity. That, indeed, must have been a movement of no common energy, which could force toleration, early in the seventeenth century, upon a princess of the house of Medici, an ignorant and superstitious Catholic, who had been educated[25] in the midst of her priests, and had been accustomed to look for their applause as the highest object of earthly ambition.

Yet this was what actually occurred. The queen continued the ministers of Henry IV., and announced, that in every thing she would follow his example.[63] Her first public act was, a declaration, that the Edict of Nantes should be inviolably preserved; for, she says, ‘experience has taught our predecessors, that violence, so far from inducing men to return to the Catholic church, prevents them from doing so.’[64] Indeed, so anxious was she upon this point, that when Louis, in 1614, attained his nominal majority, the first act of his government was another confirmation of the Edict of Nantes.[65] And, in 1615, she caused the king, who still remained under her tutelage,[66] to issue a declaration,[26] by which all preceding measures in favour of the Protestants were publicly confirmed.[67] In the same spirit, she, in 1611, wished to raise to the presidency of parliament the celebrated De Thou; and it was only by making a formal announcement of his heresy, that the pope succeeded in frustrating what he considered an impious design.[68]

The turn which things were now taking, caused no little alarm to the friends of the hierarchy. The most zealous churchmen loudly censured the policy of the queen; and a great historian has observed that when, during the reign of Louis XIII., such alarm was caused in Europe by the active encroachments of the ecclesiastical power, France was the first country that ventured to oppose them.[69] The nuncio openly complained to the queen of her conduct in favouring heretics; and he anxiously desired that those Protestant works should be suppressed, by which the consciences of true believers were greatly scandalized.[70] But these, and similar representations, were no longer listened to with the respect they would formerly have received; and the affairs of the country continued to be administered with those purely temporal views, on which the measures of Henry IV. had been avowedly based.[71]

Such was now the policy of the government of France;[27] a government which, not many years before, had considered it the great duty of a sovereign to punish heretics and extirpate heresy. That this continued improvement was merely the result of the general intellectual development, is evident, not only from its success, but also from the character of the queen-regent and the king. No one who has read the contemporary memoirs, can deny that Mary de Medici and Louis XIII. were as superstitious as any of their predecessors; and it is, therefore, evident, that this disregard of theological prejudices was due, not to their own personal merits, but to the advancing knowledge of the country, and to the pressure of an age which, in the rapidity of its progress, hurried along those who believed themselves to be its rulers.

But these considerations, weighty as they are, will only slightly diminish the merit of that remarkable man, who now appeared on the stage of public affairs. During the last eighteen years of the reign of Louis XIII., France was entirely governed by Richelieu,[72] one of that extremely small class of statesmen to whom it is given to impress their own character on the destiny of their country. This great ruler has, in his knowledge of the political art, probably never been surpassed, except by that prodigy of genius who, in our time, troubled the fortunes of Europe. But, in one important view, Richelieu was superior to Napoleon. The life of Napoleon was a constant effort to oppress the liberties of mankind; and his unrivalled capacity exhausted its resources in struggling against the tendencies of a great age. Richelieu, too, was a despot; but his despotism took a nobler turn. He displayed, what Napoleon never possessed, a just appreciation of the spirit of his own time. In one great point, indeed, he failed. His attempts to destroy the power of the[28] French nobility were altogether futile;[73] for, owing to a long course of events, the authority of that insolent class was so deeply rooted in the popular mind, that the labours of another century were required to efface its ancient influence. But, though Richelieu could not diminish the social and moral weight of the French nobles, he curtailed their political privileges; and he chastised their crimes with a severity which, for a time at least, repressed their former license.[74] So little, however, can even the ablest statesman effect, unless he is seconded by the general temper of the age in which he lives, that these checks, rude as they were, produced no permanent result. After his death, the French nobles, as we shall presently see, quickly rallied; and, in the wars of the Fronde, debased that great struggle into a mere contest of rival families. Nor was it until the close of the eighteenth century, that France was finally relieved from the overweening influence of that powerful class, whose selfishness had long retarded the progress of civilization, by retaining the people in a thraldom, from the remote effects of which they have not yet fully recovered.

Although in this respect Richelieu failed in achieving his designs, he in other matters met with signal success. This was owing to the fact, that his large and comprehensive[29] views harmonized with that sceptical tendency, of which I have just given some account. For this remarkable man, though he was a bishop and a cardinal, never for a moment allowed the claims of his profession to make him forego the superior claims of his country. He knew, what is too often forgotten, that the governor of a people should measure affairs solely by a political standard, and should pay no regard to the pretensions of any sect, or the propagation of any opinions, except in reference to the present and practical welfare of men. The consequence was, that, during his administration, there was seen the marvellous spectacle of supreme authority wielded by a priest, who took no pains to increase the power of the spiritual classes. Indeed, so far from this, he often treated them with what was then considered unexampled rigour. The royal confessors, on account of the importance of their functions, had always been regarded with a certain veneration; they were supposed to be men of unspotted piety; they had hitherto possessed immense influence, and even the most powerful statesmen had thought it advisable to show them the deference due to their exalted position.[75] Richelieu, however, was too familiar with the arts of his profession, to feel much respect for these keepers of the consciences of kings. Caussin, the confessor of Louis XIII., had, it seems, followed the example of his predecessors, and endeavoured to instill his own views of policy into the mind of the royal penitent.[76] But[30] Richelieu, so soon as he heard of this, dismissed him from office, and sent him into exile; for, he contemptuously says, ‘the little father Caussin’ should not interfere in matters of government, since he is one of those ‘who have always been brought up in the innocence of a religious life.’[77] Caussin was succeeded by the celebrated Sirmond; but Richelieu would not allow the new confessor to begin his duties, until he had solemnly promised never to interfere in state affairs.[78]

On another occasion of much more importance, Richelieu displayed a similar spirit. The French clergy were then possessed of enormous wealth; and, as they enjoyed the privilege of taxing themselves, they were careful not to make what they considered unnecessary contributions towards defraying the expenses of the state. They had cheerfully advanced money to carry on war against the Protestants, because they believed it to be their duty to assist in the extirpation of heresy.[79][31] But they saw no reason why their revenues should be wasted in effecting mere temporal benefits; they considered themselves as the guardians of funds set apart for spiritual purposes, and they thought it impious that wealth consecrated by the piety of their ancestors should fall into the profane hands of secular statesmen. Richelieu, who looked on these scruples as the artifices of interested men, had taken a very different view of the relation which the clergy bore to the country.[80] So far from thinking that the interests of the church were superior to those of the state, he laid it down as a maxim of policy, that ‘the reputation of the state was the first consideration.’[81] With such fearlessness did he carry out this principle, that having convoked at Nantes a great assembly of the clergy, he compelled them to aid the government by an extraordinary supply of 6,000,000 francs; and finding that some of the highest dignitaries had expressed their discontent at so unusual a step, he laid hands on them also, and to the amazement of the church, sent into exile not only four of the bishops, but likewise the two archbishops of Toulouse and of Sens.[82]

If these things had been done fifty years earlier, they would most assuredly have proved fatal to the minister who dared to attempt them. But Richelieu, in these and similar measures, was aided by the spirit of an age which was beginning to despise its ancient masters. For this general tendency was now becoming apparent, not only in literature and in politics, but even in the proceedings of the ordinary tribunals. The nuncio indignantly complained of the hostility displayed against ecclesiastics by the French judges; and he said that, among other shameful things, some clergymen had been hung, without being first deprived of their spiritual character.[83] On other occasions, the increasing contempt showed itself in a way well suited to the coarseness of the prevailing manners. Sourdis, the archbishop of Bourdeaux, was twice ignominiously beaten; once by the Duke d'Epernon, and afterwards by the Maréchal de Vitry.[84] Nor did Richelieu, who usually treated the nobles with such severity, seem anxious to punish[33] this gross outrage. Indeed, the archbishop not only received no sympathy, but, a few years later, was peremptorily ordered by Richelieu to retire to his own diocese; such, however, was his alarm at the state of affairs, that he fled to Carpentras, and put himself under the protection of the pope.[85] This happened in 1641 and nine years earlier, the church had incurred a still greater scandal. For in 1632, serious disturbances having arisen in Languedoc, Richelieu did not fear to meet the difficulty by depriving some of the bishops, and seizing the temporalities of the others.[86]

The indignation of the clergy may be easily imagined. Such repeated injuries, even if they had proceeded from a layman, would have been hard to endure; but they were rendered doubly bitter by being the work of one of themselves—one who had been nurtured in the profession against which he turned. This it was which aggravated the offence, because it seemed to be adding treachery to insult. It was not a war from without, but it was a treason from within. It was a bishop who humbled the episcopacy, and a cardinal who affronted the church.[87] Such, however, was the general[34] temper of men, that the clergy did not venture to strike an open blow; but, by means of their partisans, they scattered the most odious libels against the great minister. They said that he was unchaste, that he was guilty of open debauchery, and that he held incestuous commerce with his own niece.[88] They declared that he had no religion; that he was only a Catholic in name; that he was the pontiff of the Huguenots; that he was the patriarch of atheists;[89] and what was worse than all, they even accused him of wishing to establish a schism in the French church.[90] Happily the time was now passing away in which the national mind could be moved by such artifices as these. Still the charges are worth recording, because they illustrate the tendency of public affairs, and the bitterness with which the spiritual classes saw the reins of power falling from their hands. Indeed, all this was so manifest, that in the last civil war raised against Richelieu, only two years before his death, the insurgents stated in their proclamation, that one of their objects was to revive the respect with which the clergy and nobles had formerly been treated.[91]

The more we study the career of Richelieu, the more prominent does this antagonism become. Every thing proves that he was conscious of a great struggle going on between the old ecclesiastical scheme of government and the new secular scheme; and that he was determined to put down the old plan, and uphold the new one. For, not only in his domestic administration, but also[35] in his foreign policy, do we find the same unprecedented disregard of theological interests. The House of Austria, particularly its Spanish branch, had long been respected by all pious men as the faithful ally of the church; it was looked upon as the scourge of heresy; and its proceedings against the heretics had won for it a great name in ecclesiastical history.[92] When, therefore, the French government, in the reign of Charles IX., made a deliberate attempt to destroy the Protestants, France naturally established an intimate connexion with Spain as well as with Rome;[93] and these three great powers were firmly united, not by a community of temporal interests, but by the force of a religious compact. This theological confederacy was afterwards broken up by the personal character of Henry IV.,[94] and by the growing indifference of the age; but during the minority of Louis XIII., the queen-regent had in some degree renewed it, and had attempted to revive the superstitious prejudices upon which it was based.[95] In all her feelings, she was a zealous Catholic; she was warmly attached to Spain; and she succeeded in marrying her son, the young king, to a Spanish princess, and her daughter to a Spanish prince.[96]

It might have been expected that when Richelieu, a great dignitary of the Romish church, was placed at the head of affairs, he would have reëstablished a connexion so eagerly desired by the profession to which he belonged.[97] But his conduct was not regulated by such views as these. His object was, not to favour the opinions of a sect, but to promote the interests of a nation. His treaties, his diplomacy, and the schemes of his foreign alliances, were all directed, not against the enemies of the church, but against the enemies of France. By erecting this new standard of action, Richelieu took a great step towards secularizing the whole system of European politics. For he thus made the theoretical interests of men subordinate to their practical interests. Before his time, the rulers of France, in order to punish their Protestant subjects, had not hesitated to demand the aid of the Catholic troops of Spain; and in so doing, they merely acted upon the old opinion, that it was the chief duty of a government to suppress heresy. This pernicious doctrine was first openly repudiated by Richelieu. As early as 1617, and before he had established his power, he, in an instruction to one of the foreign ministers which is still extant, laid it down as a principle, that, in matters of state, no Catholic ought to prefer a Spaniard to a French Protestant.[98] To us, indeed, in the progress of[37] society, such preference of the claims of our country to those of our creed, has become a matter of course; but in those days it was a startling novelty.[99] Richelieu, however, did not fear to push the paradox even to its remotest consequences. The Catholic church justly considered that its interests were bound up with those of the House of Austria;[100] but Richelieu, directly he was called to the council, determined to humble that house in both its branches.[101] To effect this, he openly supported the bitterest enemies of his own religion. He aided the Lutherans against the Emperor of Germany; he aided the Calvinists against the king of Spain. During the eighteen years he was supreme, he steadily pursued the same undeviating policy.[102] When Philip attempted to repress the Dutch Protestants, Richelieu made common cause with them; at first, advancing them large sums of money, and afterwards inducing the French[38] king to sign a treaty of intimate alliance with those who, in the opinion of the church, he ought rather to have chastized as rebellious heretics.[103] In the same way, when that great war broke out, in which the emperor attempted to subjugate to the true faith the consciences of German Protestants, Richelieu stood forward as their protector; he endeavoured from the beginning to save their leader the Palatine;[104] and, failing in that, he concluded in their favour an alliance with Gustavus Adolphus,[105] the ablest military commander the Reformers had then produced. Nor did he stop there. After the death of Gustavus, he, seeing that the Protestants were thus deprived of their great leader, made still more vigorous efforts in their favour.[106] He intrigued[39] for them in foreign courts; he opened negotiations in their behalf; and eventually he organized for their protection a public confederacy, in which all ecclesiastical considerations were set at defiance. This league, which formed an important precedent in the international polity of Europe, was not only contracted by Richelieu with the two most powerful enemies of his own church, but it was, from its tenor, what Sismondi emphatically calls a ‘Protestant confederation’—a Protestant confederation, he says, between France, England, and Holland.[107]

These things alone would have made the administration of Richelieu a great epoch in the history of European civilization. For his government affords the first example of an eminent Catholic statesman systematically disregarding ecclesiastical interests, and showing that disregard in the whole scheme of his foreign, as well as of his domestic, policy. Some instances, indeed, approaching to this, may be found, at an earlier period, among the petty rulers of Italian states; but, even there, such attempts have never been successful; they had never been continued for any length of time, nor had they been carried out on a scale large enough to raise them to the dignity of international precedents. The peculiar glory of Richelieu is, that his foreign policy was, not occasionally, but invariably, governed by temporal considerations; nor do I believe that, during the long tenure of his power, there is to be found the least proof of his regard for those theological interests, the promotion of which had long been looked upon as a matter of paramount importance. By thus steadily subordinating the church to the state; by enforcing the principle of this subordination, on a[40] large scale, with great ability, and with unvarying success, he laid the foundation of that purely secular polity, the consolidation of which has, since his death, been the aim of all the best European diplomatists. The result was a most salutary change, which had been for some time preparing, but which, under him, was first completed. For, by the introduction of this system, an end was put to religious wars; and the chances of peace were increased, by thus removing one of the causes to which the interruption of peace had often been owing.[108] At the same time, there was prepared the way for that final separation of theology from politics, which it will be the business of future generations fully to achieve. How great a step had been taken in this direction, appears from the facility with[41] which the operations of Richelieu were continued by men every way his inferiors. Less than two years after his death, there was assembled the Congress of Westphalia;[109] the members of which concluded that celebrated peace, which is remarkable, as being the first comprehensive attempt to adjust the conflicting interests of the leading European countries.[110] In this important treaty, ecclesiastical interests were altogether disregarded;[111] and the contracting parties, instead of, as heretofore, depriving each other of their possessions, took the bolder course of indemnifying themselves at the expense of the church, and did not hesitate to seize her revenues, and secularize several of her bishoprics.[112] From this grievous insult, which became a precedent in the public law of Europe, the spiritual power has never recovered; and it is remarked by a very competent authority that, since that period, diplomatists have, in their official acts, neglected religious interests, and have preferred the advocacy of matters relating to the commerce and colonies of their respective[42] countries.[113] The truth of this observation is confirmed by the interesting fact, that the Thirty Years' War, to which this same treaty put an end, is the last great religious war which has ever been waged;[114] no civilized people, during two centuries, having thought it worth while to peril their own safety in order to disturb the belief of their neighbours. This, indeed, is but a part of that vast secular movement, by which superstition has been weakened, and the civilization of Europe secured. Without, however, discussing that subject, I will now endeavour to show how the policy of Richelieu, in regard to the French Protestant church, corresponded with his policy in regard to the French Catholic church; so, that, in both departments, this great statesman, aided by that progress of knowledge for which his age was remarkable, was able to struggle with prejudices from which men, slowly and with infinite difficulty, were attempting to emerge.

The treatment of the French Protestants by Richelieu is, undoubtedly, one of the most honourable parts of his system; and in it, as in other liberal measures, he was assisted by the course of preceding events. His administration, taken in connexion with that of Henry IV. and the queen-regent, presents the noble spectacle of a toleration far more complete than any which had then been seen in Catholic Europe. While in other Christian countries, men were being incessantly persecuted,[43] simply because they held opinions different from those professed by the established clergy, France refused to follow the general example, and protected those heretics whom the church was eager to punish. Indeed, not only were they protected, but, when they possessed abilities, they were openly rewarded. In addition to their appointments to civil offices, many of them were advanced to high military posts; and Europe beheld, with astonishment, the armies of the king of France led by heretical generals. Rohan, Lesdiguières, Chatillon, La Force, Bernard de Weimar, were among the most celebrated of the military leaders employed by Louis XIII.; and all of them were Protestants, as also were some younger, but distinguished officers, such as Gassion, Rantzau, Schomberg, and Turenne. For now, nothing was beyond the reach of men who, half a century earlier, would, on account of their heresies, have been persecuted to the death. Shortly before the accession of Louis XIII., Lesdiguières, the ablest general among the French Protestants, was made marshal of France.[115] Fourteen years later, the same high dignity was conferred upon two other Protestants, Chatillon and La Force; the former of whom is said to have been the most influential of the schismatics.[116] Both these appointments were in 1622;[117] and, in 1634, still greater scandal was caused by the elevation of Sully, who, notwithstanding his notorious heresy, also received the staff of marshal of France.[118] This was the[44] work of Richelieu, and it gave serious offence to the friends of the church; but the great statesman paid so little attention to their clamour, that, after the civil war was concluded, he took another step equally obnoxious. The Duke de Rohan was the most active of all the enemies of the established church, and was looked up to by the Protestants as the main support of their party. He had taken up arms in their favour, and, declining to abandon his religion, had, by the fate of war, been driven from France. But Richelieu, who was acquainted with his ability, cared little about his opinions. He, therefore, recalled him from exile, employed him in a negotiation with Switzerland, and sent him on foreign service, as commander of one of the armies of the king of France.[119]

Such were the tendencies which characterized this new state of things. It is hardly necessary to observe how beneficial this great change must have been; since by it men were encouraged to look to their country as the first consideration, and, discarding their old disputes, Catholic soldiers were taught to obey heretical generals, and follow their standards to victory. In addition to this, the mere social amalgamation, arising from the professors of different creeds mixing in the same camp, and fighting under the same banner, must have still further aided to disarm the mind, partly by merging theological feuds in a common, and yet a temporal, object, and partly by showing to each sect, that their religious opponents were not entirely bereft of human virtue; that they still retained some of the qualities of men; and that it was even possible to combine the errors of heresy with all the capabilities of a good and competent citizen.[120]

But, while the hateful animosities by which France had long been distracted, were, under the policy of Richelieu, gradually subsiding, it is singular to observe that, though the prejudices of the Catholics obviously diminished, those of the Protestants seemed, for a time, to retain all their activity. It is, indeed, a striking proof of the perversity and pertinacity of such feelings, that it was precisely in the country, and at the period, when the Protestants were best treated, that they displayed most turbulence. And in this, as in all such cases, the cause principally at work was the influence of that class to which circumstances, I will now explain, had secured a temporary ascendency.

For, the diminution of the theological spirit had effected in the Protestants a remarkable but a very natural result. The increasing toleration of the French government had laid open to their leaders prizes which before they could never have obtained. As long as all offices were refused to the Protestant nobles, it was natural that they should cling with the greater zeal to their own party, by whom alone their virtues were acknowledged. But, when the principle was once recognised, that the state would reward men for their abilities, without regard to their religion, there was introduced into every sect a new element of discord. The leaders of the Reformers could not fail to feel some gratitude, or, at all events, some interest for the government which employed them; and the influence of temporal considerations being thus strengthened, the influence of religious ties must have been weakened. It is impossible that opposite feelings should be paramount, at the same moment, in the same mind. The further men extend their view, the less they care for each of the details of which the view is composed. Patriotism is a corrective of superstition; and the more we feel for our country, the less we feel for our sect. Thus it is,[46] that in the progress of civilization, the scope of the intellect is widened; its horizon is enlarged; its sympathies are multiplied; and, as the range of its excursions is increased, the tenacity of its grasp is slackened, until, at length, it begins to perceive that the infinite variety of circumstances necessarily causes an infinite variety of opinions; that a creed, which is good and natural for one man, may be bad and unnatural for another; and that, so far from interfering with the march of religious convictions, we should be content to look into ourselves, search our own hearts, purge our own souls, soften the evil of our own passions, and extirpate that insolent and intolerant spirit, which is at once the cause and the effect of all theological controversy.

It was in this direction, that a prodigious step was taken by the French in the first half of the seventeenth century. Unfortunately, however, the advantages which arose were accompanied by serious drawbacks. From the introduction of temporal considerations among the Protestant leaders, there occurred two results of considerable importance. The first result was, that many of the Protestants changed their religion. Before the Edict of Nantes, they had been constantly persecuted, and had, as constantly, increased.[121] But, under the tolerant policy of Henry IV. and Louis XIII., they continued to diminish.[122] Indeed, this was the natural consequence of the growth of that secular spirit which,[47] in every country, has assuaged religious animosities. For, by the action of that spirit, the influence of social and political views began to outweigh those theological views to which the minds of men had long been confined. As these temporal ties increased in strength, there was, of course, generated among the rival factions an increased tendency to assimilate; while, as the Catholics were not only much more numerous, but in every respect, more influential, than their opponents, they reaped the benefit of this movement, and gradually drew over to their side many of their former enemies. That this absorption of the smaller sect into the larger, is due to the cause I have mentioned, is rendered still more evident by the interesting fact, that the change began among the heads of the party; and that it was not the inferior Protestants who first abandoned their leaders, but it was rather the leaders who deserted their followers. This was because the leaders, being more educated than the great body of the people, were more susceptible to the sceptical movement, and therefore set the example of an indifference to disputes which still engrossed the popular mind. As soon as this indifference had reached a certain point, the attractions offered by the conciliating policy of Louis XIII. became irresistible; and the Protestant nobles, in particular, being most exposed to political temptations, began to alienate themselves from their own party, in order to form an alliance with a court which showed itself ready to reward their merits.

It is, of course, impossible to fix the exact period at which this important change took place.[123] But we may say with certainty, that very early in the reign of[48] Louis XIII. many of the Protestant nobles cared nothing for their religion, while the remainder of them ceased to feel that interest in it which they had formerly expressed. Indeed, some of the most eminent of them openly abandoned their creed, and joined that very church which they had been taught to abhor as the man of sin, and the whore of Babylon. The Duke de Lesdiguières, the greatest of all the Protestant generals,[124] became a Catholic, and, as a reward for his conversion, was made constable of France.[125] The Duke de la Tremouille adopted the same course;[126] as also did the Duke de la Meilleraye,[127] the Duke de Bouillon,[128] and a few years later the Marquis de Montausier.[129] These illustrious nobles were among the most powerful of the members of the Reformed communion; but they quitted it without compunction, sacrificing their old associations[49] in favour of the opinions professed by the state. Among the other men of high rank, who still remained nominally connected with the French Protestants, we find a similar spirit. We find them lukewarm respecting matters, for which, if they had been born fifty years earlier, they would have laid down their lives. The Maréchal de Bouillon, who professed himself to be a Protestant, was unwilling to change his religion; but he so comported himself as to show that he considered its interests as subordinate to political considerations.[130] A similar remark has been made by the French historians concerning the Duke de Sully and the Marquis de Chatillon, both of whom, though they were members of the Reformed church, displayed a marked indifference to those theological interests which had formerly been objects of supreme importance.[131] The result was, that when, in 1621, the Protestants began their civil war against the government, it was found that of all their great leaders, two only, Rohan and his brother Soubise, were prepared to risk their lives in support of their religion.[132]

Thus it was, that the first great consequence of the tolerating policy of the French government was to deprive the Protestants of the support of their former leaders, and, in several instances, even to turn their sympathies on the side of the Catholic church. But the other consequence, to which I have alluded, was one of far greater moment. The growing indifference of the higher classes of Protestants threw the management of their party into the hands of the clergy. The post, which was deserted by the secular leaders, was naturally seized by the spiritual leaders. And as, in every sect, the clergy, as a body, have always been remarkable for their intolerance of opinions different to their own, it followed, that this change infused into the now mutilated ranks of the Protestants an acrimony not inferior to that of the worst times of the sixteenth century.[133] Hence it was, that by a singular, but perfectly natural combination, the Protestants, who professed to take their stand on the right of private judgment, became,[51] early in the seventeenth century, more intolerant than the Catholics, who based their religion on the dictates of an infallible church.

This is one of the many instances which show how superficial is the opinion of those speculative writers, who believe that the Protestant religion is necessarily more liberal than the Catholic. If those who adopt this view had taken the pains to study the history of Europe in its original sources, they would have learned, that the liberality of every sect depends, not at all on its avowed tenets, but on the circumstances in which it is placed, and on the amount of authority possessed by its priesthood. The Protestant religion is, for the most part, more tolerant than the Catholic, simply because the events which have given rise to Protestantism have at the same time increased the play of the intellect, and therefore lessened the power of the clergy. But whoever has read the works of the great Calvinist divines, and above all, whoever has studied their history, must know, that in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the desire of persecuting their opponents burnt as hotly among them, as it did among any of the Catholics even in the worst days of the papal dominion. This is a mere matter of fact, of which any one may satisfy himself, by consulting the original documents of those times. And even now, there is more superstition, more bigotry, and less of the charity of real religion, among the lower order of Scotch Protestants, than there is among the lower order of French Catholics. Yet for one intolerant passage in Protestant theology, it would be easy to point out twenty in Catholic theology. The truth, however, is, that the actions of men are governed, not by dogmas, and text-books, and rubrics, but by the opinions and habits of their contemporaries, by the general spirit of their age, and by the character of those classes who are in the ascendant. This seems to be the origin of that difference between religious theory and religious practice, of which theologians greatly complain as a stumbling-block and an evil. For, religious theories being preserved in books, in a doctrinal and dogmatic form, remain a perpetual witness, and, therefore[52] cannot be changed without incurring the obvious charge of inconsistency, or of heresy. But the practical part of every religion, its moral, political, and social workings, embrace such an immense variety of interests, and have to do with such complicated and shifting agencies, that it is hopeless to fix them by formularies: they, even in the most rigid systems, are left, in a great measure, to private discretion; and, being almost entirely unwritten, they lack those precautions by which the permanence of dogmas is effectually secured.[134] Hence it is, that while the religious doctrines professed by a people in their national creed are no criterion of their civilization, their religious practice is, on the other hand, so pliant and so capable of adaptation to social wants, that it forms one of the best standards by which the spirit of any age can be measured.

It is on account of these things, that we ought not to be surprised that, during many years, the French Protestants, who affected to appeal to the right of private judgment, were more intolerant of the exercise of that judgment by their adversaries than were the[53] Catholics; although the Catholics, by recognising an infallible church, ought, in consistency, to be superstitious, and may be said to inherit intolerance as their natural birthright.[135] Thus, while the Catholics were theoretically more bigoted than the Protestants, the Protestants became practically more bigoted than the Catholics. The Protestants continued to insist upon that right of private judgment in religion, which the Catholics continued to deny. Yet, such was the force of circumstances, that each sect, in its practice, contradicted its own dogma, and acted as if it had embraced the dogma of its opponents. The cause of this change was very simple. Among the French, the theological spirit, as we have already seen, was decaying; and the decline of the influence of the clergy was, as invariably happens, accompanied by an increase of toleration. But, among the French Protestants, this partial diminution of the theological spirit had produced different consequences; because it had brought about a change of leaders, which threw the command into the hands of the clergy, and, by increasing their power, provoked a reaction, and revived those very feelings to the decay of which the reaction owed its origin. This seems to explain how it is, that a religion, which is not protected by the government, usually displays greater energy and greater vitality than one which is so protected. In the progress of society, the theological spirit first declines among the most educated classes; and then it is that the government can step in, as it does in England, and, controlling the clergy, make the church a creature of the state; thus weakening the ecclesiastical element by tempering it with secular considerations. But, when the state refuses to do this, the reins of power, as they fall from the hands of the upper classes, are seized by the clergy, and there[54] arises a state of things of which the French Protestants in the seventeenth century, and the Irish Catholics in our own time, form the best illustration. In such cases, it will always happen, that the religion which is tolerated by the government, though not fully recognised by it, will the longest retain its vitality; because its priesthood, neglected by the state, must cling closer to the people, in whom alone is the source of their power.[136] On the other hand, in a religion which is favoured and richly endowed by the state, the union between the priesthood and inferior laity will be less intimate; the clergy will look to the government as well as to the people; and the interference of political views, of considerations of temporal expediency, and, if it may be added without irreverence, the hopes of promotion will secularize the ecclesiastical spirit,[137] and, according to the process I have already traced, will thus hasten the march of toleration.

These generalizations, which account for a great part of the present superstition of the Irish Catholics, will also account for the former superstition of the French Protestants. In both cases, the government disdaining the supervision of an heretical religion, allowed supreme authority to fall into the hands of the priesthood, who stimulated the bigotry of men, and[55] encouraged them in a hatred of their opponents. What the results of this are in Ireland, is best known to those of our statesmen, who, with unusual candour, have declared Ireland to be their greatest difficulty. What the results were in France, we will now endeavour to ascertain.

The conciliating spirit of the French government having drawn over to its side some of the most eminent of the French Protestants, and having disarmed the hostility of others, the leadership of the party fell, as we have already seen, into the hands of those inferior men, who displayed in their new position the intolerance characteristic of their order. Without pretending to write a history of the odious feuds that now arose, I will lay before the reader some evidence of their increasing bitterness; and I will point out a few of the steps by which the angry feelings of religious controversy became so inflamed, that at length they kindled a civil war, which nothing but the improved temper of the Catholics prevented from being as sanguinary as were the horrible struggles of the sixteenth century. For, when the French Protestants became governed by men whose professional habits made them consider heresy to be the greatest of crimes, there naturally sprung up a missionary and proselytizing spirit, which induced them to interfere with the religion of the Catholics, and, under the old pretence of turning them from the error of their ways, revived those animosities which the progress of knowledge tended to appease. And as, under such guidance, these feelings quickly increased, the Protestants soon learned to despise that great Edict of Nantes, by which their liberties were secured; and they embarked in a dangerous contest, in which their object was, not to protect their own religion, but to weaken the religion of that very party to whom they owed a toleration, which had been reluctantly conceded by the prejudices of the age.

It was stipulated, in the Edict of Nantes, that the Protestants should enjoy the full exercise of their religion; and this right they continued to possess until the reign of Louis XIV. To this there were added several[56] other privileges, such as no Catholic Government, except that of France, would then have granted to its heretical subjects. But these things did not satisfy the desires of the Protestant clergy. They were not content to exercise their own religion, unless they could also trouble the religion of others. Their first step was, to call upon the government to limit the performance of those rites which the French Catholics had long revered as emblems of the national faith. For this purpose, directly after the death of Henry IV. they held a great assembly at Saumur, in which they formally demanded that no Catholic processions should be allowed in any town, place, or castle occupied by the Protestants.[138] As the government did not seem inclined to countenance this monstrous pretension, these intolerant sectaries took the law into their own hands. They not only attacked the Catholic processions wherever they met them, but they subjected the priests to personal insults, and even endeavoured to prevent them from administering the sacrament to the sick. If a Catholic clergyman was engaged in burying the dead, the Protestants were sure to be present, interrupting the funeral, turning the ceremonies into ridicule, and attempting, by their clamour, to deaden the voice of the minister, so that the service performed in the church should not be heard.[139] Nor did they always confine themselves even to such demonstrations as these. For,[57] certain towns having been, perhaps imprudently, placed under their control, they exercised their authority in them with the most wanton insolence. At La Rochelle, which for importance was the second city in the kingdom, they would not permit the Catholics to have even a single church in which to celebrate what for centuries had been the sole religion of France, and was still the religion of an enormous majority of Frenchmen.[140] This, however, only formed part of a system, by which the Protestant clergy hoped to trample on the rights of their fellow-subjects. In 1619, they ordered in their general assembly at Loudun, that in none of the Protestant towns should there be a sermon preached by a Jesuit, or indeed by any ecclesiastical person commissioned by a bishop.[141] In another assembly, they forbade any Protestant even to be present at a baptism, or at a marriage, or at a funeral, if the ceremony was performed by a Catholic priest.[142] And, as if to cut off all hope of reconciliation, they not only vehemently opposed those intermarriages between the two parties, by which, in every Christian country, religious animosities have been softened, but they publicly declared, that they would withhold the sacrament from any parents whose children were married into a Catholic family.[143] Not, however, to accumulate unnecessary evidence, there is one other circumstance worth relating, as a proof of the spirit with which these and similar regulations were enforced. When Louis XIII., in 1620, visited Pau, he was not only treated with indignity, as being an heretical prince, but he found that the Protestants had not left him a single church, not one place, in which the king of France, in his own territory, could[58] perform those devotions which he believed necessary for his future salvation.[144]

This was the way in which the French Protestants, influenced by their new leaders, treated the first Catholic government which abstained from persecuting them; the first which not only allowed them the free exercise of their religion, but even advanced many of them to offices of trust and of honour.[145] All this, however, was only of a piece with the rest of their conduct. They, who in numbers and in intellect formed a miserable minority of the French nation, claimed a power which the majority had abandoned, and refused to concede to others the toleration they themselves enjoyed. Several persons, who had joined their party, now quitted it, and returned to the Catholic church; but for exercising this undoubted right, they were insulted by the Protestant clergy in the grossest manner, with every term of opprobrium and abuse.[146] For those who resisted their authority, no treatment was considered too severe. In 1612, Ferrier, a man of some reputation in his own day, having disobeyed their injunctions, was ordered to appear before one of their synods. The gist of his offence was, that he had spoken contemptuously of ecclesiastical assemblies; and to this there were, of course, added those accusations against his moral conduct, with which theologians often attempt to blacken the character of their opponents.[147] Readers of ecclesiastical history are too familiar with such charges to attach any importance to them; but as, in this case, the accused was[59] tried by men who were at once his prosecutors, his enemies, and his judges, the result was easy to anticipate. In 1613 Ferrier was excommunicated, and the excommunication was publicly proclaimed in the church of Nîmes. In this sentence, which is still extant, he is declared by the clergy to be ‘a scandalous man, a person incorrigible, impenitent and ungovernable.’ We, therefore, they add, ‘in the name and power of our Lord Jesus Christ, by the conduct of the Holy Ghost, and with authority from the church, have cast, and do now cast and throw him out of the society of the faithful, that he may be delivered up unto Satan.’[148]

That he may be delivered up unto Satan! This was the penalty which a handful of clergymen, in a corner of France, thought they could inflict on a man who dared to despise their authority. In our time such an anathema would only excite derision;[149] but, early in the seventeenth century, the open promulgation of it was enough to ruin any private person against whom it might be directed. And they whose studies have enabled them to take the measure of the ecclesiastical spirit will easily believe that, in that age, the threat did not remain a dead letter. The people, inflamed by their clergy, rose against Ferrier, attacked his family, destroyed his property, sacked and gutted his houses, and demanded with loud cries, that the ‘traitor Judas’ should be given up to them. The unhappy man, with the greatest difficulty, effected his escape; but though he saved his life by flying in the dead of the night, he was obliged to abandon for ever his native town, as he[60] dared not return to a place where he had provoked so active and so implacable a party.[150]

Into other matters, and even into those connected with the ordinary functions of government, the Protestants carried the same spirit. Although they formed so small a section of the people, they attempted to control the administration of the crown, and, by the use of threats, turn all its acts to their own favour. They would not allow the state to determine what ecclesiastical councils it should recognize; they would not even permit the king to choose his own wife. In 1615, without the least pretence of complaint, they assembled in large numbers at Grenoble and at Nîmes.[151] The deputies of Grenoble insisted that government should refuse to acknowledge the Council of Trent;[152] and both assemblies ordered that the Protestants should prevent the marriage of Louis XIII. with a Spanish princess.[153] They laid similar claims to interfere with the disposal of civil and military offices. Shortly after the death of Henry IV., they, in an assembly at Saumur, insisted that Sully should be restored to some posts from which, in their opinion, he had been unjustly removed.[154] In 1619, another of their assemblies[61] at London declared, that as one of the Protestant councillors of the Parliament of Paris had become a Catholic, he must be dismissed; and they demanded that, for the same reason, the government of Lectoure should be taken from Fontrailles, he also having adopted the not infrequent example of abandoning his sect in order to adopt a creed sanctioned by the state.[155]

By way of aiding all this, and with the view of exasperating still further religious animosities, the principal Protestant clergy put forth a series of works, which, for bitterness of feeling, have hardly ever been equalled, and which it would certainly be impossible to surpass. The intense hatred with which they regarded their Catholic countrymen can only be fully estimated by those who have looked into the pamphlets written by the French Protestants during the first half of the seventeenth century, or who have read the laboured and formal treatises of such men as Chamier, Drelincourt, Moulin, Thomson, and Vignier. Without, however, pausing on these, it will perhaps be thought sufficient if, for the sake of brevity, I follow the mere outline of political events. Great numbers of the Protestants had joined in the rebellion which, in 1615, was raised by Condé;[156] and, although they were then easily defeated, they seemed bent on trying the issue of a fresh struggle. In Béarn, where they were unusually numerous,[157] they, even during the reign of Henry IV., had refused to tolerate the Catholic religion;[62] ‘their fanatical clergy,’ says the historian of France, ‘declaring that it would be a crime to permit the idolatry of the mass.’[158] This charitable maxim they for many years actively enforced, seizing the property of the Catholic clergy, and employing it in support of their own churches;[159] so that, while in one part of the dominions of the king of France the Protestants were allowed to exercise their religion, they, in another part of his dominions, prevented the Catholics from exercising theirs. It was hardly to be expected that any government would suffer such an anomaly as this; and, in 1618, it was ordered that the Protestants should restore the plunder, and reinstate the Catholics in their former possessions. But the reformed clergy, alarmed at so sacrilegious a proposal, appointed a public fast, and inspiriting the people to resistance, forced the royal commissioner to fly from Pau, where he had arrived in the hope of effecting a peaceful adjustment of the claims of the rival parties.[160]

The rebellion thus raised by the zeal of the Protestants, was soon put down; but, according to the confession of Rohan, one of the ablest of their leaders, it was the beginning of all their misfortunes.[161] The sword had now been drawn; and the only question to[63] be decided was, whether France should be governed according to the principles of toleration recently established, or according to the maxims of a despotic sect, which, while professing to advocate the right of private judgment, was acting in a way that rendered all private judgment impossible.

Scarcely was the war in Béarn brought to an end, when the Protestants determined on making a great effort in the west of France.[162] The seat of this new struggle was Rochelle, which was one of the strongest fortresses in Europe, and was entirely in the hands of the Protestants,[163] who had grown wealthy, partly by their own industry and partly by following the occupation of public pirates.[164] In this city, which they believed to be impregnable,[165] they, in December, 1620, held a Great Assembly, to which their spiritual chiefs flocked from all parts of France. It was soon evident that their party was now governed by men who were bent on the most violent measures. Their great secular[64] leaders were, as we have already seen, gradually falling off; and, by this time, there only remained two of much ability, Rohan and Mornay, both of whom saw the inexpediency of their proceedings, and desired that the assembly should peaceably separate.[166] But the authority of the clergy was irresistible; and, by their prayers and exhortations, they easily gained over the ordinary citizens, who were then a gross and uneducated body.[167] Under their influence, the Assembly adopted a course which rendered civil war inevitable. Their first act was an edict, by which they at once confiscated all the property belonging to Catholic churches.[168] They then caused a great seal to be struck; under the authority of which they ordered that the people should be armed, and taxes collected from them for the purpose of defending their religion.[169] Finally, they drew up the[65] regulations, and organized the establishment of what they called the Reformed Churches of France and of Béarn; and, with a view to facilitate the exercise of their spiritual jurisdiction, they parcelled out France into eight circles, to each of which there was allotted a separate general, who, however, was to be accompanied by a clergyman, since the administration, in all its parts, was held responsible to that ecclesiastical assembly which called it into existence.[170]

Such were the forms and pomp of authority assumed by the spiritual leaders of the French Protestants; men by nature destined to obscurity, and whose abilities were so despicable, that, notwithstanding their temporary importance, they have left no name in history. These insignificant priests, who, at the best, were only fit to mount the pulpit of a country village, now arrogated to themselves the right of ordering the affairs of France, imposing taxes upon Frenchmen, confiscating property, raising troops, levying war; and all this for the sake of propagating a creed, which was scouted by the country at large as a foul and mischievous heresy.

In the face of these inordinate pretensions, it was evident that the French government had no choice, except to abdicate its functions, or else take arms in its own defence.[171] Whatever may be the popular notion respecting the necessary intolerance of the Catholics, it is an indisputable fact, that, early in the seventeenth century, they displayed in France a spirit of forbearance, and a Christian charity, to which the Protestants could make no pretence. During the twenty-two years which elapsed between the Edict of Nantes and the Assembly of Rochelle, the government, notwithstanding repeated provocations, never attacked the[66] Protestants;[172] nor did they make any attempt to destroy the privileges of a sect, which they were bound to consider heretical, and the extirpation of which had been deemed by their fathers to be one of the first duties of a Christian statesman.

The war that now broke out lasted seven years, and was uninterrupted, except by the short peace, first of Montpelier, and afterwards of Rochelle; neither of which, however, was very strictly preserved. But the difference in the views and intentions of the two parties corresponded to the difference between the classes which governed them. The Protestants, being influenced mainly by the clergy, made their object religious domination. The Catholics being led by statesmen, aimed at temporal advantages. Thus it was, that circumstances had in France so completely obliterated the original tendency of these two great sects, that, by a singular metamorphosis, the secular principle was now represented by the Catholics, and the theological principle by the Protestants. The authority of the clergy, and therefore the interests of superstition, were upheld by that very party which owed its origin to the diminution of both; they were, on the other hand, attacked by a party whose success had hitherto depended on the increase of both. If the Catholics triumphed, the ecclesiastical power would be weakened; if the Protestants triumphed, it would be strengthened. Of this fact, so far as the Protestants are concerned, I have just given ample proof, collected from their proceedings, and from the language of their own synods. And that the opposite, or secular principle, predominated among the Catholics, is evident, not only from their undeviating policy in the reigns of Henry IV. and Louis XIII., but also from another circumstance worthy of note. For, their motives were so obvious, and gave such scandal to the church, that the pope, as the great protector of religion, thought himself bound to reprehend that disregard of theological interests which they displayed,[67] and which he considered to be a crying and unpardonable offence. In 1622, only one year after the struggle between the Protestants and Catholics had begun, he strongly remonstrated with the French government upon the notorious indecency of which they were guilty, in carrying on war against heretics, not for the purpose of suppressing the heresy, but merely with a view of procuring for the state those temporal advantages which, in the opinion of all pious men, ought to be regarded as of subordinate importance.[173]

If, at this juncture, the Protestants had carried the day, the loss to France would have been immense, perhaps irreparable. For no one, who is acquainted with the temper and character of the French Calvinists, can doubt, that if they had obtained possession of the government, they would have revived those religious persecutions which, so far as their power extended, they had already attempted to enforce. Not only in their writings, but even in the edicts of their assemblies, we find ample proof of that meddling and intolerant spirit which, in every age, has characterized ecclesiastical legislation. Indeed, such a spirit is the legitimate consequence of the fundamental assumption from which theological lawgivers usually start. The clergy are taught to consider that their paramount duty is to preserve the purity of the faith, and guard it against the invasions of heresy. Whenever, therefore, they rise to power, it almost invariably happens, that they carry into politics the habits they have contracted in their profession; and having long been accustomed to consider religious error as criminal, they now naturally attempt to make it penal. And as all the European[68] countries have, in the period of their ignorance, been once ruled by the clergy, just so do we find in the law-books of every land those traces of their power which the progress of knowledge is gradually effacing. We find the professors of the dominant creed enacting laws against the professors of other creeds: laws sometimes to burn them, sometimes to exile them, sometimes to take away their civil rights, sometimes only to take away their political rights. These are the different gradations through which persecution passes; and by observing which, we may measure, in any country, the energy of the ecclesiastical spirit. At the same time, the theory by which such measures are supported generally gives rise to other measures of a somewhat different, though of an analogous character. For, by extending the authority of law to opinions as well as to acts, the basis of legislation becomes dangerously enlarged; the individuality and independence of each man are invaded; and encouragement is given to the enactment of intrusive and vexatious regulations, which are supposed to perform for morals the service that the other class of laws performs for religion. Under pretence of favouring the practice of virtue, and maintaining the purity of society, men are troubled in their most ordinary pursuits, in the commonest occurrences of life, in their amusements, nay, even in the very dress they may be inclined to wear. That this is what has actually been done, must be known to whoever has looked into the writings of the fathers, into the canons of Christian councils, into the different systems of ecclesiastical law, or into the sermons of the earlier clergy. Indeed, all this is so natural, that regulations, conceived in the same spirit, were drawn up for the government of Geneva by the Calvinist clergy, and for the government of England by Archbishop Cranmer and his coadjutors; while a tendency, precisely identical, may be observed in the legislation of the Puritans, and to give a still later instance, in that of the Methodists. It is, therefore, not surprising that, in France, the Protestant clergy, having great power among their own party, should enforce a similar discipline. Thus, to mention only a few examples,[69] they forbade any one to go to a theatre, or even to witness the performance of private theatricals.[174] They looked upon dancing as an ungodly amusement, and, therefore, they not only strictly prohibited it, but they ordered that all dancing-masters should be admonished by the spiritual power, and desired to abandon so unchristian a profession. If, however, the admonition failed in effecting its purpose, the dancing-masters, thus remaining obdurate, were to be excommunicated.[175] With the same pious care did the clergy superintend other matters equally important. In one of their synods, they ordered that all persons should abstain from wearing gay apparel, and should arrange their hair with becoming modesty.[176] In another synod, they forbade women to paint; and they declared that if, after this injunction, any woman persisted in painting, she should not be allowed to receive the sacrament.[177] To their own clergy, as the instructors and shepherds of the flock, there was paid an attention still more scrupulous. The ministers of the Word were permitted to teach Hebrew, because Hebrew is a sacred dialect, uncontaminated by profane writers. But the Greek language, which contains all the philosophy and nearly all the wisdom of antiquity, was to be discouraged, its study laid aside, its professorship suppressed.[178] And, in order that the mind might not be distracted from spiritual things, the study of chemistry was likewise forbidden; such a mere earthly pursuit being incompatible with the habits of[70] the sacred profession.[179] Lest, however, in spite of these precautions, knowledge should still creep in among the Protestants, other measures were taken to prevent even its earliest approach. The clergy, entirely forgetting that right of private judgment upon which their sect was founded, became so anxious to protect the unwary from error, that they forbade any person to print or publish a work without the sanction of the church; in other words, without the sanction of the clergy themselves.[180] When, by these means, they had destroyed the possibility of free inquiry, and, so far as they were able, had put a stop to the acquisition of all real knowledge, they proceeded to guard against another circumstance to which their measures had given rise. For, several of the Protestants, seeing that under such a system, it was impossible to educate their families with advantage, sent their children to some of those celebrated Catholic colleges, where alone a sound education could then be obtained. But the clergy, so soon as they heard of this practice, put an end to it, by excommunicating the offending parents;[181] and to this there was added an order forbidding them to admit into their own private houses any tutor who professed the Catholic religion.[182] Such was the way in which the French Protestants were watched over and protected by their spiritual masters. Even the minutest matters were not beneath the notice of these great legislators. They ordered that no person should go to a ball or masquerade;[183] nor ought any Christian to look at the tricks of conjurors, or at the famous game of goblets, or at the puppet-show; neither was he to be present at morris-dances; for all such amusements should be suppressed by the magistrates, because they excite curiosity,[71] cause expense, waste time.[184] Another thing to be attended to, is the names that are bestowed in baptism. A child may have two christian names, though one is preferable.[185] Great care, however, is to be observed in their selection. They ought to be taken from the Bible, but they ought not to be Baptist or Angel; neither should any infant receive a name which has been formerly used by the Pagans.[186] When the children are grown up, there are other regulations to which they must be subject. The clergy declared that the faithful must by no means let their hair grow long, lest by so doing they indulge in the luxury of ‘lascivious curls.’[187] They are to make their garments in such a manner as to avoid ‘the new-fangled fashions of the world:’ they are to have no tassels to their dress: their gloves must be without silk and ribbons: they are to abstain from fardingales: they are to beware of wide sleeves.[188]

Those readers who have not studied the history of ecclesiastical legislation, will perhaps be surprised to find, that men of gravity, men who had reached the years of discretion, and were assembled together in solemn council, should evince such a prying and puerile spirit; that they should display such miserable and childish imbecility. But, whoever will take a wider survey of human affairs, will be inclined to[72] blame, not so much the legislators, as the system of which the legislators formed a part. For as to the men themselves, they merely acted after their kind. They only followed the traditions in which they were bred. By virtue of their profession, they had been accustomed to hold certain views, and, when they rose to power, it was natural that they should carry those views into effect; thus transplanting into the law-book the maxims they had already preached in the pulpit. Whenever, therefore, we read of meddling, inquisitive, and vexatious regulations imposed by ecclesiastical authority, we should remember, that they are but the legitimate result of the ecclesiastical spirit; and that the way to remedy such grievances, or to prevent their occurrence, is not by vainly labouring to change the tendencies of that class from whence they proceed, but rather by confining the class within its proper limits, by jealously guarding against its earliest encroachments, by taking every opportunity of lessening its influence, and finally, when the progress of society will justify so great a step, by depriving it of that political and legislative power which, though gradually falling from its hands, it is, even in the most civilized countries, still allowed in some degree to retain.

But, setting aside these general considerations, it will, at all events, be admitted, that I have collected sufficient evidence to indicate what would have happened to France, if the Protestants had obtained the upper hand. After the facts which I have brought forward, no one can possibly doubt, that if such a misfortune had occurred, the liberal, and, considering the age, the enlightened policy of Henry IV. and Louis XIII. would have been destroyed, in order to make way for that gloomy and austere system, which, in every age and in every country, has been found to be the natural fruit of ecclesiastical power. To put, therefore, the question in its proper form, instead of saying that there was a war between hostile creeds, we should rather say that there was a war between rival classes. It was a contest, not so much between the Catholic religion and the Protestant religion, as between Catholic laymen and Protestant[73] clergy. It was a struggle between temporal interests and theological interests,—between the spirit of the present and the spirit of the past. And the point now at issue was, whether France should be governed by the civil power or by the spiritual power,—whether she should be ruled according to the large views of secular statesmen, or according to the narrow notions of a factious and intolerant priesthood.

The Protestants having the great advantage of being the aggressive party, and being, moreover, inflamed by a religious zeal unknown to their opponents, might, under ordinary circumstances, have succeeded in their hazardous attempt; or, at all events, they might have protracted the struggle for an indefinite period. But, fortunately for France, in 1624, only three years after the war began, Richelieu assumed the direction of the government. He had for some years been the secret adviser of the queen-mother, into whose mind he had always inculcated the necessity of complete toleration.[189] When placed at the head of affairs, he pursued the same policy, and attempted in every way to conciliate the Protestants. The clergy of his own party were constantly urging him to exterminate the heretics, whose presence they thought polluted France.[190] But Richelieu, having only secular objects, refused to embitter the contest by turning it into a religious war. He was determined to chastise the rebellion, but he would not punish the heresy. Even while the war was raging, he would not revoke those edicts of toleration by which the full liberty of religious worship was granted[74] to the Protestants. And when they, in 1626, showed signs of compunction, or at all events of fear, he publicly confirmed the Edict of Nantes,[191] and he granted them peace; although, as he says, he knew that by doing so he should fall under the suspicion of those ‘who so greatly affected the name of zealous Catholics.’[192] A few months afterwards, war again broke out; and then it was that Richelieu determined on that celebrated siege of Rochelle, which, if brought to a successful issue, was sure to be a decisive blow against the French Protestants. That he was moved to this hazardous undertaking solely by secular considerations is evident, not only from the general spirit of his preceding policy, but also from his subsequent conduct. With the details of this famous siege history is not concerned, as such matters have no value except to military readers. It is enough to say that, in 1628, Rochelle was taken; and the Protestants, who had been induced by their clergy [193] to continue to resist long after relief was hopeless, and who, in consequence, had suffered the most dreadful hardships, were obliged to surrender at discretion.[194] The privileges of the town were revoked, and its magistrates removed; but the great minister by whom these things were effected, still abstained from that religious persecution to which he was urged.[195][75] He granted to the Protestants the toleration which he had offered at an earlier period, and he formally conceded the free exercise of their public worship.[196] But, such was their infatuation, that because he likewise restored the exercise of the Catholic religion, and thus gave to the conquerors the same liberty that he had granted to the conquered, the Protestants murmured at the indulgence; they could not bear the idea that their eyes should be offended by the performance of Popish rites.[197] And their indignation waxed so high, that in the next year they, in another part of France, again rose in arms. As, however, they were now stripped of their principal resources, they were easily defeated; and, their existence as a political faction being destroyed, they were, in reference to their religion, treated by Richelieu in the same manner as before.[198] To the Protestants generally, he confirmed the privilege of preaching and of performing the other ceremonies of their creed.[199] To their leader, Rohan, he granted an amnesty, and, a few years afterwards, employed him in important public services. After this, the hopes of the party were destroyed; they never[76] again rose in arms, nor do we find any mention of them until a much later period, when they were barbarously persecuted by Louis XIV.[200] But from all such intolerance Richelieu sedulously abstained; and having now cleared the land from rebellion, he embarked in that vast scheme of foreign policy, of which I have already given some account, and in which he clearly showed that his proceedings against the Protestants had not been caused by hatred of their religious tenets. For, the same party which he attacked at home, he supported abroad. He put down the French Protestants, because they were a turbulent faction that troubled the state, and wished to suppress the exercise of all opinions unfavourable to themselves. But so far from carrying on a crusade against their religion, he, as I have already observed, encouraged it in other countries; and, though a bishop of the Catholic church, he did not hesitate, by treaties, by money, and by force of arms, to support the Protestants against the House of Austria, maintain the Lutherans against the Emperor of Germany, and uphold the Calvinists against the King of Spain.

I have thus endeavoured to draw a slight, though, I trust, a clear outline, of the events which took place in France during the reign of Louis XIII., and particularly during that part of it which included the administration of Richelieu. But such occurrences, important as they are, only formed a single phase of that larger development which was now displaying itself in nearly every branch of the national intellect. They were the mere political expression of that bold and sceptical spirit which cried havoc to the prejudices and superstitions of men. For, the government of Richelieu was successful, as well as progressive; and no government can unite these two qualities, unless its measures harmonize with[77] the feelings and temper of the age. Such an administration, though it facilitates progress, is not the cause of it, but is rather its measure and symptom. The cause of the progress lies far deeper, and is governed by the general tendency of the time. And as the different tendencies observable in successive generations depend on the difference in their knowledge, it is evident, that we can only understand the working of the tendencies, by taking a wide view of the amount and character of the knowledge. To comprehend, therefore, the real nature of the great advance made during the reign of Louis XIII., it becomes necessary that I should lay before the reader some evidence respecting those higher and more important facts, which historians are apt to neglect, but without which the study of the past is an idle and trivial pursuit, and history itself a barren field, which, bearing no fruit, is unworthy of the labour that is wasted on the cultivation of so ungrateful a soil.

It is, indeed, a very observable fact, that while Richelieu, with such extraordinary boldness, was secularizing the whole system of French politics, and by his disregard of ancient interests, was setting at naught the most ancient traditions, a course precisely similar was being pursued, in a still higher department, by a man greater than he; by one, who, if I may express my own opinion, is the most profound among the many eminent thinkers France has produced. I speak of Réné Descartes, of whom the least that can be said is, that he effected a revolution more decisive than has ever been brought about by any other single mind. With his mere physical discoveries we are not now concerned, because in this Introduction I do not pretend to trace the progress of science, except in those epochs which indicate a new turn in the habits of national thought. But I may remind the reader, that he was the first who successfully applied algebra to geometry;[201] that he pointed out the[78] important law of the sines;[202] that in an age in which optical instruments were extremely imperfect, he discovered the changes to which light is subjected in the eye by the crystalline lens;[203] that he directed attention to the consequences resulting from the weight of the[79] atmosphere;[204] and that he, moreover, detected the causes of the rainbow,[205] that singular phenomenon, with which, in the eyes of the vulgar, some theological superstitions are still connected.[206] At the same time, and as if to combine the most varied forms of excellence, he is not only allowed to be the first geometrician of the[80] age,[207] but by the clearness and admirable precision of his style, he became one of the founders of French prose.[208] And although he was constantly engaged in those lofty inquiries into the nature of the human mind, which can never be studied without wonder, I had almost said can never be read without awe, he combined with them a long course of laborious experiment upon the animal frame, which raised him to the highest rank among the anatomists of his time.[209] The great discovery made by Harvey of the circulation of the blood, was neglected by most of his contemporaries;[210] but it[81] was at once recognized by Descartes, who made it the basis of the physiological part of his work on Man.[211] He likewise adopted the discovery of the lacteals by Aselli,[212] which, like every great truth yet laid before the world, was, at its first appearance, not only disbelieved, but covered with ridicule.[213]

These things might have been sufficient to rescue even the physical labours of Descartes from the attacks constantly made on them by men who either have not studied his works, or else, having studied them, are unable to understand their merit. But the glory of Descartes, and the influence he exercised over his age, do not depend even on such claims as these. Putting them aside, he is the author of what is emphatically called Modern Philosophy.[214] He is the originator of[82] that great system and method of metaphysics, which, notwithstanding its errors, has the undoubted merit of having given a wonderful impulse to the European mind, and communicated to it an activity which has been made available for other purposes of a different character. Besides this, and superior to it, there is another obligation which we are under to the memory of Descartes. He deserves the gratitude of posterity, not so much on account of what he built up, as on account of what he pulled down. His life was one great and successful warfare against the prejudices and traditions of men. He was great as a creator, but he was far greater as a destroyer. In this respect he was the true successor of Luther, to whose labours his own were the fitting supplement. He completed what the great German reformer had left undone.[215] He bore to the old systems of philosophy precisely the same relation that Luther bore to the old systems of religion. He was the great reformer and liberator of the European intellect. To prefer, therefore, even the most successful discoverers of physical laws to this great innovator and disturber of tradition, is just as if we should prefer knowledge to freedom, and believe that science is better than liberty. We must, indeed, always be grateful to those eminent thinkers, to whose labours we are indebted for that vast body of physical truths which we now possess. But, let us reserve the full measure of our homage for those far greater men, who have not hesitated to attack and destroy the most inveterate prejudices: men who, by removing the pressure of tradition,[83] have purified the very source and fountain of our knowledge, and secured its future progress, by casting off obstacles in the presence of which progress was impossible.[216]

It will not be expected, perhaps it will hardly be desired, that I should enter into a complete detail of the philosophy of Descartes: a philosophy which, in England at least, is rarely studied, and therefore, is often attacked. But it will be necessary to give such an account of it as will show its analogy with the anti-theological policy of Richelieu, and will thus enable us to see the full extent of that vast movement which took place in France before the accession of Louis XIV. By this means, we shall be able to understand how the daring innovations of the great minister were so successful, since they were accompanied and reinforced by corresponding innovations in the national intellect; thus affording an additional instance of the way in which the political history of every country is to be explained by the history of its intellectual progress.

In 1637, when Richelieu was at the height of his power, Descartes published that great work which he had long been meditating, and which was the first open announcement of the new tendencies of the French mind. To this work he gave the name of a ‘Method;’ and, assuredly, the method is the most alien to what is commonly called theology that can possibly be conceived. Indeed, so far from being theological, it is essentially and exclusively psychological. The theological method rests on ancient records, on tradition, on the voice of antiquity. The method of Descartes rests solely on the consciousness each man has of the operations of his own mind, and lest anyone should mistake the meaning of this, he, in subsequent works, developed it at great length, and with unrivalled clearness. For his main object was to popularize the views which he put forward. Therefore, says Descartes, ‘I write in French rather[84] than in Latin, because I trust that they who only employ their simple and native reason will estimate my opinions more fairly than they who only believe in ancient books.’[217] So strongly does he insist upon this, that, almost at the beginning of his first work, he cautions his readers against the common error of looking to antiquity for knowledge; and he reminds them that ‘when men are too curious to know the practices of past ages, they generally remain very ignorant of their own.’[218]

Indeed, so far from following the old plan of searching for truths in the records of the past, the great essential of this new philosophy is to wean ourselves from all such associations, and, beginning the acquisition of knowledge by the work of destruction, first pull down, in order that afterwards we may build up.[219] When I, says Descartes, set forth in the pursuit of truth, I found that the best way was to reject every thing I had hitherto received, and pluck out all my old opinions, in order that I might lay the foundation of them afresh: believing that, by this means, I should more easily accomplish the great scheme of life, than by building on an old basis, and supporting myself by principles which I had learned in my youth, without examining if they were really true.[220] ‘I, therefore, will occupy myself freely and earnestly in effecting a general destruction of all my old opinions.’[221] For, if we would know all the truths that can be known, we must, in the first place,[85] free ourselves from our prejudices, and make a point of rejecting those things which we have received, until we have subjected them to a new examination.[222] We, therefore, must derive our opinions, not from tradition, but from ourselves. We must not pass judgment upon any subject which we do not clearly and distinctly understand; for, even if such a judgment is correct, it can only be so by accident, not having solid ground on which to support itself.[223] But, so far are we from this state of indifference, that our memory is full of prejudices:[224] we pay attention to words rather than to things;[225] and being thus slaves to form, there are too many of us ‘who believe themselves religious, when, in fact, they are bigoted and superstitious; who think themselves perfect because they go much to church, because they often repeat prayers, because they wear short hair, because they fast, because they give alms. These are the men who imagine themselves such friends of God, that nothing they do displeases Him; men who, under pretence of zeal, gratify their passions by committing the greatest crimes, such as betraying towns, killing princes, exterminating nations: and all this they do to those who will not change their opinions.’[226]

These were the words of wisdom which this great teacher addressed to his countrymen only a few years after they had brought to a close the last religious war that has ever been waged in France. The similarity of those views to those which, about the same time, were put forth by Chillingworth, must strike every reader, but ought not to excite surprise; for they were but the natural products of a state of society in which the right of private judgment, and the independence of the human reason, were first solidly established. If we examine this matter a little closer, we shall find still further proof of the analogy between France and England. So identical are the steps of the progress, that the relation which Montaigne bears to Descartes is just the same as that which Hooker bears to Chillingworth; the same in reference to the difference of time, and also in reference to the difference of opinions. The mind of Hooker was essentially sceptical; but his genius was so restrained by the prejudices of his age, that, unable to discern the supreme authority of private judgment, he hampered it by appeals to councils and to the general voice of ecclesiastical antiquity: impediments which Chillingworth, thirty years later, effectually removed. In precisely the same way, Montaigne, like Hooker, was sceptical; but, like him, he lived at a period when the spirit of doubt was yet young, and when the mind still trembled before the authority of the Church. It is, therefore, no wonder that even Montaigne, who did so much for his age, should have hesitated respecting the capacity of men to work out for themselves great truths; and that, pausing in the course that lay before him, his scepticism should often have assumed the form of a distrust of the human faculties.[227] Such shortcomings, and such imperfections, are merely an evidence of the slow growth of society, and of the impossibility for even the greatest thinkers to outstrip their contemporaries beyond a[87] certain point. But, with the advance of knowledge, this deficiency was at length supplied; and, as the generation after Hooker brought forth Chillingworth, just so did the generation after Montaigne bring forth Descartes. Both Chillingworth and Descartes were eminently sceptical; but their scepticism was directed, not against the human intellect, but against those appeals to authority and tradition without which it had hitherto been supposed that the intellect could not safely proceed. That this was the case with Chillingworth, we have already seen. That it was likewise the case with Descartes, is, if possible, still more apparent; for that profound thinker believed, not only that the mind, by its own efforts, could root out its most ancient opinions, but that it could, without fresh aid, build up a new and solid system in place of the one which it had thrown down.[228]

It is this extraordinary confidence in the power of the human intellect, which eminently characterizes Descartes, and has given to his philosophy that peculiar sublimity which distinguishes it from all other systems. So far from thinking that a knowledge of the external world is essential to the discovery of truth, he laid it down as a fundamental principle, that we must begin by ignoring such knowledge;[229] that the first step is to[88] separate ourselves from the delusions of nature, and reject the evidence presented to our senses.[230] For, says Descartes, nothing is certain but thought; nor are there any truths except those which necessarily follow from the operation of our own consciousness. We have no knowledge of our soul except as a thinking substance:[231] and it were easier for us to believe that the soul should cease to exist, than that it should cease to think.[232] And, as to man himself, what is he but the incarnation of thought? For that which constitutes the man, is not his bones, nor his flesh, nor his blood. These are the accidents, the incumbrances, the impediments of his nature. But the man himself is the thought. The invisible me, the ultimate fact of existence, the mystery of life, is this: ‘I am a thing that thinks.’ This, therefore, is the beginning and the basis of our knowledge. The thought of each man is the last element to which analysis can carry us; it is[89] the supreme judge of every doubt; it is the starting-point for all wisdom.[233]

Taking our stand on this ground, we rise, says Descartes, to the perception of the existence of the Deity. For, our belief in His existence is an irrefragable proof that He exists. Otherwise, whence does the belief arise? Since nothing can come out of nothing, and since no effect can be without a cause, it follows that the idea we have of God must have an origin; and this origin, whatever name we give it, is no other than God.[234] Thus, the ultimate proof of His existence is our idea of it. Instead, therefore, of saying that we know ourselves because we believe in God, we should rather say that we believe in God because we know ourselves.[235] This is the order and precedence of things. The thought of each man is sufficient to prove His existence, and it is the only proof we can ever possess. Such, therefore, is the dignity and supremacy of the human intellect, that even this, the highest of all matters, flows from it, as from its sole source.[236] Hence, our religion should not be acquired by the teaching of others, but should be worked out by ourselves: it is not to be borrowed from antiquity, but it is to be discovered by each man's mind; it is not traditional, but personal. It is because this great truth has been neglected, that impiety has arisen. If each man were to content himself with that[90] idea of God which is suggested by his own mind, he would attain to a true knowledge of the Divine Nature. But when, instead of confining himself to this, he mixes up with it the notions of others, his ideas become perplexed; they contradict themselves; and the composition being thus confused, he often ends by denying the existence, not, indeed, of God, but of such a God as that in whom he has been taught to believe.[237]

The mischief which these principles must have done to the old theology is very obvious.[238] Not only were they fatal, in the minds of those who received them, to many of the common dogmas—such, for instance, as that of transubstantiation,[239]—but they were likewise directly opposed to other opinions, equally indefensible, and far more dangerous. For Descartes, by founding a philosophy which rejected all authority except that of the human reason,[240] was, of course, led to abandon the[91] study of final causes,[241]—an old and natural superstition, by which, as we shall hereafter see, the German philosophers were long impeded, and which still hangs, though somewhat loosely, about the minds of men.[242] At the same time, by superseding the geometry of the ancients, he aided in weakening that inordinate respect with which antiquity was then regarded. In another matter, still more important, he displayed the same spirit, and met with the same success. With such energy did he attack the influence, or rather the tyranny of Aristotle, that although the opinions of that philosopher were intimately interwoven with the Christian theology,[243] his authority was entirely overthrown[92] by Descartes; and with it there perished those scholastic prejudices, for which Aristotle, indeed, was not responsible, but which, under the shelter of his mighty name, had, during several centuries, perplexed the understandings of men, and retarded the progress of their knowledge.[244]

These were the principal services rendered to civilization by one of the greatest men Europe has ever produced. The analogy between him and Richelieu is very striking, and is as complete as their relative positions would allow. The same disregard of ancient notions, the same contempt for theological interests, the same indifference to tradition, the same determination to prefer the present to the past: in a word, the same essentially modern spirit, is seen alike in the writings of Descartes, and in the actions of Richelieu. What the first was to philosophy, that was the other to politics. But, while acknowledging the merits of these eminent men, it behoves us to remember that their success was the result, not only of their own abilities, but likewise of the general temper of their time. The nature of their labours depended on themselves; the way in which their labours were received, depended on their contemporaries. Had they lived in a more superstitious age, their views would have been disregarded,[93] or, if noticed, would have been execrated as impious novelties. In the fifteenth, or early in the sixteenth century, the genius of Descartes and of Richelieu would have lacked the materials necessary to their work; their comprehensive minds would, in that state of society, have found no play; they would have awakened no sympathies; their bread would have been cast upon those waters which return it not again. And it would have been well for them if, in such a case, indifference were the only penalty with which they would be visited. It would have been well if they had not paid the forfeit incurred by many of those illustrious thinkers who have vainly attempted to stem the torrent of human credulity. It would have been well if the church had not risen in her wrath—if Richelieu had not been executed as a traitor, and Descartes burned as a heretic.

Indeed, the mere fact that two such men, occupying so conspicuous a place before the public eye, and enforcing views so obnoxious to the interests of superstition, should have lived without serious danger, and then have died peaceably in their beds—the mere fact that this should have happened, is a decisive proof of the progress which, during fifty years, had been made by the French nation. With such rapidity were the prejudices of that great people dying away, that opinions utterly subversive of theological traditions, and fatal to the whole scheme of ecclesiastical power, were with impunity advocated by Descartes, and put in practice by Richelieu. It was now clearly seen, that the two foremost men of their time could, with little or no risk, openly propagate ideas which, half a century before, it would have been accounted dangerous even for the most obscure man to whisper in the privacy of his own chamber.

Nor are the causes of this impunity difficult to understand. They are to be found in the diffusion of that sceptical spirit, by which, in France as well as in England, toleration was preceded. For, without entering into details which would be too long for the limits of this Introduction, it is enough to say, that French literature generally was, at this period, distinguished[94] by a freedom and a boldness of inquiry, of which, England alone excepted, no example had then been seen in Europe. The generation which had listened to the teachings of Montaigne and of Charron, was now succeeded by another generation, the disciples, indeed, of those eminent men, but disciples who far outstripped their masters. The result was, that, during the thirty or forty years which preceded the power of Louis XIV.,[245] there was not to be found a single Frenchman of note who did not share in the general feeling—not one who did not attack some ancient dogma, or sap the foundation of some old opinion. This fearless temper was the characteristic of the ablest writers of that time;[246] but what is still more observable is, that the movement spread with such rapidity as to include in its action even those parts of society which are invariably the last to be affected by it. That spirit of doubt, which is the necessary precursor of all inquiry, and therefore of all solid improvement, owes its origin to the most thinking and intellectual parts of society, and is naturally opposed by the other parts: opposed by the nobles, because it is dangerous to their interests; opposed by the uneducated, because it attacks their prejudices. This is one of the reasons why neither the highest nor the lowest ranks are fit to conduct the government of a civilized country; since both of them, notwithstanding individual exceptions, are, in the aggregate, averse to those reforms which the exigencies of an advancing nation constantly require. But, in France, before the middle of the seventeenth century, even these classes began[95] to participate in the great progress; so that, not only among thoughtful men, but likewise among the ignorant and the frivolous, there was seen that inquisitive and incredulous disposition, which, whatever may be said against it, has at least this peculiarity, that, in its absence, there is no instance to be found of the establishment of those principles of toleration and of liberty, which have only been recognized with infinite difficulty, and after many a hard-fought battle against prejudices whose inveterate tenacity might almost cause them to be deemed a part of the original constitution of the human mind.[247]

It is no wonder if, under these circumstances, the speculations of Descartes and the actions of Richelieu should have met with great success. The system of Descartes exercised immense influence, and soon pervaded nearly every branch of knowledge.[248] The policy[96] of Richelieu was so firmly established, that it was continued without the slightest difficulty by his immediate successor: nor was any attempt made to reverse it until that forcible and artificial reaction which, under Louis XIV., was fatal, for a time, to every sort of civil and religious liberty. The history of that reaction, and the way in which, by a counter-reaction, the French Revolution was prepared, will be related in the subsequent chapters of this volume; at present we will resume the thread of those events which took place in France before Louis XIV. assumed the government.

A few months after the death of Richelieu, Louis XIII. also died, and the crown was inherited by Louis XIV., who was then a child, and who for many years had no influence in public affairs. During his minority, the government was administered, avowedly by his mother, but in reality by Mazarin: a man who, though in every point inferior to Richelieu, had imbibed something of his spirit, and who, so far as he was able, adopted the policy of that great statesman, to whom he owed his promotion.[249] He, influenced partly by the example of his predecessor, partly by his own character, and partly by the spirit of his age, showed no desire to persecute the Protestants, or to disturb them in any of the rights they then exercised.[250] His first act was to confirm the Edict of Nantes;[251] and, towards the close of his life, he even allowed the Protestants again to hold those synods which their own[97] violence had been the means of interrupting.[252] Between the death of Richelieu and the accession to power of Louis XIV., there elapsed a period of nearly twenty years, during which Mazarin, with the exception of a few intervals, was at the head of the state; and in the whole of that time, I have found no instance of any Frenchman being punished for his religion. Indeed, the new government, so far from protecting the church by repressing heresy, displayed that indifference to ecclesiastical interests which was now becoming a settled maxim of French policy. Richelieu, as we have already seen, had taken the bold step of placing Protestants at the head of the royal armies; and this he had done upon the simple principle, that one of the first duties of a statesman is to employ for the benefit of the country the ablest men he can find, without regard to their theological opinions, with which, as he well knew, no government has any concern. But Louis XIII., whose personal feelings were always opposed to the enlightened measures of his great minister, was offended by this magnanimous disregard of ancient prejudices; his piety was shocked at the idea of Catholic soldiers being commanded by heretics; and, as we are assured by a well-informed contemporary, he determined to put an end to this scandal to the church, and, for the future, allow no Protestant to receive the staff of marshal of France.[253] Whether the king, if he had lived, would have carried his point, is doubtful;[254] but what is certain is, that, only four months after his[98] death, this appointment of marshal was bestowed upon Turenne, the most able of all the Protestant generals.[255] And in the very next year, Gassion, another Protestant, was raised to the same dignity; thus affording the strange spectacle of the highest military power in a great Catholic country wielded by two men against whose religion the church was never weary of directing her anathemas.[256] In a similar spirit, Mazarin, on mere grounds of political expediency, concluded an intimate alliance with Cromwell; an usurper who, in the opinion of the theologians, was doomed to perdition, since he was soiled by the triple crime of rebellion, of heresy, and of regicide.[257] Finally, one of the last acts of this pupil of Richelieu's [258] was to sign the celebrated treaty of the Pyrenees, by which ecclesiastical interests were seriously weakened, and great injury inflicted on him who was still considered to be the head of the church.[259]

But, the circumstance for which the administration of Mazarin is most remarkable, is the breaking out of that great civil war called the Fronde, in which the people attempted to carry into politics the insubordinate spirit which had already displayed itself in literature and in religion. Here we cannot fail to note the similarity between this struggle and that which, at the same time, was taking place in England. It would, indeed, be far from accurate to say that the two events were the counterpart of each other; but there can be no doubt that the analogy between them is very striking. In both countries, the civil war was the first popular expression of what had hitherto been rather a speculative, and, so to say, a literary scepticism. In both countries, incredulity was followed by rebellion, and the abasement of the clergy preceded the humiliation of the crown; for Richelieu was to the French church what Elizabeth had been to the English church. In both countries there now first arose that great product of civilization, a free press, which showed its liberty by pouring forth those fearless and innumerable works which mark the activity of the age.[260] In both[100] countries, the struggle was between retrogression and progress; between those who clung to tradition, and those who longed for innovation; while, in both, the contest assumed the external form of a war between king and parliament, the king being the organ of the past, the parliament the representative of the present. And, not to mention inferior similarities, there was one other point of vast importance in which these two great events coincide. This is, that both of them were eminently secular, and arose from the desire, not of propagating religious opinions, but of securing civil liberty. The temporal character of the English rebellion I have already noticed, and, indeed, it must be obvious to whoever has studied the evidence in its original sources. In France, not only do we find the same result, but we can even mark the stages of the progress. In the middle of the sixteenth century, and immediately after the death of Henry III., the French civil wars were caused by religious disputes, and were carried on with the fervour of a crusade. Early in the seventeenth century, hostilities again broke out; but though the efforts of the government were directed against the Protestants, this was not because they were heretics, but because they were rebels: the object being, not to punish an opinion, but to control a faction. This was the first great stage in the history of toleration; and it was accomplished, as we have already seen, during the reign of Louis XIII. That generation passing away, there arose, in the next age, the wars of the Fronde; and in this, which may be called the second stage of the French intellect, the[101] alteration was still more remarkable. For, in the mean time, the principles of the great sceptical thinkers, from Montaigne to Descartes, had produced their natural fruit, and, becoming diffused among the educated classes, had influenced, as they always will do, not only those by whom they were received, but also those by whom they were rejected. Indeed, a mere knowledge of the fact, that the most eminent men have thrown doubt on the popular opinions of an age, can never fail, in some degree, to disturb the convictions even of those by whom the doubts are ridiculed.[261] In such cases, none are entirely safe: the firmest belief is apt to become slightly unsettled; those who outwardly preserve the appearance of orthodoxy, often unconsciously waver; they cannot entirely resist the influence of superior minds, nor can they always avoid an unwelcome suspicion, that when ability is on one side, and ignorance on the other, it is barely possible that the ability may be right, and the ignorance may be wrong.

Thus it fell out in France. In that country, as in every other, when theological convictions diminished, theological animosities subsided. Formerly religion had been the cause of war, and had also been the pretext under which it was conducted. Then there came a time when it ceased to be the cause: but so slow is the progress of society, that it was still found necessary to set it up as the pretext.[262] Finally, there came the great days of the Fronde, in which it was neither cause[102] nor pretext,[263] and in which there was seen, for the first time in France, an arduous struggle by human beings avowedly for human purposes: a war waged by men who sought, not to enforce their opinions, but to increase their liberty. And, as if to make this change still more striking, the most eminent leader of the insurgents was the Cardinal de Retz; a man of vast ability, but whose contempt for his profession was notorious,[264] and of whom a great historian has said, ‘he is the first bishop in France who carried on a civil war without making religion the pretence.’[265]

We have thus seen that, during the seventy years which succeeded the accession of Henry IV., the French intellect developed itself in a manner remarkably similar to that which took place in England. We have seen that, in both countries, the mind, according[103] to the natural conditions of its growth, first doubted what it had long believed, and then tolerated what it had long hated. That this was by no means an accidental or capricious combination, is evident, not only from general arguments, and from the analogy of the two countries, but also from another circumstance of great interest. This is, that the order of events, and as it were their relative proportions, were the same, not only in reference to the increase of toleration, but also in reference to the increase of literature and science. In both countries, the progress of knowledge bore the same ratio to the decline of ecclesiastical influence, although they manifested that ratio at different periods. We had begun to throw off our superstitions somewhat earlier than the French were able to do; and thus, being the first in the field, we anticipated that great people in producing a secular literature. Whoever will take the pains to compare the growth of the French and English minds, will see that, in all the most important departments, we were the first, I do not say in merit, but in the order of time. In prose, in poetry, and in every branch of intellectual excellence, it will be found, on comparison, that we were before the French nearly a whole generation; and that, chronologically, the same proportion was preserved as that between Bacon and Descartes, Hooker and Pascal,[266] Shakespeare and Corneille, Massinger and Racine, Ben Jonson and Molière, Harvey and Pecquet. These eminent men were all justly celebrated in their respective countries; and it would perhaps be invidious to institute a comparison between them. But what we have here to observe is, that among those who cultivated the same department, the greatest Englishman, in every instance, preceded the greatest Frenchman by many years. The difference, running as it does, through all the leading topics, is far too regular to be considered accidental. And as few Englishmen of the present day[104] will be so presumptuous as to suppose that we possess any native and inherent superiority over the French, it is evident that there must be some marked peculiarity in which the two countries differed, and which has produced this difference, not in their knowledge, but in the time at which their knowledge appeared. Nor does the discovery of this peculiarity require much penetration. For, notwithstanding that the French were more tardy than the English, still, when the development had fairly begun, the antecedents of its success were among both people precisely the same. It is, therefore, clear, according to the commonest principles of inductive reasoning, that the lateness of the development must be owing to the lateness of the antecedent. It is clear that the French knew less because they believed more.[267] It is clear that their progress was checked by the prevalence of those feelings which are fatal to all knowledge, because, looking on antiquity as the sole receptacle of wisdom, they degrade the present in order that they may exaggerate the past: feelings which destroy the prospects of man, stifle his hopes, damp his curiosity, chill his energies, impair his judgment, and, under pretence of humbling the pride of his reason, seek to throw him back into that more than midnight darkness from which his reason alone has enabled him to emerge.

The analogy thus existing between France and England, is, indeed, very striking, and, so far as we have yet considered it, seems complete in all its parts. To sum up the similarities in a few words, it may be said, that both countries followed the same order of development in their scepticism, in their knowledge, in their literature, and in their toleration. In both countries, there broke out a civil war at the same time, for the same object, and, in many respects, under the same circumstances. In both, the insurgents, at[105] first triumphant, were afterwards defeated; and the rebellion being put down, the governments of the two nations were fully restored almost at the same moment: in 1660 by Charles II.; in 1661, by Louis XIV.[268] But there the similarity stopped. At this point there began a marked divergence between the two countries;[269] which continued to increase for more than a century, until it ended in England by the consolidation of the national prosperity, in France by a revolution more sanguinary, more complete, and more destructive, than any the world has ever seen. This difference between the fortunes of such great and civilized nations is so remarkable, that a knowledge of its causes becomes essential to a right understanding of European history, and will be found to throw considerable light on other events not immediately connected with it. Besides this, such an inquiry, independently of its scientific interest, will have a high practical value. It will show, what men seem only recently to have begun to understand, that, in politics, no certain principles having yet been discovered, the first conditions of success are compromise, barter, expediency, and concession. It will show the utter helplessness even of the ablest rulers, when they try to meet new emergencies by old maxims. It will show the intimate connexion between knowledge and liberty; between an increasing civilization and an advancing democracy. It will show that, for a progressive nation, there is required a progressive polity; that within certain limits, innovation is the sole ground of security; that no institution can withstand the flux and movements of society, unless it not only repairs its structure, but also widens its[106] entrance; and that, even in a material point of view, no country can long remain either prosperous or safe, in which the people are not gradually extending their power, enlarging their privileges, and, so to say, incorporating themselves with the functions of the state.

The tranquillity of England, and her freedom from civil war, are to be ascribed to the recognition of these great truths;[270] while the neglect of them has entailed upon other countries the most woful calamities. On this account, therefore, if on no other, it becomes interesting to ascertain how it was that the two nations we have been comparing should, in regard to these truths, have adopted views diametrically opposite, although, in other matters, their opinions, as we have already seen, were very similar. Or, to state the question in other words, we have to inquire how it was that the French, after pursuing precisely the same course as the English, in their knowledge, in their scepticism, and in their toleration, should have stopped short in their politics; how it was that their minds, which had effected such great things, should, nevertheless, have been so unprepared for liberty, that, in spite of the heroic efforts of the Fronde, they not only fell under the despotism of Louis XIV., but never cared to resist it; and, at length, becoming slaves in their souls as well as in their bodies, they grew proud of a condition which the meanest Englishman would have spurned as an intolerable bondage.

The cause of this difference is to be sought in the existence of that spirit of protection which is so dangerous and yet so plausible, that it forms the most serious obstacle with which advancing civilization has to contend. This, which may truly be called an evil spirit, has always been far stronger in France than in England. Indeed, among the French, it continues, even to the present day, to produce the most mischievous[107] results. It is, as I shall hereafter point out, intimately connected with that love of centralization which appears in the machinery of their government, and in the spirit of their literature. It is this which induces them to retain restrictions by which their trade has long been troubled, and to preserve monopolies which, in our country, a freer system has effectually destroyed. It is this which causes them to interfere with the natural relation between producers and consumers; to force into existence manufactures which otherwise would never arise, and which, for that very reason, are not required; to disturb the ordinary march of industry, and, under pretence of protecting their native labourers, diminish the produce of labour by diverting it from those profitable channels into which its own instincts always compel it to flow.

When the protective principle is carried into trade, these are its inevitable results. When it is carried into politics, there is formed what is called a paternal government, in which supreme power is vested in the sovereign, or in a few privileged classes. When it is carried into theology, it produces a powerful church, and a numerous clergy, who are supposed to be the necessary guardians of religion, and every opposition to whom is resented as an insult to the public morals. These are the marks by which protection may be recognized; and from a very early period they have displayed themselves in France much more clearly than in England. Without pretending to discover their precise origin, I will, in the next chapter, endeavour to trace them back to a time sufficiently remote to explain some of the discrepancies which, in this respect existed between the two countries.

Note to p. 93.Descartes died in Sweden on a visit to Christina; so that, strictly speaking, there is an error in the text. But this does not affect the argument; because the works of Descartes, being eagerly read in France, and not being prohibited, we must suppose that his person would have been safe, had he remained in his own country. To burn a heretic is a more decisive step than to suppress a book; and as the French clergy were not strong enough to effect the latter, it is hardly likely that they could have accomplished the former.

Footnotes:

[1] The question as to whether the study of normal phenomena should or should not precede the study of abnormal ones, is of the greatest importance; and a neglect of it has introduced confusion into every work I have seen on general or comparative history. For this preliminary being unsettled, there has been no recognized principle of arrangement; and historians, instead of following a scientific method suited to the actual exigencies of our knowledge, have adopted an empirical method suited to their own exigencies; and have given priority to different countries, sometimes according to their size, sometimes according to their antiquity, sometimes according to their geographical position, sometimes according to their wealth, sometimes according to their religion, sometimes according to the brilliancy of their literature, and sometimes according to the facilities which the historian himself possessed for collecting materials. All these are factitious considerations; and, in a philosophic view, it is evident that precedence should be given to countries by the historian solely in reference to the ease with which their history can be generalized; following in this respect the scientific plan of proceeding from the simple to the complex. This leads us to the conclusion that, in the study of Man, as in the study of Nature, the question of priority resolves itself into a question of aberration; and that the more aberrant any people have been, that is to say, the more they have been interfered with, the lower they must be placed in an arrangement of the history of various countries. Coleridge (Lit. Remains, vol. i. p. 326, and elsewhere in his works) seems to suppose that the order should be the reverse of what I have stated, and that the laws both of mind and body can be generalized from pathological data. Without wishing to express myself too positively in opposition to so profound a thinker as Coleridge, I cannot help saying that this is contradicted by an immense amount of evidence, and, so far as I am aware, is supported by none. It is contradicted by the fact, that those branches of inquiry which deal with phenomena little affected by foreign causes, have been raised to sciences sooner than those which deal with phenomena greatly affected by foreign causes. The organic world, for example, is more perturbed by the inorganic world, than the inorganic world is perturbed by it. Hence we find that the inorganic sciences have always been cultivated before the organic ones, and at the present moment are far more advanced than they. In the same way, human physiology is older than human pathology; and while the physiology of the vegetable kingdom has been successfully prosecuted since the latter half of the seventeenth century, the pathology of the vegetable kingdom can scarcely be said to exist, since none of its laws have been generalized, and no systematic researches, on a large scale, have yet been made into the morbid anatomy of plants. It appears, therefore, that different ages and different sciences bear unconscious testimony to the uselessness of paying much attention to the abnormal, until considerable progress has been made in the study of the normal; and this conclusion might be confirmed by innumerable authorities, who, differing from Coleridge, hold that physiology is the basis of pathology, and that the laws of disease are to be raised, not from the phenomena presented in disease, but from those presented in health; in other words, that pathology should be investigated deductively rather than inductively, and that morbid anatomy and clinical observations may verify the conclusions of science, but can never supply the means of creating the science itself. On this extremely interesting question, compare Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, Hist. des Anomalies de l'Organisation, vol. ii. pp. 9, 10, 127; Bowman's Surgery, in Encyclop. of the Medical Sciences, p. 824; Bichat, Anatomie Générale, vol. i. p. 20; Cullen's Works, vol. i. p. 424; Comte, Philos. Positive, vol. iii. pp. 334, 335; Robin et Verdeil, Chimie Anatomique, vol. i. p. 68; Esquirol, Maladies Mentales, vol. i. p. 111; Georget, de la Folie, pp. 2, 391, 392; Brodie's Pathology and Surgery, p. 3; Blainville, Physiologie comparée, vol. i. p. 20; Feuchtersleben's Medical Psychology, p. 200; Lawrence's Lectures on Man, 1844, p. 45; Simon's Pathology, p. 5.

Another confirmation of the accuracy of this view is, that pathological investigations of the nervous system, numerous as they have been, have effected scarcely anything; the reason evidently being, that the preliminary knowledge of the normal state is not sufficiently advanced. See Noble on the Brain, pp. 76–92, 337, 338; Henry on the Nervous System, in Third Report of Brit. Assoc. p. 78; Holland's Medical Notes, p. 608; Jones and Sieveking's Patholog. Anat. p. 211.

[2] A circumstance which Harris relates with evident delight, and goes out of his way to mention it. Lives of the Stuarts, vol. iii. p. 300. On the amount of loss the church thus sustained, see Sinclair's Hist. of the Revenue, vol. i. pp. 181–184, and Eccleston's English Antiquities, p. 228.

[3] The first divergence arose from the influence of the protective spirit, as I shall endeavour to explain in the next chapter.

[4] On the obligations Europe is under to the Catholic clergy, see some liberal and very just remarks in Kemble's Saxons in England, vol. ii. pp. 374, 375; and in Guizot's Civilisation en France. See also Neander's Hist. of the Church, vol. iii. pp. 199–206, 255–257, vol. v. p. 138, vol. vi. pp. 406, 407; Palgrave's Anglo-Saxon Commonwealth, vol. i. p. 655; Lingard's Hist. of England, vol. ii. p. 44; Klimrath, Travaux sur l'Hist. du droit, vol. i. p. 394; Carwithen's Hist. of the Church of England, vol. i. p. 157.

[5] The way in which this acted is concisely stated by Tennemann: ‘Wenn sich nun auch ein freierer Geist der Forschung regte, so fand er sich gleich durch zwei Grundsätze, welche aus jenem Supremat der Theologie flossen, beengt und gehemmt. Der erste war: die menschliche Vernunft kann nicht über die Offenbarung hinausgehen…. Der zweite: die Vernunft kann nichts als wahr erkennen, was dem Inhalte der Offenbarung widerspricht, und nichts für falsch erkennen, was derselben angemessen ist,—folgte aus dem ersten.’ Gesch. der Philos. vol. viii. part i. p. 8.

[6] As to the influence of the Reformation generally, in increasing the power of the Catholic clergy, see M. Ranke's important work on the History of the Popes; and as to the result in France, see Monteil, Hist. des divers Etats, vol. v. pp. 233–235. Corero, who was ambassador in France in 1569, writes, ‘Il papa può dire a mio giudizio, d'aver in questi romori piuttosto guadagnato che perduto, perciochè tanta era la licenza del vivere, secondo che ho inteso, prima che quel regno si dividesse in due parti, era tanta poca la devozione che avevano in Roma e in quei che vi abitavano, che il papa era più considerato come principe grande in Italia, che come capo della chiesa e pastore universale. Ma scoperti che si furono gli ugonotti, cominciarono i cattolici a riverire il suo nome, e riconoscerlo per vero vicario di Cristo, confirmandosi tanto più in opinione di doverlo tener per tale, quanto più lo sentivano sprezzare e negare da essi ugonotti.’ Relations des Ambassadeurs Vénitiens, vol. ii. p. 162. This interesting passage is one of many proofs that the immediate advantages derived from the Reformation have been overrated; though the remote advantages were undoubtedly immense.

[7] The indifference of the English to theological disputes, and the facility with which they changed their religion, caused many foreigners to censure their fickleness. See, for instance, Essais de Montaigne, livre ii. chap. xii. p. 365. Perlin, who travelled in England in the middle of the sixteenth century, says, ‘The people are reprobates, and thorough enemies to good manners and letters; for they don't know whether they belong to God or the devil, which St. Paul has reprehended in many people, saying, Be not transported with divers sorts of winds, but be constant and steady to your belief.’ Antiquarian Repertory, vol. iv. p. 511, 4to, 1809. See also the remarks of Michele in 1557, and of Crespet in 1590; Ellis's Original Letters, 2nd series, vol. ii. p. 239; Hallam's Constitutional History, vol. i. p. 102; Southey's Commonplace Book, 3rd series, p. 408.

[8] An historian of the thirteenth century strikingly expresses the theological feelings of the English crusaders, and the complete subordination of the political ones: ‘Indignum quippe judicabant animarum suarum salutem omittere, et obsequium cœlestis Regis, clientelæ regis alicujus terreni postponere; constituerunt igitur terminum, videlicet festum nativitatis beati Johannis Baptistæ.’ Matthæi Paris Historia Major, p. 671. It is said, that the first tax ever imposed in England on personal property was in 1166, and was for the purpose of crusading. Sinclair's Hist. of the Revenue, vol. i. p. 88: ‘It would not probably have been easily submitted to, had it not been appropriated for so popular a purpose.’

[9] Henry VIII. had, at one time, fifty horse-guards, but they being expensive, were soon given up; and his only protection consisted of ‘the yeomen of the guard, fifty in number, and the common servants of the king's household.’ Hallam's Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 46. These ‘yeomen of the guard were raised by Henry VII. in 1485.’ Grose's Military Antiquities, vol. i. p. 167. Compare Turner's Hist. of England, vol. vii. p. 54; and Lingard's Hist. of England, vol. iii. p. 298.

[10] Locke, in his first Letter on Toleration, has made some pungent, and, I should suppose, very offensive, observations on these rapid changes. Locke's Works, vol. v. p. 27.

[11] But, although Mary easily effected a change of religion, the anti-ecclesiastical spirit was far too strong to allow her to restore to the church its property. ‘In Mary's reign, accordingly, her parliament, so obsequious in all matters of religion, adhered with a firm grasp to the possession of church-lands.’ Hallam's Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 77. See also Short's Hist. of the Church of England, p. 213; Lingard's Hist. of England, vol. iv. pp. 339, 340; Butler's Mem. of the Catholics, vol. i. p. 253; and Carwithen's Hist. of the Church of England, vol. i. p. 346.

[12] ‘Quand éclata la guerre des opinions religieuses, les antiques rivalités des barons se transformèrent en haîne du prêche ou de la messe.’ Capefigue, Hist. de la Réforme et de la Ligue, vol. iv. p. 32. Compare Duplessis Mornay, Mém. et Correspond., vol. ii. pp. 422, 563; and Boullier, Maison Militaire des Rois de France, p. 25, ‘des querelles d'autant plus vives, qu'elles avoient la religion pour base.’

[13] The intellectual advantages of France, arising from its position between Italy, Germany, and England, are very fairly stated by M. Lerminier (Philosophie du Droit, vol. i. p. 9).

[14] Just in the same way, the religious disputes in Alexandria injured the interests of knowledge. See the instructive remarks of M. Matter (Hist. de l'Ecole d'Alexandrie, vol. ii. p. 131).

[15] Monteil, Hist. des divers Etats, vol. vi. p. 136. Indeed, the theological spirit seized the theatre, and the different sectarians ridiculed each other's principles on the stage. See a curious passage at p. 182 of the same learned work.

[16] The crimes of the French Protestants, though hardly noticed in Felice's History of the Protestants of France, pp. 138–143, were as revolting as those of the Catholics, and quite as numerous relatively to the numbers and power of the two parties. Compare Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xviii. pp. 516, 517, with Capefigue, Hist. de la Réforme, vol. ii. p. 173, vol. vi. p. 54; and Smedley, Hist. of the Reformed Religion in France, vol. i. pp. 199, 200, 237.

[17] In 1569 Corero writes: ‘Ritrovai quel regno, certo, posto in grandissima confusione; perchè, stante quella divisione di religione (convertita quasi in due fazioni e inimicizie particolari), era causa ch' ognuno, senza che amicizia o parentela potesse aver luoco, stava con l'orecchie attente; e pieno disospetto ascoltava da che parte nasceva qualche romore,’ Relat. des Ambassad. Vénitiens, vol. ii. p. 106. He emphatically adds, ‘Temevano gl' ugonotti, temevano li cattolici, tenieva il prencipe, temevano li sudditi.’ See also, on this horrible state of opinions, Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xviii. pp. 21, 22, 118–120, 296, 430. On both sides, the grossest calumnies were propagated and believed; and one of the charges brought against Catherine de Medici was, that she caused the Cesarean operation to be performed on the wives of Protestants, in order that no new heretics might be born. Sprengel, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. vii. p. 294.

[18] Mably, Observations sur l'Hist. de France, vol. iii. p. 149. In the reign of Charles IX. alone, there were no less than five of these religious wars, each of which was concluded by a treaty. See Flassan, Hist. de la Diplomatie Française, vol. ii. p. 69.

[19] For which l'Hôpital was accused of atheism: ‘Homo doctus, sed verus atheus.’ Dict. Philos. article Athéisme, in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xxxvii. pp. 181, 182.

[20] I have not been able to meet with any good life of this great man: that by Charles Butler is very superficial, and so is that by Bernardi, in Biog. Univ. vol. xxiv. pp. 412–424. My own information respecting l'Hôpital is from Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xviii. pp. 431–436; Capefigue, Hist. de la Réforme, vol. ii. pp. 135–137, 168–170; De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. iii. pp. 519–523, vol. iv. pp. 2–8, 152–159, vol. v. pp. 180–182, 520, 521, 535, vol. vi. pp. 703, 704; Sully, Œconomies Royales, vol. i. p. 234. Duvernet (Hist. de la Sorbonne, vol. i. pp. 215–218) is unsatisfactory, though fully recognizing his merit.

[21] ‘Ce fut alors que la nation ne prit conseil que de son fanatisme. Les esprits, de jour en jour plus échauffés, ne virent plus d'autre objet que celui de la religion, et par piété se firent les injures les plus atroces.’ Mably, Observations sur l'Hist. de France, vol. iii. p. 145.

[22] The 19th and 20th volumes of Sismondi's Histoire des Français contain painful evidence of the internal condition of France before the accession of Henry IV. Indeed, as Sismondi says (vol. xx. pp. 11–16), it seemed at one time as if the only prospect was a relapse into feudalism. See also Monteil, Hist. des divers Etats, vol. v. pp. 242–249: ‘plus de trois cent mille maisons détruites.’ De Thou, in the memoirs of his own life, says, ‘Les loix furent méprisées, et l'honneur de la France fut presque anéanti … et sous le voile de la religion, on ne respiroit que la haîne, la vengeance, le massacre et l'incendie,’ Mém. de la Vie, in Histoire Univ. vol. i. p. 120; and the same writer, in his great history, gives almost innumerable instances of the crimes and persecutions constantly occurring. See, for some of the most striking cases, vol. ii. p. 383, vol. iv. pp. 378, 380, 387, 495, 496, 539, vol. v. pp. 189, 518, 561, 647, vol. vi. pp. 421, 422, 424, 426, 427, 430, 469. Compare Duplessis, Mém. et Correspond. vol. ii. pp. 41, 42, 322, 335, 611, 612, vol. iii. pp. 344, 445, vol. iv. pp. 112–114; Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. i. pp. 307, 308; Duvernet, Hist. de la Sorbonne, vol. i. p. 217.

[23] This, indeed, is not saying much; and far higher praise might be justly bestowed. As to his domestic policy, there can be only one opinion; and M. Flassan speaks in the most favourable terms of his management of foreign affairs. Flassan, Hist. de la Diplomatie Franç. vol. ii. pp. 191, 192, 294–297, vol. iii. p. 243. And see, to the same effect, the testimony of M. Capefigue, an unfriendly judge. Hist. de la Réforme, vol. vii. p. xiv. vol. viii. p. 156. Fontenay Mareuil, who was a contemporary of Henry IV., though he wrote many years after the king was murdered, says, ‘Ce grand roy, qui estoit en plus de considération dans le monde que pas un de ses prédécesseurs n'avoit esté depuis Charlesmagne.’ Mém. de Fontenay, vol. i. p. 46. Duplessis Mornay calls him ‘le plus grand roy que la chrestienté ait porté depuis cinq cens ans;’ and Sully pronounces him to be ‘le plus grand de nos rois.’ Duplessis Mornay, Mém. et Correspond. vol. xi. pp. 30, 77, 131; Sully, Œconomies Royales, vol. vii. p. 15. Compare vol. vi. pp. 397, 398, vol. ix. pp. 35, 242, with some sensible remarks in Mém. de Genlis, Paris, 1825, vol. ix. p. 299.

[24] So it is generally related: but there is a slightly different version of this orthodox declaration in Smedley's Hist. of the Reformation in France, vol. i. p. 30. Compare Maclaine's note in Mosheim's Eccles. Hist. vol. ii. p. 24, with Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xvi. pp. 453, 454, and Relat. des Ambassad. Vénitiens, vol. i. p. 50, vol. ii. p. 48. It was also Francis I. who advised Charles V. to expel all the Mohammedans from Spain, Llorente, Hist. de l'Inquisition, vol. i. p. 429.

[25] The historian of the French Protestants says, in 1548, ‘le nouveau roi Henry II. fut encore plus rigoureux que son père.’ Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. i. p. 12.

[26] M. Ranke (Civil Wars in France, vol. i. pp. 240, 241) says, that he issued a circular ‘addressed to the parliaments and to the judicial tribunals, in which they were urged to proceed against the Lutherans with the greatest severity, and the judges informed that they would be held responsible, should they neglect these orders; and in which he declared plainly, that as soon as the peace with Spain was concluded, he was determined to make the extirpation of the heretics his principal business.’ See also, on Henry II., in connexion with the Protestants, Mably, Observ. sur l'Hist. de France, vol. iii. pp. 133, 134; De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. i. pp. 334, 335, 387, vol. ii. p. 640, vol. iii. pp. 365, 366; Felice's Hist. of the French Protestants, p. 58.

[27] He said this to the Estates of Blois in 1588. Ranke's Civil Wars in France, vol. ii. p. 202. Compare his edict, in 1585, in Capefigue, Hist. de la Réforme, vol. iv. pp. 244, 245, and his speech in vol. v. p. 122; and see Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. i. p. 328; Duplessis Mornay, Mém. et Corresp. vol. i. p. 110; De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. i. p. 250, vol. viii. p. 651, vol. x, pp. 294, 589, 674, 675.

[28] With what zeal these opinions were enforced, appears, besides many other authorities, from Marino Cavalli, who writes in 1546, ‘Li maestri di Sorbona hanno autorità estrema di castigare li eretici, il che fanno con il fuoco, brustolandoli vivi a poco a poco.’ Relat. des Ambassad. Vénitiens, vol. i. 262; and see vol. ii. p. 24.

[29] Indeed, Clement VIII. was afterwards apprehensive of a fourth apostasy: ‘Er meinte noch immer, Heinrich IV. werde zuletzt vielleicht wieder zum Protestantismus zurückkehren, wie er es schon einmal gethan.’ Ranke, die Päpste, vol. ii. p. 246. M. Ranke, from his great knowledge of Italian manuscripts, has thrown more light on these transactions than the French historians have been able to do.

[30] On his conversion, the character of which was as obvious then as it is now, compare Duplessis Mornay, Mém. et Correspond. vol. i. p. 257, with Sully, Œconomies Royales, vol. ii. p. 126. See also Howell's Letters, book i. p. 42; and a letter from Sir H. Wotton in 1593, printed in Reliquiæ Wottonianæ, p. 711. See also Ranke, Civil Wars in France, vol. ii. pp. 257, 355; Capefigue, Hist. de la Réforme, vol. vi. pp. 305, 358.

[31] The edict of Nantes was in 1598; the abjuration in 1593. Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxi. pp. 202, 486. But in 1590 it was intimated to the pope as probable, if not certain, that Henry would ‘in den Schooss der katholischen Kirche zurückkehren.’ Ranke, die Päpste, vol. ii. p. 210.

[32] Of this edict, Sismondi says, ‘Aucune époque dans l'histoire de France ne marque mieux peut-être la fin d'un monde ancien, le commencement d'un monde nouveau.’ Hist. des Français, vol. xxi. p. 489

[33] On Rabelais, as the supposed founder of French scepticism, compare Lavallée, Hist. des Français, vol. ii. p. 306; Stephen's Lectures on the History of France, vol. ii. p. 242; Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xvi. p. 376.

[34] Particularly the monks. See, among numerous other instances, vol. i. pp. 278, 282, vol. ii. pp. 284, 285, of Œuvres de Rabelais, edit. Amsterdam, 1725. However, the high dignitaries of the church are not spared; for he says that Gargantua ‘se morvoit en archidiacre,’ vol. i. p. 132; and on two occasions (vol. iii. p. 65, vol. iv. pp. 199, 200) he makes a very indecent allusion to the pope. In vol. i. pp. 260, 261, he satirically notices the way in which the services of the church were performed: ‘Dont luy dist le moyne: Je ne dors jamais à mon aise, sinon quand je suis au sermon, ou quand je prie Dieu.’

[35] His joke on the strength of Samson (Œuvres de Rabelais, vol. ii. pp. 29, 30), and his ridicule of one of the Mosaic laws (vol. iii. p. 34), are so unconnected with other parts of his work, as to have no appearance of belonging to a general scheme. The commentators, who find a hidden meaning in every author they annotate, have represented Rabelais as aiming at the highest objects, and seeking to effect the most extensive social and religious reforms. This I greatly doubt, at all events I have seen no proof of it; and I cannot help thinking that Rabelais owes a large share of his reputation to the obscurity of his language. On the other side of the question, and in favour of his comprehensiveness, see a bold passage in Coleridge's Lit. Remains, vol. i. pp. 138, 139.

[36] The two first books in 1580; the third in 1588, with additions to the first two. See Niceron, Mém. pour servir à l'Hist. des Hommes illustres, vol. xvi. p. 210, Paris, 1731.

[37] The first impression of the Pantagruel of Rabelais has no date on the title-page; but it is known that the third book was printed in 1545, and the fourth book in 1546. See Brunet, Manuel du Libraire, vol. iv. pp. 4–6, Paris, 1843. The statement in Biog. Univ. vol. xxxvi. pp. 482, 483, is rather confused.

[38] Mr. Hallam (Lit. of Europe, vol. ii. p. 29) says, that his scepticism ‘is not displayed in religion.’ But if we use the word ‘religion’ in its ordinary sense, as connected with dogma, it is evident, from Montaigne's language, that he was a sceptic, and an unflinching one too. Indeed, he goes so far as to say that all religious opinions are the result of custom: ‘Comme de vray nous n'avons aultre mire de la vérité et de la raison, que l'exemple et idée des opinions et usances du païs où nous sommes: là est tousiours la parfaicte religion, la parfaicte police, parfaict et accomply usage de toutes choses.’ Essais de Montaigne, p. 121, livre i. chap. xxx. As a natural consequence, he lays down that religious error is not criminal, p. 53; compare p. 28. See also how he notices the usurpations of the theological spirit, pp. 116, 508, 528. The fact seems to be, that Montaigne, while recognizing abstractedly the existence of religious truths, doubted our capacity for knowing them; that is to say, he doubted if, out of the immense number of religious opinions, there were any means of ascertaining which were accurate. His observations on miracles (pp. 541, 653, 654, 675) illustrate the character of his mind; and what he says on prophetic visions is quoted and confirmed by Pinel, in his profound work Aliénation Mentale, p. 256. Compare Maury, Légendes Pieuses, p. 268 note.

[39] His friend, the celebrated De Thou, calls him ‘homme franc, ennemi de toute contrainte.’ Mémoires, in De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. i. p. 59: see also vol. xi. p. 590. And M. Lamartine classes him with Montesquieu, as ‘ces deux grands républicains de la pensée française.’ Hist. des Girondins, vol. i. p. 174.

[40] He says (Essais, p. 97), ‘Ce n'est pas à l'adventure sans raison que nous attribuons à simplesse et ignorance la facilité de croire et de se laisser persuader.’ Compare two striking passages, pp. 199 and 685. Nothing of this sort had ever appeared before in the French language.

[41] Dugald Stewart, whose turn of mind was very different from that of Montaigne, calls him ‘this most amusing author.’ Stewart's Philos. of the Mind, vol. i. p. 468. But Rousseau, in every respect a more competent judge, enthusiastically praises ‘la naïveté, la grâce et l'énergie de son style inimitable.’ Musset Pathay, Vie de Rousseau, vol. i. p. 185. Compare Lettres de Sévigné, vol. iii. p. 491, edit. Paris, 1843, and Lettres de Dudeffand à Walpole, vol. i. p. 94.

[42] ‘Mais celui qui a répandu et popularisé en France le scepticisme, c'est Montaigne.’ Cousin, Hist. de la Philos., II. série, vol. ii. pp. 288, 289. ‘Die erste Regung des skeptischen Geistes finden wir in den Versuchen des Michael von Montaigne.’ Tennemann, Gesch. der Philos. vol. ix. p. 443. On the immense influence of Montaigne, compare Tennemann, vol. ix. p. 458; Monteil, Divers Etats, vol. v. pp. 263–265; Sorel, Bibliothèque Françoise, pp. 80–91; Le Long, Bibliothèque Historique, vol. iv. p. 527.

[43] Compare the remarks on Charron in Tennemann, Geschichte der Philosophie, vol. ix. p. 527, with two insidious passages in Charron, De la Sagesse, vol. i. pp. 4, 366.

[44] The obligations of Charron to Montaigne were very considerable, but are stated too strongly by many writers. Sorel, Bibliothèque Françoise, p. 93; and Hallam's Literature of Europe, vol. ii. pp. 362, 509. On the most important subjects, Charron was a bolder and deeper thinker than Montaigne; though he is now so little read, that the only tolerably complete account I have seen of his system is in Tennemann, Gesch. der Philosophie, vol. ix. pp. 458–487. Buhle (Geschichte der neuern Philosophie, vol. ii. pp. 918–925) and Cousin (Hist. de la Philos. II. série, vol. ii. p. 289) are short and unsatisfactory. Even Dr. Parr, who was extensively read in this sort of literature, appears only to have known Charron through Bayle (see notes on the Spital Sermon, in Parr's Works, vol. ii. pp. 520, 521); while Dugald Stewart, with suspicious tautology, quotes, in three different places, the same passage from Charron. Stewart's Philosophy of the Mind, vol. ii. p. 233, vol. iii. pp. 365, 393. Singularly enough, Talleyrand was a great admirer of De la Sagesse, and presented his favourite copy of it to Madame de Genlis! See her own account, in Mém. de Genlis, vol. iv. pp. 352, 353.

[45] See his definition, or rather description, of wisdom, in Charron, De la Sagesse, vol. i. p. 295, vol. ii. pp. 113, 115.

[46] De la Sagesse, vol. i. pp. 63, 351.

[47] ‘Chacune se préfère aux autres, et se confie d'être la meilleure et plus vraie que les autres, et s'entre-reprochent aussi les unes aux autres quelque chose, et par-là s'entre-condamnent et rejettent.’ De la Sagesse, vol. i. p. 348; see also vol. i. pp. 144, 304, 305, 306, vol. ii. p. 116. Expressions almost identical are used by M. Charles Compte, Traité de Législation, vol. i. p. 233.

[48] ‘Toutes trouvent et fournissent miracles, prodiges, oracles, mystères sacrés, saints prophètes, fêtes, certains articles de foy et créance nécessaires au salut.’ De la Sagesse, vol. i. p. 346.

[49] Hence he opposes proselytism, and takes up the philosophic ground, that religious opinions, being governed by undeviating laws, owe their variations to variations in their antecedents, and are always, if left to themselves, suited to the existing state of things: ‘Et de ces conclusions, nous apprendrons à n'épouser rien, ne jurer à rien, n'admirer rien, ne se troubler de rien, mais quoi qu'il advienne, que l'on crie, tempête, se resoudre à ce point, que c'est le cours du monde, c'est nature qui fait des siennes.’ Dela Sagesse, vol. i. p. 311.

[50] ‘Mais comme elles naissent l'une après l'autre, la plus jeune bâtit toujours sur son aînée et prochaine précédente, laquelle elle n'improuve, ni ne condamne de fond en comble, autrement elle ne seroit pas ouïe, et ne pourroit prendre pied; mais seulement l'accuse ou d'imperfection, ou de son terme fini, et qu'à cette occasion elle vient pour lui succéder et la parfaire, et ainsi la ruine peu-à-peu, et s'enrichit de ses dépouilles, comme la Judaïque a fait à la Gentille et Egyptienne, la Chrétienne à la Judaïque, la Mahometane à la Judaïque et Chrétienne ensemble: mais les vieilles condamnent bien tout-à-fait et entièrement les jeunes, et les tiennent pour ennemies capables.’ De la Sagesse, vol. i. p. 349. This, I believe, is the first instance in any modern language of the doctrine of religious development; a doctrine which, since Charron, has been steadily advancing, particularly among men whose knowledge is extensive enough to enable them to compare the different religions which have prevailed at different times. In this, as in other subjects, they who are unable to compare, suppose that everything is isolated, simply because to them the continuity is invisible. As to the Alexandrian doctrine of development, found particularly in Clement and Origen, see Neander's Hist. of the Church, vol. ii. pp. 234–257; and in particular pp. 241, 246.

[51] De la Sagesse, vol. i. pp. 356, 365; two magnificent passages. But the whole chapter ought to be read, livre ii. chap. v. In it there is an occasional ambiguity. Tennemann, however, in the most important point, understands Charron as I do in regard to the doctrine of future punishments. Geschichte der Philosophie, vol. ix. p. 473.

[52] The first edition of La Sagesse was published at Bourdeaux in 1601. Niceron, Hommes illustres, vol. xvi. p. 224; Hallam's Lit. of Europe, vol. ii. p. 509; Biog. Univ. vol. viii. p. 250. Two editions were susequently published in Paris, in 1604 and 1607. Brunet, Manuel du Libraire, vol. i. p. 639.

[53] Sismondi (Hist. des Français, vol. xxii. p. 86) and Lavallée (Hist. des Français, vol. iii. p. 84) have noticed the diminution of religious zeal early in the seventeenth century; and some curious evidence will also be found in the correspondence of Duplessis Mornay. See, for instance, a letter he wrote to Diodati, in 1609: ‘A beaucoup aujourd'hui il fault commencer par là, qu'il y a une religion, premier que de leur dire quelle.’ Duplessis, Mém. et Corresp. vol. x. p. 415. This middle, or secular party, received the name of ‘Politiques,’ and began to be powerful in 1592 or 1593. Benoist (Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. i. p. 113), under the year 1593, contemptuously says: ‘Il s'éleva une foule de conciliateurs de religion;’ see also pp. 201, 273. In 1590, and in 1594, the ‘Politiques’ are noticed by De Thou (Hist. Univ. vol. xi. p. 171, vol. xii. p. 134); and on the increase, in 1593, of ‘le tiers parti politique et négociateur,’ see Capefigue, Hist. de la Réforme, vol. vi. p. 235. See also, respecting ‘les politiques,’ a letter from the Spanish ambassador to his own court, in 1615, in Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 93; and for the rise in Paris, in 1592, of a ‘politisch und kirchlich gemässigte Gesinnung,’ see Ranke, die Päpste, vol. ii. p. 243.

[54] The Sorbonne went so far as to condemn Charron's great work, but could not succeed in having it prohibited. Compare Duvernet, Hist. de la Sorbonne, vol. ii. p. 139, with Bayle, article Charron, note F.

[55] In the appendix to Ranke (Die Römischen Päpste, vol. iii. pp. 141, 142), there will be found the instructions which were given to the nuncio, in 1603, when he was sent to the French court; and which should be compared with a letter, written in 1604, in Sully, Œconomies Royales, vol. v. p. 122, edit. 1820.

[56] ‘Sein Sinn war im Allgemeinen, ohne Zweifel, das Gleichgewicht zwischen ihnen zu erhalten.’ Ranke, die Päpste, vol. ii. pp. 430, 431. ‘Henri IV, l'expression de l'indifférentisme religieux, se posa comme une transaction entre ces deux systèmes.’ Capefigue, Hist. de la Réforme, vol. vi. p. 358. ‘Henry IV. endeavoured to adjust the balance evenly,’ Smedley's Hist. of the Reformed Religion in France, vol. iii. p. 19. See also Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. i. p. 136. Hence, of course, neither party was quite satisfied. Mably's Observations, vol. iii. p. 220; Mezeray, Histoire de France, vol. iii. p. 959.

[57] Compare Capefigue, Hist. de la Réforme, vol. viii. p. 61, with Bazin, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. i. pp. 32, 33. See also, on his inclination towards the Protestants, Mém. de Fontenay Mareuil, vol. i. p. 91. Fontenay, p. 94, mentions, as a singular instance, that ‘il se vist de son temps des huguenots avoir des abbayes.’

[58] Sully, Œconomies Royales, vol. iv. p. 134, vol. vi. p. 233; Duplessis Mornay, Mém. et Corresp. vol. xi. p. 242; Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. pp. 68, 205. These grants were annual, and were apportioned by the Protestants themselves. See their own account, in Quick's Synodicon in Gallia, vol. i. pp. 198, 222, 246, 247, 249, 275–277.

[59] Henry IV. banished the Jesuits in 1594; but they were allowed, later in his reign, to make fresh settlements in France. Flassan, Hist. de la Diplomatie, vol. vi. p. 485; Bazin, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. i. p. 106; Monteil, Divers Etats, vol. v. p. 192 note; De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. xiv. p. 298. Compare the notices of them in Sully, Œconomies, vol. ii. p. 234, vol. iv. pp. 200, 235, 245. But there can be little doubt that they owed their recall to the dread entertained of their intrigues (Grégoire, Hist. des Confesseurs, p. 316); and Henry evidently disliked as well as feared them. See two letters from him in Duplessis, Mém. et Corresp. vol. vi. pp. 129, 151. It would appear, from the Mém. de Richelieu, vol. v. p. 350, Paris, 1823, that the king never restored to them their former authority in regard to education.

[60] Bazin, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. i. pp. 142, 143; Le Vassor, vol. i. p. 156; Sismondi, vol. xxii. p. 116; Duplessis Mornay, vol. i. p. 389; Sully, Œconomies, vol. vii. pp. 105, 432, 442.

[61] When Ravaillac was examined, he said, ‘qu'il y avait été excité par l'intérêt de la religion, et par une impulsion irrésistible.’ Bazin, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. i. p. 38. This work contains the fullest account I have met with of Ravaillac; of whom there is, moreover, a description in Les Historiettes de Tallemant des Réaux, vol. i. p. 85, Paris, 1840, a very curious book.

[62] Le Vassor (Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. i. p. 279) calls her ‘superstitieuse au dernier point;’ and, in vol. v. p. 481, ‘femme crédule et superstitieuse.’ See also vol. iii. p. 250, vol. vi. p. 628; and Grégoire, Hist. des Confesseurs, p. 65.

[63] ‘Elle annonça qu'elle vouloit suivre en tout l'exemple du feu roi…. Le ministère de Henri IV, que la reine continuoit.’ Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxii. pp. 206, 210; and see two letters from her, in Duplessis Mornay, Mém. et Corresp. vol. xi. p. 282, vol. xii. p. 428. Sully had feared that the death of Henry IV. would cause a change of policy: ‘que l'on s'alloit jeter dans des desseins tous contraires aux règles, ordres et maximes du feu roy.’ Œconomies Royales, vol. viii. p. 401.

[64] See the declaration in Bazin, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. i. pp. 74, 75; and notices of it in Mém. de Richelieu, vol. i. p. 58; Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 27; Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. p. 7; Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. i. p. 58. But none of these writers, nor Sismondi (vol. xxii. p. 221), appear to be aware that the issuing of this declaration was determined on, in council, as early as the 17th of May; that is, only three days after the death of Henry IV. This is mentioned by Pontchartrain, who was then one of the ministers. See Mém. de Pontchartrain, edit. Petitot, 1822, vol. i. p. 409; a book little known, but well worthy of being read.

[65] Bazin, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. i. p. 262; Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. p. 140; Mém. de Fontenay Mareuil, vol. i. p. 257; Le Vassor, vol. i. p. 604.

[66] ‘Laissant néanmoins l'administration du royaume à la reine sa mère.’ Mém. de Bassompierre, vol. ii. p. 52. Compare Sully, Œconomies, vol. ix. p. 177. She possessed complete authority over the king till 1617. See Mémoires de Montglat, vol. i. p. 24: ‘avoit été tenu fort bas par la reine sa mère.’ See also Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. ii. pp. 640, 677, 716, 764.

[67] Bazin, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. i. pp. 381, 382.

[68] In 1611, ‘le pape le rejeta formellement comme hérétique.’ Bazin, vol. i. p. 174. This is glossed over by Pontchartrain (Mémoires, vol. i. p. 450); but the statement of M. Bazin is confirmed in the preface to De Thou, Histoire Universelle, vol. i. p. xvi.

[69] ‘Der erste Einhalt den die kirchliche Restauration erfuhr, geschah in Frankreich,’ Ranke, die Römischen Päpste, vol. iii. p. 160.

[70] This desire was expressed several times, but in vain: ‘Gern hätten die Nuntien Werke wie von Thou und Richer verboten, aber es war ihnen nicht möglich,’ Ranke, die Päpste, vol. iii. p. 181, Anhang. Compare Mém. de Richelieu, vol. ii. p. 68; Mém. de Pontchartrain, vol. i. p. 428.

[71] This decline of the ecclesiastical power is noticed by many writers of the time; but it is sufficient to refer to the very curious remonstrance of the French clergy, in 1605, in De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. xiv. pp. 446, 447.

[72] As M. Monteil says (Hist. des Français des divers Etats, vol. vii. p. 114), ‘Richelieu tint le sceptre; Louis XIII. porta la couronne.’ And Campion (Mémoires, p. 37) calls him ‘plutôt le maître que le ministre;’ and adds, pp. 218, 219, that he ‘avoit gouverné dix-huit ans la France avec un pouvoir absolu et une gloire sans pareille.’ Compare Mém. du Cardinal de Retz, vol. i p. 63.

[73] The common opinion, put forth in Alison's Hist. of Europe, vol. i. pp. 101–104, and in many other books, is that Richelieu did destroy their influence; but this error arises from confusing political influence with social influence. What is termed the political power of a class, is merely the symptom and manifestation of its real power; and it is no use to attack the first, unless you can also weaken the second. The real power of the nobles was social, and that neither Richelieu nor Louis XIV. could impair; and it remained intact until the middle of the eighteenth century, when the intellect of France rebelled against it, overthrew it, and finally effected the French Revolution.

[74] Richelieu appears to have formed the design of humbling the nobles, at least as early as 1624. See a characteristic passage in his Mémoires, vol. ii. p. 340. In Swinburne's Courts of Europe, vol. ii. pp. 63–65, there is a curious traditional anecdote, which, though probably false, shows, at all events, the fear and hatred with which the French nobles regarded the memory of Richelieu more than a century after his death.

[75] On their influence, see Grégoire, Histoire des Confesseurs; and compare the remarks of Mr. Grote, a great writer, whose mind is always ready with historical analogies. Grote's Hist. of Greece, vol. vi. p. 393, 2nd edit. 1851. Many of the French kings had a strong natural affection for monks; but the most singular instance I have found of this sort of love is mentioned by no less a man than De Thou, respecting Henry III. De Thou (Hist. Univ. vol. x. pp. 666, 667) says of that prince: ‘Soit tempérament, soit éducation, la présence d'un moine faisait toujours plaisir à Henri; et je lui ai moi-même souvent entendu dire, que leur vue produisoit le même effet sur son âme, que le chatouillement le plus délicat sur le corps.’

[76] One of his suggestions was, ‘sur les dangers que couroit le catholicisme en Allemagne, par ses liaisons avec les puissances protestantes.’ Grégoire, Histoire des Confesseurs, p. 342. The fullest account of Caussin is in Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. ix. pp. 287–299; to which, however, Grégoire never refers. As I shall have frequent occasion to quote Le Vassor, I may observe, that he is far more accurate than is generally supposed, and that he has been very unfairly treated by the majority of French writers, among whom he is unpopular, on account of his constant attacks on Louis XIV. Sismondi (Hist. des Français, vol. xxii. pp. 188, 189) speaks highly of his Hist. of Louis XIII; and so far as my own reading extends, I can confirm his favourable opinion.

[77] ‘Le petit père Caussin.’ Mém. de Richelieu, vol. x. p. 206; and at p. 217, he is classed among the ‘personnes qui avoient toujours été nourries dans l'innocence d'une vie religieuse;’ see also p. 215, on his ‘simplicité et ignorance.’ Respecting Richelieu's treatment of Caussin, see Mém. de Montglat, vol. i. pp. 173–175; Lettres de Patin, vol. i. p. 49; Des Réaux, Historiettes, vol. ii. p. 182.

[78] Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxiii. p. 332; Tallemant des Réaux, Historiettes, vol. iii. p. 78 note. Le Vassor (Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. x. part ii. p. 761) says, that Sirmond ‘se soutint à la cour sous le ministère de Richelieu, parce qu'il ne se mêloit point des affaires d'état.’ According to the same writer (vol. viii. p. 156), Richelieu thought at one time of depriving the Jesuits of their post of confessor to the king.

[79] Lavallée, Hist. des Français, vol. iii. p. 87; Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. iv. p. 208; Bazin, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. ii. p. 144; Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. pp. 337, 338. Benoist says: ‘Le clergé de France, ignorant et corrompu, croyoit tout son devoir compris dans l'extirpation des hérétiques; et même il offroit de grandes sommes, à condition qu'on les employât à cette guerre.’

[80] In which he is fully borne out by the high authority of Vattel, whose words I shall quote, for the sake of those politicians who still cleave to the superannuated theory of the sacredness of church-property: ‘Loin que l'exemption appartienne aux biens d'église parce qu'ils sont consacrés à Dieu, c'est au contraire par cette raison même, qu'ils doivent être pris les premiers pour le salut de l'état; car il n'y a rien de plus agréable au Père commun des hommes, que de garantir une nation de sa ruine. Dieu n'ayant besoin de rien, lui consacrer des biens, c'est les destiner à des usages qui lui soient agréables. De plus, les biens de l'église, de l'aveu du clergé lui-même, sont en grande partie destinés aux pauvres. Quand l'état est dans le besoin, il est sans doute le premier pauvre, et le plus digne de secours.’ Vattel, le Droit des Gens, vol. i. pp. 176, 177.

[81] ‘Que la réputation de l'état est préférable à toutes choses.’ Mém. de Richelieu, vol. ii. p. 482. This was in 1625, and by way of refuting the legate.

[82] Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxiii. pp. 477, 478; Bazin, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. iv. pp. 325, 326. The Cardinal de Retz, who knew Richelieu personally, says: ‘M. le cardinal de Richelieu avoit donné une atteinte cruelle à la dignité et à la liberté du clergé dans l'assemblée de Mante, et il avoit exilé, avec des circonstances atroces, six de ses prélats les plus considérables.’ Mém. de Retz, vol. i. p. 50.

[83] ‘Die Nuntien finden kein Ende der Beschwerden die sie machen zu müssen glauben, vorzüglich über die Beschränkungen welche die geistliche Jurisdiction erfahre…. Zuweilen werde ein Geistlicher hingerichtet ohne erst degradirt zu seyn.’ Ranke, die Päpste, vol. iii. p. 157: a summary, in 1641, of the complaints of the then nuncio, and of those of his predecessors. Le Vassor (Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. v. pp. 51 seq.) has given some curious details respecting the animosity between the clergy and the secular tribunals of France in 1624.

[84] Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxiii. p. 301; Mém. de Bassompierre, vol. iii. pp. 302, 353. Bazin, who notices this disgraceful affair, simply says (Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. iii. p. 453): ‘Le maréchal de Vitry, suivant l'exemple qui lui en avoit donné le duc d'Epernon, s'emporta jusqu'à le frapper de son bâton.’ In regard to Epernon, the best account is in Mém. de Richelieu, where it is stated (vol. viii. p. 194) that the duke, just before flogging the archbishop, ‘disoit au peuple, “Rangez-vous, vous verrez comme j'étrillerai votre archevêque.”’ This was stated by a witness, who heard the duke utter the words. Compare, for further information, Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. x. part ii. p. 97, with Tallemant des Réaux, Historiettes, vol. iii. p. 116. Des Réaux, who, in his own way, was somewhat of a philosopher, contentedly says: ‘Cet archevêque se pouvoit vanter d'être le prélat du monde qui avoit été le plus battu.’ His brother was Cardinal Sourdis; a man of some little reputation in his own time, and concerning whom a curious anecdote is related in Mém. de Conrart, pp. 231–234.

[85] Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxiii. p. 470. Le Vassor (Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. x. part ii. p. 149) says: ‘Il s'enfuit donc honteusement à Carpentras sous la protection du pape.’

[86] ‘Les évêques furent punis par la saisie de leur temporel; Alby, Nimes, Uzés, furent privées de leurs prélats.’ Capefigue's Richelieu, Paris, 1844, vol. ii. p. 24. The Protestants were greatly delighted at the punishment of the bishops of Alby and Nimes, which ‘les ministres regardoient comme une vengeance divine.’ Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. pp. 528, 529.

[87] In a short account of Richelieu, which was published immediately after his death, the writer indignantly says, that ‘being a cardinal, he afflicted the church.’ Somers Tracts. vol. v. p. 540. Compare Bazin, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. iv. p. 322.

[88] This scandalous charge in regard to his niece was a favourite one with the clergy; and among many other instances, the accusation was brought by the Cardinal de Valençay in the grossest manner. See Tallemant des Réaux, Historiettes, vol. iii. p. 201.

[89] ‘De là ces petits écrits qui le dénonçaient comme le “pontife des huguenots” ou “le patriarche des athées.”’ Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 312.

[90] Compare Des Réaux, Historiettes, vol. ii. p. 233, with Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. viii. part ii. pp. 177, 178, vol. ix. p. 277.

[91] See the manifesto in Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxiii. pp. 452, 453.

[92] Late in the sixteenth century, ‘fils aîné de l'Eglise’ was the recognized and well-merited title of the kings of Spain. De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. xi. p. 280. Compare Duplessis Mornay, Mém. et Correspond. vol. xi. p. 21. And on the opinions which the Catholics, early in the seventeenth century, generally held respecting Spain, see Mém. de Fontenay, Mareuil, vol. i. p. 189; Mém. de Bassompierre, vol. i. p. 424.

[93] As to the connexion between this foreign policy and the massacre of Saint Bartholomew, see Capefigue, Hist. de la Réforme, vol. iii. pp. 253, 268, 269.

[94] On the policy, and still more on the feelings, of Henry IV. towards the House of Austria, see Sully, Œconomies Royales, vol. ii. p. 291, vol. iii. pp. 162, 166, vol. iv. pp. 289, 290, 321, 343, 344, 364, vol. v. p. 123, vol. vi. p. 293, vol. vii. p. 303, vol. viii. pp. 195, 202, 348.

[95] Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. pp. 26, 369; Mém. de Montglat, vol. i. pp. 16, 17; Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol i. p. 268, vol. vi. p. 349; Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxii. p. 227. Her husband, Henry IV., said that she had ‘the soul of a Spaniard.’ Capefigue, Hist. de la Réforme, vol. viii. p. 150.

[96] This was, in her opinion, a master-stroke of policy: ‘Entêtée du double mariage avec l'Espagne qu'elle avoit ménagé avec tant d'application, et qu'elle regardoit comme le plus ferme appui de son autorité.’ Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. i. pp. 453, 454.

[97] So late as 1656, the French clergy wished ‘to hasten a peace with Spain, and to curb the heretics in France,’ Letter from Pell to Thurloe, written in 1656, and printed in Vaughan's Protectorate of Cromwell, vol. i. p. 436, 8vo, 1839. During the minority of Louis XIII. we hear of ‘les zéléz catholiques, et ceux qui désiroient, à quelque prix que ce fut, l'union des deux roys, et des deux couronnes de France et d'Espagne, comme le seul moyen propre, selon leur advis, pour l'extirpation des hérésies dans la chrestienté.’ Sully, Œcon. Royales, vol. ix. p. 181: compare vol. vii. p. 248, on ‘les zéléz catholiques espagnolisez de France.’

[98] See Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxii. pp. 387–389, where the importance of this document is noticed, and it is said that Richelieu had drawn it up ‘avec beaucoup de soin.’ The language of it is very peremptory: ‘Que nul catholique n'est si aveugle d'estimer en matière d'état un Espagnol meilleur qu'un Français huguenot.’

[99] Even in the reign of Henry IV. the French Protestants were not considered to be Frenchmen: ‘The intolerant dogmas of Roman Catholicism did not recognize them as Frenchmen. They were looked upon as foreigners, or rather as enemies; and were treated as such.’ Felice's Hist. of the Protestants of France, p. 216.

[100] Sismondi says, under the year 1610, ‘Toute l'église catholique croyoit son sort lié à celui de la maison d'Autriche,’ Hist. des Français, vol. xxii. p. 180.

[101] ‘Sa vue dominante fut l'abaissement de la maison d'Autriche.’ Flassan, Hist. de la Diplomatie Française, vol. iii. p. 81. And, on the early formation of this scheme, see Mém. de la Rochefoucauld, vol. i. p. 350. De Retz says, that before Richelieu, no one had even thought of such a step: ‘Celui d'attaquer la formidable maison d'Autriche n'avoit été imaginé de personne.’ Mém. de Retz, vol. i. p. 45. This is rather too strongly expressed; but the whole paragraph is curious, as written by a man who possessed great ability, which De Retz undoubtedly did, and who, though hating Richelieu, could not refrain from bearing testimony to his immense services.

[102] ‘Obwohl Cardinal der römischen Kirche, trug Richelieu kein Bedenken, mit den Protestanten selbst unverhohlen in Bund zu treten,’ Ranke, die Päpste, vol. ii. p. 510. Compare, in Mém. de Fontenay Mareuil, vol. ii. pp. 28, 29, the reproach which the nuncio Spada addressed to Richelieu for treating with the Protestants, ‘de la paix qui se traitoit avec les huguenots.’ See also Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. v. pp. 236, 354–356, 567; and a good passage in Lavallée, Hist. des Français, vol. iii. p. 90,—an able little work, and perhaps the best small history ever published of a great country.

[103] De Retz mentions a curious illustration of the feelings of the ecclesiastical party respecting this treaty. He says, that the Bishop of Beauvais, who, the year after the death of Richelieu, was for a moment at the head of affairs, began his administration by giving to the Dutch their choice, either to abandon their religion, or else forfeit their alliance with France: ‘Et il demanda dès le premier jour aux Hollandois qu'ils se convertissent à la religion catholique, s'ils vouloient demeurer dans l'alliance de France.’ Mém. du Cardinal de Retz, vol. i. p. 39. This, I suppose, is the original authority for the statement in the Biog. Univ. vol. xiv. p. 440; though, as is too often the case in that otherwise valuable work, the writer has omitted to indicate the source of his information.

[104] In 1626, he attempted to form a league ‘en faveur du Palatin,’ Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxii. p. 576. Sismondi seems not quite certain as to the sincerity of his proposal; but as to this there can, I think, be little doubt; for it appears from his own memoirs, that even in 1624 he had in view the recovery of the Palatinate. Mém. de Richelieu, vol. ii. p. 405; and again in 1625, p. 468.

[105] Sismondi, vol. xxiii. p. 173; Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 415; Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. vi. pp. 12, 600; and at p. 489: ‘Le roi de Suède qui comptoit uniquement sur le cardinal.’

[106] Compare Mém. de Montglat, vol. i. pp. 74, 75, vol. ii. pp. 92, 93, with Mém. de Fontenay Mareuil, vol. ii. p. 198; and Howell's Letters, p. 247. The different views which occurred to his fertile mind in consequence of the death of Gustavus, are strikingly summed up in Mém. de Richelieu, vol. vii. pp. 272–277. On his subsequent pecuniary advances, see vol. ix. p. 395.

[107] In 1633, ‘les ambassadeurs de France, d'Angleterre et de Hollande mirent à profit le repos de l'hiver pour resserrer la confédération protestante,’ Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxiii. p. 221. Compare, in Whitelocke's Swedish Embassy, vol. i. p. 275, the remark made twenty years later by Christina, daughter of Gustavus, on the union with ‘papists.’

[108] This change may be illustrated by comparing the work of Grotius with that of Vattel. These two eminent men are still respected as the most authoritative expounders of international law; but there is this important difference between them, that Vattel wrote more than a century after Grotius, and when the secular principles enforced by Richelieu had penetrated the minds even of common politicians. Therefore, Vattel says (Le Droit des Gens, vol. i. pp. 379, 380): ‘On demande s'il est permis de faire alliance avec une nation qui ne professe pas la même religion? Si les traités faits avec les ennemis de la foi sont valides? Grotius a traité la question assez au long. Cette discussion pouvait être nécessaire dans un temps où la fureur des partis obscurcissait encore des principes qu'elle avait long-temps fait oublier, osons croire qu'elle serait superflue dans notre siècle. La loi naturelle seule régit les traités des nations; la différence de religion y est absolument étrangère.’ See also p. 318, and vol. ii. p. 151. On the other hand, Grotius opposes alliances between nations of different religion, and says, that nothing can justify them except ‘une extrême nécessité…. Car il faut chercher premièrement le règne céleste, c'est à dire penser avant toutes choses à la propagation de l'évangile.’ And he further recommends that princes should follow the advice given on this subject by Foulques, Archbishop of Rheims! Grotius, le Droit de la Guerre et de la Paix, livre ii. chap xv. sec. xi. vol. i. pp. 485, 486, edit. Barbeyrac, Amsterdam, 1724, 4to; a passage the more instructive, because Grotius was a man of great genius and great humanity. On religious wars, as naturally recognized in barbarous times, see the curious and important work, Institutes of Timour, pp. 141, 333, 335.

[109] ‘Le Congrès de Westphalie s'ouvrit le 10 avril 1643.’ Lavallée, Hist. des Français, vol. iii. p. 156. Its two great divisions at Munster and Osnabruck were formed in March 1644. Flassan, Hist. de la Diplomatie, vol. iii. p. 110. Richelieu died in December, 1642. Biog. Univ. vol. xxxviii. p. 28.

[110] ‘Les règnes de Charles-Quint et de Henri IV font époque pour certaines parties du droit international; mais le point de départ le plus saillant, c'est la paix de Westphalie.’ Eschbach, Introduc. à l'Etude du Droit, Paris, 1846, p. 92. Compare the remarks on Mably, in Biog. Univ. vol. xxvi. p. 7, and Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxiv. p. 179: ‘base au droit public de l'Europe.’

[111] Compare the indignation of the pope at this treaty (Vattel, le Droit des Gens, vol. ii. p. 28), with Ranke's Päpste, vol. ii. p. 576: ‘Das religiöse Element ist zurückgetreten; die politischen Rücksichten beherrschen die Welt:’ a summary of the general state of affairs.

[112] ‘La France obtint par ce traité, en indemnité, la souveraineté des trois évêchés, Metz, Toul et Verdun, ainsi que celle d'Alsace. La satisfaction ou indemnité des autres parties intéressées fut convenue, en grande partie, aux dépens de l'église, et moyennant la sécularisation de plusieurs évêchés et bénéfices ecclésiastiques.’ Koch, Tableau des Révolutions, vol. i. p. 328.

[113] Dr. Vaughan (Protectorate of Cromwell, vol. i. p. civ.) says: ‘It is a leading fact, also, in the history of modern Europe, that, from the peace of Westphalia, in 1648, religion, as the great object of negotiation, began everywhere to give place to questions relating to colonies and commerce.’ Charles Butler observed, that this treaty ‘considerably lessened the influence of religion on politics.’ Butler's Reminiscences, vol. i. p. 181.

[114] The fact of the Thirty Years' War being a religious contest, formed the basis of one of the charges which the church party brought against Richelieu: and an author, who wrote in 1634, ‘montroit bien au long que l'alliance du roy de France avec les protestantes étoit contraire aux intérêts de la religion catholique; parce que la guerre des Provinces Unies, et celle d'Allemagne étoient des guerres de religion.’ Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. p. 536.

[115] According to a contemporary, he received this appointment without having asked for it: ‘sans être à la cour ni l'avoir demandé.’ Mém. de Fontenay, Mareuil, vol. i. p. 70. In 1622, even the lieutenants of Lesdiguières were Protestants: ‘ses lieutenants, qui estant tous huguenots.’ Ibid. vol. i. p. 538. These memoirs are very valuable in regard to political and military matters; their author having played a conspicuous part in the transactions which he describes.

[116] ‘Il n'y avoit personne dans le parti huguenot si considérable que lui.’ Tallemant des Réaux, Historiettes, vol. v. p. 204.

[117] Biog. Univ. vol. xv. p. 247; Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. p. 400.

[118] Additions to Sully, Œconomies Royales, vol. viii. p. 496; Smedley's Hist. of the Reformed Religion in France, vol. iii. p. 204.

[119] Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. ii. p. 57; Mém. de Rohan, vol. i. pp. 66, 69; Mém. de Bassompierre, vol. iii. pp. 324, 348; Mém. de Montglat, vol. i. p. 86; Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. vii. p. 157, vol. viii. p. 284. This great rise in the fortunes of Rohan took place at different times between 1632 and 1635.

[120] Late in the sixteenth century, Duplessis Mornay had to state what was then considered by the majority of men an incredible paradox, ‘que ce n'estoit pas chose incompatible d'estre bon huguenot et bon Françoys tout ensemble.’ Duplessis, Mém. et Correspond. vol. i. p. 146. Compare p. 213, vol. ii. pp. 45, 46, 77, 677, vol. vii. p. 294, vol. xi. pp. 31, 68; interesting passages for the history of opinions in France.

[121] See Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. i. pp. 10, 14, 18; De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. iii. pp. 181, 242, 357, 358, 543, 558, vol. iv. p. 155; Relat. des Ambassadeurs Vénitiens, vol. i. pp. 412, 536, vol. ii. pp. 66, 74; Ranke's Civil Wars in France, vol. i. pp. 279, 280, vol. ii. p. 94.

[122] Compare Hallam's Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 173, with Ranke, die Römischen Päpste, vol. ii. pp. 477–479. In spite of the increase of population, the Protestants diminished absolutely, as well as relatively, to the Catholics. In 1598 they had 760 churches; in 1619 only 700. Smedley's Hist. of the Reformed Religion in France, vol. iii. pp. 46, 145. De Thou, in the preface to his History (vol. i. p. 320), observes, that the Protestants had increased during the wars carried on against them, but ‘diminuoient en nombre et en crédit pendant la paix.’

[123] M. Ranke has noticed how the French Protestant nobles fell off from their party; but he does not seem aware of the remote causes of what he deems a sudden apostasy: ‘In dem nämlichen Momente trat nun auch die grosse Wendung der Dinge in Frankreich ein. Fragen wir, woher im Jahr 1621 die Verluste des Protestantismus hauptsächlich kamen, so war es die Entzweiung derselben, der Abfall des Adels.’ Ranke, die Päpste, vol. ii. p. 476. Compare a curious passage in Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. p. 33, from which it appears that in 1611 the French Protestants were breaking into three parties, one of which consisted of ‘les seigneurs d'éminente qualité.’

[124] ‘Le plus illustre guerrier du parti protestant.’ Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxii. p. 505. In the contemporary despatches of the Spanish ambassador, he is called ‘l'un des huguenots les plus marquans, homme d'un grand poids, et d'un grand crédit.’ Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 60. His principal influence was in Dauphiné. Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. i. p. 236.

[125] Biog. Univ. vol. xxiv. p. 293; and a dry remark on his ‘conversion’ in Mém. de Richelieu, vol. ii. p. 215, which may be compared with Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xviii. p. 132, and Bazin, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. ii. pp. 195–197. Rohan (Mém. vol. i. p. 228) plainly says, ‘le duc de Lesdiguières, ayant hardé sa religion pour la charge de connétable de France.’ See also p. 91, and Mém. de Montglat, vol. i. p. 37.

[126] Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxiii. p. 67; Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. v. pp. 809, 810, 865.

[127] Tallemant des Réaux, Historiettes, vol. iii. p. 43. La Meilleraye was also a duke; and what is far more in his favour, he was a friend of Descartes. Biog. Univ. vol. xxviii. pp. 152, 153.

[128] Sismondi (Hist. des Français, vol. xxiii. p. 27) says, ‘il abjura en 1637;’ but according to Benoist (Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. p. 550) it was in 1635.

[129] Tallemant des Réaux, Historiettes, vol. iii. p. 245. Des Réaux, who saw these changes constantly happening, simply observes, ‘notre marquis, voyant que sa religion étoit un obstacle à son dessein, en change.’

[130] ‘Mettoit la politique avant la religion.’ Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxii. p. 264. This was Henry Bouillon, whom some writers have confused with Frederick Bouillon. Both of them were dukes; but Henry, who was the father, and who did not actually change his religion, was the marshal. The following notices of him will more than confirm the remark made by Sismondi; Mém. de Bassompierre, vol. i. p. 455; Smedley's Reformed Religion in France, vol. iii. p. 99; Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 107; Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. ii. pp. 420, 467, 664, vol. iv. p. 519; Mém. de Richelieu, vol. i. p. 104, vol. ii. p. 259; Mém. de Duplessis Mornay, vol. xi. p. 450, vol. xii. pp. 79, 182, 263, 287, 345, 361, 412, 505.

[131] Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. i. pp. 121, 298, vol. ii. pp. 5, 180, 267, 341; Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 267; Felice's Hist. of the Protestants of France, p. 206. Sully advised Henry IV., on mere political considerations, to become a Catholic; and there were strong, but I believe unfounded rumours, that he himself intended taking the same course. See Sully, Œconomies Royales, vol. ii. p. 81, vol. vii. pp. 362, 363.

[132] ‘There were, among all the leaders, but the Duke de Rohan and his brother the Duke de Soubise, who showed themselves disposed to throw their whole fortunes into the new wars of religion.’ Felice's Hist. of the Protestants of France, p. 241. For this, M. Felice, as usual, quotes no authority; but Rohan himself says: ‘C'est ce qui s'est passé en cette seconde guerre (1626), où Rohan et Soubise ont eu pour contraires tous les grands de la religion de France.’ Mém. de Rohan, vol. i. p. 278. Rohan claims great merit for his religious sincerity; though, from a passage in Mém. de Fontenay Mareuil, vol. i. p. 418, and another in Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. p. 173, one may be allowed to doubt if he were so single-minded as is commonly supposed.

[133] Sismondi notices this remarkable change; though he places it a few years earlier than the contemporary writers do: ‘Depuis que les grands seigneurs s'étoient éloignés deg églises, c'étoient les ministres qui étoient devenus les chefs, les représentans et les démagogues des huguenots; et ils apportoient dans leurs délibérations cette âpreté et cette inflexibilité théologiques qui semblent caractériser les prêtres de toutes les religions, et qui donnent à leurs haines une amertume plus offensante.’ Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxii. p. 87. Compare p. 478. In 1621, ‘Rohan lui–même voyait continuellement ses opérations contrariées par le conseil–général des églises.’ Lavallée, Hist. des Français, vol. iii. p. 88. In the same year, M. Capefigue (Richelieu, vol. i. p. 271) says, ‘Le parti modéré cessa d'avoir action sur le prêche; la direction des forces huguenotes, était passée dans les mains des ardents, conduits par les ministres.’

[134] The church of Rome has always seen this, and on that account has been, and still is, very pliant in regard to morals, and very inflexible in regard to dogmas; a striking proof of the great sagacity with which her affairs are administered. In Blanco White's Evidence against Catholicism, p. 48, and in Parr's Works, vol. vii. pp. 454, 455, there is an unfavourable and, indeed, an unjust notice of this peculiarity, which, though strongly marked in the Romish church, is by no means confined to it, but is found in every religious sect which is regularly organized. Locke, in his Letters on Toleration, observes, that the clergy are naturally more eager against error than against vice (Works, vol. v. pp. 6, 7, 241); and their preference of dogmas to moral truths is also mentioned by M. C. Comte, Traité de Législat. vol. i. p. 245; and is alluded to by Kant in his comparison of ‘ein moralischer Katechismus’ with a ‘Religionskatechismus.’ Die Metaphysik der Sitten (Ethische Methodenlehre), in Kant's Werke, vol. v. p. 321. Compare Temple's Observations upon the United Provinces, in Works of Sir W. Temple, vol. i. p. 154, with the strict adhesion to formularies noticed in Ward's Ideal Church, p. 358; and analogous cases in Mill's Hist. of India, vol. i. pp. 399, 400, and in Wilkinson's Ancient Egyptians, vol. iii. p. 87; also Combe's Notes on the United States, vol. iii. pp. 256, 257.

[135] Blanco White (Evidence against Catholicism, p. vi.) harshly says, ‘sincere Roman Catholics cannot conscientiously be tolerant.’ But he is certainly mistaken; for the question is one, not of sincerity, but of consistency. A sincere Roman Catholic may be, and often is, conscientiously tolerant; a consistent Roman Catholic, never.

[136] We also see this very clearly in England, where the dissenting clergy have much more influence among their hearers than the clergy of the Establishment have among theirs. This has often been noticed by impartial observers, and we are now possessed of statistical proof that ‘the great body of Protestant dissenters are more assiduous’ in attending religious worship than churchmen are. See a valuable essay by Mr. Mann On the Statistical Position of Religious Bodies in England and Wales, in Journal of Statist. Soc. vol. xviii. p. 152.

[137] Respecting the working of this in England, there are some shrewd remarks made by Le Blanc in his Lettres d'un François, vol. i. pp. 267, 268; which may be compared with Lord Holland's Mem. of the Whig Party, vol. ii. p. 253, where it is suggested, that in the case of complete emancipation of the Catholics, ‘eligibility to worldly honours and profits would somewhat abate the fever of religious zeal.’ On this, there are observations worth attending to in Lord Cloncurry's Recollections, Dublin, 1849, pp. 342, 343.

[138] ‘Les processions catholiques seraient interdites dans toutes les places, villes et châteaux occupés par ceux de la religion.’ Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 39.

[139] Of these facts we have the most unequivocal proof; for they were not only stated by the Catholics in 1623, but they are recorded, without being denied, by the Protestant historian Benoist: ‘On y accusoit les Réformez d'injurier les prêtres, quand ils les voyoient passer; d'empêcher les processions des Catholiques; l'administration des sacremens aux malades; l'enterrement des morts avec les cérémonies accoutumées; … que les Réformez s'étoient emparez des cloches en quelques lieux, et en d'autres se serroient de celles des Catholiques pour avertir de l'heure du prêche; qu'ils affectoient de faire du bruit autour des églises pendant le service; qu'ils tournoient en dérision les cérémonies de l'église romaine.’ Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. pp. 433, 434; see also pp. 149, 150.

[140] ‘On pouvait dire que La Rochelle était la capitale, le saint temple du calvinisme; car on ne voyait là aucune église, aucune cérémonie papiste.’ Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 342.

[141] Mém. de Richelieu, vol. ii. p. 100. For other and similar evidence, see Duplessis Mornay, Mémoires, vol. xi. p. 244; Sully, Œconomies Royales, vol. vii. p. 164; Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. pp. 70, 233, 279.

[142] Quick's Synodicon in Gallia, vol. ii. p. 196.

[143] For a striking instance of the actual enforcement of this intolerant regulation, see Quick's Synodicon in Gallia, vol. ii. p. 344.

[144] Bazin, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. ii. p. 124; Mém. de Richelieu, vol. ii. pp. 109, 110; Felice's Hist. of the Protestants of France, p. 238.

[145] In 1625, Howell writes that the Protestants had put up an inscription on the gates of Montauban, ‘Roy sans foy, ville sans peur.’ Howell's Letters, p. 178.

[146] Sometimes they were called dogs returning to the vomit of popery; sometimes they were swine wallowing in the mire of idolatry. Quick's Synodicon in Gallia, vol. i. pp. 385, 398.

[147] It is observable, that on the first occasion (Quick's Synodicon, vol. i. p. 362) nothing is said of Ferrier's immorality; and on the next occasion (p. 449) the synod complains, among other things, that ‘he hath most licentiously inveighed against, and satirically lampooned, the ecclesiastical assemblies.’

[148] See this frightful and impious document, in Quick's Synodicon, vol. i. pp. 448, 450.

[149] The notion of theologians respecting excommunication may be seen in Mr. Palmer's entertaining book, Treatise on the Church, vol. i. pp. 64, 67, vol. ii. pp. 299, 300; but the opinions of this engaging writer should be contrasted with the indignant language of Vattel, Le Droit des Gens, vol. i. pp. 177, 178. In England, the terrors of excommunication fell into contempt towards the end of the seventeenth century. See Life of Archbishop Sharpe, edited by Newcome, vol. i. p. 216: compare p. 363; and see the mournful remarks of Dr. Mosheim, in his Eccles. Hist. vol. ii. p. 79; and Sir Philip Warwick's Memoirs, pp. 175, 176.

[150] On the treatment of Ferrier, which excited great attention as indicating the extreme lengths to which the Protestants were prepared to go, see Mém. de Richelieu, vol. i. p. 177; Mém. de Pontchartrain, vol. ii. pp. 5, 6, 12, 29, 32; Mém. de Duplessis Mornay, vol. xii. pp. 317, 333, 341, 350, 389, 399, 430; Felice's Hist. of the Protestants of France, p. 235; Biog. Univ. vol. xiv. p. 440; Tallemant des Réaux, Historiettes, vol. v. pp. 48-54. Mr. Smedley, who refers to none of these authorities, except two passages in Duplessis, has given a garbled account of this riot. See his History of the Reformed Religion in France, vol. iii. pp. 119, 120.

[151] Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 123.

[152] Capefigue, vol. i. p. 123; Bazin, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. i. p. 364; Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. p. 183; Mém. de Rohan, vol. i. p. 130.

[153] Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 124; Mém. de Pontchartrain, vol. ii. p. 100; Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. ii. pp. 333, 334. The consequence was, that the king was obliged to send a powerful escort to protect his bride against his Protestant subjects. Mém. de Richelieu, vol. i. p. 274.

[154] Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 38; Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. pp. 28, 29, 63.

[155] Mém. de Fontenay Mareuil, vol. i. p. 450; Mém. de Bassompierre, vol. ii. p. 161. See a similar instance, in the case of Berger, in Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. p. 136, whom the Protestants sought to deprive because ‘il avoit quitté leur religion.’

[156] Bazin, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. i. p. 381. Sismondi (Hist. des Français, vol. xxii. p. 349) says that they had no good reason for this; and it is certain that their privileges, so far from being diminished since the Edict of Nantes, had been confirmed and extended.

[157] M. Felice (Hist. of the Protestants of France, p. 237) says of Lower Navarre and Béarn, in 1617: ‘Three-fourths of the population, some say nine-tenths, belonged to the reformed communion.’ This is perhaps overestimated; but we know, from De Thou, that they formed a majority in Béarn in 1566: ‘Les Protestans y fussent en plus grand nombre que les Catholiques.’ De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. v. p. 187.

[158] ‘Les ministres fanatiques déclaroient qu'ils ne pouvaient sans crime souffrir dans ce pays régénéré l'idolâtrie de la messe.’ Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxii. p. 415.

[159] Notice sur les Mémoires de Rohan, vol. i. p. 26. Compare the account given by Pontchartrain, who was one of the ministers of Louis XIII. Mém. de Pontchartrain, vol. ii. pp. 248, 264; and see Mém. de Richelieu, vol. i. p. 443.

[160] Bazin, Hist. de France sous Louis XIII, vol. ii. pp. 62–64. The pith of the question was, that ‘l'édit de Nantes ayant donné pouvoir, tant aux catholiques qu'aux huguenots, de rentrer partout dans leurs biens, les ecclésiastiques de Béarn démanderent aussytôt les leurs.’ Mém. de Fontenay Mareuil, vol. i. p. 392.

[161] ‘L'affaire de Béarn, source de tous nos maux.’ Mém. de Rohan, vol. i. p. 156; see also p. 183. And the Protestant Le Vassor says (Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. iii. p. 634): ‘L'affaire du Béarn et l'assemblée qui se convoqua ensuite à la Rochelle, sont la source véritable des malheurs des églises réformées de France sous le règne dont j'écris l'histoire.’

[162] On the connexion between the proceedings of Béarn and those of Rochelle, compare Mém. de Montglat, vol. i. p. 33, with Mém. de Richelieu, vol. ii. p. 113, and Mém. de Rohan, vol. i. p. 446.

[163] Their first church was established in 1556 (Ranke's Civil Wars in France, vol. i. p. 360); but, by the reign of Charles IX. the majority of the inhabitants were Protestants. See De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. iv. p. 263, vol. v. p. 379, ad. ann. 1562 and 1567.

[164] Or, as M. Capefigue courteously puts it, ‘les Rochelois ne respectaient pas toujours les pavillons amis.’ Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 332. A delicate circumlocution, unknown to Mezeray who says (Hist. de France, vol. iii. p. 426) in 1587: ‘et les Rochelois, qui par le moyen du commerce et de la piraterie,’ &c.

[165] ‘Ceste place, que les huguenots tenoient quasy pour imprenable.’ Mém. de Fontenay Mareuil, vol. i. p. 512. ‘Cette orgueilleuse cité, qui se croyoit imprenable.’ Mém. de Montglat, vol. i. p. 45. Howell, who visited Rochelle in 1620 and 1622, was greatly struck by its strength. Howell's Letters, pp. 46, 47, 108. At p. 204, he calls it, in his barbarous style, ‘the chiefest propugnacle of the Protestants there.’ For a description of the defences of Rochelle, see De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. vi. pp. 615–617; and some details worth consulting in Mezeray, Hist. de France, vol. ii. pp. 977–980.

[166] Bazin, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. ii. p. 139; Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxii. pp. 480, 481. Rohan himself says (Mém. vol. i. p. 446): ‘je m'efforçai de la séparer.’ In a remarkable letter, which Mornay wrote ten years before this, he shows his apprehensions of the evil that would result from the increasing violence of his party; and he advises, ‘que nostre zèle soit tempéré de prudence.’ Mém. et Correspond. vol. xi. p. 122; and as to the divisions this caused among the Protestants, see pp. 154, 510, vol. xii. pp. 82, 255; and Sully, Œconomies Royales, vol. ix. pp. 350, 435.

[167] ‘Les seigneurs du parti, et surtout le sage Duplessis Mornay, firent ce qu'ils purent pour engager les réformés à ne pas provoquer l'autorité royale pour des causes qui ne pouvoient justifier une guerre civile; mais le pouvoir dans le parti avoit passé presque absolument aux bourgeois des villes et aux ministres qui se livroient aveuglement à leur fanatisme, et à leur orgueil, et qui étoient d'autant plus applaudis qu'ils montroient plus de violence.’ Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxii. p. 478.

[168] ‘On confisqua les biens des églises catholiques.’ Lavallée des Français, vol. iii. p. 85: and see Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 258.

[169] ‘Ils donnent des commissions d'armer et de faire des impositions sur le peuple, et ce sous leur grand sceau, qui étoit une Religion appuyée sur une croix, ayant en la main un livre de l'évangile, foulant aux pieds un vieux squelette, qu'ils disoient être l'église romaine.’ Mém. de Richelieu, vol. ii. p. 120. M. Capefigue (Richelieu, vol. i. p. 259) says that this seal still exists; but it is not even alluded to by a late writer (Felice, Hist. of the Protestants of France, p. 240), who systematically suppresses every fact unfavourable to his own party.

[170] Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. iv. p. 157; Bazin, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. ii. p. 145; Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. pp. 353–355; Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 258.

[171] Even Mosheim, who, as a Protestant, was naturally prejudiced in favour of the Huguenots, says, that they had established ‘imperium in imperio;’ and he ascribes to the violence of their rulers the war of 1621. Mosheim's Eccles. Hist. vol. ii. pp. 237, 238.

[172] Compare Mém. de Fontenay Mareuil, vol. ii. p. 88, with Flassan, Hist. de la Diplomatie Française, vol. ii. p. 351.

[173] See the paper of instructions from Pope Gregory XV. in the appendix to Ranke, die Röm. Päpste, vol. iii. pp. 173, 174: ‘Die Hauptsache aber ist was er dem Könige von Frankreich vorstellen soll: 1, dass er ja nicht den Verdacht auf sich laden werde als verfolge er die Protestanten bloss aus Staatsinteresse.’ Bazin (Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. ii. p. 320) says, that Richelieu attacked the Huguenots ‘sans aucune idée de persécution religieuse.’ See, to the same effect, Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 274; and the candid admissions of the Protestant Le Vassor, in his Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. v. p. 11.

[174] Quick's Synodicon in Gallia, vol. i. p. 62.

[175] Ibid. vol. i. pp. lvii. 17, 131, vol. ii. p. 174.

[176] ‘And both sexes are required to keep modesty in their hair,’ &c. Ibid. vol. i. p. 119.

[177] Quick's Synodicon, vol. i. p. 165.

[178] The synod of Alez, in 1620, says, ‘A minister may at the same time be professor in divinity and of the Hebrew tongue. But it is not seemly for him to profess the Greek also, because the most of his employment will be taken up in the exposition of Pagan and profane authors, unless he be discharged from the ministry.’ Quick's Synodicon, vol. ii. p. 57. Three years later, the synod of Charenton suppressed altogether the Greek professorships, ‘as being superfluous and of small profit.’ Ibid. vol. ii. p. 115.

[179] The synod of St. Maixant, in 1609, orders that ‘colloquies and synods shall have a watchful eye over those ministers who study chemistry, and grievously reprove and censure them.’ Ibid. vol. i. p. 314.

[180] Ibid. vol. i. pp. 140, 194, vol. ii. p. 110.

[181] Quick's Synodicon, vol. i. pp. lv. 235, 419, vol. ii. pp. 201, 509, 515. Compare Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. p. 473.

[182] Quick's Synodicon, vol. ii. p. 81.

[183] Ibid. vol. ii. p. 174.

[184] ‘All Christian magistrates are advised not in the least to suffer them, because it feeds foolish curiosity, puts upon unnecessary expenses, and wastes time,’ Ibid. vol. i. p. 194.

[185] This was a very knotty question for the theologians; but it was at length decided in the affirmative by the synod of Saumur: ‘On the 13th article of the same chapter, the deputies of Poicton demanded, whether two names might be given a child at baptism? To which it was replied: The thing was indifferent; however, parents were advised to observe herein Christian simplicity.’ Ibid. vol. i. p. 178.

[186] Ibid. vol. i. pp. xlvi. 25.

[187] I quote the language of the synod of Castres, in 1626. Ibid. vol. ii. p. 174.

[188] Quick's Synodicon, vol. i. p. 165, vol. ii. pp. 7, 174, 574, 583. In the same way, the Spanish clergy, early in the present century, attempted to regulate the dress of women. See Doblado's Letters from Spain, pp. 202–205: a good illustration of the identity of the ecclesiastical spirit, whether it be Catholic or Protestant.

[189] On his influence over her in and after 1616, see Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. ii. p. 508; Mém. de Pontchartrain, vol. ii. p. 240; Mém. de Montglat, vol. i. p. 23; and compare, in Mém. de Richelieu, vol. ii. pp. 198–200, the curious arguments which he put in her mouth respecting the impolicy of making war on the Protestants.

[190] In 1625, the Archbishop of Lyons wrote to Richelieu, urging him ‘assiéger la Rochelle, et châtier ou, pour mieux dire, exterminer les huguenots, toute autre affaire cessante.’ Bazin, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. ii. p. 276. See also, on the anxiety of the clergy in the reign of Louis XIII. to destroy the Protestants, Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. pp. 155, 166, 232, 245, 338, 378, 379, 427; Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxii. p. 485.

[191] He confirmed it in March 1626; Flassan, Hist. de la Diplomatie Française, vol. ii. p. 399; and also in the preceding January. See Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. appendix, pp. 77, 81.

[192] ‘Ceux qui affectent autant le nom de zélés catholiques.’ Mém. de Richelieu, vol. iii. p. 16; and at p. 2, he, in the same year (1626), says, that he was opposed by those who had ‘un trop ardent et précipité désir de ruiner les huguenots.’

[193] Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxiii. p. 66.

[194] On the sufferings of the inhabitants, see extract from the Dupuis Mss., in Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 351. Fontenay Mareuil, who was an eye-witness, says, that the besieged, in some instances, ate their own children; and that the burial-grounds were guarded, to prevent the corpses from being dug up and turned into food. Mém. de Fontenay Mareuil, vol. ii. p. 119.

[195] And in which he would most assuredly have been supported by Louis XIII.; of whom an intelligent writer says ‘Il étoit plein de piété et de zèle pour le service de Dieu et pour la grandeur de l'église; et sa plus sensible joie, en prenant La Rochelle et les autres places qu'il prit, fut de penser qu'il chasseroit de son royaume les hérétiques, et qu'il le purgeroit par cette voie des différentes religions qui gâtent et infectent l'église de Dieu.’ Mém. de Motteville, vol. i. p. 425, edit. Petitot, 1824.

[196] Bazin, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. ii. p. 423; Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxiii. p. 77; Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 357; Mém. de Fontenay Mareuil, vol. ii. p. 122.

[197] ‘Les huguenots murmuraient de voir le rétablissement de l'église romaine au sein de leur ville.’ Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 359.

[198] ‘Dès qu'il ne s'agit plus d'un parti politique, il concéda, comme à la Rochelle, la liberté de conscience et la faculté de prêche.’ Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 381. Compare Smedley's Hist. of the Reformed Religion in France, vol. iii. p. 201, with Mémoires de Richelieu, vol. iv. p. 484.

[199] The Edict of Nismes, in 1629, an important document, will be found in Quick's Synodicon, vol. i. pp. xcvi.–ciii., and in Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. appendix, pp. 92–98; and a commentary on it in Bazin, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. iii. pp. 36–38. M. Bazin, unfortunately for the reputation of this otherwise valuable work, never quotes his authorities.

[200] In 1633, their own historian says: ‘les Réformez ne faisoient plus de party.’ Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. p. 532. Compare Sir Thomas Hanmer's account of France in 1648, in Bunbury's Correspond. of Hanmer, p. 309, Lond. 1838.

[201] Thomas (Eloge, in Œuvres de Descartes, vol. i. p. 32) says, ‘cet instrument, c'est Descartes qui l'a créé; c'est l'application de l'algèbre à la géométrie.’ And this, in the highest sense, is strictly true; for although Vieta and two or three others in the sixteenth century had anticipated this step, we owe entirely to Descartes the magnificent discovery of the possibility of applying algebra to the geometry of curves, he being undoubtedly the first who expressed them by algebraic equations. See Montucla, Hist. des Mathémat. vol. i. pp. 704, 705, vol. ii. p. 120, vol. iii. p. 64.

[202] The statements of Huygens and of Isaac Vossius to the effect that Descartes had seen the papers of Snell before publishing his discovery, are unsupported by any direct evidence; at least none of the historians of science, so far as I am aware, have brought forward any. So strong, however, is the disposition of mankind at large to depreciate great men, and so general is the desire to convict them of plagiarism, that this charge, improbable in itself, and only resting on the testimony of two envious rivals, has been not only revived by modern writers, but has been, even in our own time, spoken of as a well-established and notorious fact! The flimsy basis of this accusation is clearly exposed by M. Bordas Demoulin, in his valuable work Le Cartesianisme, Paris, 1843, vol. ii. pp. 9–12; while, on the other side of the question, I refer with regret to Sir D. Brewster on the Progress of Optics, Second Report of British Association, pp. 309, 310; and to Whewell's Hist. of the Inductive Sciences, vol. ii. pp. 379, 502, 503.

[203] See the interesting remarks of Sprengel (Hist. de la Médecine, vol. iv. pp. 271, 272), and Œuvres de Descartes, vol. iv. pp. 371 seq. What makes this the more observable is this: that the study of the crystalline lens was neglected long after the death of Descartes, and no attempt made for more than a hundred years to complete his views by ascertaining its intimate structure. Indeed, it is said (Thomson's Animal Chemistry, p. 512) that the crystalline lens and the two humours were first analyzed in 1802. Compare Simon's Animal Chemistry, vol. ii. pp. 419–421; Henle, Traité d'Anatomie, vol. i. p. 357; Lepelletier, Physiologie Médicale, vol. iii. p. 160; Mayo's Human Physiol., p. 279; Blainville, Physiol. comparée, vol. iii. pp. 325–328; none of whom refer to any analysis earlier than the nineteenth century. I notice this partly as a contribution to the history of our knowledge, and partly as proving how slow men have been in following Descartes, and in completing his views; for, as M. Blanville justly observes, the chemical laws of the lens must be understood, before we can exhaustively generalize the optical laws of its refraction; so that, in fact, the researches of Berzelius on the eye are complemental to those of Descartes. The theory of the limitation of the crystalline lens according to the descending scale of the animal kingdom, and the connexion between its development and a general increase of sensuous perception, seem to have been little studied; but Dr. Grant (Comparative Anatomy, p. 252) thinks that the lens exists in some of the rotifera; while in regard to its origin, I find a curious statement in Müller's Physiology, vol. i. p. 450, that after its removal in mammals, it has been reproduced by its matrix, the capsule. (If this can be relied on, it will tell against the suggestion of Schwann, who supposes, in his Microscopical Researches, 1847, pp. 87, 88, that its mode of life is vegetable, and that it is not ‘a secretion of its capsule’). As to its probable existence in the hydrozoa, see Rymer Jones's Animal Kingdom, 1855, p. 96, ‘regarded either as a crystalline lens, or an otolithe;’ and as to its embryonic development, see Burdach, Traité de Physiologie, vol. iii. pp. 435–438.

[204] Torricelli first weighed the air in 1643. Brande's Chemistry, vol. i. p. 360; Leslie's Natural Philosophy, p. 419: but there is a letter from Descartes, written as early as 1631, ‘où il explique le phénomène de la suspension du mercure dans un tuyau fermé par en haut, en l'attribuant au poids de la colonne d'air élevée jusqu'au delà des nues.’ Bordas Demoulin, le Cartésianisme, vol. i. p. 311. And Montucla (Hist. des Mathémat. vol. ii. p. 205) says of Descartes, ‘nous avons des preuves que ce philosophe reconnut avant Torricelli la pesanteur de l'air.’ Descartes himself says, that he suggested the subsequent experiment of Pascal. Œuvres de Descartes, vol. x. pp. 344, 351.

[205] Dr. Whewell, who has treated Descartes with marked injustice, does nevertheless allow that he is ‘the genuine author of the explanation of the rainbow.’ Hist. of the Induc. Sciences, vol. ii. pp. 380, 384. See also Boyle's Works, vol. iii. p. 189; Thomson's Hist. of the Royal Society, p. 364; Hallam's Lit. of Europe, vol. iii. p. 205; Œuvres de Descartes, vol. i. pp. 47, 48, vol. v. pp. 265–284. On the theory of the rainbow as known in the present century, see Kaemtz, Course of Meteorology, pp. 440–445; and Forbes on Meteorology, pp. 125–130, in Report of British Association for 1840. Compare Leslie's Natural Philosophy, p. 531; Pouillet, Elémens de Physique, vol. ii. p. 788.

[206] The Hebrew notion of the rainbow is well known; and for the ideas of other nations on this subject, see Prichard's Physical History of Mankind, vol. v. pp. 154, 176; Kame's Sketches of the History of Man, vol. iv. p. 252, Edinb. 1788; and Burdache's Physiologie, vol. v. pp. 546, 547, Paris, 1839.

[207] Thomas calls him ‘le plus grand géomètre de son siècle.’ Œuvres de Descartes, vol. i. p. 89. Sir W. Hamilton (Discussions on Philosophy, p. 271) says, ‘the greatest mathematician of the age;’ and Montucla can find no one but Plato to compare with him: ‘On ne sauroit donner une idée plus juste de ce qu'a été l'époque de Descartes dans la géométrie ancienne…. De même enfin que Platon prépara par sa découverte celles des Archimède, des Apollonius, &c., on peut dire que Descartes a jetté les fondemens de celles qui illustrent aujourd'hui les Newton, les Leibnitz, &c.’ Montucla, Hist. des Mathémat. vol. ii. p. 112.

[208] ‘Descartes joint encore à ses autres titres, celui d'avoir été un des créateurs de notre langue.’ Biog. Univ. vol. xi. p. 154. Sir James Mackintosh (Dissert. on Ethical Philos. p. 186) has also noticed the influence of Descartes in forming the style of French writers; and I think that M. Cousin has somewhere made a similar remark.

[209] Thomas says, ‘Descartes eut aussi la gloire d'être un des premiers anatomistes de son siècle.’ Œuvres de Descartes, vol. i. p. 55; see also p. 101. In 1639, Descartes writes to Mersenne (Œuvres, vol. viii. p. 100) that he had been engaged ‘depuis onze ans’ in studying comparative anatomy by dissection. Compare p. 174, and vol. i. pp. 175–184.

[210] Dr. Whewell (Hist. of the Inductive Sciences, vol. iii. p. 440) says: ‘It was for the most part readily accepted by his countrymen; but that abroad it had to encounter considerable opposition.’ For this no authority is quoted; and yet one would be glad to know who told Dr. Whewell that the discovery was readily accepted. So far from meeting in England with ready acceptance, it was during many years most universally denied. Aubrey was assured by Harvey that, in consequence of his book on the Circulation of the Blood, he lost much of his practice, was believed to be crackbrained, and was opposed by ‘all the physicians.’ Aubrey's Letters and Lives, vol. ii. p. 383. Dr. Willis (Life of Harvey, p. xli., in Harvey's Works, edit. Sydenham Society, 1847) says ‘Harvey's views were at first rejected almost universally.’ Dr. Elliotson (Human Physiology, p. 194) says, ‘His immediate reward was general ridicule and abuse, and a great diminution of his practice.’ Broussais (Examen des Doctrines Médicales, vol. i. p. vii.) says, ‘Harvey passa pour fou quand il annonça la découverte de la circulation.’ Finally, Sir William Temple, who belongs to the generation subsequent to Harvey, and who, indeed, was not born until some years after the discovery was made, mentions it in his works in such a manner as to show that even then it was not universally received by educated men. See two curious passages, which have escaped the notice of the historians of physiology, in Works of Sir W. Temple, vol. iii. pp. 293, 469, 8vo., 1814.

[211] ‘Taken by Descartes as the basis of his physiology, in his work on Man.’ Whewell's Hist. of the Induc. Sciences, vol. iii. p. 441. ‘Réné Descartes se déclara un des premiers en faveur de la doctrine de la circulation.’ Renourd, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. ii. p. 163. See also Bordas Demoulin, le Cartésianisme, vol. ii. p. 324; and Œuvres de Descartes, vol. i. pp. 68, 179, vol. iv. pp. 42, 449, vol. ix. pp. 159, 332. Compare Willis's Life of Harvey, p. xlv., in Harvey's Works.

[212] ‘Les veines blanches, dites lactées, qu'Asellius a découvertes depuis peu dans le mésentère.’ De la Formation du Fœtus, sec. 49, in Œuvres de Descartes, vol. iv. p. 483.

[213] Even Harvey denied it to the last. Sprengel, Hist. de la Méd. vol. iv. pp. 203, 204. Compare Harvey's Works, edit. Sydenham Soc. pp. 605, 614.

[214] M. Cousin (Hist. de la Philos. II. série, vol. i. p. 39) says of Descartes, ‘Son premier ouvrage écrit en français est de 1637. C'est donc de 1637 que date la philosophie moderne.’ See the same work, I. série, vol. iii. p. 77; and compare Stewart's Philos. of the Mind, vol. i. pp. 14, 529, with Eloge de Parent, in Œuvres de Fontenelle, Paris, 1766, vol. v. p. 444, and vol. vi. p. 318: ‘Cartésien, ou, si l'on veut, philosophe moderne.’

[215] ‘Descartes avait établi dans le domaine de la pensée l'indépendance absolue de la raison; il avait déclaré à la scholastique et à la théologie que l'esprit de l'homme ne pouvait plus relever que de l'évidence qu'il aurait obtenue par lui-même. Ce que Luther avait commencé dans la religion, le génie français si actif et si prompt l'importait dans la philosophie, et l'on peut dire à la double gloire de l'Allemagne et de la France que Descartes est le fils aîné de Luther.’ Lerminier, Philos. du Droit, vol. ii. p. 141. See also, on the philosophy of Descartes as a product of the Reformation. Ward's Ideal of a Christian Church, p. 498.

[216] For, as Turgot finely says, ‘ce n'est pas l'erreur qui s'oppose aux progrès de la vérité. Ce sont la mollesse, l'entêtement, l'esprit de routine, tout ce qui porte à l'inaction,’ Pensées in Œuvres de Turgot, vol. ii. p. 343.

[217] ‘Et si j'écris en français, qui est la langue de mon pays, plutôt qu'en latin, qui est celle de mes précepteurs, c'est à cause que j'espère que ceux qui ne se servent que de leur raison naturelle toute pure, jugeront mieux de mes opinions que ceux qui ne croient qu'aux livres anciens.’ Discours de la Méthode, in Œuvres de Descartes, vol. i. pp. 210, 211.

[218] Ibid. vol. i. p. 127.

[219] ‘Er fing also vom Zweifel an, und ging durch denselben zur Gewissheit über.’ Tennemann, Gesch. der Philos. vol. x. p. 218. Compare Second Discours en Sorbonne, in Œuvres de Turgot, vol. ii. p. 89.

[220] Disc. de la Méthode, in Œuvres de Descartes, vol. i. p. 136.

[221] ‘Je m'appliquerai sérieusement et avec liberté à détruire généralement toutes mes anciennes opinions.’ Méditations in Œuvres de Descartes, vol. i. p. 236.

[222] Principes de la Philosophie, part i. sec. 75, in Œuvres de Descartes, vol. iii. pp. 117, 118; and compare vol. ii. p. 417, where he gives a striking illustration of this view.

[223] Méditations, in Œuvres de Descartes, vol. i. pp. 303, 304.

[224] ‘Nous avons rempli notre mémoire de beaucoup de préjugés.’ Principes de la Philos. part i. sec. 47, in Œuvres, vol. iii. p. 91.

[225] Œuvres, vol. iii. p. 117.

[226] ‘Ce qu'on peut particulièrement remarquer en ceux qui, croyant être dévots, sont seulement bigots et superstitieux, c'est à dire qui, sous ombre qu'ils vont souvent à l'église, qu'ils récitent force prières, qu'ils portent les cheveux courts, qu'ils jeûnent, qu'ils donnent l'aumône, pensent être entièrement parfaits, et s'imaginent qu'ils sont si grands amis de Dieu, qu'ils ne sauroient rien faire qui lui déplaise, et que tout ce que leur dicte leur passion est un bon zèle, bien qu'elle leur dicte quelquefois les plus grands crimes qui puissent être commis par des hommes, comme de trahir des villes, de tuer des princes, d'exterminer des peuples entiers, pour cela seul qu'ils ne suivent pas leurs opinions.’ Les Passions de l'Ame, in Œuvres de Descartes, vol. iv. pp. 194, 195.

[227] As is particularly evident in his long chapter, headed ‘Apologie de Raimond Sebond.’ Essais de Montaigne, livre ii. chap. xii. Paris, 1843, pp. 270–382, and see Tennemann, Gesch. der Philos. vol. ix. p. 455.

[228] He very clearly separates himself from men like Montaigne: ‘Non que j'imitasse pour cela les sceptiques, qui ne doutent que pour douter, et affectent d'être toujours irrésolus; car, au contraire, tout mon dessein ne tendoit qu'à m'assurer, et à rejeter la terre mouvante et le sable pour trouver le roc ou l'argile.’ Discours de la Méthode, in Œuvres de Descartes, vol. i. pp. 153, 154.

[229] According to the view of Descartes, it was to be ignored, not denied. There is no instance to be found in his works of a denial of the existence of the external world; nor does the passage quoted from him by Mr. Jobert (New System of Philos. vol. ii. pp. 161, 162, Lond. 1849) at all justify the interpretation of that ingenious writer, who confuses certainty in the ordinary sense of the word with certainty in the Cartesian sense. A similar error is made by those who suppose that his ‘Je pense, donc je suis,’ is an enthymeme; and having taken this for granted, they turn on the great philosopher, and accuse him of begging the question! Such critics overlook the difference between a logical process and a psychological one; and therefore they do not see that this famous sentence was the description of a mental fact, and not the statement of a mutilated syllogism. The student of the philosophy of Descartes must always distinguish between these two processes, and remember that each process has an order of proof peculiar to itself; or at all events he must remember that such was the opinion of Descartes. Compare, on the Cartesian enthymeme, Cousin, Hist. de la Philos. I. série, vol. iv. pp. 512, 513, with a note in Kritik der reinen Vernunft, Kant's Werke, vol. ii. pp. 323, 324.

[230] Méditations, in Œuvres de Descartes, vol. i. pp. 220, 226; and again in the Objections et Réponses, Œuvres, vol. ii. pp. 245, 246.

[231] ‘Au lieu que, lorsque nous tâchons à connoître plus distinctement notre nature, nous pouvons voir que notre âme, en tant qu'elle est une substance distincte du corps, ne nous est connue que par cela seul qu'elle pense.’ Œuvres de Descartes, vol. iv. p. 432. Compare vol. iii. p. 96, Principes de la Philosophie, part i. sec. 53.

[232] ‘En sorte qu'il me seroit bien plus aisé de croire que l'âme cesseroit d'être quand on dit qu'elle cesse de penser, que non pas de concevoir qu'elle soit sans pensée.’ Œuvres de Descartes, vol. viii. p. 574. That ‘the soul always thinks,’ is a conclusion also arrived at by Berkeley by a different process. See his subtle argument, Principles of Human Knowledge, part i. sec. 98, in Berkeley's Works, vol. i. p. 123; and for a curious application of this to the theory of dreaming, see Burdach, Physiologie comme Science d'Observation, vol. v. pp. 205, 230.

[233] Œuvres de Descartes, vol. i. pp. 251, 252, 279, 293, vol. ii. pp. 252, 283.

[234] Ibid. vol. i. p. 419; and at p. 420: ‘Or de tout cela on conclut très-manifestement que Dieu existe.’ See also pp. 159–162, 280, 290, 291. But the simplest statement is in a letter to Mersenne (vol. viii. p. 529): ‘J'ai tiré la preuve de l'existence de Dieu de l'idée que je trouve en moi d'un être souverainement parfait.’

[235] ‘Ainsi, quoique, de ce que je suis, je conclue avec certitude que Dieu est, je ne puis réciproquement affirmer, de ce que Dieu est, que j'existe.’ Règles pour la Direction de l'Esprit, in Œuvres, vol. xi. p. 274. See also Principes de la Philosophie, part i. sec. 7, vol. iii. p. 66.

[236] On this famous argument, which it is said was also broached by Anselm, see King's Life of Locke, vol. ii. p. 133; the Benedictine Hist. Lit. de la France, vol. ix. pp. 417, 418; Mosheim's Eccles. Hist. vol. i. p. 239; and Cudworth's Intellect. Syst. vol. iii. p. 383.

[237] ‘Et certes jamais les hommes ne pourroient s'éloigner de la vraie connoissance de cette nature divine, s'ils vouloient seulement porter leur attention sur l'idée qu'ils ont de l'être souverainement parfait. Mais ceux qui mêlent quelques autres idées avec celle-là composent par ce moyen un dieu chimérique, en la nature duquel il y a des choses qui se contrarient; et, après l'avoir ainsi composé, ce n'est pas merveille s'ils nient qu'un tel dieu, qui leur est représenté par une fausse idée, existe.’ Œuvres de Descartes, vol. i. pp. 423, 424.

[238] This is delicately but clearly indicated in an able letter from Arnaud, printed in Œuvres de Descartes, vol. ii. pp. 1–36: see in particular pp. 31, 34. And Duclos bluntly says: ‘Si, depuis la révolution que Descartes a commencée, les théologiens se sont éloignés des philosophes, c'est que ceux-ci ont paru ne pas respecter infiniment les théologiens. Une philosophie qui prenoit pour base le doute et l'examen devoit les effaroucher.’ Duclos, Mémoires, vol. i. p. 109.

[239] On the relation of the Cartesian philosophy to the doctrine of transubstantiation, compare Palmer's Treatise on the Church, vol. ii. pp. 169, 170, with Hallam's Lit. of Europe, vol. ii. p. 453; and the remark ascribed to Hobbes, in Aubrey's Letters and Lives, vol. ii. p. 626. But Hobbes, if he really made this observation, had no right to expect Descartes to become a martyr.

[240] ‘Le caractère de la philosophie du moyen âge est la soumission à une autorité autre que la raison. La philosophie moderne ne reconnaît que l'autorité de la raison. C'est le cartésianisme qui a opéré cette révolution décisive.’ Cousin, Hist. de la Philos. II. série, vol. i. pp. 258, 259.

[241] ‘Nous rejetterons entièrement de notre philosophie la recherche des causes finales.’ Principes de la Philos., part i. sec. 28, in Œuvres de Descartes, vol. iii. p. 81. See also part iii. sec. 3, p. 182; and his reply to Gassendi, in Œuvres, vol. ii. pp. 280, 281. Compare Cousin, Hist. de la Philosophie, II. série, vol. ii. p. 71, with Sprengel, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. v. p. 203.

[242] Dr. Whewell, for instance, says, that we must reject final causes in the inorganic sciences, but must recognize them in the organic ones; which, in other words, simply means, that we know less of the organic world than of the inorganic, and that because we know less, we are to believe more; for here, as everywhere else, the smaller the science the greater the superstition. Whewell's Philos. of the Inductive Sciences, 8vo., 1847, vol. i. pp. 620, 627, 628; and his Hist. of the Induc. Sciences, vol. iii. pp. 430, 431. If the question were to be decided by authority, it would be enough to appeal to Bacon and Descartes, the two greatest writers on the philosophy of method in the seventeenth century; and to Auguste Comte, who is admitted by the few persons who have mastered his Philosophie Positive, to be the greatest in our own time. These profound and comprehensive thinkers have all rejected the study of final causes, which, as they have clearly seen, is a theological invasion of scientific rights. On the injury which this study has wrought, and on the check it has given to the advance of our knowledge, see Robin et Verdeil, Chimie Anat. Paris, 1853, vol. i. pp. 489, 493, 494, vol. ii. p. 555; Renouard, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. i. pp. 232, 237; Sprengel, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. ii. p. 220; Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, Hist. des Anomalies de l'Organisation, vol. iii. pp. 435, 436; Herder, Ideen zur Gesch. der Menschheit, vol. iii. p. 270; Lawrence's Lectures on Man, p. 36; and Burdach, Traité de Physiologie, vol. i. p. 190.

[243] ‘Auf das innigste verbunden mit der Theologie, nicht allein in den katholischen, sondern selbst auch in den protestantischen Ländern.’ Tennemann, Gesch. der Philos. vol. ix. p. 516. Descartes, in a letter to Mersenne (Œuvres, vol. vi. p. 73), writes, in 1629, ‘La théologie, laquelle on a tellement assujettie à Aristote, qu'il est impossible d'expliquer une autre philosophie qu'il ne semble d'abord qu'elle soit contre la foi.’ Compare vol. vii. p. 344, vol. viii. pp. 281, 497.

[244] Dr. Brown (Philosophy of the Mind, Edinburgh, 1838, p. 172) calls Descartes ‘that illustrious rebel, who, in overthrowing the authority of Aristotle,’ &c. See also Duvernet, Hist. de la Sorbonne, vol. ii. p. 192; Cuvier, Hist. des Sciences, part ii. p. 532; and Locke's Works, vol. iii. p. 48. This, I need hardly say, refers to the habit of appealing to Aristotle, as if he were infallible, and is very different from that respect which is naturally felt for a man who was probably the greatest of all the ancient thinkers. The difference between the Aristotelian and Cartesian systems is touched on rather hastily in Cudworth's Intellect. Syst. vol. i. pp. 170, 171.

[245] That is in 1661, when Louis XIV. first assumed the government.

[246] M. Barante (Tableau de la Littérature Française, pp. 26, 27) notices ‘cette indépendance dans les idées, ce jugement audacieux de toutes choses, qu'on remarque dans Corneille, dans Mézéray, dans Balzac, dans Saint-Réal, dans Lamothe-Levayer.’ To these may be added Naudé, Patin, and probably Gassendi. Compare Hallam's Literat. of Europe, vol. ii. pp. 364, 365, with Mackintosh's Ethical Philos. p. 116, and Lettres de Patin, vol. i. p. 297, vol. ii. pp. 33, 186, 191, 242, 342, 498, 508, vol. iii. p. 87.

[247] The increase of incredulity was so remarkable, as to give rise to a ridiculous assertion, ‘qu'il y avoit plus de 50,000 athées dans Paris vers l'an 1623.’ Baillet, Jugemens des Savans, Paris, 1722, 4to. vol. i. p. 185. Baillet has no difficulty in rejecting this preposterous statement (which is also noticed in Coleridge's Literary Remains, vol. i. p. 305; where, however, there is apparently a confusion between two different periods); but the spread of scepticism among the upper ranks and courtiers, during the reign of Louis XIII. and the minority of Louis XIV., is attested by a great variety of evidence. See Mém. de Madame de Motteville, vol. iii. p. 52; Mém. de Retz, vol. i. p. 266; Conrart, Mém. p. 235 note; Des Réaux, Historiettes, vol. vii. p. 143; Mém. de Brienne, vol. ii. p. 107 note.

[248] Volumes might be written on the influence of Descartes, which was seen, not only in subjects immediately connected with his philosophy, but even in those apparently remote from it. Compare Broussais, Examen des Doctrines Médicales, vol. ii. pp. 55 seq.; Lettres de Patin, vol. iii. p. 153; Sprengel, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. iv. p. 238; Cuvier, Hist. des Sciences, part ii. pp. 327, 332, 352, 363; Stäudlin, Geschichte der theologischen Wissenschaften, vol. i. p. 263; Tennemann, Gesch. der Philos. vol. x. pp. 285 seq.; Huetius de Rebus ad eum pertinentibus, pp. 35, 295, 296, 385–389; Mosheim's Eccles. Hist. vol. ii. p. 258; Dacier, Rapport Historique, p. 334; Leslie's Nat. Philos. p. 121; Eloges, in Œuvres de Fontenelle, Paris, 1766, vol. v. pp. 94, 106, 137, 197, 234, 392, vol. vi. pp. 157, 318, 449; Thomson's Hist. of Chemistry, vol. i. p. 195; Quérard, France Lit. vol. iii. p. 273.

[249] On the connexion between Richelieu and Mazarin, see Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxiii. pp. 400, 530; and a curious, though perhaps apocryphal anecdote in Tallemant des Réaux, Historiettes, vol. ii. pp. 231, 232. In 1636 there was noticed ‘l'étroite union’ between Richelieu and Mazarin. Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. viii. part ii. p. 187.

[250] ‘Mazarin n'avoit ni fanatisme ni esprit persécuteur,’ Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxiv. p. 531. That he did not persecute the Protestants is grudgingly confessed in Felice's Hist. of the Protestants of France, p. 292. See also Smedley's Reformed Religion in France, vol. iii. p. 222.

[251] He confirmed it in July, 1643. See Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. iii. appendix, p. 3; and Quick's Synodicon in Gallia, vol. i. p. ciii.

[252] In 1659, there was assembled the Synod of Loudon, the moderator of which said, ‘It is now fifteen years since we had a national synod.’ Quick's Synodicon in Gallia, vol. ii. p. 517.

[253] Brienne records the determination of the king, ‘que cette dignité ne seroit plus accordée à des Protestans.’ Sismondi, Histoire des Français, vol. xxiv. p. 65.

[254] He was so uneasy about the sin he had committed, that before his death he intreated the Protestant marshals to change their creed: ‘Il ne voulut pas mourir sans avoir exhorté de sa propre bouche les maréchaux de la Force et de Chatillon à se faire Catholiques.’ Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. ii. p. 612. The same circumstance is mentioned by Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. x. part ii. p. 785.

[255] Louis XIII. died in May 1643; and Turenne was made marshal in the September following. Lavallée, Hist. des Français, vol. iii. pp. 148, 151.

[256] Sismondi (Hist. des Français, vol. xxiv. p. 65) makes the appointment of Gassion in 1644; according to Montglat (Mémoires, vol. i. p. 437) it was at the end of 1643. There are some singular anecdotes of Gassion in Les Historiettes de Tallemant des Réaux, vol. v. pp. 167–180; and an account of his death in Mém. de Motteville, vol. ii. p. 290, from which it appears that he remained a Protestant to the last.

[257] The Pope especially was offended by this alliance (Ranke, die Päpste, vol. iii. p. 158, compared with Vaughan's Cromwell, vol. i. p. 343, vol. ii. p. 124); and, judging from the language of Clarendon, the orthodox party in England was irritated by it. Clarendon's Hist. of the Rebellion, pp. 699, 700. Contemporary notices of this union between the cardinal and the regicide, will be found in Mém. de Retz, vol. i. p. 349; Mém. de Montglat, vol. ii. p. 478, vol. iii. p. 23; Lettres de Patin, vol. ii. pp. 183, 302, 426; Marchand, Dict. Historique, vol. ii. p. 56; Mem. of Sir Philip Warwick, p. 377; Harris's Lives of the Stuarts, vol. iii. p. 393.

[258] De Retz (Mémoires, vol. i. p. 59), who knew Richelieu, calls Mazarin ‘son disciple.’ And at p. 65 he adds, ‘comme il marchoit sur les pas du cardinal de Richelieu, qui avoit achevé de détruire toutes les anciennes maximes de l'état.’ Compare Mém. de Motteville, vol. ii. p. 18; and Mém. de la Rochefoucauld, vol. i. p. 444.

[259] On the open affront to the Pope by this treaty, see Ranke, die Päpste, vol. iii. p. 159: ‘An dem pyrenäischen Frieden nahm er auch nicht einmal mehr einen scheinbaren Antheil: man vermied es seine Abgeordneten zuzulassen: kaum wurde seiner noch darin gedacht.’ The consequences and the meaning of all this are well noticed by M. Ranke.

[260] ‘La presse jouissait d'une entière liberté pendant les troubles de la Fronde, et le public prenait un tel intérêt aux débats politiques, que les pamphlets se débitaient quelquefois au nombre de huit et dix mille exemplaires.’ Sainte–Aulaire, Hist. de la Fronde, vol. i. p. 299. Tallemant des Réaux, who wrote immediately after the Fronde, says (Historiettes, vol. iv. p. 74), ‘Durant la Fronde, qu'on imprimoit tout.’ And Omer Talon, with the indignation natural to a magistrate, mentions, that in 1649, ‘toutes sortes de libelles et de diffamations se publioient hautement par la ville sans permission du magistrat.’ Mém. d'Omer Talon, vol. ii. p. 466. For further evidence of the great importance of the press in France in the middle of the seventeenth century, see Mém. de Lenet, vol. i. p. 162; Mém. de Motteville, vol. iii. pp. 288, 289; Lettres de Patin, vol. i. p. 432, vol. ii. p. 517; Monteil, Hist. des divers Etats, vol. vii. p. 175.

In England, the Long Parliament succeeded to the licensing authority of the Star-chamber (Blackstone's Commentaries, vol. iv. p. 152); but it is evident from the literature of that time, that for a considerable period the power was in reality in abeyance. Both parties attacked each other freely through the press; and it is said that between the breaking out of the civil war and the restoration, there were published from 30,000 to 50,000 pamphlets. Morgan's Phœnix Britannicus, 1731, 4to. pp. iii. 557; Carlyle's Cromwell, vol. i. p. 4; Southey's Commonplace Book, third series, p. 449. See also on this great movement of the press, Bates's Account of the Late Troubles, part i. p. 78; Bulstrode's Memoirs, p. 4; Howell's Letters, p. 354; Hunt's Hist. of Newspapers, vol. i. p. 45; Clarendon's Hist. of the Rebellion, p. 81; Nichols's Lit. Anec. vol. iv. pp. 86, 102.

[261] Dugald Stewart (Philos. of the Mind, vol. i. p. 357) says, ‘Nothing can be more just than the observation of Fontenelle, that “the number of those who believe in a system already established in the world, does not, in the least, add to its credibility; but that the number of those who doubt of it, has a tendency to diminish it.”’ Compare with this Newman on Development, Lond. 1845, p. 31; and the remark of Hylas in Berkeley's Works, edit. 1843, vol. i. pp. 151, 152, first dialogue.

[262] Compare Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 293, with a remarkable passage in Mém. de Rohan, vol. i. p. 317; where Rohan contrasts the religious wars he was engaged in during the administration of Richelieu, with those very different wars which had been waged in France a little earlier.

[263] ‘L'esprit religieux ne s'était mêlé en aucune manière aux querelles de la Fronde.’ Capefigue, vol. ii. p. 434. Lenet, who had great influence with what was called the party of the princes, says that he always avoided any attempt ‘à faire aboutir notre parti à une guerre de religion.’ Mém. de Lenet, vol. i. p. 619. Even the people said that it was unimportant whether or not a man died a Protestant; but that if he were a partizan of Mazarin he was sure to be damned: ‘Ils disoient qu'étant mazarin, il falloit qu'il fût damné.’ Lenet, vol. i. p. 434.

[264] Indeed he does not conceal this even in his memoirs. He says (Mém. vol. i. p. 3), he had ‘l'âme peut-être la moins ecclésiastique qui fût dans l'univers.’ At p. 13, ‘le chagrin que ma profession ne laissoit pas de nourrir toujours dans le fonds de mon âme.’ At p. 21, ‘je haïssois ma profession plus que jamais.’ At p. 48, ‘le clergé, qui donne toujours l'exemple de la servitude, la prêchoit aux autres sous le titre d'obéissance.’ See also the remark of his great friend Joly (Mém. de Joly, p. 209, edit. Petitot, 1825); and the account given by Tallemant des Réaux, who knew De Retz well, and had travelled with him, Historiettes, vol. vii. pp. 18-30. The same tendency is illustrated, though in a much smaller degree, by a conversation which Charles II., when in exile, held with De Retz, and which is preserved in Clarendon's Hist. of the Rebellion, p. 806, and is worth consulting merely as an instance of the purely secular view that De Retz always took of political affairs.

[265] ‘Cet homme singulier est le premier évêque en France qui ait fait une guerre civile sans avoir la religion pour prétexte.’ Siècle de Louis XIV, in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xix. p. 261.

[266] Hooker and Pascal may properly be classed together, as the two most sublime theological writers either country has produced; for Bossuet is as inferior to Pascal as Jeremy Taylor is inferior to Hooker.

[267] One of the most remarkable men they have ever possessed notices this connexion, which he expresses conversely, but with equal truth: ‘moins on sait, moins on doute; moins on a découvert, moins on voit ce qui reste à découvrir…. Quand les hommes sont ignorans, il est aisé de tout savoir.’ Discours en Sorbonne, in Œuvres de Turgot, vol. ii. pp. 65, 70.

[268] Mazarin, until his death in 1661, exercised complete authority over Louis. See Siècle de Louis XIV, in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xix. pp. 318, 319; and Lavallée, Hist. des Français, vol. iii. p. 195; so that, as Montglat says (Mém. vol. iii. p. 111), ‘On doit appeler ce temps-là le commencement du règne de Louis XIV.’ The pompous manner in which, directly after the death of Mazarin, the king assumed the government, is related by Brienne, who was present. Mém. de Brienne, vol. ii. pp. 154–158.

[269] By this I mean, that the divergence now first became clear to every observer; but the origin of the divergence dates from a much earlier period, as we shall see in the next chapter.

[270] That is to say, their practical recognition; theoretically, they are still denied by innumerable politicians, who, nevertheless, assist in carrying them into effect, fondly hoping that each innovation will be the last, and enticing men into reform under the pretext that by each change they are returning to the spirit of the ancient British constitution.

CHAPTER II.

When, towards the end of the fifth century, the Roman empire was broken up, there followed, as is well known, a long period of ignorance and of crime, in which even the ablest minds were immersed in the grossest superstitions. During these, which are rightly called the Dark Ages, the clergy were supreme: they ruled the consciences of the most despotic sovereigns, and they were respected as men of vast learning, because they alone were able to read and write; because they were the sole depositaries of those idle conceits of which European science then consisted; and because they preserved the legends of the saints and the lives of the fathers, from which, as it was believed, the teachings of divine wisdom might easily be gathered.

Such was the degradation of the European intellect for about five hundred years, during which the credulity of men reached a height unparalleled in the annals of ignorance. But at length the human reason, that divine spark which even the most corrupt society is unable to extinguish, began to display its power, and disperse the mists by which it was surrounded. Various circumstances, which it would be tedious here to discuss, caused this dispersion to take place at different times in different countries. However, speaking generally, we may say that it occurred in the tenth and eleventh centuries, and that by the twelfth century there was no nation now called civilized, upon whom the light had not begun to dawn.

It is from this point that the first great divergence between the European nations took its rise. Before this[109] time their superstition was so great and universal, that it would avail little to measure the degree of their relative darkness. Indeed, so low had they fallen, that, during the earlier period, the authority of the clergy was in many respects an advantage, as forming a barrier between the people and their rulers, and as supplying the sole instance of a class that even made an approach to intellectual pursuits. But when the great movement took place, when the human reason began to rebel, the position of the clergy was suddenly changed. They had been friendly to reasoning as long as the reasoning was on their side.[271] While they were the only guardians of knowledge, they were eager to promote its interests. Now, however, it was falling from their hands: it was becoming possessed by laymen: it was growing dangerous: it must be reduced to its proper dimensions. Then it was that there first became general the inquisitions, the imprisonments, the torturings, the burnings, and all the other contrivances by which the church vainly endeavoured to stem the tide that had turned against her.[272] From that moment there has been[110] an unceasing struggle between these two great parties,—the advocates of inquiry, and the advocates of belief: a struggle which, however it may be disguised, and under whatever forms it may appear, is at bottom always the same, and represents the opposite interests of reason and faith, of scepticism and credulity, of progress and reaction, of those who hope for the future, and of those who cling to the past.

This, then, is the great starting point of modern civilization. From the moment that reason began, however faintly, to assert its supremacy, the improvement of every people has depended upon their obedience to its dictates, and upon the success with which they have reduced to its standard the whole of their actions. To understand, therefore, the original divergence of France and England, we must seek it in the circumstances that took place when this, which may be called the great rebellion of the intellect, was first clearly seen.

If now, with a view to such inquiry, we examine the history of Europe, we shall find that just at this period there sprung up the feudal system: a vast scheme of polity, which, clumsy and imperfect as it was, supplied many of the wants of the rude people among whom it arose.[273] The connexion between it and the decline of[111] the ecclesiastical spirit is very obvious. For the feudal system was the first great secular plan that had been seen in Europe since the formation of the civil law: it was the first comprehensive attempt which had been made, during more than four hundred years, to organize society according to temporal, not according to spiritual circumstances, the basis of the whole arrangement being merely the possession of land, and the performance of certain military and pecuniary services.[274]

This was, no doubt, a great step in European civilization, because it set the first example of a large public polity in which the spiritual classes as such had no recognized place;[275] and hence there followed that struggle between feudality and the church, which has been observed by several writers, but the origin of which has been strangely overlooked. What, however, we have now to notice is, that by the establishment of the feudal system, the spirit of protection, far from being destroyed, was probably not even weakened, but only assumed a new form. Instead of being spiritual, it became temporal.[112] Instead of men looking up to the church, they looked up to the nobles. For, as a necessary consequence of this vast movement, or rather as a part of it, the great possessors of land were now being organized into an hereditary aristocracy.[276] In the tenth century, we find the first surnames:[277] by the eleventh century most of the great offices had become hereditary in the leading families:[278] and in the twelfth century armorial bearings were invented, as well as other heraldic devices, which long nourished the conceit of the nobles, and were valued by their descendants as marks of that superiority of birth to which, during many ages, all other superiority was considered subordinate.[279]

Such was the beginning of the European aristocracy, in the sense in which that word is commonly used. With the consolidation of its power, feudality was made, in reference to the organization of society, the successor of the church;[280] and the nobles, becoming hereditary,[113] gradually displaced in government, and in the general functions of authority, the clergy, among whom the opposite principle of celibacy was now firmly established.[281] It is, therefore, evident, that an inquiry into the origin of the modern protective spirit does, in a great measure, resolve itself into an inquiry into the origin of the aristocratic power; since that power was the exponent, and, as it were, the cover under which the spirit displayed itself. This, as we shall hereafter see, is likewise connected with the great religious rebellion of the sixteenth century; the success of which mainly depended on the weakness of the protective principle that opposed it. But, reserving this for future consideration, I will now endeavour to trace a few of the circumstances which gave the aristocracy more power in France than in England, and thus accustomed the French to a closer and more constant obedience, and infused into them a more reverential spirit than that which was usual in our country.

Soon after the middle of the eleventh century, and therefore while the aristocracy was in the process of formation, England was conquered by the Duke of Normandy, who naturally introduced the polity existing in his own country.[282] But, in his hands, it underwent a modification[114] suitable to the new circumstances in which he was placed. He, being in a foreign country, the general of a successful army composed partly of mercenaries,[283] was able to dispense with some of those feudal usages which were customary in France. The great Norman lords, thrown as strangers into the midst of a hostile population, were glad to accept estates from the crown on almost any terms that would guarantee their own security. Of this, William naturally availed himself. For, by granting baronies on conditions favourable to the crown, he prevented the barons [284] from possessing that power which they exercised in France, and which, but for this, they would have exercised in England. The result was, that the most powerful of our nobles became amenable to the law, or, at all events, to the authority of the king.[285] Indeed, to such an extent was this carried, that William, shortly before his death, obliged all the landowners to render their fealty to him; thus entirely neglecting that peculiarity of feudalism, according to which each vassal was separately dependent on his own lord.[286]

But in France, the course of affairs was very different. In that country the great nobles held their lands, not[115] so much by grant, as by prescription.[287] A character of antiquity was thus thrown over their rights; which, when added to the weakness of the crown, enabled them to exercise on their own estates, all the functions of independent sovereigns.[288] Even when they received their first great check, under Philip Augustus,[289] they, in his reign, and indeed long after, wielded a power quite unknown in England. Thus, to give only two instances: the right of coining money, which has always been regarded as an attribute of sovereignty, was never allowed in England, even to the greatest nobles.[290] But in France it was exercised by many persons independently of the crown, and was not abrogated until the sixteenth century.[291] A similar remark holds good of what was called the right of private war; by virtue of which the nobles were allowed to attack each other, and disturb the peace of the country with the prosecution of their private feuds. In England the aristocracy were never strong enough to have this admitted as a right,[292] though they too often exercised it as a practice. But in France it became a part of the established law; it was[116] incorporated into the text-books of feudalism, and it is distinctly recognized by Louis IX. and Philip the Fair,—two kings of considerable energy, who did every thing in their power to curtail the enormous authority of the nobles.[293]

Out of this difference between the aristocratic power of France and England, there followed many consequences of great importance. In our country the nobles, being too feeble to contend with the crown, were compelled, in self-defence, to ally themselves with the people.[294] About a hundred years after the Conquest, the Normans and Saxons amalgamated; and both parties united against the king in order to uphold their common rights.[295] The Magna Charta, which John was forced to[117] yield contained concessions to the aristocracy; but its most important stipulations were those in favour of ‘all classes of freemen.’[296] Within half a century, fresh contests broke out; the barons were again associated with the people, and again there followed the same results,—the extension of popular privileges being each time the condition and the consequence of this singular alliance. In the same way, when the Earl of Leicester raised a rebellion against Henry III., he found his own party too weak to make head against the crown. He, therefore, applied to the people:[297] and it is to him that our House of Commons owes its origin; since he, in 1264, set the first example of issuing writs to cities and boroughs; thus calling upon citizens and burgesses to take their place in what had hitherto been a parliament composed entirely of priests and nobles.[298]

The English aristocracy being thus forced, by their own weakness, to rely on the people,[299] it naturally followed, that the people imbibed that tone of independence, and that lofty bearing, of which our civil and political institutions are the consequence, rather than the cause. It is to this, and not to any fanciful peculiarity of race, that we owe the sturdy and enterprising spirit for which the inhabitants of this island have long been remarkable. It is this which has enabled us to baffle all the arts of oppression, and to maintain for centuries liberties which no other nation has ever possessed. And it is this which has fostered and upheld those great municipal privileges, which, whatever be their faults, have, at least, the invaluable merit of accustoming free men to the exercise of power, giving to citizens the management of their own city, and perpetuating the idea of independence, by preserving it in a living type, and by enlisting in its support the interests and affections of individual men.

But the habits of self-government which, under these circumstances, were cultivated in England, were, under opposite circumstances, neglected in France. The great French lords being too powerful to need the people, were unwilling to seek their alliance.[300] The result was, that, amid a great variety of forms and names, society was, in reality, only divided into two classes—the upper and the lower, the protectors and the protected. And, looking at the ferocity of the prevailing[119] manners, it is not too much to say, that in France, under the feudal system, every man was either a tyrant or a slave. Indeed, in most instances, the two characters were combined in the same person. For, the practice of subinfeudation, which in our country was actively checked, became in France almost universal.[301] By this, the great lords having granted lands on condition of fealty and other services to certain persons, these last subgranted them; that is, made them over on similar conditions to other persons, who had likewise the power of bestowing them on a fourth party, and so on in an endless series;[302] thus forming a long chain of dependence, and, as it were, organizing submission into a system.[303] In England, on the other hand, such arrangements were so unsuited to the general state of affairs, that it is doubtful if they were ever carried on to any extent; and, at all events, it is certain that, in the reign of Edward I., they were finally stopped by the statute known to lawyers as Quia emptores.[304]

Thus early was there a great social divergence between France and England. The consequences of this were still more obvious when, in the fourteenth century, the feudal system rapidly decayed in both countries. For in England, the principle of protection being feeble, men were in some degree accustomed to self-government; and they were able to hold fast by those great institutions which would have been ill adapted to the more obedient habits of the French people. Our municipal privileges, the rights of our yeomanry, and the security of our copyholders, were, from the fourteenth to the seventeenth centuries, the[120] three most important guarantees for the liberties of England.[305] In France such guarantees were impossible. The real division being between those who were noble, and those who were not noble, no room was left for the establishment of intervening classes; but all were compelled to fall into one of these two great ranks.[306] The French have never had any thing answering to our yeomanry; nor were copyholders recognized by their laws. And, although they attempted to introduce into[121] their country municipal institutions, all such efforts were futile; for, while they copied the forms of liberty, they lacked that bold and sturdy spirit by which alone liberty can be secured. They had, indeed, its image and superscription; but they wanted the sacred fire that warms the image into life. Every thing else they possessed. The show and appliances of freedom were there. Charters were granted to their towns, and privileges conceded to their magistrates. All, however, was useless. For it is not by the wax and parchment of lawyers that the independence of men can be preserved. Such things are the mere externals; they set off liberty to advantage; they are as its dress and paraphernalia, its holiday-suit in times of peace and quiet. But, when the evil days set in, when the invasions of despotism have begun, liberty will be retained, not by those who can show the oldest deeds and the largest charters, but by those who have been most inured to habits of independence, most accustomed to think and act for themselves, and most regardless of that insidious protection which the upper classes have always been so ready to bestow, that, in many countries, they have now left nothing worth the trouble to protect.

And so it was in France. The towns, with few exceptions, fell at the first shock; and the citizens lost those municipal privileges which, not being grafted on the national character, it was found impossible to preserve. In the same way, in our country, power naturally, and by the mere force of the democratic movement, fell into the hands of the House of Commons; whose authority has ever since, notwithstanding occasional checks, continued to increase at the expense of the more aristocratic parts of the legislature. The only institution answering to this in France was the States-General; which, however, had so little influence, that, in the opinion of native historians, it was hardly to be called an institution at all.[307] Indeed,[122] the French were, by this time, so accustomed to the idea of protection, and to the subordination which that idea involves, that they were little inclined to uphold an establishment which, in their constitution, was the sole representative of the popular element. The result was, that, by the fourteenth century, the liberties of Englishmen were secured;[308] and, since then, their only concern has been to increase what they have already obtained. But in that same century, in France, the protective spirit assumed a new form; the power of the aristocracy was, in a great measure, succeeded by the power of the crown; and there began that tendency to centralization which, having been pushed still further, first under Louis XIV., and afterwards under Napoleon, has become the bane of the French people.[309] For by it the feudal ideas of superiority and submission have long survived that barbarous age to which alone they were suited. Indeed, by their transmigration, they seemed[123] to have gained fresh strength. In France, every thing is referred to one common centre, in which all civil functions are absorbed. All improvements of any importance, all schemes for bettering even the material condition of the people must receive the sanction of government; the local authorities not being considered equal to such arduous tasks. In order that inferior magistrates may not abuse their power, no power is conferred upon them. The exercise of independent jurisdiction is almost unknown. Every thing that is done must be done at head quarters.[310] The government is believed to see every thing, know every thing, and provide for every thing. To enforce this monstrous monopoly there has been contrived a machinery well worthy of the design. The entire country is covered by an immense array of officials;[311] who, in the regularity of their hierarchy,[124] and in the order of their descending series, form an admirable emblem of that feudal principle, which ceasing to be territorial, has now become personal. In fact, the whole business of the state is conducted on the supposition that no man either knows his own interest, or is fit to take care of himself. So paternal are the feelings of government, so eager for the welfare of its subjects, that it has drawn within its jurisdiction the most rare, as well as the most ordinary, actions of life. In order that the French may not make imprudent wills, it has limited the right of bequest; and, for fear that they should bequeath their property wrongly, it prevents them from bequeathing the greater part of it at all. In order that society may be protected by its police, it has directed that no one shall travel without a passport. And when men are actually travelling, they are met at every turn by the same interfering spirit, which, under pretence of protecting their persons, shackles their liberty. Into another matter, far more serious, the French have carried the same principle. Such is their anxiety to protect society against criminals, that, when an offender is placed at the bar of one of their courts, there is exhibited a spectacle which is no idle boast to say we, in England, could not tolerate for a single hour. There is seen a great public magistrate, by whom the prisoner is about to be tried, examining him in order to ascertain his supposed guilt, re-examining him, cross-examining him, performing the duties, not of a judge, but of a prosecutor, and bringing to bear against the unhappy man all the authority of his judicial position, all his professional subtlety, all his experience, all the dexterity of his practised understanding. This is, perhaps, the most alarming of the many instances in which the tendencies of the French intellect are shown; because it supplies a machinery ready for the purposes of absolute power; because it brings the administration of justice into disrepute, by associating with[125] it an idea of unfairness; and because it injures that calm and equable temper, which it is impossible fully to maintain under a system that makes a magistrate an advocate, and turns the judge into a partizan. But this, mischievous as it is, only forms part of a far larger scheme. For, to the method by which criminals are discovered, there is added an analogous method, by which crime is prevented. With this view, the people, even in their ordinary amusements, are watched and carefully superintended. Lest they should harm each other by some sudden indiscretion, precautions are taken similar to those with which a father might surround his children. In their fairs, at their theatres, their concerts, and their other places of public resort, there are always present soldiers, who are sent to see that no mischief is done, that there is no unnecessary crowding, that no one uses harsh language, that no one quarrels with his neighbour. Nor does the vigilance of the government stop there. Even the education of children is brought under the control of the state, instead of being regulated by the judgment of masters or parents.[312] And the whole plan is executed with such energy, that, as the French while men are never let alone, just so while children they are never left alone.[313] At the same time, it being reasonably supposed that the adults thus kept in pupilage cannot be proper judges of their own food, the government has provided for this also. Its prying eye follows the butcher to the shambles, and the baker to the oven. By its paternal hand, meat[126] is examined lest it should be bad, and bread is weighed lest it should be light. In short, without multiplying instances, with which most readers must be familiar, it is enough to say that in France, as in every country where the protective principle is active, the government has established a monopoly of the worst kind; a monopoly which comes home to the business and bosoms of men, follows them in their daily avocations, troubles them with its petty, meddling spirit, and, what is worse than all, diminishes their responsibility to themselves; thus depriving them of what is the only real education that most minds receive,—the constant necessity of providing for future contingencies, and the habit of grappling with the difficulties of life.

The consequence of all this has been, that the French, though a great and splendid people,—a people full of mettle, high-spirited, abounding in knowledge, and perhaps less oppressed by superstition than any other in Europe,—have always been found unfit to exercise political power. Even when they have possessed it, they have never been able to combine permanence with liberty. One of these two elements has always been wanting. They have had free governments, which have not been stable. They have had stable governments, which have not been free. Owing to their fearless temper, they have rebelled, and no doubt will continue to rebel, against so evil a condition.[314] But it does not need the tongue of a prophet to tell that, for at least some generations, all such efforts must be unsuccessful. For men can never be free, unless they are educated to freedom. And this is not the education which is to be found in schools, or gained from books; but it is that which consists in self-discipline, in self-reliance, and in self-government. These, in England, are matters of hereditary descent—traditional habits, which we imbibe in our youth, and which regulate[127] us in the conduct of life. The old associations of the French all point in another direction. At the slightest difficulty, they call on the government for support. What with us is competition, with them is monopoly. That which we effect by private companies, they effect by public boards. They cannot cut a canal, or lay down a railroad, without appealing to the government for aid. With them, the people look to the rulers; with us, the rulers look to the people. With them, the executive is the centre from which society radiates;[315] with us, society is the instigator, and the executive the organ. The difference in the result has corresponded with the difference in the process. We have been made fit for political power, by the long exercise of civil rights; they, neglecting the exercise, think they can at once begin with the power. We have always shown a determination to uphold our liberties, and, when the times are fitting, to increase them; and this we have done with a decency and a gravity natural to men to whom such subjects have long been familiar. But the French, always treated as children, are, in political matters, children still. And as they have handled the most weighty concerns in that gay and volatile spirit which adorns their lighter literature, it is no wonder that they have failed in matters where the first condition of success is, that men should have been long accustomed to rely upon their own energies, and that before they try their skill in a political struggle, their resources should have been sharpened by that preliminary discipline, which a contest with the difficulties of civil life can never fail to impart.

These are among the considerations by which we must be guided, in estimating the probable destinies of the great countries of Europe. But what we are now rather concerned with is, to notice how the opposite tendencies of France and England long continued to be displayed in the condition and treatment of their aristocracy; and how from this there naturally followed some striking differences between the war conducted by the Fronde, and that waged by the Long Parliament.

When, in the fourteenth century, the authority of the French kings began rapidly to increase, the political influence of the nobility was, of course, correspondingly diminished. What, however, proves the extent to which their power had taken root, is the undoubted fact, that, notwithstanding this to them unfavourable circumstance, the people were never able to emancipate themselves from their control.[316] The relation the nobles bore to the throne became entirely changed; that which they bore to the people remained almost the same. In England, slavery, or villenage, as it is mildly termed, quickly diminished, and was extinct by the end of the sixteenth century.[317] In[129] France, it lingered on two hundred years later, and was only destroyed in that great Revolution by which the possessors of ill-gotten power were called to so sharp an account.[318] Thus, too, until the last seventy years, the nobles were in France exempt from those onerous taxes which oppressed the people. The taille and corvée were heavy and grievous exactions, but they fell solely on men of ignoble birth;[319] for the French aristocracy, being a high and chivalrous race, would have deemed it an insult to their illustrious descent, if they had been taxed to the same amount as those whom they despised as their inferiors.[320] Indeed,[130] every thing tended to nurture this general contempt. Every thing was contrived to humble one class, and exalt the other. For the nobles there were reserved the best appointments in the church, and also the most important military posts.[321] The privilege of entering the army as officers was confined to them;[322] and they alone possessed a prescriptive right to belong to the cavalry.[323] At the same time, and to avoid the least chance of confusion, an equal vigilance was displayed in the most trifling matters, and care was taken to prevent any similarity, even in the amusements of the two classes. To such a pitch was this brought, that, in many parts of France, the right of having an aviary or a dovecote depended entirely on a man's rank; and no Frenchman, whatever his wealth might be, could keep pigeons, unless he were a noble; it being considered that these recreations were too elevated for persons of plebeian origin.[324]

Circumstances like these are valuable, as evidence of the state of society to which they belong; and their importance will become peculiarly obvious, when we compare them with the opposite condition of England.

For in England, neither these nor any similar distinctions have ever been known. The spirit of which our yeomanry, copyholders, and free burgesses were the representatives, proved far too strong for those protective and monopolizing principles of which the aristocracy are the guardians in politics, and the clergy in religion. And it is to the successful opposition made by these feelings of individual independence that we owe our two greatest national acts—our Reformation in the sixteenth, and our Rebellion in the seventeenth century. Before, however, tracing the steps taken in these matters, there is one other point of view to which I wish to call attention, as a further illustration of the early and radical difference between France and England.

In the eleventh century there arose the celebrated institution of chivalry,[325] which was to manners what feudalism was to politics. This connexion is clear, not only from the testimony of contemporaries, but also from two general considerations. In the first place, chivalry was so highly aristocratic, that no one could even receive knighthood unless he were of noble birth;[326] and the preliminary education which was held to be necessary was carried on either in schools appointed by[132] the nobles, or else in their own baronial castles.[327] In the second place, it was essentially a protective, and not at all a reforming institution. It was contrived with a view to remedy certain oppressions as they successively arose; opposed in this respect to the reforming spirit, which, being remedial rather than palliative, strikes at the root of an evil by humbling the class from which the evil proceeds, passing over individual cases in order to direct its attention to general causes. But chivalry, so far from doing this, was in fact a fusion of the aristocratic and the ecclesiastical forms of the protective spirit.[328] For, by introducing among the nobles the principle of knighthood, which, being personal, could never be bequeathed, it presented a point at which the ecclesiastical doctrine of celibacy could coalesce with the aristocratic doctrine of hereditary descent.[329] Out of this coalition sprung results of great moment. It is to this that Europe owes those orders, half aristocratic half religious,[133][330] the Knights Templars, the Knights of St. James, the Knights of St. John, the Knights of St. Michael: establishments which inflicted the greatest evils on society; and whose members, combining analogous vices, enlivened the superstition of monks with the debauchery of soldiers. As a natural consequence, an immense number of noble knights were solemnly pledged to ‘defend the church;’ an ominous expression, the meaning of which is too well known to the readers of ecclesiastical history.[331] Thus it was that chivalry, uniting the hostile principles of celibacy and noble birth, became the incarnation of the spirit of the two classes to which those principles belonged. Whatever benefit, therefore, this institution may have conferred upon manners,[332] there can be no doubt that it actively contributed to[134] keep men in a state of pupilage, and stopped the march of society by prolonging the term of its infancy.[333]

On this account, it is evident that, whether we look at the immediate or at the remote tendency of chivalry, its strength and duration become a measure of the predominance of the protective spirit. If, with this view, we compare France and England, we shall find fresh proof of the early divergence of those countries. Tournaments, the first open expression of chivalry, are of French origin.[334] The greatest and, indeed, the only two great describers of chivalry are Joinville and Froissart, both of whom were Frenchmen. Bayard, that famous chevalier, who is always considered as the last representative of chivalry, was a Frenchman, and was killed when fighting for Francis I. Nor was it until nearly forty years after his death that tournaments were finally abolished in France, the last one having been held in 1560.[335]

But in England, the protective spirit being much less active than in France, we should expect to find that chivalry, as its offspring, had less influence. And such was really the case. The honours that were paid to knights, and the social distinctions by which they were separated from the other classes, were never so great in[135] our country as in France.[336] As men became more free, the little respect they had for such matters still further diminished. In the thirteenth century, and indeed in the very reign in which burgesses were first returned to parliament, the leading symbol of chivalry fell into such disrepute, that a law was passed obliging certain persons to accept that rank of knighthood which in other nations was one of the highest objects of ambition.[337] In the fourteenth century, this was followed by another blow, which deprived knighthood of its exclusively military character; the custom having grown up in the reign of Edward III. of conferring it on the judges in the courts of law, thus turning a warlike title into a civil honour.[338] Finally, before the end of the fifteenth century, the spirit of chivalry, in France still at its height, was in our country extinct, and this mischievous institution had become a subject for ridicule even among the people themselves.[339] To these circumstances[136] we may add two others, which seem worthy of observation. The first is, that the French, notwithstanding their many admirable qualities, have always been more remarkable for personal vanity than the English;[340] a peculiarity partly referable to those chivalric traditions which even their occasional republics have been unable to destroy, and which makes them attach undue importance to external distinctions, by which I mean, not only dress and manners, but also medals, ribbons, stars, crosses, and the like, which we, a prouder people, have never held in such high estimation. The other circumstance is, that duelling has from the beginning been more popular in France than in England; and as this is a custom which we owe to chivalry, the difference in this respect between the two countries[137] supplies another link in that long chain of evidence by which we must estimate their national tendencies.[341]

The old associations, of which these facts are but the external expression, now continued to act with increasing vigour. In France, the protective spirit, carried into religion, was strong enough to resist the Reformation, and preserve to the clergy the forms, at least, of their ancient supremacy. In England, the pride of men,[138] and their habits of self-reliance, enabled them to mature into a system what is called the right of private judgment, by which some of the most cherished traditions were eradicated; and this, as we have already seen, being quickly succeeded, first by scepticism, and then by toleration, prepared the way for that subordination of the church to the state, for which we are pre-eminent, and without a rival, among the nations of Europe. The very same tendency, acting in politics, displayed analogous results. Our ancestors found no difficulty in humbling the nobles, and reducing them to comparative insignificance. The wars of the Roses, by breaking up the leading families into two hostile factions, aided this movement;[342] and, after the reign of Edward IV., there is no instance of any Englishman, even of the highest rank, venturing to carry on those private wars, by which, in other countries, the great lords still disturbed the peace of society.[343] When the civil contests subsided, the same spirit displayed itself in the policy of Henry VII. and Henry VIII. For, those princes, despots as they were, mainly oppressed the highest classes; and even Henry VIII., notwithstanding his barbarous cruelties, was loved by the people, to whom his reign was, on the whole, decidedly beneficial. Then there came the Reformation; which, being an uprising of the human mind, was essentially a rebellious movement, and thus increasing the insubordination of men, sowed, in the sixteenth century, the seeds of those great political revolutions which, in the seventeenth century, broke out in nearly every part of Europe. The connexion between these two revolutionary epochs is a subject full of interest; but, for the purpose of the present chapter, it will be sufficient to notice such events,[139] during the latter half of the sixteenth century, as explain the sympathy between the ecclesiastical and aristocratic classes, and prove how the same circumstances that were fatal to the one, also prepared the way for the downfall of the other.

When Elizabeth ascended the throne of England, a large majority of the nobility were opposed to the Protestant religion. This we know from the most decisive evidence; and, even if we had no such evidence, a general acquaintance with human nature would induce us to suspect that such was the case. For, the aristocracy, by the very conditions of their existence, must, as a body, always be averse to innovation. And this, not only because by a change they have much to lose and little to gain, but because some of their most pleasurable emotions are connected with the past rather than with the present. In the collision of actual life, their vanity is sometimes offended by the assumptions of inferior men; it is frequently wounded by the successful competition of able men. These are mortifications to which, in the progress of society, their liability is constantly increasing. But the moment they turn to the past, they see in those good old times which are now gone by, many sources of consolation. There they find a period in which their glory is without a rival. When they look at their pedigrees, their quarterings, their escutcheons; when they think of the purity of their blood, and the antiquity of their ancestors—they experience a comfort which ought amply to atone for any present inconvenience. The tendency of this is very obvious, and has shown itself in the history of every aristocracy the world has yet seen. Men who have worked themselves to so extravagant a pitch as to believe that it is an honour to have had one ancestor who came over with the Normans, and another ancestor who was present at the first invasion of Ireland—men who have reached this ecstacy of the fancy are not disposed to stop there, but, by a process with which most minds are familiar, they generalize their view; and, even on matters not immediately connected with their fame, they acquire a habit of associating grandeur with antiquity,[140] and of measuring value by age; thus transferring to the past an admiration which otherwise they might reserve for the present.

The connexion between these feelings and those which animate the clergy is very evident. What the nobles are to politics, that are the priests to religion. Both classes, constantly appealing to the voice of antiquity, rely much on tradition, and make great account of upholding established customs. Both take for granted that what is old is better than what is new; and that in former times there were means of discovering truths respecting government and theology which we, in these degenerate ages, no longer possess. And it may be added, that the similarity of their functions follows from the similarity of their principles. Both are eminently protective, stationary, or, as they are sometimes called, conservative. It is believed that the aristocracy guard the state against revolution, and that the clergy keep the church from error. The first are the enemies of reformers; the others are the scourge of heretics.

It does not enter into the province of this Introduction to examine how far these principles are reasonable, or to inquire into the propriety of notions which suppose that, on certain subjects of immense importance, men are to remain stationary, while on all other subjects they are constantly advancing. But what I now rather wish to point out, is the manner in which, in the reign of Elizabeth, the two great conservative and protective classes were weakened by that vast movement, the Reformation, which, though completed in the sixteenth century, had been prepared by a long chain of intellectual antecedents.

Whatever the prejudices of some may suggest, it will be admitted, by all unbiassed judges, that the Protestant Reformation was neither more nor less than an open rebellion. Indeed, the mere mention of private judgment, on which it was avowedly based, is enough to substantiate this fact. To establish the right of private judgment, was to appeal from the church to individuals; it was to increase the play of each man's intellect; it was to test the opinions of the priesthood by[141] the opinions of laymen; it was, in fact, a rising of the scholars against their teachers, of the ruled against their rulers. And although the reformed clergy, as soon as they had organised themselves into a hierarchy, did undoubtedly abandon the great principle with which they started, and attempt to impose articles and canons of their own contrivance, still, this ought not to blind us to the merits of the Reformation itself. The tyranny of the Church of England, during the reign of Elizabeth, and still more during the reigns of her two successors, was but the natural consequence of that corruption which power always begets in those who wield it, and does not lessen the importance of the movement by which the power was originally obtained. For men could not forget that, tried by the old theological theory, the church of England was a schismatic establishment, and could only defend itself from the charge of heresy by appealing to that private judgment, to the exercise of which it owed its existence, but of the rights of which its own proceedings were a constant infraction. It was evident that if, in religious matters, private judgment were supreme, it became a high spiritual crime to issue any articles, or to take any measure, by which that judgment could be tied up; while, on the other hand, if the right of private judgment were not supreme, the church of England was guilty of apostacy, inasmuch as its founders did, by virtue of the interpretation which their own private judgment made of the Bible, abandon tenets which they had hitherto held, stigmatize those tenets as idolatrous, and openly renounce their allegiance to what had for centuries been venerated as the catholic and apostolic church.

This was a simple alternative; which might, indeed, be kept out of sight, but could not be refined away, and most assuredly has never been forgotten. The memory of the great truth it conveys was preserved by the writings and teachings of the Puritans, and by those habits of thought natural to an inquisitive age. And when the fulness of time had come, it did not fail to bear its fruit. It continued slowly to fructify; and before the middle of the seventeenth century, its seed[142] had quickened into a life, the energy of which nothing could withstand. That same right of private judgment which the early Reformers had loudly proclaimed, was now pushed to an extent fatal to those who opposed it. This it was which, carried into politics, overturned the government, and, carried into religion, upset the church.[344] For, rebellion and heresy are but different forms of the same disregard of tradition, the same bold and independent spirit. Both are of the nature of a protest made by modern ideas against old associations. They are as a struggle between the feelings of the present and the memory of the past. Without the exercise of private judgment, such a contest could never take place; the mere conception of it could not enter the minds of men, nor would they even dream of controlling, by their individual energy, those abuses to which all great societies are liable. It is, therefore, in the highest degree natural that the exercise of this judgment should be opposed by those two powerful classes who, from their position, their interests, and the habits of their mind, are more prone than any other to cherish antiquity, cleave to superannuated customs, and uphold institutions which, to use their favourite language, have been consecrated by the wisdom of their fathers.

From this point of view we are able to see with great clearness the intimate connexion which, at the accession of Elizabeth, existed between the English nobles and the Catholic clergy. Notwithstanding many exceptions, an immense majority of both classes opposed the Reformation, because it was based on that right of[143] private judgment of which they, as the protectors of old opinions, were the natural antagonists. All this can excite no surprise; it was in the order of things, and strictly accordant with the spirit of those two great sections of society. Fortunately, however, for our country, the throne was now occupied by a sovereign who was equal to the emergency, and who, instead of yielding to the two classes, availed herself of the temper of the age to humble them. The manner in which this was effected by Elizabeth, in respect, first to the Catholic clergy, and afterwards to the Protestant clergy,[345] forms one of the most interesting parts of our history; and in an account of the reign of the great queen, I hope to examine it at considerable length. At present, it will be sufficient to glance at her policy towards the nobles—that other class with which the priesthood, by their interests, opinions, and associations, have always much in common.

Elizabeth, at her accession to the throne, finding that the ancient families adhered to the ancient religion, naturally called to her councils advisers who were more likely to uphold the novelties on which the age was bent. She selected men who, being little burdened by past associations, were more inclined to favour present interests. The two Bacons, the two Cecils, Knollys, Sadler, Smith, Throgmorton, Walsingham, were the most eminent statesmen and diplomatists in her reign; but all of them were commoners; only one did she raise to the peerage; and they were certainly nowise remarkable, either for the rank of their immediate connexions, or for the celebrity of their remote ancestors. They, however, were recommended to Elizabeth by their great abilities, and by their determination to uphold a religion which the ancient aristocracy naturally opposed. And it is observable that, among the accusations which the Catholics brought against the queen,[144] they taunted her, not only with forsaking the old religion, but also with neglecting the old nobility.[346]

Nor does it require much acquaintance with the history of the time to see the justice of this charge. Whatever explanation we may choose to give of the fact, it cannot be denied that, during the reign of Elizabeth, there was an open and constant opposition between the nobles and the executive government. The rebellion of 1569 was essentially an aristocratic movement; it was a rising of the great families of the north against what they considered the upstart and plebeian administration of the queen.[347] The bitterest enemy of[145] Elizabeth was certainly Mary of Scotland; and the interests of Mary were publicly defended by the Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Northumberland, the Earl of Westmoreland, and the Earl of Arundel; while there is reason to believe that her cause was secretly favoured by the Marquis of Northampton, the Earl of Pembroke, the Earl of Derby, the Earl of Cumberland, the Earl of Shrewsbury, and the Earl of Sussex.[348]

The existence of this antagonism of interests could not escape the sagacity of the English government. Cecil, who was the most powerful of the ministers of Elizabeth, and who was at the head of affairs for forty years, made it part of his business to study the genealogies and material resources of the great families; and this he did, not out of idle curiosity, but in order to increase his control over them, or, as a great historian says, to let them know ‘that his eye was upon them.’[349] The queen herself, though too fond of power, was by no means of a cruel disposition; but she seemed to delight in humbling the nobles. On them her hand fell heavily; and there is hardly to be found a single instance of her pardoning their offences, while she punished several of them for acts which would now be considered no[146] offences at all. She was always unwilling to admit them to authority; and it is unquestionably true that, taking them as a class, they were, during her long and prosperous reign, treated with unusual disrespect. Indeed, so clearly marked was her policy, that when the ducal order became extinct, she refused to renew it; and a whole generation passed away to whom the name of duke was a mere matter of history, a point to be mooted by antiquaries, but with which the business of practical life had no concern.[350] Whatever may be her other faults, she was on this subject always consistent. Although she evinced the greatest anxiety to surround the throne with men of ability, she cared little for those conventional distinctions by which the minds of ordinary sovereigns are greatly moved. She made no account of dignity of rank; she did not even care for purity of blood. She valued men neither for the splendour of their ancestry, nor for the length of their pedigrees, nor for the grandeur of their titles. Such questions she left for her degenerate successors, to the size of whose understandings they were admirably fitted. Our great queen regulated her conduct by another standard. Her large and powerful intellect, cultivated to its highest point by reflection and study, taught her the true measure of affairs, and enabled her to see, that to make a government flourish, its councillors must be men of ability and of virtue; but that if these two conditions are fulfilled, the nobles may be left to repose in the enjoyment of their leisure, unoppressed by those cares of the state for which, with a few brilliant exceptions, they are naturally disqualified by the number of their prejudices and by the frivolity of their pursuits.

After the death of Elizabeth, an attempt was made,[147] first by James, and then by Charles, to revive the power of the two great protective classes, the nobles and the clergy. But so admirably had the policy of Elizabeth been supported by the general temper of the age, that it was found impossible for the Stuarts to execute their mischievous plans. The exercise of private judgment, both in religion and in politics, had become so habitual, that these princes were unable to subjugate it to their will. And as Charles I., with inconceivable blindness, and with an obstinacy even greater than that of his father, persisted in adopting in their worst forms the superannuated theories of protection, and attempted to enforce a scheme of government which men from their increasing independence were determined to reject, there inevitably arose that memorable collision which is well termed The Great Rebellion of England.[351] The analogy between this and the Protestant Reformation, I have already noticed; but what we have now to consider, and what, in the next chapter, I will endeavour to trace, is the nature of the difference between our Rebellion, and those contemporary wars of the Fronde, to which it was in some respects very similar.

Footnotes:

[271] ‘Toute influence qu'on accordait à la science ne pouvait, dans les premiers temps, qu'être favorable au clergé.’ Meyer, Institut. Judic. vol. i. p. 498.

[272] Early in the eleventh century the clergy first began systematically to repress independent inquiries by punishing men who attempted to think for themselves. Compare Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. iv. pp. 145, 146; Neander's Hist. of the Church, vol. vi. pp. 365, 366; Prescott's Hist. of Ferdinand and Isabella, vol. i. p. 261 note. Before this, such a policy, as Sismondi justly observes, was not required: ‘Pendant plusieurs siècles, l'église n'avoit été troublée par aucune hérésie; l'ignorance étoit trop complète la soumission trop servile, la foi trop aveugle, pour que les questions qui avoient si long-temps exercé la subtilité des Grecs fussent seulement comprises par les Latins.’ As knowledge advanced, the opposition between inquiry and belief became more marked: the church redoubled her efforts, and at the end of the twelfth century the popes first formally called on the secular power to punish heretics; and the earliest constitution addressed ‘inquisitoribus hæreticæ pravitatis’ is one by Alexander IV. Meyer, Inst. Jud. vol. ii. pp. 554, 556. See also on this movement, Llorente, Hist. de l'Inquisition, vol. i. p. 125, vol. iv. p. 284. In 1222 a synod assembled at Oxford caused an apostate to be burned; and this, says Lingard (Hist. of England, vol. ii. p. 148), ‘is, I believe, the first instance of capital punishment in England on the ground of religion.’ Compare Wright's Biog. Brit. Lit. vol. ii. p. 444.

[273] Sir F. Palgrave (English Commonwealth, vol. ii. p. ccvi.) says, ‘it is generally admitted, by the best authorities, that from about the eleventh century benefices acquired the name of fiefs or feuds;’ and Robertson (State of Europe, note viii. in Works, p. 393) supposes that the word feudum does not occur before 1008. But according to M. Guizot (Civilisation en France, vol. iii. p. 238), ‘il apparaît, pour la première fois, dans une charte de Charles le Gros en 884.’ This is a question more curious than important; since whatever the origin of the word may be, it is certain that the thing did not, and could not, exist before the tenth century at the earliest: inasmuch as the extreme disorganisation of society rendered so coercive an institution impossible. M. Guizot, in another work (Essais sur l'Hist. de France, p. 239), rightly says, ‘Au X^e siècle seulement, les rapports et les pouvoirs sociaux acquirent quelque fixité.’ See also his Civilisation en Europe, p. 90.

[274] ‘La terre est tout dans ce système…. Le système féodal est comme une religion de la terre.’ Origines du Droit, in Œuvres de Michelet, vol. ii. p. 302. ‘Le caractère de la féodalité, c'était la prédominance de la réalité sur la personnalité, de la terre sur l'homme.’ Eschbach, Etude du Droit, p. 256.

[275] According to the social and political arrangements from the fourth to the tenth century, the clergy were so eminently a class apart, that they were freed from ‘burdens of the state,’ and were not obliged to engage in military services unless they thought proper to do so. See Neander's Hist. of the Church, vol. iii. p. 195, vol. v. pp. 133, 140; and Petrie's Ecclesiast. Archit. p. 382. But under the feudal system this immunity was lost; and in regard to performing services no separation of classes was admitted. ‘After the feudal polity became established, we do not find that there was any dispensation for ecclesiastical fiefs.’ Hallam's Supplemental Notes, p. 120; and for further proof of the loss of the old privileges, compare Grose's Military Antiquities, vol. i. pp. 5, 64; Meyer, Instit. Judic. vol. i. p. 257; Turner's Hist. of England, vol. iv. p. 462; and Mably's Observations, vol. i. pp. 434, 435: so that, as this writer says, p. 215, ‘Chaque seigneur laïc avait gagné personnellement à la révolution qui forma le gouvernement féodal; mais les évêques et les abbés, en devenant souverains dans leurs terres, perdirent au contraire beaucoup de leur pouvoir et de leur dignité.’

[276] The great change of turning life-possessions of land into hereditary possessions, began late in the ninth century, being initiated in France by a capitulary of Charles the Bald, in 877. See Allen on the Prerogative, p. 210; Spence's Origin of the Laws of Europe, pp. 282, 301; Meyer, Instit. Judiciaires, vol. i. p. 206.

[277] That surnames first arose in the tenth century is stated by the most competent authorities. See Sismondi, Hist. de Français, vol. iii. pp. 452-455; Hallam's Middle Ages, vol. i. p. 138; Monteil, Hist. des divers Etats, vol. iii. p. 268; Petrie's Ecclesiast. Archit. pp. 277, 342. Koch (Tableau des Révolutions, vol. i. p. 138) erroneously says, ‘c'est pareillement aux croisades que l'Europe doit l'usage des surnoms de famille;’ a double mistake, both as to the date and the cause, since the introduction of surnames being part of a large social movement, can under no circumstances be ascribed to a single event.

[278] On this process from the end of the ninth to the twelfth century, compare Hallam's Supplemental Notes, pp. 97, 98; Dalrymple's Hist. of Feudal Property, p. 21; Klimrath, Hist. du Droit, vol. i. p. 74.

[279] As to the origin of armorial bearings, which cannot be traced higher than the twelfth century, see Hallam's Middle Ages, vol. i. pp. 138, 139; Ledwich, Antiquities of Ireland, pp. 231, 232; Origines du Droit, in Œuvres de Michelet, vol. ii. p. 382.

[280] For, as Lerminia says (Philos. du Droit, vol. i. p. 17), ‘la loi féodale n'est autre chose que la terre élevée à la souveraineté.’ On the decline of the church in consequence of the increased feudal and secular spirit, see Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. iii. p. 440, vol. iv. p. 88. In our own country, one fact may be mentioned illustrative of the earliest encroachments of laymen: namely, that, before the twelfth century, we find no instance in England of the great seal being entrusted ‘to the keeping of a layman.’ Campbell's Chancellors, vol. i. p. 61.

[281] Celibacy, on account of its supposed ascetic tendency, was advocated and in some countries was enforced, at an early period; but the first general and decisive movement in its favour was in the middle of the eleventh century, before which time it was a speculative doctrine, constantly disobeyed. See Neander's Hist. of the Church, vol. vi. pp. 52, 61, 62, 72, 93, 94 note, vol. vii. pp. 127–131; Mosheim's Eccles. Hist. vol. i. pp. 248, 249; Eccleston's English Antiq. p. 95.

[282] Where it was particularly flourishing: ‘la féodalité fut organisée en Normandie plus fortement et plus systématiquement que partout ailleurs en France.’ Klimrath, Travaux sur l'Hist. du Droit, vol. i. p. 130. The ‘coutume de Normandie’ was, at a much later period, only to be found in the old ‘grand coutumier.’ Klimrath, vol. ii. p. 160. On the peculiar tenacity with which the Normans clung to it, see Lettres d'Aguesseau, vol. ii. pp. 225, 226: ‘accoutumés à respecter leur coutume comme l'évangile.’

[283] Mills' Hist. of Chivalry, vol. i. p. 387; Turner's Hist. of England, vol. ii. p. 390, vol. iv. p. 76. Mercenary troops were also employed by his immediate successors. Grose's Military Antiq. vol. i. p. 55.

[284] On the different meanings attached to the word ‘baron,’ compare Klimrath, Hist. du Droit, vol. ii. p. 40, with Meyer, Instit. Judiciaires, vol. i. p. 105. But M. Guizot says, what seems most likely, ‘il est probable que ce nom fut commun originairement à tous les vassaux immédiats de la couronne, liés au roi per servitium militare, par le service de chevalier.’ Essais, p. 265.

[285] Meyer, Instit. Judic. vol. i. p. 242; Turner's Hist. of England, vol. iii. p. 220. The same policy of reducing the nobles was followed up by Henry II., who destroyed the baronial castles. Turner, vol. iv. p. 223. Compare Lingard, vol. i. pp. 315, 371.

[286] ‘Deinde cœpit homagia hominum totius Angliæ, et juramentum fidelitatis cujuscumque essent feodi vel tenementi.’ Matthæi Westmonast. Flores Historiarum, vol. ii. p. 9.

[287] See some good remarks on this difference between the French and English nobles, in Hallam's Middle Ages, vol. ii. pp. 99, 100. Mably (Observations, vol. i. p. 60) says: ‘en effet, on négligea, sur la fin de la première race, de conserver les titres primordiaux de ses possessions.’ As to the old customary French law of prescription, see Giraud, Précis de l'Ancien Droit, pp. 79, 80.

[288] Mably, Observations sur l'Hist. de France, vol. i. pp. 70, 162, 178.

[289] On the policy of Philip Augustus in regard to the nobles, see Mably, Observations, vol. i. p. 246; Lerminier, Philos. du Droit, vol. i. p. 265; Boulainvilliers, Hist. de l'Ancien Gouvernement, vol. iii. pp. 147–150; Guizot, Civilisation en France, vol. iv. pp. 134, 135; Courson, Hist. des Peuples Brétons, Paris, 1846, vol. ii. p. 350.

[290] ‘No subjects ever enjoyed the right of coining silver in England without the royal stamp and superintendence; a remarkable proof of the restraint in which the feudal aristocracy was always held in this country.’ Hallam's Middle Ages, vol. i. p. 154.

[291] Brougham's Polit. Philos. 1849, vol. i. p. 446. In addition to the evidence there given on the right of coinage, see Mably's Observations, vol. i. p. 424, vol. ii. pp. 296, 297; and Turner's Normandy, vol. ii. p. 261.

[292] Hallam's Supplemental Notes, pp. 304, 305.

[293] ‘Saint-Louis consacra le droit de guerre…. Philippe le Bel, qui voulut l'abolir, finit par le rétablir.’ Montlosier, Monarchie Française, vol. i. pp. 127, 202: see also pp. 434, 435, and vol. ii. pp. 435, 436. Mably (Observations, vol. ii. p. 338) mentions ‘lettres-patentes de Philippe-de-Valois du 8 février 1330, pour permettre dans le duché d'Aquitaine les guerres privées,’ &c.; and he adds, ‘le 9 avril 1353 le roi Jean renouvelle l'ordonnance de S. Louis, nommée la quarantaine du roi, touchant les guerres privées.’

[294] Sir Francis Palgrave (in his Rise and Progress of the English Commonwealth, vol. i. pp. 51–55) has attempted to estimate the results produced by the Norman Conquest; but he omits to notice this, which was the most important consequence of all.

[295] On this political union between Norman barons and Saxon citizens, of which the first clear indication is at the end of the twelfth century, compare Campbell's Chancellors, vol. i. p. 113, with Brougham's Polit. Philos. vol. i. p. 339, vol. iii. p. 222.

In regard to the general question of the amalgamation of races, we have three distinct kinds of evidence:

1st. Towards the end of the twelfth century, a new language began to be formed by blending Norman with Saxon; and English literature, properly so called, dates from the commencement of the thirteenth century. Compare Madden's Preface to Layamon, 1847, vol. i. pp. xx. xxi., with Turner's Hist. of England, vol. viii. pp. 214, 217, 436, 437.

2nd. We have the specific statement of a writer in the reign of Henry II., that ‘sic permixtæ sunt nationes ut vix discerni possit hodie, de liberis loquor, quis Anglicus, quis Normannus sit genere.’ Note in Hallam's Middle Ages, vol. ii. p. 106.

3rd. Before the thirteenth century had passed away, the difference of dress, which in that state of society would survive many other differences, was no longer observed, and the distinctive peculiarities of Norman and Saxon attire had disappeared. See Strutt's View of the Dress and Habits of the People of England, vol. ii. p. 67, edit. Planché, 1842, 4to.

[296] ‘An equal distribution of civil rights to all classes of freemen forms the peculiar beauty of the charter.’ Hallam's Middle Ages, vol. ii. p. 108. This is very finely noticed in one of Lord Chatham's great speeches. Parl. Hist. vol. xvi. p. 662.

[297] Compare Meyer, Instit. Judic. vol. ii. p. 39, with Lingard's England, vol. ii. p. 127, and Somers Tracts, vol. vi. p. 92.

[298] ‘He is to be honoured as the founder of a representative system of government in this country.’ Campbell's Chief-Justices, vol. i. p. 61. Some writers (see, for instance, Dalrymple's Hist. of Feudal Property, p. 332) suppose that burgesses were summoned before the reign of Henry III.: but this assertion is not only unsupported by evidence, but is in itself improbable; because at an early period the citizens, though rapidly increasing in power, were hardly important enough to warrant such a step being taken. The best authorities are now agreed to refer the origin of the House of Commons to the period mentioned in the text. See Hallam's Supplement, Notes, pp. 335–339; Spence's Origin of the Laws of Europe, p. 512; Campbell's Chancellors, vol. i. p. 155; Lingard's England, vol. ii. p. 138; Guizot's Essais, p. 319. The notion of tracing this to the wittenagemot is as absurd as finding the origin of juries in the system of compurgators; both of which were favourite errors in the seventeenth, and even in the eighteenth century. In regard to the wittenagemot, this idea still lingers among antiquaries: but, in regard to compurgators, even they have abandoned their old ground, and it is now well understood that trial by jury did not exist till long after the Conquest. Compare Palgrave's English Commonwealth, part i. pp. 243 seq., with Meyer, Instit. Judic. vol. ii. pp. 152–173. There are few things in our history so irrational as the admiration expressed by a certain class of writers for the institutions of our barbarous Anglo-Saxon ancestors.

[299] Montlosier, with the fine spirit of a French noble, taunts the English aristocracy with this: ‘En France la noblesse, attaquée sans cesse, s'est défendue sans cesse. Elle a subi l'oppression; elle ne l'a point acceptée. En Angleterre, elle a couru dès la première commotion, se réfugier dans les rangs des bourgeois, et sous leur protection. Elle a abdiqué ainsi son existence.’ Montlosier, Monarchie Française, vol. iii. p. 162. Compare an instructive passage in De Staël, Consid. sur la Révolution, vol. i. p. 421.

[300] See some good remarks in Mably, Observations sur l'Hist. de France, vol. iii. pp. 114, 115.

[301] Hallam's Middle Ages, vol. i. p. 111.

[302] ‘Originally there was no limit to subinfeudation.’ Brougham's Polit. Philos. vol. i. p. 279.

[303] A living French historian boasts that, in his own country, ‘toute la société féodale formait ainsi une échelle de clientelle et de patronage.’ Cassagnac, Révolution Française, vol. i. p. 459.

[304] This is 18 Edw. I. c. 1; respecting which, see Blackstone's Comment. vol. ii. p. 91, vol. iv. p. 425; Reeve's Hist. of English Law, vol. ii. p. 223; Dalrymple's Hist. of Feudal Property, pp. 102, 243, 340.

[305] The history of the decay of that once most important class, the English yeomanry, is an interesting subject, and one for which I have collected considerable materials; at present, I will only say, that its decline was first distinctly perceptible in the latter half of the seventeenth century, and was consummated by the rapidly-increasing power of the commercial and manufacturing classes early in the eighteenth century. After losing their influence, their numbers naturally diminished, and they made way for other bodies of men, whose habits of mind were less prejudiced, and therefore better suited to that new state which society assumed in the last age. I mention this, because some writers regret the almost total destruction of the yeoman freeholders; overlooking the fact, that they are disappearing, not in consequence of any violent revolution or stretch of arbitrary power, but simply by the general march of affairs; society doing away with what it no longer requires. Compare Kay's Social Condition of the People, vol. i. pp. 43, 602, with a letter from Wordsworth in Bunbury's Correspond. of Hanmer, p. 440; a note in Mill's Polit. Econ. vol. i. pp. 311, 312; another in Nichols's Lit. Anec. vol. v. p. 323; and Sinclair's Correspond. vol. i. p. 229.

[306] This is stated as an admitted fact by French writers living in different periods and holding different opinions; but all agreed as to there being only two divisions: ‘comme en France on est toujours ou noble, ou roturier, et qu'il n'y a pas de milieu.’ Mém. de Rivarol, p. 7. ‘La grande distinction des nobles et des roturiers.’ Giraud, Précis de l'Ancien Droit, p. 10. Indeed, according to the Coutumes, the nobles and roturiers attained their majority at different ages. Klimrath, Hist. du Droit, vol. ii. p. 249 (erroneously stated in Story's Conflict of Laws, pp. 56, 79, 114). See further respecting this capital distinction, Mém. de Duplessis Mornay, vol. ii. p. 230 (‘agréable à la noblesse et au peuple’); Œuvres de Turgot, vol. viii. pp. 222, 232, 237; Bunbury's Correspond. of Hanmer, p. 256; Mably, Observations, vol. iii. p. 263; and Mercier sur Rousseau, vol. i. p. 38: ‘On étoit roturier, vilain, homme de néant, canaille, dès qu'on ne s'appelloit plus marquis, baron, comte, chevalier, etc.’

[307] ‘Les états-généraux sont portés dans la liste de nos institutions. Je ne sais cependant s'il est permis de donner ce nom à des rassemblemens aussi irréguliers.’ Montlosier, Monarchie Française, vol. i. p. 266. ‘En France, les états-généraux, au moment même de leur plus grand éclat, c'est à dire dans le cours du xiv^e siècle, n'ont guère été que des accidents, un pouvoir national et souvent invoqué, mais non un établissement constitutionnel.’ Guizot, Essais, p. 253. See also Mably, Observations, vol. iii. p. 147; and Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xiv. p. 642.

[308] This is frankly admitted by one of the most candid and enlightened of all the foreign writers on our history, Guizot, Essais, p. 297: ‘En 1307, les droits qui devaient enfanter en Angleterre un gouvernement libre étaient définitivement reconnus.’

[309] See an account of the policy of Philip the Fair, in Mably, Observations, vol. ii. pp. 25–44; in Boulainvilliers, Ancien Gouvernement, vol. i. pp. 292, 314, vol. ii. pp. 37, 38; and in Guizot, Civilisation en France, vol. iv. pp. 170–192. M. Guizot says, perhaps too strongly, that his reign was ‘la métamorphose de la royauté en despotisme,’ On the connexion of this with the centralizing movement, see Tocqueville's Démocratie, vol. i. p. 307: ‘Le goût de la centralisation et la manie réglementaire remontent, en France, à l'époque où les légistes sont entrés dans le gouvernement; ce qui nous reporte au temps de Philippe le Bel.’ Tennemann also notices, that in his reign the ‘Rechtstheorie’ began to exercise influence; but this learned writer takes a purely metaphysical view, and has therefore misunderstood the more general social tendency. Gesch. der Philos. vol. viii. p. 823.

[310] As several writers on law notice this system with a lenient eye Origines du Droit Français, in Œuvres de Michelet, vol. ii. p. 321; and Eschbach, Etude du Droit, p. 129: ‘le système énergique de la centralisation’, it may be well to state how it actually works.

Mr. Bulwer, writing twenty years ago, says: ‘Not only cannot a commune determine its own expenses without the consent of the minister or one of his deputed functionaries, it cannot even erect a building, the cost of which shall have been sanctioned, without the plan being adopted by a board of public works attached to the central authority, and having the supervision and direction of every public building throughout the Kingdom.’ Bulwer's Monarchy of the Middle Classes, 1836, vol. ii. p. 262.

M. Tocqueville, writing in the present year (1856), says, ‘Sous l'ancien régime, comme de nos jours, il n'y avait ville, bourg, village, ni si petit hameau en France, hôpital, fabrique, couvent ni collège, qui pût avoir une volonté indépendante dans ses affaires particulières, ni administrer à sa volonté ses propres biens. Alors, comme aujourd'hui, l'administration tenait donc tous les Français en tutelle, et si l'insolence du mot ne s'était pas encore produite, on avait du moins déjà la chose.’ Tocqueville, l'Ancien Régime, 1856, pp. 79, 80.

[311] The number of civil functionaries in France, who are paid by the government to trouble the people, passes all belief, being estimated, at different periods during the present century, at from 138,000 to upwards of 800,000. Tocqueville, de la Démocratie, vol. i. p. 220; Alison's Europe, vol. xiv. pp. 127, 140; Kay's Condition of the People, vol. i. p. 272; Laing's Notes, 2d series, p. 185. Mr. Laing, writing in 1850, says: ‘In France, at the expulsion of Louis Philippe, the civil functionaries were stated to amount to 807,030 individuals.’

[312] ‘The government in France possesses control over all the education of the country, with the exception of the colleges for the education of the clergy, which are termed seminaries, and their subordinate institutions.’ Report on the State of Superior Education in France in 1843, in Journal of Statist. Soc. vol. vi. p. 304. On the steps taken during the power of Napoleon, see Alison's Europe, vol. viii. p. 203: ‘Nearly the whole education of the empire was brought effectually under the direction and appointment of government.’

[313] Much attention is paid to the surveillance of pupils; it being a fundamental principle of French education, that children should never be left alone. Report on General Education in France in 1842, in Journal of Statist. Soc. vol. v. p. 20.

[314] A distinguished French author says: ‘La France souffre du mal du siècle; elle en est plus malade qu'aucun autre pays; ce mal c'est la haine de l'autorité.’ Custine, Russie, vol. ii. p. 136. Compare, Rey, Science Sociale, vol. ii. p. 86 note.

[315] It is to the activity of this protective and centralizing spirit that we must ascribe, what a very great authority noticed thirty years ago, as ‘le défaut de spontanéité, qui caractérise les institutions de la France moderne.’ Meyer, Instit. Judic. vol. iv. p. 536. It is also this which, in literature and in science, makes them favour the establishment of academies; and it is probably to the same principle that their jurists owe their love of codification. All these are manifestations of an unwillingness to rely on the general march of affairs, and show an undue contempt for the unaided conclusions of private men.

[316] Mably (Observations, vol. iii. pp. 154, 155, 352–362) has collected some striking evidence of the tyranny of the French nobles in the sixteenth century; and as to the wanton cruelty with which they exercised their power in the seventeenth century, see Des Réaux, Historiettes, vol. vii. p. 155, vol. viii. p. 79, vol. ix. pp. 40, 61, 62, vol. x. pp. 255–257. In the eighteenth century, matters were somewhat better; but still the subordination was excessive, and the people were poor, ill-treated, and miserable. Compare Œuvres de Turgot, vol. iv. p. 139; Letter from the Earl of Cork, dated Lyons, 1754, in Burton's Diary, vol. iv. p. 80; the statement of Fox, in Parl. Hist. vol. xxxi. p. 406; Jefferson's Correspond. vol. ii. p. 45; and Smith's Tour on the Continent, edit. 1793, vol. iii. pp. 201, 202.

[317] Mr. Eccleston (English Antiq. p. 138) says, that in 1450 ‘villenage had almost passed away;’ and according to Mr. Thornton (Over-Population, p. 182), ‘Sir Thomas Smith, who wrote about the year 1550, declares that he had never met with any personal or domestic slaves; and that the villains, or predial slaves, still to be found, were so few, as to be scarcely worth mentioning.’ Mr. Hallam can find no ‘unequivocal testimony to the existence of villenage’ later than 1574. Middle Ages, vol. ii. p. 312; see, to the same effect, Barrington on the Statutes, pp. 308, 309. If, however, my memory does not deceive me, I have met with evidence of it in the reign of James I., but I cannot recall the passage.

[318] M. Cassagnac (Causes de la Révolution, vol. iii. p. 11) says: ‘Chose surprenante, il y avait encore, au 4 août 1789, un million cinq cent mille serfs de corps;’ and M. Giraud (Précis de l'Ancien Droit, Paris, 1852, p. 3), ‘jusqu'à la révolution une division fondamentale partageait les personnes en personnes libres et personnes sujettes à condition servile.’ A few years before the Revolution, this shameful distinction was abolished by Louis XVI. in his own domains. Compare Eschbach, Etude du Droit, pp. 271, 272, with Du Mesnil, Mém. sur le Prince le Brun, p. 94. I notice this particularly, because M. Monteil, a learned and generally accurate writer, supposes that the abolition took place earlier than it really did. Hist. des divers Etats, vol. vi. p. 101.

[319] Cassagnac, de la Révolution, vol. i. pp. 122, 173; Giraud, Ancien Droit, p. 11; Soulavie, Mém. de Louis XVI, vol. vi. p. 156; Mém. au Roi sur les Municipalités, in Œuvres de Turgot, vol. vii. p. 423; Mém. de Genlis, vol. i. p. 200.

Further information respecting the amount and nature of these vexatious impositions will be found in De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. xiii. p. 24, vol. xiv. p. 118; Saint-Aulaire, Hist. de la Fronde, vol. i. p. 125; Tocqueville, Ancien Régime, pp. 135, 191, 420, 440; Sully, Œconomies Royales, vol. ii. p. 412, vol. iii. p. 226, vol. iv. p. 199, vol. v. pp. 339, 410, vol. vi. p. 94; Relat. des Ambassad. Vénit. vol. i. p. 96; Mably, Observations, vol. iii. pp. 355, 356; Boulainvilliers, Ancien Gouvernement, vol. iii. p. 109; Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. ii. p. 29; Mém. d'Omer Talon, vol. ii. pp. 103, 369; Mém. de Montglat, vol. i. p. 82; Tocqueville, Règne de Louis XV, vol. i. pp. 87, 332; Œuvres de Turgot, vol. i. p. 372, vol. iv. pp. 58, 59, 74, 75, 242, 278, vol. v. pp. 226, 242, vol. vi. p. 144, vol. viii. pp. 152, 280.

[320] So deeply rooted were these feelings, that, even in 1789, the very year the Revolution broke out, it was deemed a great concession that the nobles ‘will consent, indeed, to equal taxation.’ See a letter from Jefferson to Jay, dated Paris, May 9th, 1789, in Jefferson's Corresp. vol. ii. pp. 462, 463. Compare Mercier sur Rousseau, vol. i. p. 136.

[321] ‘Les nobles, qui avaient le privilége exclusif des grandes dignités et des gros bénéfices.’ Mém. de Rivarol, p. 97: see also Mém. de Bouillé, vol. i. p. 56; Lemontey, Etablissement Monarchique, p. 337; Daniel, Hist. de la Milice Françoise, vol. ii. p. 556; Campan, Mém. sur Marie-Antoinette, vol. i. pp. 238, 239.

[322] ‘L'ancien régime n'avait admis que des nobles pour officiers.’ Mém. de Roland, vol. i. p. 398. Ségur mentions that, early in the reign of Louis XVI., ‘les nobles seuls avaient le droit d'entrer au service comme sous-lieutenans.’ Mém. de Ségur, vol. i. p. 65. Compare pp. 117, 265–271, with Mém. de Genlis, vol. iii. p. 74, and De Staël, Consid. sur la Rév. vol. i. p. 123.

[323] Thus, De Thou says of Henry III., ‘il remet sous l'ancien pied la cavalerie ordinaire, qui n'étoit composée que de la noblesse.’ Hist. Univ. vol. ix. pp. 202, 203; and see vol. x. pp. 504, 505, vol. xiii. p. 22; and an imperfect statement of the same fact in Boullier, Hist. des divers Corps de la Maison Militaire des Rois de France, Paris, 1818, p. 58, a superficial work on an uninteresting subject.

[324] M. Tocqueville (L'Ancien Régime, p. 448) mentions, among other regulations still in force late in the eighteenth century, that ‘en Dauphiné, en Bretagne, en Normandie, il est prohibé à tout roturier d'avoir des colombiers, fuies et volière; il n'y a que les nobles qui puissent avoir des pigeons.’

[325] ‘Dès la fin du onzième siècle, à l'époque même où commencèrent les croisades, on trouve la chevalerie établie.’ Koch, Tab. des Révolutions, vol. i. p. 143; see also Sainte-Palaye, Mém. sur la Chevalerie, vol. i. pp. 42, 68. M. Guizot (Civilis. en France, vol. iii. pp. 349–354) has attempted to trace it back to an earlier period; but he appears to have failed, though of course its germs may be easily found. According to some writers it originated in northern Europe; according to others in Arabia! Mallet's Northern Antiquities, p. 202; Journal of Asiat. Soc. vol. ii. p. 11.

[326] ‘L'ordre de chevalerie n'étoit accordé qu'aux hommes d'un sang noble.’ Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. iv. p. 204. Compare Daniel, Hist. de la Milice, vol. i. p. 97, and Mills' Hist. of Chivalry, vol. i. p. 20.

[327] ‘In some places there were schools appointed by the nobles of the country, but most frequently their own castles served.’ Mills' Hist. of Chivalry, vol. i. p. 31; and see Sainte-Palaye, Mém. sur l'Anc. Chevalerie, vol. i. pp. 30, 56, 57, on this education.

[328] This combination of knighthood and religious rites is often ascribed to the crusades; but there is good evidence that it took place a little earlier, and must be referred to the latter half of the eleventh century. Compare Mills' Hist. of Chivalry, vol. i. pp. 10, 11; Daniel, Hist. de la Milice, vol. i. pp. 101, 102, 108; Boulainvilliers, Ancien Gouv. vol. i. p. 326. Sainte-Palaye (Mém. sur la Chevalerie, vol. i. pp. 119–123), who has collected some illustrations of the relation between chivalry and the church, says, p. 119, ‘enfin la chevalerie étoit regardée comme une ordination, un sacerdoce.’ The superior clergy possessed the right of conferring knighthood, and William Rufus was actually knighted by Archbishop Lanfranc: ‘Archiepiscopus Lanfrancus, eo quòd eum nutrierat, et militem fecerat.’ Will. Malmes. lib. iv., in Scriptores post Bedam, p. 67. Compare Fosbroke's British Monachism, 1843, p. 101, on knighting by abbots.

[329] The influence of this on the nobles is rather exaggerated by Mr. Mills; who, on the other hand, has not noticed how the unhereditary element was favourable to the ecclesiastical spirit. Mills' Hist. of Chivalry, vol. i. pp. 15, 389, vol. ii. p. 169; a work interesting as an assemblage of facts, but almost useless as a philosophic estimate.

[330] ‘In their origin all the military orders, and most of the religious ones, were entirely aristocratic.’ Mills' Hist. of Chivalry, vol. i. p. 336.

[331] Mills' Hist. of Chivalry, vol. i. pp. 148, 338. About the year 1127, St. Bernard wrote a discourse in favour of the Knights Templars, in which ‘he extols this order as a combination of monasticism and knighthood…. He describes the design of it as being to give the military order and knighthood a serious Christian direction, and to convert war into something that God might approve.’ Neander's Hist. of the Church, vol. vii. p. 358. To this may be added, that, early in the thirteenth century, a chivalric association was formed, and afterwards merged in the Dominican order, called the Militia of Christ: ‘un nouvel ordre de chevalerie destiné à poursuivre les hérétiques, sur le modèle de celui des Templiers, et sous le nom de Milice de Christ.’ Llorente, Hist. de l'Inquisition, vol. i. pp. 52, 133, 203.

[332] Several writers ascribe to chivalry the merit of softening manners, and of increasing the influence of women. Sainte-Palaye, Mém. sur la Chevalerie, vol. i. pp. 220–223, 282, 284, vol. iii. pp. vi. vii. 159–161; Helvétius de l'Esprit, vol. ii. pp. 50, 51; Schlegel's Lectures, vol. i. p. 209. That there was such a tendency is, I think, indisputable; but it has been greatly exaggerated; and an author of considerable reading on these subjects says, ‘The rigid treatment shown to prisoners of war in ancient times strongly marks the ferocity and uncultivated manners of our ancestors, and that even to ladies of high rank; notwithstanding the homage said to have been paid to the fair sex in those days of chivalry.’ Grose's Military Antiquities, vol. ii. p. 114. Compare Manning on the Law of Nations, 1839, pp. 145, 146.

[333] Mr. Hallam (Middle Ages, vol. ii. p. 464) says, ‘A third reproach may be made to the character of knighthood, that it widened the separation between the different classes of society, and confirmed that aristocratical spirit of high birth, by which the large mass of mankind were kept in unjust degradation.’

[334] Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. iv. pp. 370, 371, 377; Turner's Hist. of England, vol. iv. p. 478; Foncemagne, De l'Origine des Armoiries, in Mém. de l'Académie des Inscriptions, vol. xx. p. 580. Koch also says (Tableau des Révolutions, vol. i. p. 139), ‘c'est de la France que l'usage des tournois se répandit chez les autres nations de l'Europe.’ They were first introduced into England in the reign of Stephen. Lingard's England, vol. ii. p. 27.

[335] Mr. Hallam (Middle Ages, vol. ii. p. 470) says they were ‘entirely discontinued in France’ in consequence of the death of Henry II.; but according to Mills' Hist. of Chivalry, vol. ii. p. 226, they lasted the next year; when another fatal accident occurred, and ‘tournaments ceased for ever.’ Compare Sainte-Palaye sur la Chevalerie, vol. ii. pp. 39, 40.

[336] Mr. Hallam (Middle Ages, vol. ii. p. 467) observes, that the knight, as compared with other classes, ‘was addressed by titles of more respect. There was not, however, so much distinction in England as in France.’ The great honour paid to knights in France is noticed by Daniel (Milice Française, vol. i. pp. 128, 129) and Herder (Ideen zur Geschichte, vol. iv. pp. 226, 267) says, that in France chivalry flourished more than in any other country. The same remark is made by Sismondi (Hist. des Français, vol. iv. p. 198).

[337] The Statutum de Militibus, in 1307, was perhaps the first recognition of this. Compare Blackstone's Comment. vol. ii. p. 69; Barrington on the Statutes, pp. 192, 193. But we have positive evidence that compulsory knighthood existed in the reign of Henry III.; or at least that those who refused it were obliged to pay a fine. See Hallam's Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 421, and Lyttleton's Hist. of Henry II. vol. ii. pp. 238, 239, 2nd edit. 4to. 1767. Lord Lyttleton, evidently puzzled, says, ‘Indeed it seems a deviation from the original principle of this institution. For one cannot but think it a very great inconsistency, that a dignity, which was deemed an accession of honour to kings themselves, should be forced upon any.’

[338] In Mills' Hist. of Chivalry, vol. ii. p. 154, it is said, that ‘the judges of the courts of law’ were first knighted in the reign of Edward III.

[339] Mr. Mills (Hist. of Chivalry, vol. ii. pp. 99, 100) has printed a curious extract from a lamentation over the destruction of chivalry, written in the reign of Edward IV.; but he has overlooked a still more singular instance. This is a popular ballad, written in the middle of the fifteenth century, and called the Turnament of Tottenham, in which the follies of chivalry are admirably ridiculed. See Warton's Hist. of English Poetry, edit. 1840, vol. iii. pp. 98–101; and Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry, edit. 1845, pp. 92–95. According to Turner (Hist. of England, vol. vi. p. 363), ‘the ancient books of chivalry were laid aside’ about the reign of Henry VI.

[340] This is not a mere popular opinion, but rests upon a large amount of evidence, supplied by competent and impartial observers. Addison, who was a lenient as well as an able judge, and who had lived much among the French, calls them ‘the vainest nation in the world.’ Letter to Bishop Hough, in Aikin's Life of Addison, vol. i. p. 90. Napoleon says, ‘vanity is the ruling principle of the French.’ Alison's Hist. of Europe, vol. vi. p. 25. Dumont (Souvenirs sur Mirabeau, p. 111) declares, that ‘le trait le plus dominant dans le caractère français, c'est l'amour propre;’ and Ségur (Souvenirs, vol. i. pp. 73, 74), ‘car en France l'amour propre, ou, si on le veut, la vanité, est de toutes les passions la plus irritable.’ It is moreover stated, that phrenological observations prove that the French are vainer than the English. Combe's Elements of Phrenology, 6th edit. Edinb. 1845, p. 90; and a partial recognition of the same fact in Broussais, Cours de Phrénologie, p. 297. For other instances of writers who have noticed the vanity of the French, see Tocqueville, l'Ancien Régime, p. 148; Barante, Lit. Franç. au XVIII^e. Siècle, p. 80; Mém. de Brissot, vol. i. p. 272; Mézéray, Hist. de France, vol. ii. p. 933; Lemontey, Etablissement Monarchique, p. 418; Voltaire, Lettres inédites, vol. ii. p. 282; Tocqueville, Règne de Louis XV, vol. ii. p. 358; De Staël sur la Révolution, vol. i. p. 260, vol. ii. p. 258.

[341] The relation between chivalry and duelling has been noticed by several writers; and in France, where the chivalric spirit was not completely destroyed until the Revolution, we find occasional traces of this connexion even in the reign of Louis XVI. See, for instance, in Mém. de Lafayette, vol. i. p. 86, a curious letter in regard to chivalry and duelling in 1778. In England there is, I believe, no evidence of even a single private duel being fought earlier than the sixteenth century, and there were not many till the latter half of Elizabeth's reign; but in France the custom arose early in the fifteenth century, and in the sixteenth it became usual for the seconds to fight as well as the principals. Compare Montlosier, Monarc. Franç. vol. ii. p. 436, with Monteil, Hist. des divers Etats, vol. vi. p. 48. From that time the love of the French for duelling became quite a passion until the end of the eighteenth century, when the Revolution, or rather the circumstances which led to the Revolution, caused its comparative cessation. Some idea may be formed of the enormous extent of this practice formerly in France, by comparing the following passages, which I have the more pleasure in bringing together, as no one has written even a tolerable history of duelling, notwithstanding the great part it once played in European society. De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. ix. pp. 592, 593, vol. xv. p. 57; Daniel, Milice Française, vol. ii. p. 582; Sully, Œconomies, vol. i. p. 301, vol. iii. p. 406, vol. vi. p. 122, vol. viii. p. 41, vol. ix. p. 408; Carew's State of France under Henry IV., in Birch's Historical Negotiations, p. 467; Ben Jonson's Works, edit. Gifford, vol. vi. p. 69; Dulaure, Hist. de Paris (1825 3rd edit.), vol. iv. p. 567, vol. v. pp. 300, 301; Le Clerc, Bibliothèque Univ. vol. xx. p. 242; Lettres de Patin, vol. iii. p. 536; Capefigue, Hist. de la Réforme, vol. viii. p. 98; Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 63; Des Réaux, Historiettes, vol. x. p. 13; Mém. de Genlis, vol. ii. p. 191, vol. vii. p. 215, vol. ix. p. 351; Mem. of the Baroness d'Oberkirch, vol. i. p. 71, edit. Lond. 1852; Lettres inédites d'Aguesseau, vol. i. p. 211; Lettres de Dudeffand à Walpole, vol. iii. p. 249, vol. iv. pp. 27, 28, 152; Boullier, Maison Militaire des Rois de France, pp. 87, 88; Biog. Univ. vol. v. pp. 402, 403, vol. xxiii. p. 411, vol. xliv. pp. 127, 401, vol. xlviii. p. 522, vol. xlix. p. 130.

[342] On the effect of the wars of the Roses upon the nobles, compare Hallam's Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 10; Lingard's Hist. of England, vol. iii. p. 340; Eccleston's English Antiq. pp. 224, 320: and on their immense pecuniary, or rather territorial, losses, Sinclair's Hist. of the Revenue, vol. i. p. 155.

[343] ‘The last instance of a pitched battle between two powerful noblemen in England occurs in the reign of Edward IV.’ Allen on the Prerogative, p. 123.

[344] Clarendon (Hist. of the Rebellion, p. 80), in a very angry spirit, but with perfect truth, notices (under the year 1640) the connexion between ‘a proud and venomous dislike against the discipline of the church of England, and so by degrees (as the progress is very natural) an equal irreverence to the government of the state too.’ The Spanish government, perhaps more than any other in Europe, has understood this relation; and even so late as 1789, an edict of Charles IV. declared, ‘qu'il y a crime d'hérésie dans tout ce qui tend, ou contribue, à propager les idées révolutionnaires.’ Llorente, Hist. de l'Inquisition, vol. ii. p. 130.

[345] The general character of her policy towards the Protestant English bishops is summed up very fairly by Collier; though he, as a professional writer, is naturally displeased with her disregard for the heads of the church. Collier's Eccles. Hist. of Great Britain, vol. vii. pp. 257, 258, edit. Barham, 1840.

[346] One of the charges which, in 1588, Sixtus V. publicly brought against Elizabeth, was, that ‘she hath rejected and excluded the ancient nobility, and promoted to honour obscure people.’ Butler's Mem. of the Catholics, vol. ii. p. 4. Persons also reproaches her with her low-born ministers, and says that she was influenced ‘by five persons in particular—all of them sprung from the earth—Bacon, Cecil, Dudley, Hatton, and Walsingham.’ Butler, vol. ii. p. 31. Cardinal Allen taunted her with ‘disgracing the ancient nobility, erecting base and unworthy persons to all the civil and ecclesiastical dignities.’ Dodd's Church History, edit. Tierney, 1840, vol. iii. appendix no. xii. p. xlvi. The same influential writer, in his Admonition, said that she had injured England, ‘by great contempt and abasing of the ancient nobility, repelling them from due government, offices, and places of honour.’ Allen's Admonition to the Nobility and People of England and Ireland, 1588 (reprinted London, 1842), p. xv. Compare the account of the Bull of 1588, in De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. x. p. 175: ‘On accusoit Elisabeth d'avoir au préjudice de la noblesse angloise élevé aux dignités, tant civiles qu'ecclésiastiques, des hommes nouveaux, sans naissance, et indignes de les posséder.’

[347] To the philosophic historian this rebellion, though not sufficiently appreciated by ordinary writers, is a very important study, because it is the last attempt ever made by the great English families to establish their authority by force of arms. Mr. Wright says, that probably all those who took a leading part in it ‘were allied by blood or intermarriage with the two families of the Percies and Neviles.’ Wright's Elizabeth, 1838, vol. i. p. xxxiv.; a valuable work. See also, in Parl. Hist. vol. i. p. 730, a list of some of those who, in 1571, were attainted on account of this rebellion, and who are said to be ‘all of the best families in the north of England.’

But the most complete evidence we have respecting this struggle, consists of the collection of original documents published in 1840 by Sir C. Sharpe, under the title of Memorials of the Rebellion of 1569. They show very clearly the real nature of the outbreak. On 17th November 1569, Sir George Bowes writes, that the complaint of the insurgents was that ‘there was certaine counsellors cropen’ (i.e. crept) ‘in aboute the prince, which had excluded the nobility from the prince,’ &c., Memorials, p. 42; and the editor's note says that this is one of the charges made in all the proclamations by the earls. Perhaps the most curious proof of how notorious the policy of Elizabeth had become, is contained in a friendly letter from Sussex to Cecil, dated 5th January 1569 (Memorials, p. 137), one paragraph of which begins, ‘Of late years few young noblemen have been employed in service.’

[348] Hallam, i. p. 130; Lingard, v. pp. 97, 102; Turner, xii. pp. 245, 247.

[349] Hallam's Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 241; an interesting passage. Turner (Hist. of England, vol. xii. p. 237) says, that Cecil ‘knew the tendency of the great lords to combine against the crown, that they might reinstate the peerage in the power from which the house of Tudor had depressed it.’

[350] In 1572 the order of dukes became extinct; and was not revived till fifty years afterwards, when James I. made the miserable Villiers, duke of Buckingham. Blackstone's Commentaries, vol. i. p. 397. This evidently attracted attention; for Ben Jonson, in one of his comedies in 1616, mentions ‘the received heresy that England bears no dukes.’ Jonson's Works, edit. Gifford, 1816, vol. v. p. 47, where Gifford, not being aware of the extinction in 1572, has made an unsatisfactory note.

[351] Clarendon (Hist. of the Rebellion, p. 216) truly calls it ‘the most prodigious and the boldest rebellion, that any age or country ever brought forth.’ See also some striking remarks in Warwick's Memoirs, p. 207.

[148]

CHAPTER III.

The object of the last chapter was to enquire into the origin of the protective spirit. From the evidence there collected, it appears that this spirit was first organized into a distinct secular form at the close of the dark ages; but that, owing to circumstances which then arose, it was, from the beginning, much less powerful in England than in France. It has likewise appeared that, in our country, it continued to lose ground; while in France, it early in the fourteenth century assumed a new shape, and gave rise to a centralizing movement, manifested not only in the civil and political institutions, but also in the social and literary habits of the French nation. Thus far we seem to have cleared the way for a proper understanding of the history of the two countries; and I now purpose to follow this up a little further, and point out how this difference explains the discrepancy between the civil wars of England, and those which at the same time broke out in France.

Among the obvious circumstances connected with the Great English Rebellion, the most remarkable is, that it was a war of classes as well as of factions. From the beginning of the contest, the yeomanry and traders adhered to the parliament;[352] the nobles and the[149] clergy rallied round the throne.[353] And the name given to the two parties, of Roundheads [354] and Cavaliers,[355] proves that the true nature of this opposition was generally known. It proves that men were aware that a question was at issue, upon which England was divided, not so much by the particular interests of individuals, as by the general interests of the classes to which those individuals belonged.

But in the history of the French rebellion, there is no trace of so large a division. The objects of the war were in both countries precisely the same: the machinery by which those objects were attained was very different. The Fronde was like our Rebellion, insomuch that it was a struggle of the parliament against the crown; an attempt to secure liberty, and raise up a barrier against the despotism of government.[356] So far,[150] and so long, as we merely take a view of political objects, the parallel is complete. But the social and intellectual antecedents of the French being very different from those of the English, it necessarily followed that the shape which the rebellion took should likewise be different, even though the motives were the same. If we examine this divergence a little nearer, we shall find that it is connected with the circumstance I have already noticed—namely, that in England a war for liberty was accompanied by a war of classes, while in France there was no war of classes at all. From this it resulted, that in France the rebellion, being merely political, and not, as with us, also social, took less hold of the public mind: it was unaccompanied by those feelings of insubordination, in the absence of which freedom has always been impossible; and, striking no root into the national character, it could not save the country from that servile state into which, a few years later, it, under the government of Louis XIV. rapidly fell.

That our Great Rebellion was, in its external form, a war of classes, is one of those palpable facts which lie on the surface of history. At first, the parliament [357] did indeed attempt to draw over to their side some of the nobles; and in this they for a time succeeded. But as the struggle advanced, the futility of this policy became evident. In the natural order of the great movement, the nobles grew more loyal;[358] the parliament grew more[151] democratic.[359] And when it was clearly seen that both parties were determined either to conquer or to die, this antagonism of classes was too clearly marked to be misunderstood; the perception which each had of its own interests being sharpened by the magnitude of the stake for which they contended.

For, without burdening this Introduction with what may be read in our common histories, it will be sufficient to remind the reader of a few of the conspicuous events of that time. Just before the war began, the Earl of Essex was appointed general of the parliamentary forces, with the Earl of Bedford as his lieutenant. A commission to raise troops was likewise given to the Earl of Manchester,[360] the only man of high rank against whom Charles had displayed open enmity.[361] Notwithstanding these marks of confidence, the nobles, in whom parliament was at first disposed to trust, could not avoid[152] showing the old leaven of their order.[362] The Earl of Essex so conducted himself, as to inspire the popular party with the greatest apprehensions of his treachery;[363] and when the defence of London was intrusted to Waller, he so obstinately refused to enter the name of that able officer in the commission, that the Commons were obliged to insert it by virtue of their own authority, and in spite of their own general.[364] The Earl of Bedford, though he had received a military command, did not hesitate to abandon those who conferred it. This apostate noble fled from Westminster to Oxford: but finding that the king, who never forgave his enemies, did not receive him with the favour he expected, he returned to London; where, though he was allowed to remain in safety, it could not be supposed that he should again experience the confidence of parliament.[365]

Such examples as these were not likely to lessen the distrust which both parties felt for each other. It soon became evident that a war of classes was unavoidable, and that the rebellion of the parliament against the king must be reinforced by a rebellion of the people against the nobles.[366] To this the popular party, whatever may have been their first intention, now willingly agreed. In 1645 they enacted a law, by which not only the Earl of Essex and the Earl of Manchester lost their command, but all members of either house were made incapable of military service.[367] And, only a week after the execution of the king, they formally took away the legislative power of the peers; putting at the same time on record their memorable opinion, that the House of Lords is ‘useless, dangerous, and ought to be abolished.’[368]

But we may find proofs still more convincing of the true character of the English rebellion, if we consider who those were by whom it was accomplished. This[154] will show us the democratic nature of a movement which lawyers and antiquaries have vainly attempted to shelter under the form of constitutional precedent. Our great rebellion was the work, not of men who looked behind, but of men who looked before. To attempt to trace it to personal and temporary causes; to ascribe this unparalleled outbreak to a dispute respecting ship-money, or to a quarrel about the privileges of parliament, can only suit the habits of those historians who see no further than the preamble of a statute, or the decision of a judge. Such writers forget that the trial of Hampden, and the impeachment of the five members, could have produced no effect on the country, unless the people had already been prepared, and unless the spirit of inquiry and insubordination had so increased the discontents of men, as to put them in a state, where, the train being laid, the slightest spark sufficed to kindle a conflagration.

The truth is, that the rebellion was an outbreak of the democratic spirit. It was the political form of a movement, of which the Reformation was the religious form. As the Reformation was aided, not by men in high ecclesiastical offices, not by great cardinals or wealthy bishops, but by men filling the lowest and most subordinate posts, just so was the English rebellion a movement from below, an uprising from the foundations, or as some will have it, the dregs of society. The few persons of high rank who adhered to the popular cause were quickly discarded, and the ease and rapidity with which they fell off was a clear indication of the turn that things were taking. Directly the army was freed from its noble leaders, and supplied with officers drawn from the lower classes, the fortune of war changed, the royalists were every where defeated, and the king made prisoner by his own subjects. Between his capture and execution, the two most important political events were his abduction by Joyce, and the forcible expulsion from the House of Commons of those members who were thought likely to interfere in his favour. Both these decisive steps were taken, and indeed only could have been taken, by men of great personal[155] influence, and of a bold and resolute spirit. Joyce, who carried off the king, and who was highly respected in the army, had, however, been recently a common working tailor;[369] while Colonel Pride, whose name is preserved in history as having purged the House of Commons of the malignants, was about on a level with Joyce, since his original occupation was that of a drayman.[370] The tailor and the drayman were, in that age, strong enough to direct the course of public affairs, and to win for themselves a conspicuous position in the state. After the execution of Charles, the same tendency was displayed, the old monarchy being destroyed, that small but active party known as the fifth-monarchy men increased in importance, and for a time exercised considerable influence. Their three principal and most distinguished members were Venner, Tuffnel, and Okey. Venner, who was the leader, was a wine-cooper;[371] Tuffnel, who was second in command, was a carpenter;[372] and Okey, though he became a colonel, had filled the menial office of stoker in an Islington brewery.[373]

Nor are these to be regarded as exceptional cases. In that period, promotion depended solely on merit; and if a man had ability he was sure to rise, no matter what[156] his birth or former avocations might have been. Cromwell himself was a brewer;[374] and Colonel Jones, his brother-in-law, had been servant to a private gentleman.[375] Deane was the servant of a tradesman; but he became an admiral, and was made one of the commissioners of the navy.[376] Colonel Goffe had been apprentice to a drysalter;[377] Major-general Whalley had been apprentice to a draper.[378] Skippon, a common soldier who had received no education,[379] was appointed commander of the London militia; he was raised to the office of sergeant-major-general of the army; he was declared commander-in-chief in Ireland; and he became one of the fourteen members of Cromwell's council.[380] Two of the lieutenants of the Tower were Berkstead[157] and Tichborne. Berkstead was a pedlar, or at all events a hawker of small wares;[381] and Tichborne, who was a linendraper, not only received the lieutenancy of the Tower, but became a colonel, and a member of the committee of state in 1655, and of the council of state in 1659.[382] Other trades were equally successful; the highest prizes being open to all men, provided they displayed the requisite capacity. Colonel Harvey was a silk-mercer;[383] so was Colonel Rowe;[384] so also was Colonel Venn.[385] Salway had been apprentice to a grocer, but, being an able man, he rose to the rank of major in the army; he received the king's remembrancer's office; and in 1659 he was appointed by parliament a member of the council of state.[386] Around that council-board were also gathered Bond the draper,[387] and Cawley the brewer;[388] while by their side we find John Berners, who is said to have been a private servant,[389] and Cornelius Holland, who is known to have[158] been a servant, and who was, indeed, formerly a link-boy.[390] Among others who were now favoured and promoted to offices of trust, were Packe the woollen-draper,[391] Pury the weaver,[392] and Pemble the tailor.[393] The parliament which was summoned in 1653 is still remembered as Barebone's parliament, being so called after one of its most active members, whose name was Barebone, and who was a leather-seller in Fleet Street.[394] Thus too, Downing, though a poor charity-boy,[395] became teller of the exchequer, and representative of England at the Hague.[396] To these we may add, that Colonel Horton had been a gentleman's servant;[397] Colonel Berry had been a woodmonger;[398] Colonel[159] Cooper a haberdasher;[399] Major Rolfe a shoemaker;[400] Colonel Fox a tinker;[401] and Colonel Hewson a cobbler.[402]

Such were the leaders of the English rebellion, or to speak more properly, such were the instruments by which the rebellion was consummated.[403] If we now turn to France, we shall clearly see the difference between the feelings and temper of the two nations. In that country, the old protective spirit still retained its activity; and the people, being kept in a state of pupilage, had not acquired those habits of self-command and self-reliance, by which alone great things can be effected. They had been so long accustomed to look with timid reverence to the upper classes, that, even when they rose in arms, they could not throw off the ideas of submission which were quickly discarded by our ancestors. The influence of the higher ranks was, in England,[160] constantly diminishing; in France, it was scarcely impaired. Hence it happened that, although the English and French rebellions were contemporary, and, in their origin, aimed at precisely the same objects, they were distinguished by one most important difference. This was, that the English rebels were headed by popular leaders; the French rebels by noble leaders. The bold and sturdy habits which had long been cultivated in England, enabled the middle and lower classes to supply their own chiefs out of their own ranks. In France such chiefs were not to be found; simply because, owing to the protective spirit, such habits had not been cultivated. While, therefore, in our island, the functions of civil government, and of war, were conducted with conspicuous ability, and complete success, by butchers, by bakers, by brewers, by cobblers, and by tinkers, the struggle which, at the same moment, was going on in France, presented an appearance totally different. In that country, the rebellion was headed by men of a far higher standing; men, indeed, of the longest and most illustrious lineage. There, to be sure, was a display of unexampled splendour; a galaxy of rank, a noble assemblage of aristocratic insurgents and titled demagogues. There was the Prince de Condé, the Prince de Conti, the Prince de Marsillac, the Duke de Bouillon, the Duke de Beaufort, the Duke de Longueville, the Duke de Chevreuse, the Duke de Nemours, the Duke de Luynes, the Duke de Brissac, the Duke d'Elbœuf, the Duke de Candale, the Duke de la Tremouille, the Marquis de la Boulaye, the Marquis de Laigues, the Marquis de Noirmoutier, the Marquis de Vitry, the Marquis de Fosseuse, the Marquis de Sillery, the Marquis d'Estissac, the Marquis d'Hocquincourt, the Count de Rantzau, the Count de Montresor.

These were the leaders of the Fronde;[404] and the mere announcement of their names indicate the difference[161] between the French and English rebellions. And, in consequence of this difference, there followed some results, which are well worth the attention of those writers who, in their ignorance of the progress of human affairs, seek to uphold that aristocratic power, which, fortunately for the interests of mankind, has long been waning; and which, during the last seventy years has, in the most civilized countries, received such severe and repeated shocks, that its ultimate fate is hardly a matter respecting which much doubt can now be entertained.

The English rebellion was headed by men, whose tastes, habits, and associations, being altogether popular, formed a bond of sympathy between them and the people, and preserved the union of the whole party. In France the sympathy was very weak, and therefore, the union was very precarious. What sort of sympathy could there be between the mechanic and the peasant, toiling for their daily bread, and the rich and dissolute noble, whose life was passed in those idle and frivolous pursuits which debased his mind, and made his order a byword and a reproach among the nations? To talk of sympathy existing between the two classes is a manifest absurdity, and most assuredly would have been deemed an insult by those high-born men, who treated their inferiors with habitual and insolent contempt. It is true, that, from causes which have been already stated, the people did, unhappily for themselves, look up to those above them with the greatest veneration;[405] but every page of French history proves how unworthily this feeling was reciprocated, and in how complete a[162] thraldom the lower classes were kept. While, therefore, the French, from their long-established habits of dependence, were become incapable of conducting their own rebellion, and, on that account, were obliged to place themselves under the command of their nobles, this very necessity confirmed the servility which caused it; and thus stunting the growth of freedom, prevented the nation from effecting, by their civil wars, those great things which we, in England, were able to bring about by ours.

Indeed, it is only necessary to read the French literature of the seventeenth century, to see the incompatibility of the two classes, and the utter hopelessness of fusing into one party the popular and aristocratic spirit. While the object of the people was to free themselves from the yoke, the object of the nobles was merely to find new sources of excitement,[406] and minister to that personal vanity for which, as a body, they have always been notorious. As this is a department of history that has been little studied, it will be interesting to collect a few instances, which will illustrate the temper of the French aristocracy, and will show what sort of honours, and what manner of distinctions, those were which this powerful class was most anxious to obtain.

That the objects chiefly coveted were of a very trifling description, will be anticipated by whoever has studied the effect which, in an immense majority of minds, hereditary distinctions produce upon personal character. How pernicious such distinctions are, may be clearly seen in the history of all the European aristocracies; and in the notorious fact, that none of them have preserved even a mediocrity of talent, except in countries[163] where they are frequently invigorated by the infusion of plebeian blood, and their order strengthened by the accession of those masculine energies which are natural to men who make their own position, but cannot be looked for in men whose position is made for them. For, when the notion is once firmly implanted in the mind, that the source of honour is from without, rather than from within, it must invariably happen that the possession of external distinction will be preferred to the sense of internal power. In such cases, the majesty of the human intellect, and the dignity of human knowledge, are considered subordinate to those mock and spurious gradations by which weak men measure the degrees of their own littleness. Hence it is, that the real precedence of things becomes altogether reversed; that which is trifling is valued more than that which is great; and the mind is enervated by conforming to a false standard of merit, which its own prejudices have raised. On this account, they are evidently in the wrong who reproach the nobles with their pride, as if it were a characteristic of their order. The truth is, that if pride were once established among them, their extinction would rapidly follow. To talk of the pride of hereditary rank, is a contradiction in terms. Pride depends on the consciousness of self-applause; vanity is fed by the applause of others. Pride is a reserved and lofty passion, which disdains those external distinctions that vanity eagerly grasps. The proud man sees in his own mind, the source of his own dignity; which, as he well knows, can be neither increased or diminished by any acts except those which proceed solely from himself. The vain man, restless, insatiable, and always craving after the admiration of his contemporaries, must naturally make great account of those external marks, those visible tokens, which, whether they be decorations or titles, strike directly on the senses, and thus captivate the vulgar, to whose understandings they are immediately obvious. This, therefore, being the great distinction, that pride looks within, while vanity looks without, it is clear that when a man values himself for a rank which he inherited by chance,[164] without exertion, and without merit, it is a proof, not of pride, but of vanity, and of vanity of the most despicable kind. It is a proof that such a man has no sense of real dignity, no idea of what that is in which alone all greatness consists. What marvel if, to minds of this sort, the most insignificant trifles should swell into matters of the highest importance? What marvel if such empty understandings should be busied with ribbons, and stars, and crosses; if this noble should yearn after the Garter, and that noble pine for the Golden Fleece; if one man should long to carry a wand in the precincts of the court, and another man to fill an office in the royal household; while the ambition of a third is to make his daughter a maid-of-honour, or to raise his wife to be mistress of the robes?

We, seeing these things, ought not to be surprised that the French nobles, in the seventeenth century, displayed, in their intrigues and disputes, a frivolity, which, though redeemed by occasional exceptions, is the natural characteristic of every hereditary aristocracy. A few examples of this will suffice to give the reader some idea of the tastes and temper of that powerful class which, during several centuries, retarded the progress of French civilization.

Of all the questions on which the French nobles were divided, the most important was that touching the right of sitting in the royal presence. This was considered to be a matter of such gravity, that, in comparison with it, a mere struggle for liberty faded into insignificance. And what made it still more exciting to the minds of the nobles was, the extreme difficulty with which this great social problem was beset. According to the ancient etiquette of the French court, if a man were a duke, his wife might sit in the presence of the queen; but if his rank were inferior, even if he were a marquis, no such liberty could be allowed.[407] So far, the rule was very[165] simple, and, to the duchesses themselves, highly agreeable. But the marquises, the counts, and the other illustrious nobles, were uneasy at this invidious distinction, and exerted all their energies to procure for their own wives the same honour. This the dukes strenuously resisted; but, owing to circumstances which unfortunately are not fully understood, an innovation was made in the reign of Louis XIII., and the privilege of sitting in the same room with the queen was conceded to the female members of the Bouillon family.[408] In consequence of this evil precedent, the question became seriously complicated, since other members of the aristocracy considered that the purity of their descent gave them claims nowise inferior to those of the house of Bouillon, whose antiquity, they said, had been grossly exaggerated. The contest which ensued, had the effect of breaking up the nobles into two hostile parties, one of which sought to preserve that exclusive privilege in which the other wished to participate. To reconcile these rival pretensions, various expedients were suggested; but all were in vain, and the court, during the[166] administration of Mazarin, being pressed by the fear of a rebellion, showed symptoms of giving way, and of yielding to the inferior nobles the point they so ardently desired. In 1648 and 1649, the queen-regent, acting under the advice of her council, formally conceded the right of sitting in the royal presence to the three most distinguished members of the lower aristocracy, namely, the Countess de Fleix, Madame de Pons, and the Princess de Marsillac.[409] Scarcely had this decision been promulgated, when the princes of the blood and the peers of the realm were thrown into the greatest agitation.[410] They immediately summoned to the capital those members of their own order who were interested in repelling this daring aggression, and, forming themselves into an assembly, they at once adopted measures to vindicate their ancient rights.[411] On the other hand, the inferior nobles, flushed by their recent success, insisted that the concession just made should be raised into a precedent; and that, as the honour of being seated in the presence of majesty had been conceded to the house of Foix, in the person of the Countess de Fleix, it should likewise be granted to all those who could prove that their ancestry was equally illustrious.[412] The greatest[167] confusion now arose; and both sides urgently insisting on their own claims, there was, for many months, imminent danger lest the question should be decided by an appeal to the sword.[413] But as the higher nobles, though less numerous than their opponents, were more powerful, the dispute was finally settled in their favour. The queen sent to their assembly a formal message, which was conveyed by four of the marshals of France, and in which she promised to revoke those privileges, the concession of which had given such offence to the most illustrious members of the French aristocracy. At the same time, the marshals not only pledged themselves as responsible for the promise of the queen, but undertook to sign an agreement that they would personally superintend its execution.[414] The nobles, however, who felt that they had been aggrieved in their most tender point, were not yet satisfied, and, to appease them, it was necessary that the atonement should be as public as the injury. It was found necessary, before they would peaceably disperse, that government should issue a document, signed by the queen-regent, and by the four secretaries of state,[415] in which the favours granted to the unprivileged nobility were withdrawn, and the much-cherished honour of sitting in the royal presence was taken away from the Princess de Marsillac, from Madame de Pons, and from the Countess de Fleix.[416]

These were the subjects which occupied the minds and wasted the energies, of the French nobles, while their country was distracted by civil war, and while questions were at issue of the greatest importance—questions[168] concerning the liberty of the nation, and the reconstruction of the government.[417] It is hardly necessary to point out how unfit such men must have been to head the people in their arduous struggle, and how immense was the difference between them and the leaders of the great English Rebellion. The causes of the failure of the Fronde are, indeed, obvious, when we consider that its chiefs were drawn from that very class respecting whose tastes and feelings some evidence has just been given.[418] How that evidence might be almost indefinitely extended, is well known to readers of the French memoirs of the seventeenth century—a class of works which, being mostly written either by the nobles or their adherents, supplies the best materials from which an opinion may be formed. In looking into these authorities, where such matters are related with a becoming sense of their importance, we find the greatest difficulties and disputes arising as to who was to have an arm-chair at court;[419] who was to[169] be invited to the royal dinners, and who was to be excluded from them;[420] who was to be kissed by the queen, and who was not to be kissed by her;[421] who should have the first seat in church;[422] what the proper proportion was between the rank of different persons, and the length of the cloth on which they were allowed to stand;[423] what was the dignity a noble must have attained, in order to justify his entering the Louvre in a coach;[424] who was to have precedence at coronations;[425] whether all dukes were equal, or whether, as some thought, the Duke de Bouillon, having once possessed the sovereignty of Sedan, was superior to the Duke de la Rochefoucauld, who had never possessed any sovereignty at all;[426] whether the Duke de Beaufort[170] ought or ought not to enter the council-chamber before the Duke de Nemours, and whether, being there, he ought to sit above him.[427] These were the great questions of the day: while, as if to exhaust every form of absurdity, the most serious misunderstandings arose as to who should have the honour of giving the king his napkin as he ate his meals [428] and who was to enjoy the inestimable privilege of helping on the queen with her shift.[429]

It may, perhaps, be thought that I owe some apology to the reader for obtruding upon his notice these miserable disputes respecting matters which, however despicable they now appear, were once valued by men not wholly devoid of understanding. But, it should be[171] remembered that their occurrence, and above all, the importance formerly attached to them, is part of the history of the French mind; and they are therefore to be estimated, not according to their intrinsic dignity, but according to the information they supply respecting a state of things which has now passed away. Events of this sort, though neglected by ordinary historians, are among the staff and staple of history. Not only do they assist in bringing before our minds the age to which they refer, but in a philosophic point of view they are highly important. They are part of the materials from which we may generalize the laws of that great protective spirit, which in different periods assumes different shapes; but which, whatever its form may be, always owes its power to the feeling of veneration as opposed to the feeling of independence. How natural this power is, in certain stages of society, becomes evident if we examine the basis on which veneration is itself supported. The origin of veneration is wonder and fear. These two passions, either alone or combined, are the ordinary source of veneration; and the way in which they arise is obvious. We wonder because we are ignorant, and we fear because we are weak. It is therefore natural, that in former times, when men were more ignorant and more weak than they now are, they should likewise have been more given to veneration, more inclined to those habits of reverence, which if carried into religion, cause superstition, and if carried into politics, cause despotism. In the ordinary march of society, those evils are remedied by that progress of knowledge, which at once lessens our ignorance and increases our resources: in other words, which diminishes our proneness to wonder and to fear, and thus weakening our feelings of veneration, strengthens, in the same proportion, our feelings of independence. But in France, this natural tendency was, as we have already seen, counteracted by an opposite tendency; so that while, on the one hand, the protective spirit was enfeebled by the advance of knowledge, it was, on the other hand, invigorated by those social and political circumstances which I have attempted[172] to trace; and by virtue of which, each class exercising great power over the one below it, the subordination and subserviency of the whole were completely maintained. Hence the mind became accustomed to look upwards, and to rely, not on its own resources, but on the resources of others. Hence that pliant and submissive disposition, for which the French, until the eighteenth century, were always remarkable. Hence, too, that inordinate respect for the opinions of others, on which vanity, as one of their national characteristics, is founded.[430] For, the feelings of vanity and of veneration have evidently this in common, that they induce each man to measure his actions by a standard external to himself; while the opposite feelings of pride and of independence would make him prefer that internal standard which his own mind alone can supply. The result of all this was, that when, in the middle of the seventeenth century, the intellectual movement stimulated the French to rebellion, its effect was neutralized by that social tendency which, even in the midst of the struggle, kept alive the habits of their old subservience. Thus it was that, while the war went on, there still remained a constant inclination on the part of the people to look up to the nobles, on the part of the nobles to look up to the crown. Both classes relied upon what they saw immediately above them. The people believed that without the nobles there was no safety; the nobles believed that without the crown there was no honour. In the case of the nobles, this opinion can hardly be blamed; for as their distinctions proceed from the crown, they have a direct interest in upholding the ancient notion that the sovereign is the fountain of honour. They have a direct interest in that preposterous doctrine, according to which, the true source of honour being overlooked, our attention is directed to an imaginary source, by whose operation it is believed, that in a moment, and at the mere will of a prince, the highest honours may be conferred upon the meanest men. This, indeed, is but part of the old[173] scheme to create distinctions for which nature has given no warrant; to substitute a superiority which is conventional for that which is real; and thus try to raise little minds above the level of great ones. The utter failure, and, as society advances, the eventual cessation of all such attempts, is certain; but it is evident, that as long as the attempts are made, they who profit by them must be inclined to value those from whom they proceed. Unless counteracting circumstances interpose, there must be between the two parties that sympathy which is caused by the memory of past favours, and the hope of future ones. In France, this natural feeling being strengthened by that protective spirit which induced men to cling to those above them, it is not strange that the nobles, even in the midst of their turbulence, should seek the slightest favours of the crown with an eagerness of which some examples have just been given. They had been so long accustomed to look up to the sovereign as the source of their own dignity, that they believed there was some hidden dignity even in his commonest actions; so that, to their minds, it was a matter of the greatest importance which of them should hand him his napkin, which of them should hold his basin, and which of them should put on his shirt.[431] It is not, however, for the sake of casting ridicule upon these idle and frivolous men, that I have collected evidence respecting the disputes with which they were engrossed. So far from this, they are rather to be pitied than blamed: they acted according to their instincts; they even exerted such slender abilities as nature had given to them. But we may well feel for that great country whose interests depended on their care. And it is solely in reference to the fate of the French people that the historian need trouble himself with the history[174] of the French nobles. At the same time, evidence of this sort, by disclosing the tendencies of the old nobility, displays in one of its most active forms that protective and aristocratic spirit, of which they know little who only know it in its present reduced and waning condition. Such facts are to be regarded as the symptoms of a cruel disease, by which Europe is indeed still afflicted, but which we now see only in a very mitigated form, and of whose native virulence no one can have an idea, unless he has studied it in those early stages, when, raging uncontrolled, it obtained such a mastery as to check the growth of liberty, stop the progress of nations, and dwarf the energies of the human mind.

It is hardly necessary to trace at greater length the way in which France and England diverged from each other, or to point out what I hope will henceforth be considered the obvious difference between the civil wars in the two countries. It is evident that the low-born and plebeian leaders of our rebellion could have no sympathy with those matters which perplexed the understanding of the great French nobles. Men like Cromwell and his co-adjutors were not much versed in the mysteries of genealogy, or in the subtleties of heraldic lore. They had paid small attention to the etiquette of courts; they had not even studied the rules of precedence. All this was foreign to their design. On the other hand, what they did was done thoroughly. They knew that they had a great work to perform; and they performed it well.[432] They had risen in arms against a[175] corrupt and despotic government, and they would not stay their hands until they had pulled down those who were in high places; until they had not only removed the evil, but had likewise chastised those bad men by whom the evil was committed. And although in this, their glorious undertaking, they did undoubtedly display some of the infirmities to which even the highest minds are subject; we, at least, ought never to speak of them but with that unfeigned respect which is due to those who taught the first great lesson to the kings of Europe, and who, in language not to be mistaken, proclaimed to them that the impunity which they had long enjoyed was now come to an end, and that against their transgressions the people possessed a remedy, sharper, and more decisive, than any they had hitherto ventured to use.

Footnotes:

[352] ‘From the beginning it may be said that the yeomanry and trading classes of towns were generally hostile to the king's side, even in those counties which were in his military occupation; except in a few, such as Cornwall, Worcester, Salop, and most of Wales, where the prevailing sentiment was chiefly royalist.’ Hallam's Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 578. See also Lingard's Hist. of England, vol. vi. p. 304; and Alison's Hist. of Europe, vol. i. p. 49.

[353] On this division of classes, which, notwithstanding a few exceptions, is undoubtedly true as a general fact, compare Memoirs of Sir P. Warwick, p. 217; Carlyle's Cromwell, vol. iii. p. 347; Clarendon's Hist. of the Rebellion, pp. 294, 297, 345, 346, 401, 476; May's Hist. of the Long Parliament, book i. pp. 22, 64, book ii. p. 63, book iii. p. 78; Hutchinson's Memoirs, p. 100; Ludlow's Memoirs, vol. i. p. 104, vol. iii. p. 258; Bulstrode's Memoirs, p. 86.

[354] Lord Clarendon says, in his grand style, ‘the rabble contemned and despised under the name of roundheads.’ Hist. of the Rebellion, p. 136. This was in 1641, when the title appears to have been first bestowed. See Fairfax Corresp. vol. ii. pp. 185, 320.

[355] Just before the battle of Edgehill, in 1642, Charles said to his troops, ‘You are called cavaliers in a reproachful signification.’ See the king's speech, in Somers Tracts, vol. iv. p. 478. Directly after the battle, he accused his opponents of ‘rendering all persons of honour odious to the common people, under the style of cavaliers.’ May's Hist. of the Long Parliament, book iii. p. 25.

[356] M. Saint-Aulaire (Hist. de la Fronde, vol. i. p. v.) says, that the object of the Frondeurs was, ‘limiter l'autorité royale, consacrer les principes de la liberté civile et en confier la garde aux compagnies souveraines;’ and at p. vi. he calls the declaration of 1648, ‘une véritable charte constitutionnelle.’ See also, at vol. i. p. 128, the concluding paragraph of the speech of Omer Talon. Joly, who was much displeased at this tendency, complains that in 1648, ‘le peuple tomboit imperceptiblement dans le sentiment dangereux, qu'il est naturel et permis de se défendre et de s'armer contre la violence des supérieurs.’ Mém. de Joly, p. 15. Of the immediate objects proposed by the Fronde, one was to diminish the taille, and another was to obtain a law that no one should be kept in prison more than twenty-four hours, ‘sans être remis entre les mains du parlement pour lui faire son procès s'il se trouvoit criminel ou l'élargir s'il étoit innocent.’ Mém. de Montglat, vol. ii. p. 135; Mém. de Motteville, vol. ii. p. 398; Mém. de Retz, vol. i. p. 265; Mém. d'Omer Talon, vol. ii. pp. 224, 225, 240, 328.

[357] I use the word ‘parliament’ in the sense given to it by writers of that time, and not in the legal sense.

[358] In May 1642, there remained at Westminster forty-two peers, Hallam's Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 559; but they gradually abandoned the popular cause; and, according to Parl. Hist. vol. iii. p. 1282, so dwindled, that eventually ‘seldom more than five or six’ were present.

[359] These increasing democratic tendencies are most clearly indicated in Walker's curious work, The History of Independency. See among other passages, book i. p. 59. And Clarendon, under the year 1644, says (Hist. of the Rebellion, p. 514): ‘That violent party, which had at first cozened the rest into the war, and afterwards obstructed all the approaches towards peace, found now that they had finished as much of their work as the tools which they had wrought with could be applied to, and what remained to be done must be despatched by new workmen.’ What these new workmen were, he afterwards explains, p. 641, to be ‘the most inferior people preferred to all places of trust and profit.’ Book xi. under the year 1648. Compare some good remarks by Mr. Bell, in Fairfax Correspond. vol. iii. pp. 115, 116.

[360] This was after the appointments of Essex and Bedford, and was in 1643. Ludlow's Mem. vol. i. p. 58; Carlyle's Cromwell, vol. i. p. 189.

[361] ‘When the king attempted to arrest the five members, Manchester, at that time Lord Kymbolton, was the only peer whom he impeached. This circumstance endeared Kymbolton to the party; his own safety bound him more closely to its interests.’ Lingard's England, vol. vi. p. 337. Compare Clarendon, p. 375; Ludlow, vol. i. p. 20. It is also said that Lord Essex joined the popular party from personal pique against the king. Fairfax Corresp. vol. iii. p. 37.

[362] Mr. Carlyle has made some very characteristic, but very just, observations on the ‘high Essexes and Manchesters of limited notions and large estates.’ Carlyle's Cromwell, vol. i. p. 215.

[363] Ludlow's Memoirs, vol. iii. p. 110; Hutchinson's Memoirs, pp. 230, 231; Harris's Lives of the Stuarts, vol. iii. p. 106; Bulstrode's Memoirs, pp. 112, 113, 119; Clarendon's Rebellion, pp. 486, 514; or, as Lord North puts it, ‘for General Essex began now to appear to the private cabalists somewhat wresty.’ North's Narrative of Passages relating to the Long Parliament, published in 1670, in Somers Tracts, vol. vi. p. 578. At p. 584, the same elegant writer says of Essex, ‘being the first person and last of the nobility employed by the parliament in military affairs, which soon brought him to the period of his life. And may he be an example to all future ages, to deter all persons of like dignity from being instrumental in setting up a democratical power, whose interest it is to keep down all persons of his condition.’ The ‘Letter of Admonition’ addressed to him by parliament in 1644, is printed in Parl. Hist. vol. iii. p. 274.

[364] Lingard's Hist. of England, vol. vi. p. 318. See also, on the hostility between Essex and Waller, Walker's Hist. of Independency, part i. pp. 28, 29; and Parl. Hist. vol. iii. p. 177. Sir Philip Warwick (Memoirs, p. 254) contemptuously calls Waller ‘favourite-general of the city of London.’

[365] Compare Hallam's Const. Hist. vol. i. pp. 569, 570, with Bulstrode's Memoirs, p. 96, and Lord Bedford's letter, in Parl. Hist. vol. iii. pp. 189, 190. This shuffling letter confirms the unfavourable account of the writer, which is given in Clarendon's Rebellion, p. 422.

[366] Dr. Bates, who had been physician to Cromwell, intimates that this was foreseen from the beginning. He says, that the popular party offered command to some of the nobles, ‘not that they had any respect for the lords, whom shortly they intended to turn out and to level with the commoners, but that they might poison them with their own venom, and rise to greater authority by drawing more over to their side.’ Bates's Account of the late Troubles in England, part i. p. 76. Lord North too supposes, that almost immediately after the war began, it was determined to dissolve the House of Lords. See Somers Tracts, vol. vi. p. 582. Beyond this, I am not aware of any direct early evidence; except that, in 1644, Cromwell is alleged to have stated that ‘there would never be a good time in England till we had done with lords.’ Carlyle's Cromwell, vol. i. p. 217; and, what is evidently the same circumstance, in Holles's Memoirs, p. 18.

[367] This was the ‘Self-denying Ordinance,’ which was introduced in December, 1644; but, owing to the resistance of the peers, was not carried until the subsequent April. Parl. Hist. vol. iii. pp. 326–337, 340–343, 354, 355. See also Mem. of Lord Holles, p. 30; Mem. of Sir P. Warwick, p. 283.

[368] On this great Epoch in the history of England, see Parl. Hist. vol. iii. p. 1284; Hallam's Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 643; Campbell's Chief-Justices, vol. i. p. 424; Ludlow's Mem. vol. i. p. 246; Warwick's Mem. pp. 182, 336, 352.

[369] ‘Cornet Joyce, who was one of the agitators in the army, a tailor, a fellow who had two or three years before served in a very inferior employment in Mr. Hollis's house.’ Clarendon's Rebellion, p. 612. ‘A shrewd tailor-man.’ D'Israeli's Commentaries on the Reign of Charles I., 1851, vol. ii. p. 466.

[370] Ludlow (Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 139); Noble (Memoirs of the House of Cromwell, vol. ii. p. 470); and Winstanley (Loyal Martyrology, edit. 1665, p. 108), mention that Pride had been a drayman. It is said that Cromwell, in ridicule of the old distinctions, conferred knighthood on him ‘with a faggot.’ Orme's Life of Owen, p. 164; Harris's Lives of the Stuarts, vol. iii. p. 478.

[371] ‘The fifth-monarchy, headed mainly by one Venner, a wine-cooper.’ Carlyle's Cromwell, vol. iii. p. 282. ‘Venner, a wine-cooper.’ Lister's Life and Corresp. of Clarendon, vol. ii. p. 62.

[372] ‘The second to Venner was one Tuffnel a carpenter living in Gray's Inn Lane.’ Winstanley's Martyrology, p. 163.

[373] ‘He was stoaker in a brewhouse at Islington, and next a most poor chandler near Lion-Key, in Thames Street.’ Parl. Hist. vol. iii. p. 1605. See also Winstanley's Martyrology, p. 122.

[374] Some of the clumsy eulogists of Cromwell wish to suppress the fact of his being a brewer; but that he really practised that useful trade is attested by a variety of evidence, and is distinctly stated by his own physician, Dr. Bates. Bates's Troubles in England, vol. ii. p. 238. See also Walker's History of Independency, part i. p. 32, part ii. p. 25, part iii. p. 37; Noble's House of Cromwell, vol. i. pp. 328–331. Other passages, which I cannot now call to mind, will occur to those who have studied the literature of the time.

[375] ‘John Jones, at first a serving-man, then a colonel of the Long Parliament, … married the Protector's sister.’ Parl. Hist. vol. iii. p. 1600. ‘A serving-man; … in process of time married one of Cromwell's sisters.’ Winstanley's Martyrology, p. 125.

[376] ‘Richard Deane, Esq., is said to have been a servant to one Button, a toyman in Ipswich, and to have himself been the son of a person in the same employment; … was appointed one of the commissioners of the navy with Popham and Blake, and in April (1649) he became an admiral and general at sea.’ Noble's Lives of the Regicides, vol. i. pp. 172, 173. Winstanley (Martyrol. p. 121) also says that Deane was ‘servant in Ipswich.’

[377] ‘Apprentice to one Vaughan a dry-salter.’ Noble's House of Cromwell, vol. ii. p. 507: and see his Regicides, vol. i. p. 255.

[378] ‘Bound apprentice to a woollen-draper.’ Winstanley's Martyr. p. 108. He afterwards set up in the same trade for himself; but with little success, for Dr. Bates (Troubles in England, vol. ii. p. 222) calls him ‘a broken clothier.’

[379] ‘Altogether illiterate.’ Clarendon's Rebellion, p. 152. Two extraordinary speeches by him are preserved in Burton's Diary, vol. i. pp. 24, 25, 48–50.

[380] Holles's Mem. p. 82; Ludlow's Mem. vol. ii. p. 39; and a letter from Fairfax in Cary's Memorials of the Civil War, 1842, vol. i. p. 413.

[381] ‘Berkstead, who heretofore sold needles, bodkins, and thimbles, and would have run on an errand any where for a little money; but who now by Cromwell was preferred to the honourable charge of lieutenant of the Tower of London.’ Bates's Account of the Troubles, part ii. p. 222.

[382] Noble's Regicides, vol. ii. pp. 272, 273. Lord Holles (Memoirs, p. 174) also mentions that he was ‘a linen-draper.’

[383] ‘Edward Harvy, late a poor silk-man, now colonel, and hath got the Bishop of London's house and manor of Fulham.’ Walker's Independency, part i. p. 170. ‘One Harvey, a decayed silk-man,’ Clarendon's Rebellion, p. 418.

[384] Owen Rowe, ‘put to the trade of a silk-mercer, … went into the parliament army, and became a colonel.’ Noble's Regicides, vol. ii. p. 150.

[385] ‘A silkman in London; … went into the army, and rose to the rank of colonel.’ Noble's Regicides, vol. ii. p. 283. ‘A broken silk-man in Cheapside.’ Winstanley's Martyrol. p. 130.

[386] Walker's Independency, part i. p. 143; Parl. Hist. vol. iii. p. 1608; Ludlow's Mem. vol. ii. pp. 241, 259; Noble's Regicides, vol. ii. pp. 158, 162.

[387] He was ‘a woollen-draper at Dorchester,’ and was ‘one of the council of state in 1649 and 1651.’ Noble's Regicides, vol. i. p. 99: see also Parl. Hist. vol. iii. p. 1594.

[388] ‘A brewer in Chichester; … in 1650–1 he was appointed one of the council of state.’ Noble's Regicides, vol. i. p. 136. ‘William Cawley, a brewer of Chichester.’ Winstanley's Martyrol. p. 138.

[389] John Berners, ‘supposed to have been originally a serving-man,’ was ‘one of the council of state in 1659,’ Noble's Regicides, vol. i. p. 90.

[390] ‘Holland the link-boy,’ Walker's Independency, part iii. p. 37. ‘He was originally nothing more than a servant to Sir Henry Vane; … upon the establishment of the Commonwealth, he was made one of the council of state in 1649, and again in 1650.’ Noble's Regicides, vol. i. pp. 357, 358.

[391] Noble's Mem. of Cromwell, vol. ii. p. 502.

[392] Walker's Hist. of Independency, part i. p. 167.

[393] Ellis's Original Letters illustrative of English History, third series, vol. iv. p. 219, Lond. 1846.

[394] Parl. Hist. vol. iii. p. 1407; Rose's Biog. Dict. vol. iii. p. 172; Clarendon's Rebellion, p. 794.

[395] ‘A poor child bred upon charity.’ Harris's Stuarts, vol. v. p. 281. ‘A man of an obscure birth, and more obscure education.’ Clarendon's Life of Himself, p. 1116.

[396] See Vaughan's Cromwell, vol. i. pp. 227, 228, vol. ii. pp. 299, 302, 433; Lister's Life and Corresp. of Clarendon, vol. ii. p. 231, vol. iii. p. 134. The common opinion is, that he was the son of a clergyman at Hackney; but if so, he was probably illegitimate, considering the way he was brought up. However, his Hackney origin is very doubtful, and no one appears to know who his father was. See Notes and Queries, vol. iii. pp. 69, 213.

[397] Noble's Regicides, vol. i. p. 362. Cromwell had a great regard for this remarkable man, who not only distinguished himself as a soldier, but, judging from a letter of his recently published, appears to have repaired the deficiencies of his early education. See Fairfax Correspond. vol. iv. pp. 22–25, 108. There never has been a period in the history of England in which so many men of natural ability were employed in the public service as during the Commonwealth.

[398] Noble's House of Cromwell, vol. ii. p. 507.

[399] Noble's Cromwell, vol. ii. p. 518; Bates's Troubles, vol. ii. p. 222.

[400] Bates's Late Troubles, vol. i. p. 87; Ludlow's Mem. vol. i. p. 220.

[401] Walker's Hist. of Independency, part ii. p. 87.

[402] Ludlow who was well acquainted with Colonel Hewson, says that he ‘had been a shoemaker.’ Ludlow's Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 139. But this is the amiable partiality of a friend; and there is no doubt that the gallant colonel was neither more nor less than a cobbler. See Walker's Independency, part ii. p. 39; Winstanley's Martyrol. p. 123; Bates's Late Troubles, vol. ii. p. 222; Noble's Cromwell, vol. ii. pp. 251, 345, 470.

[403] Walker, who relates what he himself witnessed, says, that, about 1649, the army was commanded by ‘colonels and superior officers, who lord it in their gilt coaches, rich apparel, costly feastings; though some of them led dray-horses, wore leather-pelts, and were never able to name their own fathers or mothers.’ Hist. of Independ. part ii. p. 244. The Mercurius Rusticus, 1647, says, ‘Chelmsford was governed by a tinker, two cobblers, two tailors, two pedlars.’ Southey's Commonplace Book, third series, 1850, p. 430. And, at p. 434, another work, in 1647, makes a similar statement in regard to Cambridge; while Lord Holles assures us, that ‘most of the colonels and officers (were) mean tradesmen, brewers, taylors, goldsmiths, shoe-makers, and the like.’ Holles's Memoirs, p. 149. When Whitelocke was in Sweden in 1653, the prætor of one of the towns abused the parliament, saying, ‘that they killed their king, and were a company of taylors and cobblers.’ Whitelocke's Swedish Embassy, vol. i. p. 205. See also note in Carwithen's Hist. of the Church of England, vol. ii. p. 156.

[404] Even De Retz, who vainly attempted to organise a popular party, found that it was impossible to take any step without the nobles; and, notwithstanding his democratic tendencies, he, in 1648, thought it advisable ‘tâcher d'engager dans les intérêts publics les personnes de qualité.’ Mém. de Joly, p. 31.

[405] Mably (Observations sur l'Hist. de France, vol. i. p. 357) frankly says, ‘L'exemple d'un grand a toujours été plus contagieux chez les Français que partout ailleurs.’ See also vol. ii. p. 267: ‘Jamais l'exemple des grands n'a été aussi contagieux ailleurs qu'en France; on dirait qu'ils ont le malheureux privilège de tout justifier.’ Rivarol, though his opinions on other points were entirely opposed to those of Mably, says, that, in France, ‘la noblesse est aux yeux du peuple une espèce de religion, dont les gentilshommes sont les prêtres.’ Mém. de Rivarol, p. 94. Happily, the French Revolution, or rather the circumstances which caused the French Revolution, have utterly destroyed this ignominious homage.

[406] The Duke de la Rochefoucauld candidly admits that, in 1649, the nobles raised a civil war, ‘avec d'autant plus de haleur que c'était une nouveauté.’ Mém. de Rochefoucauld, vol. i. p. 406. Thus too Lemontey (Etablissement de Louis XIV, p. 368): ‘La vieille noblesse, qui ne savait que combattre, faisait la guerre par goût, par besoin, par vanité, par ennui.’ Compare, in Mém. d'Omer Talon, vol. ii. pp. 467, 468, a summary of the reasons which, in 1649, induced the nobles to go to war; and on the way in which their frivolity debased the Fronde, see Lavallée, Hist. des Français, vol. iii. pp. 169, 170.

[407] Hence the duchesses were called ‘femmes assises;’ those of lower rank ‘non assises.’ Mém. de Fontenay Mareuil, vol. i. p. 111. The Count de Ségur tells us that ‘les duchesses jouissaient de la prérogative d'être assises sur un tabouret chez la reine.’ Mém. de Ségur, vol. i. p. 79. The importance attached to this is amusingly illustrated in Mém. de Saint-Simon, vol. iii. pp. 215–218, Paris, 1842; which should be compared with De Tocqueville, Règne de Louis XV, vol. ii. p. 116, and Mém. de Genlis, vol. x. p. 383.

[408] ‘Survint incontinent une autre difficulté à la cour sur le sujet des tabourets, que doivent avoir les dames dans la chambre de la reine; car encore que cela ne s'accorde régulièrement qu'aux duchesses, néanmoins le feu roi Louis XIII l'avoit accordé aux filles de la maison de Bouillon,’ &c. Mém. d'Omer Talon, vol. iii. p. 5. See also, on this encroachment on the rights of the duchesses under Louis XIII., the case of Séguier, in Duclos, Mémoires Secrets, vol. i. pp. 360, 361. The consequences of the innovation were very serious; and Tallemant des Réaux (Historiettes, vol. iii. pp. 223, 224) mentions a distinguished lady, of whom he says, ‘Pour satisfaire son ambition, il lui falloit un tabouret: elle cabale pour épouser le vieux Bouillon La Marck veuf pour la seconde fois.’ In this she failed; but, determined not to be baffled, ‘elle ne se rebute point, et voulant à toute force avoir un tabouret, elle épouse le fils aîné du duc de Villars: c'est un ridicule de corps et d'esprit, car il est bossu et quasi imbécile, et gueux par-dessus cela.’ This melancholy event happened in 1649.

[409] As to the Countess de Fleix and Madame de Pons, see Mém. de Motteville, vol. iii. pp. 116, 369. According to the same high authority (vol. iii. p. 367), the inferiority of the Princess de Marsillac consisted in the painful fact, that her husband was merely the son of a duke, and the duke himself was still alive ‘il n'étoit que gentilhomme, et son père le duc de la Rochefoucauld n'étoit pas mort.’

[410] The long account of these proceedings in Mém. de Motteville, vol. iii. pp. 367–393, shows the importance attached to them by contemporary opinion.

[411] In October 1649, ‘la noblesse s'assembla à Paris sur le fait des tabourets,’ Mém. de Lenet, vol. i. p. 184.

[412] ‘Tous ceux donc qui par leurs aïeux avoient dans leurs maisons de la grandeur, par des alliances des femmes descendues de ceux qui étoient autrefois maîtres et souverains des provinces de France, demandèrent la même prérogative que celle qui venoit d'être accordée au sang de Foix.’ Mém. de Motteville, vol. iii. p. 117. Another contemporary says: ‘Cette prétention émut toutes les maisons de la cour sur cette différence et inégalité.’ Mém. d'Omer Talon, vol. iii. p. 6; and vol. ii. p. 437: ‘le marquis de Noirmoutier et celui de Vitry demandoient le tabouret pour leurs femmes.’

[413] Indeed, at one moment, it was determined that a counter-demonstration should be made on the part of the inferior nobles; a proceeding which, if adopted, must have caused civil war: ‘Nous résolûmes une contre-assemblée de noblesse pour soutenir le tabouret de la maison de Rohan.’ De Retz, Mémoires, vol. i. p. 284.

[414] Mém. de Motteville, vol. iii. p. 389.

[415] ‘Signé d'elle et des quatre secrétaires d'état.’ Ibid. vol. iii. p. 391.

[416] The best accounts of this great struggle will be found in the Memoirs of Madame de Motteville, and in those of Omer Talon; two writers of very different minds, but both of them deeply impressed with the magnitude of the contest.

[417] Saint-Aulaire (Hist. de la Fronde, vol. i. p. 317) says, that in this same year (1649), ‘l'esprit de discussion fermentait dans toutes les têtes, et chacun à cette époque soumettait les actes de l'autorité à un examen raisonné.’ Thus, too, in Mém. de Montglat, under 1649, ‘on ne parlait publiquement dans Paris que de république et de liberté,‘**RSQU

vol. ii. p. 186. In 1648, ‘effusa est contemptio super principes.’ Mém. d'Omer Talon, vol. ii. p. 271.]

[418] That the failure of the Fronde is not to be ascribed to the inconstancy of the people, is admitted by De Retz, by far the ablest observer of his time: ‘Vous vous étonnerez peut-être de ce que je dis plus sûr, à cause de l'instabilité du peuple: mais il faut avouer que celui de Paris se fixe plus aisément qu'aucun autre; et M. de Villeroi, qui a été le plus habile homme de son siècle, et qui en a parfaitement connu le naturel dans tout le cours de la ligue, où il le gouverna sous M. du Maine, a été de ce sentiment. Ce que j'en éprouvois moi-même me le persuadoit.’ Mém. de Retz, vol. i. p. 348; a remarkable passage, and forming a striking contrast to the declamation of those ignorant writers who are always reproaching the people with their fickleness.

[419] This knotty point was decided in favour of the Duke of York, to whom, in 1649, ‘la reine fit de grands honneurs, et lui donna une chaise à bras.’ Mém. de Motteville, vol. iii. p. 275. In the chamber of the king, the matter seems to have been differently arranged; for Omer Talon (Mém. vol. ii. p. 332) tells us that ‘le duc d'Orléans n'avoit point de fauteuil, mais un simple siège pliant, à cause que nous étions dans la chambre du roi.’ In the subsequent year, the scene not being in the king's room, the same writer describes ‘M. le duc d'Orléans assis dans un fauteuil.’ Ibid. vol. iii. p. 95. Compare Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. viii. p. 310. Voltaire (Dict. Philos. art. Cérémonies) says: ‘Le fauteuil à bras, la chaise à dos, le tabouret, la main droite et la main gauche, ont été pendant plusieurs siècles d'importants objets de politique, et d'illustres sujets de querelles.’ Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xxxvii. p. 486. The etiquette of the ‘fauteuil’ and ‘chaise’ is explained in Mém. de Genlis, vol. x. p. 287.

[420] See Mém. de Motteville, vol. iii. pp. 309, 310.

[421] See a list of those it was proper for the queen to kiss, in Mém. de Motteville, vol. iii. p. 318.

[422] Mém. de Omer Talon, vol. i. pp. 217–219. The Prince de Condé hotly asserted, that at a Te Deum ‘il ne pouvait être assis en autre place que dans la première chaire.’ This was in 1642.

[423] For a quarrel respecting the ‘drap de pied,’ see Mém. de Motteville, vol. ii. p. 249.

[424] A very serious dispute was caused by the claim of the Prince de Marsillac, for ‘permission d'entrer dans le Louvre en carrosse.’ Mém. de Motteville, vol. iii. pp. 367–389.

[425] Mém. de Pontchartrain, vol. i. pp. 422, 423, at the coronation of Louis XIII. Other instances of difficulties caused by questions of precedence, will be found in Mém. d'Omer Talon, vol. iii. pp. 23, 24, 437; and even in the grave work of Sully, Œconomies Royales, vol. vii. p. 126, vol. viii. p. 395; which should be compared with De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. ix. pp. 86, 87.

[426] Mém. de Lenet, vol. i. pp. 378, 379. Lenet, who was a great admirer of the nobles, relates all this without the faintest perception of its absurdity. I ought not to omit a terrible dispute, in 1652, respecting the recognition of the claims of the Duke de Rohan (Mém. de Conrart, pp. 151, 152); nor another dispute, in the reign of Henry IV., as to whether a duke ought to sign his name before a marshal, or whether a marshal should sign first. De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. xi. p. 11.

[427] This difficulty, in 1652, caused a violent quarrel between the two dukes, and ended in a duel in which the Duke de Nemours was killed, as is mentioned by most of the contemporary writers. See Mém. de Montglat, vol. ii. p. 357; Mém. de la Rochefoucauld, vol. ii. p. 172; Mém. de Conrart, pp. 172–175; Mém. de Retz, vol. ii. p. 203; Mém. d'Omer Talon, vol. iii. p. 437.

[428] Pontchartrain, one of the ministers of state, writes, under the year 1620: ‘En ce même temps s'étoit mû un très-grand différend entre M. le prince de Condé et M. le comte de Soissons, sur le sujet de la serviette que chacun d'eux prétendoit devoir présenter au roi quand ils se rencontreroient tous deux près sa majesté.’ Mém. de Pontchartrain, vol. ii. p. 295. Le Vassor, who gives a fuller account (Règne de Louis XIII, vol. iii. pp. 536, 537), says, ‘Chacun des deux princes du sang, fort échauffez à qui feroit une fonction de maître d'hôtel, tiroit la serviette de son côté, et la contestation augmentoit d'une manière dont les suites pouvoient devenir fâcheuses.’ But the king interposing, ‘ils furent donc obligez de céder: mais ce ne fut pas sans se dire l'un à l'autre des paroles hautes et menaçantes.’

[429] According to some authorities, a man ought to be a duke before his wife could be allowed to meddle with the queen's shift; according to other authorities, the lady-in-waiting, whoever she might be, had the right, unless a princess happened to be present. On these alternatives, and on the difficulties caused by them, compare Mém. de Saint-Simon, 1842, vol. vii. p. 125, with Mém. de Motteville, vol. ii. pp. 28, 276, 277.

[430] Also connected with the institution of chivalry, both being cognate symptoms of the same spirit.

[431] Even just before the French Revolution, these feelings still existed. See, for instance the extraordinary details in Campan, Mém. sur Marie-Antoinette, vol. i. pp. 98, 99; which should be compared with an extract from Prudhomme's Mirror de Paris, in Southey's Commonplace Book, third series, 1850, p. 251, no. 165.

[432] Ludlow thus expresses the sentiments which induced him to make war upon the crown: ‘The question in dispute between the king's party and us being, as I apprehend, whether the king should govern as a god by his will, and the nation be governed by force like beasts? or whether the people should be governed by laws made by themselves, and live under a government derived from their own consent? being fully persuaded, that an accommodation with the king was unsafe to the people of England, and unjust and wicked in the nature of it.’ Ludlow's Memoirs, vol. i. p. 230. Compare Whitelocke's spirited speech to Christina, in Journal of the Swedish Embassy, vol. i. p. 238; and see pp. 390, 391.

CHAPTER IV.

The reader will now be able to understand how it was that the protective system, and the notions of subordination connected with it, gained in France a strength unknown in England, and caused an essential divergence between the two countries. To complete the comparison, it seems necessary to examine how this same spirit influenced the purely intellectual history of France as well as its social and political history. For the ideas of dependence upon which the protective scheme is based, encouraged a belief that the subordination which existed in politics and in society ought also to exist in literature; and that the paternal, inquisitive, and centralizing system which regulated the material interests of the country, should likewise regulate the interests of its knowledge. When, therefore, the Fronde was finally overthrown, everything was prepared for that singular intellectual polity which, during fifty years characterised the reign of Louis XIV., and which was to French literature what feudalism was to French politics. In both cases, homage was paid by one party, and protection and favour accorded by the other. Every man of letters became a vassal of the French crown. Every book was written with a view to the royal favour; and to obtain the patronage of the king was considered the most decisive proof of intellectual eminence. The effects produced by this system[177] will be examined in the present chapter. The apparent cause of the system was the personal character of Louis XIV.; but the real and overruling causes were those circumstances which I have already pointed out, and which established in the French mind associations that remained undisturbed until the eighteenth century. To invigorate those associations, and to carry them into every department of life, was the great aim of Louis XIV.; and in that he was completely successful. It is on this account that the history of his reign becomes highly instructive, because we see in it the most remarkable instance of despotism which has ever occurred; a despotism of the largest and most comprehensive kind; a despotism of fifty years over one of the most civilized people in Europe, who not only bore the yoke without repining, but submitted with cheerfulness, and even with gratitude, to him by whom it was imposed.[433]

What makes this the more strange is, that the reign of Louis XIV. must be utterly condemned if it is tried even by the lowest standard of morals, of honour, or of interest. A coarse and unbridled profligacy, followed by the meanest and most grovelling superstition,[178] characterized his private life, while in his public career he displayed an arrogance and a systematic perfidy which eventually roused the anger of all Europe, and brought upon France sharp and signal retribution. As to his domestic policy, he formed a strict alliance with the church; and although he resisted the authority of the Pope, he willingly left his subjects to be oppressed by the tyranny of the clergy.[434] To them he abandoned everything except the exercise of his own prerogative.[435] Led on by them, he, from the moment he assumed the Government, began to encroach upon those religious liberties of which Henry IV. had laid the foundation, and which down to this period had been preserved intact.[436] It was at the instigation of the clergy that he revoked the Edict of Nantes, by which the principle of toleration had for nearly a century been incorporated with the law of the land.[437] It was at their instigation that, just before this outrage[179] upon the most sacred rights of his subjects, he, in order to terrify the Protestants into conversion, suddenly let loose upon them whole troops of dissolute soldiers, who were allowed to practise the most revolting cruelties. The frightful barbarities which followed are related by authentic writers;[438] and of the effect produced[180] on the material interests of the nation, some idea may be formed from the fact, that these religious persecutions[181] cost France half a million of her most industrious inhabitants, who fled to different parts, taking with them those habits of labour, and that knowledge and experience in their respective trades, which had hitherto been employed in enriching their own country.[439] These things are notorious, they are incontestable, and they lie on the surface of history. Yet, in the face of them there are still found men who hold up for admiration the age of Louis XIV. Although it is well known that in his reign every vestige of liberty was destroyed; that the people were weighed down by an insufferable taxation; that their children were torn from them by tens of thousands to swell the royal armies; that the resources of the country were squandered to an unprecedented extent; that a despotism of the worst kind was firmly established;—although all this is universally admitted, yet there are writers, even in our own day, who are so infatuated with the glories of literature, as to balance them against the most enormous crimes, and who will forgive every injury inflicted by a prince during whose life there were produced the Letters of Pascal, the orations of Bossuet, the Comedies of Molière, and the Tragedies of Racine.

This method of estimating the merits of a sovereign is, indeed, so rapidly dying away, that I shall not spend[182] any words in refuting it. But it is connected with a more widely diffused error respecting the influence of royal patronage upon national literature. This is a delusion which men of letters have themselves been the first to propagate. From the language too many of them are in the habit of employing, we might be led to believe that there is some magical power in the smiles of a king which stimulates the intellect of the fortunate individual whose heart they are permitted to gladden. Nor must this be despised as one of those harmless prejudices that still linger round the person of the sovereign. It is not only founded on a misconception of the nature of things, but it is in its practical consequences very injurious. It is injurious to the independent spirit which literature should always possess; and it is injurious to princes themselves, because it strengthens that vanity of which they generally have too large a share. Indeed, if we consider the position they now occupy in the most civilized countries, we shall at once see the absurdity of an opinion which, in the present state of knowledge, is unfit to be held by educated men.

From the moment that there was finally abandoned the theological fiction of the divine right of kings, it necessarily followed that the respect felt for them should suffer a corresponding diminution.[440] The superstitious reverence with which they were formerly regarded is extinct, and at the present day we are no longer awed by that divinity with which their persons were once supposed to be hedged.[441] The standard, therefore, by which we should measure them is obvious.[183] We should applaud their conduct in proportion as they contribute towards the happiness of the nation over which they are intrusted with power; but we ought to remember that, from the manner in which they are educated, and from the childish homage always paid to them, their information must be very inaccurate, and their prejudices very numerous.[442] On this account, so far from expecting that they should be judicious patrons of literature, or should in any way head their age, we ought to be satisfied if they do not obstinately oppose the spirit of their time, and if they do not attempt to stop the march of society. For, unless the sovereign, in spite of the intellectual disadvantages of his position, is a man of very enlarged mind, it must usually happen that he will reward, not those who are most able, but those who are most compliant; and that while he refuses his patronage to a profound and independent thinker, he will grant it to an author who cherishes ancient prejudices and defends ancient abuses. In this way, the practice of conferring on men of letters either honorary or pecuniary rewards, is agreeable, no doubt, to those who receive them; but has a manifest tendency to weaken the boldness and energy of their sentiments, and therefore to impair the value of their works. This might be made evident by publishing a list of those literary pensions which have been granted by European princes. If this were done, the mischief produced[184] by these and similar rewards would be clearly seen. After a careful study of the history of literature, I think myself authorised to say, that for one instance in which a sovereign has recompensed a man who is before his age, there are at least twenty instances of his recompensing one who is behind his age. The result is, that in every country where royal patronage has been long and generally bestowed, the spirit of literature, instead of being progressive, has become reactionary. An alliance has been struck up between those who give and those who receive. By a system of bounties, there has been artificially engendered a greedy and necessitous class; who, eager for pensions, and offices, and titles, have made the pursuit of truth subordinate to the desire of gain, and have infused into their writings the prejudices of the court to which they cling. Hence it is, that the marks of favour have become the badge of servitude. Hence it is, that the acquisition of knowledge, by far the noblest of all occupations, an occupation which of all others raises the dignity of man, has been debased to the level of a common profession, where the chances of success are measured by the number of rewards, and where the highest honours are in the gift of whoever happens to be the minister or sovereign of the day.

This tendency forms of itself a decisive objection to the views of those who wish to entrust the executive government with the means of rewarding literary men. But there is also another objection, in some respects still more serious. Every nation which is allowed to pursue its course uncontrolled, will easily satisfy the wants of its own intellect, and will produce such a literature as is best suited to its actual condition. And it is evidently for the interest of all classes that the production shall not be greater than the want; that the supply shall not exceed the demand. It is, moreover, necessary to the well-being of society that a healthy proportion should be kept up between the intellectual classes and the practical classes. It is necessary that there should be a certain ratio between those who are most inclined to think, and those who are most inclined[185] to act. If we were all authors, our material interests would suffer; if we were all men of business, our mental pleasures would be abridged. In the first case, we should be famished philosophers; in the other case, we should be wealthy fools. Now, it is obvious that, according to the commonest principles of human action the relative numbers of these two classes will be adjusted, without effort, by the natural, or, as we call it, the spontaneous movement of society. But if a government takes upon itself to pension literary men, it disturbs this movement; it troubles the harmony of things. This is the unavoidable result of that spirit of interference, or, as it is termed, protection, by which every country has been greatly injured. If, for instance, a fund were set apart by the state for rewarding butchers and tailors, it is certain that the number of those useful men would be needlessly augmented. If another fund is appropriated for the literary classes, it is as certain that men of letters will increase more rapidly than the exigencies of the country require. In both cases, an artificial stimulus will produce an unhealthy action. Surely, food and clothes are as necessary for the body as literature is for the mind. Why, then, should we call upon government to encourage those who write our books, any more than to encourage those who kill our mutton and mend our garments? The truth is, that the intellectual march of society is, in this respect, exactly analogous to its physical march. In some instances a forced supply may, indeed, create an unnatural want. But this is an artificial state of things, which indicates a diseased action. In a healthy condition, it is not the supply which causes the want, but it is the want which gives rise to the supply. To suppose, therefore, that an increase of authors would necessarily be followed by a diffusion of knowledge, is as if we were to suppose that an increase of butchers must be followed by a diffusion of food. This is not the way in which things are ordered. Men must have appetite before they will eat; they must have money before they can buy; they must be inquisitive before they will read. The two great principles which move the[186] world are, the love of wealth and the love of knowledge. These two principles respectively represent and govern the two most important classes into which every civilized country is divided. What a government gives to one of these classes, it must take from the other. What it gives to literature, it must take from wealth. This can never be done to any great extent, without entailing the most ruinous consequences. For, the natural proportions of society being destroyed, society itself will be thrown into confusion. While men of letters are protected, men of industry will be depressed. The lower classes can count for little in the eyes of those to whom literature is the first consideration. The idea of the liberty of the people will be discouraged; their persons will be oppressed; their labour will be taxed. The arts necessary to life will be despised, in order that those which embellish life may be favoured. The many will be ruined, that the few may be pleased. While every thing is splendid above, all will be rotten below. Fine pictures, noble palaces, touching dramas—these may for a time be produced in profusion, but it will be at the cost of the heart and strength of the nation. Even the class for whom the sacrifice has been made, will soon decay. Poets may continue to sing the praises of the prince who has bought them with his gold. It is, however, certain that men who begin by losing their independence, will end by losing their energy. Their intellect must be robust indeed, if it does not wither in the sickly atmosphere of a court. Their attention being concentrated on their master, they insensibly contract those habits of servility which are suited to their position; and, as the range of their sympathies is diminished, the use and action of their genius become impaired. To them submission is a custom, and servitude a pleasure. In their hands, literature soon loses its boldness, tradition is appealed to as the ground of truth, and the spirit of inquiry is extinguished. Then it is, that there comes one of those sad moments in which, no outlet being left for public opinion, the minds of men are unable to find a vent; their discontents, having no voice, slowly rankle[187] into a deadly hatred; their passions accumulate in silence, until at length, losing all patience, they are goaded into one of those terrible revolutions, by which they humble the pride of their rulers, and carry retribution even into the heart of the palace.

The truth of this picture is well known to those who have studied the history of Louis XIV., and the connection between it and the French Revolution. That prince adopted, during his long reign, the mischievous practice of rewarding literary men with large sums of money, and of conferring on them numerous marks of personal favour. As this was done for more than half a century; and as the wealth which he thus unscrupulously employed was of course taken from his other subjects, we can find no better illustration of the results which such patronage is likely to produce. He, indeed, has the merit of organizing into a system that protection of literature which some are so anxious to restore. What the effect of this was upon the general interests of knowledge, we shall presently see. But its effect upon authors themselves should be particularly attended to by those men of letters who, with little regard to their own dignity, are constantly reproaching the English government for neglecting the profession of which they themselves are members. In no age have literary men been awarded with such profuseness as in the reign of Louis XIV.; and in no age have they been so mean-spirited, so servile, so utterly unfit to fulfil their great vocation as the apostles of knowledge and the missionaries of truth. The history of the most celebrated authors of that time proves that, notwithstanding their acquirements, and the power of their minds, they were unable to resist the surrounding corruption. To gain the favour of the king, they sacrificed that independent spirit which should have been dearer to them than life. They gave away the inheritance of genius; they sold their birthright for a mess of pottage. What happened then, would under the same circumstances happen now. A few eminent thinkers may be able for a certain time to resist the pressure of their age. But, looking at mankind generally, society can[188] have no hold on any class except through the medium of their interests. It behoves, therefore, every people to take heed, that the interests of literary men are on their side rather than on the side of their rulers. For, literature is the representative of intellect, which is progressive; government is the representative of order, which is stationary. As long as these two great powers are separate, they will correct and react upon each other, and the people may hold the balance. If, however, these powers coalesce, if the government can corrupt the intellect, and if the intellect will yield to the government, the inevitable result must be, despotism in politics, and servility in literature. This was the history of France under Louis XIV.: and this, we may rest assured, will be the history of every country that shall be tempted to follow so attractive but so fatal an example.

The reputation of Louis XIV. originated in the gratitude of men of letters; but it is now supported by a popular notion that the celebrated literature of his age is mainly to be ascribed to his fostering care. If, however, we examine this opinion, we shall find that, like many of the traditions of which history is full, it is entirely devoid of truth. We shall find two leading circumstances, which will prove that the literary splendour of his reign was not the result of his efforts, but was the work of that great generation which preceded him; and that the intellect of France, so far from being benefited by his munificence, was hampered by his protection.

I. The first circumstance is, that the immense impulse which, during the administrations of Richelieu and of Mazarin, had been given to the highest branches of knowledge, was suddenly stopped. In 1661 Louis XIV. assumed the government;[443] and from that moment until his death, in 1715, the history of France, so far as great discoveries are concerned, is a blank in the annals of Europe. If, putting aside all preconceived[189] notions respecting the supposed glory of that age, we examine the matter fairly, it will be seen that in every department there was a manifest dearth of original thinkers. There was much that was elegant, much that was attractive. The senses of men were soothed and flattered by the creations of art, by paintings, by palaces, by poems; but scarcely any thing of moment was added to the sum of human knowledge. If we take the mathematics, and those mixed sciences to which they are applicable, it will be universally admitted that their most successful cultivators in France during the seventeenth century were Descartes, Pascal, Fermat, Gassendi, and Mersenne. But, so far from Louis XIV. having any share in the honour due to them, these eminent men were engaged in their investigations while the king was still in his cradle, and completed them before he assumed the government, and therefore before his system of protection came into play. Descartes died in 1650,[444] when the king was twelve years old. Pascal, whose name, like that of Descartes, is commonly associated with the age of Louis XIV., had gained an European reputation while Louis, occupied in the nursery with his toys, was not aware that any such man existed. His treatise on conic sections was written in 1639;[445] his decisive experiments on the weight of air were made in 1648;[446] and his researches on the cycloid, the last great inquiry he ever undertook, were in 1658,[447] when[190] Louis, still under the tutelage of Mazarin, had no sort of authority. Fermat was one of the most profound thinkers of the seventeenth century, particularly as a geometrician, in which respect he was second only to Descartes.[448] The most important steps he took are those concerning the geometry of infinites, applied to the ordinates and tangents of curves; which, however, he completed in or before 1636.[449] As to Gassendi and Mersenne, it is enough to say that Gassendi died in 1655,[450] six years before Louis was at the head of affairs; while Mersenne died in 1648,[451] when the great king was ten years old.

These were the men who flourished in France just before the system of Louis XIV. came into operation. Shortly after their death the patronage of the king began to tell upon the national intellect; and during the next fifty years no addition of importance was made to either branch of the mathematics, or, with the single exception of acoustics,[452] to any of the sciences to[191] which the mathematics are applied.[453] The further the seventeenth century advanced, the more evident did the decline become, and the more clearly can we trace the connexion between the waning powers of the French, and that protective spirit which enfeebled the energies it wished to strengthen. Louis had heard that astronomy is a noble study; he was therefore anxious, by encouraging its cultivation in France, to add to the glories of his own name.[454] With this view, he rewarded its professors with unexampled profusion; he built the splendid Observatory of Paris; he invited to his court the most eminent foreign astronomers, Cassini from Italy, Römer from Denmark, Huygens from Holland. But, as to native ability, France did not produce a single man who made even one of those various discoveries which mark the epochs of astronomical science. In other countries vast progress was made; and Newton in particular, by his immense generalizations, reformed nearly every branch of physics, and remodelled astronomy by carrying the laws of gravitation to the extremity of the solar system. On the other hand, France had fallen into such a torpor, that these wonderful discoveries, which changed the face of knowledge, were entirely neglected, there being no instance of any French astronomer adopting them until 1732, that is, forty-five years after they had been published by their immortal author.[455] Even[192] in matters of detail, the most valuable improvement made by French astronomers during the power of Louis XIV. was not original. They laid claim to the invention of the micrometer; an admirable resource, which, as they supposed, was first contrived by Picard and Auzout.[456] The truth, however, is, that here again they were anticipated by the activity of a freer and less protected people; since the micrometer was invented by Gascoigne in or just before 1639, when the English monarch, so far from having leisure to patronize science, was about to embark in that struggle which, ten years later, cost him his crown and his life.[457]

The absence in France, during this period, not only of great discoveries, but also of mere practical ingenuity, is certainly very striking. In investigations requiring minute accuracy, the necessary tools, if at all[193] complicated, were made by foreigners, the native workmen being too unskilled to construct them; and Dr. Lister, who was a very competent judge,[458] and who was in Paris at the end of the seventeenth century, supplies evidence that the best mathematical instruments sold in that city were made, not by a Frenchman, but by Butterfield, an Englishman residing there.[459] Nor did they succeed better in matters of immediate and obvious utility. The improvements effected in manufactures were few and insignificant, and were calculated, not for the comfort of the people, but for the luxury of the idle classes.[460] What was really valuable was neglected; no great invention was made; and by the end of the reign of Louis XIV. scarcely anything had been done in machinery, or in those other contrivances which,[194] by economising national labour, increase national wealth.[461]

While such was the state, not only of mathematical and astronomical science, but also of mechanical and inventive arts, corresponding symptoms of declining power were seen in other departments. In physiology, in anatomy and in medicine, we look in vain for any men equal to those by whom France had once been honoured. The greatest discovery of this kind ever made by a Frenchman, was that of the receptacle of the chyle; a discovery which, in the opinion of a high authority, is not inferior to that of the circulation of the blood by Harvey.[462] This important step in our knowledge is constantly assigned to the age of Louis XIV., as if it were one of the results of his gracious bounty; but it would be difficult to tell what Louis had to do with it, since the discovery was made by Pecquet in 1647,[463] when the great king was nine years old. After Pecquet, the most eminent of the French anatomists in the seventeenth century was Riolan; and his name we also find among the illustrious men who adorned the reign of Louis XIV. But the principal works of Riolan were written before Louis XIV. was born; his last work was published in 1652; and he himself died in 1657.[464] Then there came a pause, and, during three generations, the French did nothing for these great subjects: they wrote no work upon them which is now read, they made no discoveries, and they[195] seemed to have lost all heart, until that revival of knowledge, which, as we shall presently see, took place in France about the middle of the eighteenth century. In the practical parts of medicine, in its speculative parts, and in the arts connected with surgery, the same law prevails. The French, in these, as in other matters, had formerly produced men of great eminence, who had won for themselves an European reputation, and whose works are still remembered. Thus, only to mention two or three instances, they had a long line of illustrious physicians, among whom Fernel and Joubert were the earliest;[465] they had, in surgery, Ambroise Paré, who not only introduced important practical improvements,[466] but who has the still rarer merit of being one of the founders of comparative osteology;[467] and they had Baillou, who late in the sixteenth and early in the seventeenth century, advanced pathology, by connecting it with the study of morbid anatomy.[468] Under Louis XIV. all this was changed. Under him, surgery was neglected, though in other countries its progress[196] was rapid.[469] The English, by the middle of the seventeenth century, had taken considerable steps in medicine: its therapeutical branch being reformed chiefly by Sydenham, its physiological branch by Glisson.[470] But the age of Louis XIV. cannot boast of a single medical writer who can be compared to these; not even one whose name is now known as having made any specific addition to our knowledge. In Paris, the practice of medicine was notoriously inferior to that in the capitals of Germany, Italy, and England; while in the French provinces, the ignorance, even of the best physicians, was scandalous.[471] Indeed, it is no exaggeration to say that, during the whole of this long period, the French in these matters effected comparatively nothing; they made no contributions to clinical literature,[472] and scarcely any to therapeutics, to pathology, to physiology, or to anatomy.[473]

In what are called the natural sciences, we also find the French now brought to a stand. In zoology, they had formerly possessed remarkable men, among whom Belon and Rondelet were the most conspicuous:[474] but, under Louis XIV., they did not produce one original observer in this great field of inquiry.[475] In chemistry, again, Rey had, in the reign of Louis XIII., struck out views of such vast importance, that he anticipated some of those generalizations which formed the glory of the French intellect in the eighteenth century.[476] During the corrupt and frivolous age of Louis XIV., all this was forgotten; the labours of Rey were neglected; and so complete was the indifference, that even the celebrated experiments of Boyle remained unknown in France for more than forty years after they were published.[477]

Connected with zoology, and, to a philosophic mind, inseparable from it, is botany: which, occupying a[198] middle place between the animal and mineral world, indicates their relation to each other, and at different points touches the confines of both. It also throws great light on the functions of nutrition,[478] and on the laws of development; while, from the marked analogy between animals and vegetables, we have every reason to hope that its further progress, assisted by that of electricity, will prepare the way for a comprehensive theory of life, to which the resources of our knowledge are still unequal, but towards which the movements of modern science are manifestly tending. On these grounds, far more than for the sake of practical advantages, botany will always attract the attention of thinking men; who, neglecting views of immediate utility, look to large and ultimate results, and only value particular facts in so far as they facilitate the discovery of general truths. The first step in this noble study was taken towards the middle of the sixteenth century, when authors, instead of copying what previous writers had said, began to observe nature for themselves.[479] The next step was, to add experiment to observation: but it required another hundred years before this could be done with accuracy; because the microscope, which is essential to such inquiries, was[199] only invented about 1620, and the labour of a whole generation was needed to make it available for minute investigations.[480] So soon, however, as this resource was sufficiently matured to be applied to plants, the march of botany became rapid, at least as far as details are concerned; for it was not until the eighteenth century that the facts were actually generalized. But, in the preliminary work of accumulating the facts, great energy was shown; and, for reasons stated in an earlier part of the Introduction, this, like other studies relating to the external world, advanced with peculiar speed during the reign of Charles II. The tracheæ of plants were discovered by Henshaw in 1661;[481] and their cellular tissue by Hooke in 1667.[482] These were considerable approaches towards establishing the analogy between plants and animals; and, within a few years, Grew effected still more of the same kind. He made such minute and extensive dissections, as to raise the anatomy of vegetables to a separate study, and prove that their organization is scarcely less complicated than that possessed by animals.[483] His first work[200] was written in 1670;[484] and, in 1676, another Englishman, Millington, ascertained the existence of a distinction of sexes;[485] thus supplying further evidence of the harmony between the animal and vegetable kingdoms, and of the unity of idea which regulates their composition.

This is what was effected in England during the reign of Charles II.; and we now ask what was done in France, during the same period, under the munificent patronage of Louis XIV. The answer is, nothing; no discovery, no idea, which forms an epoch in this important department of natural science. The son of the celebrated Sir Thomas Brown visited Paris in the hope of making some additions to his knowledge of botany, which he thought he could not fail to do in a country where science was held in such honour, its professors so caressed by the court, and its researches so bountifully encouraged. To his surprise, he, in 1665, found in that great city no one capable of teaching his favourite pursuit, and even the public lectures on it miserably[201] meagre and unsatisfactory.[486] Neither then, nor at a much later period, did the French possess a good popular treatise on botany: still less did they make any improvement in it. Indeed, so completely was the philosophy of the subject misunderstood, that Tournefort, the only French botanist of repute in the reign of Louis, actually rejected that discovery of the sexes of plants, which had been made before he began to write, and which afterwards became the corner-stone of the Linnæan system.[487] This showed his incapacity for those large views respecting the unity of the organic world, which alone give to botany a scientific value; and we find, accordingly, that he did nothing for the physiology of plants, and that his only merit was as a collector and classifier of them.[488] And even in his classification he was guided, not by a comprehensive comparison of their various parts, but by considerations drawn from the mere appearance of the flower:[489] thus depriving botany of its real grandeur, degrading it into an arrangement[202] of beautiful objects, and supplying another instance of the way in which the Frenchmen of that generation impoverished what they sought to enrich, and dwarfed every topic, until they suited the intellect and pleased the eye of that ignorant and luxurious court, to whose favour they looked for reward, and whose applause it was the business of their life to gain.

The truth is, that in these, as in all matters of real importance, in questions requiring independent thought, and in questions of practical utility, the age of Louis XIV. was an age of decay: it was an age of misery, of intolerance, and oppression; it was an age of bondage, of ignominy, of incompetence. This would long since have been universally admitted, if those who have written the history of that period had taken the trouble to study subjects without which no history can be understood; or, I should rather say, without which no history can exist. If this had been done, the reputation of Louis XIV. would at once have shrunk to its natural size. Even at the risk of exposing myself to the charge of unduly estimating my own labours, I cannot avoid saying, that the facts which I have just pointed out have never before been collected, but have remained isolated in the text-books and repertories of the sciences to which they belong. Yet without them it is impossible to study the age of Louis XIV. It is impossible to estimate the character of any period except by tracing its development; in other words, by measuring the extent of its knowledge. Therefore it is, that to write the history of a country without regard to its intellectual progress, is as if an astronomer should compose a planetary system without regard to the sun, by whose light alone the planets can be seen, and by whose attraction they are held in their course, and compelled to run in the path of their appointed orbits. For the great luminary, even as it shines in the heaven, is not a more noble or a more powerful object than is the intellect of man in this nether world. It is to the human intellect, and to that alone, that every country owes its knowledge. And what is it but the progress and diffusion of knowledge which has given us[203] our arts, our sciences, our manufactures, our laws, our opinions, our manners, our comforts, our luxuries, our civilization; in short, everything that raises us above the savages, who by their ignorance are degraded to the level of the brutes with which they herd? Surely, then, the time has now arrived when they who undertake to write the history of a great nation should occupy themselves with those matters by which alone the destiny of men is regulated, and should abandon the petty and insignificant details by which we have too long been wearied; details respecting the lives of kings, the intrigues of ministers, the vices and the gossip of courts.

It is precisely these higher considerations which furnish the key to the history of the reign of Louis XIV. In that time, as in all others, the misery of the people and the degradation of the country followed the decline of the national intellect; while this last was, in its turn, the result of the protective spirit—that mischievous spirit which weakens whatever it touches. If in the long course and compass of history there is one thing more clear than another, it is, that whenever a government undertakes to protect intellectual pursuits, it will almost always protect them in the wrong place, and reward the wrong men. Nor is it surprising that this should be the case. What can kings and ministers know about those immense branches of knowledge, to cultivate which with success is often the business of an entire life? How can they, constantly occupied with their lofty pursuits, have leisure for such inferior matters? Is it to be supposed that such acquirements will be found among statesmen, who are always engaged in the most weighty concerns; sometimes writing despatches, sometimes making speeches, sometimes organising a party in the parliament, sometimes baffling an intrigue in the privy-chamber? Or if the sovereign should graciously bestow his patronage according to his own judgment, are we to expect that mere philosophy and science should be familiar to high and mighty princes, who have their own peculiar and arduous studies, and who have to learn the mysteries[204] of heraldry, the nature and dignities of rank, the comparative value of the different orders, decorations, and titles, the laws of precedence, the prerogatives of noble birth, the names and powers of ribbons, stars, and garters, the various modes of conferring an honour or installing into an office, the adjustment of ceremonies, the subtleties of etiquette, and all those other courtly accomplishments necessary to the exalted functions which they perform?

The mere statement of such questions proves the absurdity of the principle which they involve. For, unless we believe that kings are omniscient as well as immaculate, it is evident that in the bestowal of rewards they must be guided either by personal caprice or by the testimony of competent judges. And since no one is a competent judge of scientific excellence unless he is himself scientific, we are driven to this monstrous alternative, that the rewards of intellectual labour must be conferred injudiciously, or else that they must be given according to the verdict of that very class by whom they are received. In the first case, the reward will be ridiculous; in the latter case, it will be disgraceful. In the former case, weak men will be benefited by wealth which is taken from industry to be lavished on idleness. But in the latter case, those men of real genius, those great and illustrious thinkers, who are the masters and teachers of the human race, are to be tricked out with trumpery titles; and after scrambling in miserable rivalry for the sordid favours of a court, they are then to be turned into beggars of the state, who not only clamour for their share of the spoil, but even regulate the proportions into which the shares are to be divided.

Under such a system, the natural results are, first, the impoverishment and servility of genius: then the decay of knowledge; then the decline of the country. Three times in the history of the world has this experiment been tried. In the ages of Augustus, of Leo X., and of Louis XIV., the same method was adopted, and the same result ensued. In each of these ages, there was much apparent splendour, immediately succeeded by[205] sudden ruin. In each instance, the brilliancy survived the independence; and in each instance, the national spirit sank under that pernicious alliance between government and literature, by virtue of which the political classes become very powerful, and the intellectual classes very weak, simply because they who dispense the patronage will, of course, receive the homage; and if, on the one hand, government is always ready to reward literature, so on the other hand, will literature be always ready to succumb to government.

Of these three ages, that of Louis XIV. was incomparably the worst; and nothing but the amazing energy of the French people could have enabled them to rally, as they afterwards did, from the effects of so enfeebling a system. But though they rallied, the effort cost them dear. The struggle, as we shall presently see, lasted two generations, and was only ended by that frightful Revolution which formed its natural climax. What the real history of that struggle was, I shall endeavour to ascertain towards the conclusion of this volume. Without, however, anticipating the course of affairs, we will now proceed to what I have already mentioned as the second great characteristic of the reign of Louis XIV.

II. The second intellectual characteristic of the reign of Louis XIV. is, in importance, hardly inferior to the first. We have already seen that the national intellect, stunted by the protection of the court, was so diverted from the noblest branches of knowledge, that in none of them did it produce anything worthy of being recorded. As a natural consequence, the minds of men, driven from the higher departments, took refuge in the lower, and concentrated themselves upon those inferior subjects, where the discovery of truth is not the main object, but where beauty of form and expression are the things chiefly pursued. Thus, the first consequence of the patronage of Louis XIV. was, to diminish the field for genius, and to sacrifice science to art. The second consequence was, that, even in art itself, there was soon seen a marked decay. For a short time, the stimulus produced its effect; but was followed by that collapse[206] which is its natural result. So essentially vicious is the whole system of patronage and reward, that after the death of those writers and artists, whose works form the only redeeming point in the reign of Louis, there was found no one capable of even imitating their excellences. The poets, dramatists, painters, musicians, sculptors, architects, were, with hardly an exception, not only born, but educated under that freer policy, which existed before his time. When they began their labours, they benefited by a munificence which encouraged the activity of their genius. But in a few years, that generation having died off, the hollowness of the whole system was clearly exposed. More than a quarter of a century before the death of Louis XIV., most of these eminent men had ceased to live; and then it was seen to how miserable a plight the country was reduced under the boasted patronage of the great king. At the moment when Louis XIV. died, there was scarcely a writer or an artist in France who enjoyed an European reputation. This is a circumstance well worth our notice. If we compare the different classes of literature, we shall find that sacred oratory, being the least influenced by the king, was able the longest to bear up against his system. Massillon belongs partly to the subsequent reign; but even of the other great divines, Bossuet and Bourdaloue both lived to 1704,[490] Mascaron to 1703,[491] and Flechier to 1710.[492] As, however, the king, particularly in his latter years, was very fearful of meddling with the church, it is in profane matters that we can best trace the workings of his policy, because it is there that his interference was most active. With a view to this, the simplest plan will be, to look, in the first place, into the history of the fine arts; and after ascertaining who the greatest artists were, observe the year in which they died, remembering that the government of Louis XIV. began in 1661, and ended in 1715.

If, now, we examine this period of fifty-four years, we[207] shall be struck by the remarkable fact, that everything which is celebrated was effected in the first half of it; while more than twenty years before its close, the most eminent masters all died without leaving any successors. The six greatest painters in the reign of Louis XIV. were Poussin, Lesueur, Claude Lorraine, Le Brun, and the two Mignards. Of these, Le Brun died in 1690;[493] the elder Mignard in 1668;[494] the younger in 1695;[495] Claude Lorraine in 1682;[496] Lesueur in 1655;[497] and Poussin, perhaps the most distinguished of all the French school, died in 1665.[498] The two greatest architects were, Claude Perrault and Francis Mansart; but Perrault died in 1688;[499] Mansart in 1666;[500] and Blondel, the next in fame, died in 1686.[501] The greatest of all the sculptors was Puget, who died in 1694.[502] Lulli, the founder of French music, died in 1687.[503] Quinault, the greatest poet of French music, died in 1688.[504] Under[208] these eminent men, the fine arts, in the reign of Louis XIV., reached their zenith; and during the last thirty years of his life, their decline was portentously rapid. This was the case, not only in architecture and music, but even in painting, which, being more subservient than they are to personal vanity, is more likely to flourish under a rich and despotic government. The genius, however, of painters fell so low, that long before the death of Louis XIV., France ceased to possess one of any merit; and when his successor came to the throne, this beautiful art was, in that great country, almost extinct.[505]

These are startling facts; not matters of opinion, which may be disputed, but stubborn dates, supported by irrefragable testimony. And if we examine in the same manner the literature of the age of Louis XIV., we shall arrive at similar conclusions. If we ascertain the dates of those masterpieces which adorn his reign, we shall find that during the last five-and-twenty years of his life, when his patronage had been the longest in operation, it was entirely barren of results; in other words, that when the French had been most habituated to his protection, they were least able to effect great things. Louis XIV. died in 1715. Racine produced Phedre in 1677; Andromaque in 1667; Athelie in 1691.[506] Molière published the Misanthrope in 1666; Tartuffe[209] in 1667; the Avare in 1668.[507] The Lutrin of Boileau was written in 1674; his best Satires in 1666.[508] The last Fables of La Fontaine appeared in 1678, and his last Tales in 1671.[509] The Inquiry respecting Truth, by Malebranche, was published in 1674;[510] the Caractères of La Bruyère in 1687;[511] the Maximes of Rochefoucauld in 1665.[512] The Provincial Letters of Pascal were written 1656, and he himself died in 1662.[513] As to Corneille, his great Tragedies were composed, some while Louis was still a boy, and the others before the king was born.[514] Such were the dates of the masterpieces of the age of Louis XIV. The authors of these immortal works all ceased to write, and nearly all ceased to live, before the close of the seventeenth century; and we may fairly ask the admirers of Louis XIV. who those men were that succeeded them. Where have their names been registered? Where are their works to be found? Who is there that now reads the books of those obscure hirelings, who for so many years thronged the court of the great king? Who has heard anything of Campistron, La Chapelle, Genest, Ducerceau, Dancourt, Danchet, Vergier, Catrou, Chaulieu, Legendre, Valincour, Lamotte, and the other ignoble compilers, who long remained the brightest ornaments of France? Was this, then, the consequence of the royal bounty? Was this the fruit of the royal patronage? If the system of reward and protection is really advantageous to literature and to art, how is it that it should have produced the meanest results when it had been the[210] longest in operation? If the favour of kings is, as their flatterers tell us, of such importance, how comes it that the more the favour was displayed, the more the effects were contemptible?

Nor was this almost inconceivable penury compensated by superiority in any other department. The simple fact is that Louis XIV. survived the entire intellect of the French nation, except that small part of it which grew up in opposition to his principles, and afterwards shook the throne of his successor.[515] Several years before his death, and when his protective system had been in full force for nearly half a century, there was not to be found in the whole of France a statesman who could develop the resources of the country, or a general who could defend it against its enemies. Both in the civil service and in the military service, every thing had fallen into disorder. At home there was nothing but confusion; abroad there was nothing but disaster. The spirit of France succumbed, and was laid prostrate. The men of letters, pensioned and decorated by the court, had degenerated into a fawning and hypocritical race, who, to meet the wishes of their masters, opposed all improvement, and exerted themselves in support of every old abuse. The end of all this was, a corruption, a servility, and a loss of power more complete than has ever been witnessed in any of the great countries of Europe. There was no popular liberty; there were no great men; there was no science; there was no literature; there were no arts. Within, there was a discontented people, a rapacious government, and a beggared exchequer. Without, there were foreign armies, which pressed upon all the frontiers, and which nothing but their mutual jealousies, and a change in the English cabinet, prevented from dismembering the monarchy of France.[516]

Such was the forlorn position of that noble country towards the close of the reign of Louis XIV.[517] The[212] misfortunes which embittered the declining years of the king were, indeed, so serious, that they could not fail to excite our sympathy, if we did not know that they were the result of his own turbulent ambition, of his insufferable arrogance, but, above all, of a grasping and restless vanity, which, making him eager to concentrate on his single person all the glory of France, gave rise to that insidious policy, which, with gifts, with honours, and with honied words, began by gaining the admiration of the intellectual classes, then made them courtly and time-serving, and ended by destroying all their boldness, stifling every effort of original thought, and thus postponing for an indefinite period the progress of national civilization.

Footnotes:

[433] On the disgraceful subserviency of the most eminent men of letters, see Capefigue's Louis XIV., vol. i. pp. 41, 42, 116; and on the feeling of the people, Le Vassor, who wrote late in the reign of Louis XIV., bitterly says, ‘mais les Français, accoutumés à l'esclavage, ne sentent plus la pesanteur de leurs chaînes.’ Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. vi. p. 670. Foreigners were equally amazed at the general, and still more, at the willing servility. Lord Shaftesbury, in a letter dated February 1704–5, passes a glowing eulogy upon liberty; but he adds, that in France ‘you will hardly find this argument understood; for whatever flashes may now and then appear, I never yet knew one single Frenchman a free man.’ Forster's Original Letters of Locke, Sidney, and Shaftesbury, 1830, p. 205. In the same year, De Foe makes a similar remark in regard to the French nobles, Wilson's Life of De Foe, vol. ii. p. 209; and, in 1699, Addison writes from Blois a letter which strikingly illustrates the degradation of the French. Aikin's Life of Addison, vol. i. p. 80. Compare Burnet's Own Time, vol. iv. p. 365, on ‘the gross excess of flattery to which the French have run, beyond the examples of former ages, in honour of their king.’

[434] The terms of this compact between the crown and the church are fairly stated by M. Ranke: ‘Wir sehen, die beiden Gewalten unterstützten einander. Der König ward von den Einwirkungen der weltlichen, der Clerus von der unbedingten Autorität der geistlichen Gewalt des Papstthums freigesprochen.’ Die Päpste, vol. iii. p. 168.

[435] This part of his character is skilfully drawn by Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxv. p. 43.

[436] Flasson supposes that the first persecuting laws were in 1679: ‘Des l'année 1679 les concessions faites aux protestans avaient été graduellement restreintes.’ Diplomatie Française, vol. iv. p. 92. But the fact is, that these laws began in 1662, the year after the death of Mazarin. See Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxv. p. 167; Benoist, Edit. de Nantes, vol. iii. pp. 460–462, 481. In 1667, a letter from Thynne to Lord Clarendon (Lister's Life of Clarendon, vol. iii. p. 446) mentions ‘the horrid persecutions the reformed religion undergoes in France;’ and Locke, who travelled in France in 1675 and 1676, states in his Journal (King's Life of Locke, vol. i. p. 110) that the Protestants were losing ‘every day some privilege or other.’

[437] An account of the revocation will be found in all the French historians; but I do not remember that any of them have noticed that there was a rumour of it in Paris twenty years before it occurred. In March 1665 Patin writes, ‘On dit que, pour miner les huguenots, le roi veut supprimer les chambres de l'édit, et abolir l'édit de Nantes.’ Lettres de Patin, vol. iii. p. 516.

[438] Compare Burnet's Own Time, vol. iii. pp. 73–76, with Siècle de Louis XIV, in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xx. pp. 377, 378. Voltaire says that the Protestants who persisted in their religion ‘étaient livrés aux soldats, qui eurent toute licence, excepté celle de tuer. Il y eut pourtant plusieurs personnes si cruellement maltraitées qu'elles en moururent.’ And Burnet, who was in France in 1685, says, ‘all men set their thoughts on work to invent new methods of cruelty.’ What some of those methods were, I shall now relate; because the evidence, however painful it may be, is necessary to enable us to understand the reign of Louis XIV. It is necessary that the veil should be rent; and that the squeamish delicacy which would hide such facts, should give way before the obligation which the historian is under of holding up to public opprobrium, and branding with public infamy, the church by which the measures were instigated, the sovereign by whom they were enforced, and the age in which they were permitted.

The two original sources for our knowledge of these events are, Quick's Synodicon in Gallia, 1692, folio; and Benoist, Histoire de l'Edit de Nantes, 1695, 4to. From these works I extract the following accounts of what happened in France in 1685. ‘Afterwards they fall upon the persons of the Protestants; and there was no wickedness, though never so horrid, which they did not put in practice, that they might enforce them to change their religion…. They bound them as criminals are when they be put to the rack; and in that posture, putting a funnel into their mouths, they poured wine down their throats till its fumes had deprived them of their reason, and they had in that condition made them consent to become Catholics. Some they stripped stark naked, and after they had offered them a thousand indignities, they stuck them with pins from head to foot; they cut them with pen-knives, tear them by the noses with red-hot pincers, and dragged them about the rooms till they promised to become Roman Catholics, or that the doleful outcries of these poor tormented creatures, calling upon God for mercy, constrained them to let them go…. In some places they tied fathers and husbands to the bed-posts, and ravished their wives and daughters before their eyes…. From others they pluck off the nails of their hands and toes, which must needs cause an intolerable pain. They burnt the feet of others. They blew up men and women with bellows, till they were ready to burst in pieces. If these horrid usages could not prevail upon them to violate their consciences, and abandon their religion, they did then imprison them in close and noisome dungeons, in which they exercised all kinds of inhumanities upon them.’ Quick's Synodicon, vol. i. pp. cxxx. cxxxi. ‘Cependant les troupes exerçoient partout de cruautez inouies. Tout leur étoit permis, pourveu qu'ils ne fissent pas mourir. Ils faisoient danser quelquefois leurs hôtes, jusqu'à ce qu'ils tombassent en défaillance. Ils bernoient les autres jusqu'à ce qu'ils n'en pouvoient plus…. Il y en eut quelques-uns à qui on versa de l'eau bouillante dans la bouche…. Il y en eut plusieurs à qui on donna des coups de bâton sous les pieds, pour éprouver si ce supplice est aussi cruel que les relations le publient. On arrachoit à d'autres le poil de la barbe…. D'autres brûloient à la chandelle le poil des bras et des jambes de leurs hôtes. D'autres faisoient brûler de la poudre, si près du visage de ceux qui leur resistoient, qu'elle leur grilloit toute la peau. Ils mettoient à d'autres des charbons allumez dans les mains, et les contraignoient de les tenir fermées, jusqu'à ce que les charbons fussent éteints…. On brûla les pieds à plusieurs, tenant les uns long-tems devant un grand feu; appliquant aux autres une pelle ardente sous les pieds; liant les pieds des autres dans des bottines pleines de graisse, qu'on faisoit fondre et chauffer peu à peu devant un brasier ardent.’ Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. v. pp. 887–889. One of the Protestants, named Ryau, they ‘lièrent fort étroitement; lui sevrèrent les doigts des mains; lui fichèrent des épingles sous les ongles; lui firent brûler de la poudre dans les oreilles; lui percèrent les cuisses en plusieurs lieux, et versèrent du vinaigre et du sel dans ses blessures. Par ce tourment ils épuisèrent sa patience en deux jours; et le forcèrent à changer de religion,’ p. 890. ‘Ses dragons étoient les mêmes en tous lieux. Ils battoient, ils étourdissoient, ils brûloient en Bourgogne comme en Poitou, en Champagne comme en Guyenne, en Normandie comme en Languedoc. Mais ils n'avoient pour les femmes ni plus de respect, ni plus de pitié que pour les hommes. Au contraire, ils abusoient de la tendre pudeur qui est une des propriétez de leur sexe; et ils s'en prevaloient pour leur faire de plus sensibles outrages. On leur levoit quelquefois leurs juppes par dessus la tête, et on leur jetoit des seaux d'eau sur le corps. Il y en eut plusieurs que les soldats mirent en chemise, et qu'ils forcèrent de danser avec eux dans cet état…. Deux filles de Calais, nommées le Noble, furent mises toutes nuës sur le pavé, et furent ainsi exposées à la mocquerie et aux outrages des passans…. Des dragons ayant lié la dame de Vezençai à la quenouille de son lit, lui crachoient dans la bouche quand elle l'ouvroit pour parler ou pour soupirer.’ pp. 891, 892. At p. 917 are other details, far more horrible, respecting the treatment of women, and which indignation rather than shame prevents me from transcribing. Indeed, the shame can only light on the church and the government under whose united authority such scandalous outrages could be openly perpetrated, merely for the sake of compelling men to change their religious opinions.

[439] M. Blanqui (Hist. de l'Economie Politique, vol. ii. p. 10) says, that the revocation of the Edict of Nantes cost France ‘cinq cent mille de ses enfants les plus industrieux,’ who carried into other countries ‘les habitudes d'ordre et de travail dont ils étaient imbus.’ See also Siècle de Louis XIV, chap. xxxvi., in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xx. pp. 380, 381. Several of them emigrated to North America. Compare Godwin on Population, pp. 388, 389, with Benoist, l'Edit de Nantes, vol. v. pp. 973, 974, and Lyell's Second Visit to the United States, edit. 1849, vol. ii. p. 159. See also, on the effects of the Revocation, Lettres inédites de Voltaire, vol. ii. p. 473.

[440] On the diminished respect for kings, caused by the abandonment of divine right, see Spencer's Social Statics, pp. 423, 424; and on the influence of the clergy in propagating the old doctrine, see Allen's learned work on the Royal Prerogative, edit. 1849, p. 156. See also some striking remarks by Locke, in King's Life of Locke, vol ii. p. 90.

[441] ‘Qu'est devenu, en effet, le droit divin, cette pensée, autrefois acceptée par les masses, que les rois étaient les représentants de Dieu sur la terre, que la racine de leur pouvoir était dans le ciel? Elle s'est évanouie devant cette autre pensée, qu'aucun nuage, aucun mysticisme n'obscurcit; devant cette pensée si naturelle et brillant d'une clarté si nette et si vive, que la souveraine puissance, sur la terre, appartient au peuple entier, et non à une fraction, et moins encore à un seul homme.’ Rey, Science Sociale, vol. iii. p. 308. Compare Manning on the Law of Nations, p. 101; Laing's Sweden, p. 408; Laing's Denmark, p. 196; Burke's Works, vol. i. p. 391.

[442] In this, as in all instances, the language of respect long survives the feeling to which the language owed its origin. Lord Brougham (Political Philosophy, vol. i. p. 42, Lond. 1849) observes, that ‘all their titles are derived from a divine original—all refer to them as representing the Deity on earth. They are called “Grace,” “Majesty.” They are termed “The Lord's anointed,” “The Vicegerent of God upon earth;” with many other names which are either nonsensical or blasphemous, but which are outdone in absurdity by the kings of the East.’ True enough: but if Lord Brougham had written thus three centuries ago, he would have had his ears cut off for his pains.

[443] ‘La première période du gouvernement de Louis XIV commence donc en 1661.’ Capefigue's Louis XIV., vol. i. p. 4.

[444] Biog. Univ. vol. xi. p. 157.

[445] In Biog. Univ. vol. xxxiii. p. 50, he is said to have composed it ‘à l'âge de seize ans;’ and at p. 46, to have been born in 1623.

[446] Leslie's Natural Philosophy, p. 201; Bordas Demoulin, Le Cartésianisme, vol. i. p. 310. Sir John Herschel (Disc. on Nat. Philos. pp. 229, 230) calls this ‘one of the first, if not the very first,’ crucial instance recorded in physics; and he thinks that it ‘tended, more powerfully than any thing which had previously been done in science, to confirm in the minds of men that disposition to experimental verification which had scarcely yet taken full and secure root.’ In this point of view, the addition it actually made to knowledge is the smallest part of its merit.

[447] Montucla (Hist. des Mathématiques, vol. ii. p. 61) says, ‘vers 1658;’ and at p. 65, ‘il se mit, vers le commencement de 1658, à considérer plus profondément les propriétés de cette courbe.’

[448] Montucla (Hist. des Mathémat. vol. ii. p. 136) enthusiastically declares that ‘si Descartes eût manqué à l'esprit humain, Fermat l'eût remplacé en géométrie.’ Simson, the celebrated restorer of Greek geometry, said that Fermat was the only modern who understood porisms. See Trail's Account of Simson, 1812, 4to. pp. 18, 41. On the connexion between his views and the subsequent discovery of the differential calculus, see Brewster's Life of Newton, vol. ii. pp. 7, 8; and compare Comte, Philosophie Positive, vol. i. pp. 228, 229, 726, 727.

[449] See extracts from two letters written by Fermat to Roberval, in 1636, in Montucla, Hist. des Mathématiques, vol. ii. pp. 136, 137; respecting which there is no notice in the meagre article on Fermat, in Hutton's Mathematical Dictionary, vol. i. p. 510, 4to. 1815. It is a disgrace to English mathematicians that this unsatisfactory work of Hutton's should still remain the best they have produced on the history of their own science. The same disregard of dates is shown in the hasty remarks on Fermat by Playfair. See Playfair's Dissertation on the Progress of Mathematical Science, Encyclop. Brit. vol. i. p. 440, 7th edition.

[450] Hutton's Mathemat. Dict. vol. i. p. 572.

[451] Ibid. vol. ii. p. 46.

[452] Of which Sauveur may be considered the creator. Compare Eloge de Sauveur, in Œuvres de Fontenelle, Paris, 1766, vol. v. p. 435, with Whewell's Hist. of the Induc. Sciences, vol. ii. p. 334; Comte, Philos. Pos. vol. ii. pp. 627, 628.

[453] In the report presented to Napoleon by the French Institute, it is said of the reign of Louis XIV., ‘les sciences exactes et les sciences physiques peu cultivées en France dans un siècle qui paroissoit ne trouver de charmes que dans la littérature.’ Dacier, Rapport Historique, p. 24. Or, as Lacretelle expresses it (Dix-huitième Siècle, vol. ii. p. 10), ‘La France, après avoir fourni Descartes et Pascal, eut pendant quelque temps à envier aux nations étrangères la gloire de produire des génies créateurs dans les sciences.’

[454] A writer late in the seventeenth century says, with some simplicity, ‘the present king of France is reputed an encourager of choice and able men, in all faculties, who can attribute to his greatness.’ Aubrey's Letters, vol. ii. p. 624.

[455] The Principia of Newton appeared in 1687; and Maupertuis, in 1732, ‘was the first astronomer of France who undertook a critical defence of the theory of gravitation.’ Grant's Hist. of Physical Astronomy, pp. 31, 43. In 1738, Voltaire writes, ‘La France est jusqu'à présent le seul pays où les théories de Newton en physique, et de Boerhaave en médecine, soient combattues. Nous n'avons pas encore de bons éléments de physique; nous avons pour toute astronomie le livre de Bion, qui n'est qu'un ramas informe de quelques mémoires de l'académie.’ Correspond. in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xlvii. p. 340. On the tardy reception of Newton's discoveries in France, compare Eloge de Lacaille, in Œuvres de Bailly, Paris, 1790, vol. i. pp. 175, 176. All this is the more remarkable, because several of the conclusions at which Newton had arrived were divulged before they were embodied in the Principia; and it appears from Brewster's Life of Newton (vol. i. pp. 25, 26, 290), that his speculations concerning gravity began in 1666, or perhaps in the autumn of 1665.

[456] ‘L'abbé Picard fut en société avec Auzout, l'inventeur du micromètre.’ Biog. Univ. vol. xxxiv. p. 253. See also Préface de l'Hist. de l'Acad. des Sciences, in Œuvres de Fontenelle, Paris, 1766, vol. x. p. 20.

[457] The best account I have seen of the invention of the micrometer, is in Mr. Grant's recent work, History of Physical Astronomy, pp. 428, 450–453, where it is proved that Gascoigne invented it in 1639, or possibly a year or two earlier. Compare Humboldt's Cosmos, vol. iii. p. 52; who also ascribes it to Gascoigne, but erroneously dates it in 1640. Montucla (Hist. des Mathémat. vol. ii. pp. 570, 571) admits the priority of Gascoigne; but underrates his merit, being apparently unacquainted with the evidence which Mr. Grant subsequently adduced.

[458] For a short account of this able man, see Lankester's Mem. of Ray, p. 17.

[459] Notwithstanding the strong prejudice then existing against Englishmen, Butterfield was employed by ‘the king and all the princes.’ Lister's Account of Paris at the close of the Seventeenth Century, edited by Dr. Henning, p. 85. Fontenelle mentions ‘M. Hubin,’ as one of the most celebrated makers in Paris in 1687 (Eloge d'Amoltons, in Œuvres de Fontenelle, Paris, 1766, vol. v. p. 113); but has forgotten to state that he too was an Englishman. ‘Lutetiæ sedem posuerat ante aliquod tempus Anglus quidam nomine Hubinus, vir ingeniosus, atque hujusmodi machinationum peritus opifex et industrius. Hominem adii,’ &c. Huetii Commentarius de Rebus ad eum pertinentibus, p. 346. Thus, again, in regard to time-keepers, the vast superiority of the English makers, late in the reign of Louis XIV., was equally incontestable. Compare Biog. Univ. vol. xxiv. pp. 242, 243, with Brewster's Life of Newton, vol. ii. p. 262; and as to the middle of the reign of Louis XIV., see Eloge de Sebastien, in Œuvres de Fontenelle, vol. vi. pp. 332, 333.

[460] ‘Les manufactures étaient plutôt dirigées vers le brillant que vers l'utile. On s'efforça, par un arrêt du mois de mars 1700, d'extirper, ou du moins de réduire beaucoup les fabriques de bas au métier. Malgré cette fausse direction, les objets d'un luxe très-recherché faisaient des progrès bien lents. En 1687, après la mort de Colbert, la cour soldait encore l'industrie des barbares, et faisait fabriquer et broder ses plus beaux habits à Constantinople.’ Lemontey, Etablissement de Louis XIV, p. 364. Lacretelle (Dix-huitième Siècle, vol. ii. p. 5) says, that during the last thirty years of the reign of Louis XIV. ‘les manufactures tombaient.’

[461] Cuvier (Biog. Univ. vol. xxxvii. p. 199) thus describes the condition of France only seven years after the death of Louis XIV.: ‘Nos forges étaient alors presque dans l'enfance; et nous ne faisions point d'acier: tout celui qu'exigeaient les différents métiers nous venait de l'étranger…. Nous ne faisions point non plus alors de fer-blanc, et il ne nous venait que de l'Allemagne.’

[462] ‘Certainement la découverte de Pecquet ne brille pas moins dans l'histoire de notre art que la vérité démontrée pour la première fois par Harvey.’ Sprengel, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. iv. p. 208.

[463] Henle (Anatomie Générale, vol. ii. p. 106) says, that the discovery was made in 1649; but the historians of medicine assign it to 1647. Sprengel, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. iv. pp. 207, 405; Renouard, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. ii. p. 173.

[464] Biog. Univ. vol. xxxviii. pp. 123, 124.

[465] Some of the great steps taken by Joubert are concisely stated in Broussais, Examen des Doctrines Médicales, vol. i. pp. 293, 294, vol. iii. p. 361. Compare Sprengel, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. iii. p. 210. Fernel, though enthusiastically praised by Patin, was probably hardly equal to Joubert. Lettres de Patin, vol. iii. pp. 59, 199, 648. At p. 106, Patin calls Fernel ‘le premier médecin de son temps, et peut-être le plus grand qui sera jamais.’

[466] See a summary of them in Sprengel, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. iii. pp. 405, 406, vol. vii. pp. 14, 15. Sir Benjamin Brodie (Lectures on Surgery, p. 21) says, ‘Few greater benefits have been conferred on mankind than that for which we are indebted to Ambrose Parey—the application of a ligature to a bleeding artery.’

[467] ‘C'était là une vue très-ingénieuse et très-juste qu'Ambroise Paré donnait pour la première fois. C'était un commencement d'ostéologie comparée.’ Cuvier, Hist. des Sciences, part. ii. p. 42. To this I may add, that he is the first French writer on medical jurisprudence. See Paris and Fonblanque's Medical Jurisprudence, 1823, vol. i. p. xviii.

[468] ‘L'un des premiers auteurs à qui l'on doit des observations cadavériques sur les maladies, est le fameux Baillou.’ Broussais, Examen des Doctrines Médicales, vol. ii. p. 218. See also vol. iii. p. 362; and Renouard, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. ii. p. 89. The value of his services is recognized in a recent able work, Phillips on Scrofula, 1846, p. 16.

[469] ‘The most celebrated surgeon of the sixteenth century was Ambroise Paré…. From the time of Paré until the commencement of the eighteenth century, surgery was but little cultivated in France. Mauriceau, Saviard, and Belloste, were the only French surgeons of note who could be contrasted with so many eminent men of other nations. During the eighteenth century, France produced two surgeons of extraordinary genius; these are Petit and Desault.’ Bowman's Surgery, in Encyclop. of Medical Sciences, 1847, 4to. pp. 829, 830.

[470] It is unnecessary to adduce evidence respecting the services rendered by Sydenham, as they are universally admitted; but what, perhaps, is less generally known, is, that Glisson anticipated those important views concerning irritability, which were afterwards developed by Haller and Gorter. Compare Renouard, Hist. de le Médecine, vol. ii. p. 192; Elliotson's Human Physiol. p. 471; Bordas Demoulin, Cartésianisme, vol. i. p. 170; In Wagner's Physiol. 1841, p. 655, the theory is too exclusively ascribed to Haller.

[471] Of this we have numerous complaints from foreigners who visited France. I will quote the testimony of one celebrated man. In 1699, Addison writes from Blois: ‘I made use of one of the physicians of this place, who are as cheap as our English farriers, and generally as ignorant.’ Aikin's Life of Addison, vol. i. p. 74.

[472] Indeed, France was the last great country in Europe in which a chair of clinical medicine was established. See Renouard, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. ii. p. 312; and Bouillaud, Philos. Médicale, p. 114.

[473] M. Bouillaud, in his account of the state of medicine in the seventeenth century, does not mention a single Frenchman during this period. See Bouillaud, Philosophie Médicale, pp. 13 seq. During many years of the power of Louis XIV., the French Academy only possessed one anatomist; and of him, few students of physiology have ever heard: ‘M. du Verney fut assez long-temps le seul anatomiste de l'académie, et ce ne fut qu'en 1684 qu'on lui joignit M. Mery.’ Eloge de Du Verney, in Œuvres de Fontenelle, vol. vi. p. 392.

[474] Cuvier, Hist. des Sciences, part ii. pp. 64–73, 76–80.

[475] After Belon, nothing was done in France for the natural history of animals until 1734, when there appeared the first volume of Reaumur's great work. See Swainson on the Study of Nat. Hist. pp. 24, 43.

[476] On this remarkable man, who was the first philosophic chemist Europe produced, and who, so early as 1630, anticipated some of the generalizations made a hundred and fifty years later by Lavoisier, see Liebig's Letters on Chemistry, pp. 46, 47; Thomson's Hist. of Chemistry, vol. ii. pp. 95, 96; Humboldt's Cosmos, vol. ii. p. 729; Cuvier, Progrès des Sciences, vol. i. p. 30.

[477] Cuvier (Progrès des Sciences, vol. i. p. 30) says of Rey, ‘son écrit était tombé dans l'oubli le plus profond;’ and, in another work, the same great authority writes (Hist. des Sciences, part ii. p. 333): ‘Il y avait plus de quarante ans que Becker avait présenté sa nouvelle théorie, développée par Stahl; il y avait encore plus long-temps que les expériences de Boyle sur la chimie pneumatique avaient été publiées, et cependant, rien de tout cela n'entrait encore dans l'enseignement général de la chimie, du moins en France.’

[478] The highest present generalizations of the laws of nutrition are those by M. Chevreul; which are thus summed up by MM. Robin et Verdeil, in their admirable work, Chimie Anatomique, vol. i. p. 203, Paris, 1853: ‘En passant des plantes aux animaux, nous voyons que plus l'organisation de ces derniers est compliquée, plus les aliments dont ils se nourrissent sont complexes et analogues par leurs principes immédiats aux principes des organes qu'ils doivent entretenir.

‘En définitive, on voit que les végétaux se nourrissent d'eau, d'acide carbonique, d'autres gaz et de matières organiques à l'état d'engrais, ou en d'autres termes altérées, c'est-à-dire ramenées à l'état de principes plus simples, plus solubles. Au contraire, les animaux plus élevés dans l'échelle organique ont besoin de matières bien plus complexes quant aux principes immédiats qui les composent, et plus variées dans leurs propriétés.’

[479] Brunfels in 1530, and Fuchs in 1542, were the two first writers who observed the vegetable kingdom for themselves, instead of copying what the ancients had said. Compare Whewell's Hist. of the Sciences, vol. iii. pp. 305, 306, with Pulteney's Hist. of Botany, vol. i. p. 38.

[480] The microscope was exhibited in London, by Drebbel, about 1620; and this appears to be the earliest unquestionable notice of its use, though some writers assert that it was invented at the beginning of the seventeenth century, or even in 1590. Compare the different statements, in Pouillet, Elémens de Physique, vol. ii. p. 357; Humboldt's Cosmos, vol. ii. pp. 699, 700; Sprengel, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. iv. p. 337; Winckler, Gesch. der Botanik, p. 136; Quekett's Treatise on the Microscope, 1848, p. 2; Cuvier, Hist. des Sciences, part ii. p. 470; Hallam's Lit. of Europe, vol. iii. p. 202; Leslie's Nat. Philos. p. 52. On the subsequent improvement of the microscope during the seventeenth century, see Brewster's Life of Newton, vol. i. pp. 29, 242, 243.

[481] See Balfour's Botany, p. 15. In Pulteney's Progress of Botany in England, this beautiful discovery is, if I rightly remember, not even alluded to; but it appears, from a letter written in 1672, that it was then becoming generally known, and had been confirmed by Grew and Malpighi. Ray's Correspond. edit. 1848, p. 98. Compare Richard, Eléments de Botanique, p. 46; where, however, M. Richard erroneously supposes that Grew did not know of the tracheæ till 1682.

[482] Compare Cuvier, Hist. des Sciences, part ii. p. 471, with Thomson's Vegetable Chemistry, p. 950.

[483] Dr. Thomson (Vegetable Chemistry, p. 950) says: ‘But the person to whom we are indebted for the first attempt to ascertain the structure of plants by dissection and microscopical observations, was Dr. Nathaniel Grew.’ The character of Grew's inquiries, as ‘viewing the internal, as well as external parts of plants,’ is also noticed in Ray's Correspond. p. 188; and M. Winckler (Gesch. der Botanik, p. 382) ascribes to him and Malpighi the ‘neuen Aufschwung’ taken by vegetable physiology late in the seventeenth century. See also, on Grew, Lindley's Botany, vol. i. p. 93; and Third Report of Brit. Assoc. p. 27.

[484] The first book of his Anatomy of Plants was laid before the Royal Society in 1670, and printed in 1671. Hallam's Lit. of Europe, vol. iii. p. 580; and Thomson's Hist. of the Royal Society, p. 44.

[485] ‘The presence of sexual organs in plants was first shown in 1676, by Sir Thomas Millington; and it was afterwards confirmed by Grew, Malpighi, and Ray.’ Balfour's Botany, p. 236. See also Pulteney's Progress of Botany, vol. i. pp. 336, 337; and Lindley's Botany, vol. ii. p. 217: and, as to Ray, who was rather slow in admitting the discovery, see Lankester's Mem. of Ray, p. 100. Before this, the sexual system of vegetables had been empirically known to several of the ancients, but never raised to a scientific truth. Compare Richard, Eléments de Botanique, pp. 353, 427, 428, with Matter, Hist. de l'Ecole d'Alexandrie, vol. ii. p. 9.

[486] In July 1665 he writes from Paris to his father, ‘The lecture of plants here is only the naming of them, their degrees in heat and cold, and sometimes their use in physick; scarce a word more than may be seen in every herball.’ Browne's Works, vol. i. p. 108.

[487] Cuvier mentioning the inferiority of Tournefort's views to those of his predecessors, gives as an instance, ‘puisqu'il a rejeté les sexes des plantes.’ Hist. des Sciences, part ii. p. 496. Hence he held that the farina was ex-crementitious. Pulteney's Progress of Botany, vol. i. p. 340.

[488] This is admitted even by his eulogist Duvau. Biog. Univ. vol. xlvi. p. 363.

[489] On the method of Tournefort, which was that of a corrollist, compare Richard, Eléments de Botanique, p. 547; Jussieu's Botany, edit. Wilson, 1849, p. 516; Ray's Correspond. pp. 381, 382; Lankester's Mem. of Ray, p. 49; Winckler, Gesch. der Botanik, p. 142. Cuvier (Hist. des Sciences, part ii. p. 496), with quiet irony, says of it, ‘vous voyez, messieurs, que cette méthode a le mérite d'une grande clarté; qu'elle est fondée sur la forme de la fleur, et par conséquent sur des considérations agréables à saisir…. Ce qui en fit le succès, c'est que Tournefort joignit à son ouvrage une figure de fleur et de fruit appartenant à chacun de ses genres.’ Even in this, he appears to have been careless, and is said to have described ‘a great many plants he never examined nor saw.’ Letter from Dr. Sherard, in Nichols's Illustrations of the Eighteenth Century, vol. i. p. 356.

[490] Biog. Univ. vol. v. pp. 236, 358.

[491] Ibid. xxvii. p. 351.

[492] Ibid. xv. p. 35.

[493] Ibid. xxiii. p. 496.

[494] Ibid. xxix. p. 17.

[495] Ibid. xxix. p. 19.

[496] ‘His best pictures were painted from about 1640 to 1660; he died in 1682.’ Wornum's Epochs of Painting, Lond. 1847. p. 399. Voltaire (Siècle de Louis XIV, in Œuvres, vol. xix. p. 205) says that he died in 1678.

[497] Biog. Univ. vol. xxiv. p. 327; Works of Sir Joshua Reynolds, vol. ii. pp. 454, 455.

[498] Biog. Univ. vol. xxxv. p. 579. Poussin was Barry's ‘favourite’ painter. Letter from Barry, in Burke's Correspond. vol. i. p. 88. Compare Otter's Life of Clarke, vol. ii. p. 55. Sir Joshua Reynolds (Works, vol. i. pp. 97, 351, 376) appears to have preferred him to any of the French school; and in the report presented to Napoleon by the Institute, he is the only French painter mentioned by the side of the Greek and Italian artists. Dacier, Rapport Historique, p. 23.

[499] Biog. Univ. vol. xxxiii. p. 411; Siècle de Louis XIV, in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xix. p. 158.

[500] Biog. Univ. vol. xxvi. p. 503.

[501] Ibid. vol. iv. p. 593.

[502] Ibid. vol. xxxvi. p. 300. Respecting him, see Lady Morgan's France, vol. ii. pp. 30, 31.

[503] M. Capefigue (Louis XIV, vol. ii. p. 79) says, ‘Lulli mourut en 1689;’ but 1687 is the date assigned in Biog. Univ. vol. xxv. p. 425; in Chalmer's Biog. Dict. vol. xx. p. 483; in Rose's Biog. Dict. vol. ix. p. 350; and in Monteil, Divers Etats, vol. vii p. 63. In Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xix. p. 200, he is called ‘le père de la vraie musique en France.’ He was admired by Louis XIV. Lettres de Sévigné, vol. ii. pp. 162, 163.

[504] Biog. Univ. vol. xxxvi. p. 42. Voltaire (Œuvres, vol. xix. p. 162) says, ‘personne n'a jamais égalé Quinault;’ and Mr. Hallam (Lit. of Europe, vol. iii. p. 507), ‘the unrivalled poet of French music.’ See also Lettres de Dudeffand à Walpole, vol. ii. p. 432.

[505] When Louis XV. ascended the throne, painting in France was in the lowest state of degradation. Lady Morgan's France, vol. ii. p. 31. Lacretelle (Dix-huitième Siècle, vol. ii. p. 11) says ‘Les beaux arts dégénérèrent plus sensiblement que les lettres pendant la seconde partie du siècle de Louis XIV…. Il est certain que les vingt-cinq dernières années du règne de Louis XIV n'offrirent que des productions très-inférieures,’ &c. Thus too Barrington (Observations on the Statutes, p. 377), ‘It is very remarkable that the French school hath not produced any very capital painters since the expensive establishment by Louis XIV. of the academies at Rome and Paris.’

[506] Biog. Univ. vol. xxxvi. pp. 499, 502; Hallam's Lit. vol. iii. p. 493.

[507] Biog. Univ. vol. xxix. pp. 306, 308.

[508] Rose's Biog. Dict. vol. iv. p. 376; and Biog. Univ. vol. v. pp. 7, 8, where it is said that ‘ses meilleures satires’ were those published in 1666.

[509] Ibid. vol. xxiii. p. 127.

[510] Tennemann, Gesch. der Philos. vol. x. p. 322.

[511] Biog. Univ. vol. vi. p. 175.

[512] Brunet, Manuel du Libraire, vol. iv. p. 105, Paris 1843; and note in Lettres de Patin, vol. i. p. 421.

[513] Biog. Univ. vol. xxxiii. pp. 64, 71; Palissot, Mém. pour l'Hist. de Lit. vol. ii. pp. 239, 241.

[514] Polyeucte, which is probably his greatest work, appeared in 1640; Médée in 1635; The Cid in 1636; Horace and Cinna both in 1639. Biog. Univ. vol. ix. pp. 609–613.

[515] Voltaire (Siècle de Louis XIV, in Œuvres, vol. xx. pp. 319–322) reluctantly confesses the decline of the French intellect in the latter part of the reign of Louis; and Flassan (Diplomat. Franç. vol. iv. p. 400) calls it ‘remarquable.’ See also Barante, Littérature Française, p. 28; Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxvi. p. 217.

[516] Oppressed by defeats abroad, and by famine and misery at home, Louis was laid at the mercy of his enemies; and ‘was only saved by a party revolution in the English ministry.’ Arnold's Lectures on Modern History, p. 137. Compare Fragments sur l'Histoire, article xxiii. in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xxvii. p. 345, with De Tocqueville, Règne de Louis XV, vol. i. p. 86.

[517] For evidence of the depression and, indeed, utter exhaustion of France during the latter years of Louis XIV., compare Duclos, Mémoires, vol. i. pp. 11–18, with Marmontel, Hist. de la Régence, Paris, 1826, pp. 79–97. The Lettres inédites de Madame de Maintenon (vol. i. pp. 263, 284, 358, 389, 393, 408, 414, 422, 426, 447, 457, 463, vol. ii. pp. 19, 23, 33, 46, 56, and numerous other passages) fully confirm this, and, moreover, prove that in Paris, early in the eighteenth century, the resources, even of the wealthy classes, were beginning to fail; while both public and private credit were so shaken, that it was hardly possible to obtain money on any terms. In 1710, she, the wife of Louis XIV., complains of her inability to borrow 500 livres: ‘Tout mon crédit échoue souvent auprès de M. Desmaretz pour une somme de cinq cents livres.’ Ibid. vol. ii. p. 33. In 1709, she writes (vol. i. p. 447): ‘Le jeu devient insipide, parce qu'il n'y a presque plus d'argent.’ See also vol. ii. p. 112; and in February 1711 (p. 151): ‘Ce n'est pas l'abondance mais l'avarice qui fait jouer nos courtisans; on met le tout pour le tout pour avoir quelque argent, et les tables de lansquenet ont plus l'air d'un triste commerce que d'un divertissement.’

In regard to the people generally, the French writers supply us with little information, because in that age they were too much occupied with their great king and their showy literature, to pay attention to mere popular interests. But I have collected from other sources some information which I will now put together, and which I recommend to the notice of the next French author who undertakes to compose a history of Louis XIV.

Locke, who was travelling in France in 1676 and 1677, writes in his journal, ‘The rent of land in France fallen one–half in these few years, by reason of the poverty of the people.’ King's Life of Locke, vol. i. p. 139. About the same time, Sir William Temple says (Works, vol. ii. p. 268), ‘The French peasantry are wholly dispirited by labour and want.’ In 1691, another observer, proceeding from Calais, writes, ‘From hence, travelling to Paris, there was opportunity enough to observe what a prodigious state of poverty the ambition and absoluteness of a tyrant can reduce an opulent and fertile country to. There were visible all the marks and signs of a growing misfortune; all the dismal indications of an overwhelming calamity. The fields were uncultivated, the villages unpeopled, the houses dropping to decay.’ Burton's Diary, note by Rutt, vol. iv. p. 79. In a tract published in 1689, the author says (Somers Tracts, vol. x. p. 264), ‘I have known in France poor people sell their beds, and lie upon straw; sell their pots, kettles, and all their necessary household goods, to content the unmerciful collectors of the king's taxes.’ Dr. Lister, who visited Paris in 1698, says, ‘Such is the vast multitude of poor wretches in all parts of this city, that whether a person is in a carriage or on foot, in the street, or even in a shop, he is alike unable to transact business, on account of the importunities of mendicants.’ Lister's Account of Paris, p. 46. Compare a Letter from Prior, in Ellis's Letters of Literary Men, p. 213. In 1708, Addison, who, from personal observation, was well acquainted with France, writes: ‘We think here as you do in the country, that France is on her last legs.’ Aikin's Life of Addison, vol. i. p. 233. Finally, in 1718—that is, three years after the death of Louis—Lady Mary Montagu gives the following account of the result of his reign, in a letter to Lady Rich, dated Paris, 10th October, 1718: ‘I think nothing so terrible as objects of misery, except one had the god-like attribute of being able to redress them; and all the country villages of France show nothing else. While the post-horses are changed, the whole town comes out to beg, with such miserable starved faces, and thin, tattered clothes, they need no other eloquence to persuade one of the wretchedness of their condition.’ Works of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, vol. iii. p. 74, edit. 1803.

CHAPTER V.

At length Louis XIV. died. When it was positively known that the old king had ceased to breathe, the people went almost mad with joy.[518] The tyranny which had weighed them down was removed; and there at once followed a reaction which, for sudden violence, has no parallel in modern history.[519] The great majority indemnified themselves for their forced hypocrisy by indulging in the grossest licentiousness. But among the generation then forming, there were some high-spirited youths, who had far higher views, and whose notions of liberty were not confined to the license of the gaming-house and the brothel. Devoted to the great idea of restoring to France that freedom of utterance which it had lost, they naturally turned their eyes towards the only country where the freedom was practised. Their determination to search for liberty in the place where alone it could be found, gave rise to that junction of the French and English intellects,[214] which, looking at the immense chain of its effects, is by far the most important fact in the history of the eighteenth century.

During the reign of Louis XIV., the French, puffed up by national vanity, despised the barbarism of a people who were so uncivilized as to be always turning on their rulers, and who, within the space of forty years, had executed one king, and deposed another.[520] They could not believe that such a restless horde possessed anything worthy the attention of enlightened men. Our laws, our literature, and our manners, were perfectly unknown to them; and I doubt if at the end of the seventeenth century there were, either in literature or in science, five persons in France acquainted with the English language.[521] But a long experience of[215] the reign of Louis XIV. induced the French to reconsider many of their opinions. It induced them to suspect that despotism may have its disadvantages, and that a government composed of princes and bishops is not necessarily the best for a civilized country. They began to look, first with complacency, and then with respect, upon that strange and outlandish people, who, though only separated from themselves by a narrow sea, appeared to be of an altogether different kind; and who, having punished their oppressors, had carried their liberties and their prosperity to a height of which the world had seen no example. These feelings, which before the Revolution broke out, were entertained by the whole of the educated classes in France, were in the beginning, confined to those men whose intellects placed them at the head of their age. During the two generations which elapsed between the death of Louis XIV. and the outbreak of the Revolution, there was hardly a Frenchman of eminence who did not either visit England or learn English; while many of them did both. Buffon, Brissot, Broussonnet, Condamine,[216] Delisle, Elie de Beaumont, Gournay, Helvétius, Jussieu, Lalande, Lafayette, Larcher, L'Héritier, Montesquieu, Maupertuis, Morellet, Mirabeau, Nollet, Raynal, the celebrated Roland, and his still more celebrated wife, Rousseau, Ségur, Suard, Voltaire—all these remarkable persons flocked to London, as also did others of inferior ability, but of considerable influence, such as Brequiny, Bordes, Calonne, Coyer, Cormatin, Dufay, Dumarest, Dezallier, Favier, Girod, Grosley, Godin, D'Hancarville, Hunauld, Jars, Le Blanc, Ledru, Lescallier, Linguet, Lesuire, Lemonnier, Levesque de Pouilly, Montgolfier, Morand, Patu, Poissonier, Reveillon, Septchènes, Silhouette, Siret, Soulavie, Soulès, and Valmont de Brienne.

Nearly all of these carefully studied our language, and most of them seized the spirit of our literature. Voltaire, in particular, devoted himself with his usual ardour to the new pursuit, and acquired in England a knowledge of those doctrines, the promulgation of which, afterwards won for him so great a reputation.[522] He was the first who popularized in France the philosophy of Newton, where it rapidly superseded that of Descartes.[523] He recommended to his countrymen the writings of Locke;[524] which soon gained immense popularity,[217] and which supplied materials to Condillac for his system of metaphysics,[525] and to Rousseau for his theory of education.[526] Besides this, Voltaire was the first Frenchman who studied Shakespeare; to whose works he was greatly indebted, though he afterwards wished to lessen what he considered the exorbitant respect paid to them in France.[527] Indeed, so intimate was his knowledge of the English language,[528] that we can trace his obligations to Butler,[529] one of the most difficult of our poets, and to Tillotson,[530] one of the dullest of our theologians. He was acquainted with the speculations of Berkeley,[531] the most subtle metaphysician who has ever written in English; and he had read the works, not only of Shaftesbury,[532] but even of[218] Chubb,[533] Garth,[534] Mandeville,[535] and Woolston.[536] Montesquieu imbibed in our country many of his principles; he studied our language; and he always expressed admiration for England, not only in his writings, but also in his private conversation.[537] Buffon learnt English, and his first appearance as an author was as the translator of Newton and of Hales.[538] Diderot, following in the same course, was an enthusiastic admirer of the novels of Richardson;[539] he took the idea of several of his plays from the English dramatists, particularly from Lillo; he borrowed many of his arguments from Shaftesbury and Collins, and his earliest publication was a translation of Stanyan's History of Greece.[540] Helvétius, who visited London, was never weary of praising the people; many of the views in his great work on the Mind are drawn from Mandeville; and he constantly refers to the authority of Locke, whose principles hardly any Frenchman would at an earlier period have dared to recommend.[541] The works of Bacon, previously little[219] known, were now translated into French; and his classification of the human faculties was made the basis of that celebrated Encyclopædia, which is justly regarded as one of the greatest productions of the eighteenth century.[542] The Theory of Moral Sentiments, by Adam Smith, was during thirty-four years translated three different times, by three different French authors.[543] And such was the general eagerness, that directly the Wealth of Nations, by the same great writer, appeared, Morellet, who was then high in reputation, began to turn it into French; and was only prevented from printing his translation by the circumstance, that before it could be completed, another version of it was published in a French periodical.[544] Coyer, who is still remembered for his Life of Sobieski, visited England; and after returning to his own country, showed the direction of his studies by rendering into French the Commentaries of Blackstone.[545] Le Blanc travelled in England, wrote a work expressly upon the English, and translated into French the Political Discourses of Hume.[546] Holbach was certainly one of the most active leaders of the liberal party in Paris; but a large part of his very numerous writings consists solely in translations of English authors.[547] Indeed, it may be broadly stated, that while, at the end of the seventeenth century, it would have been difficult to find, even among the most educated Frenchmen, a single person acquainted with English, it would, in the eighteenth[220] century, have been nearly as difficult to find in the same class one who was ignorant of it. Men of all tastes, and of the most opposite pursuits, were on this point united as by a common bond. Poets, geometricians, historians, naturalists, all seemed to agree as to the necessity of studying a literature on which no one before had wasted a thought. In the course of general reading, I have met with proofs that the English language was known, not only to those eminent Frenchmen whom I have already mentioned, but also to mathematicians, as D'Alembert,[548] Darquier,[549] Du Val le Roy,[550] Jurain,[551] Lachapelle,[552] Lalande,[553] Le Cozic,[554] Montucla,[555] Pezenas,[556] Prony,[557] Romme,[558] and Roger Martin;[559] to anatomists, physiologists, and writers on medicine, as Barthèz,[560] Bichat,[561] Bordeu,[562] Barbeu Dubourg,[563] Bosquillon,[564] Bourru,[565] Begue de Presle,[566] Cabanis,[567] Demours,[568] Duplanil,[569] Fouquet,[570] Goulin,[571] Lavirotte,[572] Lassus,[573] Petit Radel,[574] Pinel,[575] Roux,[576] Sauvages,[577] and Sue;[578] to naturalists, as Alyon,[579] Brémond,[580] Brisson,[581] Broussonnet,[582] Dalibard,[583] Haüy,[584] Latapie,[585] Richard,[586][221] Rigaud,[587] and Romé de Lisle;[588] to historians, philologists, and antiquaries, as Barthélemy,[589] Butel Dumont,[590] De Brosses,[591] Foucher,[592] Freret,[593] Larcher,[594] Le Coc de Villeray,[595] Millot,[596] Targe,[597] Velly,[598] Volney,[599] and Wailly;[600] to poets and dramatists, as Chéron,[601] Colardeau,[602] Delille,[603] Desforges,[604] Ducis,[605] Florian,[606] Laborde,[607] Lefèvre de Beauvray,[608] Mercier,[609] Patu,[610] Pompignan,[611] Quétant,[612] Roucher,[613] and Saint Ange;[614] to miscellaneous writers, as Bassinet,[615] Baudeau,[616] Beaulaton,[617] Benoist,[618] Bergier,[619] Blavet,[620] Bouchaud,[621] Bougainville,[622] Bruté,[623] Castera,[624] Chantreau,[625] Charpentier,[626] Chastellux,[627] Contant d'Orville,[628] De Bissy,[629] Demeunier,[630] Desfontaines,[631] Devienne,[632] Dubocage,[633] Dupré,[634] Duresnel,[635] Eidous,[636] Estienne,[637][222] Favier,[638] Flavigny,[639] Fontanelle,[640] Fontenay,[641] Framery,[642] Fresnais,[643] Fréville,[644] Frossard,[645] Galtier,[646] Garsault,[647] Goddard,[648] Goudar,[649] Guénée,[650] Guillemard,[651] Guyard,[652] Jault,[653] Imbert,[654] Joncourt,[655] Kéralio,[656] Laboreau,[657] Lacombe,[658] Lafargue,[659] La Montagne,[660] Lanjuinais,[661] Lasalle,[662] Lasteyrie,[663] Le Breton,[664] Lécuy,[665] Léonard des Malpeines,[666] Letourneur,[667] Linguet,[668] Lottin,[669] Luneau,[670] Maillet Duclairon,[671] Mandrillon,[672] Marsy,[673] Moet,[674] Monod,[675] Mosneron,[676] Nagot,[677] Peyron,[678] Prévost,[679] Puisieux,[680] Rivoire,[681] Robinet,[682] Roger,[683][223] Roubaud,[684] Salaville,[685] Sauseuil,[686] Secondat,[687] Septchènes,[688] Simon,[689] Soulès,[690] Suard,[691] Tannevot,[692] Thurot,[693] Toussaint,[694] Tressan,[695] Trochereau,[696] Turpin,[697] Ussieux,[698] Vaugeois,[699] Verlac,[700] and Virloys.[701] Indeed, Le Blanc, who wrote shortly before the middle of the eighteenth century, says: ‘We have placed English in the rank of the learned languages; our women study it, and have abandoned Italian in order to study the language of this philosophic people; nor is there to be found among us any one who does not desire to learn it.’[702]

Such was the eagerness with which the French imbibed the literature of a people whom but a few years before they had heartily despised. The truth is, that in this new state of things they had no alternative. For where but in England was a literature to be found that could satisfy those bold and inquisitive thinkers who arose in France after the death of Louis XIV.? In their own country there had no doubt been great displays of eloquence, of fine dramas, and of poetry, which, though never reaching the highest point of excellence, is of finished and admirable beauty. But it is an unquestionable fact, and one melancholy to contemplate, that during the sixty years which succeeded the death of Descartes, France had not possessed a single[224] man who dared to think for himself. Metaphysicians, moralists, historians, all had become tainted by the servility of that bad age. During two generations, no Frenchman had been allowed to discuss with freedom any question, either of politics or of religion. The consequence was, that the largest intellects, excluded from their legitimate field, lost their energy; the national spirit died away; the very materials and nutriment of thought seemed to be wanting. No wonder then, if the great Frenchmen of the eighteenth century sought that aliment abroad which they were unable to find at home. No wonder if they turned from their own land, and gazed with admiration at the only people who, pushing their inquiries into the highest departments, had shown the same fearlessness in politics as in religion; a people who, having punished their kings and controlled their clergy, were storing the treasures of their experience in that noble literature which never can perish, and of which it may be said in sober truth, that it has stimulated the intellect of the most distant races, and that, planted in America and in India, it has already fertilized the two extremities of the world.

There are, in fact, few things in history so instructive as the extent to which France was influenced by this new pursuit. Even those who took part in actually consummating the Revolution, were moved by the prevailing spirit. The English language was familiar to Carra,[703] Dumouriez,[704] Lafayette,[705] and Lanthénas.[706] Camille Desmoulins had cultivated his mind from the same source.[707] Marat travelled in Scotland as well as[225] in England, and was so profoundly versed in our language that he wrote two works in it; one of which, called The Chains of Slavery, was afterwards translated into French.[708] Mirabeau is declared by a high authority to have owed part of his power to a careful study of the English constitution;[709] he translated not only Watson's History of Philip II., but also some parts of Milton;[710] and it is said that when he was in the National Assembly, he delivered, as his own, passages from the speeches of Burke.[711] Mounier was well acquainted with our language, and with our political institutions both in theory and in practice;[712] and in a work, which exercised considerable influence, he proposed for his own country the establishment of two chambers, to form that balance of power of which England supplied the example.[713] The same idea, derived from the same source, was advocated by Le Brun, who was a friend of Mounier's, and who, like him, had paid attention to the literature and government of the English people.[714] Brissot knew English; he had studied in London the working of the English institutions, and he himself mentions that, in his treatise on criminal law, he was mainly guided by the course of English[226] legislation.[715] Condorcet also proposed as a model our system of criminal jurisprudence,[716] which, bad as it was, certainly surpassed that possessed by France. Madame Roland, whose position, as well as ability, made her one of the leaders of the democratic party, was an ardent student of the language and literature of the English people.[717] She too, moved by the universal curiosity, came to our country; and, as if to show that persons of every shade and of every rank were actuated by the same spirit, the Duke of Orleans likewise visited England; nor did his visit fail to produce its natural results. ‘It was,’ says a celebrated writer, ‘in the society of London that he acquired a taste for liberty; and it was on his return from there that he brought into France a love of popular agitation, a contempt for his own rank, and a familiarity with those beneath him.’[718]

This language, strong as it is, will not appear exaggerated to any one who has carefully studied the history of the eighteenth century. It is no doubt certain, that the French Revolution was essentially a reaction against that protective and interfering spirit which reached its zenith under Louis XIV., but which, centuries before his reign, had exercised a most injurious influence over the national prosperity. While, however, this must be fully conceded, it is equally certain that the impetus to which the reaction owed its strength, proceeded from England; and that it was English literature which taught the lessons of political liberty, first to France, and through France to the rest of Europe.[719] On this[227] account, and not at all from mere literary curiosity, I have traced with some minuteness that union between the French and English minds, which, though often noticed, has never been examined with the care its importance deserves. The circumstances which reinforced this vast movement will be related towards the end of the volume; at present I will confine myself to its first great consequence, namely, the establishment of a complete schism between the literary men of France, and the classes who exclusively governed the country.

Those eminent Frenchmen who now turned their attention to England, found in its literature, in the structure of its society, and in its government, many peculiarities of which their own country furnished no example. They heard political and religious questions of the greatest moment debated with a boldness unknown in any other part of Europe. They heard dissenters and churchmen, whigs and tories, handling the most dangerous topics, and treating them with unlimited freedom. They heard public disputes respecting matters which no one in France dared to discuss; mysteries of state and mysteries of creed unfolded and rudely exposed to the popular gaze. And, what to Frenchmen of that age must have been equally amazing, they not only found a public press possessing some degree of freedom, but they found that within the very walls of parliament the administration of the crown was assailed with complete impunity, the character of its chosen servants constantly aspersed, and, strange to say, even the management of its revenues effectually controlled.[720]

The successors of the age of Louis XIV., seeing these[228] things, and seeing, moreover, that the civilization of the country increased as the authority of the upper classes and of the crown diminished, were unable to restrain their wonder at so novel and exciting a spectacle. ‘The English nation,’ says Voltaire, ‘is the only one on the earth, which, by resisting its kings, has succeeded in lessening their power.[721] How I love the boldness of the English! how I love men who say what they think!’[722] The English, says Le Blanc, are willing to have a king, provided they are not obliged to obey him.[723] The immediate object of their government, says Montesquieu, is political liberty;[724] they possess more freedom than any republic;[725] and their system is in fact a republic disguised as a monarchy.[726] Grosley, struck with amazement, exclaims, ‘Property is in England a thing sacred, which the laws protect from all encroachment, not only from engineers, inspectors, and other people of that stamp, but even from the king himself.’[727] Mably, in the most celebrated of all his[229] works, says, ‘The Hanoverians are only able to reign in England because the people are free, and believe they have a right to dispose of the crown. But if the kings were to claim the same powers as the Stuarts, if they were to believe that the crown belonged to them by divine right, they would be condemning themselves and confessing that they were occupying a place which is not their own.’[728] In England, says Helvétius, the people are respected; every citizen can take some part in the management of affairs; and authors are allowed to enlighten the public respecting its own interests.[729] And Brissot, who had made these matters his especial study, cries out, ‘Admirable constitution! which can only be disparaged either by men who know it not, or else by those whose tongues are bridled by slavery.’[730]

Such were the opinions of some of the most celebrated Frenchmen of that time; and it would be easy to fill a volume with similar extracts. But, what I now rather wish to do, is, to point out the first great consequence of this new and sudden admiration for a country which, in the preceding age, had been held in profound contempt. The events which followed are, indeed, of an importance impossible to exaggerate; since they brought about that rupture between the intellectual and governing classes, of which the revolution itself was but a temporary episode.

The great Frenchmen of the eighteenth century being stimulated by the example of England into a love of progress, naturally came into collision with the governing classes, among whom the old stationary spirit still prevailed. This opposition was a wholesome reaction against that disgraceful servility for which, in the reign of Louis XIV., literary men had been remarkable; and if the contest which ensued had been conducted[230] with anything approaching to moderation, the ultimate result would have been highly beneficial; since it would have secured that divergence between the speculative and practical classes which, as we have already seen, is essential to maintain the balance of civilization, and to prevent either side from acquiring a dangerous predominance. But, unfortunately, the nobles and clergy had been so long accustomed to power, that they could not brook the slightest contradiction from those great writers, whom they ignorantly despised as their inferiors. Hence it was, that when the most illustrious Frenchmen of the eighteenth century attempted to infuse into the literature of their country a spirit of inquiry similar to that which existed in England, the ruling classes became roused into a hatred and jealousy which broke all bounds, and gave rise to that crusade against knowledge which forms the second principal precursor of the French Revolution.

The extent of that cruel persecution to which literature was now exposed, can only be fully appreciated by those who have minutely studied the history of France in the eighteenth century. For it was not a stray case of oppression, which occurred here and there; but it was a prolonged and systematic attempt to stifle all inquiry, and punish all inquirers. If a list were drawn up of all the literary men who wrote during the seventy years succeeding the death of Louis XIV., it would be found, that at least nine out of every ten had suffered from the government some grievous injury; and that a majority of them had been actually thrown into prison. Indeed, in saying thus much, I am understating the real facts of the case; for I question if one literary man out of fifty escaped with entire impunity. Certainly, my own knowledge of those times, though carefully collected, is not so complete as I could have wished; but, among those authors who were punished, I find the name of nearly every Frenchman whose writings have survived the age in which they were produced. Among those who suffered either confiscation, or imprisonment, or exile, or fines, or the suppression of their works, or the ignominy of being forced to recant what they had[231] written, I find, besides a host of inferior writers, the names of Beaumarchais, Berruyer, Bougeant, Buffon, D'Alembert, Diderot, Duclos, Freret, Helvétius, La Harpe, Linguet, Mably, Marmontel, Montesquieu, Mercier, Morellet, Raynal, Rousseau, Suard, Thomas, and Voltaire.

The mere recital of this list is pregnant with instruction. To suppose that all these eminent men deserved the treatment they received, would, even in the absence of direct evidence, be a manifest absurdity; since it would involve the supposition, that a schism having taken place between two classes, the weaker class was altogether wrong, and the stronger altogether right. Fortunately, however, there is no necessity for resorting to any merely speculative argument respecting the probable merits of the two parties. The accusations brought against these great men are before the world; the penalties inflicted are equally well known; and, by putting these together, we may form some idea of the state of society, in which such things could be openly practised.

Voltaire, almost immediately after the death of Louis XIV., was falsely charged with having composed a libel on that prince; and, for this imaginary offence, he, without the pretence of a trial, and without even the shadow of a proof, was thrown into the Bastille, where he was confined more than twelve months.[731] Shortly after he was released, there was put upon him a still more grievous insult; the occurrence, and, above all, the impunity of which, supply striking evidence as to the state of society in which such things were permitted. Voltaire, at the table of the Duke de Sully, was deliberately insulted by the Chevalier de Rohan Chabot, one of those impudent and dissolute nobles who then abounded in Paris. The duke, though the outrage was committed in his own house, in his own presence, and upon his own guest, would not interfere; but seemed to consider that a poor poet was honoured by being in any way noticed by a man of rank. But, as Voltaire, in[232] the heat of the moment, let fall one of those stinging retorts which were the terror of his enemies, the chevalier determined to visit him with further punishment. The course he adopted was characteristic of the man, and of the class to which he belonged. He caused Voltaire to be seized in the streets of Paris, and in his presence ignominiously beaten, he himself regulating the number of blows of which the chastisement was to consist. Voltaire, smarting under the insult, demanded that satisfaction which it was customary to give. This, however, did not enter into the plan of his noble assailer, who not only refused to meet him in the field, but actually obtained an order, by which he was confined in the Bastille for six months, and at the end of that time was directed to quit the country.[732]

Thus it was that Voltaire, having first been imprisoned for a libel which he never wrote, and having then been publicly beaten because he retorted an insult wantonly put upon him, was now sentenced to another imprisonment, through the influence of the very man by whom he had been attacked. The exile which followed the imprisonment seems to have been soon remitted; as, shortly after these events, we find Voltaire again in France, preparing for publication his first historical work, a life of Charles XII. In this, there are none of those attacks on Christianity which gave offence in his subsequent writings; nor does it contain the least reflection upon the arbitrary government under which he had suffered. The French authorities at first granted that permission, without which no book could then be published; but as soon as it was actually printed, the license was withdrawn, and the history forbidden to[233] be circulated.[733] The next attempt of Voltaire was one of much greater value: it was therefore repulsed still more sharply. During his residence in England, his inquisitive mind had been deeply interested by a state of things so different from any he had hitherto seen; and he now published an account of that remarkable people, from whose literature he had learned many important truths. His work, which he called Philosophic Letters, was received with general applause; but, unfortunately for himself, he adopted in it the arguments of Locke against innate ideas. The rulers of France, though not likely to know much about innate ideas, had a suspicion that the doctrine of Locke was in some way dangerous; and, as they were told that it was a novelty, they felt themselves bound to prevent its promulgation. Their remedy was very simple. They ordered that Voltaire should be again arrested and that his work should be burned by the common hangman.[734]

These repeated injuries might well have moved a more patient spirit than that of Voltaire.[735] Certainly, those who reproach this illustrious man, as if he were the instigator of unprovoked attacks upon the existing state of things, must know very little of the age in which it was his misfortune to live. Even on what has been always considered the neutral ground of physical science, there was displayed the same despotic and persecuting spirit. Voltaire, among other schemes for benefiting France, wished to make known to his countrymen the[234] wonderful discoveries of Newton, of which they were completely ignorant. With this view, he drew up an account of the labours of that extraordinary thinker; but here again the authorities interposed, and forbade the work to be printed.[736] Indeed, the rulers of France, as if sensible that their only security was the ignorance of the people, obstinately set their face against every description of knowledge. Several eminent authors had undertaken to execute, on a magnificent scale, an Encyclopædia, which should contain a summary of all the branches of science and of art. This, undoubtedly the most splendid enterprise ever started by a body of literary men, was at first discouraged by the government, and afterwards entirely prohibited.[737] On other occasions, the same tendency was shown in matters so trifling that nothing but the gravity of their ultimate results prevents them from being ridiculous. In 1770, Imbert translated Clarke's Letters on Spain: one of the best works then existing on that country. This book, however, was suppressed as soon as it appeared; and the only reason assigned for such a stretch of power is, that it contained some remarks respecting the passion of Charles III. for hunting, which were considered disrespectful to the French crown, because Louis XV. was himself a great hunter.[738] Several years before this, La Bletterie, who was favourably known in France by his works, was elected a member of the French Academy. But he, it seems, was a Jansenist, and had, moreover,[235] ventured to assert that the Emperor Julian, notwithstanding his apostacy, was not entirely devoid of good qualities. Such offences could not be overlooked in so pure an age; and the king obliged the Academy to exclude La Bletterie from their society.[739] That the punishment extended no further, was an instance of remarkable leniency; for Fréret, an eminent critic and scholar,[740] was confined in the Bastille, because he stated in one of his memoirs, that the earliest Frankish chiefs had received their titles from the Romans.[741] The same penalty was inflicted four different times upon Lenglet du Fresnoy.[742] In the case of this amiable and accomplished man, there seems to have been hardly the shadow of a pretext for the cruelty with which he was treated; though, on one occasion, the alleged offence was, that he had published a supplement to the History of De Thou.[743]

Indeed, we have only to open the biographies and correspondence[236] of that time, to find instances crowding upon us from all quarters. Rousseau was threatened with imprisonment, was driven from France, and his works were publicly burned.[744] The celebrated treatise of Helvétius on the mind was suppressed by an order from the royal council: it was burned by the common hangman, and the author was compelled to write two letters, retracting his opinions.[745] Some of the geological views of Buffon having offended the clergy, that illustrious naturalist was obliged to publish a formal recantation of doctrines which are now known to be perfectly accurate.[746] The learned Observations on the History of France, by Mably, were suppressed as soon as they appeared;[747] for what reason it would be hard to say, since M. Guizot, certainly no friend either to anarchy or to irreligion, has thought it worth while to republish them, and thus stamp them with the authority of his own great name. The History of the Indies, by Raynal, was condemned to the flames, and the author ordered to be arrested.[748] Lanjuinais, in his well-known work on Joseph II., advocated not only religious toleration, but even the abolition of slavery; his book, therefore, was declared to be ‘seditious;’ it was pronounced ‘destructive of all subordination,’ and was sentenced to be burned.[749] The Analysis of Bayle, by Marsy, was suppressed, and the author was imprisoned.[750] The History of the Jesuits, by Linguet, was delivered to the[237] flames; eight years later his Journal was suppressed; and, three years after that, as he still persisted in writing, his Political Annals were suppressed, and he himself was thrown into the Bastille.[751] Delisle de Sales was sentenced to perpetual exile, and confiscation of all his property, on account of his work on the Philosophy of Nature.[752] The treatise by Mey, on French Law, was suppressed;[753] that by Boncerf, on Feudal Law, was burned.[754] The Memoirs of Beaumarchais were likewise burned;[755] the Eloge on Fénelon by La Harpe was merely suppressed.[756] Duvernet having written a History of the Sorbonne, which was still unpublished, was seized and thrown into the Bastille, while the manuscript was yet in his own possession.[757] The celebrated work of De Lolme on the English constitution was suppressed by edict directly it appeared.[758] The fate of being suppressed, or prohibited, also awaited the Letters of Gervaise, in 1724;[759] the Dissertations of Courayer, in 1727;[760] the Letters of Montgon, in 1732;[761] the History of Tamerlane, by Margat, also in 1732;[762] the Essay on Taste, by Cartaud, in 1736;[763] the Life of Domat, by Prévost de la Jannès, in 1742;[764] the History of[238] Louis XI., by Duclos, in 1745;[765] the Letters of Bargeton, in 1750;[766] the Memoirs on Troyes, by Grosley, in the same year;[767] the History of Clement XI., by Reboulet, in 1752;[768] the School of Man, by Génard, also in 1752;[769] the Therapeutics of Garlon, in 1756;[770] the celebrated thesis of Louis, on Generation, in 1754;[771] the Treatise on Presidial Jurisdiction, by Jousse, in 1755;[772] the Ericie of Fontanelle, in 1768;[773] the Thoughts of Jamin, in 1769;[774] the History of Siam, by Turpin, and the Eloge of Marcus Aurelius, by Thomas, both in 1770;[775] the works on Finance by Darigrand in 1764; and by Le Trosne, in 1779;[776] the Essay on Military Tactics, by Guibert, in 1772; the Letters of Boucquet, in the same year;[777] and the Memoirs of Terrai, by Coquereau, in 1776.[778] Such wanton destruction of property was, however, mercy itself, compared to the treatment experienced by other literary men in France. Desforges, for example, having written against the arrest of the Pretender to the English throne, was, solely on that account, buried in a dungeon eight feet square, and confined there for three years.[779] This happened in 1749; and in 1770, Audra, professor at the college of Toulouse, and a man of some reputation, published the first volume of his Abridgment of General History. Beyond this, the work never proceeded; it was at once condemned by the archbishop of the diocese, and the author was deprived of his office. Audra, held up to public opprobrium,[239] the whole of his labours rendered useless, and the prospects of his life suddenly blighted, was unable to survive the shock. He was struck with apoplexy, and within twenty-four hours was lying a corpse in his own house.[780]

It will probably be allowed that I have collected sufficient evidence to substantiate my assertion respecting the persecutions directed against every description of literature; but the carelessness with which the antecedents of the French Revolution have been studied, has given rise to such erroneous opinions on this subject, that I am anxious to add a few more instances, so as to put beyond the possibility of doubt the nature of the provocations habitually received by the most eminent Frenchmen of the eighteenth century.

Among the many celebrated authors who, though, inferior to Voltaire, Montesquieu, Buffon, and Rousseau, were second only to them, three of the most remarkable were Diderot, Marmontel, and Morellet. The first two are known to every reader; while Morellet, though comparatively forgotten, had in his own time considerable influence, and had, moreover, the distinguished merit of being the first who popularized in France those great truths which had been recently discovered in political economy by Adam Smith, and in jurisprudence by Beccaria.

A certain M. Cury wrote a satire upon the Duke d'Aumont, which he showed to his friend Marmontel, who, struck by its power, repeated it to a small circle of his acquaintance. The duke, hearing of this, was full of indignation, and insisted upon the name of the author being given up. This, of course, was impossible without a gross breach of confidence; but Marmontel, to do everything in his power, wrote to the duke, stating, what was really the fact, that the lines in question had not been printed, that there was no intention of making them public, and that they had only been communicated to a few of his own particular friends. It might have been supposed that this would have satisfied even a[240] French noble; but Marmontel, still doubting the result, sought an audience of the minister, in the hope of procuring the protection of the crown. All, however, was in vain. It will hardly be believed, that Marmontel, who was then at the height of his reputation, was seized in the middle of Paris, and because he refused to betray his friend, was thrown into the Bastille. Nay, so implacable were his persecutors, that after his liberation from prison they, in the hope of reducing him to beggary, deprived him of the right of publishing the Mercure, upon which nearly the whole of his income depended.[781]

To the Abbé Morellet a somewhat similar circumstance occurred. A miserable scribbler, named Palissot, had written a comedy ridiculing some of the ablest Frenchmen then living. To this Morellet replied by a pleasant little satire, in which he made a very harmless allusion to the Princess de Robeck, one of Palissot's patrons. She, amazed at such presumption, complained to the minister, who immediately ordered the abbé to be confined in the Bastille, where he remained for some months, although he had not only been guilty of no scandal, but had not even mentioned the name of the princess.[782]

The treatment of Diderot was still more severe. This remarkable man owed his influence chiefly to his immense correspondence, and to the brilliancy of a conversation for which, even in Paris, he was unrivalled, and which he used to display with considerable effect at those celebrated dinners where, during a quarter of a century, Holbach assembled the most illustrious thinkers in France.[783] Besides this, he is the author of several[241] works of interest, most of which are well known to the students of French literature.[784] His independent spirit, and the reputation he obtained, earned for him a share in the general persecution. The first work he wrote was ordered to be publicly burned by the common hangman.[785] This, indeed, was the fate of nearly all the best literary productions of that time; and Diderot might esteem himself fortunate in merely losing his property, provided he saved himself from imprisonment. But, a few years later, he wrote another work, in which he said that people who are born blind have some ideas different from those who are possessed of their eyesight. This assertion is by no means improbable,[786][242] and it contains nothing by which any one need be startled. The men, however, who then governed France discovered in it some hidden danger. Whether they suspected that the mention of blindness was an allusion to themselves, or whether they were merely instigated by the perversity of their temper, is uncertain; at all events, the unfortunate Diderot, for having hazarded this opinion, was arrested, and without even the form of a trial, was confined in the dungeon of Vincennes.[787] The natural results followed. The works of Diderot rose in popularity;[788] and he, burning with hatred against his persecutors, redoubled his efforts to overthrow those institutions, under shelter of which such monstrous tyranny could be safely practised.

It seems hardly necessary to say more respecting the incredible folly with which the rulers of France, by turning every able man into a personal enemy,[789] at length arrayed against the government all the intellect of the country, and made the Revolution a matter not of choice but of necessity. I will, however, as a fitting sequel to the preceding facts, give one instance of the way in which, to gratify the caprice of the higher classes, even[243] the most private affections of domestic life, could be publicly outraged. In the middle of the eighteenth century, there was an actress on the French stage of the name of Chantilly. She, though beloved by Maurice de Saxe, preferred a more honourable attachment, and married Favart, the well-known writer of songs and of comic operas. Maurice, amazed at her boldness, applied for aid to the French crown. That he should have made such an application is sufficiently strange; but the result of it is hardly to be paralleled except in some Eastern despotism. The government of France, on hearing the circumstance, had the inconceivable baseness to issue an order directing Favart to abandon his wife, and intrust her to the charge of Maurice, to whose embraces she was compelled to submit.[790]

These are among the insufferable provocations, by which the blood of men is made to boil in their veins. Who can wonder that the greatest and noblest minds in France were filled with loathing at the government by whom such things were done? If we, notwithstanding the distance of time and country, are moved to indignation by the mere mention of them, what must have been felt by those before whose eyes they actually occurred? And when, to the horror they naturally inspired, there was added that apprehension of being the next victim which every one might personally feel; when, moreover, we remember that the authors of these persecutions had none of the abilities by which even vice itself is sometimes ennobled;—when we thus contrast the poverty of their understandings with the greatness of their crimes, we, instead of being astonished that there was a revolution, by which all the machinery[244] of the state was swept away, should rather be amazed at that unexampled patience by which alone the revolution was so long deferred.

To me, indeed, it has always appeared, that the delay of the Revolution is one of the most striking proofs history affords of the force of established habits, and of the tenacity with which the human mind clings to old associations. For, if ever there existed a government inherently and radically bad, it was the government of France in the eighteenth century. If ever there existed a state of society likely, by its crying and accumulated evils, to madden men to desperation, France was in that state. The people, despised and enslaved, were sunk in abject poverty, and were curbed by laws of stringent cruelty, enforced with merciless barbarism. A supreme and irresponsible control was exercised over the whole country by the clergy, the nobles, and the crown. The intellect of France was placed under the ban of a ruthless proscription, its literature prohibited and burned, its authors plundered and imprisoned. Nor was there the least symptom that these evils were likely to be remedied. The upper classes, whose arrogance was increased by the long tenure of their power, only thought of present enjoyment: they took no heed of the future: they saw not that day of reckoning, the bitterness of which they were soon to experience. The people remained in slavery until the Revolution actually occurred; while as to the literature, nearly every year witnessed some new effort to deprive it of that share of liberty which it still retained. Having, in 1764, issued a decree forbidding any work to be published in which questions of government were discussed;[791] having, in[245] 1767, made it a capital offence to write a book likely to excite the public mind;[792] and having, moreover, denounced the same penalty of death against any one who attacked religion,[793] as also against any one who spoke of matters of finance;[794]—having taken these steps, the rulers of France, very shortly before their final fall, contemplated another measure still more comprehensive. It is, indeed, a singular fact, that only nine years before the Revolution, and when no power on earth could have saved the institutions of the country, the government was so ignorant of the real state of affairs, and so confident that it could quell the spirit which its own despotism had raised, that a proposal was made by an officer of the crown to do away with all the publishers, and not allow any books to be printed except those which were issued from a press paid, appointed, and controlled by the executive magistrate.[795] This monstrous proposition, if carried into effect, would of course have invested the king with all the influence which literature can command; it would have been as fatal to the national intellect as the other measures were to national liberty; and it would have consummated the ruin of France, either by reducing its greatest men to complete silence, or else by[246] degrading them into mere advocates of those opinions which the government might wish to propagate.

For these are by no means to be considered as trifling matters, merely interesting to men of letters. In France, in the eighteenth century, literature was the last resource of liberty. In England, if our great authors should prostitute their abilities by inculcating servile opinions, the danger would no doubt be considerable, because other parts of society might find it difficult to escape the contagion. Still, before the corruption had spread, there would be time to stop its course, so long as we possessed those free political institutions, by the mere mention of which the generous imagination of a bold people is easily fired. And although such institutions are the consequence, not the cause, of liberty, they do unquestionably react upon it, and from the force of habit they could for a while survive that from which they originally sprung. So long as a country retains its political freedom, there will always remain associations by which, even in the midst of mental degradation, and out of the depths of the lowest superstition, the minds of men may be recalled to better things. But in France such associations had no existence. In France everything was for the governors and nothing for the governed. There was neither free press, nor free parliament, nor free debates. There were no public meetings; there was no popular suffrage; there was no discussion on the hustings; there was no habeas-corpus act; there was no trial by jury. The voice of liberty, thus silenced in every department of the state, could only be heard in the appeals of those great men, who, by their writings, inspirited the people to resistance. This is the point of view from which we ought to estimate the character of those who are often accused of having wantonly disturbed the ancient fabric.[796] They, as well as the people at large, were[247] cruelly oppressed by the crown, the nobles, and the church; and they used their abilities to retaliate the injury. There can be no doubt that this was the best course open to them. There can be no doubt that rebellion is the last remedy against tyranny, and that a despotic system should be encountered by a revolutionary literature. The upper classes were to blame, because they struck the first blow; but we must by no means censure those great men, who, having defended themselves from aggression, eventually succeeded in smiting the government by whom the aggression was originally made.

Without, however, stopping to vindicate their conduct, we have now to consider what is much more important, namely, the origin of that crusade against Christianity, in which, unhappily for France, they were compelled to embark, and the occurrence of which forms the third great antecedent of the French Revolution. A knowledge of the causes of this hostility against Christianity is essential to a right understanding of the philosophy of the eighteenth century, and it will throw some light on the general theory of ecclesiastical power.

It is a circumstance well worthy of remark, that the revolutionary literature which eventually overturned all the institutions of France, was at first directed against those which were religious, rather than against those which were political. The great writers who rose into notice soon after the death of Louis XIV., exerted themselves against spiritual despotism; while the overthrow of secular despotism was left to their immediate successors.[797] This is not the course which would be[248] pursued in a healthy state of society; and there is no doubt, that to this peculiarity the crimes and the lawless violence of the French Revolution are in no small degree to be ascribed. It is evident, that in the legitimate progress of a nation, political innovations should keep pace with religious innovations, so that the people may increase their liberty while they diminish their superstition. In France, on the contrary, during nearly forty years, the church was attacked, and the government was spared. The consequence was, that the order and balance of the country were destroyed; the minds of men became habituated to the most daring speculations, while their acts were controlled by the most oppressive despotism; and they felt themselves possessed of capacities which their rulers would not allow them to employ. When, therefore, the French Revolution broke out, it was not a mere rising of ignorant slaves against educated masters, but it was a rising of men in whom the despair caused by slavery was quickened by the resources of advancing knowledge; men who were in that frightful condition when the progress of intellect outstrips the progress of liberty, and when a desire is felt, not only to remove a tyranny, but also to avenge an insult.

There can be no doubt that to this we must ascribe some of the most hideous peculiarities of the French Revolution. It, therefore, becomes a matter of great interest to inquire how it was, that while in England political freedom and religious sceptism have accompanied and aided each other, there should, on the other hand, have taken place in France a vast movement, in which, during nearly forty years, the ablest men neglected the freedom, while they encouraged the scepticism, and diminished the power of the church, without increasing the liberties of the people.

The first reason of this appears to be, the nature of[249] those ideas out of which the French had long constructed the traditions of their glory. A train of circumstances which, when treating of the protective spirit, I attempted to indicate, had secured to the French kings an authority which, by making all classes subordinate to the crown, flattered the popular vanity.[798] Hence it was, that in France the feelings of loyalty worked into the national mind deeper than in any other country of Europe, Spain alone excepted.[799] The difference between this spirit and that observable in England has been already noticed, and may be still further illustrated by the different ways in which the two nations have dealt with the posthumous reputation of their sovereigns. With the exception of Alfred, who is sometimes called the Great,[800] we in England have not sufficiently loved any of our princes to bestow upon them titles expressive of personal admiration. But the French have decorated their kings with every variety of panegyric. Thus, to take only a single name, one king is Louis the Mild, another is Louis the Saint, another is Louis the Just, another is Louis the Great, and the most hopelessly vicious of all was called Louis the Beloved.

These are facts which, insignificant as they seem, form most important materials for real history, since[250] they are unequivocal symptoms of the state of the country in which they exist.[801] Their relation to the subject before us is obvious. For, by them, and by the circumstances from which they sprung, an intimate and hereditary association was engendered in the minds of Frenchmen, between the glory of their nation and the personal reputation of their sovereign. The consequence was, that the political conduct of the rulers of France was protected against censure by a fence far more impassable than any that could be erected by the most stringent laws. It was protected by those prejudices which each generation bequeathed to its successor. It was protected by that halo which time had thrown round the oldest monarchy in Europe.[802] And above[251] all, it was protected by that miserable national vanity, which made men submit to taxation and to slavery, in order that foreign princes might be dazzled by the splendour of their sovereign, and foreign countries intimidated by the greatness of his victories.

The upshot of all this was, that when, early in the eighteenth century, the intellect of France began to be roused into action, the idea of attacking the abuses of the monarchy never occurred even to the boldest thinker. But, under the protection of the crown, there had grown up another institution, about which less delicacy was felt. The clergy, who for so long a period had been allowed to oppress the consciences of men, were not sheltered by those national associations which surrounded the person of the sovereign; nor had any of them, with the single exception of Bossuet, done much to increase the general reputation of France. Indeed, the French church, though during the reign of Louis XIV. it possessed immense authority, had always exercised it in subordination to the crown, at whose bidding it had not feared to oppose even the pope himself.[803] It was, therefore, natural, that in France the ecclesiastical power should be attacked before the temporal power; because, while it was as despotic, it was less influential, and because it was unprotected by those popular traditions which form the principal support of every ancient institution.

These considerations are sufficient to explain why it was that, in this respect, the French and English intellects adopted courses so entirely different. In England, the minds of men, being less hampered with the prejudices of an indiscriminate loyalty, have been able at[252] each successive step in the great progress to direct their doubts and inquiries on politics as well as on religion; and thus establishing their freedom as they diminished their superstition, they have maintained the balance of the national intellect, without allowing to either of its divisions an excessive preponderance. But in France the admiration for royalty had become so great, that this balance was disturbed; the inquiries of men not daring to settle on politics, were fixed on religion, and gave rise to the singular phenomenon of a rich and powerful literature, in which unanimous hostility to the church was unaccompanied by a single voice against the enormous abuses of the state.

There was likewise another circumstance which increased this peculiar tendency. During the reign of Louis XIV. the personal character of the hierarchy had done much to secure their dominion. All the leaders of the church were men of virtue, and many were men of ability. Their conduct, tyrannical as it was, seems to have been conscientious; and the evils which it produced are merely to be ascribed to the gross impolicy of entrusting ecclesiastics with power. But after the death of Louis XIV. a great change took place. The Clergy, from causes which it would be tedious to investigate, became extremely dissolute, and often very ignorant. This made their tyranny more oppressive, because to submit to it was more disgraceful. The great abilities and unblemished morals of men like Bossuet, Fénélon, Bourdaloue, Fléchier, and Mascaron, diminished in some degree the ignominy which is always connected with blind obedience. But when they were succeeded by such bishops and cardinals as Dubois, Lafiteau, Tencin, and others who flourished under the regency, it became difficult to respect the heads of the church, tainted as they were with open and notorious depravity.[804] At the same time that there occurred[253] this unfavourable change among the ecclesiastical rulers, there also occurred that immense reaction of which I have endeavoured to trace the early workings. It was therefore, at the very moment when the spirit of inquiry became stronger that the character of the Clergy became more contemptible.[805] The great writers who were now rising in France, were moved to indignation when they saw that those who usurped unlimited power over consciences had themselves no consciences at all. It is evident, that every argument which they borrowed from England against ecclesiastical power, would gain additional force when directed against men whose personal unfitness was universally acknowledged.[806]

Such was the position of the rival parties, when, almost immediately after the death of Louis XIV., there began that great struggle between authority and reason, which is still unfinished, although in the present state of knowledge its result is no longer doubtful. On the one side there was a compact and numerous priesthood, supported by the prescription of centuries and by the authority of the crown. On the other side there was a small body of men, without rank, without wealth, and as yet without reputation, but animated by a love of liberty, and by a just confidence in their own abilities.[254] Unfortunately, they at the very outset committed a serious error. In attacking the clergy, they lost their respect for religion. In their determination to weaken ecclesiastical power, they attempted to undermine the foundations of Christianity. This is deeply to be regretted for their own sake, as well as for its ultimate effects in France; but it must not be imputed to them as a crime, since it was forced on them by the exigencies of their position. They saw the frightful evils which their country was suffering from the institution of priesthood as it then existed; and yet they were told that the preservation of that institution in its actual form was essential to the very being of Christianity. They had always been taught that the interests of the clergy were identical with the interests of religion; how then could they avoid including both clergy and religion in the same hostility? The alternative was cruel; but it was one from which, in common honesty, they had no escape. We, judging these things by another standard, possess a measure which they could not possibly have. We should not now commit such an error, because we know that there is no connexion between any one particular form of priesthood and the interests of Christianity. We know that the clergy are made for the people, and not the people for the clergy. We know that all questions of church government are matters, not of religion, but of policy, and should be settled, not according to traditional dogmas, but according to large views of general expediency. It is because these propositions are now admitted by all enlightened men, that in our country the truths of religion are rarely attacked except by superficial thinkers. If, for instance, we were to find that the existence of our bishops, with their privileges and their wealth, is unfavourable to the progress of society, we should not on that account feel enmity against Christianity; because we should remember that episcopacy is its accident, and not its essential, and that we could do away with the institution and yet retain the religion. In the same way, if we should ever find, what was formerly found in France, that the clergy were tyrannical, this would excite in us[255] an opposition, not to Christianity, but merely to the external form which Christianity assumed. So long as our clergy confine themselves to the beneficent duties of their calling, to the alleviation of pain and distress, either bodily or mental, so long will we respect them as the ministers of peace and of charity. But if they should ever again entrench on the rights of the laity,—if they should ever again interfere with an authoritative voice in the government of the state,—it will then be for the people to inquire, whether the time has not come to effect a revision of the ecclesiastical constitution of the country. This, therefore, is the manner in which we now view these things. What we think of the clergy will depend upon themselves; but will have no connection with what we think of Christianity. We look on the clergy as a body of men who, notwithstanding their disposition to intolerance, and notwithstanding a certain narrowness incidental to their profession, do undoubtedly form part of a vast and noble institution, by which the manners of men have been softened, their sufferings assuaged, their distresses relieved. As long as this institution performs its functions, we are well content to let it stand. If, however, it should be out of repair, or if it should be found inadequate to the shifting circumstances of an advancing society, we retain both the power and the right of remedying its faults; we may, if need be, remove some of its parts; but we would not, we dare not, tamper with those great religious truths which are altogether independent of it; truths which comfort the mind of man, raise him above the instincts of the hour, and infuse into him those lofty aspirations which, revealing to him his own immortality, are the measure and the symptom of a future life.

Unfortunately, this was not the way in which these matters were considered in France. The government of that country, by investing the clergy with great immunities, by treating them as if there were something sacred about their persons, and by punishing as heresy the attacks which were made on them, had established in the national mind an indissoluble connexion between[256] their interests and the interests of Christianity. The consequence was, that when the struggle began, the ministers of religion, and religion itself, were both assailed with equal zeal. The ridicule, and even the abuse, heaped on the clergy, will surprise no one who is acquainted with the provocation that had been received. And although, in the indiscriminate onslaught which soon followed, Christianity was, for a time, subjected to a fate which ought to have been reserved for those who called themselves her ministers; this, while it moves us to regret, ought by no means to excite our astonishment. The destruction of Christianity in France was the necessary result of those opinions which bound up the destiny of the national priesthood with the destiny of the national religion. If both were connected by the same origin, both should fall in the same ruin. If that which is the tree of life, were, in reality, so corrupt that it could only bear poisonous fruits, then it availed little to lop off the boughs and cut down the branches; but it were better, by one mighty effort, to root it up from the ground, and secure the health of society by stopping the very source of the contagion.

These are reflections which must make us pause before we censure the deistical writers of the eighteenth century. So perverted, however, are the reasonings to which some minds are accustomed, that those who judge them most uncharitably are precisely those whose conduct forms their best excuse. Such are the men who, by putting forth the most extravagant claims in favour of the clergy, are seeking to establish the principle, by the operation of which the clergy were destroyed. Their scheme for restoring the old system of ecclesiastical authority depends on the supposition of its divine origin: a supposition which, if inseparable from Christianity, will at once justify the infidelity which they hotly attack. The increase of the power of the clergy is incompatible with the interests of civilization. If, therefore, any religion adopts as its creed the necessity of such an increase, it becomes the bounden duty of every friend to humanity to do his utmost, either to destroy the creed, or failing in that,[257] to overturn the religion. If pretensions of this sort are an essential part of Christianity, it behoves us at once to make our choice; since the only option can be, between abjuring our faith or sacrificing our liberty. Fortunately, we are not driven to so hard a strait; and we know that these claims are as false in theory, as they would be pernicious in practice. It is, indeed, certain, that if they were put into execution, the clergy, though they might enjoy a momentary triumph, would have consummated their own ruin, by preparing the way among us for scenes as disastrous as those which occurred in France.

The truth is, that what is most blamed in the great French writers, was the natural consequence of the development of their age. Never was there a more striking illustration of the social law already noticed, that, if government will allow religious scepticism to run its course, it will issue in great things, and will hasten the march of civilization; but that, if an attempt is made to put it down with a strong hand, it may, no doubt, be repressed for a time, but eventually will rise with such force as to endanger the foundation of society. In England, we adopted the first of these courses; in France, they adopted the second. In England, men were allowed to exercise their own judgment on the most sacred subjects; and, as soon as the diminution of their credulity had made them set bounds to the power of the clergy, toleration immediately followed, and the national prosperity has never been disturbed. In France, the authority of the clergy was increased by a superstitious king; faith usurped the place of reason, not a whisper of doubt was allowed to be heard, and the spirit of inquiry was stifled, until the country fell to the brink of ruin. If Louis XIV. had not interfered with the natural progress, France, like England, would have continued to advance. After his death, it was, indeed, too late to save the clergy, against whom all the intellect of the nation was soon arrayed. But the force of the storm might still have been broken, if the government of Louis XV. had conciliated what it was impossible to resist; and,[258] instead of madly attempting to restrain opinions by laws, had altered the laws to suit the opinions. If the rulers of France, instead of exerting themselves to silence the national literature, had yielded to its suggestions, and had receded before the pressure of advancing knowledge, the fatal collision would have been avoided; because the passions which caused the collision would have been appeased. In such case, the church would have fallen somewhat earlier; but the state itself would have been saved. In such case, France would, in all probability, have secured her liberties, without increasing her crimes; and that great country, which, from her position and resources, ought to be the pattern of European civilization, might have escaped the ordeal of those terrible atrocities, through which she was compelled to pass, and from the effects of which she has not yet recovered.

It must, I think, be admitted that, during, at all events, the first half of the reign of Louis XV., it was possible, by timely concessions, still to preserve the political institutions of France. Reforms there must have been; and reforms too of a large and uncompromising character. So far, however, as I am able to understand the real history of that period, I make no doubt that, if these had been granted in a frank and ungrudging spirit, everything could have been retained necessary for the only two objects at which government ought to aim, namely, the preservation of order, and the prevention of crime. But, by the middle of the reign of Louis XV., or, at all events, immediately afterwards, the state of affairs began to alter; and, in the course of a few years, the spirit of France became so democratic, that it was impossible even to delay a revolution, which, in the preceding generation, might have been altogether averted. This remarkable change is connected with that other change already noticed, by virtue of which, the French intellect began, about the same period, to direct its hostility against the state, rather than, as heretofore, against the church. As soon as this, which may be called the second epoch of the eighteenth century, had been fairly entered, the movement[259] became irresistible. Event after event followed each other in rapid succession; each one linked to its antecedent, and the whole forming a tendency impossible to withstand. It was in vain that the government, yielding some points of real importance, adopted measures by which the church was controlled, the power of the clergy diminished, and even the order of the jesuits suppressed. It was in vain that the crown now called to its councils, for the first time, men imbued with the spirit of reform; men, like Turgot and Necker, whose wise and liberal proposals would, in calmer days, have stilled the agitation of the popular mind. It was in vain that promises were made to equalize the taxes, to redress some of the most crying grievances, to repeal some of the most obnoxious laws. It was even in vain that the states-general were summoned; and that thus, after the lapse of a hundred and seventy years, the people were again admitted to take part in the management of their own affairs. All these things were in vain; because the time for treaty had gone by, and the time for battle had come. The most liberal concessions that could possibly have been devised would have failed to avert that deadly struggle, which the course of preceding events made inevitable. For the measure of that age was now full. The upper classes, intoxicated by the long possession of power, had provoked the crisis; and it was needful that they should abide the issue. There was no time for mercy; there was no pause, no compassion, no sympathy. The only question that remained was, to see whether they who had raised the storm could ride the whirlwind; or, whether it was not rather likely that they should be the first victims of that frightful hurricane, in which, for a moment, laws, religion, morals, all perished, the lowest vestiges of humanity were effaced, and the civilization of France not only submerged, but, as it then appeared, irretrievably ruined.

To ascertain the successive changes of this, the second epoch of the eighteenth century, is an undertaking full of difficulty; not only on account of the rapidity with which the events occurred, but also on account of[260] their extreme complication, and of the way in which they acted and reacted upon each other. The materials, however, for such an inquiry are very numerous; and, as they consist of evidence supplied by all classes and all interests, it has appeared to me possible to reconstruct the history of that time, according to the only manner in which history deserves to be studied; that is to say, according to the order of its social and intellectual development. In the seventh chapter of the present volume, I shall, therefore, attempt to trace the antecedents of the French Revolution during that remarkable period, in which the hostility of men, slackening in regard to the abuses of the church, was, for the first time, turned against the abuses of the state. But, before entering into this, which may be distinguished as the political epoch of the eighteenth century, it will be necessary, according to the plan which I have sketched, to examine the changes that occurred in the method of writing history, and to indicate the way in which those changes were affected by the tendencies of the earlier, or, as it may be termed, the ecclesiastical epoch. In this manner, we shall the more easily understand the activity of that prodigious movement which led to the French Revolution; because we shall see that it not only affected the opinions of men in regard to what was passing under their eyes, but that it also biased their speculative views in regard to the events of preceding ages; and thus gave rise to that new school of historical literature, the formation of which is by no means the least of the many benefits which we owe to the great thinkers of the eighteenth century.

Footnotes:

[518] ‘L'annonce de la mort du grand roi ne produisit chez le peuple français qu'une explosion de joie.’ Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxvii. p. 220. ‘Le jour des obsèques de Louis XIV, on établit des guinguettes sur le chemin de Saint-Denis. Voltaire, que la curiosité avoit mené aux funérailles du souverain, vit dans ces guinguettes le peuple ivre de vin et de joie de la mort de Louis XIV.’ Duvernet, Vie de Voltaire, p. 29: see also Condorcet, Vie de Voltaire, p. 118; De Tocqueville, Règne de Louis XV, vol. i. p. 18; Duclos, Mémoires, vol. i. p. 221; Lemontey, Etablissement de Louis XIV, pp. 311, 388.

[519] ‘Kaum hatte er aber die Augen geschlossen, als alles umschlug. Der reprimirte Geist warf sich in eine zügellose Bewegung.’ Ranke, die Päpste, vol. iii. p. 192.

[520] The shock which these events gave to the delicacy of the French mind was very serious. The learned Saumaise declared that the English are ‘more savage than their own mastiffs.’ Carlyle's Cromwell, vol. i. p. 444. Another writer said that we were ‘barbares révoltés;’ and ‘les barbares sujets du roi.’ Mém. de Motteville, vol. ii. pp. 105, 362. Patin likened us to the Turks; and said, that having executed one king, we should probably hang the next. Lettres de Patin, vol. i. p. 261, vol. ii. p. 518, vol. iii. p. 148. Compare Mém. de Campion, p. 213. After we had sent away James II., the indignation of the French rose still higher, and even the amiable Madame Sévigné, having occasion to mention Mary the wife of William III., could find no better name for her than Tullia: ‘la joie est universelle de la déroute de ce prince, dont la femme est une Tullie.’ Lettres de Sévigné, vol. v. p. 179. Another influential French lady mentions ‘la férocité des anglais.’ Lettres inédites de Maintenon, vol. i. p. 303; and elsewhere (p. 109), ‘je hais les anglais comme le peuple…. Véritablement je ne les puis souffrir.’

I will only give two more illustrations of the wide diffusion of such feelings. In 1679, an attempt was made to bring bark into discredit as a ‘remède anglais’ (Sprengel, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. v. p. 430): and at the end of the seventeenth century, one of the arguments in Paris against coffee was that the English liked it. Monteil, Divers Etats, vol. vii. p. 216.

[521] ‘Au temps de Boileau, personne en France n'apprenait l'anglais.’ Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xxxviii. p. 337, and see vol. xix. p. 159. ‘Parmi nos grands écrivains du xvii^e siècle, il n'en est aucun, je crois, ou l'on puisse reconnaître un souvenir, une impression de l'esprit anglais.’ Villemain, Lit. au XVIII^e Siècle, vol. iii. p. 324. Compare Barante, XVIII^e Siècle, p. 47, and Grimm, Correspond. vol. v. p. 135, vol. xvii. p. 2.

The French, during the reign of Louis XIV., principally knew us from the accounts given by two of their countrymen, Monconys and Sorbière; both of whom published their travels in England, but neither of whom were acquainted with the English language. For proof of this, see Monconys, Voyages, vol. iii. pp. 34, 69, 70, 96; and Sorbière, Voyage, pp. 45, 70.

When Prior arrived at the court of Louis XIV. as plenipotentiary, no one in Paris was aware that he had written poetry (Lettres sur les Anglais, in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xxvi. p. 130); and when Addison, being in Paris, presented Boileau with a copy of the Musæ Anglicanæ, the Frenchman learnt for the first time that we had any good poets: ‘first conceived an opinion of the English genius for poetry.’ Tickell's statement, in Aikin's Life of Addison, vol. i. p. 65. Finally, it is said that Milton's Paradise Lost was not even by report in France until after the death of Louis XIV., though the poem was published in 1667, and the king died in 1715; ‘Nous n'avions jamais entendu parler de ce poëme en France, avant que l'auteur de la Henriade nous en eût donné une idée dans le neuvième chapitre de son Essai sur la poésie épique.’ Dict. Philos. article Epopée, in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xxxix. p. 175; see also vol. lxvi. p. 249.

[522] ‘Le vrai roi du xviii^e siècle, c'est Voltaire; mais Voltaire à son tour est un écolier de l'Angleterre. Avant que Voltaire eût connu l'Angleterre, soit par ses voyages, soit part ses amitiés, il n'était pas Voltaire, et le xviii^e siècle se cherchait encore.’ Cousin, Hist. de la Philos. I^re série, vol. iii. pp. 38, 39. Compare Damiron, Hist. de la Philos. en France, Paris, 1828, vol. i. p. 34.

[523] ‘J'avais été le premier qui eût osé développer à ma nation les découvertes de Newton, en langage intelligible.’ Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. i. p. 315; see also vol. xix. p. 87, vol. xxvi. p. 71; Whewell's Hist. of Induc. Sciences, vol. ii. p. 206; Weld's Hist. of the Royal Society, vol. i. p. 441. After this, the Cartesian physics lost ground every day; and in Grimm's Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 148, there is a letter, dated Paris, 1757, which says, ‘Il n'y a guère plus ici de partisans de Descartes que M. de Mairan.’ Compare Observations et Pensées, in Œuvres de Turgot, vol. iii. p. 298.

[524] Which he was never weary of praising; so that, as M. Cousin says (Hist. de la Philos. II. série, vol. ii. pp. 311, 312), ‘Locke est le vrai maître de Voltaire.’ Locke was one of the authors he put into the hands of Madame du Châtelet. Condorcet, Vie de Voltaire, p. 296.

[525] Morell's Hist. of Philos. 1846, vol. i. p. 134; Hamilton's Discuss. p. 3.

[526] ‘Rousseau tira des ouvrages de Locke une grande partie de ses idées sur la politique et l'éducation; Condillac toute sa philosophie.’ Villemain, Lit. au XVIII^e Siècle, vol. i. p. 83. See also, on the obligations of Rousseau to Locke, Grimm, Correspond. vol. v. p. 97; Musset Pathay, Vie de Rousseau, vol. i. p. 38, vol. ii. p. 394; Mém. de Morellet, vol. i. p. 113; Romilly's Memoirs, vol. i. pp. 211, 212.

[527] In 1768, Voltaire (Œuvres, vol. lxvi. p. 249) writes to Horace Walpole, ‘Je suie le premier qui ait fait connaître Shakespeare aux français.’ See also his Lettres inédites, vol. ii. p. 500; Villemain, Lit. au XVIII^e Siècle, vol. iii. p. 325; and Grimm, Correspond. vol. xii. pp. 124, 125, 133.

[528] There are extant many English letters written by Voltaire, which, though of course containing several errors, also contain abundant evidence of the spirit with which he seized our idiomatic expressions. In addition to his Lettres inédites, published at Paris in the present year (1856), see Chatham Correspond. vol. ii. pp. 131–133; and Phillimore's Mém. of Lyttelton, vol. i. pp. 323–325, vol. ii. pp. 555, 556, 558.

[529] Grimm, Correspond. vol. i. p. 332; Voltaire, Lettres inédites, vol. ii. p. 258; and the account of Hudibras, with translations from it, in Œuvres, vol. xxvi. pp. 132–137; also a conversation between Voltaire and Townley, in Nichols's Illustrations of the Eighteenth Century, vol. iii. p. 722.

[530] Compare Mackintosh's Memoirs, vol. i. p. 341, with Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xxxix. p. 259, vol. xlvii. p. 85.

[531] Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xxxviii. pp. 216–218, vol. xlvi. p. 282, vol. xlvii. p. 439, vol. lvii. p. 178.

[532] Ibid. vol. xxxvii. p. 353, vol. lvii. p. 66; Correspond. inédite de Dudeffand, vol. ii. p. 230.

[533] Œuvres, vol. xxxiv. p. 294, vol. lvii. p. 121.

[534] Ibid. vol. xxxvii. pp. 407, 441.

[535] Ibid. vol. xxxvi. p. 46.

[536] Ibid. vol. xxxiv. p. 288, vol. xli. pp. 212–217; Biog. Univ. vol. li. pp. 199, 200.

[537] Lerminier, Philos. du Droit, vol. i. p. 221; Klimrath, Hist. du Droit, vol. ii. p. 502; Harris's Life of Hardwicke, vol. ii. p. 398, vol. iii. pp. 432–434; Mém. de Diderot, vol. ii. pp. 193, 194; Lacretelle, XVIII^e Siècle, vol. ii. p. 24.

[538] Villemain, Lit. au XVIII^e Siècle, vol. ii. p. 182; Biog. Univ. vol. vi. p. 235; Le Blanc, Lettres, vol. i. p. 93, vol. ii. pp. 159, 160.

[539] ‘Admirateur passionné du romancier anglais.’ Biog. Univ. vol. xxxvii. p. 581. Compare Diderot, Corresp. vol. i. p. 352; vol. ii. pp. 44, 52, 53; Mercier sur Rousseau, vol. i. p. 44.

[540] Villemain, Lit. vol. ii. p. 115; Schlosser's Eighteenth Century, vol. i. pp. 34, 42; Tennemann, Gesch. der Philos. vol. xi. p. 314; Biog. Univ. vol. xi. p. 314; Grimm, Correspond. vol. xv. p. 81. Stanyan's History of Greece was once famous, and even so late as 1804, I find Dr. Parr recommending it. Parr's Works, vol. viii. p. 422. Diderot told Sir Samuel Romilly that he had collected materials for a history of the trial of Charles I. Life of Romilly, vol. i. p. 46.

[541] Diderot, Mém. vol. ii. p. 286; Cousin, Hist. de la Philos. II^e série, vol. ii. p. 331; Helvétius de l'Esprit, vol. i. pp. 31, 38, 46, 65, 114, 169, 193, 266, 268, vol. ii. pp. 144, 163, 165, 195, 212; Letters addressed to Hume, Edinb. 1849, pp. 9, 10.

[542] This is the arrangement of our knowledge under the heads of Memory, Reason, and Imagination, which D'Alembert took from Bacon. Compare Whewell's Philos. of the Sciences, vol. ii. p. 306; Cuvier, Hist. des Sciences, part ii. p. 276; Georgel, Mém. vol. ii. p. 241; Bordas Demoulin, Cartésianisme, vol. i. p. 18.

[543] Quérard, France Lit. ix. 193.

[544] Mém. de Morellet, i. 236, 237.

[545] Œuvres de Voltaire, lxv. 161, 190, 212; Biog. Univ. x. 158, 159.

[546] Burton's Life of Hume, vol. i. pp. 365, 366, 406.

[547] See the list, in Biog. Univ. vol. xx. pp. 463–466; and compare Mém. de Diderot, vol. iii. p. 49, from which it seems that Holbach was indebted to Toland, though Diderot speaks rather doubtingly. In Almon's Mem. of Wilkes 1805, vol. iv. pp. 176, 177, there is an English letter, tolerably well written, from Holbach to Wilkes.

[548] Musset Pathay, Vie de Rousseau, ii. 10, 175; Œuvres de Voltaire, liv. 207.

[549] Biog. Univ. x. 556.

[550] Ibid. xii. 418.

[551] Quérard, France Lit. iv. 34, 272.

[552] Ibid. iv. 361.

[553] Biog. Univ. xxiii. 226.

[554] Montucla, Hist. des Mathém. ii. 170.

[555] Montucla, ii. 120, iv. 662, 665, 670.

[556] Biog. Univ. iii. 253, xxxiii. 564.

[557] Quérard, France Lit. vii. 353.

[558] Biog. Univ. xxxviii. 530.

[559] Ibid. xxxviii. 411.

[560] Ibid. iii. 450.

[561] Bichat sur la Vie, 244.

[562] Quérard, i. 416.

[563] Biog. Univ. iii. 345.

[564] Quérard, i. 260, 425, ii. 354.

[565] Ibid. i. 476.

[566] Biog. Univ. iv. 55, 56.

[567] Notice sur Cabanis, p. viii. in his Physique et Moral.

[568] Biog. Univ. xi. 65, 66.

[569] Ibid. xii. 276.

[570] Ibid. xv. 359.

[571] Ibid. xviii. 187.

[572] Quérard, iv. 641, vi. 9, 398.

[573] Cuvier, Eloges, i. 354.

[574] Quérard, vii. 95.

[575] Cuvier, Eloges, iii. 382.

[576] Biog. Univ. xxxix. 174.

[577] Le Blanc, Lettres, i. 93.

[578] Quérard, ix. 286.

[579] Robin et Verdeil, Chim. Anat. ii. 416.

[580] Biog. Univ. v. 530, 531.

[581] Cuvier, Eloges, i. 196.

[582] Biog. Univ. vi. 47.

[583] Quérard, ii. 372.

[584] Haüy, Minéralogie, ii. 247, 267, 295, 327, 529, 609, iii. 75, 293, 307, 447, 575, iv. 45, 280, 292, 362.

[585] Quérard, iv. 598.

[586] Ibid. viii. 22.

[587] Swainson, Disc. on Nat. Hist. 52; Cuvier, Règne Animal, iii. 415.

[588] De Lisle, Cristallographie, 1772, xviii. xx. xxiii. xxv. xxvii. 78, 206, 254.

[589] Albemarle's Rockingham, ii. 156; Campbell's Chancellors, v. 365.

[590] Biog. Univ. vi. 386.

[591] Letters to Hume, Edin. 1849, 276, 278.

[592] Biog. Univ. xv. 332.

[593] Brewster's Life of Newton, ii. 302.

[594] Palissot, Mém. ii. 56.

[595] Biog. Univ. ix. 549.

[596] Ibid. xxix. 51, 53.

[597] Ibid. xliv. 534.

[598] Ibid. xlviii. 93.

[599] Volney, Syrie et Egypte, ii. 100, 157; Quérard, x. 271, 273.

[600] Biog. Univ. i. 42.

[601] Ibid. viii. 340, 341.

[602] Mém. de Genlis, i. 276.

[603] Palissot, Mém. i. 243.

[604] Biog. Univ. xi. 281, xi. 172, 173.

[605] Quérard, ii. 626, 627.

[606] Ibid. iii. 141.

[607] Quérard, iv. 342.

[608] Ibid. v. 83.

[609] Ibid. vi. 62.

[610] Garrick Correspond. 4to, 1832, ii. 385, 395, 416.

[611] Biog. Univ. xxxv. 314.

[612] Quérard, vii. 399.

[613] Biog. Univ. xxxix. 93.

[614] Ibid. xxxix. 530.

[615] Quérard, i. 209.

[616] Biog. Univ. iii. 533.

[617] Ibid. iii. 631.

[618] Cuvier, Règne Animal, iii. 334.

[619] Quérard, i. 284, vii. 287.

[620] Mém. de Morellet, i. 237.

[621] Biog. Univ. v. 264.

[622] Dutens, Mém. iii. 32.

[623] Biog. Univ. vi. 165.

[624] Murray's Life of Bruce, 121; Biog. Univ. vi. 79.

[625] Ibid. viii. 46.

[626] Ibid. viii. 246.

[627] Ibid. viii. 266.

[628] Ibid. ix. 497.

[629] Ibid. xlv. 394.

[630] Lettres de Dudeffand à Walpole, iii. 184.

[631] Œuvres de Voltaire. lvi. 527.

[632] Biog. Univ. xi. 264.

[633] Quérard, ii. 598.

[634] Biog. Univ. xii. 313, 314.

[635] Nichols's Lit. Anec. ii. 154; Palissot, Mém. ii. 311.

[636] Biog. Univ. iv. 547, xii. 595.

[637] Ibid. xiii. 399.

[638] Quérard, iii. 79.

[639] Biog. Univ. xv. 29.

[640] Ibid. xv. 203.

[641] Ibid. 218.

[642] Quérard, i. 525.

[643] Biog. Univ. xvi. 48.

[644] Ibid. li. 508.

[645] Smith's Tour on the Continent in 1786, i. 143.

[646] Biog. Univ. xvi. 388.

[647] Ibid. xvi. 502.

[648] Sinclair's Correspond. i. 157.

[649] Quérard, iii. 418.

[650] Biog. Univ. xix. 13.

[651] Quérard, i. 10, iii. 536.

[652] Ibid. iii. 469.

[653] Biog. Univ. xxi. 419.

[654] Ibid. xxi. 200.

[655] Œuvres de Voltaire, xxxviii. 244.

[656] Palissot, Mém. i. 425.

[657] Biog. Univ. xxiii. 34.

[658] Ibid. xxiii. 56.

[659] Ibid. xxiii. 111.

[660] Quérard, iv. 503.

[661] Biog. Univ. xxiii. 373.

[662] Quérard, iv. 579.

[663] Sinclair's Correspond. ii. 139.

[664] Mem. and Correspond. of Sir. J. E. Smith, i. 163.

[665] Biog. des Hommes Vivants, iv. 164.

[666] Quérard, v. 177.

[667] Nichols's Lit. Anec. iv. 583; Longchamp et Wagnière, Mém. i. 395.

[668] Quérard, v. 316.

[669] Biog. Univ. xxv. 87.

[670] Ibid. xxv. 432.

[671] Ibid. xxvi. 244.

[672] Ibid. xxvi. 468.

[673] Ibid. xxvii. 269.

[674] Ibid. xxix. 208.

[675] Lettres de Dudeffand à Walpole, i. 222.

[676] Quérard, vi. 330.

[677] Biog. Univ. xxx. 539.

[678] Ibid. xxxiii. 553.

[679] Lettres de Dudeffand à Walpole, i. 22, iii. 307, iv. 207.

[680] Biog. Univ. xxxvi. 305, 306.

[681] Ibid. xxxviii. 174.

[682] Peignot, Dict. des Livres, ii. 233.

[683] Quérard, viii. 111.

[684] Biog. Univ. xxxix. 84.

[685] Biog. des Hommes Vivants, v. 294.

[686] Quérard, viii. 474.

[687] Biog. Univ. xli. 426.

[688] Ibid. xlii. 45, 46.

[689] Ibid. xlii. 389.

[690] Ibid. xliii. 181.

[691] Garrick Correspond. ii. 604; Mém. de Genlis, vi. 205.

[692] Biog. Univ. xliv. 512.

[693] Life of Roscoe, by his Son, i. 200.

[694] Biog. Univ. xlvi. 398, 399.

[695] Ibid. xlvi. 497.

[696] Quérard, iv. 45, ix. 558.

[697] Biog. Univ. xlvii. 98.

[698] Ibid. xlvii. 232.

[699] Mém. de Brissot, i. 78.

[700] Biog. Univ. xlviii. 217, 218.

[701] Ibid. xlix. 223.

[702] ‘Nous avons mis depuis peu leur langue au rang des langues savantes; les femmes même l'apprennent, et ont renoncé à l'italien pour étudier celle de ce peuple philosophe. Il n'est point dans la province d'Armande et de Belise qui ne veuille savoir l'anglois.’ Le Blanc, Lettres, vol. ii. p. 465. Compare Grimm, Corresp. vol. xiv. p. 484; and Nichols's Lit. Anec. vol. iii. pp. 460, 461.

[703] Williams's Letters from France, vol. iii. p. 68, 2nd edit. 1796; Biog. Univ. vol. vii. p. 192.

[704] Adolphus's Biog. Mem. 1799, vol. i. p. 352.

[705] Lady Morgan's France, vol. ii. p. 304; Mém. de Lafayette, vol. i. pp. 41, 49, 70, vol. ii. pp. 26, 74, 83, 89.

[706] Quérard, France Littéraire, vol. iv. p. 540.

[707] The last authors he read, shortly before his execution, were Young and Hervey. Lamartine, Hist. des Girondins, vol. viii. p. 45. In 1769 Madame Riccoboni writes from Paris, that Young's Night Thoughts had become very popular there; and she justly adds, ‘c'est une preuve sans réplique du changement de l'esprit français.’ Garrick Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 566, 4to. 1832.

[708] Lamartine, Hist. des Girondins, vol. iv. p. 119; Mém. de Brissot, vol. i. pp. 336, 337, vol. ii. p. 3.

[709] ‘Une des supériorités secondaires, une des supériorités d'étude qui appartenaient à Mirabeau, c'était la profonde connaissance, la vive intelligence de la constitution anglaise, de ses ressorts publics et de ses ressorts cachés.’ Villemain, Lit. au XVIII^e Siècle, vol. iv. p. 153.

[710] Particularly the democratic passages, ‘un corps de doctrine de tous ses écrits républicains.’ Dumont, Souvenirs sur Mirabeau, p. 119. As to his translation of Watson, see Alison's Europe, vol. i. p. 452. He also intended to translate Sinclair's History of the Revenue. Correspond. of Sir J. Sinclair, vol. ii. p. 119.

[711] Prior's Life of Burke, p. 546, 3rd edit. 1839.

[712] ‘Il étudiait leur langue, la théorie et plus encore la pratique de leurs institutions.’ Biog. Univ. vol. xxx. p. 310.

[713] Continuation de Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxx. p. 434. Montlosier (Monarchie Française, vol. ii. p. 340) says that this idea was borrowed from England; but he does not mention who suggested it.

[714] Du Mesnil, Mém. sur Le Brun, pp. 10, 14, 29, 82, 180, 182.

[715] Mém. de Brissot, vol. i. pp. 63, 64, vol. ii. pp. 25, 40, 188, 206, 260, 313.

[716] Dupont de Nemours (Mém. sur Turgot, p. 117) says of criminal jurisprudence, ‘M. de Condorcet proposait en modèle celle des Anglais.’

[717] Mém. de Roland, vol. i. pp. 27, 55, 89, 136, vol. ii. pp. 99, 135, 253.

[718] ‘Le duc d'Orléans puisa ainsi le goût de la liberté dans la vie de Londres. Il en rapporta en France les habitudes d'insolence contre la cour, l'appétit des agitations populaires, le mépris pour son propre rang, la familiarité avec la foule,’ &c. Lamartine, Hist. des Girondins, vol. ii. p. 102.

[719] M. Lerminier (Philos. du Droit, vol. i. p. 19) says of England, ‘cette île célèbre donne à l'Europe l'enseignement de la liberté politique; elle en fut l'école au dix–huitième siècle pour tout ce que l'Europe eut de penseurs.’ See also Soulavie, Règne de Louis XVI, vol. iii. p. 161; Mém. de Marmontel, vol. iv. pp. 38, 39; Stäudlin, Gesch. der theolog. Wissenschaften, vol. ii. p. 291.

[720] Hume, who was acquainted with several eminent Frenchmen who visited England, says (Philosophical Works, vol. iii. p. 8), ‘nothing is more apt to surprise a foreigner than the extreme liberty which we enjoy in this country, of communicating whatever we please to the public, and of openly censuring every measure entered into by the king or his ministers.’

[721] ‘La nation anglaise est la seule de la terre qui soit parvenue à régler le pouvoir des rois en leur résistant.’ Lettre VIII sur les Anglais, in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xxvi. p. 37.

[722] ‘Que j'aime la hardiesse anglaise! que j'aime les gens qui disent ce qu'ils pensent!’ Letter from Voltaire, in Correspond. de Dudeffand, vol. ii. p. 263. For other instances of his admiration of England, see Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xl. pp. 105–109; vol. li. pp. 137, 390; vol. liv. pp. 298, 392; vol. lvi. pp. 162, 163, 195, 196, 270; vol. lvii. p. 500; vol. lviii. pp. 128, 267; vol. lix. pp. 265, 361; vol. lx. p. 501; vol. lxi. pp. 43, 73, 129, 140, 474, 475; vol. lxii. pp. 343, 379, 392; vol. lxiii. pp. 128, 146, 190, 196, 226, 237, 415; vol. lxiv. pp. 36, 96, 269; vol. lxvi. pp. 93, 159; vol. lxvii. pp. 353, 484.

[723] ‘Ils veulent un roi, aux conditions, pour ainsi dire, de ne lui point obéir.’ Le Blanc, Lettres d'un François, vol. i. p. 210.

[724] ‘Il y a aussi une nation dans le monde qui a pour objet direct de sa constitution la liberté politique.’ Esprit des Lois, livre xi. chap. v. in Œuvres de Montesquieu, p. 264. Conversely De Staël (Consid. sur la Rév. vol. iii. p. 261), ‘la liberté politique est le moyen suprême.’

[725] ‘L'Angleterre est à présent le plus libre pays qui soit au monde, je n'en excepte aucune république.’ Notes sur l'Angleterre, in Œuvres de Montesquieu, p. 632.

[726] ‘Une nation où la république se cache sous la forme de la monarchie.’ Esprit des Lois, livre v. chap. xix. in Œuvres de Montesquieu, page 225; also quoted in Bancroft's American Revolution, vol. ii. p. 36.

[727] Grosley's Tour to London, vol. i. pp. 16, 17.

[728] Mably, Observ. sur l'Hist. de France, vol. ii. p. 185.

[729] Helvétius de l'Esprit. vol. i. pp. 102, 199: ‘un pays où le peuple est respecté comme en Angleterre; … un pays où chaque citoyen a part au maniement des affaires générales, où tout homme d'esprit peut éclairer le public sur ses véritables intérêts.’

[730] Mém. de Brissot, vol. ii. p. 25.

[731] Condorcet, Vie de Voltaire, pp. 118, 119; Duvernet, Vie de Voltaire, pp. 30, 32; Longchamp et Wagnière, Mém. sur Voltaire, vol. i. p. 22.

[732] Duvernet, Vie de Voltaire, pp. 46–48; Condorcet, Vie de Voltaire, pp. 125, 126. Compare vol. lvi. p. 162; Lepan, Vie de Voltaire, 1837, pp. 70, 71; and Biog. Univ. vol. xlix. p. 468. Duvernet, who, writing from materials supplied by Voltaire, had the best means of information, gives a specimen of the fine feeling of a French duke in the eighteenth century. He says, that, directly after Rohan had inflicted this public chastisement, ‘Voltaire rentre dans l'hôtel, demande au duc de Sully de regarder cet outrage fait à l'un de ses convives, comme fait à lui-même: il le sollicite de se joindre à lui pour en poursuivre la vengeance, et de venir chez un commissaire en certifier la déposition. Le duc de Sully se refuse à tout.’

[733] ‘L'Histoire de Charles XII, dont on avait arrêté une première édition après l'avoir autorisée.’ Biog. Univ. vol. xlix. p. 470. Comp. Nichols's Lit. Anec. vol. i. p. 388.

[734] Duvernet, Vie de Voltaire, pp. 63–65; Condorcet, Vie de Voltaire, pp. 138–140; Lepan, Vie de Voltaire, pp. 93, 381.

[735] The indignation of Voltaire appears in many of his letters; and he often announced to his friends his intention of quitting for ever a country where he was liable to such treatment. See Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. liv. pp. 58, 335, 336, vol. lv. p. 229, vol. lvi. pp. 162, 163, 358, 447, 464, 465, vol. lvii. pp. 144, 145, 155, 156, vol. lviii. pp. 36, 222, 223, 516, 517, 519, 520, 525, 526, 563, vol. lix. pp. 107, 116, 188, 208.

[736] Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. i. pp. 147, 315, vol. lvii. pp. 211, 215, 219, 247, 295; Villemain, Lit. au XVIII^e Siècle, vol. i. p. 14; Brougham's Men of Letters, vol. i. pp. 53, 60.

[737] Grimm, Correspond. vol. i. pp. 90–95, vol. ii. p. 399; Biog. Univ. vol. xi. p. 316; Brougham's Men of Letters, vol. ii. p. 439.

[738] Boucher de la Richarderie, Bibliothèque des Voyages, vol. iii. pp. 390–393, Paris, 1808: ‘La distribution en France de la traduction de ce voyage fut arrêtée pendant quelque temps par des ordres supérieurs du gouvernement…. Il y a tout lieu de croire que les ministres de France crurent, ou feignirent de croire, que le passage en question pouvoit donner lieu à des applications sur le goût effréné de Louis XV pour la chasse, et inspirèrent aisément cette prévention à un prince très-sensible, comme on sait, aux censures les plus indirectes de sa passion pour ce genre d'amusement.’ See also the account of Imbert, the translator, in Biog. Univ. vol. xxi. p. 200.

[739] Grimm, Correspond. vol. vi. pp. 161, 162; the crime being, ‘qu'un janséniste avait osé imprimer que Julien, apostat exécrable aux yeux d'un bon chrétien, n'était pourtant pas un homme sans quelques bonnes qualités à en juger mondainement.’

[740] M. Bunsen (Egypt, vol. i. p. 14) refers to Fréret's ‘acute treatise on the Babylonian year;’ and Turgot, in his Etymologie, says (Œuvres de Turgot, vol. iii. p. 83), ‘l'illustre Fréret, un des savans qui ont su le mieux appliquer la philosophie à l'érudition.’

[741] This was at the very outset of his career: ‘En 1715, l'homme qui devait illustrer l'érudition française au xviii^e siècle, Fréret, était mis à la Bastille pour avoir avancé, dans un mémoire sur l'origine des Français, que les Francs ne formaient pas une nation à part, et que leurs premiers chefs avaient reçu de l'empire romain le titre de patrices.’ Villemain, Lit. au XVIII^e Siècle, vol. ii. p. 30: see also Nichols's Lit. Anec. vol. ii. p. 510.

[742] He was imprisoned in the Bastille, for the first time, in 1725; then in 1743, in 1750, and finally in 1751. Biographie Universelle, vol. xxiv. p. 85.

[743] In 1743, Voltaire writes: ‘On vient de mettre à la Bastille l'abbé Lenglet, pour avoir publié des mémoires déjà très-connus, qui servent de supplément à l'histoire de notre célèbre De Thou. L'infatigable et malheureux Lenglet rendait un signalé service aux bons citoyens, et aux amateurs des recherches historiques. Il méritait des récompenses; on l'emprisonne cruellement à l'âge de soixante-huit ans.’ Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. i. pp. 400, 401, vol. lviii. pp. 207, 208.

[744] Musset Pathay, Vie de Rousseau, vol. i. pp. 68, 99, 296, 377, vol. ii. pp. 111, 385, 390; Mercier sur Rousseau, vol. i. p. 14, vol. ii. pp. 179, 314.

[745] Grimm, Corresp. vol. ii. p. 349; Walpole's Letters, 1840, vol. iii. p. 418.

[746] Lyell's Principles of Geology, pp. 39, 40; Mém. of Mallet du Pan, vol. i. p. 125.

[747] Soulavie, Règne de Louis XVI, vol. ii. p. 214; Williams's Letters from France, vol. ii. p. 86, 3rd edit. 1796.

[748] Mém. de Ségur, vol. i. p. 253; Mém. de Lafayette, vol. ii. p. 34 note; Lettres de Dudeffand à Walpole, vol. ii. p. 365. On Raynal's flight, compare a letter from Marseilles, written in 1786, and printed in Mem. and Correspond. of Sir J. E. Smith, vol. i. p. 194.

[749] See the proceedings of the avocat-général, in Peignot, Livres condamnés, vol. i. pp. 230, 231; and in Soulavie, Règne de Louis XVI, vol. iii. pp. 93–97.

[750] Quérard, France Lit. vol. v. p. 565.

[751] Peignot, Livres condamnés, vol. i. pp. 241, 242.

[752] Biog. Univ. vol. xxiv. p. 561; Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. lxix. pp. 374, 375; Lettres inédites de Voltaire, vol. ii. p. 528; Duvernet, Vie de Voltaire, pp. 202, 203. According to some of these authorities, parliament afterwards revoked this sentence; but there is no doubt that the sentence was passed, and De Sales imprisoned, if not banished.

[753] Peignot, Livres condamnés, vol. i. pp. 314, 316.

[754] Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. lxix. p. 204; Lettres de Dudeffand à Walpole, vol. iii. p. 260.

[755] 'Quatre mémoires … condamnés à être lacérés et brûlés par la main du bourreau.' Peignot, vol. i. p. 24.

[756] Biog. Univ. vol. xxiii. p. 187.

[757] Duvernet, Hist. de la Sorbonne, vol. i. p. vi.

[758] ‘Supprimée par arrêt du conseil’ in 1771, which was the year of its publication. Compare Cassagnac's Révolution, vol. i. p. 33; Biog. Univ. vol. xxiv. p. 634.

[759] Quérard, France Lit. vol. iii. p. 337.

[760] Biog. Univ. vol. x. p. 97.

[761] Peignot, vol. i. p. 328.

[762] ibid. vol. i. p. 289.

[763] Biog. Univ. vol. vii. p. 227.

[764] Lettres d'Aguesseau, vol. ii. pp. 320, 321.

[765] Cassagnac, Causes de la Rév. vol. i. p. 32.

[766] Biog. Univ. vol. iii. p. 375.

[767] Quérard, vol. iii. p. 489.

[768] Ibid. vol. vii. pp. 483, 484.

[769] Ibid. vol. iii. p. 302.

[770] Ibid. vol. iii. p. 261.

[771] On the importance of this remarkable thesis, and on its prohibition, see Saint-Hilaire, Anomalies de l'Organisation, vol. i. p. 355.

[772] Quérard, vol. iv. p. 255.

[773] Biog. Univ. vol. xv. p. 203.

[774] Ibid. vol. xxi. p. 391.

[775] Ibid. vol. xlv. p. 462, vol. xlvii. p. 98.

[776] Peignot, vol. i. pp. 90, 91, vol. ii. p. 164.

[777] Ibid. vol. i. p. 170, vol. ii. p. 57.

[778] Ibid. vol. ii. p. 214.

[779] ‘Il resta trois ans dans la cage; c'est un caveau creusé dans le roc, de huit pieds en carré, où le prisonnier ne reçoit le jour que par les crevasses des marches de l'église.’ Biog. Univ. vol. xi. p. 171.

[780] Peignot, Livres condamnés, vol. i. pp. 14, 15.

[781] Mémoires de Marmontel, vol. ii. pp. 143–176; and see vol. iii. pp. 30–46, 95, for the treatment he afterwards received from the Sorbonne, because he advocated religious toleration. See also Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. liv. p. 258; and Letters of Eminent Persons addressed to Hume, pp. 207, 212, 213.

[782] Mém. de Morellet, vol. i. pp. 86–89; Mélanges par Morellet, vol. ii. pp. 3–12; Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. liv. pp. 106, 111, 114, 122, 183.

[783] Marmontel (Mém. vol. ii. p. 313) says, ‘qui n'a connu Diderot que dans ses écrits ne l'a point connu:’ meaning that his works were inferior to his talk. His conversational powers are noticed by Ségur, who disliked him, and by Georgel, who hated him. Ségur, Souvenirs, vol. iii. p. 34; Georgel, Mém. vol. ii. p. 246. Compare Forster's Life of Goldsmith, vol. i. p. 69; Musset Pathay, Vie de Rousseau, vol. i. p. 95, vol. ii. p. 227; Mémoires d'Epinay, vol. ii. pp. 73, 74, 88; Grimm, Corresp. vol. xv. pp. 79–90; Morellet, Mém. vol. i. p. 28; Villemain, Lit. au XVIII^e Siècle, vol. i. p. 82.

As to Holbach's dinners, on which Madame de Genlis wrote a well-known libel, see Schlosser's Eighteenth Century, vol. i. p. 166; Biog. Univ. vol. xx. p. 462; Jesse's Selwyn, vol. ii. p. 9; Walpole's Letters to Mann, vol. iv. p. 283; Gibbon's Miscellaneous Works, p. 73.

[784] It is also stated by the editor of his correspondence, that he wrote a great deal for authors, which they published under their name. Mém. et Corresp. de Diderot, vol. iii. p. 102.

[785] This was the Pensées Philosophiques, in 1746, his first original work; the previous ones being translations from English. Biog. Univ. xi. p. 314. Duvernet (Vie de Voltaire, p. 240) says, that he was imprisoned for writing it, but this I believe is a mistake; at least I do not remember to have met with the statement elsewhere, and Duvernet is frequently careless.

[786] Dugald Stewart, who has collected some important evidence on this subject, has confirmed several of the views put forward by Diderot. Philos. of the Mind, vol. iii. pp. 401 seq.; comp. pp. 57, 407, 435. Since then still greater attention has been paid to the education of the blind, and it has been remarked that ‘it is an exceedingly difficult task to teach them to think accurately.’ M. Alister's Essay on the Blind, in Jour. of Stat. Soc. vol. i. p. 378: see also Dr. Fowler, in Report of Brit. Assoc. for 1847; Transac. of Sec. pp. 92, 93, and for 1848, p. 88. These passages unconsciously testify to the sagacity of Diderot; and they also testify to the stupid ignorance of a government, which sought to put an end to such inquiries by punishing their author.

[787] Mém. et Corresp. de Diderot, vol. i. pp. 26–29; Musset Pathay, Vie de Rousseu, vol. i. p. 47, vol. ii. p. 276; Letter to d'Argental in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. lviii. p. 454; Lacretelle, Dix-huitième Siècle, vol. ii. p. 54.

[788] A happy arrangement, by which curiosity baffles despotism. In 1767, an acute observer wrote, ‘Il n'y a plus de livres qu'on imprime plusieurs fois, que les livres condamnés. Il faut aujourd'hui qu'un libraire prie les magistrate de brûler son livre pour le faire vendre.’ Grimm, Corresp. vol. v. p. 498. To the same effect, Mém. de Ségur, vol. i. pp. 15, 16; Mém. de Georgel, vol. ii. p. 256.

[789] ‘Quel est aujourd'hui parmi nous l'homme de lettres de quelque mérite qui n'ait éprouvé plus ou moins les fureurs de la calomnie et de la persécution?’ etc. Grimm, Corresp. vol. v. p. 451. This was written in 1767, and during more than forty years previously we find similar expressions; the earliest I have met with being in a letter to Thiriot, in 1723, in which Voltaire says (Œuvres, vol. lvi. p. 94), ‘la sévérité devient plus grande de jour en jour dans l'inquisition de la librairie.’ For other instances, see his letter to De Formont, pp. 423–425, also vol. lvii. pp. 144, 351, vol. lviii. p. 222; his Lettres inédites, vol. i. p. 547; Mém. de Diderot, vol. ii. p. 215; Letters of Eminent Persons to Hume, pp. 14, 15.

[790] Part of this is related, rather inaccurately, in Schlosser's Eighteenth Century, vol. iii. p. 483. The fullest account is in Grimm, Corresp. Lit. vol. viii. pp. 231–233: ‘Le grand Maurice, irrité d'une résistance qu'il n'avait jamais éprouvée nulle part, eut la faiblesse de demander une lettre de cachet pour enlever à un mari sa femme, et pour la contraindre d'être sa concubine; et, chose remarquable, cette lettre de cachet fut accordée et exécutée. Les deux époux plièrent sous le joug de la nécessité, et la petite Chantilly fut à la fois femme de Favart et maîtresse de Maurice de Saxe.’

[791] ‘L'Averdy was no sooner named controller of finance than he published a decree, in 1764 (arrêt du conseil),—which, according to the state of the then existing constitution, had the force of a law,—by which every man was forbidden to print, or cause to be printed, anything whatever upon administrative affairs, or government regulations in general, under the penalty of a breach of the police laws; by which the man was liable to be punished without defence, and not as was the case before the law courts, where he might defend himself, and could only be judged according to law.’ Schlosser's Eighteenth Century, vol. ii. p. 166: see also Mém. de Morellet, vol. i. p. 141, vol. ii. p. 75, ‘un arrêt du conseil, qui défendait d'imprimer sur les matières d'administration.’

[792] ‘L'ordonnance de 1767, rendue sous le ministère du chancelier Maupeou, portait la peine de mort contre tout auteur d'écrits tendant à émouvoir les esprits.’ Cassagnac, Causes de la Révolution, vol. i. p. 313.

[793] In April 1757, D'Alembert writes from Paris, ‘on vient de publier une déclaration qui inflige la peine de mort à tous ceux qui auront publié des écrits tendants à attaquer la religion.’ Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. liv. p. 34. This, I suppose, is the same edict as that mentioned by M. Amédée Renée, in his continuation of Sismondi, Histoire des Français, vol. xxx. p. 247.

[794] ‘Il avait été défendu, sous peine de mort, aux écrivains de parler de finances.’ Lavallée, Hist. des Français, vol. iii. p. 490.

[795] This was the suggestion of the avocat-général in 1780. See the proposal, in his own words, in Grimm, Correspond. vol. xi. pp. 143, 144. On the important functions of the avocats-généraux in the eighteenth century, see a note in Lettres d'Aguesseau, vol. i. p. 264.

[796] And we should also remember what the circumstances were under which the accusation was first heard in France. ‘Les reproches d'avoir tout détruit, adressés aux philosophes du dix-huitième siècle, ont commencé le jour où il s'est trouvé en France un gouvernement qui a voulu rétablir les abus dont les écrivains de cette époque avaient accéléré la destruction.’ Comte, Traité de Législation, vol. i. p. 72.

[797] The nature of this change, and the circumstances under which it happened, will be examined in the last chapter of the present volume; but that the revolutionary movement, while headed by Voltaire and his coadjutors, was directed against the church, and not against the state, is noticed by many writers; some of whom have also observed, that soon after the middle of the reign of Louis XV. the ground began to be shifted, and a disposition was first shown to attack political abuses. On this remarkable fact, indicated by several authors, but explained by none, compare Lacretelle, XVIII^e Siècle, vol. ii. p. 305; Barruel, Mém. pour l'Hist. du Jacobinisme, vol. i. p. xviii., vol. ii. p. 113; Tocqueville, L'Ancien Régime, p. 241; Alison's Europe, vol. i. p. 165, vol. xiv. p. 286; Mém. de Rivarol, p. 35; Soulavie, Règne de Louis XVI, vol. iv. p. 397; Lamartine, Hist. des Girondins, vol. i. p. 183; Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. lx. p. 307, vol. lxvi. p. 34.

[798] See some striking remarks in M. Tocqueville's great work, De la Démocratie, vol. i. p. 5; which should be compared with the observation of Horace Walpole, who was well acquainted with French society, and who says, happily enough, that the French ‘love themselves in their kings.’ Walpole's Mem. of George III, vol. ii. p. 240.

[799] Not only the political history of Spain, but also its literature, contains melancholy evidence of the extraordinary loyalty of the Spaniards, and of the injurious results produced by it. See, on this, some useful reflections in Ticknor's Hist. of Spanish Literature, vol. i. pp. 95, 96, 133, vol. iii. pp. 191–193.

[800] Our admiration of Alfred is greatly increased by the fact, that we know very little about him. The principal authority referred to for his reign is Asser, whose work, there is reason to believe, is not genuine. See the arguments in Wright's Biog. Brit. Lit. vol. i. pp. 408–412. It moreover appears, that some of the institutions popularly ascribed to him, existed before his time. Kemble's Saxons in England, vol. i. pp. 247, 248.

[801] The French writers, under the old régime, constantly boast that loyalty was the characteristic of their nation, and taunt the English with their opposite and insubordinate spirit. ‘Il n'est pas ici question des François, qui se sont toujours distingués des autres nations par leur amour pour leurs rois.’ Le Blanc, Lettres d'un François, vol. iii. p. 523. ‘The English do not love their sovereigns as much as could be desired.’ Sorbière's Voyage to England, p. 58. ‘Le respect de la majesté royale, caractère distinctif des Français.’ Mém. de Montbarey, vol. ii. p. 54. ‘L'amour et la fidélité que les Français ont naturellement pour leurs princes.’ Mém. de Motteville, vol. ii. p. 3. ‘Les Français, qui aiment leurs princes.’ De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. iii. p. 381; and see vol. xi. p. 729. For further evidence, see Sully, Œconomies, vol. iv. p. 346; Monteil, Divers Etats, vol. vii. p. 105; Ségur, Mémoires, vol. i. p. 32; Lamartine, Hist. des Girondins, vol. iv. p. 58.

Now, contrast with all this the sentiments contained in one of the most celebrated histories in the English language: ‘There is not any one thing more certain and more evident, than that princes are made for the people, and not the people for them; and perhaps there is no nation under heaven that is more entirely possessed with this notion of princes than the English nation is in this age; so that they will soon be uneasy to a prince who does not govern himself by this maxim, and in time grow very unkind to him.’ Burnet's History of his Own Time, vol. vi. p. 223. This manly and wholesome passage was written while the French were licking the dust from the feet of Louis XIV.

[802] ‘La race des rois la plus ancienne.’ Mém. de Genlis, vol. ix. p. 281. ‘Nos rois, issus de la plus grande race du monde, et devant qui les Césars, et la plus grande partie des princes qui jadis ont commandé tant de nations, ne sont que des roturiers.’ Mém. de Motteville, vol. ii. p. 417. And a Venetian ambassador, in the sixteenth century, says, that France is ‘il regno più antico d'ogn' altro che sia in essere al presente.’ Relat. des Ambassad. vol. i. p. 470. Compare Boullier, Maison Militaire des Rois de France, p. 360.

[803] Capefigue's Louis XIV, vol. i. pp. 204, 301; Koch, Tableau des Révolutions, vol. ii. p. 16. M. Ranke (Die Päpste, vol. ii. p. 257) ascribes this to the circumstances attending the apostasy of Henry IV.; but the cause lies much deeper, being connected with that triumph of the secular interests over the spiritual, of which the policy of Henry IV. was itself a consequence.

[804] Lavallée, Hist. des Français, vol. iii. p. 408; Flassan, Hist. de la Diplomatie, vol. v. p. 3; Tocqueville, Règne de Louis XV, vol. i. pp. 35, 347; Duclos, Mémoires, vol. ii. pp. 42, 43, 154, 155, 223, 224. What was, if possible, still more scandalous, was, that in 1723 the assembly of the clergy elected as their president, unanimously (‘d'une voix unanime’), the infamous Dubois, the most notoriously immoral man of his time. Duclos, Mém. vol. ii. p. 262.

[805] On this decline of the French clergy, see Villemain, XVIII^e Siècle, vol. iii. pp. 178, 179; Cousin, Hist. de la Philos. II^e série, vol. i. p. 301. Tocqueville (Règne de Louis XV, vol. i. pp. 35–38, 365) says, ‘le clergé prêchait une morale qu'il compromettait par sa conduite;’ a noticeable remark, when made by an opponent of the sceptical philosophy, like the elder M. Tocqueville. Among this profligate crew, Massillon stood alone; he being the last French bishop who was remarkable for virtue as well as for ability.

[806] Voltaire says of the English, ‘quand ils apprennent qu'en France de jeunes gens connus par leurs débauches, et élevés à la prélature par des intrigues de femmes, font publiquement l'amour, s'égaient à composer des chansons tendres, donnent tous les jours des soupers délicats et longs, et de là vont implorer les lumières du Saint-Esprit, et se nomment hardiment les successeures des apôtres ils remercient Dieu d'être protestants.’ Lettres sur les Anglais, in Œuvres, vol. xxvi. p. 29.

CHAPTER VI.

It may be easily supposed, that those vast movements in the intellect of France, which I have just traced, could not fail to produce a great change in the method of writing history. That bold spirit with which men were beginning to estimate the transactions of their own time, was sure to influence their opinions respecting those of a former age. In this, as in every branch of knowledge, the first innovation consisted in recognizing the necessity of doubting what had hitherto been believed; and this feeling, when once established, went on increasing, destroying at each step some of those monstrous absurdities by which, as we have seen, even the best histories were disfigured. The germs of the reform may be discerned in the fourteenth century, though the reform itself did not begin until late in the sixteenth century. During the seventeenth century, it advanced somewhat slowly; but in the eighteenth century it received a sudden accession of strength, and, in France in particular, it was hastened by that fearless and inquisitive spirit which characterized the age, and which, purging history of innumerable follies, raised its standard, and conferred on it a dignity hitherto unknown. The rise of historical scepticism, and the extent to which it spread, do indeed form such curious features in the annals of the European intellect, as to make it surprising that no one should have attempted to examine a movement to which a great department of modern literature owes its most valuable peculiarities. In the present chapter, I hope to supply this deficiency so far[262] as France is concerned; and I shall endeavour to mark the different steps by which the progress was effected, in order that, by knowing the circumstances most favourable to the study of history, we may with the greater ease inquire into the probability of its future improvement.

There is, in reference to this subject, a preliminary consideration well worthy of notice. This is, that men seem always to have begun to doubt in matters of religion, before they ventured to do so in matters of history. It might have been expected that the reproaches, and, in a superstitious age, the dangers, to which heresy is exposed, would have intimidated inquirers, and would have induced them to prefer the safer path of directing their scepticism upon questions of literary speculation. Such, however, is by no means the course which the human mind has adopted. In an early stage of society, when the clergy had universal influence, a belief in the unpardonable criminality of religious error is so deeply rooted, that it engrosses the attention of all; it forces every one who thinks, to concentrate upon theology his reflections and his doubts, and it leaves no leisure for topics which are conceived to be of inferior importance.[807] Hence, during many centuries, the subtlest intellects of Europe exhausted their strength on the rights and dogmas of Christianity; and while upon these matters they often showed the greatest ability, they, upon other subjects, and especially upon history, displayed that infantine credulity, of which I have already given several examples.

But when, in the progress of society, its theological element begins to decay, the ardour with which religious disputes were once conducted becomes sensibly weakened. The most advanced intellects are the first to feel the growing indifference, and, therefore, they are also the first to scrutinize real events with that inquisitive eye which their predecessors had reserved for religious speculations. This is a great turning-point in the history of every civilized nation. From this moment theological heresies become less frequent,[808] and literary heresies become more common. From this moment the spirit of inquiry and of doubt fastens itself upon every department of knowledge, and begins that great career of conquest, in which by every succeeding discovery the power and dignity of man are increased, while at the same time most of his opinions are disturbed, and many of them are destroyed: until, in the march of this vast but noiseless revolution, the stream of tradition is, as it were, interrupted, the influence of ancient authority is subverted, and the human mind, waxing in strength, learns to rely upon its own resources, and to throw off incumbrances by which the freedom of its movements had long been impaired.

The application of these remarks to the history of France, will enable us to explain some interesting phenomena in the literature of that country. During the whole of the Middle Ages, and I may say till the end of the sixteenth century, France, though fertile in annalists and chroniclers, had not produced a single historian, because she had not produced a single man who presumed to doubt what was generally believed. Indeed,[264] until the publication of Du Haillan's history of the kings of France, no one had even attempted a critical digest of the materials which were known to be extant. This work appeared in 1576;[809] and the author, at the conclusion of his labours, could not disguise the pride which he felt at having accomplished so great an undertaking. In his dedication to the king he says, ‘I am, sire, the first of all the French who have written the history of France, and, in a polite language, shown the grandeur and dignity of our kings; for before there was nothing but the old rubbish of chronicles which spoke of them.’ He adds in the preface: ‘Only I will say, without presumption and boasting, that I have done a thing which had not been done before, or seen by any of our nation, and have given to the history of France a dress it never appeared in before.’[810] Nor were these the idle boasts of an obscure man. His work went through numerous editions; was translated into Latin, and was reprinted in foreign countries. He himself was looked upon as one of the glories of the French nation, and was rewarded by the favour of the king, who conferred on him the office of secretary of finance.[811] From his work, we may, therefore, gain some notion of what was then the received standard of historical literature; and with this view, it is natural to inquire what the materials were which he chiefly employed. About sixty years earlier, an Italian named Paulus Emilius had published a gossiping compilation on the ‘Actions of the French.’[812][265] This book, which is full of extravagant fables, was taken by Du Haillan as the basis of his famous history of the kings of France; and from it he unhesitatingly copies those idle stories which Emilius loved to relate. This will give us some idea of the credulity of a writer, who was reckoned by his contemporaries to be, beyond all comparison, the greatest historian France had produced. But this is not all. Du Haillan, not content with borrowing from his predecessor everything that was most incredible, gratifies his passion for the marvellous by some circumstances of his own invention. He begins his history with a long account of a council which, he says, was held by the celebrated Pharamond, in order to determine whether the French should be governed by a monarchy or by an aristocracy. It is, indeed, doubtful if any such person as Pharamond ever existed; and it is certain that, if he did exist, all the materials had long perished from which an opinion could be formed respecting him.[813] But Du Haillan, regardless of these little difficulties, gives us the fullest information touching the great chieftain; and, as if determined to tax to the utmost the credulity of his readers, mentions, as members of the council of Pharamond, two persons, Charamond and Quadrek, whose very names are invented by the historian.[814]

Such was the state of historical literature in France early in the reign of Henry III. A great change was, however, at hand. The remarkable intellectual progress made by the French towards the close of the sixteenth century was, as I have shown, preceded by that scepticism which appears to be its necessary precursor. The spirit of doubt, which had begun with religion, was communicated to literature. The impulse was immediately felt in every department of knowledge, and now it was that history first emerged from a debasement in which it had for centuries been sunk. On this subject a mere statement of dates may be of service to those persons who, from a dislike to general reasoning, would otherwise deny the connexion which I wish to establish. In 1588 was published the first sceptical book ever written in the French language.[815] In 1598, the French government, for the first time, ventured upon a great public act of religious toleration. In 1604, De Thou published that celebrated work, which is allowed by all critics to be the first great history composed by a Frenchman.[816] And at the very moment when these things were passing, another eminent Frenchman, the illustrious Sully,[817] was collecting the materials for his historical work, which, though hardly equal to that of De Thou, comes immediately after it in ability, in importance, and in reputation. Nor can[267] we fail to remark, that both these great historians, who left all their predecessors immeasurably behind them, were the confidential ministers and intimate friends of Henry IV., the first king of France whose memory is stained by the imputation of heresy, and the first who dared to change his religion, not in consequence of any theological arguments, but on the broad and notorious ground of political expediency.[818]

But it was not merely over such eminent historians as these that the sceptical spirit displayed its influence. The movement was now becoming sufficiently active to leave its marks in the writings of far inferior men. There were two particulars in which the credulity of the earlier historians was very striking. These consisted in the uncritical manner in which, by blindly copying their predecessors, they confused the dates of different events; and in the readiness with which they believed the most improbable statements, upon imperfect evidence, and often upon no evidence at all. It is surely a singular proof of that intellectual progress which I am endeavouring to trace, that, within a very few years, both these sources of error were removed. In 1597, Serres was appointed historiographer of France; and, in the same year, he published his history of that country.[819] In this work, he insists upon the necessity of carefully recording the date of each event; and the example, which he first set, has, since his time, been generally followed.[820] The importance of this change will be[268] willingly acknowledged by those who are aware of the confusion into which history has been thrown by the earlier writers having neglected, what now seems, so obvious a precaution. Scarcely had this innovation been established, when it was followed, in the same country, by another of still greater moment. This was the appearance, in 1621, of a history of France, by Scipio Dupleix; in which, for the first time, the evidence for historical facts was published with the facts themselves.[821] It is needless to insist upon the utility of a step which, more than any other, has taught historians to be industrious in collecting their authorities, and careful in scrutinizing them.[822] To this may be added, that Dupleix was also the first Frenchman who ventured[269] to publish a system of philosophy in his own language.[823] It is true, that the system itself is intrinsically of little value;[824] but, at the time it appeared, it was an unprecedented, and, on that account, a profane attempt, to unfold the mysteries of philosophy in the vulgar speech; and, in this point of view, supplies evidence of the increasing diffusion of a spirit bolder and more inquisitive than any formerly known. It is not, therefore, surprising, that, almost at the same moment, there should be made, in the same country, the first systematic attempt at historical scepticism. The system of philosophy by Dupleix appeared in 1602; and in 1599, La Popelinière published at Paris what he calls the History of Histories, in which he criticizes historians themselves, and examines their works with that sceptical spirit, to which his own age was deeply indebted.[825] This able man was also the author of a Sketch of the New History of the French; containing a formal refutation of that fable, so dear to the early historians, according to which the monarchy of France was founded by Francus, who arrived in Gaul after the conclusion of the siege of Troy.[826]

It would be useless to collect all the instances in which this advancing spirit of scepticism now began to[270] purge history of its falsehoods. I will only mention two or three more of those which have occurred in my reading. In 1614, De Rubis published at Lyons a work on the European monarchies; in which he not only attacks the long-established belief respecting the descent from Francus, but boldly asserts, that the Franks owe their name to their ancient liberties.[827] In 1620, Gomberville, in a dissertation on history, refutes many of those idle stories respecting the antiquity of the French, which had been universally received until his time.[828] And, in 1630, Berthault published at Paris the ‘French Floras,’ in which he completely upsets the old method; since he lays it down as a fundamental principle, that the origin of the French must only be sought for in those countries where they were found by the Romans.[829]

All these, and similar productions, were, however, entirely eclipsed by Mezeray's History of France; the first volume of which was published in 1643, and the last in 1651.[830] It is, perhaps, hardly fair to his predecessors, to call him the first general historian of France;[831] but there can be no doubt that his work is[271] greatly superior to any that had yet been seen. The style of Mezeray is admirably clear and vigorous, rising, at times, to considerable eloquence. Besides this, he has two other merits much more important. These are, an indisposition to believe strange things, merely because they have hitherto been believed; and an inclination to take the side of the people, rather than that of their rulers.[832] Of these principles, the first was too common among the ablest Frenchmen of that time to excite much attention.[833] But the other principle enabled Mezeray to advance an important step before all his contemporaries. He was the first Frenchman who, in a great historical work, threw off that superstitious reverence for royalty which had long troubled the minds of his countrymen, and which, indeed, continued to haunt them for another century. As a necessary consequence, he was also the first who saw that a history, to be of real value, must be a history, not only of kings, but of nations. A steady perception of this principle led him to incorporate into his book matters which, before his time, no one cared to study. He communicates all the information he could collect respecting the taxes which the people had paid; the sufferings they had undergone from the gripping hands of their governors; their manners, their comforts, even the state of the towns which they inhabited; in a word, what affected the interests of the French people, as well as what affected the interests of the French monarchy.[834] These were[272] the subjects which Mezeray preferred to insignificant details respecting the pomp of courts and the lives of kings. These were the large and comprehensive matters on which he loved to dwell, and on which he expatiated; not, indeed, with so much fulness as we could desire, but still with a spirit and an accuracy which entitles him to the honour of being the greatest historian France produced before the eighteenth century.

This was, in many respects, the most important change which had yet been effected in the manner of writing history. If the plan begun by Mezeray had been completed by his successors, we should possess materials, the absence of which no modern researches can possibly compensate. Some things, indeed, we should, in that case, have lost. We should know less than we now know of courts and of camps. We should have heard less of the peerless beauty of French queens, and of the dignified presence of French kings. We might even have missed some of the links of that evidence by which the genealogies of princes and nobles are ascertained, and the study of which delights the curiosity of antiquaries and heralds. But, on the other hand, we should have been able to examine the state of the French people during the latter half of the seventeenth century; while, as things now stand, our knowledge of them, in that most important period, is inferior in accuracy and in extent to the knowledge we possess of some of the most barbarous tribes of the earth.[835] If[273] the example of Mezeray had been followed, with such additional resources as the progress of affairs would have supplied, we should not only have the means of minutely tracing the growth of a great and civilised nation, but we should have materials that would suggest or verify those original principles, the discovery of which constitutes the real use of history.

But this was not to be. Unhappily for the interests of knowledge, the march of French civilization was, at this period, suddenly checked. Soon after the middle of the seventeenth century, that lamentable change took place in France, which gave a new turn to the destinies of the nation. The reaction which the spirit of inquiry underwent, and the social and intellectual circumstances which, by bringing the Fronde to a premature close, prepared the way for Louis XIV., have been described in a former part of this volume, where I have attempted to indicate the general effects of the disastrous movement. It now remains for me to point out how this retrogressive tendency opposed obstacles to the improvement of historical literature, and prevented authors, not only from relating with honesty what was passing around them, but also from understanding events which had occurred before their time.

The most superficial students of French literature must be struck by the dearth of historians during that long period in which Louis XIV. held the reins of government.[836] To this, the personal peculiarities of the king greatly contributed. His education had been shamefully neglected; and as he never had the energy to repair its deficiencies, he all his life remained ignorant of many things with which even princes are usually familiar.[837] Of the course of past events he knew[274] literally nothing, and he took no interest in any history except the history of his own exploits. Among a free people, this indifference on the part of the sovereign could never have produced injurious results; indeed, as we have already seen, the absence of royal patronage is, in a highly civilized country, the most favourable condition of literature. But at the accession of Louis XIV. the liberties of the French were still too young, and the habits of independent thought too recent, to enable them to bear up against that combination of the crown and the church, which was directed against them. The French, becoming every day more servile, at length sunk so low, that, by the end of the seventeenth century, they seemed to have lost even the wish of resistance. The king, meeting no opposition, endeavoured to exercise over the intellect of the country an authority equal to that with which he conducted its government.[838] In all the great questions of religion and of politics, the spirit of inquiry was stifled, and no man was allowed to express an opinion unfavourable to the existing state of things. As the king was willing to endow literature, he naturally thought that he had a right to its services. Authors, who were fed by his hand, were not to raise their voices against his policy. They received his wages, and they were bound to do the bidding of him who paid them. When Louis assumed the government, Mezeray was still living; though I need hardly say that his great work was published before this system of protection and patronage came into play. The treatment to which he,[275] the great historian of France, was now subjected, was a specimen of the new arrangement. He received from the crown a pension of four thousand francs; but when he, in 1668, published an abridgment of his History,[839] it was intimated to him that some remarks upon the tendency of taxation were likely to cause offence in high quarters. As, however, it was soon found that Mezeray was too honest and too fearless to retract what he had written, it was determined to have recourse to intimidation, and half of his pension was taken from him.[840] But as this did not produce a proper effect, another order was issued, which deprived him of the remaining half; and thus early, in this bad reign, there was set an example of punishing a man for writing with honesty upon a subject in which, of all others, honesty is the first essential.[841]

Such conduct as this showed what historians were to[276] expect from the government of Louis XIV. Several years later, the king took another opportunity of displaying the same spirit. Fénelon had been appointed preceptor to the grandson of Louis, whose early vices his firmness and judgment did much to repress.[842] But a single circumstance was thought sufficient to outweigh the immense service which Fénelon thus rendered to the royal family, and, if his pupil had come to the throne, would have rendered prospectively to the whole of France. His celebrated romance, Telemachus, was published in 1699, as it appears, without his consent.[843] The king suspected that, under the guise of a fiction, Fénelon intended to reflect on the conduct of government. It was in vain that the author denied so dangerous an imputation. The indignation of the king was not to be appeased. He banished Fénelon from the court; and would never again admit to his presence a man whom he suspected of even insinuating a criticism upon the measures adopted by the administration of the country.[844]

If the king could, on mere suspicion, thus treat a great writer, who had the rank of an archbishop and the reputation of a saint, it was not likely that he would deal more tenderly with inferior men. In 1681, the Abbé Primi, an Italian, then residing at Paris, was induced to write a history of Louis XIV. The king, delighted with the idea of perpetuating his own fame, conferred several rewards upon the author: and arrangements were made that the work should be composed in Italian, and immediately translated into French. But when the history appeared, there were found in it some[277] circumstances which it was thought ought not to have been disclosed. On this account, Louis caused the book to be suppressed, the papers of the author to be seized, and the author himself to be thrown into the Bastille.[845]

Those, indeed, were dangerous times for independent men; times when no writer on politics or religion was safe, unless he followed the fashion of the day, and defended the opinions of the court and the church. The king, who had an insatiable thirst for what he called glory,[846] laboured to degrade contemporary historians into mere chroniclers of his own achievements. He ordered Racine and Boileau to write an account of his reign; he settled a pension upon them, and he promised to supply them with the necessary materials.[847] But even Racine and Boileau, poets though they were, knew that they would fail in satisfying his morbid vanity; they, therefore, received the pension, but omitted to compose the work for which the pension was conferred. So notorious was the unwillingness of able men to meddle with history, that it was thought advisable to beat up literary recruits from foreign countries. The case of the Abbé Primi has just been mentioned; he was an Italian, and only one year later a similar offer was made to an Englishman. In 1683, Burnet visited France, and was given to understand that he might receive a pension, and that he might even enjoy the honour of conversing with Louis himself, provided he would write a history[278] of the royal affairs; such history, it was carefully added, being on the ‘side’ of the French king.[848]

Under such circumstances as these, it is no wonder that history, so far as its great essentials are concerned, should have rapidly declined during the power of Louis XIV. It became, as some think, more elegant; but it certainly became more feeble. The language in which it was composed was worked with great care, the periods neatly arranged, the epithets soft and harmonious. For that was a polite and obsequious age, full of reverence, of duty, and of admiration. In history, as it was then written, every king was a hero, and every bishop was a saint. All unpleasant truths were suppressed; nothing harsh or unkind was to be told. These docile and submissive sentiments being expressed in an easy and flowing style, gave to history that air of refinement, that gentle, unobtrusive gait, which made it popular with the classes that it flattered. But even so, while its form was polished, its life was extinct. All its independence was gone, all its honesty, all its boldness. The noblest and the most difficult department of knowledge, the study of the movements of the human race, was abandoned to every timid and creeping intellect that cared to cultivate it. There was Boulainvilliers, and Daniel, and Maimburg, and Varillas, and Vertot, and numerous others, who in the reign of Louis XIV. were believed to be historians; but whose histories have scarcely any merit, except that of enabling us to appreciate the period in which such productions were admired, and the system of which they were the representatives.

To give a complete view of the decline of historical literature in France, from the time of Mezeray until[279] early in the eighteenth century, would require a summary of every history which was written; for all of them were pervaded by the same spirit. But, as this would occupy much too large a space, it will probably be thought sufficient if I confine myself to such illustrations as will bring the tendency of the age most clearly before the reader; and for this purpose, I will notice the works of two historians I have not yet mentioned; one of whom was celebrated as an antiquary, the other as a theologian. Both possessed considerable learning, and one was a man of undoubted genius; their works are, therefore, worth attention, as symptoms of the state of the French intellect late in the seventeenth century. The name of the antiquary was Audigier; the name of the theologian was Bossuet: and from them we may learn something respecting the way in which, during the reign of Louis XIV., it was usual to contemplate the transactions of past ages.

The celebrated work of Audigier, on the Origin of the French, was published at Paris in 1676.[849] It would be unjust to deny that the author was a man of great and careful reading. But his credulity, his prejudices, his reverence for antiquity, and his dutiful admiration for everything established by the church and the court, warped his judgment to an extent which, in our time, seems incredible; and, as there are probably few persons in England who have read his once famous book, I will give an outline of its leading views.

In this great history we are told, that 3464 years after the creation of the world, and 590 years before the birth of Christ, was the exact period at which Sigovese, nephew to the king of the Celts, was first sent into Germany.[850] Those who accompanied him were necessarily travellers;[280] and as, in the German language, wandeln means to go, we have here the origin of the Vandals.[851] But the antiquity of the Vandals is far surpassed by that of the French. Jupiter, Pluto, and Neptune, who are sometimes supposed to be gods, were in reality kings of Gaul.[852] And, if we look back a little further, it becomes certain that Gallus, the founder of Gaul, was no other than Noah himself; for in those days the same man frequently had two names.[853] As to the subsequent history of the French, it was fully equal to the dignity of their origin. Alexander the Great, even in all the pride of his victories, never dared to attack the Scythians, who were a colony sent from France.[854] It is from these great occupiers of France that there have proceeded all the gods of Europe, all the fine arts, and all the sciences.[855] The English themselves are merely a colony of the French, as must be evident to whoever considers the similarity of the words Angles and Anjou;[856] and to this fortunate descent the natives of the British islands are indebted for such bravery and politeness as they still possess.[857] Several other points are cleared up by this great critic with equal faculty. The Salian Franks were[281] so called from the rapidity of their flight;[858] the Bretons were evidently Saxons;[859] and even the Scotch, about whose independence so much has been said, were vassals to the kings of France.[860] Indeed, it is impossible to exaggerate the dignity of the crown of France; it is difficult even to conceive its splendour. Some have supposed that the emperors are superior to the kings of France, but this is the mistake of ignorant men; for an emperor means a mere military ruler, while the title of king includes all the functions of supreme power.[861] To put the question, therefore, on its real footing, the great king Louis XIV. is an emperor, as have been all his predecessors, the illustrious rulers of France, for fifteen centuries.[862] And it is an undoubted fact, that Antichrist, about whom so much anxiety is felt, will never be allowed to appear in the world until the French empire has been destroyed. This, says Audigier, it would be idle to deny; for it is asserted by many of the saints, and it is distinctly foreshadowed by St. Paul, in his second epistle to the Thessalonians.[863]

Strange as all this appears, there was nothing in it to revolt the enlightened age of Louis XIV. Indeed, the French, dazzled by the brilliancy of their prince, must have felt great interest in learning how superior he was to all other potentates, and how he had not only been preceded by a long line of emperors, but was in fact an emperor himself. They must have been struck with awe at the information communicated by Audigier respecting the arrival of Antichrist, and the connexion between that important event and the fate of the French monarchy. They must have listened with pious wonder to the illustration of these matters from the writings of the fathers, and from the epistle to the Thessalonians. All this they[282] would easily receive; because to worship the king, and venerate the church, were the two cardinal maxims of that age. To obey, and to believe, were the fundamental ideas of a period, in which the fine arts did for a time flourish,—in which the perception of beauty, though too fastidious, was undoubtedly keen,—in which taste and the imagination, in its lower departments, were zealously cultivated,—but in which, on the other hand, originality and independence of thought were extinguished, the greatest and the largest topics were forbidden to be discussed, the sciences were almost deserted, reforms and innovations were hated, new opinions were despised, and their authors punished, until at length, the exuberance of genius being tamed into sterility, the national intellect was reduced to that dull and monotonous level which characterizes the last twenty years of the reign of Louis XIV.

In no instance can we find a better example of this reactionary movement, than in the case of Bossuet, bishop of Meaux. The success, and indeed the mere existence, of his work on Universal History, becomes, from this point of view, highly instructive. Considered by itself, the book is a painful exhibition of a great genius cramped by a superstitious age. But considered in reference to the time in which it appeared, it is invaluable as a symptom of the French intellect; since it proves, that towards the end of the seventeenth century, one of the most eminent men, in one of the first countries of Europe, could willingly submit to a prostration of judgment, and could display a blind credulity, of which, in our day, even the feeblest minds would be ashamed; and that this, so far from causing scandal, or bringing a rebuke on the head of the author, was received with universal and unqualified applause. Bossuet was a great orator, a consummate dialectician, and an accomplished master of those vague sublimities by which most men are easily affected. All these qualities he, a few years later, employed in the production of what is probably the most formidable work ever directed against Protestantism.[864] But when he, leaving these[283] matters, entered the vast field of history, he could think of no better way of treating his new subject, than by following the arbitrary rules peculiar to his own profession.[865] His work is an audacious attempt to degrade history to a mere handmaid of theology.[866] As if, on such matters, doubt were synonymous with crime, he, without the slightest hesitation, takes everything for granted which the church had been accustomed to believe. This enables him to speak with perfect confidence respecting events which are lost in the remotest antiquity. He knows the exact number of years which have elapsed since the moment when Cain murdered his brother; when the deluge overwhelmed the world; and when Abraham was summoned to his mission.[867] The dates of these, and similar occurrences, he fixes with a precision, which might almost make us believe[284] that they had taken place in his own time, if not under his own eyes.[868] It is true, that the Hebrew books on which he willingly relied, supply no evidence of the slightest value concerning the chronology even of their own people; while the information they contain respecting other countries is notoriously meagre and unsatisfactory.[869] But so narrow were the views of Bossuet upon history, that with all this he, in his own opinion, had no concern. The text of the Vulgate declared, that these things had happened at a particular time; and a number of holy men, calling themselves the council of the church, had, in the middle of the sixteenth century, pronounced the Vulgate to be authentic, and had taken upon themselves to place it above all other versions.[870] This theological opinion was accepted by Bossuet as an historical law; and thus the decision of a handful of cardinals and bishops, in a superstitious and uncritical age, is the sole authority for that early chronology, the precision of which is, to an uninformed reader, a matter of great admiration.[871]

In the same way, because Bossuet had been taught that the Jews are the chosen people of God, he, under the title of Universal History, almost confines his attention to them, and treats this obstinate and ignorant race as if they formed the pivot upon which the affairs of the universe had been made to turn.[872] His idea of an universal history excludes those nations who were the first to reach civilization, and to some of whom the Hebrews owed the scanty knowledge which they subsequently acquired.[873] He says little of the Persians, and less of the Egyptians; nor does he even mention that far greater people between the Indus and the Ganges, whose philosophy formed one of the elements of the school of Alexandria, whose subtle speculations anticipated all the efforts of European metaphysics, and whose sublime inquiries, conducted in their own exquisite language, date from a period when the Jews, stained with every variety of crime, were a plundering and vagabond tribe, wandering on the face of the earth, raising their hand against every man and every man raising his hand against them.

When he enters the more modern period, he allows himself to be governed by the same theological prejudices. So contracted is his view, that he considers the whole history of the church as the history of providential interference; and he takes no notice of the manner in which, contrary to the original scheme, it has been affected by foreign events.[874] Thus, for example, the[286] most important fact relating to the early changes in Christianity, is the extent to which its doctrines have been influenced by the African form of the Platonic philosophy.[875] But this, Bossuet never mentions; nor does he even hint that any such thing had occurred. It suited his views to look upon the church as a perpetual miracle, and he therefore omits the most important event in its early history.[876] To descend a little later: every one acquainted with the progress of civilization will allow, that no small share of it is due to those gleams of light, which, in the midst of surrounding darkness, shot from the great centres of Cordova and Bagdad. These, however, were the work of Mohammedanism; and as Bossuet had been taught that Mohammedanism is a pestilential heresy, he could not bring himself to believe that Christian nations had derived anything from so corrupt a source. The consequence is, that he says nothing of that great religion, the noise of which has filled the world;[877] and having[287] occasion to mention its founder, he treats him with scorn, as an impudent impostor, whose pretensions it is hardly fitting to notice.[878] The great apostle, who diffused among millions of idolaters the sublime verity of one God, is spoken of by Bossuet with supreme contempt; because Bossuet, with the true spirit of his profession, could see nothing to admire in those whose opinions differed from his own.[879] But when he has occasion to mention some obscure member of that class to which he himself belonged, then it is that he scatters his praises with boundless profusion. In his scheme of universal history, Mohammed is not worthy to play a part. He is passed by; but the truly great man, the man to whom the human race is really indebted, is—Martin, bishop of Tours. He it is, says Bossuet, whose unrivalled actions filled the universe with[288] his fame, both during his lifetime and after his death.[880] It is true, that not one educated man in fifty has ever heard the name of Martin, bishop of Tours. But Martin performed miracles, and the church had made him a saint; his claims, therefore, to the attention of historians must be far superior to the claims of one who, like Mohammed, was without these advantages. Thus it is that, in the opinion of the only eminent writer on history during the power of Louis XIV., the greatest man Asia has ever produced, and one of the greatest the world has ever seen, is considered in every way inferior to a mean and ignorant monk, whose most important achievement was the erection of a monastery, and who spent the best part of his life in useless solitude, trembling before the superstitious fancies of his weak and ignoble nature.[881]

Such was the narrow spirit with which the great facts of history were contemplated by a writer, who, when he was confined to his own department, displayed the most towering genius. This contracted view was the inevitable consequence of his attempt to explain the complicated movements of the human race by principles which he had generalized from his own inferior studies.[882][289] Nor need any one be offended, that, from a scientific point of view, I assign to the pursuits of Bossuet a rank lower than that in which they are sometimes placed. It is certain that religious dogmas do, in many cases, influence the affairs of men. But it is equally certain, that as civilization advances, such influence decreases, and that even when the power of those dogmas was at its height, there were many other motives by which the actions of mankind were also governed. And since the study of history is the study of the aggregate of these motives, it is evident that history must be superior to theology; just as the whole is superior to a part. A neglect of this simple consideration has, with a few eminent exceptions, led all ecclesiastical authors into serious errors. It has induced in them a disposition to disregard the immense variety of external events, and to suppose that the course of affairs is regulated by some principles which theology alone can detect. This, indeed, is only the result of a general law of the mind, by which those who have any favourite profession, are apt to exaggerate its capacity; to explain events by its maxims, and as it were, to refract through its medium the occurrences of life.[883] Among theologians, however, such prejudices are more dangerous than in any other profession, because among them alone are they fortified by that bold assumption of supernatural authority on which many of the clergy willingly rely.

These professional prejudices, when supported by theological dogmas, in a reign like that of Louis XIV.,[884] are sufficient to account for the peculiarities which mark the historical work of Bossuet. Besides this, in[290] his case, the general tendency was aggravated by personal characteristics. His mind was remarkable for a haughtiness, which we find constantly breaking out into a general contempt for mankind.[885] At the same time his amazing eloquence, and the effects which it never failed to produce, seemed to justify the overweening confidence that he felt in his own powers. There is, indeed, in some of his greatest efforts, so much of the fire and majesty of genius, that we are reminded of those lofty and burning words with which the prophets of antiquity thrilled their hearers. Bossuet, thus standing, as he supposed, on an eminence which raised him above the ordinary weaknesses of men, loved to taunt them with their follies, and to deride every aspiration of their genius. Every thing like intellectual boldness seemed to gall his own superiority.[886] It was this boundless arrogance with which he was filled, which gives to his works some of their most marked peculiarities. It was this, that made him strain every nerve to abase and vilify those prodigious resources of the human understanding, which are often despised by men who are ignorant of them; but which in reality are so great, that no one has yet arisen able to scan them in the whole of their gigantic dimensions. It was this same contempt for the human intellect, that made him deny its capacity to work out for itself the epochs through which it has passed; and, consequently, made him recur to the dogma of supernatural interference. It was this, again, that, in those magnificent orations which are among the greatest wonders of modern art,[291] caused him to exhaust the language of eulogy, not upon intellectual eminence, but upon mere military achievements, upon great conquerors, those pests and destroyers of men, who pass their lives in discovering new ways of slaying their enemies, and in devising new means of aggravating the miseries of the world. And, to descend still lower, it was this same contempt for the dearest interests of mankind, which made him look with reverence upon a king, who considered all those interests as nothing; but who had the merit of enslaving the mind of France, and of increasing the power of that body of men, among whom Bossuet himself was the most distinguished.

In the absence of sufficient evidence respecting the general state of the French at the end of the seventeenth century, it is impossible to ascertain to what extent such notions as these had penetrated the popular mind. But, looking at the manner in which government had broken the spirit of the country, I should be inclined to suppose that the opinions of Bossuet were very acceptable to his own generation. This, however, is a question rather of curiosity than of importance; for only a few years later there appeared the first symptoms of that unprecedented movement, which not merely destroyed the political institutions of France, but effected a greater and more permanent revolution in every department of the national intellect. At the death of Louis XIV., in literature, as well as in politics, in religion, and in morals, everything was ripe for reaction. The materials still existing are so ample, that it would be possible to trace with considerable minuteness the steps of this great process; but it will, I think, be more agreeable to the general scheme of this Introduction, if I pass over some of the intermediate links, and confine myself to those salient instances in which the spirit of the age is most strikingly portrayed.

There is, indeed, something extraordinary in the change which, in France, one generation was able to effect in the method of writing history. The best way, perhaps, to form an idea of this, will be to compare the works of Voltaire with those of Bossuet; because these[292] great authors were probably the most able, and were certainly the most influential, Frenchmen during the period they respectively represented. The first great improvement which we find in Voltaire, as compared with Bossuet, is an increased perception of the dignity of the human intellect. In addition to the circumstances already noticed, we must remember that the reading of Bossuet lay in a direction which prevented him from feeling this. He had not studied those branches of knowledge where great things have been achieved; but he was very conversant with the writings of the saints and fathers, whose speculations are by no means calculated to give us a high opinion of the resources of their own understanding. Thus accustomed to contemplate the workings of the mind in what is, on the whole, the most puerile literature Europe has ever produced, the contempt which Bossuet felt for mankind went on increasing; until it reached that inordinate degree which, in his later works, is painfully conspicuous. But Voltaire, who paid no attention to such things as these, passed his long life in the constant accumulation of real and available knowledge. His mind was essentially modern. Despising unsupported authority, and heedless of tradition, he devoted himself to subjects in which the triumph of the human reason is too apparent to be mistaken. The more his knowledge advanced, the more he admired those vast powers by which the knowledge had been created. Hence his admiration for the intellect of man, so far from diminishing, grew with his growth; and, just in the same proportion, there was strengthened his love of humanity, and his dislike to the prejudices which had long obscured its history. That this, in the march of his mind, was the course it actually followed, will be evident to any one who considers the different spirit of his works, in reference to the different periods of life in which they were produced.

The first historical work of Voltaire was a life of Charles XII., in 1728.[887] At this time his knowledge[293] was still scanty, and he was still influenced by the servile traditions of the preceding generation. It is not, therefore, wonderful, that he should express the greatest respect for Charles, who, among the admirers of military fame, will always preserve a certain reputation; though his only merits are, that he ravaged many countries and killed many men. But we find little sympathy with his unfortunate subjects, the accumulations of whose industry supported the royal armies;[888] nor is there much pity for those nations who were oppressed by this great robber in the immense line of his conquests from Sweden to Turkey. Indeed, the admiration of Voltaire for Charles is unbounded. He calls him the most extraordinary man the world had ever seen;[889] he declares him to be a prince full of honour;[890] and while he scarcely blames his infamous murder of Patkul,[891] he relates with evident emotion how the royal[294] lunatic, at the head of forty servants, resisted an entire army.[892] In the same way, he says, that after the battle of Narva, all the attempts of Charles were unable to prevent medals from being struck at Stockholm in celebration of that event;[893] although Voltaire well knew that a man of such extravagant vanity must have been pleased by so durable a homage, and although it is quite certain that if he had not been pleased, the medals would never have been struck: for who would venture, without an object, to offend, in his own capital, one of the most arbitrary and revengeful of princes?

So far, it might appear that little had been gained in the method of writing history.[894] But, even thus early, we find one vast improvement. In Voltaire's Life of Charles XII., faulty as it is, there are none of those assumptions of supernatural interference in which Bossuet delighted, and which were natural to the reign of Louis XIV. The absence of this marks the first great stage in the French school of history in the eighteenth century; and we find the same peculiarity in all the subsequent historians, none of whom recurred to a method, which, though suitable for the purposes of theologians,[295] is fatal to all independent inquiries, since it not only prescribes the course the inquirer is bound to take, but actually sets up a limit beyond which he is forbidden to proceed.

That Voltaire should have infringed upon this ancient method only thirteen years after the death of Louis XIV., and that he should have done this in a popular work, abounding with such dangerous adventures as are always found to tempt the mind to an opposite course, is a step of no common merit, and becomes still more worthy of remark, if taken in connexion with another fact of considerable interest. This is, that the life of Charles XII. represents the first epoch, not only in the eighteenth century, but also in the intellect of Voltaire himself.[895] After it was published, this great man turned awhile from history, and directed his attention to some of the noblest subjects: to mathematics, to physics, to jurisprudence, to the discoveries of Newton, and to the speculations of Locke. In these things he perceived those capabilities of the human mind, which his own country had formerly witnessed, but of which during the authority of Louis XIV. the memory had been almost lost. Then it was that, with extended knowledge and sharpened intellect, he returned to the great field of history.[896] The manner in which he now[296] treated his old subject, showed the change that had come over him. In 1752, appeared his celebrated work on Louis XIV.,[897] the very title of which is suggestive of the process through which his mind had passed. His former history was an account of a king; this is an account of an age. To the production of his youth he gave the title of a History of Charles XII.; this he called the Age of Louis XIV. Before, he had detailed the peculiarities of a prince; now, he considered the movements of a people. Indeed, in the introduction to the work, he announces his intention to describe, ‘not the actions of a single man, but the character of men.’[898] Nor, in this point of view, is the execution inferior to the design. While he is contented with giving a summary of military achievements, on which Bossuet hung with delight, he enters at great length into those really important matters which, before his time, found no place in the history of France. He has one chapter on commerce and internal government;[899] another chapter on finances;[900] another on the history of science;[901] and three chapters on the progress of the fine arts.[902] And though Voltaire did not attach much value to theological disputes, still he knew that they have often played a great part in the affairs of men; he therefore gives several distinct[297] chapters to a relation of ecclesiastical matters during the reign of Louis.[903] It is hardly necessary to observe the immense superiority which a scheme like this possessed, not only over the narrow views of Bossuet, but even over his own earlier history. Still it cannot be denied, that we find in it prejudices from which it was difficult for a Frenchman, educated in the reign of Louis XIV., to be entirely free. Not only does Voltaire dwell at needless length upon those amusements and debaucheries of Louis, with which history can have little concern, but he displays an evident disposition to favour the king himself, and to protect his name from the infamy with which it ought to be covered.[904]

But the next work of Voltaire showed that this was a mere personal feeling, and did not affect his general views as to the part which the acts of princes ought to occupy in history. Four years after the appearance of the Age of Louis XIV., he published his important treatise on the Morals, Manners, and Character of Nations.[905] This is not only one of the greatest books which appeared during the eighteenth century, but it still remains the best on the subject to which it refers.[298] The mere reading it displays is immense;[906] what, however, is far more admirable, is the skill with which the author connects the various facts, and makes them illustrate each other, sometimes by a single remark, sometimes only by the order and position in which they are placed. Indeed, considered solely as a work of art, it would be difficult to praise it too highly; while, as a symptom of the times, it is important to observe, that it contains no traces of that adulation of royalty which characterized Voltaire in the period of his youth, and which is found in all the best writers during the power of Louis XIV. In the whole of this long and important work, the great historian takes little notice of the intrigues of courts, or of the changes of ministers, or of the fate of kings; but he endeavours to discover and develop the different epochs through which Man has successively passed. ‘I wish,’ he says, ‘to write a history, not of wars, but of society; and to ascertain how men lived in the interior of their families, and what were the arts which they commonly cultivated.’[907] For, he adds, ‘my object is the history of the human mind, and not a mere detail of petty facts; nor am I concerned with the history of great lords, who made war upon French kings; but I want to know what were the steps by which men passed from barbarism to civilization.’[908]

It was in this way that Voltaire taught historians to concentrate their attention on matters of real importance, and to neglect those idle details with which history had formerly been filled. But what proves this to be a movement arising as much from the spirit of the age as from the individual author, is, that we find precisely the same tendency in the works of Montesquieu and Turgot, who were certainly the two most eminent of the contemporaries of Voltaire; and both of whom followed a method similar to his, in so far as, omitting descriptions of kings, courts, and battles, they confined themselves to points which illustrate the character of mankind, and the general march of civilization. And such was the popularity of this change in the old routine, that its influence was felt by other historians of inferior, but still of considerable, ability. In 1755, Mallet [909] published his interesting, and, at the time it was written, most valuable work, on the history of Denmark;[910] in which he professes himself a pupil of the new school. ‘For why,’ he says, ‘should history be only a recital of battles, sieges, intrigues, and negotiations? And why[300] should it contain merely a heap of petty facts and dates, rather than a great picture of the opinions, customs, and even inclinations of a people?’[911] Thus too, in 1765, Mably published the first part of his celebrated work on the history of France;[912] in the preface to which, he complains that historians ‘have neglected the origin of laws and customs, in favour of sieges and battles.’[913] In the same spirit, Velly and Villaret, in their voluminous history of France, express regret that historians should usually relate what happens to the sovereign, in preference to what happens to the people, and should omit the manners and characteristics of a nation, in order to study the acts of a single man.[914] Duclos, again, announces that his history is not of war, nor of politics, but of men and manners:[915] while, strange to say, even the courtly Hénault declares that his object was to describe laws and manners, which he calls the soul of history, or rather history itself.[916]

Thus it was, that historians began to shift, as it were, the scene of their labours, and to study subjects connected with those popular interests, on which the great writers under Louis XIV. disdained to waste a thought.[301] I need hardly observe, how agreeable such views were to the general spirit of the eighteenth century, and how well they harmonized with the temper of men who were striving to lay aside their former prejudices, and despise what had once been universally admired. All this was but part of that vast movement, which prepared the way for the Revolution, by unsettling ancient opinions, by encouraging a certain mobility and restlessness of mind, and, above all, by the disrespect it showed for those powerful individuals, hitherto regarded as gods rather than as men, but who now, for the first time, were neglected by the greatest and most popular historians, who passed over even their prominent actions, in order to dwell upon the welfare of nations, and the interests of the people at large.

To return, however, to what was actually effected by Voltaire, there is no doubt that, in his case, this tendency of the time was strengthened by a natural comprehensiveness of mind, which predisposed him to large views, and made him dissatisfied with that narrow range to which history had been hitherto confined.[917] Whatever may be thought of the other qualities of Voltaire, it must be allowed that, in his intellect, everything was on a great scale.[918] Always prepared for thought, and always ready to generalize, he was averse to the study of individual actions, unless they could be made available for the establishment of some broad and permanent principle. Hence his habit of looking at history with a view to the stages through which the country had passed, rather than with a view to the character of the men by whom the country had been governed. The same tendency appears in his lighter[302] works; and it has been well observed,[919] that, even in his dramas, he endeavours to portray, not so much the passions of individuals, as the spirit of epochs. In Mahomet, his subject is a great religion; in Alzire, the conquest of America; in Brutus, the formation of the Roman power; in the Death of Cæsar, the rise of the empire upon the ruins of that power.[920]

By this determination to look upon the course of events as a great and connected whole, Voltaire was led to several results, which have been complacently adopted by many authors, who, even while using them, revile him from whom they were taken. He was the first historian who, rejecting the ordinary method of investigation, endeavoured, by large general views, to explain the origin of feudality; and, by indicating some of the causes of its decline in the fourteenth century,[921] he laid the foundation for a philosophic estimate of that important institution.[922] He was the author of a profound remark, afterwards adopted by[303] Constant, to the effect, that licentious religious ceremonies have no connexion with licentious national morals.[923] Another observation of his, which has been only partly used by writers on ecclesiastical history, is pregnant with instruction. He says, that one of the reasons why the bishops of Rome acquired an authority so superior to that of the eastern patriarchs, was the greater subtlety of the Greek mind. Nearly all the heresies proceeded from the east; and, with the exception of Honorius I., not a single pope adopted a system condemned by the church. This gave to the papal power an unity and consolidation, which the patriarchal power was unable to reach; and thus the Holy See owes part of its authority to the early dulness of the European fancy.[924]

It would be impossible to relate all the original remarks of Voltaire, which, when he made them, were attacked as dangerous paradoxes, and are now valued as sober truths. He was the first historian who recommended universal freedom of trade; and, although he expresses himself with great caution,[925] still the mere announcement of the idea in a popular history forms an epoch in the progress of the French mind. He is the originator of that important distinction between the increase of population and the increase of food, to which political economy has been greatly indebted;[926] a principle adopted several years later by Townsend, and then used by Malthus as the basis of his celebrated work.[927] He[305] has, moreover, the merit of being the first who dispelled the childish admiration with which the Middle Ages had been hitherto regarded, and which they owed to those dull and learned writers, who, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, were the principal investigators of the early history of Europe. These industrious compilers had collected extensive materials, which Voltaire turned to good account, and by their aid overthrew the conclusions at which the authors had themselves arrived. In his works, the Middle Ages are, for the first time, represented as what they really were,—a period of ignorance, ferocity, and licentiousness; a period when injuries were unredressed, crime unpunished, and superstition unrebuked. It may be said, with some show of justice, that Voltaire, in the picture he drew, fell into the opposite extreme, and did not sufficiently recognize the merit of those truly great men, who, at long intervals, stood here and there, like solitary beacons, whose light only made the surrounding darkness more visible. Still, after every allowance for that exaggeration which a reaction of opinions always causes, it is certain that his view of the Middle Ages is not only far more accurate than that of any preceding writer, but conveys a much juster idea of the time than can be found in those subsequent compilations which we owe to the industry of modern antiquaries; a simple and plodding race, who admire the past because they are ignorant of the present, and who, spending their lives amid the dust of forgotten manuscripts, think themselves able, with the resources of their little learning, to speculate on the affairs of men, to trace the history of different periods, and even to assign to each the praise it ought to receive.

With such writers as these, Voltaire was always at war; and no one has done so much to lessen the influence they once exercised over even the highest branches of knowledge. There was also another class of dictators, whose authority this great man was equally successful in reducing, namely, the old class of classical scholars and commentators, who, from the middle of the fourteenth till early in the eighteenth century, were the chief dispensers of fame, and were respected as being by far the most distinguished men Europe had ever produced. The first great assaults made upon them were late in the seventeenth century, when two controversies sprung up, of which I shall hereafter give an account,—one in France, and one in England,—by both of which their power was considerably damaged. But their two most formidable opponents were, undoubtedly, Locke and Voltaire. The immense services rendered by Locke in lessening the reputation of the old classical school, will be examined in another part of this work; at present we are only concerned with the steps taken by Voltaire.

The authority wielded by the great classical scholars rested not only on their abilities, which are undeniable, but also on the supposed dignity of their pursuits. It was generally believed that ancient history possessed some inherent superiority over modern history; and this being taken for granted, the inference naturally followed, that the cultivators of the one were more praiseworthy than the cultivators of the other; and that a Frenchman, for instance, who should write the history of some Greek republic, displayed a nobler turn of mind than if he had written the history of his own country. This singular prejudice had for centuries been a traditional notion; which men accepted, because they had received it from their fathers, and which it would have been almost an impiety to dispute. The result was, that the few really able writers on history devoted themselves chiefly to that of the ancients; or, if they published an account of modern times, they handled their theme, not according to modern ideas, but according to ideas gathered from their more favourite pursuit. This confusion[307] of the standard of one age with the standard of another, caused a double evil. Historians, by adopting this plan, injured the originality of their own minds; and, what was far worse, they set a bad example to the literature of their country. For every great nation has a mode of expression, and of thought, peculiar to itself, and with which its sympathies are intimately connected. To introduce any foreign model, however admirable it may be, is to violate this connexion, and to impair the value of literature by limiting the scope of its action. By such a course, the taste may possibly be refined, but the vigour will certainly be weakened. Indeed, the refinement of the taste may well be doubted, when we see what has taken place in our country, where our great scholars have corrupted the English language by a jargon so uncouth, that a plain man can hardly discern the real lack of ideas which their barbarous and mottled dialect strives to hide.[928] At all events, it is certain, that every people worthy of being called a nation, possess in their own language ample resources for expressing the highest ideas they are able to form; and although, in matters of science, it may be convenient to coin such words as are more easily understood in foreign countries, it is a grave offence to depart on other subjects from the vernacular speech; and it is a still graver one,[308] to introduce notions and standards for action, suited perhaps to former times, but which the march of society has left far behind, and with which we have no real sympathy, though they may excite that sickly and artificial interest which the classical prejudices of early education still contrive to create.

It was against these evils that Voltaire entered the field. The wit and the ridicule with which he attacked the dreaming scholars of his own time, can only be appreciated by those who have studied his works. Not, as some have supposed, that he used these weapons as a substitute for argument, still less that he fell into the error of making ridicule a test for truth. No one could reason more closely than Voltaire, when reasoning suited his purpose. But he had to deal with men impervious to argument; men whose inordinate reverence for antiquity had only left them two ideas, namely, that every thing old is right, and that every thing new is wrong. To argue against these opinions would be idle indeed; the only other resource was, to make them ridiculous, and weaken their influence, by holding up their authors to contempt. This was one of the tasks Voltaire set himself to perform; and he did it well.[929] He, therefore, used ridicule, not as the test of truth, but as the scourge of folly. And with such effect was the punishment administered, that not only did the pedants and theologians of his own time wince under the lash, but even their successors feel their ears tingle when they read his biting words; and they revenge themselves by reviling the memory of that great writer, whose works are as a thorn in their side, and whose very name they hold in undisguised abhorrence.

These two classes have, indeed, reasons enough for the[309] hatred with which they still regard the greatest Frenchman of the eighteenth century. For, Voltaire did more than any other man to sap the foundation of ecclesiastical power, and to destroy the supremacy of classical studies. This is not the place for discussing the theological opinions which he attacked; but of the state of classical opinions an idea may be formed, by considering some of those circumstances which were recorded by the ancients respecting their history, and which, until the appearance of Voltaire, were implicitly believed by modern scholars, and through them by the people at large.

It was believed that, in ancient times, Mars ravished a virgin, and that the offspring of the intrigue were no other than Romulus and Remus, both of whom it was intended to put to death; but they were fortunately saved by the attentions of a she-wolf and a woodpecker; the wolf giving them suck, and the woodpecker protecting them from insects. It was, moreover, believed that Romulus and Remus, when grown up to man's estate, determined to build a city, and that, being joined by the descendants of the Trojan warriors, they succeeded in erecting Rome. It was believed that both brothers came to an untimely end; Remus being murdered, and Romulus being taken up to heaven by his father, who descended for that purpose in the midst of a tempest. The great scholars then proceeded to relate the succession of several other kings; the most remarkable of whom was Numa, whose only communications with his wife were carried on in a sacred grove. Another of the sovereigns of Rome was Tullus Hostilius, who, having offended the clergy, perished from the effects of their anger; his death being caused by lightning, and preceded by pestilence. Then again, there was one Servius Tullius, who was also a king, and whose greatness was prognosticated by the appearance of flames round his head as he was sleeping in his cradle. After this, it was but a slight matter that the ordinary laws of mortality should be suspended; we were, therefore, assured that those ignorant barbarians, the early Romans, passed two hundred and forty-five years under the[310] government of only seven kings, all of whom were elected in the prime of life, one of whom was expelled the city, and three of whom were put to death.

These are a few of the idle stories in which the great scholars took intense delight, and which, during many centuries, were supposed to form a necessary part of the annals of the Latin empire. Indeed, so universal was the credulity, that, until they were destroyed by Voltaire, there were only four writers who had ventured openly to attack them. Cluverius, Perizonius, Pouilly, and Beaufort were the names of these bold innovators; but by none of them was any impression made on the public mind. The works of Cluverius and Perizonius, being composed in Latin, were addressed entirely to a class of readers who, infatuated with a love of antiquity, would listen to nothing that diminished the reputation of its history. Pouilly and Beaufort wrote in French; both of them, and especially Beaufort, were men of considerable ability; but their powers were not versatile enough to enable them to extirpate prejudices which were so strongly protected, and which had been fostered by the education of many successive generations.

The service, therefore, rendered by Voltaire in purging history of these foolish conceits, is, not that he was the first by whom they were attacked, but that he was the first to attack them with success; and this because he was also the first who mingled ridicule with argument, thus not only assailing the system, but also weakening the authority of those by whom the system was supported. His irony, his wit, his pungent and telling sarcasms, produced more effect than the gravest arguments could have done; and there can be no doubt that he was fully justified in using those great resources with which nature had endowed him, since by their aid he advanced the interests of truth, and relieved men from some of their most inveterate prejudices.

It is not, however, to be supposed that ridicule was the only means employed by Voltaire in effecting this important object. So far from that, I can say with confidence, after a careful comparison of both writers, that the most decisive arguments advanced by Niebuhr[311] against the early history of Rome, had all been anticipated by Voltaire; in whose works they may be found, by whoever will take the trouble of reading what this great man has written, instead of ignorantly railing against him. Without entering into needless detail, it is enough to mention that, amidst a great variety of very ingenious and very learned discussion, Niebuhr has put forward several views with which later critics have been dissatisfied; but that there are three, and only three, principles which are fundamental to his history, and which it is impossible to refute. These are:—I. That, on account of the inevitable intermixture of fable essential to a rude people, no nation can possess trustworthy details respecting its own origin. II. That even such early documents as the Romans might have possessed, had been destroyed before they were incorporated into a regular history. III. That ceremonies established in honour of certain events alleged to have taken place in former times, were a proof, not that the events had happened, but that they were believed to have happened. The whole fabric of the early history of Rome at once fell to pieces, as soon as these three principles were applied to it. What, however, is most remarkable, is, that not only are all three laid down by Voltaire, but their bearing upon Roman history is distinctly shown. He says that no nation is acquainted with its own origin; so that all primitive history is necessarily an invention.[930] He remarks, that since even such historical works as the Romans once possessed, were all destroyed when their city was burned, no confidence can be placed in the accounts which, at a much later period, are given by Livy and other[312] compilers.[931] And, as innumerable scholars busied themselves in collecting evidence respecting ceremonies instituted in celebration of certain events, and then appealed to the evidence in order to prove the events, Voltaire makes a reflection which now seems very obvious, but which these learned men had entirely overlooked. He notices, that their labour is bootless, because the date of the evidence is, with extremely few exceptions, much later than the date of the event to which it refers. In such cases, the existence of a festival, or of a monument, proves, indeed, the belief which men entertain, but by no means proves the reality of the occurrence concerning which the belief is held.[932] This simple, but important maxim, is, even in our own days, constantly lost sight of, while before the eighteenth century it was universally neglected. Hence it was that historians were able to accumulate fables which were believed without examination;[933] it being altogether forgotten,[313] that fables, as Voltaire says, begin to be current in one generation, are established in the second, become respectable in the third, while in the fourth generation temples are raised in honour of them.[934]

I have been the more particular in stating the immense obligations history is under to Voltaire, because in England there exists against him a prejudice, which nothing but ignorance, or something worse than ignorance, can excuse;[935] and because, taking him on the[314] whole, he is probably the greatest historian Europe has yet produced. In reference, however, to the mental habits of the eighteenth century, it is important to show, that in the same period similar comprehensiveness was being displayed by other French historians; so that in this case, as in all others, we shall find that a large share of what is effected, even by the most eminent men, is due to the character of the age in which they live.

The vast labours of Voltaire towards reforming the old method of writing history, were greatly aided by those important works which Montesquieu put forward during the same period. In 1734,[936] this remarkable man published what may be truly called the first book in which there can be found any information concerning the real history of Rome; because it is also the first in which the affairs of the ancient world are treated in a large and comprehensive spirit.[937] Fourteen years later, there appeared, by the same author, the Spirit of Laws; a more famous production, but, as it seems to me, not a greater one. The immense merit of the Spirit of Laws is, indeed, incontestable, and cannot be affected by the captious attempts made to diminish it by those minute critics, who seem to think that when they detect the occasional errors of a great man, they in some degree reduce him to their own level. It is not such petty cavilling which can destroy an European reputation; and the noble work of Montesquieu will long survive all attacks of this kind, because its large and suggestive generalizations would retain their value even if the particular facts of which the illustrations consist were all[315] unfounded.[938] Still, I am inclined to believe, that in point of original thought it is barely equal to his earlier work, though it is unquestionably the fruit of much greater reading. Without, however, instituting a comparison between them, our present object is merely to consider the contributions they jointly contain towards a right understanding of history, and the way in which those contributions are connected with the general spirit of the eighteenth century.

In this point of view, there are, in the works of Montesquieu, two leading peculiarities. The first is, the complete rejection of those personal anecdotes, and those trivial details respecting individuals, which belong to biography, but with which, as Montesquieu clearly saw, history has no concern. The other peculiarity is, the very remarkable attempt which he first made to effect an union between the history of man and those sciences which deal with the external world. As these are the two great characteristics of the method adopted by Montesquieu, it will be necessary to give some account of them, before we can understand the place he really occupies, as one of the founders of the philosophy of history.

We have already seen that Voltaire had strongly insisted on the necessity of reforming history, by paying more attention to the history of the people, and less attention to that of their political and military rulers. We have also seen, that this great improvement was so agreeable to the spirit of the time, that it was generally and quickly adopted, and thus became an indication of those democratic tendencies, of which it was in reality a result. It is not, therefore, surprising that Montesquieu should have taken the same course, even before the movement had been clearly declared; since he, like[316] most great thinkers, was a representative of the intellectual condition, and a satisfier of the intellectual wants, of the age in which he lived.

But, what constitutes the peculiarity of Montesquieu in this matter, is, that with him a contempt for those details respecting courts, ministers, and princes, in which ordinary compilers take great delight, was accompanied by an equal contempt for other details which are really interesting, because they concern the mental habits of the few truly eminent men who, from time to time, have appeared on the stage of public life. This was because Montesquieu perceived that, though these things are very interesting, they are also very unimportant. He knew, what no historian before him had even suspected, that in the great march of human affairs, individual peculiarities count for nothing; and that, therefore, the historian has no business with them, but should leave them to the biographer, to whose province they properly belong. The consequence is, that not only does he treat the most powerful princes with such disregard as to relate the reigns of six emperors in two lines,[939] but he constantly enforces the necessity, even in the case of eminent men, of subordinating their special influence to the more general influence of the surrounding society. Thus, many writers had ascribed the ruin of the Roman Republic to the ambition of Cæsar and Pompey, and particularly to the deep schemes of Cæsar. This, Montesquieu totally denies. According to his view of history, no great alteration can be effected, except by virtue of a long train of antecedents, where alone we are to seek the cause of what to a superficial eye is the work of individuals. The republic, therefore, was overthrown, not by Cæsar and Pompey, but by that state of things which made the success of Cæsar and Pompey possible.[940] It is thus that the events which ordinary[317] historians relate are utterly valueless. Such events, instead of being causes, are merely the occasions on which the real causes act.[941] They may be called the accidents of history; and they must be treated as subservient to those vast and comprehensive conditions, by which alone the rise and fall of nations are ultimately governed.[942]

This, then, was the first great merit of Montesquieu, that he effected a complete separation between biography and history, and taught historians to study, not the pecularities of individual character, but the general aspect of the society in which the peculiarities appeared. If this remarkable man had accomplished nothing further, he would have rendered an incalculable service to history, by pointing out how one of its most fertile sources of error might be safely removed. And although, unhappily, we have not yet reaped the full benefit of his example, this is because his successors have really had the capacity of rising to so high a generalization: it is, however, certain, that since his time, an approximation towards such elevated views may be noticed, even among those inferior writers who, for want of sufficient grasp, are unable to adopt them to their full extent.

In addition to this, Montesquieu made another great advance in the method of treating history. He was the first who, in an inquiry into the relations between the social conditions of a country and its jurisprudence, called in the aid of physical knowledge, in order to ascertain how the character of any given civilization is modified by the action of the external world. In his work on the Spirit of Laws, he studies the way in which both the civil and political legislation of a people are naturally connected with their climate, soil, and food.[943][318] It is true, that in this vast enterprise he almost entirely failed; but this was because meteorology, chemistry, and physiology, were still too backward to admit of such an undertaking. This, however, affects the value only of his conclusions, not of his method; and here, as elsewhere, we see the great thinker tracing the outline of a plan, which, in the then state of knowledge, it was impossible to fill up, and the completion of which he was obliged to leave to the riper experience and more powerful resources of a later age. Thus to anticipate the march of the human intellect, and, as it were, forestal its subsequent acquisitions, is the peculiar prerogative of minds of the highest order; and it is this which gives to the writings of Montesquieu a certain fragmentary and provisional appearance, which was the necessary consequence of a profoundly speculative genius dealing with materials that were intractable, simply because science had not yet reduced them to order by generalizing the laws of their phenomena. Hence it is, that many of the inferences drawn by Montesquieu are untenable; such, for instance, as those regarding the effect of diet in stimulating population by increasing the fecundity of women,[944] and the effect of climate in altering the proportion between the births of the sexes.[945] In other cases, an increased acquaintance with barbarous nations has sufficed to correct his conclusions, particularly those concerning the effect which he supposed climate to produce on individual character; for we have now the most decisive evidence, that he was wrong in asserting [946] that hot climates make people unchaste and cowardly, while cold climates make them virtuous and brave.

These, indeed, are comparatively trifling objections, because, in all the highest branches of knowledge, the main difficulty is, not to discover facts, but to discover the true method according to which the laws of the[319] facts may be ascertained.[947] In this, Montesquieu performed a double service, since he not only enriched history, but also strengthened its foundation. He enriched history by incorporating with it physical inquiries; and he strengthened history by separating it from biography, and thus freeing it from details which are always unimportant, and often unauthentic. And although he committed the error of studying the influence of nature over men considered as individuals,[948] rather than over men considered as an aggregate society, this arose principally from the fact that, in his time, the resources necessary for the more complicated study had not yet been created. Those resources, as I have shown, are political economy and statistics; political economy supplying the means of connecting the laws of physical agents with the laws of the inequality of wealth, and, therefore, with a great variety of social disturbances; while statistics enable us to verify those laws in their widest extent, and to prove how completely the volition of individual men is controlled by their antecedents, and by the circumstances in which they are placed. It was, therefore, not only natural, but inevitable, that Montesquieu should fail in his magnificent attempt to unite the laws of the human mind with the laws of external nature. He failed, partly because the sciences of external nature were too backward, and partly because those other branches of knowledge which connect nature with men were still unformed. For, as to political economy, it had no existence as a science until the publication of the Wealth of Nations in 1776, twenty-one years after the death of Montesquieu. As to statistics, their philosophy is a still more recent creation,[320] since it is only during the last thirty years that they have been systematically applied to social phenomena; the earlier statisticians being merely a body of industrious collectors, groping in the dark, bringing together facts of every kind without selection or method, and whose labours were consequently unavailable for those important purposes to which they have been successfully applied during the present generation.

Only two years after the publication of the Spirit of Laws, Turgot delivered those celebrated lectures, of which it has been said, that in them he created the philosophy of history.[949] This praise is somewhat exaggerated; for in the most important matters relating to the philosophy of his subject, he takes the same view as Montesquieu; and Montesquieu, besides preceding him in point of time, was his superior certainly in learning, perhaps in genius. Still, the merit of Turgot is immense; and he belongs to that extremely small class of men who have looked at history comprehensively, and have recognized the almost boundless knowledge needed for its investigation. In this respect, his method is identical with that of Montesquieu, since both of these great men excluded from their scheme the personal details which ordinary historians accumulate, and concentrated their attention upon those large general causes, by the operation of which the destinies of nations are permanently affected. Turgot clearly perceived, that, notwithstanding the variety of events produced by the play of human passions, there is amid this apparent confusion a principle of order, and a regularity of march, not to be mistaken by those whose grasp is firm enough to seize the history of man as a complete and single whole.[950] It is true that Turgot, subsequently engaged[321] in political life, never possessed sufficient leisure to fill up the splendid outline of what he so successfully sketched: but though in the execution of his plan he fell short of Montesquieu, still the analogy between the two men is obvious, as also is their relation to the age in which they lived. They, as well as Voltaire, were the unconscious advocates of the democratic movement, inasmuch as they discountenanced the homage which historians had formerly paid to individuals, and rescued history from being a mere recital of the deeds of political and ecclesiastical rulers. At the same time, Turgot, by the captivating prospects which he held out of future progress,[951] and by the picture which he drew of the capacity of society to improve itself, increased the impatience which his countrymen were beginning to feel against that despotic government, in whose presence amelioration seemed to be hopeless. These, and similar speculations, which now for the first time appeared in French literature, stimulated the activity of the intellectual classes, cheered them under the persecutions to which they were exposed, and emboldened them to the arduous enterprise of leading on the people to attack the institutions of their native land. Thus it was, that in France every thing tended to the same result. Every thing indicated the approach of some sharp and terrible struggle, in which the spirit of the present should war with the spirit of the past; and in which it should be[322] finally settled, whether the people of France could free themselves from the chains in which they had long been held, or whether, missing their aim, they were doomed to sink still lower in that ignominious vassalage, which makes even the most splendid periods of their political history a warning and a lesson to the civilized world.

Footnotes:

[807] See some very just remarks in Whewell's Philos. of the Induc. Sciences, vol. ii. p. 143. In Neander's Hist. of the Church, vol. iv. pp. 41, 128, there are two curious illustrations of the universal interest which theological discussions once inspired in Europe; and on the former subservience of philosophy to theology, compare Hamilton's Discussions on Philosophy, p. 197. But no one has treated this subject so ably as M. Auguste Comte, in his great work, Philosophie Positive. The service which the metaphysicians rendered to the church by their development of the doctrine of transubstantiation (Blánco White's Evidence against Catholicism, pp. 256–258) is a striking instance of this subordination of the intellect to ecclesiastical dogmas.

[808] M. Tocqueville says, what I am inclined to think is true, that an increasing spirit of equality lessens the disposition to form new religious creeds. Démocratie en Amérique, vol. iv. pp. 16, 17. At all events, it is certain that increasing knowledge has this effect; for those great men whose turn of mind would formerly have made them heretics, are now content to confine their innovations to other fields of thought. If St. Augustin had lived in the seventeenth century, he would have reformed or created the physical sciences. If Sir Isaac Newton had lived in the fourth century, he would have organized a new sect, and have troubled the church with his originality.

[809] Biog. Univ. vol. xix. pp. 315, 316; where it is said, ‘l'ouvrage de Du Haillan est remarquable en ce que c'est le premier corps d'histoire de France qui ait paru dans notre langue.’ See also Dacier, Rapport sur les Progrès de l'Histoire, p. 170; and Des Réaux, Historiettes, vol. x. p. 185.

[810] Bayle, article Haillan, note L.

[811] Mercure François, in Bayle, article Haillan, note D.

[812] De Rebus gestis Francorum, which appeared about 1516. Biog. Univ. vol. xiii. p. 119. Compare, respecting the author, Mézéray, Hist. de France, vol. ii. p. 363, with Audigier, l'Origine des François, vol. ii. p. 118, who complains of his opinion about Clovis, ‘quoy qu'il fasse profession de relever la gloire des François.’ Even the superficial Boulainvilliers (Hist. de l'Ancien Gouvernement, vol. ii. p. 166) contemptuously notices ‘les rétoriciens postérieurs, tels que Paul Emile.’

[813] Compare Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. i. pp. 176, 177, with Montlosier, Monarchie Française, vol. i. pp. 43, 44. Philippe de Comines, though superior to Sismondi and Montlosier in point of ability, lived in the middle ages, and therefore had no idea of doubting, but simply says, ‘Pharamond fut esleu roy, l'an 420, et régna dix ans,’ Mém. de Comines, livre viii. chap. xxvii. vol. iii. p. 232. But De Thou, coming a hundred years after Comines, evidently suspected that it was not all quite right, and therefore puts it on the authority of others. ‘Pharamond, qui selon nos historiens a porté le premier la couronne des François.’ De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. x. p. 530. See a singular passage on Pharamond in Mém. de Duplessis Mornay, vol. ii. p. 405.

[814] Sorel (La Bibliothèque Françoise, Paris, 1667, p. 373) says of Du Haillan, ‘On lui peut reprocher d'avoir donné un commencement fabuleux à son histoire, qui est entièrement de son invention, ayant fait tenir un conseil entre Pharamond et ses plus fidelles conseillers, pour sçavoir si ayant la puissance en main il deuoit réduire les François au gouvernement aristocratique ou monarchique, et faisant faire une harangue à chacun d'eux pour soustenir son opinion. On y voit les noms de Charamond et de Quadrek, personnages imaginaires.’ Sorel, who had a glimmering notion that this was not exactly the way to write history, adds, ‘C'est une chose fort surprenante. On est fort peu asseuré si Pharamond fut jamais au monde, et quoy qu'on sçache qu'il y ait esté, c'est une terrible hardiesse d'en raconter des choses qui n'ont aucun appuy.’

[815] ‘Die erste Regung des skeptischen Geistes finden wir in den Versuchen des Michael von Montaigne.’ Tennemann, Gesch. der Philos. vol. ix. p. 443.

[816] The first volume appeared in 1604. See Le Long, Bibliothèque Historique de la France, vol. ii. p. 375; and preface to De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. i. p. iv.

[817] Sismondi has scarcely done justice to Sully; but the reader will find a fuller account of him in Capefigue, Hist. de la Réforme, vol. viii. pp. 101–117; and a still better one in Blanqui, Histoire de l'Economie Politique, vol. i. pp. 347–361.

[818] According to D'Aubigné, the king, on his conversion, said, ‘Je ferai voir à tout le monde que je n'ai esté persuadé par autre théologie que la nécessité de l'estat.’ Smedley's Reformed Religion in France, vol. ii. p. 362. That Henry felt this is certain; and that he expressed it to his friends is probable; but he had a difficult game to play with the Catholic church; and in one of his edicts we find ‘une grande joye de son retour à l'église, dont il attribuoit la cause à la grâce du Tout-Puissant, et aux prières de ses fidèles sujets.’ De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. xii. pp. 105, 106. Compare, at pp. 468, 469, the message he sent to the pope.

[819] Marchand, Dictionnaire Historique, vol. ii. pp. 205, 209, La Haye, 1758, folio. This curious and learned work, which is much less read than it deserves, contains the only good account of Serres I have been able to meet with; vol. ii. pp. 197–213.

[820] ‘On ne prenoit presque aucun soin de marquer les dates des événemens dans les ouvrages historiques…. De Serres reconnut ce défaut; et pour y remédier, il rechercha avec beaucoup de soin les dates des événemens qu'il avoit à employer, et les marqua dans son histoire le plus exactement qu'il lui fut possible. Cet exemple a été imité depuis par la plupart de ceux qui l'ont suivi; et c'est à lui qu'on est redevable de l'avantage qu'on tire d'une pratique si nécessaire et si utile.’ Marchand, Dict. Historique, vol. ii. p. 206.

[821] ‘Il est le premier historien qui ait cité en marge ses autorités; précaution absolument nécessaire quand on n'écrit pas l'histoire de son temps, à moins qu'on ne s'en tienne aux faits connus.’ Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xix. p. 95. And the Biog. Univ. vol. xii. p. 277, says, ‘On doit lui faire honneur d'avoir cité en marge les auteurs dont il s'est servi; précaution indispensable, que l'on connaissait peu avant lui, et que les historiens modernes négligent trop aujourd'hui.’ Bassompierre, who had a quarrel with Dupleix, has given some curious details respecting him and his History; but they are, of course, not to be relied on. Mém. de Bassompierre, vol. iii. pp. 356, 357. Patin speaks favourably of his history of Henry IV. Lettres de Patin, vol. i. p. 17: but compare Sully, Œconomies Royales, vol. ix. pp. 121, 249.

[822] The ancients, as is well known, rarely took this trouble. Mure's Hist. of Greek Literature, vol. iv. pp. 197, 306, 307. But what is much more curious is, that, even in scientific works, there was an equal looseness; and Cuvier says, that, in the sixteenth century, ‘on se bornait à dire, d'une manière générale, Aristote a dit telle chose, sans indiquer ni le passage ni le livre dans lequel la citation se trouvait.’ Cuvier, Hist. des Sciences, part ii. p. 63; and at p. 88, ‘suivant l'usage de son temps, Gessner n'indique pas avec précision les endroits d'où il a tiré ses citations:’ see also p. 214.

[823] ‘Le premier ouvrage de philosophie publié dans cette langue.’ Biog. Univ. vol. xii. p. 277.

[824] So it seemed to me, when I turned over its leaves a few years ago. However, Patin says, ‘sa philosophie françoise n'est pas mauvaise.’ Lettres de Patin, vol. iii. p. 357. On the dialectic powers of Dupleix, see a favourable judgment in Hamilton's Discuss. on Philos. p. 119.

[825] Biog. Univ. vol. xxxv. p. 402. Sorel (Bibliothèque Françoise, p. 165), who is evidently displeased at the unprecedented boldness of La Popelinière, says, ‘il dit ses sentimens en bref des historiens de toutes les nations, et de plusieurs langues, et particulièrement des historiens françois, dont il parle avec beaucoup d'asseurance.’

[826] ‘Il réfute l'opinion, alors fort accréditée, de l'arrivée dans les Gaules de Francus et des Troyens.’ Biog. Univ. vol. xxxv. p. 402. Compare Le Long, Bibliothèque Historique de la France, vol. ii. p. 39. Patin says that De Thou was much indebted to him: ‘M. de Thou a pris hardiment de la Popelinière.’ Lettres de Patin, vol. i. p. 222. There is a notice of Popelinière, in connexion with Richer, in Mém. de Richelieu, vol. v. p. 349.

[827] ‘Il réfute les fables qu'on avançoit sur l'origine des François, appuyées sur le témoignage au faux Bérose. Il dit que leur nom vient de leur ancienne franchise.’ Le Long, Bibliothèque Historique, vol. ii. p. 750.

[828] Compare Sorel, Bibliothèque Françoise, p. 298, with Du Fresnoy, Méthode pour étudier l'Histoire, vol. x. p. 4, Parie, 1772. There is an account of Gomberville in Les Historiettes de Tallemant des Réaux, vol. viii. pp. 15–19; a singularly curious book, which is, for the seventeenth century, what Brantome is for the sixteenth. I ought to have mentioned earlier the inimitable ridicule with which Rabelais treats the habit historians had of tracing the genealogies of their heroes back to Noah. Œuvres de Rabelais, vol. i. pp. 1–3, and vol. ii. pp. 10–17: see also, at vol. v. pp. 171, 172, his defence of the antiquity of Chinon.

[829] ‘L'auteur croit qu'il ne faut pas la chercher ailleurs que dans le pays où ils out été connus des Romains, c'est-à-dire entre l'Elbe et le Rhin,’ Le Long, Bibliothèque Historique, vol. ii. p. 56. This work of Berthault's was, for many years, a text-book in the French colleges. Biog. Univ. vol. iv. p. 347.

[830] The first volume in 1643; the second in 1646; and the last in 1651. Biog. Univ. vol. xxviii. p. 510.

[831] ‘The French have now their first general historian, Mezeray.’ Hallam's Literature of Europe, vol. iii. p. 228; and see Stephen's Lectures on the History of France, 1851, vol. i. p. 10.

[832] Bayle says, that Mezeray is, ‘de tous les historiens celui qui favorise le plus les peuples contre la cour.’ Le Long, Bibliothèque Historique, vol. iii. p. lxxxvi.

[833] Though it did not prevent him from believing that sudden tempests, and unusual appearances in the heavens, were aberrations, due to supernatural interference, and, as such, were the prognosticators of political change. Mézéray, Hist. de France, vol. i. pp. 202, 228, 238, 241, 317, 792, vol. ii. pp. 485, 573, 1120, vol. iii. pp. 31, 167, 894; instructive passages, as proving that, even in powerful minds, the scientific and secular method was still feeble.

[834] What he did on these subjects is most remarkable, considering that some of the best materials were unknown, and in manuscript, and that even De Thou gives scarcely any information respecting them; so that Mezeray had no model. See, among other passages which have struck me in the first volume, pp. 145–147, 204, 353, 356, 362–365, 530, 531, 581, 812, 946, 1039. Compare his indignant expressions at vol. ii. p. 721.

[835] Those who have studied the French memoirs of the seventeenth century, know how little can be found in them respecting the condition of the people; while the fullest private correspondence, such as the letters of Sévigné and De Maintenon, are equally unsatisfactory. The greater part of the evidence now extant has been collected by M. Monteil, in his valuable work, Histoire des divers Etats: but whoever will put all this together must admit, that we are better informed as to the condition of many savage tribes than we are concerning the lower classes of France during the reign of Louis XIV.

[836] This is noticed in Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxvii. pp. 181, 182; also in Villemain, Littérature Française, vol. ii. pp. 29, 30. Compare D'Argenson, Réflexions sur les Historiens François, in Mémoires de l'Académie des Inscriptions, vol. xxviii. p. 627, with Boulainvilliers, Ancien Gouvernement de la France, vol. i. p. 174.

[837] ‘Le jeune Louis XIV n'avait reçu aucune éducation intellectuelle.’ Capefigue's Richelieu, Mazarin et la Fronde, vol. ii. p. 245. On the education of Louis XIV., which was as shamefully neglected as that of our George III., see Lettres inédites de Maintenon, vol. ii. p. 369; Duclos, Mém. Secrets, vol. i. pp. 167, 168; Mém. de Brienne, vol. i. pp. 391–393.

[838] On his political maxims, see Lemontey, Etablissement de Louis XIV, pp. 325–327, 407, 408. The eloquent remarks made by M. Ranke upon an Italian despotism, are admirably applicable to his whole system: ‘Sonderbare Gestalt menschlichen Dinge! Die Kräfte des Landes bringen den Hof hervor, der Mittelpunkt des Hofes ist der Fürst, das letzte Product des gesammten Lebens ist zuletzt das Selbstgefühl des Fürsten.’ Die Päpste, vol. ii. p. 266.

[839] His Abrégé Chronologique was published in 1668, in three volumes quarto. Biog. Univ. vol. xxviii. p. 510. Le Long (Bibliothèque Historique, vol. iii. p. lxxxv.) says, that it was only allowed to be published in consequence of a ‘privilège’ which Mezeray had formerly obtained. But there seems to have been some difficulty, of which these writers are not aware: for Patin, in a letter dated Paris, 23 December 1664, speaks of it as being then in the press: ‘on imprime ici en grand-in-quarto un Abrégé de l'Histoire de France, par M. Mezeray.’ Lettres de Patin, vol. iii. p. 503: compare p. 665. It long remained an established school-book: see D'Argenson's Essay, in Mém. de l'Académie, vol. xxviii. p. 635; and Works of Sir William Temple, vol. iii. p. 70.

[840] Barrière, Essai sur les Mœurs du Dix-septième Siècle, prefixed to Mém. de Brienne, vol. i. pp. 129, 130, where reference is made to his original correspondence with Colbert. This treatment of Mezeray is noticed, but imperfectly, in Boulainvilliers, Hist. de l'Ancien Gouvernement, vol. i. p. 196; in Lemontey, Etablissement de Louis XIV, p. 331; and in Palissot, Mém. pour l'Hist. de Lit. vol. ii. p. 161.

[841] In 1685 was published at Paris what was called an improved edition of Mezeray's History; that is, an edition from which the honest remarks were expunged. See Le Long, Bibliothèque Historique, vol. ii. p. 53, vol. iv. p. 381; and Brunet, Manuel du Libraire, vol. iii. p. 383, Paris, 1843. Hampden, who knew Mezeray, has recorded an interesting interview he had with him in Paris, when the great historian lamented the loss of the liberties of France. See Calamy's Life of Himself, vol. i. pp. 392, 393.

[842] Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxvi. pp. 240, 241.

[843] ‘Par l'infidélité d'un domestique chargé de transcrire le manuscrit.’ Biog. Univ. vol. xiv. p. 289; and see Peignot, Dict. des Livres condamnés, vol. i. pp. 134, 135. It was suppressed in France, and appeared in Holland in the same year, 1699. Lettres de Sévigné, vol. vi. pp. 434, 435 note.

[844] ‘Louis XIV prit le Télémaque pour une personnalité…. Comme il (Fénelon) avait déplu au roi, il mourut dans l'exil.’ Lerminier, Philos. du Droit, vol. ii. pp. 219, 220; and see Siècle de Louis XIV, chap. xxxii., in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xx. p. 307.

[845] These circumstances are related in a letter from Lord Preston, dated Paris, 22 July 1682, and printed in Dalrymple's Memoirs, pp. 141, 142, appendix to vol. i. The account given by M. Peignot (Livres condamnés, vol. ii. pp. 52, 53) is incomplete, he being evidently ignorant of the existence of Lord Preston's letter.

[846] An able writer has well called him ‘glorieux plutôt qu'appréciateur de la vraie gloire.’ Flassan, Histoire de la Diplomatie Française, vol. iv. p. 399.

[847] In 1677, Madame de Sévigné writes from Paris respecting the king: ‘Vous savez bien qu'il a donné deux mille écus de pension à Racine et à Despréaux, en leur commandant de travailler à son histoire, dont il aura soin de donner des Mémoires.’ Lettres de Sévigné, vol. iii. p. 362. Compare Eloge de Valincourt, in Œuvres de Fontenelle, vol. vi. p. 383; and Hughes's Letters, edit. 1773, vol. ii. pp. 74, 75.

[848] Burnet relates this with delightful simplicity: ‘Others more probably thought that the king, hearing I was a writer of history, had a mind to engage me to write on his side. I was told a pension would be offered me. But I made no steps towards it; for though I was offered an audience of the king, I excused it, since I could not have the honour to be presented to that king by the minister of England.’ Burnet's Own Time, vol. ii. p. 385.

[849] During many years it enjoyed great reputation; and there is no history written in that period respecting which Le Long gives so many details. See his Bibliothèque Historique de la France, vol. ii. pp. 13, 14. Compare La Bibliothèque de Leber, vol. ii. p. 110, Paris, 1839.

[850] Audigier, L'Origine des François, Paris, 1676, vol. i. p. 5. See also p. 45, where he congratulates himself on being the first to clear up the history of Sigovese.

[851] Audigier, vol. i. p. 7. Other antiquaries have adopted the same preposterous etymology. See a note in Kemble's Saxons in England, vol. i. p. 41.

[852] ‘Or le plus ancien Jupiter, le plus ancien Neptune, et le plus ancien Pluton, sont ceux de Gaule; ils la divisèrent les premiers en Celtique, Aquitaine et Belgique, et obtinrent chacun une de ces parties en partage. Jupiter, qu'on fait régner au ciel, eut la Celtique…. Neptune, qu'on fait régner sur les eaux, et sur les mers, eut l'Aquitaine, qui n'est appelée de la sorte qu'à cause de l'abondance de ses eaux, et de la situation sur l'océan.’ Audigier, L'Origine des François, vol. i. pp. 223, 224.

[853] See his argument, vol. i. pp. 216, 217, beginning, ‘le nom de Noé, que portèrent les Galates, est Gallus;’ and compare vol. ii. p. 109, where he expresses surprise that so little should have been done by previous writers towards establishing this obvious origin of the French.

[854] Audigier, vol. i. pp. 196, 197, 255, 256.

[855] ‘Voilà donc les anciennes divinitez d'Europe, originaires de Gaule, aussi bien que les beaux arts et les hautes sciences.’ Audigier, vol. i. p. 234.

[856] Ibid. vol. i. pp. 73, 74. He sums up, ‘c'en est assez pour relever l'Anjou, à qui cette gloire appartient légitimement.’

[857] Vol. i. pp. 265, 266.

[858] Vol. i. p. 149.

[859] Vol. ii. pp. 179, 180.

[860] Vol. ii. p. 269.

[861] Vol. ii. p. 124.

[862] Vol. ii. pp. 451–454.

[863] ‘A quoy nous pourrions joindre un autre monument fort authentique, c'est le résultat de certains pères, et de certains docteurs de l'église, qui tiennent que l'Ante-christ ne viendra point au monde qu'après la dissection, c'est-à-dire après la dissipation de nostre empire. Leur fondement est dans la seconde épistre de saint Paul aux Thessaloniciens.’ Audigier, vol. ii. p. 462.

[864] This is the opinion of Mr. Hallam respecting Bossuet's History of the Variations of Protestant Churches. Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 486: compare Lerminier, Philos. du Droit, vol. ii. p. 86. Attempts have been made by Protestant theologians to retort against the Catholics the arguments of Bossuet, on the ground that religious variations are a necessary consequence of the honest pursuit of religious truth. See Blanco White's Evidence against Catholicism, pp. 109–112; and his Letters from Spain, by Doblado, p. 127. With this I fully agree; but it would be easy to show that the argument is fatal to all ecclesiastical systems with strictly defined creeds, and, therefore, strikes as heavily against the Protestant churches as against the Catholic. Beausobre, in his acute and learned work on Manichæism, seems to have felt this; and he makes the dangerous admission, ‘que si l'argument de M. de Meaux vaut quelque chose contre la Réformation, il a la même force contre le Christianisme.’ Hist. de Manichée, vol. i. p. 526. On Bossuet as a controversialist, see Stäudlin, Geschichte der theologischen Wissenschaften, vol. ii. pp. 43–45; and for a contemporary opinion of his great work, see a characteristic passage in Lettres de Sévigné, vol. v. p. 409.

[865] His method is fairly stated by Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxv. p. 427.

[866] See, on this attempt of Bossuet‘s, some good remarks in Stäudlin, Geschichte der theologischen Wissenschaften, vol. ii. p. 198: 'Kirche und Christenthum sind für diesen Bischoff der Mittelpunct der ganzen Geschichte. Aus diesem Gesichtspuncte betrachtet er nicht nur die Patriarchen und Propheten, das Judenthum und die alten Weissagungen, sondern auch die Reiche der Welt.’

[867] Bossuet, Discours sur l'Histoire Universelle, pp. 10, 11, 16, 17; see also, at p. 90, a curious specimen of his chronological calculations.

[868] He says, that if the ordinarily received dates of the Pentateuch and the Prophets are not true, then the miracles must fall, and the writings themselves are not inspired. Hist. Univ. p. 360. It would be hard to find, even in the works of Bossuet a more rash assertion than this.

[869] Indeed the Jews have no consecutive chronology before Solomon. See Bunsen's Egypt, vol. i. pp. viii. xxv. 170, 178, 185, vol. ii. p. 399.

[870] Doing this, as they did everything else, on account, not of reason, but of dogma; for, as a learned writer says, ‘l'Église a bien distingué certains livres en apocryphes et en orthodoxes; elle s'est prononcée d'une manière formelle sur le choix des ouvrages canoniques; néanmoins sa critique n'a jamais été fondée sur un examen raisonné, mais seulement sur la question de savoir si tel ou tel écrit était d'accord avec les dogmes qu'elle enseignait.’ Maury, Légendes Pieuses, p. 224.

[871] Theologians have always been remarkable for the exactness of their knowledge on subjects respecting which nothing is known; but none of them have surpassed the learned Dr. Stukeley. In 1730, this eminent divine writes: ‘But according to the calculations I have made of this matter, I find God Almighty ordered Noah to get the creatures into the ark on Sunday the 12th of October, the very day of the autumnal equinox that year; and on this present day, on the Sunday se'nnight following (the 19th of October), that terrible catastrophe began, the moon being past her third quarter.’ Nichols's Illustrations of the Eighteenth Century, vol. ii. p. 792.

[872] ‘Premièrement, ces empires ont pour la plupart une liaison nécessaire avec l'histoire du peuple de Dieu. Dieu s'est servi des Assyriens et des Babyloniens pour châtier ce peuple; des Perses pour le rétablir; d'Alexandre et de ses premiers successeurs pour le protéger; d'Antiochus l'Illustre et de ses successeurs pour l'exercer; des Romains pour soutenir sa liberté contre les rois de Syrie, que ne songeaient qu'à le détruire.’ Bossuet, Hist. Univ. p. 382. Well may M. Lerminier say (Philos. du Droit, vol. ii. p. 87), that Bossuet ‘a sacrifié toutes les nations au peuple juif.’

[873] On the extraordinary and prolonged ignorance of the Jews, even to the time of the Apostles, see Mackay's Progress of the Intellect, vol. i. pp. 13 seq.; a work of profound learning.

[874] The original scheme of Christianity, as stated by its Great Author (Matthew x. 6, and xv. 24), was merely to convert the Jews; and if the doctrines of Christ had never extended beyond that ignorant people, they could not have received those modifications which philosophy imposed upon them. The whole of this subject is admirably discussed in Mackay's Progress of the Intellect in Religious Development, vol. ii. pp. 382 seq.; and on the ‘universalism,’ first clearly announced ‘by the Hellenist Stephen,’ see p. 484. Neander makes a noticeable attempt to evade the difficulty caused by the changes in Christianity from ‘various outward causes:’ see his History of the Church, vol. iii. p. 125.

[875] Neander (Hist. of the Church, vol. ii. p. 42) even thinks that Cerinthus whose views are remarkable as being the point where Gnosticism and Judaism touch each other, borrowed his system from Alexandria. But this, though not unlikely, seems only to rest on the authority of Theodoret. On the influence of the Platonism of Alexandria in developing the idea of the Logos, see Neander, vol. ii. pp. 304, 306–314. Compare Sharpe's Hist. of Egypt, vol. ii. pp. 152 seq.

[876] And having to mention Clemens Alexandrinus, who was more deeply versed in the philosophy of Alexandria than were any of the other fathers, Bossuet merely says, p. 98, ‘à peu près dans le même temps, le saint prêtre Clément Alexandrin déterra les antiquités du paganisme pour le confondre.’

[877] About the time that Bossuet wrote, a very learned writer calculated that the area of the countries which professed Mohammedanism, exceeded, by one fifth, those where Christianity was believed. See Brerewood's Inquiries touching the Diversity of Languages and Religions, Lond. 1674, pp. 144, 145. The estimate of Southey (Vindiciæ Ecclesiæ Anglicanæ, London, 1826, p. 48), is very vague; but it is much easier to judge of the extent of Mohammedan countries than of the extent of their population. On this latter point we have the most conflicting statements. In the nineteenth century, there are, according to Sharon Turner (Hist. of England, vol. iii. p. 485, edit. 1839), eighty million Mohammedans; according to Dr. Elliotson (Human Physiology, p. 1055, edit. 1840), more than a hundred and twenty-two million; while, according to Mr. Wilkin (note in Sir Thomas Browne's Works, vol. ii. p. 37, edit. 1835), there are a hundred and eighty-eight million.

[878] ‘Le faux prophète donna ses victoires pour toute marque de sa mission.’ Bossuet, p. 125.

[879] The greatest Mohammedan writers have always expressed ideas regarding the Deity more lofty than those possessed by the majority of Christians. The Koran contains noble passages on the oneness of God; and for the views of their ordinary theologians, I may refer to an interesting Mohammedan sermon, in Transactions of the Bombay Society, vol. i. pp. 146–158. See also, in vol. iii. pp. 398–448, an Essay by Vans Kennedy; and compare a remarkable passage, considering the quarter from which it comes, in Autobiography of the Emperor Jehangueir, p. 44. Those who are so thoughtless as to believe that Mohammed was a hypocrite, had better study the admirable remarks of M. Comte (Philos. Pos. vol. v. pp. 76, 77), who truly says, ‘qu'un homme vraiment supérieur n'a jamais pu exercer aucune grande action sur ses semblables sans être d'abord lui-même intimement convaincu.’

[880] ‘Saint Martin fut fait évêque de Tours, et remplit tout l'univers du bruit de sa sainteté et de ses miracles, durant sa vie, et après sa mort.’ Bossuet, Hist. Univ. p. 111.

[881] The Benedictines have written the life of Martin in their Hist. Lit. de la France, vol. i. part ii. pp. 413–417, Paris, 1733, 4to. They say that he erected the first monastery in Gaul: ‘Martin, toujours passionné pour la solitude, érigea un monastère qui fut le premier que l'on eût encore vû dans les Gaules,’ p. 414. At p. 415, they make the unnecessary admission, that the saint ‘n'avoit point étudié les sciences profanes.’ I may add, that the miracles of Martin are related by Fleury, who evidently believes that they were really performed. Fleury, Hist. Ecclésiastique, livre xvi. no. 31, vol. iv. pp. 215–217, Paris, 1758, 12mo. Neander, having the advantage of living a hundred years later than Fleury, is content to say, ‘the veneration of his period denominated him a worker of miracles.’ Hist. of the Church, vol. iv. p. 494. There is a characteristic anecdote of him, from Sulpitius Severus, in Mosheim's Eccles. Hist. vol. i. p. 123.

[882] At pp. 479, 480, Bossuet gives a sort of summary of his historical principles; and if they are true, history is evidently impossible to be written. On this account, though fully recognizing the genius of Bossuet, I cannot agree with the remarks made upon him by M. Comte, Philos. Pos. vol. iv. p. 280, vol. vi. pp. 316, 317.

[883] And then, as M. Charles Comte well says, they call this prejudice their moral sense, or their moral instinct. Comte, Traité de Législation, vol. i. p. 116.

[884] The connection between the opinions of Bossuet and the despotism of Louis XIV. is touched on by Montlosier, who, however, has probably laid too much stress on the influence which the civil law exercised over both. Montlosier, Monarchie Française, vol. ii. p. 90.

[885] He belonged to a class of historians, described by a celebrated writer in a single sentence: ‘dans leurs écrits l'auteur paraît souvent grand, mais l'humanité est toujours petite.’ Tocqueville, Démocratie, vol. iv. p. 139.

[886] Hardly any one acquainted with the writings and the history of Bossuet will require evidence of his singular arrogance. But the reader may consult Sismondi, Hist. des Franç. vol. xxvi. p. 247; and on his treatment of Fénelon, which was the most shameful transaction of his life, compare Burnet's Own Time, vol. iv. p. 384, with Capefigue's Louis XIV, vol. ii. p. 58; where there is printed one of the many epigrams to which the conduct of Bossuet gave rise.

[887] He says that he wrote it in 1728. Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xxii. p. 5, but, according to M. Lepan (Vie de Voltaire, p. 382), ‘il parut en 1731.’ Both statements may be accurate, as Voltaire frequently kept his works for some time in manuscript.

[888] Sir A. Alison, who certainly cannot be accused of want of respect for military conquerors, says of Sweden, ‘the attempt which Charles XII. made to engage her in long and arduous wars, so completely drained the resources of the country, that they did not recover the loss for half a century.’ Hist. of Europe, vol. x. p. 504. See also, on the effects produced by the conscriptions of Charles XII., Laing's Sweden, p. 59; Koch, Tableau des Révolutions, vol. ii. p. 63; and above all, a curious passage in Duclos, Mém. Secrets, vol. i. p. 448. Several of the soldiers of Charles XII. who were taken prisoners, were sent into Siberia, where Bell fell in with them early in the eighteenth century. Bell's Travels in Asia, edit. Edinb. 1788, vol. i. pp. 223–224.

[889] ‘Charles XII, l'homme le plus extraordinaire peut-être qui ait jamais été sur la terre, qui a réuni en lui toutes les grandes qualités de ses aïeux, et qui n'a eu d'autre défaut ni d'autre malheur que de les avoir toutes outrées.’ Hist. de Charles XII, livre i., in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xxii. p. 30.

[890] ‘Plein d'honneur.’ Ibid. in Œuvres, vol. xxii. p. 63.

[891] Which Burke, not without justice, compares to the murder of Monaldeschi by Christina. Burke's Works, vol. i. p. 412. See some remarks on the murder of Patkul, in Vattel, Droit des Gens, vol. i. p. 230; and an account of it, from Swedish authorities, in Somers Tracts, vol. xiii. pp. 879–881. For Voltaire's version see his Œuvres, vol. xxii. pp. 136, 137; which may be contrasted with Crichton and Wheaton's History of Scandinavia, Edinb. 1838, vol. ii. p. 127.

[892] Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xxii. pp. 250–260. It may interest some persons to hear, that the litter in which this madman ‘was borne from the battle of Pultava’ is still preserved at Moscow. Kohl's Russia, p. 220. It was also seen by M. Custine. Custine's Russia, vol. iii. p. 263.

[893] ‘Sa modestie ne put empêcher qu'on ne frappât à Stockholm plusieurs médailles pour perpétuer la mémoire de ces événements.’ Charles XII, livre ii., in Œuvres, vol. xxii. p. 70.

[894] Even some of its geographical details are said to be inaccurate. Compare Villemain, Littérature au XVIII^e Siècle, vol. ii. p. 33, with Kohl's Russia, p. 505. However, as M. Villemain says, this must always be the case, when writers, who only know a country from maps, attempt to enter into details respecting military geography. In regard to style, it cannot be too highly praised; and a well-known critic, Lacratelle, calls it ‘le modèle le plus accompli de narration qui existe dans notre langue.’ Lacretelle, Dix-huitième Siècle, vol. ii. p. 42. In 1843 it was still used as a text book in the French royal colleges. See Report on Education in France, in Journal of Stat. Soc. vol. vi. p. 308. Further information respecting this work may be found in Longchamp et Wagnière, Mém. sur Voltaire, vol. ii. p. 494; and in Mém. de Genlis, vol. viii. p. 224, vol. x. p. 304.

[895] It is evident, from Voltaire's correspondence, that he afterwards became somewhat ashamed of the praises he had bestowed on Charles XII. In 1735, he writes to De Formont, ‘si Charles XII n'avait pas été excessivement grand, malheureux, et fou, je me serais bien donné de garde de parler de lui.’ Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. lvi. p. 462. In 1758, advancing still further, he says of Charles, ‘voilà, monsieur, ce que les hommes de tous les temps et de tous les pays appellent un héros; mais c'est le vulgaire de tous les temps et de tous les pays qui donne ce nom à la soif du carnage.’ Ibid. vol. lx. p. 411. In 1759, he writes, that he was then engaged on the history of Peter the Great: ‘mais je doute que cela soit aussi amusant que la vie de Charles XII; car ce Pierre n'était qu'un sage extraordinaire, et Charles un fou extraordinaire, qui se battait, comme Don Quichotte, contre des moulins à vent.’ Vol. lxi. p. 23: see also p. 350. These passages prove the constant progress Voltaire was making in his conception of what history ought to be, and what its uses were.

[896] In 1741, he mentions his increasing love of history. Corresp. in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. li. p. 96.

[897] Lord Brougham, in his life of Voltaire, says that it appeared in 1751. Lives of Men of Letters, vol. i p. 106. But 1752 is the date given in Biog. Univ. xlix. 478; in Quérard, France Lit. vol. x. p. 355; and in Lepan, Vie de Voltaire, p. 382.

[898] ‘On veut essayer de peindre à la postérité, non les actions d'un seul homme, mais l'esprit des hommes dans le siècle le plus éclairé qui fut jamais.’ Siècle de Louis XIV, in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xix. p. 213. And in his correspondence respecting his work on Louis XIV., he carefully makes the same distinction. See vol. lvi. pp. 453, 488, 489, 500, vol. lvii. pp. 337, 342–344, vol. lix. p. 103.

[899] Chap. xxix., in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xx. pp. 234–267.

[900] Chap. xxx., in Œuvres, vol. xx. pp. 267–291. This chapter is praised in Sinclair's History of the Public Revenue, vol. iii. appendix, p. 77; an indifferent work, but the best we have on the important subject to which it refers.

[901] Chap. xxxi., in Œuvres, vol. xx. pp. 291–299; necessarily a very short chapter, because of the paucity of materials.

[902] Chapters xxxii. to xxxiv., in Œuvres, vol. xx. pp. 299–338.

[903] Œuvres, vol. xx. pp. 338–464.

[904] This disposition to favour Louis XIV. is noticed by Condorcet, who says it was the only early prejudice which Voltaire was unable to shake off: ‘c'est le seul préjugé de sa jeunesse qu'il ait conservé.’ Condorcet, Vie de Voltaire, in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. i. p. 286. See also, on this defect, Grimm et Diderot, Corresp. Lit. vol. ii. p. 182; Lemontey, Etablissement Monarchique, pp. 451, 452; Mém. de Brissot, vol. ii. pp. 88, 89. It is interesting to observe, that Voltaire's earlier opinions were still more favourable to Louis XIV. than those which he afterwards expressed in his history. See a letter which he wrote in 1740 to Lord Harvey, printed in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. lviii. pp. 57–63.

[905] Mr. Burton, in his interesting work, Life and Correspondence of Hume, vol. ii. p. 129, says it was ‘first published in 1756;’ and the same date is given by Quérard (France Littéraire, vol. x. p. 359), who is a very accurate bibliographer; so that Condorcet (Vie de Voltaire, p. 199) and Lord Brougham (Men of Letters, vol. i. p. 98) are probably in error in assigning it to 1757. In regard to its title, I translate ‘Mœurs’ as ‘morals and manners;’ for M. Tocqueville uses ‘mœurs’ as equivalent to the Latin word ‘mores.’ Tocqueville, Démocratie en Amérique, vol. iii. pp. 50, 84.

[906] Superficial writers are so much in the habit of calling Voltaire superficial, that it may be well to observe, that his accuracy has been praised, not only by his own countrymen, but by several English authors of admitted learning. For three remarkable instances of this, from men whom no one will accuse of leaning towards his other opinions, see notes to Charles V., in Robertson's Works, pp. 431, 432; Barrington's Observations on the Statutes, p. 293; and Warton's History of English Poetry, vol. i. p. xvi. Even Sir W. Jones, in his preface to the Life of Nader Shah, says, that Voltaire is ‘the best historian’ the French have produced. Works of Sir William Jones, vol. v. p. 542; and compare the preface to his Persian Grammar, in Works, vol. ii. p. 123.

[907] ‘Je voudrais découvrir quelle était alors la société des hommes, comment on vivait dans l'intérieur des familles, quels arts étaient cultivés, plutôt que de répéter tant de malheurs et tant de combats, funestes objets de l'histoire, et lieux communs de la méchanceté humaine.’ Essai sur les Mœurs, chap. lxxxi., in Œuvres, vol. xvi. p. 381.

[908] ‘L'objet était l'histoire de l'esprit humain, et non pas le détail des faits presque toujours défigurés; il ne s'agissait pas de rechercher, par exemple, de quelle famille était le seigneur de Puiset, ou le seigneur de Montlheri, qui firent la guerre à des rois de France; mais de voir par quels degrés on est parvenu de la rusticité barbare de ces temps à la politesse du nôtre.’ Supplement to Essai sur les Mœurs, in Œuvres, vol. xviii. p. 435. Compare Fragments sur l'Histoire, vol. xxvii. p. 214, with two letters in vol. lx. pp. 153, 154, vol. lxv. p. 370.

[909] Mallet, though born in Geneva, was a Frenchman in the habits of his mind: he wrote in French, and is classed among French historians, in the report presented to Napoleon by the Institut. Dacier, Rapport sur les Progrès de l'Histoire, p. 173.

[910] Göthe, in his Autobiography, mentions his obligations to this work, which, I suspect, exercised considerable influence over the early associations of his mind: ‘Ich hatte die Fabeln der Edda schon längst aus der Vorrede zu Mallet's Dänischer Geschichte kennen gelernt, und mich derselben sogleich bemächtigt; sie gehörten unter diejenigen Mährchen, die ich, von einer Gesellschaft aufgefordert, am liebsten erzählte.’ Wahrheit u. Dichtung, in Goethe's Werke, vol. ii. part ii. p. 169. Percy, a very fair judge, thought highly of Mallet's history, part of which, indeed, he translated. See a letter from him, in Nichols's Illustrations of the Eighteenth Century, vol. vii. p. 719.

[911] Mallet's Northern Antiquities, edit. Blackell, 1847, p. 78.

[912] The first two volumes were published in 1765; the other two in 1790. Biog. Univ. vol. xxvi. pp. 9, 12.

[913] Mably, Observ. sur l'Hist. de France, vol. i. p. ii.; and compare vol. iii. p. 289: but this latter passage was written several years later.

[914] ‘Bornés à nous apprendre les victoires ou les défaites du souverain, ils ne nous disent rien ou presque rien des peuples qu'il a rendus heureux ou malheureux. On ne trouve dans leurs écrits que longues descriptions de sièges et de batailles; nulle mention des mœurs et de l'esprit de la nation. Elle y est presque toujours sacrifiée à un seul homme.’ Histoire de France par Velly, Paris, 1770, 4to, vol. i. p. 6; and see, to the same effect, the Continuation by Villaret, vol. v. p. vi.

[915] ‘Si l'histoire que j'écris n'est ni militaire, ni politique, ni économique, du moins dans le sens que je conçois pour ces différentes parties, on me demandera quelle est donc celle que je me propose d'écrire. C'est l'histoire des hommes et des mœurs.’ Duclos, Louis XIV et Louis XV, vol. i. p. xxv.

[916] ‘Je voulois connoître nos loix, nos mœurs, et tout ce qui est l'âme de l'histoire, ou plutôt l'histoire même.’ Hénault, Nouvel Abrégé chronologique de l'Histoire de France, edit. Paris, 1775, vol. i. p. i.

[917] In 1763, he writes to D'Argental: ‘il y a environ douze batailles dont je n'ai point parlé, Dieu merci, parceque j'écris l'histoire de l'esprit humain, et non une gazette.’ Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. lxiii. p. 51. See also his letter to Tabareau (Lettres inédites de Voltaire, vol. ii. p. 585): ‘Personne ne lit les détails des combats et des sièges; rien n'est plus ennuyeux que la droite et la gauche, les bastions et la contrescarpe.’

[918] M. Lamartine characterizes him as ‘ce génie non pas le plus haut, mais le plus vaste de la France.’ Hist. des Girondins, vol. i. p. 180.

[919] Biog. Univ. vol. xlix. p. 493. His Orphelin de la Chine is taken from Chinese sources: see Davis's China, vol. ii. p. 258.

[920] The surprising versatility of Voltaire's mind is shown by the fact, unparalleled in literature, that he was equally great as a dramatic writer and as an historian. Mr. Forster, in his admirable Life of Goldsmith, 1854, says (vol. i. p. 119), ‘Gray's high opinion of Voltaire's tragedies is shared by one of our greatest authorities on such a matter now living, Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, whom I have often heard maintain the marked superiority of Voltaire over all his countrymen in the knowledge of dramatic art, and the power of producing theatrical effects.’ Compare Correspondence of Gray and Mason, edit. Mitford, 1855, p. 44.

[921] Essai sur les Mœurs, chap. lxxxv., in Œuvres, vol. xvi. p. 412, and elsewhere.

[922] During the eighteenth century, and, I may say, until the publication in 1818 of Hallam's Middle Ages, there was in the English language no comprehensive account of the feudal system; unless, perhaps, we except that given by Robertson, who in this, as in many other matters of history, was a pupil of Voltaire. Not only Dalrymple, and writers of his kind, but even Blackstone, took so narrow a view of this great institution, that they were unable to connect it with the general state of society to which it belonged. Some of our historians gravely traced it back to Moses, in whose laws they found the origin of allodial lands. See a charming passage in Barry's History of the Orkney Islands, p. 219. On the spirit of feudality, there are some remarks well worth reading in Comtés Philos. Posit. vol. v. pp. 393–413.

[923] Constant, in his work on Roman polytheism, says, ‘des rites indécens peuvent être pratiqués par un peuple religieux avec une grande pureté de cœur. Mais quand l'incrédulité atteint ces peuples, ces rites sont pour lui la cause et le prétexte de la plus révoltante corruption.’ This passage is quoted by Mr. Milman, who calls it ‘extremely profound and just.’ Milman's History of Christianity, 1840, vol. i. p. 28. And so it is—extremely profound and just. But it happens that precisely the same remark was made by Voltaire, just about the time that Constant was born. Speaking of the worship of Priapus, he says (Essai sur les Mœurs, chap. cxliii. in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xvii. p. 341), ‘nos idées de bienséance nous portent à croire qu'un cérémonie qui nous paraît si infâme n'a été inventée que par la débauche; mais il n'est guère croyable que la dépravation des mœurs ait jamais chez aucun peuple établi des cérémonies religieuses. Il est probable, au contraire, que cette coutume fut d'abord introduite dans les temps de simplicité, et qu'on ne pensa d'abord qu'à honorer la Divinité dans le symbole de la vie qu'elle nous a donnée. Une telle cérémonie a dû inspirer la licence à la jeunesse, et paraître ridicule aux esprits sages, dans les temps plus raffinés, plus corrompus, et plus éclairés.’ Compare the remarks on the indecency of the Spartan customs, in Thirlwall's Hist. of Greece, vol. i. pp. 326, 327.

[924] Essai sur les Mœurs, chaps. xiv. and xxxi., in Œuvres, vol. xv. pp. 391, 514. Neander observes, that in the Greek church there were more heresies than in the Latin church, because the Greeks thought more; but he has failed to perceive how this favoured the authority of the popes. Neander's History of the Church, vol. ii. pp. 198, 199, vol. iii. pp. 191, 492, vol. iv. p. 90, vol. vi. p. 293, vol. viii. p. 257.

[925] In his account of the trade of Archangel, he says, ‘les Anglais obtinrent le privilége d'y commercer sans payer aucun droit; et c'est ainsi que toutes les nations devraient peut-être négocier ensemble.’ Hist. de Russie, part i. chap. i., in Œuvres, vol. xxiii. p. 35. Remarkable words to have been written by a Frenchman, born at the end of the seventeenth century; and yet they have, so far as I am aware, escaped the attention of all the historians of political economy. Indeed, on this, as on most matters, sufficient justice has not been done to Voltaire, whose opinions were more accurate than those of Quesnay and his followers. However, Mr. M'Culloch, in noticing one of the economical errors of Voltaire, honestly admits that his ‘opinions on such subjects are, for the most part, very correct.’ M'Culloch's Principles of Political Economy, p. 530. For proof of his sympathy with Turgot's efforts to establish free trade, compare Lettres inédites de Voltaire, vol. ii. pp. 367, 403, 423, with Longchamp, Mém. sur Voltaire, vol. i. pp. 376, 378.

[926] ‘The idea of the different ratios by which population and food increase, was originally thrown out by Voltaire; and was picked up and expanded into many a goodly volume by our English political economists in the present century.’ Laing's Notes, second series, p. 42.

[927] It is often said that Malthus was indebted to Townsend's writings for his views on population; but this obligation has been too strongly stated, as, indeed, is always the case when charges of plagiarism are brought against great works. Still, Townsend is to be considered as the precursor of Malthus; and if the reader is interested in tracing the paternity of ideas, he will find some interesting economical remarks in Townsend's Journey through Spain, vol. i. pp. 379, 383, vol. ii. pp. 85, 337, 387–393; which must be compared with M'Culloch's Literature of Political Economy, pp. 259, 281–3. Voltaire having preceded these authors, has, of course, fallen into errors which they avoided; but nothing can be better than the way in which he opposes the ignorant belief of his own time, that every thing should be done to increase population. ‘Le point principal n'est pas d'avoir du superflu en hommes, mais de rendre ce que nous en avons le moins malheureux qu'il est possible,’ is the summing-up of his able remarks, in Dict. Philos., article Population, sect. 2, in Œuvres, vol. xli. p. 466. Godwin, in his notice of the history of these opinions, is evidently ignorant of what was done by Voltaire. Sinclair's Corresp. vol. i. p. 396.

[928] With the single exception of Porson, not one of the great English scholars has shown an appreciation of the beauties of his native language; and many of them, such as Parr (in all his works) and Bentley (in his mad edition of Milton), have done every thing in their power to corrupt it. And there can be little doubt, that the principal reason why well-educated women write and converse in a purer style than well-educated men, is because they have not formed their taste according to those ancient classical standards, which, admirable as they are in themselves, should never be introduced into a state of society unfitted for them. To this may be added, that Cobbett, the most racy and idiomatic of all our writers, and Erskine, by far the greatest of our forensic orators, knew little or nothing of any ancient language; and the same observation applies to Shakespeare. On the supposed connexion between the improvement of taste and the study of classical models, there are some remarks worth attending to in Rey's Théorie et Pratique de la Science Sociale, vol. i. pp. 98–101.

[929] ‘We can best judge, from the Jesuitical rage with which he was persecuted, how admirably he had delineated the weaknesses and presumption of the interpreters of the ancients, who shone in the schools and academies, and had acquired great reputation by their various and copiously exhibited learning.’ Schlosser's Eighteenth Century, vol. i. p. 120. At p. 270, M. Schlosser says, ‘And it was only a man of Voltaire's wit and talents, who could throw the light of an entirely new criticism upon the darkness of those grabbing and collecting pedants.’

[930] ‘C'est l'imagination seule qui a écrit les premières histoires. Non seulement chaque peuple inventa son origine, mais il inventa aussi l'origine du monde entier.’ Dict. Philos. article Histoire, sec. 2, in Œuvres, vol. xl. p. 195. See also his article on Chronology, vol. xxxviii. p. 77, for the application of this to the history of Rome, where he says, ‘Tite Live n'a garde de dire en quelle année Romulus commença son prétendu règne.’ And at vol. xxxvi. p. 86, ‘tous les peuples se sont attribués des origines imaginaires; et aucun n'a touché à la véritable.’

[931] ‘Qu'on fasse attention que la république romaine a été cinq cents ans sans historiens; que Tite Live lui-même déplore la perte des autres monuments qui périrent presque tous dans l'incendie de Rome,’ &c. Dict. Philos. in Œuvres, vol. xl. p. 202. At p. 188, ‘ce peuple, si récent en comparaison des nations asiatiques, a été cinq cents années sans historiens. Ainsi, il n'est pas surprenant que Romulus ait été le fils de Mars, qu'une louve ait été sa nourrice, qu'il ait marché avec mille hommes de son village de Rome contre vingt-cinq mille combattants du village des Sabins.’

[932] ‘Par quel excès de démence, par quel opiniâtreté absurde, tant de compilateurs ont-ils voulu prouver dans tant de volumes énormes, qu'une fête publique établie en mémoire d'un événement était une démonstration de la vérité de cet événement?’ Essai sur les Mœurs, in Œuvres, vol. xv. p. 109. See also the same remark applied to monuments, in chap. cxcvii., Œuvres, vol. xviii. pp. 412–414; and again, in vol. xl. pp. 203, 204.

[933] ‘La plupart des histoires out été crues sans examen, et cette créance est un préjugé. Fabius Pictor raconte que, plusieurs siècles avant lui, une vestale de la ville d'Albe, allant puiser de l'eau dans sa cruche, fut violée, qu'elle accoucha de Romulus et de Rémus, qu'ils furent nourris par une louve, etc. Le peuple romain crut cette fable; il n'examina point si dans ce temps-là il y avait des vestales dans le Latium, s'il était vraisemblable que la fille d'un roi sortît de son couvent avec sa cruche, s'il était probable qu'une louve allaitât deux enfants au lieu de les manger; le préjugé s'établit.’ Dict. Philos. article Préjugés, in Œuvres, vol. xli. pp. 488, 489.

[934] ‘Les amateurs du merveilleux disaient: Il faut bien que ces faits soient vrais, puisque tant de monuments en sont la preuve. Et nous disions: Il faut bien qu'ils soient faux, puisque le vulgaire les a crus. Une fable a quelque cours dans une génération; elle s'établit dans la seconde; elle devient respectable dans la troisième; la quatrième lui élève des temples.’ Fragments sur l'Histoire, article i. in Œuvres, vol. xxvii. pp. 158, 159.

[935] In this case, as in many others, ignorance has been fortified by bigotry; for, as Lord Campbell truly says of Voltaire, ‘since the French Revolution, an indiscriminate abuse of this author has been in England the test of orthodoxy and loyalty.’ Campbell's Chief Justices, vol. ii. p. 335. Indeed, so extensively has the public mind been prejudiced against this great man, that, until a very few years ago, when Lord Brougham published a life of him, there was no book in the English language containing even a tolerable account of one of the most influential writers France has produced. This work of Lord Brougham's, though a middling performance, is at least an honest one, and, as it harmonizes with the general spirit of our time, it has probably had considerable weight. In it he says of Voltaire, ‘nor can any one since the days of Luther be named, to whom the spirit of free inquiry, nay, the emancipation of the human mind from spiritual tyranny, owes a more lasting debt of gratitude.’ Brougham's Life of Voltaire, p. 132. It is certain, that the better the history of the eighteenth century is understood, the more the reputation of Voltaire will increase; as was clearly foreseen by a celebrated writer nearly a generation ago. In 1831, Lerminier wrote these remarkable, and, as the result has proved, prophetic words: ‘Il est temps de revenir à des sentimens plus respectueux pour la mémoire de Voltaire…. Voltaire a fait pour la France ce que Leibnitz a fait pour l'Allemagne; pendant trois-quarts de siècle il a représenté son pays, puissant à la manière de Luther et de Napoléon; il est destiné à survivre a bien des gloires, et je plains ceux qui se sont oubliés jusqu'à laisser tomber des paroles dédaigneuses sur le génie de cet homme.’ Lerminier, Philosophie du Droit, vol. i. p. 199. Compare the glowing eulogy in Longchamp et Wagnière, Mémoires sur Voltaire, vol. ii. pp. 388, 389, with the remarks of Saint-Lambert, in Mém. d'Epinay, vol. i. p. 263.

[936] Vie de Montesquieu, p. xiv., prefixed to his works.

[937] Before Montesquieu, the only two great thinkers who had really studied Roman history were Macchiavelli and Vico: but Macchiavelli did not attempt any thing approaching the generalizations of Montesquieu, and he suffered, moreover, from the serious deficiency of being too much occupied with the practical utility of his subject. Vico, whose genius was perhaps even more vast than that of Montesquieu, can hardly be considered his rival; for, though his Scienza Nova contains the most profound views on ancient history, they are rather glimpses of truth, than a systematic investigation of any one period.

[938] Which M. Guizot (Civilisation en France, vol. iv. p. 36), in his remarks on the Esprit des Lois, does not take sufficiently into consideration. A juster appreciation of Montesquieu will be found in Cousin, Hist. de la Philosophie, part ii. vol. i. p. 182; and in Comte, Philosophie Positive, vol. iv. pp. 243–252, 261. Compare Charles Comte, Traité de Législation, vol. i. p. 125, with Meyer, Esprit des Institutions Judiciaires, vol. i. p. lxi., respecting the vast innovations he introduced.

[939] He says of the emperor Maximin, ‘il fut tué avec son fils par ses soldats. Les deux premiers Gordiens périrent en Afrique. Maxime, Balbin, et le troisième Gordien furent massacrés.’ Grandeur et Décadence des Romains, chap. xvi., in Œuvres de Montesquieu, p. 167.

[940] Ibid. chap. xi., in Œuvres de Montesquieu, pp. 149–153. Compare a similar remark, respecting Charles XII., in Esprit des Lois, livre x. chap. xiii. Œuvres, p. 260.

[941] On the difference between cause and occasion, see Grandeur et Décad. chap. i. p. 126.

[942] ‘Il y a des causes générales, soit morales, soit physiques, qui agissent dans chaque monarchie, l'élèvent, la maintiennent, ou la précipitent; tous les accidents sont soumis à ces causes; et si le hasard d'une bataille, c'est-à-dire une cause particulière, a ruiné un état, il y avoit une cause générale qui faisoit que cet état devoit périr par une seule bataille. En un mot, l'allure principale entraîne avec elle tous les accidente particuliers.’ Grand. et Décad. des Romains, chap. xviii. p. 172.

[943] De l'Esprit des Lois, books xiv. to xviii. inclusive; in Œuvres, pp. 300–336.

[944] Ibid. livre xxiii. chap. xiii. p. 395. Compare Burdach, Traité de Physiologie, vol. ii. p. 116.

[945] Ibid. livre xvi. chap. iv., and livre xxiii. chap. xii. pp. 317, 395.

[946] Ibid. livre xiv. chap. ii., livre xvii. chap. ii., and elsewhere.

[947] On the supreme importance of method, see my defence of Bichat in the next chapter.

[948] How completely futile this was, as regards results, is evident from the fact, that a hundred years after he wrote, we, with all our increased knowledge, can affirm nothing positively respecting the direct action of climate, food, and soil, in modifying individual character; though it has, I trust, appeared in the second chapter of this Introduction, that something can be ascertained respecting their indirect action, that is, their action on individual minds through the medium of social and economical organisation.

[949] ‘Il a créé en 1750 la philosophie de l'histoire dans ses deux discours prononcés en Sorbonne.’ Cousin, Hist. de la Philosophie, I. série, vol. i. p. 147. There is a short notice of these striking productions in Condorcet, Vie de Turgot, pp. 11–16.

[950] Nothing can be better than his summary of this vast conception: ‘Tous les ages sont enchaînés par une suite de causes et d'effets qui lient l'état du monde à tous ceux qui l'ont précédé.’ Second Discours en Sorbonne, in Œuvres de Turgot, vol. ii. p. 52. Every thing Turgot wrote on history is a development of this pregnant sentence. That he understood the necessity of an historian being acquainted with physical science, and with the laws of the configuration of the earth, climate, soil, and the like, is evident in his fragment, La Géographie Politique, in Œuvres, vol. ii. pp. 166–208. It is no slight proof of his political sagacity, that in 1750 he distinctly foretold the freedom of the American colonies. Compare Œuvres de Turgot, vol. ii. p. 66, with Mém. sur Turgot, vol. i. p. 139.

[951] A confidence which is apparent in his economical as well as in his historical works. In 1811, Sir James Mackintosh writes, that Turgot ‘had more comprehensive views of the progress of society than any man since Bacon:’ Mem. of Mackintosh, vol. ii. p. 133; and see a similar remark by Dugald Stewart, in his Philos. of the Mind, vol. i. p. 246.

CHAPTER VII.

In the last chapter but one, I have attempted to ascertain what those circumstances were which, almost immediately after the death of Louis XIV., prepared the way for the French Revolution. The result of the inquiry has been, that the French intellect was stimulated into activity by the examples and teachings of England; and that this stimulus caused, or at all events encouraged, a great breach between the government of France and its literature;—a breach the more remarkable, because during the reign of Louis XIV. the literature, notwithstanding its temporary brilliancy, had been invariably submissive, and had intimately allied itself with the government, which was always ready to reward its services. We have also seen that, this rupture having arisen between the governing classes and the intellectual classes, it followed, that the former, true to their ancient instincts, began to chastise that spirit of inquiry to which they were unaccustomed: hence those persecutions which, with hardly a single exception, were directed against every man of letters, and hence too those systematic attempts to reduce literature to a subserviency similar to that in which it had been held under Louis XIV. It has, moreover, appeared, that the great Frenchmen of the eighteenth century, though smarting from the injuries constantly inflicted on them by the government and the church, abstained from attacking the government, but directed all their hostility against the church. This apparent anomaly, of the religious institutions being assailed, and the political institutions being spared, has been shown to be a[324] perfectly natural circumstance, arising out of the antecedents of the French nation; and an attempt has been made to explain what those antecedents were, and how they acted. In the present chapter, I purpose to complete this inquiry by examining the next great stage in the history of the French mind. It was needful that, before both church and state could fall, men should change the ground of their hostility, and should attack political abuses with the zeal they had hitherto reserved for religious ones. The question, therefore, now arises, as to the circumstances under which this change took place, and the period when it actually occurred.

The circumstances which accompanied this great change are, as we shall presently see, very complicated; and, as they have never yet been studied in connexion with each other, I shall, in the remaining part of this volume, examine them at considerable length. On this point it will, I think, be practicable to arrive at some precise and well-defined results respecting the history of the French Revolution. But the other point, namely, the time at which the change took place, is not only much more obscure, but by its nature will never admit of complete precision. This, however, is a deficiency it possesses in common with every other change in the history of man. The circumstances of each change may always be known, provided the evidence is ample and authentic. But no amount of evidence can enable us to fix the date of the change itself. That to which attention is usually drawn by the compilers of history is, not the change, but is merely the external result which follows the change. The real history of the human race is the history of tendencies which are perceived by the mind, and not of events which are discerned by the senses. It is on this account that no historical epoch will ever admit of that chronological precision familiar to antiquaries and genealogists. The death of a prince, the loss of a battle, and the change of a dynasty, are matters which fall entirely within the province of the senses; and the moment in which they happen can be recorded by the most ordinary observers. But those great intellectual revolutions upon which all other[325] revolutions are based, cannot be measured by so simple a standard. To trace the movements of the human mind, it is necessary to contemplate it under several aspects, and then coördinate the results of what we have separately studied. By this means we arrive at certain general conclusions, which, like the ordinary estimate of averages, increase in value in proportion as we increase the number of instances from which they are collected. That this is a safe and available method, appears not only from the history of physical knowledge,[952] but also from the fact, that it is the basis of the empirical maxims by which all men of sound understanding are guided in those ordinary transactions of life to which the generalizations of science have not yet been applied. Indeed such maxims, which are highly valuable, and which in their aggregate form what is called common sense, are never collected with any thing like the precautions that the philosophic historian ought to feel himself bound to employ.

The real objection, therefore, to generalizations respecting the development of the intellect of a nation is, not that they want certainty, but that they lack precision. This is just the point at which the historian diverges from the annalist. That the English intellect, for example, is gradually becoming more democratic, or, as it is termed, more liberal, is as certain as that the crown of this country is worn by Queen Victoria. But though both these statements are equally certain, the latter statement is more precise. We can tell the very day on which the Queen ascended the throne; the moment of her death will be known with equal precision; and there can be no doubt that many other particulars respecting her will be minutely and accurately preserved. In tracing, however, the growth of English liberalism, all such exactness deserts us. We can point out the year in which the Reform Bill was passed; but who can point out the year in which the Reform Bill first became necessary? In the same way, that the[326] Jews will be admitted into parliament, is as certain as that the Catholics have been admitted. Both these measures are the inevitable result of that increasing indifference to theological disputes, which must now be obvious to every man who does not wilfully shut his eyes. But while we know the hour in which the bill for Catholic emancipation received the assent of the crown, there is no one now living who can tell even the year in which similar justice will be granted to the Jews. Both events are equally certain, but both events are not equally precise.

This distinction between certainty and precision I have stated at some length, because it seems to be little understood,[953] and because it is intimately connected with the subject now before us. The fact of the French[327] intellect having, during the eighteenth century, passed through two totally distinct epochs, can be proved by every description of evidence; but it is impossible to ascertain the precise time when one epoch succeeded the other. All that we can do is, to compare the different indications which the history of that age presents, and arrive at an approximation which may guide future inquirers. It would perhaps be more prudent to avoid making any particular statement; but as the employment of dates seems necessary to bring such matters clearly before the mind, I will, by way of provisional hypothesis, fix on the year 1750, as the period when those agitations of society which caused the French Revolution entered into their second and political stage.

That this was about the period when the great movement, hitherto directed against the church, began to be turned against the state, is an inference which many circumstances seem to warrant. We know on the best authority, that towards the year 1750, the French began their celebrated inquiries respecting political economy,[954] and that, in their attempt to raise it to a science, they were led to perceive the immense injury which the interference of government had produced on the material interests of the country.[955] Hence a conviction arose that,[328] even in regard to the accumulation of wealth, the authority possessed by the rulers of France was mischievous, since it enabled them, under the notion of protecting commerce, to trouble the freedom of individual action, and to prevent trade from running into those profitable channels which traders are best able to select for themselves. Scarcely had a knowledge of this important truth been diffused, when its consequences were quickly seen in the national literature, and in the habits of national thought. The sudden increase in France of works relating to finance and to other questions of government, is, indeed, one of the most remarkable features of that age. With such rapidity did the movement spread, that we are told that, soon after 1755, the economists effected a schism between the nation and the government;[956] and Voltaire, writing in 1759, complains that the charms of lighter literature were entirely neglected amidst the general zeal for these new studies.[957] It is not necessary to follow the[329] subsequent history of this great change; nor need I trace the influence exercised shortly before the Revolution by the later economists, and particularly by Turgot, the most eminent of their leaders.[958] It is enough to say, that within about twenty years after the movement was first clearly seen, the taste for economical and financial inquiries became so common, that it penetrated those parts of society where habits of thought are not very frequent; since we find that, even in fashionable life, the conversation no longer turned upon new poems and new plays, but upon political questions, and subjects immediately connected with them.[959] Indeed, when Necker, in 1781, published his celebrated Report on the Finances of France, the eagerness to obtain it was beyond all bounds; six thousand copies were sold the first day; and the demand still increasing, two presses were kept constantly at work in order to satisfy the universal curiosity.[960] And what makes the democratic[330] tendency of all this the more obvious is, that Necker was at that time one of the servants of the crown; so that his work, looking at its general spirit, has been truly called an appeal to the people against the king by one of the ministers of the king himself.[961]

This evidence of the remarkable change which, in or about 1750, the French mind underwent, and which formed what I term the second epoch of the eighteenth century, might be easily strengthened by a wider survey of the literature of that time. Immediately after the middle of the century, Rousseau published those eloquent works, which exercised immense influence, and in which the rise of the new epoch is very observable; for this most powerful writer abstained from those attacks on Christianity,[962] which unhappily had been too frequent, and exerted himself almost exclusively against the civil and political abuses of the existing society.[963] To trace the effects which this wonderful, but in some instances misguided, man produced on the mind of his own and of the succeeding generation, would occupy too large a share of this Introduction; though the inquiry is full of interest, and is one which it were to be wished some[331] competent historian would undertake.[964] Inasmuch, however, as the philosophy of Rousseau was itself only a single phase of a far larger movement, I shall at present pass over the individual, in order to consider the general spirit of an age in which he played a vast, but still a subsidiary part.

The formation of a new epoch in France, about the year 1750, may be further illustrated by three circumstances of considerable interest, all pointing in the same direction. The first circumstance is, that not a single great French writer attacked the political institutions of the country before the middle of the century; while, after that period, the attacks of the ablest men were incessant. The second circumstance is, that the only eminent Frenchmen who continued to assail the clergy, and yet refused to interfere in politics, were those who,[332] like Voltaire, had already reached an advanced age, and had, therefore, drawn their ideas from the preceding generation, in which the church had been the sole object of hostility. The third circumstance, which is even more striking than the other two, is, that almost at the same moment there was seen a change in the policy of the government; since, singularly enough, the ministers of the crown displayed for the first time an open enmity against the church, just as the intellect of the country was preparing for its decisive onslaught on the government itself. Of these three propositions, the first two will probably be admitted by every student of French literature: at all events, if they are false, they are so exact and peremptory, that it will be easy to refute them by giving examples to the contrary. But the third proposition, being more general, is less susceptible of a negative, and will therefore require the support of that special evidence which I will now adduce.

The great French writers having by the middle of the eighteenth century succeeded in sapping the foundations of the church, it was natural that the government should step in and plunder an establishment which the course of events had weakened. This, which took place in France under Louis XV., was similar to what occurred in England under Henry VIII.; for in both cases a remarkable intellectual movement, directed against the clergy, preceded and facilitated the attacks made on them by the crown. It was in 1749 that the French government took the first decisive step against the church. And what proves the hitherto backward state of the country in such matters is, that this consisted of an edict against mortmain, a simple contrivance for weakening the ecclesiastical power, which we in England had adopted long before. Machault, who had recently been raised to the office of controller-general, has the glory of being the originator of this new policy. In August 1749,[965] he issued that celebrated edict which[333] forbade the formation of any religious establishment without the consent of the crown, duly expressed in letters-patent, and registered in parliament; effective precautions, which, says the great historian of France, show that Machault ‘considered not only the increase, but even the existence of these ecclesiastical properties, as a mischief to the kingdom.’[966]

This was an extraordinary step on the part of the French government; but what followed showed that it was only the beginning of a much larger design.[967] Machault, so far from being discountenanced, was, the year after he had issued this edict, intrusted with the seals in addition to the controllership;[968] for, as Lacretelle observes, the court ‘thought the time had now come to tax the property of the clergy.’[969] During the forty years which elapsed between this period and the beginning of the Revolution, the same anti-ecclesiastical policy prevailed. Among the successors of Machault, the only three of much ability were Choiseul, Necker, and Turgot, all of whom were strenuous opponents of that spiritual body, which no minister would have assailed in the preceding generation. Not only these eminent statesmen, but even such inferior men as Calonne, Malesherbes, and Terray, looked on it as a stroke of policy to attack privileges which superstition[334] had consecrated, and which the clergy had hitherto reserved, partly to extend their own influence, and partly to minister to those luxurious and profligate habits, which in the eighteenth century were a scandal to the ecclesiastical order.

While these measures were being adopted against the clergy, another important step was taken in precisely the same direction. Now it was that the government began to favour that great doctrine of religious liberty, the mere defence of which it had hitherto punished as a dangerous speculation. The connexion between the attacks on the clergy and the subsequent progress of toleration, may be illustrated, not only by the rapidity with which one event succeeded the other, but also by the fact, that both of them emanated from the same quarter. Machault, who was the author of the edict of mortmain, was also the first minister who showed a wish to protect the Protestants against the persecutions of the Catholic priesthood.[970] In this he only partly succeeded; but the impetus thus given soon became irresistible. In 1760, that is only nine years later, there was seen a marked change in the administration of the laws; and the edicts against heresy, though not yet repealed, were enforced with unprecedented mildness.[971] The movement quickly spread from the capital to the remoter parts of the kingdom; and we are assured that, after the year 1762, the reaction was felt even in those provinces, which, from their backward condition, had always been most remarkable for religious bigotry.[972] At the same time, as we shall presently[335] see, a great schism arose in the church itself, which lessened the power of the clergy, by dividing them into two hostile parties. Of these factions, one made common cause with the state, still further aiding the overthrow of the ecclesiastical hierarchy. Indeed, the dissensions became so violent, that the last great blow dealt to spiritual ascendency by the government of Louis XVI. proceeded not from the hands of a layman, but from one of the leaders of the church; a man who, from his standing, would, under ordinary circumstances, have protected the interests which he now eagerly attacked. In 1787, only two years before the Revolution, Brienne, archbishop of Toulouse,[973] who was then minister, laid before the parliament of Paris a royal edict, by which the discouragement hitherto thrown upon heresy was suddenly removed. By this law, the Protestants were invested with all those civil rights which the Catholic clergy had long held out as the reward of adherence to their own opinions.[974] It was, therefore, natural that the more orthodox party should condemn, as an impious innovation,[975] a measure which, by placing the two sects, in some degree, on the same footing, seemed to sanction the progress of error; and which certainly deprived the French church of one of the chief attractions by which men had hitherto been induced to join her communion. Now, however, all these considerations were set at nought. Such was the prevailing temper, that the parliament, though then in a mood very refractory to the royal authority, did not hesitate[336] to register the edict of the king; and this great measure became law; the dominant party being astonished, we are told, how any doubt could be entertained as to the wisdom of the principles on which it was based.[976]

These were omens of the coming storm; signs of the time, which those who run may read. Nor are there wanting other marks, by which the true complexion of that age may be clearly seen. In addition to what has been just related, the government, soon after the middle of the eighteenth century, inflicted a direct and fatal injury upon the spiritual authority. This consisted in the expulsion of the Jesuits; which is an event, important not only for its ultimate effects, but also as an evidence of the feelings of men, and of what could be peaceably accomplished by the government of him who was called ‘the most Christian king.’[977]

The Jesuits, for at least fifty years after their institution, rendered immense services to civilization, partly by tempering with a secular element the more superstitious views of their great predecessors, the Dominicans and Franciscans, and partly by organizing a system of education far superior to any yet seen in Europe. In no university could there be found a scheme of instruction so comprehensive as theirs; and certainly no where was displayed such skill in the management of youth, or such insight into the general operations of the human mind. It must, in justice, be added, that this[337] illustrious society, notwithstanding its eager, and often unprincipled, ambition, was, during a considerable period, the steady friend of science, as well as of literature; and that it allowed to its members a freedom and a boldness of speculation which had never been permitted by any other monastic order.

As, however, civilization advanced, the Jesuits, like every spiritual hierarchy the world has yet seen, began to lose ground; and this not so much from their own decay, as from a change in the spirit of those who surrounded them. An institution admirably adapted to an early form of society, was ill suited to the same society in its maturer state. In the sixteenth century, the Jesuits were before their age; in the eighteenth century, they were behind it. In the sixteenth century, they were the great missionaries of knowledge; because they believed that, by its aid, they could subjugate the consciences of men. But, in the eighteenth century, their materials were more refractory; they had to deal with a perverse and stiff-necked generation; they saw in every country the ecclesiastical authority rapidly declining; and they clearly perceived that their only chance of retaining their old dominion was, by checking that knowledge, the progress of which they had formerly done much to accelerate.[978]

Under these circumstances, the statesmen of France, almost immediately after the middle of the eighteenth century, determined to ruin an order which had long ruled the world, and which was still the greatest bulwark of the church. In this design they were aided by a curious movement which had taken place in the[338] church itself, and which, being connected with views of much wider import, deserves the attention even of those for whom theological controversies have no interest.

Among the many points on which metaphysicians have wasted their strength, that of free-will has provoked the hottest disputes. And what has increased the acerbity of their language, is, that this, which is eminently a metaphysical question, has been taken up by theologians, who have treated it with that warmth for which they are remarkable.[979] From the time of Pelagius, if not earlier,[980] Christianity has been divided into two great sects, which, though in some respects uniting by insensible shades, have always preserved the broad features of their original difference. By one sect, the freedom of the will is virtually, and often expressly, denied; for it is asserted, not only that we cannot of our own will effect anything meritorious, but that whatever good we may do will be useless, since the Deity has predestined some men to perdition, others to salvation. By the other sect, the freedom of the will is as strongly upheld; good works are declared essential to salvation; and the opposite party is accused of exaggerating that state of grace of which faith is a necessary accompaniment.[981]

These opposite principles, when pushed to their logical consequences, must lead the first sect into antinomianism,[339][982] and the second sect into the doctrine of supererogatory works.[983] But since on such subjects, men feel far more than they reason, it usually happens that they prefer following some common and accredited standard, or appealing to some ancient name:[984] and they, therefore, generally class themselves on the one side under Augustin, Calvin, and Jansenius; on the other side under Pelagius, Arminius, and Molina.

Now, it is an interesting fact, that the doctrines which in England are called Calvinistic, have been always connected with a democratic spirit; while those of Arminianism have found most favour among the aristocratic or protective party. In the republics of Switzerland, of North America, and of Holland, Calvinism was always the popular creed.[985] On the other hand, in those evil days, immediately after the death of Elizabeth, when our liberties were in imminent peril; when the Church of England, aided by the crown, attempted to subjugate the consciences of men; and when the monstrous claim of the divine right of episcopacy[340] was first put forward;[986]—then it was that Arminianism became the cherished doctrine of the ablest and most ambitious of the ecclesiastical party.[987] And in that sharp retribution which followed, the Puritans and Independents, by whom the punishment was inflicted, were, with scarcely an exception, Calvinists:[988] nor should we forget, that the first open movement against Charles proceeded from Scotland, where the principles of Calvin had long been in the ascendant.

This different tendency of these two creeds is so clearly marked, that an inquiry into its causes becomes a necessary part of general history, and as we shall presently see, is intimately connected with the history of the French Revolution.

The first circumstance by which we must be struck is, that Calvinism is a doctrine for the poor, and Arminianism for the rich. A creed which insists upon the necessity of faith, must be less costly than one which insists upon the necessity of works. In the former case, the sinner seeks salvation by the strength of his belief; in the latter case, he seeks it by the fullness of his contributions.[341] And as those contributions, wherever the clergy have much power, always flow in the same direction, we find that in countries which favour the Arminian doctrine of works, the priests are better paid, and the churches more richly ornamented, than they are where Calvinism has the upper hand. Indeed it is evident to the most vulgar calculation, that a religion which concentrates our charity upon ourselves, is less expensive than one which directs our charity to others.

This is the first great practical divergence of the two creeds: a divergence which may be verified by any one who is acquainted with the histories of different Christian nations, or who has even travelled in countries where the different tenets are professed. It is also observable, that the Church of Rome, whose worship is addressed mainly to the senses, and who delights in splendid cathedrals and pompous ceremonies, has always displayed against the Calvinists an animosity far greater than she has done against any other Protestant sect.[989]

Out of these circumstances, inevitably arose the aristocratic tendency of Arminianism, and the democratic tendency of Calvinism. The people love pomp and pageantry as much as the nobles do, but they do not love to pay for them. Their untutored minds are easily captivated by the array of a numerous priesthood, and by the gorgeousness of a well-appointed temple. Still, they know full well that these things absorb a large part of that wealth which would otherwise flow into their own cottages. On the other hand, the aristocracy, by their standing, their habits, and the traditions of their education, naturally contract a taste for expense, which makes them unite splendour with religion, and connect pomp with piety. Besides this, they have an intuitive[342] and well-founded belief that their own interests are associated with the interests of the priesthood, and that whatever weakens the one will hasten the downfall of the other. Hence it is, that every Christian democracy has simplified its external worship; every Christian aristocracy has embellished it. By a parity of reasoning, the more any society tends to equality, the more likely it is that its theological opinions will be Calvinistic; while the more a society tends towards inequality, the greater the probability of those opinions being Arminian.

It would be easy to push this contrast still further, and to show that Calvinism is more favourable to the sciences, Arminianism to the arts;[990] and that, on the same principle, the first is better suited to thinkers, the other to scholars.[991] But without pretending to trace the whole of this divergence, it is very important to observe, that the professors of the former religion are more likely to acquire habits of independent thinking than those of the latter. And this on two distinct[343] grounds. In the first place, even the most ordinary of the Calvinistic party are, by the very terms of their creed, led, in religious matters, to fix their attention on their own minds rather than on the minds of others. They, therefore, as a body, are intellectually more narrow than their opponents, but less servile; their views, though generalized from a smaller field, are more independent; they are less attached to antiquity, and more heedless of those traditions to which the Arminian scholars attach great importance. In the second place, those who associate metaphysics with their religion are led by Calvinism into the doctrine of necessity;[992] a theory which, though often misunderstood, is pregnant with great truths, and is better calculated than any other system to develop the intellect, because it involves that clear conception of law, the attainment of which is the highest point the human understanding can reach.

These considerations will enable the reader to see the immense importance of that revival of Jansenism, which took place in the French church during the eighteenth century. For, Jansenism being essentially Calvinistic,[993] those tendencies appeared in France by which Calvinism is marked. There appeared the inquisitive, democratic, and insubordinate spirit, which has always accompanied that creed. A further confirmation[344] of the truth of the principles just laid down is, that Jansenism originated with a native of the Dutch Republic;[994] that it was introduced into France during the glimpse of freedom which preceded the power of Louis XIV.;[995] that it was forcibly repressed in his arbitrary reign;[996] and that before the middle of the eighteenth century, it again arose, as the natural product of a state of society by which the French Revolution was brought about.

The connexion between the revival of Jansenism and the destruction of the Jesuits, is obvious. After the death of Louis XIV., the Jansenists rapidly gained ground, even in the Sorbonne;[997] and by the middle of the eighteenth century, they had organized a powerful party in the French parliament.[998] About the same period, their influence began to show itself in the executive government, and among the officers of the crown. Machault, who held the important post of controller-general,[345] was known to favour their opinions;[999] and a few years after his retirement, Choiseul was called to the head of affairs; a man of considerable ability, by whom they were openly protected.[1000] Their views were likewise supported by Laverdy, controller-general in 1764, and by Terray, controller of finances in 1769.[1001] The procureur-general, Gilbert des Voisins, was a Jansenist;[1002] so also was one of his successors, Chauvelin;[1003] and so was the advocate-general Pelletier de Saint-Fargeau;[1004] and so too was Camus, the well-known advocate of the clergy.[1005] Turgot, the greatest statesman of the age, is said to have embraced the same opinions;[1006] while Necker, who on two different occasions possessed almost supreme power, was notoriously a rigid Calvinist. To this may be added, that not only Necker, but also Rousseau, to whom a large share in causing the Revolution is justly ascribed, were born in Geneva, and drew their earliest ideas from that great nursery of the Calvinistic theology.

In such a state of things as this, it was impossible that a body like the Jesuits should hold their ground. They were the last defenders of authority and tradition, and it was natural that they should fall in an age when statesmen were sceptics, and theologians were Calvinists. Even the people had already marked them for destruction; and when Damiens, in 1757, attempted to assassinate the king, it was generally believed that they were the instigators of the act.[1007] This we now know to be[346] false; but the existence of such a rumour is evidence of the state of the popular mind. At all events, the doom of the Jesuits was fixed. In April 1761, parliament ordered their constitutions to be laid before them.[1008] In August, they were forbidden to receive novices, their colleges were closed, and a number of their most celebrated works were publicly burned by the common hangman.[1009] Finally, in 1762, another edict appeared, by which the Jesuits were condemned without even being heard in their own defence;[1010] their property was directed to be sold, and their order secularized; they were declared ‘unfit to be admitted into a well-governed country,’ and their institute and society were formally abolished.[1011]

Such was the way in which this great society, long the terror of the world, fell before the pressure of public opinion. What makes its fall the more remarkable, is, that the pretext which was alleged to justify the examination of its constitutions, was one so slight, that no former government would have listened to it for a single moment. This immense spiritual corporation was actually tried by a temporal court for ill faith in a mercantile transaction, and for refusing to pay a sum of money said to be due![1012] The most important body in the Catholic church, the spiritual leaders of France, the educators of her youth, and the confessors of her kings, were brought to the bar, and sued in their collective capacity, for the fraudulent repudiation of a common debt![1013] So marked was the predisposition of[347] affairs, that it was not found necessary to employ for the destruction of the Jesuits any of those arts by which the popular mind is commonly inflamed. The charge upon which they were sentenced, was not that they had plotted against the state; nor that they had corrupted the public morals; nor that they wished to subvert religion. These were the accusations which were brought in the seventeenth century, and which suited the genius of that age. But in the eighteenth century, all that was required was some trifling accident, that might serve as a pretence to justify what the nation had already determined. To ascribe, therefore, this great event to the bankruptcy of a trader, or the intrigues of a mistress,[1014] is to confuse the cause of an act with the pretext under which the act is committed. In the eyes of the men of the eighteenth century, the real crime of the Jesuits was, that they belonged to the past rather than to the present, and that by defending the abuses of ancient establishments, they obstructed the progress of mankind. They stood in the way of the age, and the age swept them from its path. This was the real cause of their abolition: a cause not likely to be perceived by those writers, who, under the guise of historians, are only collectors of the prattle and gossip of courts; and who believe that the destinies of great nations can be settled in the ante-chambers of ministers, and in the councils of kings.

After the fall of the Jesuits, there seemed to be nothing remaining which could save the French church from immediate destruction.[1015] The old theological spirit had been for some time declining, and the clergy were suffering from their own decay even more than from the attacks made upon them. The advance of knowledge was producing in France the same results as those[348] which I have pointed out in England; and the increasing attractions of science drew off many illustrious men, who in a preceding age would have been active members of the spiritual profession. That splendid eloquence, for which the French clergy had been remarkable, was now dying away, and there were no longer heard the voices of those great orators, at whose bidding the temples had formerly been filled.[1016] Massillon was the last of that celebrated race who had so enthralled the mind, and the magic of whose fascination it is even now hard to withstand. He died in 1742; and after him the French clergy possessed no eminent men of any kind, neither thinkers, nor orators, nor writers.[1017] Nor did there seem the least possibility of their recovering their lost position. While society was advancing they were receding. All the sources of their power were dried up. They had no active leaders; they had lost the confidence of government; they had forfeited the respect of the people; they had become a mark for the gibes of the age.[1018]

It does, at first sight, seem strange that, under these[349] circumstances, the French clergy should have been able, for nearly thirty years after the abolition of the Jesuits, to maintain their standing, so as to interfere with impunity in public affairs.[1019] The truth, however, is, that this temporary reprieve of the ecclesiastical order was owing to that movement which I have already noticed, and by virtue of which the French intellect, during the latter half of the eighteenth century, changed the ground of its attack, and, directing its energies against political abuses, neglected in some degree those spiritual abuses to which its attention had been hitherto confined. The result was, that in France the government enforced a policy which the great thinkers had indeed originated, but respecting which they were becoming less eager. The most eminent Frenchmen were beginning their attacks upon the state, and in the heat of their new warfare they slackened their opposition to the church. But in the mean time, the seeds they had sown germinated in the state itself. So rapid was the march of affairs, that those anti-ecclesiastical opinions which, a few years earlier, were punished as the paradoxes of designing men, were now taken up and put into execution by senators and ministers. The rulers of France carried into effect principles which had hitherto been simply a matter of theory; and thus it happened, as is always the case, that practical statesmen only apply and work out ideas which have long before been suggested by more advanced thinkers.

Hence it followed, that at no period during the eighteenth century did the speculative classes and practical classes thoroughly combine against the church: since, in the first half of the century, the clergy were principally assailed by the literature, and not by the government; in the latter half of the century, by the government, and not by the literature. Some of the circumstances of this singular transition have been[350] already stated, and I hope clearly brought before the mind of the reader. I now purpose to complete the generalization, by proving that a corresponding change was taking place in all other branches of inquiry; and that, while in the first period attention was chiefly directed towards mental phenomena, it was in the second period more directed towards physical phenomena. From this, the political movement received a vast accession of strength. For the French intellect, shifting the scene of its labours, diverted the thoughts of men from the internal to the external, and concentrating attention upon their material rather than upon their spiritual wants, turned against the encroachments of the state an hostility formerly reserved for the encroachments of the church. Whenever a tendency arises to prefer what comes from without to what comes from within, and thus to aggrandize matter at the expense of mind, there will also be a tendency to believe that an institution which hampers our opinions is less hurtful than one which controls our acts. Precisely in the same way, men who reject the fundamental truths of religion, will care little for the extent to which those truths are perverted. Men who deny the existence of the Deity and the immortality of the soul, will take no heed of the way in which a gross and formal worship obscures those sublime doctrines. All the idolatry, all the ceremonials, all the pomp, all the dogmas, and all the traditions by which religion is retarded, will give them no disquietude, because they consider the opinions that are checked to be equally false with those that are favoured. Why should they, to whom transcendental truths are unknown, labour to remove the superstitions which darken the truths? Such a generation, so far from attacking ecclesiastical usurpations, would rather look on the clergy as convenient tools to ensnare the ignorant and control the vulgar. Therefore it is that we rarely hear of a sincere atheist being a zealous polemic. But if that should occur, which a century ago occurred in France; if it should happen that men of great energy, and actuated by the feelings I have described, were to find themselves in the presence of a[351] political despotism,—they would direct against it the whole of their powers; and they would act with the more determined vigour, because, believing that their all was at stake, temporal happiness would be to them not only the first, but also the sole consideration.

It is from this point of view that the progress of those atheistical opinions, which now rose in France, becomes a matter of great though painful interest. And the date at which they appeared, fully corroborates what I have just said respecting the change that took place in the middle of the eighteenth century. The first great work in which they were openly promulgated, was the celebrated Encyclopædia, published in 1751.[1020] Before that time such degrading opinions, though occasionally broached, were not held by any men of ability; nor could they in the preceding state of society have made much impression upon the age. But during the latter half of the eighteenth century, they affected every department of French literature. Between 1758 and 1770, atheistical tenets rapidly gained ground;[1021] and in 1770 was published the famous work, called the System of Nature; the success, and, unhappily, the ability of which, makes its appearance an important epoch in the history of France. Its popularity was immense;[1022] and[352] the views it contains are so clearly and methodically arranged, as to have earned for it the name of the code of atheism.[1023] Five years later, the Archbishop of Toulouse, in a formal address to the king on behalf of the clergy, declared that atheism had now become the prevailing opinion.[1024] This, like all similar assertions, must have been an exaggeration; but that there was a large amount of truth in it, is known to whoever has studied the mental habits of the generation immediately preceding the Revolution. Among the inferior class of writers, Damilaville, Deleyre, Maréchal, Naigeon, Toussaint, were active supporters of that cold and gloomy dogma, which, in order to extinguish the hope of a future life, blots out from the mind of man the glorious instincts of his own immortality.[1025] And, strange to say, several even of the higher intellects were unable to escape the contagion. Atheism was openly advocated by Condorcet, by D'Alembert, by Diderot, by Helvétius, by Lalande, by Laplace, by Mirabeau, and by Saint Lambert.[1026] Indeed, so thoroughly did all this harmonize[353] with the general temper, that in society men boasted of what, in other countries, and in other days, has been a rare and singular error, an eccentric taint, which those affected by it were willing to conceal. In 1764 Hume met, at the house of Baron d'Holbach, a party of the most celebrated Frenchmen then residing in Paris. The great Scotchman, who was no doubt aware of the prevailing opinion, took occasion to raise an argument as to the existence of an atheist, properly so called; for his own part, he said, he had never chanced to meet with one. ‘You have been somewhat unfortunate,’ replied Holbach; ‘but at the present moment you are sitting at table with seventeen of them.’[1027]

This, sad as it is, only forms a single aspect of that immense movement, by which, during the latter half of the eighteenth century, the French intellect was withdrawn from the study of the internal, and concentrated upon that of the external world. Of this tendency, we find an interesting instance in the celebrated work of Helvétius, unquestionably the ablest and most influential treatise on morals which France produced at this period. It was published in 1758;[1028] and, although it bears the title of an essay on ‘the Mind,’ it does not contain a single passage from which we could infer that the mind, in the sense in which the word is commonly used, has any existence. In this work, which, during fifty years, was the code of French morals, principles are laid down[354] which bear exactly the same relation to ethics that atheism bears to theology. Helvétius, at the beginning of his inquiry, assumes, as an incontestable fact, that the difference between man and other animals is the result of a difference in their external form; and that if, for example, our wrists, instead of ending with hands and flexible fingers, had merely ended like a horse's foot, we should have always remained wanderers on the face of the earth, ignorant of every art, entirely defenceless, and having no other concern but to avoid the attacks of wild beasts, and find the needful supply of our daily food.[1029] That the structure of our bodies is the sole cause of our boasted superiority, becomes evident, when we consider that our thoughts are simply the product of two faculties, which we have in common with all other animals; namely, the faculty of receiving impressions from external objects, and the faculty of remembering those impressions after they are received.[1030] From this, says Helvétius, it follows, that the internal powers of man being the same as those of all other animals, our sensibility and our memory would be useless, if it were not for those external peculiarities by which we are eminently distinguished, and to which we owe every thing that is most valuable.[1031] These positions being laid down, it is easy to deduce all the essential principles of moral actions. For, memory being merely one of the organs of physical sensibility,[1032] and judgment being only a sensation,[1033] all notions of duty and of[355] virtue must be tested by their relation to the senses; in other words, by the gross amount of physical enjoyment to which they give rise. This is the true basis of moral philosophy. To take any other view, is to allow ourselves to be deceived by conventional expressions, which have no foundation except in the prejudices of ignorant men. Our vices and our virtues are solely the result of our passions; and our passions are caused by our physical sensibility to pain and to pleasure.[1034] It was in this way that the sense of justice first arose. To physical sensibility men owe pleasure and pain; hence the feeling of their own interests, and hence the desire of living together in societies. Being assembled in society, there grew up the notion of a general interest, since, without it, society could not hold together; and, as actions are only just or unjust in proportion as they minister to this general interest, a measure was established, by which justice is discriminated from injustice.[1035] With the same inflexible spirit, and with great fullness of illustration, Helvétius examines the origin of those other feelings which regulate human actions. Thus, he says that both ambition and friendship are entirely the work of physical sensibility. Men yearn after fame, on account either of the pleasure which they expect the mere possession of it will give, or else as the means of subsequently procuring other pleasures.[1036] As to friendship, the only use of it is to increase our pleasures or mitigate our pains; and it is with this object that a[356] man longs to hold communion with his friend.[1037] Beyond this, life has nothing to offer. To love what is good for the sake of the goodness, is as impossible as to love what is bad for the sake of the evil.[1038] The mother who weeps for the loss of her child, is solely actuated by selfishness; she mourns because a pleasure is taken from her, and because she sees a void difficult to fill up.[1039] So it is, that the loftiest virtues, as well as the meanest vices, are equally caused by the pleasure we find in the exercise of them.[1040] This is the great mover and originator of all. Every thing that we have, and every thing that we are, we owe to the external world; nor is Man himself aught else except what he is made by the objects which surround him.[1041]

The views put forward in this celebrated work I have stated at some length; not so much on account of the ability with which they are advocated, as on account of the clue they furnish to the movements of a most remarkable age. Indeed, so completely did they harmonize with the prevailing tendencies, that they not only quickly obtained for their author a vast European reputation,[1042] but, during many years, they continued to increase in influence, and, in France in particular, they exercised great sway.[1043] As that was the country in[357] which they arose, so also was it the country to which they were best adapted. Madame Dudeffand, who passed her long life in the midst of French society, and was one of the keenest observers of her time, has expressed this with great happiness. The work of Helvétius, she says, is popular, since he is the man who has told to all their own secret.[1044]

True it was, that, to the contemporaries of Helvétius, his views, notwithstanding their immense popularity, bore the appearance of a secret; because the connexion between them and the general march of events was, as yet, but dimly perceived. To us, however, who, after this interval of time, can examine the question with the resources of a larger experience, it is obvious how such a system met the wants of an age of which it was the exponent and the mouthpiece. That Helvétius must have carried with him the sympathies of his countrymen, is clear, not only from the evidence we have of his success, but also from a more comprehensive view of the general complexion of those times. Even while he was still pursuing his labours, and only four years before he published them, a work appeared in France, which, though displaying greater ability, and possessing a higher influence than that of Helvétius, did, nevertheless, point in exactly the same direction. I allude to the great metaphysical treatise by Condillac, in many respects one of the most remarkable productions of the eighteenth century; and the authority of which, during two generations, was so irresistible, that, without some acquaintance with it, we cannot possibly understand the nature of those complicated movements by which the French Revolution was brought about.

In 1754,[1045] Condillac put forth his celebrated work[358] on the mind; the very title of which was a proof of the bias with which it was written. Although this profound thinker aimed at nothing less than an exhaustive analysis of the human faculties, and although he is pronounced by a very able, but hostile critic, to be the only metaphysician France produced during the eighteenth century,[1046] still he found it utterly impossible to escape from those tendencies towards the external which governed his own age. The consequence was, that he called his work a ‘Treatise on Sensations;’[1047] and in it he peremptorily asserts, that every thing we know is the result of sensation; by which he means the effect produced on us by the action of the external world. Whatever may be thought of the accuracy of this opinion, there can be no doubt that it is enforced with a closeness and severity of reasoning which deserves the highest praise. To examine, however, the arguments by which his view is supported, would lead to a discussion foreign to my present object, which is, merely to point out the relation between his philosophy and the general temper of his contemporaries. Without, therefore, pretending to anything like a critical examination of this celebrated book, I will simply bring together the essential positions on which it is based, in order to illustrate the harmony between it and the intellectual habits of the age in which it appeared.[1048]

The materials from which the philosophy of Condillac was originally drawn, were contained in the great work published by Locke about sixty years before this time. But though much of what was most essential was borrowed from the English philosopher, there was one very important point in which the disciple differed from his master. And this difference is strikingly characteristic[359] of the direction which the French intellect was now taking. Locke, with some looseness of expression, and possibly with some looseness of thought, had asserted the separate existence of a power of reflection, and had maintained that by means of that power the products of sensation became available.[1049] Condillac, moved by the prevailing temper of his own time, would not hear of such a distinction. He, like most of his contemporaries, was jealous of any claim which increased the authority of the internal, and weakened that of the external. He, therefore, altogether rejects the faculty of reflection as a source of our ideas; and this partly because it is but the channel through which ideas run from the senses, and partly because in its origin it is itself a sensation.[1050] Therefore, according to him, the only question is as to the way in which our contact with nature supplies us with ideas. For in this scheme, the faculties of man are solely caused by the operation of his senses. The judgments which we form are, says Condillac, often ascribed to the hand of the Deity; a convenient mode of reasoning, which has only arisen from the difficulty of analyzing them.[1051] By considering how our judgments actually arise, we can alone remove these obscurities. The fact is, that the attention we give to an object is nothing but the[360] sensation which that object excites;[1052] and what we call abstract ideas are merely different ways of being attentive.[1053] Ideas being thus generated, the subsequent process is very simple. To attend to two ideas at the same time, is to compare them; so that comparison is not a result of attention, but is rather the attention itself.[1054] This at once gives us the faculty of judging, because directly we institute a comparison, we do of necessity form a judgment.[1055] Thus, too, memory is a transformed sensation;[1056] while the imagination is nothing but memory, which, being carried to its highest possible vivacity, makes what is absent appear to be present.[1057] The impressions we receive from the external world being, therefore, not the cause of our faculties, but being the faculties themselves, the conclusion to which we are driven is inevitable. It follows, says Condillac, that in man nature is the beginning of all; that to nature we owe the whole of our knowledge; that we only instruct ourselves according to her lessons; and that the entire art of reasoning consists in continuing the work which she has appointed us to perform.[1058]

It is so impossible to mistake the tendency of these views, that I need not attempt to estimate their result[361] otherwise than by measuring the extent to which they were adopted. Indeed, the zeal with which they were now carried into every department of knowledge, can only surprise those who, being led by their habits of mind to study history in its separate fragments, have not accustomed themselves to consider it as an united whole, and who, therefore, do not perceive that in every great epoch there is some one idea at work, which is more powerful than any other, and which shapes the events of the time and determines their ultimate issue. In France, during the latter half of the eighteenth century, this idea was, the inferiority of the internal to the external. It was this dangerous but plausible principle which drew the attention of men from the church to the state; which was seen in Helvétius the most celebrated of the French moralists, and in Condillac the most celebrated of the French metaphysicians. It was this same principle which, by increasing, if I may so say, the reputation of Nature, induced the ablest thinkers to devote themselves to a study of her laws, and to abandon those other pursuits which had been popular in the preceding age. In consequence of this movement, such wonderful additions were made to every branch of physical science, that more new truths concerning the external world were discovered in France during the latter half of the eighteenth century than during all the previous periods put together. The details of these discoveries, so far as they have been subservient to the general purposes of civilization, will be related in another place; at present I will indicate only the most prominent, in order that the reader may understand the course of the subsequent argument, and may see the connexion between them and the French Revolution.

Taking a general view of the external world, we may say, that the three most important forces by which the operations of nature are effected, are heat, light, and electricity; including under this last magnetic and galvanic phenomena. On all these subjects, the French, for the first time, now exerted themselves with signal success. In regard to heat, not only were the materials for subsequent induction collected with indefatigable[362] industry, but before that generation passed away, the induction was actually made; for while the laws of its radiation were worked out by Prevost,[1059] those of its conduction were established by Fourier, who, just before the Revolution, employed himself in raising thermotics to a science by the deductive application of that celebrated mathematical theory which he contrived, and which still bears his name.[1060] In regard to electricity, it is enough to notice, during the same period, the important experiments of D'Alibard, followed by those vast labours of Coulomb, which brought electrical phenomena under the jurisdiction of the mathematics, and thus completed what Œpinus had already prepared.[1061] As to the laws of light, those ideas were now accumulating which rendered possible the great steps that, at the close of the century, were taken by Malus, and still later by Fresnel.[1062] Both of these eminent Frenchmen not only made important additions to our[363] knowledge of double refraction, but Malus discovered the polarization of light, undoubtedly the most splendid contribution received by optical science since the analysis of the solar rays.[1063] It was also in consequence of this, that Fresnel began those profound researches which placed on a solid basis that great undulatory theory of which Hooke, Huygens, and above all Young, are to be deemed the founders, and by which the corpuscular theory of Newton was finally overthrown.[1064]

Thus much as to the progress of French knowledge respecting those parts of nature which are in themselves invisible, and of which we cannot tell whether they have a material existence, or whether they are mere conditions and properties of other bodies.[1065] The immense value of these discoveries, as increasing the number of[364] known truths, is incontestable: but, at the same time, another class of discoveries was made, which, dealing more palpably with the visible world, and being also more easily understood, produced more immediate results, and, as I shall presently show, exercised a remarkable influence in strengthening that democratic tendency which accompanied the French Revolution. It is impossible, within the limits I have assigned to myself, to give anything like an adequate notion of the marvellous activity with which the French now pushed their researches into every department of the organic and inorganic world; still it is, I think, practicable to compress into a few pages such a summary of the more salient points as will afford the reader some idea of what was done by that generation of great thinkers which flourished in France during the latter half of the eighteenth century.

If we confine our view to the globe we inhabit, it must be allowed that chemistry and geology are the two sciences which not only offer the fairest promise, but already contain the largest generalizations. The reason of this will become clear, if we attend to the ideas on which these two great subjects are based. The idea of chemistry, is the study of composition;[1066] the idea of geology, is the study of position. The object of the first is, to learn the laws which govern the properties of matter; the object of the second is, to learn the laws which govern its locality. In chemistry, we experiment; in geology, we observe. In chemistry, we deal with the molecular arrangement of the smallest atoms;[1067] in geology, with the cosmological arrangement of the largest masses. Hence it is that the chemist by his minuteness, and the geologist by his grandeur, touch[365] the two extremes of the material universe; and, starting from these opposite points, have, as I could easily prove, a constantly increasing tendency to bring under their own authority sciences which have at present an independent existence, and which, for the sake of a division of labour, it is still convenient to study separately; though it must be the business of philosophy, properly so called, to integrate them into a complete and effective whole. Indeed it is obvious, that if we knew all the laws of the composition of matter, and likewise all the laws of its position, we should likewise know all the changes of which matter is capable spontaneously, that is, when uninterrupted by the mind of man. Every phenomenon which any given substance presents must be caused either by something taking place in the substance, or else by something taking place out of it, but acting upon it; while what occurs within must be explicable by its own composition, and what occurs without must be due to its position in relation to the objects by which it is affected. This is an exhaustive statement of every possible contingency, and to one of these two classes of laws every thing must be referrible; even those mysterious forces which, whether they be emanations from matter, or whether they be merely properties of matter, must in an ultimate analysis depend either on the internal arrangement, or else on the external locality of their physical antecedents. However convenient, therefore, it may be, in the present state of our knowledge, to speak of vital principles, imponderable fluids, and elastic æthers, such terms can only be provisional, and are to be considered as mere names for that residue of unexplained facts, which it will be the business of future ages to bring under generalizations wide enough to cover and include the whole.

These ideas of composition and of position being thus the basis of all natural science, it is not surprising that chemistry and geology, which are their best, but still their insufficient representatives, should in modern times have made more progress than any other of the great branches of human knowledge. Although the chemists[366] and geologists have not yet risen to the full height of their respective subjects,[1068] there are few things more curious than to note the way in which, during the last two generations, they have been rapidly expanding their views—encroaching on topics with which, at first sight, they appeared to have no concern—making other branches of inquiry tributary to their own—and collecting from every quarter that intellectual wealth which, long hidden in obscure corners, had been wasted in the cultivation of special and inferior pursuits. This, as being one of the great intellectual characteristics of the present age, I shall hereafter examine at considerable length; but what I have now to show is, that in these two vast sciences, which, though still very imperfect, must eventually be superior to all others, the first important steps were made by Frenchmen during the latter half of the eighteenth century.

That we owe to France the existence of chemistry as a science, will be admitted by everyone who uses the word science in the sense in which alone it ought to be understood, namely, as a body of generalizations so irrefragably true, that, though they may be subsequently covered by higher generalizations, they cannot be overthrown by them; in other words, generalizations which may be absorbed, but not refuted. In this point of view, there are in the history of chemistry only three great stages. The first stage was the destruction of the phlogistic theory, and the establishment, upon its ruins, of the doctrines of oxidation, combustion, and respiration. The second stage was the establishment of the principle of definite proportions, and the application to it of the atomic hypothesis. The third stage, above which we have not yet risen, consists in the union of chemical and electrical laws, and in the progress we are making towards fusing into one generalization their separate phenomena. Which of these three stages was in its own age the most valuable, is not now the question; but it is certain that the first of them was the[367] work of Lavoisier, by far the greatest of the French chemists. Before him several important points had been cleared up by the English chemists, whose experiments ascertained the existence of bodies formerly unknown. The links, however, to connect the facts, were still wanting; and until Lavoisier entered the field, there were no generalizations wide enough to entitle chemistry to be called a science; or, to speak more properly, the only large generalization commonly received was that by Stahl, which the great Frenchman proved to be not only imperfect, but altogether inaccurate. A notice of the vast discoveries of Lavoisier will be found in many well-known books:[1069] it is enough to say, that he not only worked out the laws of the oxidation of bodies and of their combustion, but that he is the author of the true theory of respiration, the purely chemical character of which he first demonstrated; thus laying the foundation of those views respecting the functions of food, which the German chemists subsequently developed, and which, as I have proved in the second chapter of this Introduction, may be applied to solve some great problems in the history of Man. The merit of this was so obviously due to France, that though the system now established was quickly adopted in other countries,[1070] it received the name of the French chemistry.[1071] At the same time, the old nomenclature being full of old errors, a new one was required, and here again France took the initiative; since this great[368] reformation was begun by four of her most eminent chemists, who flourished only a few years before the Revolution.[1072]

While one division of the French thinkers was reducing to order the apparent irregularities of chemical phenomena, another division of them was performing precisely the same service for geology. The first step towards popularizing this noble study was taken by Buffon, who, in the middle of the eighteenth century, broached a geological theory, which, though not quite original, excited attention by its eloquence, and by the lofty speculations with which he connected it.[1073] This was followed by the more special but still important labours of Rouelle, Desmarest, Dolomieu, and Montlosier, who, in less than forty years, effected a complete revolution in the ideas of Frenchmen, by familiarizing them with the strange conception, that the surface of our planet, even where it appears perfectly stable, is constantly undergoing most extensive changes. It began to be understood, that this perpetual flux takes place[369] not only in those parts of nature which are obviously feeble and evanescent, but also in those which seem to possess every element of strength and permanence, such as the mountains of granite which wall the globe, and are the shell and encasement in which it is held. As soon as the mind became habituated to this notion of universal change, the time was ripe for the appearance of some great thinker, who should generalize the scattered observations, and form them into a science, by connecting them with some other department of knowledge, of which the laws, or, at all events, the empirical uniformities, had been already ascertained.

It was at this point, and while the inquiries of geologists, notwithstanding their value, were still crude and unsettled, that the subject was taken up by Cuvier, one of the greatest naturalists Europe has ever produced. A few others there are who have surpassed him in depth; but in comprehensiveness it would be hard to find his superior; and the immense range of his studies gave him a peculiar advantage in surveying the operations and dependencies of the external world.[1074] This remarkable man is unquestionably the founder of geology as a science, since he is not only the first who saw the necessity of bringing to bear upon it the generalizations of comparative anatomy, but he is also the first who actually, executing this great idea, succeeded in coördinating the study of the strata of the earth with the study of the fossil animals found in them.[1075] Shortly[370] before his researches were published, many valuable facts had indeed been collected respecting the separate strata; the primary formations being investigated by the Germans, the secondary ones by the English.[1076] But these observations, notwithstanding their merit, were isolated; and they lacked that vast conception which gave unity and grandeur to the whole, by connecting inquiries concerning the inorganic changes of the surface of the globe with other inquiries concerning the organic changes of the animals the surface contained.

How completely this immense step is due to France, is evident not only from the part played by Cuvier, but also from the admitted fact, that to the French we owe our knowledge respecting tertiary strata,[1077] in which the organic remains are most numerous, and the general analogy to our present state is most intimate.[1078] Another circumstance may likewise be added, as pointing to the[371] same conclusion. This is, that the first application of the principles of comparative anatomy to the study of fossil bones was also the work of a Frenchman, the celebrated Daubenton. Hitherto these bones had been the object of stupid wonder; some saying that they were rained from heaven, others saying that they were the gigantic limbs of the ancient patriarchs, men who were believed to be tall because they were known to be old.[1079] Such idle conceits were for ever destroyed by Daubenton, in a Memoir he published in 1762;[1080] with which, however, we are not now concerned, except that it is evidence of the state of the French mind, and is worth noting as a precursor of the discoveries of Cuvier.

By this union of geology and anatomy, there was first introduced into the study of nature a clear conception of the magnificent doctrine of universal change; while at the same time there grew up by its side a conception equally steady of the regularity with which the changes are accomplished, and of the undeviating laws by which they are governed. Similar ideas had no doubt been occasionally held in preceding ages; but the great Frenchmen of the eighteenth century were the first who applied them to the entire structure of the globe, and who thus prepared the way for that still higher view for which their minds were not yet ripe,[1081] but to which[372] in our own time the most advanced thinkers are rapidly rising. For it is now beginning to be understood, that since every addition to knowledge affords fresh proof of the regularity with which all the changes of nature are conducted, we are bound to believe that the same regularity existed long before our little planet assumed its present form, and long before man trod the surface of the earth. We have the most abundant evidence that the movements incessantly occurring in the material world have a character of uniformity; and this uniformity is so clearly marked, that in astronomy, the most perfect of all the sciences, we are able to predict events many years before they actually happen; nor can any one doubt, that if on other subjects our science were equally advanced, our predictions would be equally accurate. It is, therefore, clear, that the burden of proof lies not on those who assert the eternal regularity of nature, but rather on those who deny it; and who set up an imaginary period, to which they assign an imaginary catastrophe, during which they say new laws were introduced and a new order established. Such gratuitous assumptions, even if they eventually turn out to be true, are in the present state of knowledge unwarrantable, and ought to be rejected, as the last remains of those theological prejudices by which the march of every science has in its turn been hindered. These and all analagous notions work a double mischief. They are mischievous, because they cripple the human[373] mind by imposing limits to its inquiries; and above all they are mischievous, because they weaken that vast conception of continuous and uninterrupted law, which few indeed are able firmly to seize, but on which the highest generalizations of future science must ultimately depend.

It is this deep conviction, that changing phenomena have unchanging laws, and that there are principles of order to which all apparent disorder may be referred,—it is this, which, in the seventeenth century, guided in a limited field Bacon, Descartes, and Newton; which in the eighteenth century was applied to every part of the material universe; and which it is the business of the nineteenth century to extend to the history of the human intellect. This last department of inquiry we owe chiefly to Germany; for, with the single exception of Vico, no one even suspected the possibility of arriving at complete generalizations respecting the progress of man, until shortly before the French Revolution, when the great German thinkers began to cultivate this, the highest and most difficult of all studies. But the French themselves were too much occupied with physical science to pay attention to such matters;[1082][374] and speaking generally, we may say that, in the eighteenth century, each of the three leading nations of Europe had a separate part to play. England diffused a love of freedom; France, a knowledge of physical science; while Germany, aided in some degree by Scotland, revived the study of metaphysics, and created the study of philosophic history. To this classification some exceptions may of course be made; but that these were the marked characteristics of the three countries, is certain. After the death of Locke in 1704, and that of Newton in 1727, there was in England a singular dearth of great speculative thinkers; and this not because the ability was wanting, but because it was turned partly into practical pursuits, partly into political contests. I shall hereafter examine the causes of this peculiarity, and endeavour to ascertain the extent to which it has influenced the fortunes of the country. That the results were, on the whole, beneficial, I entertain no doubt; but they were unquestionably injurious to the progress of science, because they tended to divert it from all new truths, except those likely to produce obvious and practical benefit. The consequence was, that though the English made several great discoveries, they did not possess, during seventy years, a single man who took a really comprehensive view of the phenomena of nature; not one who could be compared with those illustrious thinkers who in France reformed every branch of physical knowledge. Nor was it until more than two generations after the death of Newton, that the first symptoms appeared of a remarkable reaction, which quickly displayed itself in nearly every department of the national intellect. In physics, it is enough to mention Dalton, Davy, and Young, each of whom was in his own field the founder of a new epoch; while on other subjects I can only just refer, first, to the influence of the Scotch school; and, secondly, to that sudden and well-deserved admiration for the German literature of which Coleridge was the principal exponent, and which infused into the English mind a taste for generalizations higher and more fearless than any hitherto known. The history of this vast movement,[375] which began early in the nineteenth century, will be traced in the future volumes of this work: at present I merely notice it, as illustrating the fact, that until the movement began, the English, though superior to the French in several matters of extreme importance, were for many years inferior to them in those large and philosophic views, without which not only is the most patient industry of no avail, but even real discoveries lose their proper value, for want of such habits of generalization as would trace their connexion with each other, and consolidate their severed fragments into one vast system of complete and harmonious truth.

The interest attached to these inquiries has induced me to treat them at greater length than I had intended; perhaps at greater length than is suitable to the suggestive and preparatory character of this Introduction. But the extraordinary success with which the French now cultivated physical knowledge is so curious, on account of its connexion with the Revolution, that I must mention a few more of its most prominent instances: though, for the sake of brevity, I will confine myself to those three great divisions which, when put together, form what is called Natural History, and in all of which we shall see that the most important steps were taken in France during the latter half of the eighteenth century.

In the first of these divisions, namely, the department of zoology, we owe to the Frenchmen of the eighteenth century those generalizations which are still the highest this branch of knowledge has reached. Taking zoology in the proper sense of the term, it consists only of two parts, the anatomical part, which is its statics, and the physiological part, which is its dynamics: the first referring to the structure of animals; the other, to their functions.[1083] Both of these were worked out,[376] nearly at the same time, by Cuvier and Bichat; and the leading conclusions at which they arrived, remain, after the lapse of sixty years, undisturbed in their essential points. In 1795, Cuvier laid down the great principle, that the study and classification of animals was to be, not as heretofore, with a view to external peculiarities, but with a view to internal organization; and that, therefore, no real advance could be made in our knowledge except by extending the boundaries of comparative anatomy.[1084] This step, simple as it now appears, was of immense importance, since by it zoology was at once rescued from the hands of the observer, and thrown into those of the experimenter: the consequence of which has been the attainment of that precision and accuracy of detail, which experiment alone can give, and which is every way superior to such popular facts as observation supplies. By thus indicating to naturalists the true path of inquiry, by accustoming them to a close and severe method, and by teaching them to despise those vague descriptions in which they had formerly delighted, Cuvier laid the foundation of a progress which, during the last sixty years, has surpassed the most sanguine expectations. This, then, is the real service rendered by Cuvier, that he overthrew the artificial system which the genius of Linnæus had raised up,[1085] and substituted in its place that far superior scheme which gave the freest scope to future inquiry; since, according to it, all systems are to be deemed imperfect[377] and provisional so long as any thing remains to be learned respecting the comparative anatomy of the animal kingdom. The influence exercised by this great view was increased by the extraordinary skill and industry with which its proposer followed it out, and proved the practicability of his own precepts. His additions to our knowledge of comparative anatomy are probably more numerous than those made by any other man; but what has gained him most celebrity is, the comprehensive spirit with which he used what he acquired. Independently of other generalizations, he is the author of that vast classification of the whole animal kingdom into vertebrata, mollusca, articulata, and radiata;[1086] a classification which keeps its ground, and is one of the most remarkable instances of that large and philosophic spirit which France brought to bear upon the phenomena of the material world.[1087]

Great, however, as is the name of Cuvier, a greater[378] still remains behind. I allude, of course, to Bichat, whose reputation is steadily increasing as our knowledge advances, and who, if we compare the shortness of his life with the reach and depth of his views, must be pronounced the most profound thinker and the most consummate observer by whom the organization of the animal frame has yet been studied.[1088] He wanted, indeed, that comprehensive knowledge for which Cuvier was remarkable; but though, on this account, his generalizations were drawn from a smaller surface, they were, on the other hand, less provisional: they were, I think, more complete, and certainly they dealt with more momentous topics. For the attention of Bichat was preëminently directed to the human frame [1089] in the largest sense of the word; his object being so to investigate the organization of man, as to rise, if possible, to some knowledge concerning the causes and nature of life. In this magnificent enterprise, considered as a whole, he failed; but what he effected in certain parts of it is so extraordinary, and has given such an impetus to some of the highest branches of inquiry, that I will[379] briefly indicate his method, in order to compare it with that other method which, at the same moment, Cuvier adopted with immense success.

The important step taken by Cuvier was, that he insisted on the necessity of a comprehensive study of the organs of animals, instead of following the old plan of merely describing their habits and external peculiarities. This was a vast improvement, since, in the place of loose and popular observations, he substituted direct experiment, and hence introduced into zoology a precision formerly unknown.[1090] But Bichat, with a still keener insight, saw that even this was not enough. He saw that, each organ being composed of different tissues, it was requisite to study the tissues themselves, before we could learn the way in which, by their combinations, the organs are produced. This, like all really great ideas, was not entirely struck out by a single man; for the physiological value of the tissues had been recognized by three or four of the immediate predecessors of Bichat, such as Carmichael, Smyth, Bonn, Bordeu, and Fallopius. These inquirers, however, notwithstanding their industry, had effected nothing of much moment, since, though they collected several special facts, there was in their observations that want of harmony and that general incompleteness always characteristic of the[380] labours of men who do not rise to a commanding view of the subject with which they deal.[1091]

It was under these circumstances that Bichat began those researches, which, looking at their actual and still more at their prospective results, are probably the most valuable contribution ever made to physiology by a single mind. In 1801, only a year before his death,[1092] he published his great work on anatomy, in which the study of the organs is made altogether subservient to the study of the tissues composing them. He lays it down, that the body of man consists of twenty-one distinct tissues, all of which, though essentially different, have in common the two great properties of extensibility and contractility.[1093] These tissues he, with indefatigable industry,[1094] subjected to every sort of examination;[381] he examined them in different ages and diseases, with a view to ascertain the laws of their normal and pathological development.[1095] He studied the way each tissue is affected by moisture, air, and temperature; also the way in which their properties are altered by various chemical substances,[1096] and even their effect on the taste.[1097] By these means, and by many other[382] experiments tending in the same direction, he took so great and sudden a step, that he is to be regarded not merely as an innovator on an old science, but rather as the creator of a new one.[1098] And although subsequent observers have corrected some of his conclusions, this has only been done by following his method; the value of which is now so generally recognized, that it is adopted by nearly all the best anatomists, who, differing in other points, are agreed as to the necessity of basing the future progress of anatomy on a knowledge of the tissues, the supreme importance of which Bichat was the first to perceive.[1099]

The methods of Bichat and of Cuvier, when put[383] together, exhaust the actual resources of zoological science; so that all subsequent naturalists have been compelled to follow one of these two schemes; that is, either to follow Cuvier in comparing the organs of animals, or else to follow Bichat in comparing the tissues which compose the organs.[1100] And inasmuch as one comparison is chiefly suggestive of function, and the other comparison of structure, it is evident, that to raise the study of the animal world to the highest point of which it is capable, both these great plans are necessary; but if we ask which of the two plans, unaided by the other, is more likely to produce important results, the palm must, I think, be yielded to that proposed by Bichat. Certainly, if we look at the question as one to be decided by authority, a majority of the most eminent anatomists and physiologists now incline to the side of Bichat, rather than to that of Cuvier; while, as a matter of history, it may be proved that the reputation of Bichat has, with the advance of knowledge, increased more rapidly than that of his great rival. What, however, appears to me still more decisive, is, that the two most important discoveries made in our time respecting the classification of animals, are entirely the result of the method which Bichat suggested. The first discovery is that made by Agassiz, who, in the course of his ichthyological researches, was led to perceive that the arrangement by Cuvier according to organs, did not fulfil its purpose in regard to fossil fishes, because in the lapse of ages the characteristics of their structure were destroyed.[1101] He, therefore,[384] adopted the only other remaining plan, and studied the tissues, which, being less complex than the organs, are oftener found intact. The result was the very remarkable discovery, that the tegumentary membrane of fishes is so intimately connected with their organization, that if the whole of a fish has perished except this membrane, it is practicable, by noting its characteristics, to reconstruct the animal in its most essential parts. Of the value of this principle of harmony, some idea may be formed from the circumstance, that on it Agassiz has based the whole of that celebrated classification, of which he is the sole author, and by which fossil ichthyology has for the first time assumed a precise and definite shape.[1102]

The other discovery, of which the application is much more extensive, was made in exactly the same way. It consists of the striking fact, that the teeth of each animal have a necessary connexion with the entire organization of its frame; so that, within certain limits, we can predict the organization by examining the tooth. This beautiful instance of the regularity of the operations of nature was not known until more than thirty years after the death of Bichat, and it is evidently due to the prosecution of that method which he sedulously inculcated. For the teeth never having been properly examined in regard to their separate tissues, it was believed that they were essentially devoid of structure, or, as some thought, were simply a fibrous texture.[1103] But by minute microscopic investigations,[385] it has been recently ascertained that the tissues of the teeth are strictly analogous to those of other parts of the body;[1104] and that the ivory, or dentine, as it is now called,[1105] is highly organized; that it, as well as the enamel, is cellular, and is, in fact, a development of the living pulp. This discovery, which, to the philosophic anatomist, is pregnant with meaning, was made about 1838; and though the preliminary steps were taken by Purkinjé, Retzius, and Schwann, the principal merit is due to Nasmyth and Owen,[1106] between whom it is disputed, but whose rival claims we are not here called upon to adjust.[1107] What I wish to observe is, that the discovery is similar to that which we owe to Agassiz; similar in the method by which it was worked[386] out, and also in the results which have followed from it. Both are due to a recognition of the fundamental maxim of Bichat, that the study of organs must be subordinate to the study of tissues, and both have supplied the most valuable aid to zoological classification. On this point, the service rendered by Owen is incontestable, whatever may be thought of his original claims. This eminent naturalist has, with immense industry, applied the discovery to all vertebrate animals; and in an elaborate work, specially devoted to the subject, he has placed beyond dispute the astonishing fact, that the structure of a single tooth is a criterion of the nature and organization of the species to which it belongs.[1108]

Whoever has reflected much on the different stages through which our knowledge has successively passed, must, I think, be led to the conclusion, that while fully recognizing the great merit of these investigators of the animal frame, our highest admiration ought to be reserved not for those who make the discoveries, but rather for those who point out how the discoveries are to be made.[1109] When the true path of inquiry has once been indicated, the rest is comparatively easy. The beaten highway is always open; and the difficulty is, not to find those who will travel the old road, but those who will make a fresh one. Every age produces in abundance men of sagacity and of considerable industry,[387] who, while perfectly competent to increase the details of a science, are unable to extend its distant boundaries. This is because such extension must be accompanied by a new method,[1110] which, to be valuable as well as new, supposes on the part of its suggester, not only a complete mastery over the resources of his subject, but also the possession of originality and comprehensiveness,—the two rarest forms of human genius. In this consists the real difficulty of every great pursuit. As soon as any department of knowledge has been generalized into laws, it contains, either in itself or in its applications, three distinct branches; namely, inventions, discoveries, and method. Of these, the first corresponds to art; the second to science; and the third to philosophy. In this scale, inventions have by far the lowest place, and minds of the highest order are rarely occupied by them. Next in the series come discoveries; and here the province of intellect really begins, since here the first attempt is made to search after truth on its own account, and to discard those practical considerations to which inventions are of necessity referred. This is science properly so called; and how difficult it is to reach this stage, is evident from the fact, that all half-civilized nations have made many great inventions, but no great discoveries. The highest, however, of all the three stages, is the philosophy of method, which bears the same relation to science that science bears to art. Of its immense, and indeed supreme importance, the annals of knowledge supply abundant evidence; and for want of it, some very great men have effected absolutely nothing, consuming their lives in fruitless industry, not because their labour was slack, but because their method was sterile.[388] The progress of every science is affected more by the scheme according to which it is cultivated, than by the actual ability of the cultivators themselves. If they who travel in an unknown country, spend their force in running on the wrong road, they will miss the point at which they aim, and perchance may faint and fall by the way. In that long and difficult journey after truth, which the human mind has yet to perform, and of which we in our generation can only see the distant prospect, it is certain that success will depend not on the speed with which men hasten in the path of inquiry, but rather on the skill with which that path is selected for them by those great and comprehensive thinkers, who are as the lawgivers and founders of knowledge; because they supply its deficiencies, not by investigating particular difficulties, but by establishing some large and sweeping innovation, which opens up a new vein of thought, and creates fresh resources, which it is left for their posterity to work out and apply.

It is from this point of view that we are to rate the value of Bichat, whose works, like those of all men of the highest eminence,—like those of Aristotle, Bacon, and Descartes,—mark an epoch in the history of the human mind; and as such, can only be fairly estimated by connecting them with the social and intellectual condition of the age in which they appeared. This gives an importance and a meaning to the writings of Bichat, of which few indeed are fully aware. The two greatest recent discoveries respecting the classification of animals are, as we have just seen, the result of his teaching; but his influence has produced other effects still more momentous. He, aided by Cabanis, rendered to physiology the incalculable service, of preventing it from participating in that melancholy reaction to which France was exposed early in the nineteenth century. This is too large a subject to discuss at present; but I may mention, that when Napoleon, not from feelings of conviction, but for selfish purposes of his own, attempted to restore the power of ecclesiastical principles, the men of letters, with disgraceful subserviency, fell into his view; and there began a[389] marked decline in that independent and innovating spirit, with which during fifty years the French had cultivated the highest departments of knowledge. Hence that metaphysical school arose, which, though professing to hold aloof from theology, was intimately allied with it; and whose showy conceits form, in their ephemeral splendour, a striking contrast to the severer methods followed in the preceding generation.[1111] Against this movement, the French physiologists have, as a body, always protested; and it may be clearly proved that their opposition, which even the great abilities of Cuvier were unable to win over, is partly due to the impetus given by Bichat, in enforcing in his own pursuit the necessity of rejecting those assumptions by which metaphysicians and theologians seek to control every science. As an illustration of this I may mention two facts worthy of note. The first is, that in England, where during a considerable period the influence of Bichat was scarcely felt, many, even of our eminent physiologists, have shown a marked disposition to ally themselves with the reactionary party; and have not only opposed such novelties as they could not immediately explain, but have degraded their own noble science by making it a handmaid to serve the purposes of natural theology. The other fact is, that in France the disciples of Bichat have, with scarcely an exception, rejected the study of final causes, to which the school of Cuvier still adheres: while as a natural[390] consequence, the followers of Bichat are associated in geology with the doctrine of uniformity; in zoology, with that of the transmutation of species; and in astronomy, with the nebular hypothesis: vast and magnificent schemes, under whose shelter the human mind seeks an escape from that dogma of interference, which the march of knowledge every where reduces, and the existence of which is incompatible with those conceptions of eternal order, towards which, during the last two centuries, we have been constantly tending.

These great phenomena, which the French intellect presents, and of which I have only sketched a rapid outline, will be related with suitable detail in the latter part of this work, when I shall examine the present condition of the European mind, and endeavour to estimate its future prospects. To complete, however, our appreciation of Bichat, it will be necessary to take notice of what some consider the most valuable of all his productions, in which he aimed at nothing less than an exhaustive generalization of the functions of life. It appears, indeed, to me, that in many important points Bichat here fell short; but the work itself still stands alone, and is so striking an instance of the genius of the author, that I will give a short account of its fundamental views.

Life considered as a whole has two distinct branches;[1112] one branch being characteristic of animals, the other of vegetables. That which is confined to animals is called animal life; that which is common both to animals and vegetables is called organic life. While, therefore, plants have only one life, man has two distinct lives, which are governed by entirely different laws, and which, though intimately connected, constantly oppose each other. In the organic life, man exists solely for himself; in the animal life he comes in contact with others. The functions of the first are purely internal, those of the second are external. His organic life is[391] limited to the double process of creation and destruction: the creative process being that of assimilation, as digestion, circulation, and nutrition; the destructive process being that of excretion, such as exhalation and the like. This is what man has in common with plants; and of this life he, when in a natural state, is unconscious. But the characteristic of his animal life is consciousness, since by it he is made capable of moving, of feeling, of judging. By virtue of the first life he is merely a vegetable; by the addition of the second he becomes an animal.

If now we look at the organs by which in man the functions of these two lives are carried on, we shall be struck by the remarkable fact, that the organs of his vegetable life are very irregular, those of his animal life very symmetrical. His vegetative, or organic, life is conducted by the stomach, the intestines, and the glandular system in general, such as the liver and the pancreas; all of which are irregular, and admit of the greatest variety of form and development, without their functions being seriously disturbed. But in his animal life the organs are so essentially symmetrical, that a very slight departure from the ordinary type impairs their action.[1113] Not only the brain, but also the organs[392] of sense, as the eyes, the nose, the ears, are perfectly symmetrical; and they as well as the other organs of animal life, as the feet and hands, are double, presenting on each side of the body two separate parts which correspond with each other, and produce a symmetry unknown to our vegetative life, the organs of which are, for the most part, merely single, as in the stomach, liver, pancreas, and spleen.[1114]

From this fundamental difference between the organs of the two lives, there have arisen several other differences of great interest. Our animal life being double, while our organic life is single, it becomes possible for the former life to take rest, that is, stop part of its functions for a time, and afterwards renew them. But in organic life, to stop is to die. The life, which we have in common with vegetables, never sleeps; and if its movements entirely cease only for a single instant, they cease for ever. That process by which our bodies receive some substances and give out others, admits of no interruption; it is, by its nature, incessant, because,[393] being single, it can never receive supplementary aid. The other life we may refresh, not only in sleep, but even when we are awake. Thus we can exercise the organs of movement while we rest the organs of thought; and it is even possible to relieve a function while we continue to employ it, because, our animal life being double, we are able for a short time, in case of one of its parts being fatigued, to avail ourselves of the corresponding part; using, for instance, a single eye or a single arm, in order to rest the one which circumstances may have exhausted; an expedient which the single nature of organic life entirely prevents.[1115]

Our animal life being thus essentially intermittent, and our organic life being essentially continuous,[1116] it has necessarily followed that the first is capable of an improvement of which the second is incapable. There can be no improvement without comparison, since it is only by comparing one state with another that we can rectify previous errors, and avoid future ones. Now, our organic life does not admit of such comparison, because, being uninterrupted, it is not broken into stages, but when unchequered by disease, runs on in dull monotony. On the other hand, the functions of our animal life, such as thought, speech, sight, and motion, cannot be long exercised without rest; and as they are constantly suspended, it becomes practicable to compare them, and, therefore, to improve them. It is by possessing this resource that the first cry of the infant gradually rises into the perfect speech of the man, and the unformed habits of early thought are ripened into that maturity which nothing can give but a long series of successive efforts.[1117] But our organic life, which we have in common with vegetables, admits[394] of no interruption, and consequently of no improvement. It obeys its own laws; but it derives no benefit from that repetition to which animal life is exclusively indebted. Its functions, such as nutrition and the like, exist in man several months before he is born, and while, his animal life not having yet begun, the faculty of comparison, which is the basis of improvement, is impossible.[1118] And although, as the human frame increases in size, its vegetative organs become larger, it cannot be supposed that their functions really improve, since, in ordinary cases, their duties are performed as regularly and as completely in childhood as in middle age.[1119]

Thus it is, that although other causes conspire, it may be said that the progressiveness of animal life is due to its intermittence; the unprogressiveness of organic life to its continuity. It may, moreover, be said, that the intermittence of the first life results from the symmetry of its organs, while the continuity of the second life results from their irregularity. To this wide and striking generalization, many objections may be made, some of them apparently insuperable; but that it contains the germs of great truths I entertain little doubt, and, at all events, it is certain that the method[395] cannot be too highly praised, for it unites the study of function and structure with that of embryology, of vegetable physiology, of the theory of comparison, and of the influence of habit; a vast and magnificent field, which the genius of Bichat was able to cover, but of which, since him, neither physiologists nor metaphysicians have even attempted a general survey.

This stationary condition, during the present century, of a subject of such intense interest, is a decisive proof of the extraordinary genius of Bichat; since, notwithstanding the additions made to physiology, and to every branch of physics connected with it, nothing has been done at all comparable to that theory of life which he, with far inferior resources, was able to construct. This stupendous work he left, indeed, very imperfect; but even in its deficiencies we see the hand of the great master, whom, on his own subject, no one has yet approached. His essay on life may well be likened to those broken fragments of ancient art, which, imperfect as they are, still bear the impress of the inspiration which gave them birth, and present in each separate part that unity of conception which to us makes them a complete and living whole.

From the preceding summary of the progress of physical knowledge, the reader may form some idea of the ability of those eminent men who arose in France during the latter half of the eighteenth century. To complete the picture, it is only necessary to examine what was done in the two remaining branches of natural history, namely, botany and mineralogy, in both of which the first great steps towards raising each study to a science were taken by Frenchmen a few years before the Revolution.

In botany, although our knowledge of particular facts has, during the last hundred years, rapidly increased,[1120] we are only possessed of two generalizations[396] wide enough to be called laws of nature. The first generalization concerns the structure of plants; the other concerns their physiology. That concerning their physiology is the beautiful morphological law, according to which the different appearance of the various organs arises from arrested development: the stamens, pistils, corolla, calyx, and bracts being simple modifications or successive stages of the leaf. This is one of many valuable discoveries we owe to Germany; it being made by Göthe late in the eighteenth century.[1121] With its importance every botanist is familiar; while to the historian of the human mind it is peculiarly interesting, as strengthening that great doctrine of development, towards which the highest branches of knowledge are now hastening, and which, in the present century, has been also carried into one of the most difficult departments of animal physiology.[1122]

But the most comprehensive truth with which we are acquainted respecting plants, is that which includes the whole of their general structure; and this we learnt from those great Frenchmen who, in the latter half of the eighteenth century, began to study the external world. The first steps were taken directly after the middle of the century, by Adanson, Duhamel de Monceau, and, above all, Desfontaines; three eminent thinkers, who proved the practicability of a natural method hitherto unknown, and of which even Ray himself had only a faint perception.[1123] This, by weakening the influence of the artificial system of Linnæus,[1124] prepared the way for an innovation more complete than has been effected in any other branch of knowledge. In the very year in which the Revolution occurred, Jussieu put forward a series of botanical generalizations, of which the most important are all intimately connected, and still remain the highest this department of inquiry has reached.[1125][398] Among these, I need only mention the three vast propositions which are now admitted to form the basis of vegetable anatomy. The first is, that the vegetable kingdom, in its whole extent, is composed of plants either with one cotyledon, or with two cotyledons, or else with no cotyledon at all. The second proposition is, that this classification, so far from being artificial, is strictly natural; since it is a law of nature, that plants having one cotyledon are endogenous, and grow by additions made to the centre of their stems, while, on the other hand, plants having two cotyledons are exogenous, and are compelled to grow by additions made, not to the centre of their stems, but to the circumference.[1126] The third proposition is, that when plants[399] grow at their centre, the arrangement of the fruit and leaves is threefold; when, however, they grow at the circumference, it is nearly always fivefold.[1127]

This is what was effected by the Frenchmen of the eighteenth century for the vegetable kingdom:[1128] and if we now turn to the mineral kingdom, we shall find that our obligations to them are equally great. The study of minerals is the most imperfect of the three branches of natural history, because, notwithstanding its apparent simplicity, and the immense number of experiments which have been made, the true method of investigation has not yet been ascertained; it being doubtful whether mineralogy ought to be subordinated to the laws of chemistry, or to those of crystallography, or whether both sets of laws will have to be considered.[1129] At all events it is certain that, down to the present time, chemistry has shown itself unable to reduce mineralogical phenomena; nor has any chemist, possessing sufficient powers of generalization, attempted the task except Berzelius; and most of his conclusions[400] were overthrown by the splendid discovery of isomorphism, for which, as is well known, we are indebted to Mitscherlich, one of the many great thinkers Germany has produced.[1130]

Although the chemical department of mineralogy is in an unformed and indeed anarchical condition, its other department, namely, crystallography, has made great progress; and here again the earliest steps were taken by two Frenchmen, who lived in the latter half of the eighteenth century. About 1760, Romé De Lisle [1131] set the first example of studying crystals, according to a scheme so large as to include all the varieties of their primary forms, and to account for their irregularities, and the apparent caprice with which they were arranged. In this investigation he was guided by the fundamental assumption, that what is called an irregularity, is in truth perfectly regular, and that the operations of nature are invariable.[1132] Scarcely had this[401] great idea been applied to the almost innumerable forms into which minerals crystallize, when it was followed up with still larger resources by Haüy, another eminent Frenchman.[1133] This remarkable man achieved a[402] complete union between mineralogy and geometry; and, bringing the laws of space to bear on the molecular arrangements of matter, he was able to penetrate into the intimate structure of crystals.[1134] By this means, he succeeded in proving that the secondary forms of all crystals are derived from their primary forms by a regular process of decrement;[1135] and that, when a substance is passing from a liquid to a solid state, its particles are compelled to cohere, according to a scheme which provides for every possible change, since it includes even those subsequent layers which alter the ordinary type of the crystal, by disturbing its natural symmetry.[1136] To ascertain that such violations of symmetry are susceptible of mathematical calculation, was to make a vast addition to our knowledge; but what seems to me still more important is, that it indicates an approach to the magnificent idea, that every thing which occurs is regulated by law, and that confusion and disorder are impossible.[1137] For, by proving that even the[403] most uncouth and singular forms of minerals are the natural results of their antecedents, Haüy laid the foundation of what may be called the pathology of the inorganic world. However paradoxical such a notion may seem, it is certain that symmetry is to crystals what health is to animals; so that an irregularity of shape in the first, corresponds with an appearance of disease in the second.[1138] When, therefore, the minds of men became familiarized with the great truth, that in the mineral kingdom there is, properly speaking, no irregularity, it became more easy for them to grasp the still higher truth, that the same principle holds good of the animal kingdom, although, from the superior complexity of the phenomena, it will be long before we can arrive at an equal demonstration. But, that such a demonstration is possible, is the principle upon which the future progress of all organic, and indeed of all mental science, depends. And it is very observable, that the same generation which established the fact, that the apparent aberrations presented by minerals are strictly regular, also took the first steps towards establishing the far higher fact, that the aberrations of the human mind are governed by laws as unfailing as those which determine the condition of inert matter.[404] The examination of this would lead to a digression foreign to my present design; but I may mention that, at the end of the century, there was written in France the celebrated treatise on insanity, by Pinel; a work remarkable in many respects, but chiefly in this, that in it the old notions respecting the mysterious and inscrutable character of mental disease are altogether discarded:[1139] the disease itself is considered as a phenomenon inevitably occurring under certain given conditions, and the foundation laid for supplying another link in that vast chain of evidence which connects the material with the immaterial, and thus uniting mind and matter into a single study, is now preparing the way for some generalization, which, being common to both, shall serve as a centre round which the disjointed fragments of our knowledge may safely rally.

These were the views which, during the latter half of the eighteenth century, began to dawn upon French thinkers. The extraordinary ability and success with[405] which these eminent men cultivated their respective sciences, I have traced at a length greater that I had intended, but still very inadequate to the importance of the subject. Enough, however, has been brought forward, to convince the reader of the truth of the proposition I wished to prove; namely, that the intellect of France was, during the latter half of the eighteenth century, concentrated upon the external world with unprecedented zeal, and thus aided that vast movement, of which the Revolution itself was merely a single consequence. The intimate connexion between scientific progress and social rebellion, is evident from the fact, that both are suggested by the same yearning after improvement, the same dissatisfaction with what has been previously done, the same restless, prying, insubordinate, and audacious spirit. But in France this general analogy was strengthened by the curious circumstances I have already noticed, by virtue of which, the activity of the country was, during the first half of the century, directed against the church rather than against the state; so that in order to complete the antecedents of the Revolution, it was necessary that, in the latter half of the century, the ground of attack should be shifted. This is precisely what was done by the wonderful impetus given to every branch of natural science. For, the attention of men being thus steadily fixed upon the external world, the internal fell into neglect; while, as the external corresponds to the state, and the internal to the church, it was part of the same intellectual development, that the assailers of the existing fabric should turn against political abuses the energy which the preceding generation had reserved for religious ones.

Thus it was that the French Revolution, like every great revolution the world has yet seen, was preceded by a complete change in the habits and associations of the national intellect. But besides this, there was also taking place, precisely at the same time, a vast social movement, which was intimately connected with the intellectual movement, and indeed formed part of it, in so far as it was followed by similar results and produced[406] by similar causes. The nature of this social revolution I shall examine only very briefly, because in a future volume it will be necessary to trace its history minutely, in order to illustrate the slighter but still remarkable changes which in the same period were going on in English society.

In France, before the Revolution, the people, though always very social, were also very exclusive. The upper classes, protected by an imaginary superiority, looked with scorn upon those whose birth or titles were unequal to their own. The class immediately below them copied and communicated their example, and every order in society endeavoured to find some fanciful distinction which should guard them from the contamination of their inferiors. The only three real sources of superiority,—the superiority of morals, of intellect, and of knowledge,—were entirely overlooked in this absurd scheme; and men became accustomed to pride themselves not on any essential difference, but on those inferior matters, which, with extremely few exceptions, are the result of accident, and therefore no test of merit.[1140]

The first great blow to this state of things, was the unprecedented impulse given to the cultivation of physical science. Those vast discoveries which were being made, not only stimulated the intellect of thinking men, but even roused the curiosity of the more thoughtless parts of society. The lectures of chemists, of geologists, of mineralogists, and of physiologists, were attended by those who came to wonder, as well as by those who came to learn. In Paris, the scientific assemblages were crowded to overflowing.[1141] The halls[407] and amphitheatres in which the great truths of nature were expounded, were no longer able to hold their audience, and in several instances it was found necessary to enlarge them.[1142] The sittings of the Academy, instead of being confined to a few solitary scholars, were frequented by every one whose rank or influence enabled them to secure a place.[1143] Even women of fashion, forgetting their usual frivolity, hastened to hear discussions on the composition of a mineral, on the discovery of a new salt, on the structure of plants, on the organization of animals, on the properties of the electric fluid.[1144] A sudden craving after knowledge[408] seemed to have smitten every rank. The largest and the most difficult inquiries found favour in the eyes of those whose fathers had hardly heard the names of the sciences to which they belonged. The brilliant imagination of Buffon made geology suddenly popular; the same thing was effected for chemistry by the eloquence of Fourcroy, and for electricity by Nollet; while the admirable expositions of Lalande caused astronomy itself to be generally cultivated. In a word, it is enough to say, that during the thirty years preceding the Revolution, the spread of physical science was so rapid, that in its favour the old classical studies were despised;[1145] it was considered the essential basis of a good education, and some slight acquaintance with it was deemed necessary for every class, except those who were obliged to support themselves by their daily labour.[1146]

The results produced by this remarkable change are very curious, and from their energy and rapidity were very decisive. As long as the different classes confined themselves to pursuits peculiar to their own sphere, they were encouraged to preserve their separate habits; and the subordination, or, as it were, the hierarchy, of society was easily maintained. But when the members of the various orders met in the same place with the same object, they became knit together by a new sympathy. The highest and most durable of all pleasures, the pleasure caused by the perception of fresh truths, was now a great link, which banded together those social elements that were formerly wrapped up in the pride of their own isolation. Besides this, there was also given to them not only a new pursuit, but also a new standard of merit. In the amphitheatre and the lecture-room, the first object of attention is the professor and the lecturer. The division is between those who teach and those who learn. The subordination of ranks makes way for the subordination of knowledge.[1147] The petty and conventional distinctions of fashionable life are succeeded by those large and genuine distinctions, by which alone man is really separated from man. The progress of the intellect supplies a new object of veneration; the old worship of rank is rudely disturbed, and its superstitious devotees are taught to bow the knee before what to them is the shrine of a strange god. The hall of science is the temple of democracy. Those who come to learn, confess their own ignorance, abrogate in some degree their own superiority, and begin to perceive that the greatness of men has no connexion with the splendour of their titles, or the dignity of their birth; that it is not concerned with their quarterings, their escutcheons, their descents, their dexter-chiefs, their sinister-chiefs, their chevrons,[410] their bends, their azures, their gules, and the other trumperies of their heraldry; but that it depends upon the largeness of their minds, the powers of their intellect, and the fullness of their knowledge.

These were the views which, in the latter half of the eighteenth century, began to influence those classes which had long been the undisputed masters of society.[1148] And what shows the strength of this great movement is, that it was accompanied by other social changes, which, though in themselves apparently trifling, become full of meaning when taken in connexion with the general history of the time.

While the immense progress of physical knowledge was revolutionizing society, by inspiring the different classes with an object common to all, and thus raising a new standard of merit, a more trivial, but equally democratic tendency was observable even in the conventional forms of social life. To describe the whole of these changes would occupy a space disproportioned to the other parts of this Introduction; but it is certain that, until the changes have been carefully examined, it will be impossible for any one to write a history of the French Revolution. As a specimen of what I mean, I will notice two of these innovations which are very conspicuous, and are also interesting on account of their analogy with what has happened in English society.

The first of these changes was an alteration in dress, and a marked contempt for those external appearances hitherto valued as one of the most important of all[411] matters. During the reign of Louis XIV., and indeed during the first half of the reign of Louis XV., not only men of frivolous tastes, but even those distinguished for their knowledge, displayed in their attire a dainty precision, a nice and studied adjustment, a pomp of gold, of silver, and of ruffles, such as in our days can nowhere be seen, except in the courts of European princes, where a certain barbarian splendour is still retained. So far was this carried, that in the seventeenth century the rank of a person might be immediately known by his appearance; no one presuming to usurp a garb worn by the class immediately above his own.[1149] But in that democratic movement which preceded the French Revolution, the minds of men became too earnest, too intent upon higher matters, to busy themselves with those idle devices which engrossed the attention of their fathers. A contemptuous disregard of such distinctions became general. In Paris the innovation was seen even in those gay assemblies, where a certain amount of personal decoration is still considered natural. At dinners, suppers, and balls, it is noticed by contemporary observers, that the dress usually worn was becoming so simple as to cause a confusion of ranks, until at length every distinction was abandoned by both sexes; the men, on such occasions, coming in a common frock-coat, the women in their ordinary morning gowns.[1150] Nay, to such a pitch was[412] this carried, that we are assured by the Prince de Montbarey, who was in Paris at the time, that shortly before the Revolution, even those who had stars and orders were careful to hide them by buttoning their coats, so that these marks of superiority might no longer be seen.[1151]

The other innovation to which I have referred is equally interesting as characteristic of the spirit of the time. This is, that the tendency to amalgamate the different orders of society [1152] was shown in the institution of clubs; a remarkable contrivance, which to us seems perfectly natural because we are accustomed to[413] it, but of which it may be truly said, that until the eighteenth century its existence was impossible. Before the eighteenth century, each class was so jealous of its superiority over the one below it, that to meet together on equal terms was impracticable; and although a certain patronizing familiarity towards one's inferiors might be safely indulged in, this only marked the immense interval of separation, since the great man had no fear of his condescension being abused. In those good old times a proper respect was paid to rank and birth; and he who could count his twenty ancestors was venerated to an extent of which we, in these degenerate days, can hardly form an idea. As to any thing like social equality, that was a notion too preposterous to be conceived; nor was it possible that any institution should exist which placed mere ordinary men on a level with those illustrious characters, whose veins were filled with the purest blood, and the quarterings of whose arms none could hope to rival.

But in the eighteenth century the progress of knowledge became so remarkable, that the new principle of intellectual superiority made rapid encroachments on the old principle of aristocratic superiority. As soon as these encroachments had reached a certain point, they gave rise to an institution suited to them; and thus it was that there were first established clubs, in which all the educated classes could assemble, without regard to those other differences which, in the preceding period, kept them separate. The peculiarity of this was, that, for mere purposes of social enjoyment, men were brought into contact, who, according to the aristocratic scheme, had nothing in common, but who were now placed on the same footing in so far as they belonged to the same establishment, conformed to the same rules, and reaped the same advantages. It was, however, expected that the members, though varying in many other respects, were to be all, in some degree, educated; and in this way society first distinctly recognized a classification previously unknown; the division between noble and ignoble being succeeded by another division between educated and uneducated.

The rise and growth of clubs is, therefore, to the philosophic observer, a question of immense importance; and it is one which, as I shall hereafter prove, played a great part in the history of England during the latter half of the eighteenth century. In reference to our present subject, it is interesting to observe, that the first clubs, in the modern sense of the word, which ever existed in Paris, were formed about 1782, only seven years before the French Revolution. At the beginning they were merely intended to be social assemblages; but they quickly assumed a democratic character, conformable to the spirit of the age. Their first result, as was noticed by a keen observer of what was then passing, was to make the manners of the upper classes more simple than they had hitherto been, and to weaken that love of form and ceremony suitable to their earlier habits. These clubs likewise effected a remarkable separation between the sexes; and it is recorded, that after their establishment, women associated more with each other, and were oftener seen in public unaccompanied by men.[1153] This had the effect of encouraging among men a republican roughness, which the influence of the other sex would have tended to keep down. All these things effaced the old lines of demarcation between the different[415] ranks, and by merging the various classes into one, made the force of their united opposition irresistible, and speedily overthrew both the church and the state. The exact period at which the clubs became political cannot, of course, be ascertained, but the change seems to have taken place about 1784.[1154] From this moment all was over; and although the government, in 1787, issued orders to close the leading club, in which all classes discussed political questions, it was found impossible to stem the current. The order, therefore, was rescinded; the club re-assembled, and no further attempt was made to interrupt that course of affairs which a long train of preceding events had rendered inevitable.[1155]

While all these things were conspiring to overthrow the old institutions, an event suddenly occurred which produced the most remarkable effects in France, and is itself strikingly characteristic of the spirit of the eighteenth century. On the other side of the Atlantic, a great people, provoked by the intolerable injustice of the English government, rose in arms, turned on their oppressors, and, after a desperate struggle, gloriously[416] obtained their independence. In 1776, the Americans laid before Europe that noble Declaration, which ought to be hung up in the nursery of every king, and blazoned on the porch of every royal palace. In words, the memory of which can never die, they declared, that the object of the institution of government is to secure the rights of the people; that from the people alone it derives its powers; and ‘that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it, and to institute a new government, laying its foundations on such principles, and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.’[1156]

If this declaration had been made only one generation earlier, the whole of France, with the exception of a few advanced thinkers, would have rejected it with horror and with scorn. Such, however, was now the temper of the public mind, that the doctrines it contained were not merely welcomed by a majority of the French nation, but even the government itself was unable to withstand the general feeling.[1157] In 1776, Franklin arrived in France, as envoy from the American people. He met with the warmest reception from all classes,[1158] and succeeded in inducing the government to sign a treaty, engaging to defend the young republic in the rights it had gloriously won.[1159] In Paris, the enthusiasm[417] was irresistible.[1160] From every quarter large bodies of men came forward, volunteering to cross the Atlantic and to fight for the liberties of America. The heroism with which these auxiliaries aided the noble struggle, forms a cheering passage in the history of that time; but is foreign to my present purpose, which is merely to notice its effect in hastening the approach of the French Revolution. And this effect was indeed most remarkable. Besides the indirect result produced by the example of a successful rebellion, the French were still further stimulated by actual contact with their new allies. The French officers and soldiers who served in America, introduced into their own country, on their return, those democratic opinions which they had imbibed in the infant republic.[1161] By this means, fresh strength was given to the revolutionary tendencies already prevalent; and it is worthy of remark, that Lafayette borrowed from the same source one of his most celebrated acts. He drew his sword on behalf of the Americans; and they, in their turn, communicated to him that famous doctrine respecting the rights of man, which, at his instigation, was formally adopted by the National Assembly.[1162] Indeed, there is reason to[418] believe, that the final blow the French government received was actually dealt by the hand of an American; for it is said that it was in consequence of the advice of Jefferson, that the popular part of the legislative body proclaimed itself the National Assembly, and thus set the crown at open defiance.[1163]

I have now brought to a close my examination of the causes of the French Revolution; but before concluding the present chapter, it appears to me that the variety of topics which have been discussed, makes it advisable that I should sum up their leading points; and should state, as briefly as possible, the steps of that long and complicated argument, by which I have attempted to prove, that the Revolution was an event inevitably arising out of preceding circumstances. Such a summary, by recalling the entire subject before the reader, will remedy any confusion which the fullness of detail may have produced, and will simplify an investigation which many will consider to have been needlessly protracted; but which could not have been abridged without weakening, in some essential part, the support of those general principles that I seek to establish.

Looking at the state of France immediately after the death of Louis XIV., we have seen that, his policy having reduced the country to the brink of ruin, and having destroyed every vestige of free inquiry, a reaction became necessary; but that the materials for the reaction could not be found among a nation, which for fifty years had been exposed to so debilitating a system. This deficiency at home, caused the most eminent Frenchmen to turn their attention abroad, and gave rise to a sudden admiration for the English literature, and[419] for those habits of thought which were then peculiar to the English people. New life being thus breathed into the wasted frame of French society, an eager and inquisitive spirit was generated, such as had not been seen since the time of Descartes. The upper classes, taking offence at this unexpected movement, attempted to stifle it, and made strenuous efforts to destroy that love of inquiry which was daily gaining ground. To effect their object, they persecuted literary men with such bitterness, as to make it evident that the intellect of France must either relapse into its former servility, or else boldly assume the offensive. Happily for the interests of civilization, the latter alternative was adopted; and, in or about 1750, a deadly struggle began, in which those principles of liberty which France borrowed from England, and which had hitherto been supposed only applicable to the church, were for the first time applied to the state. Coinciding with this movement, and indeed forming part of it, other circumstances occurred of the same character. Now it was that the political economists succeeded in proving that the interference of the governing classes had inflicted great mischief even upon the material interests of the country; and had, by their protective measures, injured what they were believed to have benefited. This remarkable discovery in favour of general freedom, put a fresh weapon into the hands of the democratic party; whose strength was still further increased by the unrivalled eloquence with which Rousseau assailed the existing fabric. Precisely the same tendency was exhibited in the extraordinary impulse given to every branch of physical science, which familiarized men with ideas of progress, and brought them into collision with the stationary and conservative ideas natural to government. The discoveries made respecting the external world, encouraged a restlessness and excitement of mind hostile to the spirit of routine, and therefore full of danger for institutions only recommended by their antiquity. This eagerness for physical knowledge also effected a change in education; and the ancient languages being neglected, another link was severed which[420] connected the present with the past. The church, the legitimate protector of old opinions, was unable to resist the passion for novelty, because she was weakened by treason in her own camp. For by this time, Calvinism had spread so much among the French clergy, as to break them into two hostile parties, and render it impossible to rally them against their common foe. The growth of this heresy was also important, because Calvinism being essentially democratic, a revolutionary spirit appeared even in the ecclesiastical profession, so that the feud in the church was accompanied by another feud between the government and the church. These were the leading symptoms of that vast movement which culminated in the French Revolution; and all of them indicated a state of society so anarchical and so thoroughly disorganized, as to make it certain that some great catastrophe was impending. At length, and when everything was ready for explosion, the news of the American Rebellion fell like a spark on the inflammatory mass, and ignited a flame which never ceased its ravages until it had destroyed all that Frenchmen once held dear, and had left for the instruction of mankind an awful lesson of the crimes into which continued oppression may hurry a generous and long-suffering people.

Such is a rapid outline of the view which my studies have led me to take of the causes of the French Revolution. That I have ascertained all the causes, I do not for a moment suppose; but it will, I believe, be found that none of importance have been omitted. It is, indeed, true, that among the materials of which the evidence consists, many deficiencies will be seen; and a more protracted labour would have been rewarded by a greater success. Of these shortcomings I am deeply sensible; and I can only regret that the necessity of passing on to a still larger field has compelled me to leave so much for future inquirers to gather in. At the same time, it ought to be remembered, that this is the first attempt which has ever been made to study the antecedents of the French Revolution according to a scheme wide enough to include the whole of their intellectual[421] bearings. In defiance of sound philosophy, and, I may say, in defiance of common understanding, historians obstinately persist in neglecting those great branches of physical knowledge, in which in every civilized country the operations of the human mind may be most clearly seen, and therefore the mental habits most easily ascertained. The result is, that the French Revolution, unquestionably the most important, the most complicated, and the most glorious event in history, has been given over to authors, many of whom have displayed considerable ability, but all of whom have shown themselves destitute of that preliminary scientific education, in the absence of which it is impossible to seize the spirit of any period, or to take a comprehensive survey of its various parts. Thus, to mention only a single instance: we have seen that the extraordinary impulse given to the study of the external world was intimately connected with that democratic movement which overthrew the institutions of France. But this connexion historians have been unable to trace; because they were unacquainted with the progress of the various branches of natural philosophy and of natural history. Hence it is that they have exhibited their great subject maimed and mutilated, shorn of those fair proportions which it ought to possess. According to this scheme, the historian sinks into the annalist; so that, instead of solving a problem, he merely paints a picture. Without, therefore, disparaging the labours of those industrious men who have collected materials for a history of the French Revolution, we may assuredly say, that the history itself has never been written; since they who have attempted the task have not possessed such resources as would enable them to consider it as merely a single part of that far larger movement which was seen in every department of science, of philosophy, of religion, and of politics.

Whether or not I have effected anything of real value towards remedying this deficiency, is a question for competent judges to decide. Of this, at least, I feel certain, that whatever imperfections may be observed,[422] the fault consists, not in the method proposed, but in the extreme difficulty of any single man putting into full operation all the parts of so vast a scheme. It is on this point, and on this alone, that I feel the need of great indulgence. But, as to the plan itself, I have no misgivings; because I am deeply convinced that the time is fast approaching when the history of Man will be placed on its proper footing; when its study will be recognized as the noblest and most arduous of all pursuits; and when it will be clearly seen, that, to cultivate it with success, there is wanted a wide and comprehensive mind, richly furnished with the highest branches of human knowledge. When this is fully admitted, history will be written only by those whose habits fit them for the task; and it will be rescued from the hands of biographers, genealogists, collectors of anecdotes, chroniclers of courts, of princes, and of nobles,—those babblers of vain things, who lie in wait at every corner, and infest this the public highway of our national literature. That such compilers should trespass on a province so far above their own, and should think that by these means they can throw light on the affairs of men, is one of many proofs of the still backward condition of our knowledge, and of the indistinctness with which its boundaries have been mapped out. If I have done anything towards bringing these intrusions into discredit, and inspiring historians themselves with a sense of the dignity of their own calling, I shall have rendered in my time some little service, and I shall be well content to have it said, that in many cases I have failed in executing what I originally proposed. Indeed, that there are in this volume several instances of such failure, I willingly allow; and I can only plead the immensity of the subject, the shortness of a single life, and the imperfection of every single enterprise. I, therefore, wish this work to be estimated, not according to the finish of its separate parts, but according to the way in which those parts have been fused into a complete and symmetrical whole. This, in an undertaking of such novelty and magnitude, I have a right to expect. And I would, moreover, add, that if the reader has met[423] with opinions adverse to his own, he should remember that his views are, perchance, the same as those which I too once held, and which I have abandoned, because, after a wider range of study, I found them unsupported by solid proof, subversive of the interests of Man, and fatal to the progress of his knowledge. To examine the notions in which we have been educated, and to turn aside from those which will not bear the test, is a task so painful, that they who shrink from the suffering should pause before they reproach those by whom the suffering is undergone. What I have put forward may, no doubt, be erroneous; but it is, at all events, the result of an honest searching after truth, of unsparing labour, of patient and anxious reflection. Conclusions arrived at in this way, are not to be overturned by stating that they endanger some other conclusions; nor can they be even affected by allegations against their supposed tendency. The principles which I advocate, are based upon distinct arguments, supported by well-ascertained facts. The only points, therefore, to be ascertained, are, whether the arguments are fair, and whether the facts are certain. If these two conditions have been obeyed, the principles follow by an inevitable inference. Their demonstration is, in the present volume, necessarily incomplete; and the reader must suspend his final judgment until the close of this Introduction, when the subject in all its bearings will be laid before him. The remaining part of the Introduction will be occupied, as I have already intimated, with an investigation of the civilizations of Germany, America, Scotland, and Spain; each of which presents a different type of intellectual development, and has, therefore, followed a different direction in its religious, scientific, social, and political history. The causes of these differences I shall attempt to ascertain. The next step will be to generalize the causes themselves; and having thus referred them to certain principles common to all, we shall be possessed of what may be called the fundamental laws of European thought; the divergence of the different countries being regulated either by the direction those laws take, or else by their comparative[424] energy. To discover these fundamental laws will be the business of the Introduction; while, in the body of the work, I shall apply them to the history of England, and endeavour by their aid to work out the epochs through which we have successively passed, fix the basis of our present civilization, and indicate the path of our future progress.

Footnotes:

[952] For a popular but able view of the value of averages in scientific inquiries, see Herschel's Disc. on Nat. Philos. pp. 215–219.

[953] As we see in the pretensions set forth by mathematicians, who often suppose that an amount of certainty can be attained in their own pursuits not to be found in any other. This error has probably arisen, as Locke suggests, from confusing clearness with certainty. Essay on Human Understanding, book iv. chap. ii. secs. 9 and 10, in Works, vol. ii. pp. 73, 74. See also Comte, Philos. Pos. vol. i. p. 103, where it is justly observed, that all branches of knowledge capable of being generalized into sciences admit of equal certainty, but not of equal precision: ‘si d'après l'explication précédente, les diverses sciences doivent nécessairement présenter une précision très-inégale, il n'en est nullement ainsi de leur certitude.’ This is handled unsatisfactorily by Montucla (Hist. des Mathémat. vol. i. p. 33), who says, that the principal cause of the peculiar certainty reached by the mathematician is, that ‘d'une idée claire il ne déduit que des conséquences claires et incontestables.’ Similarly, Cudworth (Intellect. System, vol. iii. p. 377): ‘nay the very essence of truth here is this clear perceptibility, or intelligibility.’ On the other hand, Kant, a far deeper thinker, avoided this confusion, by making mathematical clearness the mark of a kind of certainty rather than of a degree of it: ‘Die mathematische Gewissheit heisst auch Evidenz, weil ein intuitives Erkenntniss klarer ist, als ein discursives. Obgleich also beides, das mathematische und das philosophische Vernunfterkenntniss an sich gleich gewiss ist, so ist doch die Art der Gewissheit in beiden verschieden.’ Logik, Einleitung, sec. 9, in Kant's Werke, vol. i. p. 399. On the opinions of the ancients respecting certainty, compare Matter, Hist. de l'Ecole d'Alexandrie, vol. i. p. 195, with Ritter's Hist. of Ancient Philos. vol. ii. p. 46, vol. iii. pp. 74, 426, 427, 484, 614.

[954] ‘Vers 1750, deux hommes de génie, observateurs judicieux et profonds, conduits par une force d'attention très-soutenue à une logique rigoureuse, animés d'un noble amour pour la patrie et pour l'humanité, M. Quesnay et M. de Gournay, s'occupèrent avec suite de savoir si la nature des choses n'indiquerait pas une science de l'économie politique, et quels seraient les principes de cette science.’ Additions aux Œuvres de Turgot, vol. iii. p. 310. M. Blanqui (Hist. de l'Economie Politique, vol. ii. p. 78) also says, ‘vers l'année 1750;’ and Voltaire (Dict. Philos. article Blé, in Œuvres, vol. xxxvii. p. 384) says, ‘vers l'an 1750, la nation, rassasiée de vers, de tragédies, de comédies, d'opéra, de romans, d'histoires romanesques, de réflexions morales plus romanesques encore, et de disputes théologiques sur la grâce et sur les convulsions, se mit enfin a raisonner sur les blés.’

[955] The revolutionary tendency of this economical movement is noticed in Alison's Europe, vol. i. pp. 184, 185; where, however, its commencement is erroneously assigned to ‘about the year 1761.’ See also, on the hostility this caused against government, Mém. de Campan, vol. i. pp. 7, 8; Mem. of Mallet du Pan, vol. i. p. 32; and Barruel, Hist. du Jacobinisme, vol. i. p. 193, vol. ii. p. 152.

[956] ‘D'ailleurs la nation s'étoit accoutumée à se séparer toujours de plus en plus de son gouvernement, en raison même de ce que ses écrivains avoient commencé à aborder les études politiques. C'étoit l'époque où la secte des économistes se donnoit le plus de mouvement, depuis que le marquis de Mirabeau avoit publié, en 1755, son Ami des Hommes.’ Sismondi, Hist. des Franç. vol. xxix. p. 269. Compare Tocqueville, Règne de Louis XV, vol. ii. p. 58. In this same year, 1755, Goldsmith was in Paris, and was so struck by the progress of insubordination, that he foretold the freedom of the people; though I need hardly say that he was not a man to understand the movement of the economists. Prior's Life of Goldsmith, vol. i. pp. 198, 199; Forster's Life of Goldsmith, vol. i. p. 66.

[957] In February 1759, he writes to Madame du Boccage: ‘Il me paraît que les grâces et le bon goût sont bannis de France, et ont cédé la place à la métaphysique embrouillée, à la politique des cerveaux creux, à des discussions énormes sur les finances, sur le commerce, sur la population, qui ne mettront jamais dans l'état ni un écu, ni un homme de plus.’ Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. lx. p. 485. In 1763 (vol. lxiii. p. 204): ‘Adieu, nos beaux arts, si les choses continuent comme elles sont. La rage des remontrances et des projets sur les finances a saisi la nation.’ Many of the ablest men being thus drawn off from mere literary pursuits, there began, about twenty years before the Revolution, a marked deterioration in style, particularly among prose writers. Compare Lettres de Dudeffand à Walpole, vol. ii. p. 358, vol. iii. pp. 163, 299; Mém. de Genlis, vol. ii. p. 374, vol. v. p. 123, vol. viii. pp. 180, 275; Mercier sur Rousseau, vol. ii. p. 151.

[958] Georgel, who hated Turgot, says of him: ‘son cabinet et ses bureaux se transformèrent en ateliers où les économistes forgeoient leur système et leurs spéculations.’ Mém. de Georgel, vol. i. p. 406: see also Blanqui, Hist. de l'Écon. Politique, vol. ii. pp. 96–112; Condorcet, Vie de Turgot, pp. 32–35; Twiss, Progress of Political Econ. pp. 142 seq.

[959] Sismondi, under the year 1774, notices ‘les écrits innombrables que chaque jour voyoit éclore sur la politique, et qui avoient désormais remplacé dans l'intérêt des salons ces nouveautés littéraires, ces vers, ces anecdotes galantes, dont peu d'années auparavant le public étoit uniquement occupé.’ Hist. des Français, vol. xxix. p. 495; and a similar remark in Schlosser's Eighteenth Century, vol. ii. p. 126.

[960] See the account, written in Feb. 1781, in Grimm, Corr. Lit. vol. xi. 260, where it is said of Necker's Compte Rendu, ‘La sensation qu'a faite cet ouvrage est, je crois, sans exemple; il s'en est débité plus de six mille exemplaires le jour même qu'il a paru, et depuis, le travail continuel de deux imprimeries n'a pu suffire encore aux demandes multipliées de la capitale, des provinces, et des pays étrangers.’ Ségur (Souvenirs, vol. i. p. 138) mentions, that Necker's work was ‘dans la poche de tous les abbés, et sur la toilette de toutes les dames.’ The daughter of Necker, Madame de Staël, says of her father's work, Administration des Finances, ‘on en vendit quatre-vingt mille exemplaires.’ De Staël sur la Révolution, vol. i. p. 111.

[961] The expression of the Baron de Montyon: see Adolphus's History of George III. vol. iv. p. 290; and on the revolutionary tendency of Necker's financial works, Soulavie, Règne de Louis XVI, vol. ii. pp. xxxvii. xxxviii., vol. iv. pp. 18, 143. Necker published a justification of his book, ‘malgré la défense du roi.’ Du Mesnil, Mém. sur Le Brun, p. 108.

[962] So far as I remember, there is not a single instance in any of his works; and those who assail him on this ground should adduce the passages on which they rely, instead of bringing vague general charges. Compare Life of Rousseau, in Brougham's Men of Letters, vol. i. p. 189; Stäudlin, Gesch. der theolog. Wissenschaften, vol. ii. p. 442; Mercier sur Rousseau, 1791, vol. i. pp. 27–32, vol. ii. pp. 279, 280.

[963] ‘Rousseau, qui déjà en 1753 avoit touché aux bases mêmes de la société humaine, dans son Discours sur l'origine de l'inégalité parmi les hommes.’ Sismondi, vol. xxix. p. 270. Schlosser (Hist. of the Eighteenth Century, vol. i. p. 138) notices ‘the entirely new system of absolute democracy which was brought forward by J. J. Rousseau;’ see also p. 289, and Soulavie, Règne de Louis XVI, vol. v. p. 208.

[964] Napoleon said to Stanislas Girardin respecting Rousseau, ‘sans lui la France n'auroit pas eu de révolution.’ Holland's Foreign Reminiscences, Lond. 1850, p. 261. This is certainly an exaggeration; but the influence of Rousseau was, during the latter half of the eighteenth century, most extraordinary. In 1765, Hume writes from Paris: ‘It is impossible to express or imagine the enthusiasm of this nation in his favour; … no person ever so much engaged their attention as Rousseau. Voltaire and every body else are quite eclipsed by him.’ Burton's Life of Hume, vol. ii. p. 299. A letter written in 1754 (in Grimm, Correspond. vol. i. p. 122) says that his Dijon Discourse ‘fit une espèce de révolution à Paris.’ The circulation of his works was unprecedented; and when La Nouvelle Héloïse appeared, ‘les libraires ne pouvaient suffire aux demandes de toutes les classes. On louait l'ouvrage à tant par jour, ou par heure. Quand il parut, on exigeait douze sous par volume, en n'accordant que soixante minutes pour le lire.’ Musset Pathay, Vie de Rousseau, vol. ii. p. 361. For further evidence of the effect produced by his works, see Lerminier, Philos. du Droit, vol. ii. p. 251; Mém. de Roland, vol. i. p. 196, vol. ii. pp. 337, 359; Mém. de Genlis, vol. v. p. 193, vol. vi. p. 14; Alison's Europe, vol. i. p. 170, vol. iii. p. 369, vol. iv. p. 376; Mém. de Morellet, vol. i. p. 116; Longchamp, Mém. sur Voltaire, vol. ii. p. 50; Life of Romilly, vol. i. p. 267; Mem. of Mallet du Pan, vol. i. p. 127; Burke's Works, vol. i. p. 482; Cassagnac, Causes de la Rév. vol. iii. p. 549; Lamartine, Hist. des Girondins, vol. ii. p. 38, vol. iv. p. 93, vol. viii. p. 125; Wahrheit und Dichtung, in Göthe's Werke, Stuttgart, 1837, vol. ii. part ii. pp. 83, 104; Grimm, Correspond. Lit. vol. xii. p. 222; De Staël, Consid. sur la Rév. vol. ii. p. 371.

[965] Sismondi (xxix. p. 20), Lacretelle (XVIII^e Siècle, vol. ii. p. 110), and Tocqueville (Règne de Louis XV, vol. ii. p. 103), give the date 1749; so that 1747, in Biog. Univ. vol. xxvi. p. 46, is apparently a misprint.

[966] ‘Laissant voir dans toute cette loi, qui est assez longue, qu'il regardoit non-seulement l'accroissement, mais l'existence de ces propriétés ecclésiastiques, comme un mal pour le royaume.’ Sismondi, Hist. des Franç. vol. xxix. p. 21. This, I suppose, is the edict mentioned by Turgot, who wished to push the principle still further. Œuvres de Turgot, vol. iii. pp. 254, 255; a bold and striking passage.

[967] Mably mentions the excitement caused by this proceeding of Machault, Observations sur l'Histoire de France, vol. ii. p. 415: ‘On attaqua alors, dans plusieurs écrits, les immunités du clergé.’ On the dislike felt by the clergy against the minister, see Ségur, Souvenirs, vol. i. p. 35; Soulavie, Règne de Louis XVI, vol. i. pp. 283, 310, vol. ii. p. 146.

[968] In 1750, ‘Machault obtint les sceaux en conservant le contrôle-général.’ Biog. Univ. vol. xxvi. p. 46.

[969] ‘Croyait surtout que le temps était venu d'imposer les biens du clergé.’ Lacretelle, XVIII^e Siècle, vol. ii. p. 107. Nearly the same words are used in Biog. Univ. vol. xxvi. p. 46.

[970] On which account, he still further provoked the indignation of the Catholic clergy. See Felice, Hist. of the Protest. of France, pp. 401, 402; a letter written in 1751.

[971] ‘The approach of the year 1760 witnessed a sensible relaxation of persecution…. The clergy perceived this with dismay; and, in their general assembly of 1760, they addressed urgent remonstrances to the king against this remission of the laws.’ Felice, Protest. of France, p. 422. Comp. an interesting letter from Nismes in 1776, in Thicknesse's Journey through France, London, 1777, vol. i. p. 66.

[972] Sismondi says of 1762, ‘Dès lors, la réaction de l'opinion publique contre l'intolérance pénétra jusque dans les provinces les plus fanatiques.’ Hist. des Franç. vol. xxix. p. 296. See also a letter to Damilaville, dated 6th of May, 1765, in Lettres inédites de Voltaire, vol. i. p. 412; and two other letters in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. lxiv. p. 225, vol. lxvi. p. 417.

[973] Of whom Hume, several years before, had formed a very high opinion. See Burton's Life of Hume, vol. ii. p. 497; a too favourable judgment, which should be contrasted with the opposite exaggerations, in Mém. de Genlis, vol. ix. pp. 360–363, and Barruel, Hist. du Jacobinisme, vol. i. pp. 87, 199.

[974] Lavallée, Hist. des Franç. iii. 516; Biog. Univ. xxiv. p. 656.

[975] Georgel, Mémoires, vol. ii. pp. 293, 294; a violent outbreak against ‘l'irréligieux édit … qui autorise tous les cultes.’

[976] ‘Le parlement de Paris discutait l'édit sur les protestans. Vingt ans plus tôt, combien une telle résolution n'eût-elle pas agité et divisé les esprits? En 1787, on ne s'étonnait que d'une chose: c'était qu'il pût y avoir une discussion sur des principes évidens.’ Lacretelle, XVIII^e Siècle, vol. iii. pp. 342, 343. In 1776, Malesherbes, who was then minister, wished to secure nearly the same privileges for the Protestants, but was prevented from doing so. Dutens, Mémoires, vol. ii. pp. 56–58. Dutens was himself concerned in the negotiation.

[977] Henry II. used to refer to this title, by way of justifying his persecution of the Protestants (Ranke's Civil Wars in France, vol. i. p. 241); and great account was made of it by that exemplary prince, Louis XV. Soulavie, Règne de Louis XVI, vol. i. p. 155. The French antiquaries trace it back to Pepin, the father of Charlemagne. Barrington's Observations on the Statutes, p. 168.

[978] The Prince de Montbarey, who was educated by the Jesuits about 1740, says, that, in their schools, the greatest attention was paid to pupils intended for the church; while the abilities of those destined for secular professions were neglected. See this statement, which, coming from such a quarter, is very remarkable, in Mémoires de Montbarey, vol. i. pp. 12, 13. Montbarey, so far from being prejudiced against the Jesuits, ascribes the Revolution to their overthrow. Ibid. vol. iii. p. 94. For other evidence of the exclusive and unsecular character of their education in the eighteenth century, see Schlosser's Eighteenth Century, vol. iv. pp. 29, 30, 245.

[979] See some singular observations in Parr's first sermon on faith and morals (Parr's Works, vol. vi. p. 598), where we are told that, in the management of the feud between Calvinists and Arminians, ‘the steadiness of defence should be proportionate to the impetuosity of assault;’ unnecessary advice, so far as his own profession is concerned. However, the Mohammedan theologians are said to have been even keener than the Christians on the subject. See Troyer's Discourse on the Dabistan, vol. i. p. cxxxv.; an important work on the Asiatic religions.

[980] Neander (Hist. of the Church, vol. iv. p. 105) finds the germ of the Pelagian controversy in the dispute between Athanasius and Apollinaris. Compare, respecting its origin, a note in Milman's Hist. of Christianity, 1840, vol. iii. pp. 270, 271.

[981] No writer I have met with, has stated so fairly and clearly the theological boundaries of these doctrines, as Göthe. Wahrheit und Dichtung, in Werke, vol. ii. part ii. p. 200, Stuttgart, 1837.

[982] Compare Butler's Mem. of the Catholics, vol. iii. p. 224; Copleston on Necessity and Predestination, pp. 25, 26; Mosheim's Eccles. History, vol. ii. p. 254.

[983] Hence the theory of indulgences, constructed by the Church of Rome with perfect consistency, and against which most of the Protestant arguments are illogical.

[984] This seems to be the natural tendency, and has been observed by Neander in his instructive account of the Gnostics, History of the Church, vol. ii. p. 121: ‘The custom with such sects to attach themselves to some celebrated name or other of antiquity.’

[985] The Dutch church was the first which adopted, as an article of faith, the doctrine of election held at Geneva. Mosheim's Eccles. History, vol. ii. p. 112. See also, on this doctrine in the Netherlands, Sinclair's Corresp. vol. ii. p. 199; Coventry's Speech in 1672, in Parl. Hist. vol. iv. p. 537; and Stäudlin, Gesch. der theolog. Wissenschaften, vol. i. p. 262: ‘In den Niederlanden wurde der Calvinische Lehrbegriff zuerst in eine scholastische Form gebracht.’

As to the Calvinism of North America, compare Bancroft's American Revolution, vol. i. pp. 165, 173, 174, vol. ii. pp. 329, 363, vol. iii. p. 213; Lyell's Second Visit to the United States, 1849, vol. i. p. 51; and Combe's Notes on the United States, vol. i. pp. 35, 99, 223, vol. iii. pp. 88, 118, 210, 226.

[986] It is sometimes said that this was advocated by Bancroft as early as 1588; but this assertion appears to be erroneous, and Mr. Hallam can find no instance before the reign of James I. Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 390. The dogma, though new in the Church of England, was of great antiquity. See, on its origin among the early Christians, Klimrath, Hist. du Droit, vol. i. p. 253.

[987] The spread of Arminianism was frequently noticed in Parliament during the reign of Charles I. Parl. Hist. vol. ii. pp. 444, 452, 455, 470, 484, 487, 491, 660, 947, 1368. On the decline of Calvinism at the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge early in the seventeenth century, see a curious letter from Beale, in Boyle's Works, vol. v. p. 483; and on this movement in the church after Elizabeth, compare Yonge's Diary, p. 93, edit. Camden Soc. 1848; Orme's Life of Owen, p. 32; Harris's Lives of the Stuarts, vol. i. pp. 154–156, vol. ii. pp. 208, 213, 214; Hutchinson's Mem. pp. 66, 77; Hallam's Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 466; Des Maizeaux's Life of Chillingworth, p. 112.

[988] Respecting the Calvinism of the opponents of the king, see Clarendon's Rebellion, pp. 36, 37; Bulstrode's Memoirs, pp. 8, 9; Burton's Diary, vol. iii. p. 206; Carlyle's Cromwell, vol. i. p. 68; and on its influence in the House of Commons in 1628, Carwithen's Hist. of the Church of England, vol. ii. p. 64.

[989] M Heber (Life of Jeremy Taylor, p. cxx.) says, that Calvinism is ‘a system of all others the least attractive to the feelings of a Roman Catholic.’ Philip II., the great Catholic champion, especially hated the Calvinists, and in one of his edicts called their sect ‘détestable,’ De Thou, Hist. vol. x. p. 705: compare vol. xi. p. 458. To give an earlier instance; when the Roman inquisition was revived in 1542, it was ordered that heretics, and in particular Calvinists, should not be tolerated: ‘besonders Calvinisten.’ Ranke, Die Päpste, vol. i. p. 211.

[990] By way of illustrating this, I may mention, that an intelligent observer, who travelled all through Germany, remarked, in 1780, that the Calvinists, though richer than their opponents, had less taste for the arts. Riesbeck's Travels through Germany, London, 1787, vol. ii. p. 240. An interesting passage; in which, however, the author has shown himself unable to generalize the facts which he indicates.

[991] The Arminians have had among them many men of great learning, particularly of patristic learning; but the most profound thinkers have been on the other side, as in the instances of Augustin, Pascal, and Jonathan Edwards. To these Calvinistic metaphysicians the Arminian party can oppose no one of equal ability; and it is remarkable, that the Jesuits, by far the most zealous Arminians in the Romish Church, have always been celebrated for their erudition, but have paid so little attention to the study of the mind, that, as Sir James Mackintosh says (Dissert. on Ethical Philos. p. 185), Buffier is ‘the only Jesuit whose name has a place in the history of abstract philosophy.’ And it is interesting to observe, that this superiority of thought on the part of the Calvinists, accompanied by an inferiority of learning, existed from the beginning; for Neander (History of the Church, vol. iv. p. 299) remarks, that Pelagius ‘was not possessed of the profound speculative spirit which we find in Augustin,’ but that ‘in learning he was Augustin's superior.’

[992] ‘A philosophical necessity, grounded on the idea of God's foreknowledge, has been supported by theologians of the Calvinistic school, more or less rigidly, throughout the whole of the present century.’ Morell's Speculative Philosophy of Europe, 1846, vol. i. p. 366. Indeed, this tendency is so natural, that we find the doctrine of necessity, or something extremely like it, laid down by Augustin. See the interesting extracts in Neander's History of the Church, vol. vi. pp. 424, 425; where, however, a loophole is left to let in the idea of interference, or at all events of superintendence.

[993] ‘The five principal tenets of Jansenism, which amount in fact to the doctrine of Calvin.’ Palmer on the Church, vol. i. p. 320; and see the remarks of Mackintosh in his Memoirs, vol. i. p. 411. According to the Jesuits, ‘Paulus genuit Augustinum, Augustinus Calvinum, Calvinus Jansenium, Jansenius Sancryanum, Sancryanus Arnaldum et fratres ejus.’ Des Réaux, Historiettes, vol. iv. pp. 71, 72. Compare Huetius de Rebus ad eum pertinentibus, p. 64: ‘Jansenium dogmata sua ex Calvinianis fontibus derivasse.’

[994] Jansenius was born in a village near Leerdam, and was educated, if I mistake not, in Utrecht.

[995] The introduction of Jansenism into France is superficially related by Duvernet (Hist. de la Sorbonne, vol. ii. pp. 170–175); but the reader will find a contemporary and highly characteristic account in Mém. de Motteville, vol. ii. pp. 224–227. The connexion between it and the spirit of insubordination was remarked at the time; and Des Réaux, who wrote in the middle of the seventeenth century, mentions an opinion that the Fronde ‘étoit venue du Jansénisme.’ Historiettes, vol. iv. p. 72. Omer Talon too says that, in 1648, ‘il se trouvoit que tous ceux qui étoient de cette opinion n'aimoient pas le gouvernement présent de l'état,’ Mém. d'Omer Talon, vol. ii. pp. 280, 281.

[996] Brienne, who knew Louis XIV. personally, says, ‘Jansénisme, l'horreur du roi.’ Mém. de Brienne, vol. ii. p. 240. Compare Duclos, Mém. Secrets, vol. i. p. 112. At the end of his reign he promoted a bishop on the avowed ground of his opposition to the Jansenists; this was in 1713. Lettres inédites de Maintenon, vol. ii. pp. 396, 406; and see further vol. i. pp. 220, 222.

[997] ‘La Sorbonne, moliniste sous Louis XIV, fut janséniste sous le régent, et toujours divisée.’ Duvernet, Hist. de la Sorbonne, vol. ii. p. 225.

[998] On the strength of the Jansenists in the parliament of Paris, see Tocqueville, Règne de Louis XV, vol. i. p. 352, vol. ii. p. 176; Flassan, Diplomatie, vol. vi. p. 486; Mém. de Georgel, vol. ii. p. 262; Mém. de Bouillé, vol. i. p. 67; Palmer's Treatise on the Church, vol. i. pp. 327, 328.

[999] Lavallée, Hist. des Français, vol. iii. p. 439.

[1000] Soulavie, Règne de Louis XVI, vol. i. pp. 31, 145.

[1001] Tocqueville, Règne de Louis XV, vol. ii. p. 385; Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. liv. p. 275; Mém. de Georgel, vol. i. pp. 49–51.

[1002] Duvernet, Vie de Voltaire, p. 90.

[1003] Lacretelle, XVIII^e Siècle, vol. ii. p. 119; Lavallée, vol. iii. p. 477.

[1004] Mém. de Georgel, vol. i. p. 57.

[1005] La Fayette, Mém. vol. ii. p. 53; Dumont, Souvenirs, p. 154; Georgel, vol. ii. p. 353, vol. iii. p. 10.

[1006] Soulavie, Règne de Louis XVI, vol. iii. p. 137.

[1007] ‘The Jesuits are charged by the vulgar as promoters of that attempt.’ Letter from Stanley, written in 1761, in Chatham Correspond. vol. ii. p. 127. Compare Campan, Mém. de Marie Antoinette, vol. iii. pp. 19, 21; Sismondi, Hist. des Franç. vol. xxix. pp. 111, 227.

[1008] Lavallée, Hist. des Français, vol. iii. p. 476.

[1009] Flassan, Diplomatie Franç. vol. vi. p. 491.

[1010] ‘Sans que les accusés eussent été entendus.’ Lavallée, vol. iii. p. 477. ‘Pas un seul n'a été entendu dans leur cause.’ Barruel sur l'Hist. du Jacobinisme, vol. ii. p. 264.

[1011] Lavallée, iii. p. 477; Flassan, vi. pp. 504, 505; Sismondi, xxix. p. 234; and the letters written by Diderot, who, though he was in Paris at the time, gives rather an incomplete account, Mém. de Diderot, vol. ii. pp. 127, 130–132.

[1012] Flassan, Hist. de la Diplomatie, vol. vi. pp. 486–488.

[1013] ‘Enfin ils furent mis en cause, et le parlement de Paris eut l'étonnement et la joie de voir les jésuites amenés devant lui comme de vils banqueroutiers.’ Lacretelle, XVIII^e Siècle, vol. ii. p. 252. ‘Condemned in France as fraudulent traders.’ Schlosser's Eighteenth Century, vol. iv. p. 451.

[1014] Several writers attribute the destruction of the Jesuits to the exertions of Madame de Pompadour!

[1015] Choiseul is reported to have said of the Jesuits: ‘leur éducation détruite, tous les autres corps religieux tomberont d'eux-mêmes.’ Barruel, Hist. du Jacobinisme, vol. i. p. 63.

[1016] In 1771, Horace Walpole writes from Paris that the churches and convents were become so empty, as to ‘appear like abandoned theatres destined to destruction;’ and this he contrasts with his former experience of a different state of things. Walpole's Letters, vol. v. p. 310, edit. 1840.

[1017] ‘So low had the talents of the once illustrious church of France fallen, that in the latter part of the eighteenth century, when Christianity itself was assailed, not one champion of note appeared in its ranks; and when the convocation of the clergy, in 1770, published their famous anathema against the dangers of unbelief, and offered rewards for the best essays in defence of the Christian faith, the productions called forth were so despicable that they sensibly injured the cause of religion.’ Alison's Hist. of Europe, vol. i. pp. 180, 181.

[1018] In 1766, the Rev. William Cole writes to Alban Butler: ‘I travelled to Paris through Lille and Cambray in their public voitures, and was greatly scandalized and amazed at the open and unreserved disrespect, both of the trading and military people, for their clergy and religious establishment. When I got to Paris, it was much worse.’ Ellis's Original Letters, second series, vol. iv. p. 485. See also Walpole's Letters to Lady Ossory, vol. ii. p. 513, edit. 1848; and the complaint made at Besançon in 1761, in Lepan, Vie de Voltaire, p. 113.

[1019] And also to retain their immense property, which, when the Revolution occurred, was estimated at 80,000,000l. English money, bringing in a yearly revenue of ‘somewhat under 75,000,000 francs.’ Alison's Europe, vol. i. p. 183, vol. ii. p. 20, vol. xiv. pp. 122, 123.

[1020] M. Barante (Littérature Française au XVIII^e Siècle, p. 94) says, ‘On arriva bientôt à tout nier; déjà l'incrédulité avait rejeté les preuves divines de la révélation, et avait abjuré les devoirs et les souvenirs chrétiens; on vit alors l'athéisme lever un front plus hardi, et proclamer que tout sentiment religieux était une rêverie et un désordre de l'esprit humain. C'est de l'époque de l'Encyclopédie que datent les écrits où cette opinion est le plus expressément professée. Ils furent peu imités.’ This last sentence is erroneous, I am sorry to say.

[1021] ‘Dans un intervalle de douze années, de 1758 à 1770, la littérature française fut souillée par un grand nombre d'ouvrages où l'athéisme étoit ouvertement professé.’ Lacretelle, XVIII^e Siècle, vol. ii. p. 310.

[1022] Voltaire, who wrote against it, mentions its diffusion among all classes, and says it was read by ‘des savants, des ignorants, des femmes.’ Dict. Philos. article Dieu, section iv., in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xxxviii. p. 366: see also vol. lxvii. p. 260; Longchamp et Wagnière, Mém. sur Voltaire, vol. i. pp. 13, 334; Lettres inédites de Voltaire, vol. ii. pp. 210, 216; and a letter from him in Correspond. de Dudeffand, vol. ii. p. 329. Compare Tennemann, Gesch. der Philos. vol. xi. p. 320: ‘mit ungetheiltem Beifalle aufgenommen worden und grossen Einfluss gehabt hat.’

[1023] ‘Le code monstrueux d'athéisme.’ Biog. Univ. vol. xxix. p. 88. Morellet, who in such matters was by no means a harsh judge, says, ‘Le Système de la Nature, surtout, est un catéchisme d'athéisme complet.’ Mém. de Morellet, vol. i. p. 133. Stäudlin (Gesch. der theolog. Wissenschaften, vol. ii. p. 440) calls it ‘ein System des entschiedenen Atheismus:’ while Tennemann, who has given by far the best account of it I have met with, says, ‘Es machte bei seinem Erscheinen gewaltiges Aufsehen, und ist fast immer als das Handbuch des Atheismus betrachtet worden.’ Gesch. der Philos. vol. xi. p. 349.

[1024] ‘Le monstrueux athéisme est devenu l'opinion dominante.’ Soulavie, Règne de Louis XVI, vol. iii. p. 16: the address of the archbishop with a deputation, ‘muni des pouvoirs de l'assemblée générale du clergé,’ in September 1775.

[1025] Biog. Univ. vol. x. pp. 471, 669, vol. xxvii. p. 8, vol. xxx. p. 542; Mém. de Brissot, vol. i. p. 305; Tocqueville, Règne de Louis XV, vol. ii. p. 77.

[1026] Mem. of Mallet du Pan, vol. i. p. 50; Soulavie, Règne de Louis XVI, vol. v. p. 127; Barruel, Hist. du Jacobin., vol. i. pp. 104, 135, 225, vol. ii. p. 23, vol. iii. p. 200; Life of Romilly, vol. i. pp. 46, 145; Stäudlin, Theolog. Wissenschaften, vol. ii. p. 440; Georgel, Mém. vol. ii. pp. 250, 350; Grimm, Correspond. vol. xv. p. 87; Mém. de Morellet, vol. i. p. 130; Lepan, Vie de Voltaire, p. 369; Tennemann, Gesch. der Philos. vol. xi. p. 350; Musset Pathay, Vie de Rousseau, vol. ii. pp. 177, 297; Mém. de Genlis, vol. v. p. 180; Hitchcock's Geol. p. 263; Mém. d'Epinay, vol. ii. pp. 63, 66, 76.

[1027] This was related to Romilly by Diderot. Life of Romilly, vol. i. pp. 131, 132: see also Burton's Life of Hume, vol. ii. pp. 220. Priestley, who visited France in 1774, says, that ‘all the philosophical persons to whom I was introduced at Paris (were) unbelievers in Christianity, and even professed atheists.’ Priestley's Memoirs, vol. i. p. 74. See also a letter by Horace Walpole, written from Paris in 1765 (Walpole's Letters, edit. 1840, vol. v. p. 96): ‘their avowed doctrine is atheism.’

[1028] Biog. Univ. vol. xx. p. 29.

[1029] ‘Si la nature, au lieu de mains et de doigts flexibles, eût terminé nos poignets par un pied de cheval; qui doute que les hommes, sans art, sans habitations, sans défense contre les animaux, tout occupés du soin de pourvoir à leur nourriture et d'éviter les bêtes féroces, ne fussent encore errants dans les forêts comme des troupeaux fugitifs?’ Helvétius, De l'Esprit, vol. i. p. 2. Had Helvétius ever read the attack of Aristotle against Anaxagoras for asserting that διὰ τὸ χεῖοας ἔχειν, φρονιμώώτατον εῖναι τῶν ζώων τὸν ἄνθρωπον? Cudworth, Intellect. Syst. vol. iii. p. 311.

[1030] De l'Esprit, vol. i. p. 2.

[1031] Ibid. vol. i. p. 4.

[1032] ‘En effet la mémoire ne peut être qu'un des organes de la sensibilité physique.’ vol. i. p. 6. Compare what M. Lepelletier says on this, in his Physiologie Médicale, vol. iii. p. 272.

[1033] ‘D'où je conclus que tout jugement n'est qu'une sensation.’ De l'Esprit, vol. i. p. 10; ‘juger, comme je l'ai déjà prouvé, n'est proprement que sentir.’ p. 41.

[1034] ‘Né sensible à la douleur et au plaisir, c'est à la sensibilité physique que l'homme doit ses passions; et à ses passions, qu'il doit tous ses vices et toutes ses vertus.’ Ibid. vol. ii. p. 53; and see vol. i. p. 239.

[1035] ‘Une fois parvenu à cette vérité, je découvre facilement la source des vertus humaines; je voie que sans la sensibilité à la douleur et au plaisir physique, les hommes, sans désirs, sans passions, également indifférents à tout, n'eussent point connu d'intérêt personnel; que sans intérêt personnel ils ne se fussent point rassemblés en société, n'eussent point fait entr'eux de conventions, qu'il n'y eût point eu d'intérêt général, par conséquent point d'actions justes ou injustes; et qu'ainsi la sensibilité physique et l'intérêt personnel ont été les auteurs de toute justice.’ Ibid. vol. i. p. 278.

[1036] De l'Esprit, vol. ii. pp. 19, 20, 30, 34, 293, 294, 318. Compare Epicurus, in Diog. Laert. de Vit. Philos. lib. x. seg. 120, vol. i. p. 654.

[1037] De l'Esprit, vol. ii. p. 45. He sums up: ‘il s'ensuit que l'amitié, ainsi que l'avarice, l'orgueil, l'ambition et les autres passions, est l'effet immédiat de la sensibilité physique.’

[1038] ‘Il lui est aussi impossible d'aimer le bien pour le bien, que d'aimer le mal pour le mal.’ Ibid. vol. i. p. 73.

[1039] Ibid. vol. ii. p. 249.

[1040] Ibid. vol. ii. p. 58.

[1041] ‘Nous sommes uniquement ce que nous font les objets qui nous environnent.’ Ibid. vol. ii. p. 306.

[1042] Saint Surin, a zealous opponent of Helvétius, admits that ‘les étrangers les plus éminents par leurs dignités ou par leurs lumières, désiraient d'être introduits chez un philosophe dont le nom retentissait dans toute l'Europe.’ Biog. Univ. vol. xx. p. 33.

[1043] Brissot (Mémoires, vol. i. p. 339) says, that in 1775, ‘le système d'Helvétius avait alors la plus grande vogue.’ Turgot, who wrote against it, complains that it was praised ‘avec une sorte de fureur’ (Œuvres de Turgot, vol. ix. p. 297); and Georgel (Mémoires, vol. ii. p. 256) says, ‘ce livre, écrit avec un style plein de chaleur et d'images, se trouvoit sur toutes les toilettes.’

[1044] ‘D'ailleurs le siècle de Louis XV se reconnut dans l'ouvrage d'Helvétius, et on prête à Mme. Dudeffand ce mot fin et profond: “C'est un homme qui a dit le secret de tout le monde.”’ Cousin, Hist. de la Philos. I. série, vol. iii. p. 201. Compare Corresp. de Dudeffand, vol. i. p. xxii.; and a similar sentiment in Mém. de Roland, vol. i. p. 104. The relation of Helvétius's work to the prevailing philosophy is noticed in Comte's Philos. Pos. vol. iii. pp. 791, 792. vol. v. pp. 744, 745.

[1045] Biog. Univ. vol. ix. p. 399.

[1046] ‘Condillac est le métaphysicien français du XVIII^e siècle.’ Cousin, Hist. de la Philos. I. série, vol. iii. p. 83.

[1047] ‘Traité des Sensations,’ which, as M. Cousin says, is, ‘sans comparaison, le chef-d'œuvre de Condillac.’ Hist. de la Philos. II. série, vol. ii. p. 77.

[1048] On the immense influence of Condillac, compare Renouard, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. ii. p. 355; Cuvier, Eloges, vol. iii. p. 387; Broussais, Cours de Phrénologie, pp. 45, 68–71, 829; Pinel, Alién. Mentale, p. 94; Brown's Philos. of the Mind, p. 212.

[1049] Whether or not Locke held that reflection is an independent as well as a separate faculty, is uncertain; because passages could be quoted from his writings to prove either the affirmative or the negative. Dr. Whewell justly remarks, that Locke uses the word so vaguely as to ‘allow his disciples to make of his doctrines what they please.’ History of Moral Philosophy, 1852, p. 71.

[1050] ‘Locke distingue deux sources de nos idées, les sens et la réflexion. Il seroit plus exact de n'en reconnoître qu'une, soit parceque la réflexion n'est dans son principe que la sensation même, soit parce qu'elle est moins la source des idées que le canal par lequel elles découlent des sens.’ Condillac, Traité des Sensations, p. 13: see also, at pp. 19, 216, the way in which sensation becomes reflection; and the summing up, at p. 416, ‘que toutes nos connoissances viennent des sens, et particulièrement du toucher.’

[1051] He says of Mallebranche (Traité des Sensations, p. 312), ‘ne pouvant comprendre comment nous formerions nous-mêmes ces jugemens, il les attribue à Dieu; manière de raisonner fort commode, et presque toujours la ressource des philosophes.’

[1052] ‘Mais à peine j'arrête la vue sur un objet, que les sensations particulières que j'en reçois sont l'attention même que je lui donne.’ Traité des Sensations, p. 16.

[1053] ‘Ne sont que différentes manières d'être attentif.’ p. 122.

[1054] ‘Dès qu'il y a double attention, il y a comparaison; car être attentif à deux idées ou les comparer, c'est la même chose.’ p. 17.

[1055] ‘Dès qu'il y a comparaison, il y a jugement.’ p. 65.

[1056] ‘La mémoire n'est donc que la sensation transformée.’ p. 17. Compare p. 61.

[1057] ‘L'imagination est la mémoire même, parvenue à toute la vivacité dont elle est susceptible.’ p. 78. ‘Or j'ai appelé imagination cette mémoire vive qui fait paroître présent ce qui est absent.’ p. 245.

[1058] ‘Il résulte de cette vérité, que la nature commence tout en nous: aussi ai-je démontré que, dans le principe ou dans le commencement, nos connoissances sont uniquement son ouvrage, que nous ne nous instruisons que d'après ses leçons, et que tout l'art de raisonner consisté à continuer comme elle nous a fait commencer.’ p. 178.

[1059] Compare Powell on Radiant Heat, p. 261, in Second Rep. of Brit. Assoc.; Whewell's History of Sciences, vol. ii. p. 526; and his Philosophy, vol. i. pp. 339, 340. Prevost was professor at Geneva; but his great views were followed up in France by Dulong and Petit; and the celebrated theory of dew by Dr. Wells is merely an application of them. Herschel's Nat. Philosophy, pp. 163, 315, 316. Respecting the further prosecution of these inquiries, and our present knowledge of radiant heat, see Liebig and Kopp's Reports, vol. i. p. 79, vol. iii. p. 30, vol. iv. p. 45.

[1060] On Fourier's mathematical theory of conduction, see Comte, Philos. Positive, vol. i. pp. 142, 175, 345, 346, 351, vol. ii. pp. 453, 551; Prout's Bridgewater Treatise, pp. 203, 204; Kelland on Heat, p. 6, in Brit. Assoc. for 1841; Erman's Siberia, vol. i. p. 243; Humboldt's Cosmos, vol. i. p. 169; Hitchcock's Geology, p. 198; Pouillet, Elémens de Physique, ii. 696, 697.

[1061] Coulomb's memoirs on electricity and magnetism were published from 1782 to 1789. Fifth Report of Brit. Assoc. p. 4. Compare Liebig and Kopp's Reports, vol. iii. p. 128; and on his relation to Œpinus, who wrote in 1759, see Whewell's Induc. Sciences, vol. iii. pp. 24–26, 35, 36, and Haüy, Traité de Minéralogie, vol. iii. p. 44, vol. iv. p. 14. There is a still fuller account of what was effected by Coulomb in M. Pouillet's able work, Elémens de Physique, vol. i. part ii. pp. 63–79, 130–135.

[1062] Fresnel belongs to the present century; but M. Biot says that the researches of Malus began before the passage of the Rhine in 1797. Biot's Life of Malus, in Biog. Univ. vol. xxvi. p. 412.

[1063] Pouillet, Elémens de Physique, vol. ii. part ii. pp. 484, 514; Report of Brit. Assoc. for 1832, p. 314; Leslie's Nat. Philos. p. 83; Whewell's Hist. of Sciences, vol. ii. pp. 408–410; Philos. of Sciences, vol. i. p. 350, vol. ii. p. 25; Herschel's Nat. Philos. p. 258.

[1064] The struggle between these rival theories, and the ease with which a man of such immense powers as Young was put down, and, as it were, suppressed, by those ignorant pretenders who presumed to criticize him, will be related in another part of this work, as a valuable illustration of the history and habits of the English mind. At present the controversy is finished, so far as the advocates of emission are concerned; but there are still difficulties on the other side, which should have prevented Dr. Whewell from expressing himself with such extreme positiveness on an unexhausted subject. This able writer says: ‘The undulatory theory of light; the only discovery which can stand by the side of the theory of universal gravitation, as a doctrine belonging to the same order, for its generality, its fertility, and its certainty.’ Whewell's Hist. of the Induc. Sciences, vol. ii. p. 425; see also p. 508.

[1065] As to the supposed impossibility of conceiving the existence of matter without properties which give rise to forces (note in Paget's Lectures on Pathology, 1853, vol. i. p. 61), there are two reasons which prevent me from attaching much weight to it. First, a conception which, in one stage of knowledge, is called impossible, becomes, in a later stage, perfectly easy, and so natural as to be often termed necessary. Secondly, however indissoluble the connexion may appear between force and matter, it was not found fatal to the dynamical theory of Leibnitz; it has not prevented other eminent thinkers from holding similar views; and the arguments of Berkeley, though constantly attacked, have never been refuted.

[1066] Every chemical decomposition being only a new form of composition. Robin et Verdeil, Chimie Anatomique, vol. i. pp. 455, 456, 498: ‘de tout cela il résulte, que la dissolution est un cas particulier des combinaisons.’

[1067] What is erroneously called the atomic theory, is, properly speaking, an hypothesis, and not a theory: but hypothesis though it be, it is by its aid that we wield the doctrine of definite proportions, the corner stone of chemistry.

[1068] Many of them being still fettered, in geology, by the hypothesis of catastrophes; in chemistry, by the hypothesis of vital forces.

[1069] See, for instance, Cuvier, Progrès des Sciences, vol. i. pp. 32–34, 40; Liebig's Letters on Chemistry, p. 282; Turner's Chemistry, vol. i. pp. 184, 185; Brande's Chemistry, vol. i. pp. lxxxv.–lxxxix. 302; Thomson's Animal Chemistry, pp. 520, 634, and a great part of the second volume of his History of Chemistry; also Müller's Physiol. vol. i. pp. 90, 323.

[1070] According to Mr. Harcourt (Brit. Assoc. Report for 1839, p. 10), Cavendish has this merit, so far as England is concerned: ‘He, first of all his contemporaries, did justice to the rival theory recently proposed by Lavoisier.’

[1071] La chimie française. Thomson's Hist. of Chemistry, vol. ii. pp. 101, 130. On the excitement caused by Lavoisier's views, see a letter which Jefferson wrote in Paris, in 1789, printed partly in Tucker's Life of Jefferson, vol. i. pp. 314, 315; and at length in Jefferson's Correspond. vol. ii. pp. 453–455.

[1072] ‘The first attempt to form a systematic chemical nomenclature was made by Lavoisier, Berthollet, G. de Morveau, and Fourcroy, soon after the discovery of oxygen gas.’ Turner's Chemistry, vol. i. p. 127. Cuvier (Progrès des Sciences, vol. i. p. 39) and Robin et Verdeil (Chimie Anatomique, vol. i. pp. 602, 603) ascribe the chief merit to De Morveau. Thomson says (Hist. of Chemistry, vol. ii. p. 133): ‘This new nomenclature very soon made its way into every part of Europe, and became the common language of chemists, in spite of the prejudices entertained against it, and the opposition which it every where met with.’

[1073] The famous central heat of Buffon is often supposed to have been taken from Leibnitz; but, though vaguely taught by the ancients, the real founder of the doctrine appears to have been Descartes. See Bordas Demoulin, Cartésianisme, Paris, 1843, vol. i. p. 312. There is an unsatisfactory note on this in Prichard's Physical Hist. vol. i. p. 100. Compare Experimental Hist. of Cold, tit. 17, in Boyle's Works, vol. ii. p. 308; Brewster's Life of Newton, vol. ii. p. 100. On the central heat of the Pythagoreans, see Tennemann, Gesch. der Philos. vol. i. p. 149; and as to the central fire mentioned in the so-called Oracles of Zoroaster, see Beausobre, Hist. de Manichée, vol. ii. p. 152. But the complete ignorance of the ancients respecting geology made these views nothing but guesses. Compare some sensible remarks in Matter's Hist. de l'Ecole d'Alexandrie, vol. ii. p. 282.

[1074] This comprehensiveness of Cuvier is justly remarked by M. Flourens as the leading characteristic of his mind. Flourens, Hist. des Travaux de Cuvier, pp. 76, 142, 306: ‘ce qui caractérise partout M. Cuvier, c'est l'esprit vaste.’

[1075] Hence he is called by Mr. Owen, ‘the founder of palæontological science.’ Owen on Fossil Mammalia, in Report of Brit. Assoc. for 1843, p. 208. It was in 1796 that there were thus ‘opened to him entirely new views of the theory of the earth.’ p. 209. See also Bakewell's Geology, p. 368; and Milne Edwards, Zoologie, part ii. p. 279. The importance of this step is becoming more evident every year; and it has been justly remarked, that without palæontology there would be, properly speaking, no geology. Balfour's Botany, 1849, p. 591. Sir R. Murchison (Siluria, 1854, p. 366) says, ‘it is essentially the study of organic remains which has led to the clear subdivision of the vast mass of older rocks, which were there formerly merged under the unmeaning term “Grauwacke.”’ In the same able work, p. 465, we are told that, ‘in surveying the whole series of formations, the practical geologist is fully impressed with the conviction that there has, at all periods, subsisted a very intimate connexion between the existence, or, at all events, the preservation of animals, and the media in which they have been fossilized.’ For an instance of this in the old red sandstone, see p. 329.

[1076] Whewell's Hist. of Sciences, vol. iii. p. 679; Lyell's Geol. p. 59. Indeed gneiss received its name from the Germans. Bakewell's Geol. p. 108.

[1077] Compare Conybeare's Report on Geology, p. 371 (Brit. Assoc. for 1832), with Bakewell's Geol. pp. 367, 368, 419, and Lyell's Geol. p. 59.

[1078] In the older half of the secondary rocks, mammals are hardly to be found, and they do not become common until the tertiary. Murchison's Siluria, pp. 466, 467; and Strickland on Ornithology, p. 210 (Brit. Assoc. for 1844). So, too, in the vegetable kingdom, many of the plants in the tertiary strata belong to genera still existing; but this is rarely the case with the secondary strata; while in the primary strata, even the families are different to those now found on the earth. Balfour's Botany, pp. 592, 593. Compare Wilson's additions to Jussieu's Botany, 1849, p. 746; and for further illustration of this remarkable law of the relation between advancing time and diminished similarity, a law suggesting the most curious speculations, see Hitchcock's Geology, p. 21; Lyell's Geology, p. 183; and Owen's Lectures on the Invertebrata, 1855, pp. 38, 576.

[1079] Mr. Geoffroy Saint Hilaire (Anomalies de l'Organisation, vol. i. pp. 121–127) has collected some evidence respecting the opinions formerly held on these subjects. Among other instances, he mentions a learned man named Henrion, an academician, and, I suppose, a theologian, who in 1718 published a work, in which ‘il assignait à Adam cent vingt-trois pieds neuf pouces;’ Noah being twenty feet shorter, and so on. The bones of elephants were sometimes taken for giants: see a pleasant circumstance in Cuvier, Hist. des Sciences, part ii. p. 43.

[1080] ‘Daubenton a le premier détruit toutes ces idées; il a le premier appliqué l'anatomie comparée à la détermination de ces os…. Le mémoire où Daubenton a tenté, pour la première fois, la solution de ce problème important est de 1762.’ Flourens, Travaux de Cuvier, pp. 36, 37. Agassiz (Report on Fossil Fishes, p. 82, Brit. Assoc. for 1842) claims this merit too exclusively for Cuvier, overlooking the earlier researches of Daubenton; and the same mistake is made in Hitchcock's Geol. p. 249, and in Bakewell's Geol. p. 384.

[1081] Even Cuvier held the doctrine of catastrophes; but, as Sir Charles Lyell says (Principles of Geology, p. 60), his own discoveries supplied the means of overthrowing it, and of familiarizing us with the idea of continuity. Indeed it was one of the fossil observations of Cuvier which first supplied the link between reptiles, fishes, and cetaceous mammals. See Owen on Fossil Reptiles, pp. 60, 198, Brit. Assoc. for 1841; and compare Carus's Comparative Anatomy, vol. i. p. 155. To this I may add, that Cuvier unconsciously prepared the way for disturbing the old dogma of fixity of species, though he himself clung to it to the last. See some observations, which are very remarkable, considering the period when they were written, in Cabanis, Rapports du Physique et du Moral, pp. 427, 428: conclusions drawn from Cuvier, which Cuvier would have himself rejected.

[1082] Neither Montesquieu nor Turgot appear to have believed in the possibility of generalizing the past, so as to predict the future; while as to Voltaire, the weakest point in his otherwise profound view of history was his love of the old saying, that great events spring from little causes; a singular error for so comprehensive a mind, because it depended on confusing causes with conditions. That a man like Voltaire should have committed what now seems so gross a blunder, is a mortifying reflection for those who are able to appreciate his vast and penetrating genius, and it may teach the best of us a wholesome lesson. This fallacy was avoided by Montesquieu and Turgot; and the former writer, in particular, displayed such extraordinary ability, that there can be little doubt, that had he lived at a later period, and thus had the means of employing in their full extent the resources of political economy and physical science, he would have had the honour not only of laying the basis, but also of rearing the structure of the philosophy of the history of Man. As it was, he failed in conceiving what is the final object of every scientific inquiry, namely, the power of foretelling the future: and after his death, in 1755, all the finest intellects in France, Voltaire alone excepted, concentrated their attention upon the study of natural phenomena.

[1083] The line of demarcation between anatomy as statical, and physiology as dynamical, is clearly drawn by M. Comte (Philos. Positive, vol. iii. p. 303) and by MM. Robin et Verdeil (Chimie Anatomique, vol. i. pp. 11, 12, 40, 102, 188, 434). What is said by Carus (Comparative Anatomy, vol. ii. p. 356) and by Sir Benjamin Brodie (Lectures on Pathology and Surgery, p. 6) comes nearly to the same thing, though expressed with less precision. On the other hand, M. Milne Edwards (Zoologie, part i. p. 9) calls physiology ‘la science de la vie;’ which, if true, would simply prove that there is no physiology at all, for there certainly is at present no science of life.

[1084] In his Règne Animal, vol. i. pp. vi. vii., he says that preceding naturalists ‘n'avaient guère considéré que les rapports extérieurs de ces espèces, et personne ne s'était occupé de coördonner les classes et les ordres d'après l'ensemble de la structure…. Je dus donc, et cette obligation me prit un temps considérable, je dus faire marcher de front l'anatomie et la zoologie, les dissections et le classement…. Les premiers résultats de ce double travail parurent en 1795, dans un mémoire spécial sur une nouvelle division des animaux à sang blanc.’

[1085] On the opposition between the methods of Linnæus and of Cuvier, see Jenyns' Report on Zoology, pp. 144, 145, in Brit. Assoc. for 1834.

[1086] The foundations of this celebrated arrangement was laid by Cuvier, in a paper read in 1795. Whewell's History of the Induc. Sciences, vol. iii. p. 494. It appears, however (Flourens, Travaux de Cuvier, pp. 69, 70), that it was in, or just after, 1791, that the dissection of some mollusca suggested to him the idea of reforming the classification of the whole animal kingdom. Compare Cuvier, Règne Animal, vol. i. pp. 51, 52 note.

[1087] The only formidable opposition made to Cuvier's arrangement has proceeded from the advocates of the doctrine of circular progression: a remarkable theory, of which Lamarck and Macleay are the real originators, and which is certainly supported by a considerable amount of evidence. Still, among the great majority of competent zoologists, the fourfold division holds its ground, although the constantly-increasing accuracy of microscopical observations has detected a nervous system much lower in the scale than was formerly suspected, and has thereby induced some anatomists to divide the radiata into acrita and nematoneura. Owen's Invertebrata, 1855, pp. 14, 15; and Rymer Jones's Animal Kingdom, 1855, p. 4. As, however, it seems probable that all animals have a distinct nervous system, this subdivision is only provisional; and it is very likely that when our microscopes are more improved, we shall have to return to Cuvier's arrangement. Some of Cuvier's successors have removed the apodous echinoderms from the radiata; but in this Mr. Rymer Jones (Animal Kingdom, p. 211) vindicates the Cuverian classification.

[1088] We may except Aristotle; but between Aristotle and Bichat I can find no middle man.

[1089] But not exclusively. Mr. Blainville (Physiol. comparée, vol. ii. p. 304) says, ‘celui qui, comme Bichat, bornait ses études à l'anatomie humaine;’ and at p. 350, ‘quand on ne considère que ce qui se passe chez l'homme, ainsi que l'a fait Bichat.’ This, however, is much too positively stated. Bichat mentions ‘les expériences nombreuses que j'ai faites sur les animaux vivans.’ Bichat, Anatomie Générale, vol. i. p. 332; and for other instances of his experiments on animals below man, see the same work, vol. i. pp. 164, 284, 311, 312, 326, vol. ii. pp. 13, 25, 69, 73, 107, 133, 135, 225, 264, 423, vol. iii. pp. 151, 218, 242, 262, 363, 364, 400, 478, 501, vol. iv. pp. 27, 28, 34, 46, 229, 247, 471: see also Bichat, Recherches sur la Vie, pp. 262, 265, 277, 312, 336, 356, 358, 360, 368, 384, 400, 411, 439, 455, 476, 482, 494, 512: and his Traité des Membranes, pp. 48, 64, 67, 130, 158, 196, 201, 224. These are all experiments on inferior animals, which aided this great physiologist in establishing those vast generalizations, which, though applied to man, were by no means collected merely from human anatomy. The impossibility of understanding physiology without studying comparative anatomy, is well pointed out in Mr. Rymer Jones's work, Organization of the Animal Kingdom, 1855, pp. 601, 791.

[1090] Mr. Swainson (Geography and Classification of Animals, p. 170) complains, strangely enough, that Cuvier ‘rejects the more plain and obvious characters which every one can see, and which had been so happily employed by Linnæus, and makes the differences between these groups to depend upon circumstances which no one but an anatomist can understand.’ See also p. 173: ‘characters which, however good, are not always comprehensible, except to the anatomist.’ (Compare Hodgson on the Ornithology of Nepal, in Asiatic Researches, vol. xix. p. 179, Calcutta, 1836.) In other words, this is a complaint that Cuvier attempted to raise zoology to a science, and, therefore, of course, deprived it of some of its popular attractions, in order to invest it with other attractions of a far higher character. The errors introduced into the natural sciences by relying upon observation instead of experiment, have been noticed by many writers; and by none more judiciously than M. Saint Hilaire in his Anomalies de l'Organisation, vol. i. p. 98.

[1091] It is very doubtful if Bichat was acquainted with the works of Smyth, Bonn, or Fallopius, and I do not remember that he any where even mentions their names. He had, however, certainly studied Bordeu; but I suspect that the author by whom he was most influenced was Pinel, whose pathological generalizations were put forward just about the time when Bichat began to write. Compare Bichat, Traité des Membranes, pp. 3, 4, 107, 191; Béclard, Anat. Gén. pp. 65, 66; Bouillaud, Philos. Médicale, p. 26; Blainville, Physiol. comparée, vol. i. p. 284, vol. ii. pp. 19, 252; Henle, Anat. Gén. vol. i. pp. 119, 120.

[1092] Biog. Univ. vol. iv. pp. 468, 469.

[1093] For a list of the tissues, see Bichat, Anat. Gén. vol. i. p. 49. At p. 50 he says, ‘en effet, quel que soit le point de vue sous lequel on considère ces tissus, ils ne se ressemblent nullement: c'est la nature, et non la science, qui a tiré une ligne de démarcation entre eux.’ There is, however, now reason to think, that both animal and vegetable tissues are, in all their varieties, referrible to a cellular origin. This great view, which M. Schwann principally worked out, will, if fully established, be the largest generalization we possess respecting the organic world, and it would be difficult to overrate its value. Still there is danger lest, in prematurely reaching at so vast a law, we should neglect the subordinate, but strongly-marked differences between the tissues as they actually exist. Burdach (Traité de Physiologie, vol. vi. pp. 195, 196) has made some good remarks on the confusion introduced into the study of tissues, by neglecting those salient characteristics which were indicated by Bichat.

[1094] Pinel says, ‘dans on seul hiver il ouvrit plus de six cents cadavres.’ Notice sur Bichat, p. xiii., in vol. i of Anat. Gén. By such enormous labour, and by working day and night in a necessarily polluted atmosphere, he laid the foundation for that diseased habit which caused a slight accident to prove fatal, and carried him off at the age of thirty-one. ‘L'esprit a peine à concevoir que la vie d'un seul homme puisse suffire à tant de travaux, à tant de découvertes, faites ou indiquées: Bichat est mort avant d'avoir accompli sa trente-deuxième année!’ Pinel, p. xvi.

[1095] To this sort of comparative anatomy (if it may be so called), which before his time scarcely existed, Bichat attached great importance, and clearly saw that it would eventually become of the utmost value for pathology. Anat. Gén. vol. i. pp. 331, 332, vol. ii. pp. 234–241, vol. iv. p. 417, &c. Unfortunately these investigations were not properly followed up by his immediate successors; and Müller, writing long after his death, was obliged to refer chiefly to Bichat for ‘the true principles of general pathology.’ Müller's Physiology, 1840, vol. i. p. 808. M. Vogel too, in his Pathological Anatomy, 1847, pp. 398, 413, notices the error committed by the earlier pathologists, in looking at changes in the organs, and neglecting those in the tissues; and the same remark is made in Robin et Verdeil, Chimie Anatomique, 1853, vol. i. p. 45; and in Henle, Traité d'Anatomie, vol. i. p. vii., Paris, 1843. That ‘structural anatomy,’ and ‘structural development,’ are to be made the foundations of pathology, is, moreover, observed in Simon's Pathology, 1850, p. 115 (compare Williams's Principles of Medicine, 1848, p. 67), who ascribes the chief merit of this ‘rational pathology’ to Henle and Schwann: omitting to mention that they only executed Bichat's scheme and (be it said with every respect for these eminent men) executed it with a comprehensiveness much inferior to that displayed by their great predecessor. In Broussais, Examen des Doctrines Médicales, vol. iv. pp. 106, 107, there are some just and liberal observations on the immense service which Bichat rendered to pathology. See also Béclard, Anatomie, Paris, 1852, p. 184.

[1096] Bichat, Anat. Gén. vol. i. pp. 51, 160, 161, 259, 372, vol. ii. pp. 47, 448, 449, vol. iii. pp. 33, 168, 208, 309, 406, 435, vol. iv. pp. 21, 52, 455–461, 517.

[1097] According to M. Comte (Philos. Pos. vol. iii. p. 319), no one had thought of this before Bichat. MM. Robin et Verdeil, in their recent great work, fully admit the necessity of employing this singular resource. Chimie Anatomique, 1853, vol. i. pp. 18, 125, 182, 357, 531.

[1098] ‘Dès-lors il créa une science nouvelle, l'anatomie générale.’ Pinel sur Bichat, p. xii. ‘A Bichat appartient véritablement la gloire d'avoir conçu et surtout exécuté, le premier, le plan d'une anatomie nouvelle.’ Bouillaud, Philos. Médicale, p. 27. ‘Bichat fut le créateur de l'histologie en assignant des caractères précis à chaque classe de tissus.’ Burdach, Physiologie, vol. vii. p. 111. ‘Le créateur de l'anatomie générale fut Bichat.’ Henle, Anatomie, vol. i. p. 120. Similar remarks will be found in Saint-Hilaire, Anomalies de l'Organisation, vol. i. p. 10; and in Robin et Verdeil, Chimie Anat. vol. i. p. xviii., vol. iii. p. 405.

[1099] In Béclard, Anat. Gén. 1852, p. 61, it is said that ‘la recherche de ces tissus élémentaires, ou éléments organiques, est devenue la préoccupation presque exclusive des anatomistes de nos jours.’ Compare Blainville, Physiol. Gén. et Comp. vol. i. p. 93: ‘Aujourd'hui nous allons plus avant, nous pénétrons dans la structure intime, non seulement de ces organes, mais encore des tissus qui concourent à leur composition; nous faisons en un mot de la véritable anatomie, de l'anatomie proprement dite.’ And at p. 105: ‘c'est un genre de recherches qui a été cultivé avec beaucoup d'activité, et qui a reçu une grande extension depuis la publication du bel ouvrage de Bichat.’ See also vol. ii. p. 303.

In consequence of this movement, there has sprung up, under the name of Degenerations of Tissues, an entirely new branch of morbid anatomy, of which, I believe, no instance will be found before the time of Bichat, but the value of which is now recognized by most pathologists. Compare Paget's Surgical Pathology, vol. i. pp. 98–112; Williams's Principles of Medicine, pp. 369–376; Burdach's Physiologie, vol. viii. p. 367; Reports of Brit. Assoc. vol. vi. p. 147; Jones's and Sieveking's Pathological Anatomy, 1854, pp. 154–156, 302–304, 555–558. ‘They are,’ say these last writers, ‘of extremely frequent occurrence; but their nature has scarcely been recognized until of late.’

[1100] Cuvier completely neglected the study of tissues; and in the very few instances in which he mentions them, his language is extremely vague. Thus, in his Règne Animal, vol. i. p. 12, he says of living bodies, ‘leur tissu est donc composé de réseaux et de mailles, ou de fibres et de lames solides, qui renferment des liquides dans leurs intervalles.’

[1101] A well-known ornithologist makes the same complaint respecting the classification of birds. Strickland on Ornithology, Brit. Assoc. for 1844, pp. 209, 210. Even in regard to living species, Cuvier (Règne Animal, vol. ii. p. 126) says: ‘La classe des poissons est de toutes celle qui offre le plus de difficultés quand on veut la subdiviser en ordres d'après des caractères fixes et sensibles.’

[1102] The discoveries of M. Agassiz are embodied in his great work, Recherches sur les Poissons fossiles: but the reader who may not have an opportunity of consulting that costly publication, will find two essays by this eminent naturalist, which will give an idea of his treatment of the subject, in Reports of Brit. Assoc. for 1842, pp. 80–88, and for 1844, pp. 279–310. How essential this study is to the geologist, appears from the remark of Sir R. Murchison (Siluria, 1854, p. 417), that ‘fossil fishes have everywhere proved the most exact chronometers of the age of rocks.’

[1103] That they were composed of fibres, was the prevailing doctrine, until the discovery of their tubes, in 1835, by Purkinjé. Before Purkinjé, only one observer, Leeuwenhœk, had announced their tubular structure; but no one believed what he said, and Purkinjé was unacquainted with his researches. Compare Nasmyth's Researches on the Teeth, 1839, p. 159; Owen's Odontography, 1840–1845, vol. i. pp. ix. x.; Henle, Anat. Gén. vol. ii. p. 457; Reports of Brit. Assoc. vol. vii. pp. 135, 136 (Transac. of Sections).

[1104] Mr. Nasmyth, in his valuable, but, I regret to add, posthumous work, notices, as the result of these discoveries, ‘the close affinity subsisting between the dental and other organized tissues of the animal frame.’ Researches on the Development, &c. of the Teeth, 1849, p. 198. This is, properly speaking, a continuation of Mr. Nasmyth's former book, which bore the same title, and was published in 1839.

[1105] This name, which Mr. Owen appears to have first suggested, has been objected to, though, as it seems to me, on insufficient grounds. Compare Owen's Odontography, vol. i. p. iii., with Nasmyth's Researches, 1849, pp. 3, 4. It is adopted in Carpenter's Human Physiol. 1846, p. 154; and in Jones and Sieveking's Patholog. Anat. 1854, pp. 483, 486.

[1106] See the correspondence in Brit. Assoc. for 1841, Sec., pp. 2–23.

[1107] In the notice of it in Whewell's Hist. of Sciences, vol. iii. p. 678, nothing is said about Mr. Nasmyth; while in that in Wilson's Human Anatomy, p. 65, edit. 1851, nothing is said about Mr. Owen. A specimen of the justice with which men treat their contemporaries. Dr. Grant (Supplement to Hooper's Medical Dict. 1848, p. 1390) says, ‘the researches of Mr. Owen tend to confirm those of Mr. Nasmyth.’ Nasmyth, in his last work (Researches on the Teeth, 1849, p. 81), only refers to Owen to point out an error; while Owen (Odontography, vol. i. pp. xlvi.–lvi.) treats Nasmyth as an impudent plagiarist.

[1108] Dr. Whewell (Hist. of Induc. Sciences, vol. iii. p. 678) says, that ‘he has carried into every part of the animal kingdom an examination, founded upon this discovery, and has published the results of this in his Odontography.’ If this able, but rather hasty writer, had read the Odontography, he would have found that Mr. Owen, so far from carrying the examination ‘into every part of the animal kingdom,’ distinctly confines himself to ‘one of the primary divisions of the animal kingdom’ (I quote his own words from Odontography, vol. i. p. lxvii.), and appears to think, that below the vertebrata, the inquiry would furnish little or no aid for the purposes of classification.

[1109] But in comparing the merits of discoverers themselves, we must praise him who proves rather than him who suggests. See some sensible remarks in Owen's Odontography, vol. i. p. xlix.; which, however, do not affect my observations on the superiority of method.

[1110] By a new method of inquiring into a subject, I mean an application to it of generalizations from some other subject, so as to widen the field of thought. To call this a new method, is rather vague; but there is no other word to express the process. Properly speaking, there are only two methods, the inductive and the deductive; which, though essentially different, are so mixed together, as to make it impossible wholly to separate them. The discussion of the real nature of this difference I reserve for my comparison, in the next volume, of the German and American civilizations.

[1111] In literature and in theology, Chateaubriand and De Maistre were certainly the most eloquent, and were probably the most influential leaders of this reaction. Neither of them liked induction, but preferred reasoning deductively from premises which they assumed, and which they called first principles. De Maistre, however, was a powerful dialectician, and on that account his works are read by many who care nothing for the gorgeous declamation of Chateaubriand. In metaphysics, a precisely similar movement occurred; and Laromiguière, Royer Collard, and Maine de Biran, founded that celebrated school which culminated in M. Cousin, and which is equally characterized by an ignorance of the philosophy of induction, and by a want of sympathy with physical science.

[1112] Bichat, Recherches sur la Vie et la Mort, pp. 5–9, 226; and his Anat. Gén. vol. i. p. 72.

[1113] ‘C'est de là, sans doute, que naît cette autre différence entre les organes des deux vies, savoir, que la nature se livre bien plus rarement à des écarts de conformation dans la vie animale que dans la vie organique…. C'est une remarque qui n'a pu échapper à celui dont les dissections ont été un peu multipliées, que les fréquentes variations de formes, de grandeur, de position, de direction des organes internes, comme la rate, le foie, l'estomac, les reins, les organes salivaires, etc…. Jetons maintenant les yeux sur les organes de la vie animale, sur les sens, les nerfs, le cerveau, les muscles volontaires, le larynx; tout y est exact, précis, rigoureusement déterminé dans la forme, la grandeur et la position. On n'y voit presque jamais de variétés, de conformation; s'il en existe, les fonctions sont troublées, anéanties; tandis qu'elles restent les mêmes dans la vie organique, au milieu des altérations diverses des parties.’ Bichat sur la Vie, pp. 23–25. Part of this view is corroborated by the evidence collected by Saint Hilaire (Anomalies de l'Organisation, vol. i. pp. 248 seq.) of the extraordinary aberrations to which the vegetative organs are liable; and he mentions (vol. ii. p. 8) the case of a man, in whose body, on dissection, ‘on reconnut que tous les viscères étaient transposés.’ Comparative anatomy supplies another illustration. The bodies of mollusca are less symmetrical than those of articulata; and in the former, the ‘vegetal series of organs,’ says Mr. Owen, are more developed than the animal series; while in the articulata, ‘the advance is most conspicuous in the organs peculiar to animal life.’ Owen's Invertebrata, p. 470. Compare Burdach's Physiologie, vol. i. pp. 153, 189; and a confirmation of the ‘unsymmetrical’ organs of the gasterpoda, in Grant's Comparative Anatomy, p. 461. This curious antagonism is still further seen in the circumstance, that idiots, whose functions of nutrition and of excretion are often very active, are at the same time remarkable for a want of symmetry in the organs of sensation. Esquirol, Maladies Mentales, vol. ii. pp. 331, 332.

A result, though perhaps an unconscious one, of the application and extension of these ideas, is, that within the last few years there has arisen a pathological theory of what are called ‘symmetrical diseases,’ the leading facts of which have been long known, but are now only beginning to be generalized. See Paget's Pathology, vol. i. pp. 18–22, vol. ii. pp. 244, 245; Simon's Pathology, pp. 210, 211; Carpenter's Human Physiol. pp. 607, 608.

[1114] Bichat sur la Vie, pp. 15–21.

[1115] Ibid. pp. 21–50.

[1116] On intermittence as a quality of animal life, see Holland's Medical Notes, pp. 313, 314, where Bichat is mentioned as its great expounder. As to the essential continuity of organic life, see Burdach's Physiologie, vol. vii. p. 420. M. Comte has made some interesting remarks on Bichat's law of intermittence. Philos. Positive, vol. iii. pp. 300, 395, 744, 745, 750, 751.

[1117] On the development arising from practice, see Bichat sur la Vie, pp. 207–225.

[1118] Ibid. pp. 189–203, 225–230. M. Broussais also (in his able work, Cours de Phrénologie, p. 487) says, that comparison only begins after birth; but surely this must be very doubtful. Few physiologists will deny that embryological phenomena, though neglected by metaphysicians, play a great part in shaping the future character; and I do not see how any system of psychology can be complete which ignores considerations, probable in themselves, and not refuted by special evidence. So carelessly, however, has this subject been investigated, that we have the most conflicting statements respecting even the vagitus uterinus, which, if it exists to the extent alleged by some physiologists, would be a decisive proof that animal life (in the sense of Bichat) does begin during the fœtal period. Compare Burdach, Physiol. vol. iv. pp. 113, 114, with Wagner's Physiol. p. 182.

[1119] ‘Les organes internes qui entrent alors en exercice, ou qui accroissent beaucoup leur action, n'ont besoin d'aucune éducation; ils atteignent tout à coup une perfection à laquelle ceux de la vie animale ne parviennent que par habitude d'agir souvent.’ Bichat sur la Vie, p. 231.

[1120] Dioscorides and Galen knew from 450 to 600 plants (Winckler, Geschichte der Botanik, 1854, pp. 34, 40); but, according to Cuvier (Eloges, vol. iii. p. 468), Linnæus, in 1778, ‘en indiquait environ huit mille espèces;’ and Meyen (Geog. of Plants, p. 4) says, at the time of Linnæus's death, ‘about 8,000 species were known.’ (Dr. Whewell, in his Bridgewater Treatise, p. 247, says, ‘about 10,000.’) Since then the progress has been uninterrupted; and in Henslow's Botany, 1837, p. 136, we are told that ‘the number of species already known and classified in works of botany amounts to about 60,000.’ Ten years later, Dr. Lindley (Vegetable Kingdom, 1847, p. 800) states them at 92,930; and two years afterwards, Mr. Balfour says ‘about 100,000.’ Balfour's Botany, 1849, p. 560. Such is the rate at which our knowledge of nature is advancing. To complete this historical note, I ought to have mentioned, that in 1812, Dr. Thomson says ‘nearly 30,000 species of plants have been examined and described.’ Thomson's Hist. of the Royal Society, p. 21.

[1121] It was published in 1790. Winckler, Gesch. der Botanik, p. 389. But the historians of botany have overlooked a short passage in Göthe's works, which proves that he had glimpses of the discovery in or before 1786. See Italiänische Reise, in Göthe's Werke, vol. ii. part ii. p. 286, Stuttgart, 1837, where he writes from Padua, in September 1786, ‘Hier in dieser neu mir entgegen tretenden Mannigfaltigkeit wird jener Gedanke immer lebendiger: dass man sich alle Pflanzengestalten vielleicht aus Einer entwickeln könne.’ There are some interesting remarks on this brilliant generalization in Owen's Parthenogenesis, 1849, pp. 53 seq.

[1122] That is, into the study of animal monstrosities, which, however capricious they may appear, are now understood to be the necessary result of preceding events. Within the last thirty years several of the laws of these unnatural births, as they used to be called, have been discovered; and it has been proved that, so far from being unnatural, they are strictly natural. A fresh science has thus been created, under the name of Teratology, which is destroying the old lusus naturæ in one of its last and favourite strongholds.

[1123] Dr. Lindley (Third Report of Brit. Assoc. p. 33) says, that Desfontaines was the first who demonstrated the opposite modes of increase in dicotyledonous and monocotyledonous stems. See also Richard, Eléments de Botanique, p. 131; and Cuvier, Eloges, vol. i. p. 64. In regard to the steps taken by Adanson and De Monceau, see Winckler, Gesch. der Botanik, pp. 204, 205; Thomson's Chemistry of Vegetables, p. 951; Lindley's Introduc. to Botany, vol. ii. p. 132.

[1124] It is curious to observe how even good botanists clung to the Linnæan system long after the superiority of a natural system was proved. This is the more noticeable, because Linnæus, who was a man of undoubted genius, and who possessed extraordinary powers of combination, always allowed that his own system was merely provisional, and that the great object to be attained was a classification according to natural families. See Winckler, Geschichte der Botanik, p. 202; and Richard, Eléments de Botanique, p. 570. Indeed, what could be thought of the permanent value of a scheme which put together the reed and the barberry, because they were both hexandria; and forced sorrel to associate with saffron, because both were trigynia? Jussieu's Botany, 1849, p. 524.

[1125] The Genera Plantarum of Antoine Jussieu was printed at Paris in 1789; and, though it is known to have been the result of many years of continued labour, some writers have asserted that the ideas in it were borrowed from his uncle, Bernard Jussieu. But assertions of this kind rarely deserve attention; and as Bernard did not choose to publish anything of his own, his reputation ought to suffer for his uncommunicativeness. Compare Winckler, Gesch. der Botanik, pp. 261–272, with Biog. Univ. vol. xxii. pp. 162–166. I will only add the following remarks from a work of authority, Richard, Eléments de Botanique, Paris, 1846, p. 572: ‘Mais ce ne fut qu'en 1789 que l'on eut véritablement un ouvrage complet sur la méthode des familles naturelles. Le Genera Plantarum d'A. L. de Jussieu présenta la science des végétaux sous un point de vue si nouveau, par la précision et l'élégance qui y règnent, par la profondeur et la justesse des principes généraux qui y sont exposés pour la première fois, que c'est depuis cette époque seulement que la méthode des familles naturelles a été véritablement créée, et que date la nouvelle ère de la science des végétaux…. L'auteur du Genera Plantarum posa le premier les bases de la science, en faisant voir quelle était l'importance relative des différents organes entre eux, et par conséquent leur valeur dans la classification…. Il a fait, selon la remarque de Cuvier, la même révolution dans les sciences d'observation que la chimie de Lavoisier dans les sciences d'expérience. En effet, il a non seulement changé la face de la botanique; mais son influence s'est également exercée sur les autres branches de l'histoire naturelle, et y a introduit cet esprit de recherches, de comparaison, et cette méthode philosophique et naturelle, vers le perfectionnement de laquelle tendent désormais les efforts de tous les naturalistes.’

[1126] Hence the removal of a great source of error; since it is now understood that in dicotyledons alone can age be known with certainty. Henslow's Botany, p. 243: compare Richard, Eléments de Botanique, p. 159, aphorisme xxiv. On the stems of endogenous plants, which, being mostly tropical, have been less studied than the exogenous, see Lindley's Botany, vol. i. pp. 221–236; where there is also an account, pp. 229 seq., of the views which Schleiden advanced on this subject in 1839.

[1127] On the arrangement of the leaves, now called phyllotaxis, see Balfour's Botany, p. 92; Burdach's Physiologie, vol. v. p. 518.

[1128] The classification by cotyledons has been so successful, that, ‘with very few exceptions, however, nearly all plants may be referred by any botanist, at a single glance, and with unerring certainty, to their proper class; and a mere fragment even of the stem, leaf, or some other part, is often quite sufficient to enable him to decide this question.’ Henslow's Botany, p. 30. In regard to some difficulties still remaining in the way of the threefold cotyledonous division of the whole vegetable world, see Lindley's Botany, vol. ii. pp. 61 seq.

[1129] Mr. Swainson (Study of Natural History, p. 356) says ‘mineralogy, indeed, which forms but a part of chemistry.’ This is deciding the question very rapidly; but in the meantime, what becomes of the geometrical laws of minerals? and what are we to do with that relation between their structure and optical phenomena, which Sir David Brewster has worked out with signal ability?

[1130] The difficulties introduced into the study of minerals by the discovery of isomorphism and polymorphism, are no doubt considerable; but M. Beudant (Minéralogie, Paris, 1841, p. 37) seems to me to exaggerate their effect upon ‘l'importance des formes crystallines.’ They are much more damaging to the purely chemical arrangement, because our implements for measuring the minute angles of crystals are still very imperfect, and the goniometer may fail in detecting differences which really exist; and, therefore, many alleged cases of isomorphism are probably not so in reality. Wollaston's reflecting goniometer has been long considered the best instrument possessed by crystallographers; but I learn from Liebig and Kopp's Reports, vol. i. pp. 19, 20, that Frankenheim has recently invented one for measuring the angles of ‘microscopic crystals.’ On the amount of error in the measurement of angles, see Phillips's Mineralogy, 1837, p. viii.

[1131] He says, ‘depuis plus de vingt ans que je m'occupe de cet objet.’ Romé de Lisle, Cristallographie, ou Description des Formes propres à tous les Corps du Règne Minéral, Paris, 1783, vol. i. p. 91.

[1132] See his Essai de Cristallographie, Paris, 1772, p. x.: ‘un de ceux qui m'a le plus frappé ce sont les formes régulières et constantes que prennent naturellement certains corps que nous désignons par le nom de cristaux.’ In the same work, p. 13: ‘il faut nécessairement supposer que les molécules intégrantes des corps ont chacune, suivant qui lui est propre, une figure constante et déterminée.’ In his later treatise (Cristallographie, 1783, vol. i. p. 70), after giving some instances of the extraordinary complications presented by minerals, he adds: ‘Il n'est donc pas étonnant que d'habiles chimistes n'aient rien vu de constant ni de déterminé dans les formes cristallines, tandis qu'il n'en est aucune qu'on ne puisse, avec un peu d'attention rapporter à la figure élémentaire et primordiale dont elle dérive.’ Even Buffon, notwithstanding his fine perception of law, had just declared, ‘qu'en général la forme de cristallisation n'est pas un caractère constant, mais plus équivoque et plus variable qu'aucun autre des caractères par lesquels on doit distinguer les minéraux.’ De Lisle, vol. i. p. xviii. Compare, on this great achievement of De Lisle's, Herschel's Nat. Philos. p. 239: ‘he first ascertained the important fact of the constancy of the angles at which their faces meet.’

[1133] The first work of Haüy appeared in 1784 (Quérard, France Littéraire, vol. iv. p. 41); but he had read two special memoirs in 1781. Cuvier, Eloges, vol. iii. p. 138. The intellectual relation between his views and those of his predecessor must be obvious to every mineralogist; but Dr. Whewell, who has noticed this judiciously enough, adds (Hist. of the Induc. Sciences, vol. iii. pp. 229, 230): ‘Unfortunately Romé de Lisle and Haüy were not only rivals, but in some measure enemies…. Haüy revenged himself by rarely mentioning Romé in his works, though it was manifest that his obligations to him were immense; and by recording his errors while he corrected them.’ The truth, however, is, that so far from rarely mentioning De Lisle, he mentions him incessantly; and I have counted upwards of three hundred instances in Haüy's great work, in which he is named, and his writings are referred to. On one occasion he says of De Lisle, ‘En un mot, sa cristallographie est le fruit d'un travail immense par son étendue, presque entièrement neuf par son objet, et très-précieux par son utilité.’ Haüy, Traité de Minéralogie, Paris, 1801, vol. i. p. 17. Elsewhere he calls him, ‘cet habile naturaliste; ce savant célèbre,’ vol. ii. p. 323; ‘ce célèbre naturaliste,’ vol. iii. p. 442; see also vol. iv. pp. 51, &c. In a work of so much merit as Dr. Whewell's, it is important that these errors should be indicated, because we have no other book of value on the general history of the sciences; and many authors have deceived themselves and their readers, by implicitly adopting the statements of this able and industrious writer. I would particularly caution the student in regard to the physiological part of Dr. Whewell's History, where, for instance, the antagonism between the methods of Cuvier and Bichat is entirely lost sight of, and while whole pages are devoted to Cuvier, Bichat is disposed of in four lines.

[1134] ‘Haüy est donc le seul véritable auteur de la science mathématique des cristaux.’ Cuvier, Progrès des Sciences, vol. i. p. 8; see also p. 317. Dr. Clarke, whose celebrated lectures on mineralogy excited much attention among his hearers, was indebted for some of his principal views to his conversations with Haüy: see Otter's Life of Clarke, vol. ii. p. 192.

[1135] See an admirable statement of the three forms of decrement, in Haüy, Traité de Minéralogie, vol. i. pp. 285, 286. Compare Whewell's Hist. of the Induc. Sciences, vol. iii. pp. 224, 225; who, however, does not mention Haüy's classification of ‘décroissemens sur les bords,’ ‘décroissemens sur les angles,’ and ‘décroissemens intermédiaires.’

[1136] And, as he clearly saw, the proper method was to study the laws of symmetry, and then apply them deductively to minerals, instead of rising inductively from the aberrations actually presented by minerals. This is interesting to observe, because it is analogous to the method of the best pathologists, who seek the philosophy of their subject in physiological phenomena, rather than in pathological ones; striking downwards from the normal to the abnormal. ‘La symétrie des formes sous lesquelles se présentent les solides que nous avons considérés jusqu'ici, nous a fourni des données pour exprimer les lois de décroissemens dont ces solides sont susceptibles.’ Haüy, Traité de Minéralogie, vol. i. p. 442; compare vol. ii. p. 192.

[1137] ‘Un coup d'œil peu attentif, jeté sur les cristaux, les fit appeler d'abord de purs jeux de la nature, ce qui n'étoit qu'une manière plus élégante de faire l'aveu de son ignorance. Un examen réfléchi nous y découvre des lois d'arrangement, à l'aide desquelles le calcul représente et enchaîne l'un à l'autre les résultats observés; lois si variables et en même temps si précises et si régulières; ordinairement très-simples, sans rien perdre de leur fécondité.’ Haüy, Minéralogie, vol. i. pp. xiii. xiv. Again, vol. ii. p. 57, ‘notre but, qui est de prouver que les lois d'où dépend la structure du cristal sont les plus simples possibles dans leur ensemble.’

[1138] On the remarkable power possessed by crystals, in common with animals, of repairing their own injuries, see Paget's Pathology, 1853, vol. i. pp. 152, 153, confirming the experiments of Jordan on this curious subject: ‘The ability to repair the damages sustained by injury … is not an exclusive property of living beings; for even crystals will repair themselves when, after pieces have been broken from them, they are placed in the same conditions in which they were first formed.’

[1139] ‘M. Pinel a imprimé une marche nouvelle à l'étude de la folie…. En la rangeant simplement, et sans différences aucunes, au nombre des autres dérangemens de nos organes, en lui assignant une place dans le cadre nosographique, il fit faire un pas immense à son histoire.’ Georget, de la Folie, Paris, 1820, p. 69. In the same work, p. 295, ‘M. Pinel, le premier en France, on pourrait dire en Europe, jeta les fondemens d'un traitement vraiment rationnel en rangeant la folie au nombre des autres affections organiques.’ M. Esquirol, who expresses the modern and purely scientific view, says in his great work (Des Maladies Mentaes, Paris, 1838, vol. i. p. 336), ‘L'aliénation mentale, que les anciens peuples regardaient comme une inspiration ou une punition des dieux, qui dans la suite fut prise pour la possession des démons, qui dans d'autres temps passa pour une œuvre de la magie; l'aliénation mentale, dis-je, avec toutes ses espèces et ses variétés innombrables, ne diffère en rien des autres maladies.’ The recognition of this he expressly ascribes to his predecessor: ‘grâce aux principes exposés par Pinel.’ p. 340. Pinel himself clearly saw the connexion between his own opinions and the spirit of the age: see Pinel, Traité Médico-Philosophique sur l'Aliénation Mentale, p. xxxii.: ‘Un ouvrage de médecine, publié en France à la fin du dix-huitième siècle, doit avoir un autre caractère que s'il avoit été écrit à une époque antérieure.’

[1140] Comp. Mém. de Ségur, vol. i. p. 23, with the Introduction to Des Réaux, Historiettes, vol. i. p. 34. A good illustration of this is, that the Prince de Montbarey, in his Memoirs, gently censures Louis XV., not for his scandalous profligacy, but because he selected for his mistresses some women who were not of high birth. Mém. de Montbarey, vol. i. p. 341, and see vol. iii. p. 117.

[1141] And that too even on such a subject as anatomy. In 1768, Antoine Petit began his anatomical lectures in the great amphitheatre of the Jardin du Roi; and the press to hear him was so great, that not only all the seats were occupied, but the very window-ledges were crowded. See the animated description in Biog. Univ. vol. xxxiii. p. 494.

[1142] Dr. Thomson (History of Chemistry, vol. ii. p. 169) says of Fourcroy's lectures on chemistry, which began in 1784: ‘Such were the crowds, both of men and women, who flocked to hear him, that it was twice necessary to enlarge the size of the lecture-room.’ This circumstance is also mentioned in Cuvier, Eloges, vol. ii. p. 19.

[1143] In 1779, it was remarked that ‘les séances publiques de l'Académie Française sont devenues une espèce de spectacle fort à la mode:’ and as this continued to increase, the throng became at length so great, that in 1785 it was found necessary to diminish the number of tickets of admission, and it was even proposed that ladies should be excluded, in consequence of some uproarious scenes which had happened. Grimm et Diderot, Correspond. Lit. vol. x. p. 341, vol. xiv. pp. 148, 149, 185, 251.

[1144] Goldsmith, who was in Paris in 1755, says with surprise, ‘I have seen as bright a circle of beauty at the chemical lectures of Rouelle, as gracing the court of Versailles.’ Prior's Life of Goldsmith, vol. i. p. 180; Forster's Life of Goldsmith, vol. i. p. 65. In the middle of the century, electricity was very popular among the Parisian ladies; and the interest felt in it was revived several years later by Franklin. Compare Grimm, Correspondance, vol. vii. p. 122, with Tucker's Life of Jefferson, vol. i. pp. 190, 191. Cuvier (Eloges, vol. i. p. 56) tells us that even the anatomical descriptions which Daubenton wrote for Buffon were to be found ‘sur la toilette des femmes.’ This change of taste is also noticed, though in a jeering spirit, in Mém. de Genlis, vol. vi. p. 32. Compare the account given by Townsend, who visited France in 1786, on his way to Spain: ‘A numerous society of gentlemen and ladies of the first fashion meet to hear lectures on the sciences, delivered by men of the highest rank in their profession…. I was much struck with the fluency and elegance of language with which the anatomical professor spoke, and not a little so with the deep attention of his auditors.’ Townsend's Journey through Spain, vol. i. p. 41: see also Smith's Tour on the Continent in 1786, vol. i. p. 117.

[1145] In a letter written in 1756, it is said, ‘Mais c'est peine perdue aujourd'hui que de plaisanter les érudits; il n'y en a plus en France.’ Grimm, Correspond. vol. ii. p. 15. In 1764, ‘Il est honteux et incroyable à quel point l'étude des anciens est négligée.’ vol. iv. p. 97. In 1768, ‘Une autre raison qui rendra les traductions des auteurs anciens de plus en plus rares en France, c'est que depuis long temps on n'y sait plus le Grec, et qu'on néglige l'étude du Latin tous les jours davantage.’ vol. vi. p. 140. Sherlock (New Letters from an English Traveller, London, 1781, p. 86) says, ‘It is very rare to meet a man in France that understands Greek.’ In 1785, Jefferson writes from Paris to Madison, ‘Greek and Roman authors are dearer here than, I believe, any where in the world; nobody here reads them, wherefore they are not reprinted.’ Jefferson's Correspond. vol. i. p. 301. See further, on this neglect of the ancients, a significant precursor of the Revolution, Mém. de Montbarey, vol. iii. p. 181; Villemain, Littérature au XVIII^e Siècle, vol. iii. pp. 243–248; Schlosser's Eighteenth Century, vol. i. p. 344.

[1146] For further evidence of the popularity of physical knowledge, and of its study, even by those who might have been expected to neglect it, see Mém. de Roland, vol. i. pp. 115, 268, 324, 343; Mém. de Morellet, vol. i. p. 16; Dupont de Nemours, Mém. sur Turgot, pp. 45, 52, 53, 411; Mém. de Brissot, vol. i. pp. 62, 151, 319, 336, 338, 357; Cuvier, Progrès des Sciences, vol. i. p. 89.

[1147] A celebrated writer has well said, though in a somewhat different point of view, ‘Il ne peut y avoir dans les sciences morales, pas plus que dans les sciences physiques, ni maîtres, ni esclaves, ni rois, ni sujets, ni citoyens, ni étrangers.’ Comte, Traité de Législation, vol. i. p. 43.

[1148] The remarks which Thomas made upon Descartes in 1765, in an éloge crowned by the Academy, illustrate the opinions which, in the latter half of the eighteenth century, were becoming rapidly diffused in France. See the passage beginning ‘O préjugés! ô ridicule fierté des places et du rang!’ &c. Œuvres de Descartes, vol. i. p. 74. Certainly no one would have used such language, on such an occasion, thirty years earlier. So, too, the Count de Ségur says of the younger nobles before the Revolution, ‘nous préférions un mot d'éloges de D'Alembert, de Diderot, à la faveur la plus signalée d'un prince.’ Mém. de Ségur, vol. i. p. 142: see also vol. ii. p. 46.

[1149] Among many other illustrations which might be given of this distinction of classes by dress, see Monteil, Hist. des divers Etats, vol. vii. pp. 7–10; and Tallemant des Réaux, Historiettes, vol. i. p. 36 note.

[1150] In August 1787, Jefferson writes from Paris (Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 224): ‘In society, the habit habillé is almost banished, and they begin to go even to great suppers in frock: the court and diplomatic corps, however, must always be excepted. They are too high to be reached by any improvement. They are the last refuge from which etiquette, formality, and folly will be driven. Take away these, and they would be on a level with other people.’ Jefferson was a statesman and a diplomatist, and was well acquainted with his profession. The change, however, which he noticed, had been coming on some years earlier. In a letter written in May 1786, it is said: ‘Il est rare aujourd'hui de rencontrer dans le monde des personnes qui soient ce qu'on appelle habillées. Lee femmes sont en chemise et en chapeau, les hommes en froc et en gilet.’ Grimm, Correspond. vol. xiv. p. 485; and on the increased simplicity of attire in 1780, see vol. xi. pp. 141, 142. Ségur, who witnessed these changes, and was much displeased by them, says of their advocates, ‘ils ne voyaient pas que les frocs, remplaçant les amples et imposans vêtemens de l'ancienne cour, présagaient un penchant général pour l'égalité.’ Mém. de Ségur, vol. i. p. 131. Soulavie (Règne de Louis XVI, vol. vi. p. 38) observes, that ‘les grands, vers les approches de la révolution, n'avoient plus que des habits simples et peu coûteux;’ and that ‘on ne distingua plus une duchesse d'une actrice,’ p. 43: see also an extract from Montjoye, in Alison's History, vol. i. pp. 352, 353. Compare Mém. sur Marie-Antoinette, vol. i. pp. 226, 372, vol. ii. p. 174, and Mém. de Madame au Hausset, introduc. p. 17.

[1151] ‘Les personnes du premier rang et même d'un âge mûr, qui avaient travaillé toute leur vie pour obtenir les ordres du roi, preuve de la plus haute faveur, s'habituèrent à en cacher les marques distinctives sous le froc le plus simple, qui leur permettait de courir à pied dans les rues et de se confondre dans la foule.’ Mém. de Montbarey, vol. iii. pp. 161, 162. Another alteration of the same tendency is worth recording. The Baroness d'Oberkirch, who revisited Paris in 1784, remarked, on her arrival, that ‘gentlemen began about this time to go about unarmed, and wore swords only in full dress…. And thus the French nobility laid aside a usage which the example of their fathers had consecrated through centuries.’ D'Oberkirch's Memoirs, Lond. 1852, vol. ii. p. 211.

[1152] A striking instance of which was, moreover, seen in the number of mésalliances, which first became frequent about the middle of the reign of Louis XV. Compare Mém. de Montbarey, vol. iii. pp. 116, 156, 157; Lacretelle, Dix-huitième Siècle, vol. iii. p. 220.

[1153] ‘Nous commençâmes aussi à avoir des clubs: les hommes s'y réunissaient, non encore pour discuter, mais pour dîner, jouer au wisk, et lire tous les ouvrages nouveaux. Ce premier pas, alors presque inaperçu, eut dans la suite de grandes, et momentanément de funestes conséquences. Dans le commencement, son premier résultat fut de séparer les hommes des femmes, et d'apporter ainsi un notable changement dans nos mœurs: elles devinrent moins frivoles, mais moins polies; plus fortes, mais moins aimables: la politique y gagna, la société y perdit.’ Mém. de Ségur, vol. ii. p. 28. By the spring of 1786, this separation of the sexes had become still more marked; and it was a common complaint, that ladies were obliged to go to the theatre alone, men being at their clubs. See the very curious observations in Grimm, Correspond. vol. xiv. pp. 486–489, where there is also a notice of ‘le prodigieux succès qu'a eu l'établissement des clubs à l'anglaise.’ See also, on the diminished attention paid to women, Williams's Letters from France, vol. ii. p. 80; 3rd edit. 1796.

[1154] The remarks of Georgel appear to apply to the political clubs only: ‘A Paris les assemblées de nouvellistes, les clubs qui s'étoient formés à l'instar de ceux des Anglais, s'expliquaient hautement et sans retenue sur les droits de l'homme, sur les avantages de la liberté, sur les grands abus de l'inégalité des conditions. Ces clubs, trop accrédités, avoient commencé à se former en 1784.’ Mém. de Georgel, vol. ii. p. 310.

[1155] ‘Le lieutenant de police fit fermer le club nommé Club du Salon; ordre arbitraire et inutile: ce club alors était composé de personnes distinguées de la noblesse ou de la haute bourgeoisie, ainsi que des artistes et des hommes de lettres les plus considérés. Cette réunion offrait, pour la première fois, l'image d'une égalité qui devient bientôt, plus que la liberté même, le vœu le plus ardent de la plus grande partie de la nation. Aussi le mécontentement produit par la clôture de ce club fut si vif, que l'autorité se crut obligée de la rouvrir.’ Mém. de Ségur, vol. iii. pp. 258, 259. On the increase of these clubs from 1787 to 1789, compare Du Mesnil, Mém. sur Le Brun, p. 148; Mém. de Lafayette, vol. i. pp. 312, 322, 391, 434, vol. ii. p. 9; Barruel, Hist. du Jacob. vol. i. p. 40, vol. ii. p. 310, vol. v. pp. 101, 168; Thiers, Hist. de la Révolution, vol. i. p. 36, Paris, 1834.

[1156] Mem. of Franklin, vol. ii. pp. 14 seq.; and Mem. of Jefferson, vol. i. pp. 17–22, where the passages are given which Congress altered.

[1157] Ségur (Mém. vol. i. p. 111) says that his father had been frequently told by Maurepas that public opinion forced the government, against its own wishes, to side with America. Compare Mém. de Georgel, vol. iv. p. 370; and Flassan, Diplomatie Française, vol. vii. p. 166.

[1158] The news of which soon reached England. In January 1777, Burke writes (Works, vol. ii. p. 394), ‘I hear that Dr. Franklin has had a most extraordinary reception at Paris from all ranks of people.’ Soulavie (Règne de Louis XVI, vol. ii. p. 50) says, ‘J'ai vu Francklin devenir un objet de culte.’ See also, on his popularity, Mém. d'Epinay, vol. iii. p. 419.

[1159] Flassan, Diplomatie Française, vol. vii. p. 159; Life of Franklin, by Himself, vol. ii. pp. 60, 61; Mahon's Hist. of England, vol. vii. pp. 197, 198.

[1160] The sneering letter written from Paris by Lord Stormont, as early as December 1774 (Adolphus's George III. vol. ii. p. 316), should be compared with Lafayette, Mémoires, vol. i. pp. 24, 169, 229; Dutens, Mém. d'un Voyageur, vol. ii. p. 317; Mém. de Ségur, vol. i. p. 149; and Schlosser's Eighteenth Century, vol. v. p. 175.

[1161] De Staël sur la Révolution, vol. i. p. 88; Mém. de Montbarey, vol. iii. pp. 134, 186; Mém. de Ségur, vol. i. p. 277; Campan, Mém. de Marie Antoinette, vol. i. p. 233, vol. iii. pp. 96, 116; Soulavie, Règne de Louis XVI, vol. ii. pp. xxiv. li. iii.; Dumont, Souvenirs sur Mirabeau, p. 176; Mém. de Du Hausset, introduc. p. 40; Mém. de Genlis, vol. vi. p. 57; Jefferson's Mem. and Correspond. vol. i. p. 59; and Maitland's speech, in Parl. Hist. vol. xxx. pp. 198, 199; also the remarks of the Duke of Bedford, vol. xxxi. p. 663.

[1162] Lamartine, Hist. des Girondins, vol. i. p. 46. Dumont (Souvenirs, p. 97) calls this ‘une idée américaine;’ and see to the same effect, Mém. de Lafayette, vol. i. pp. 193, 268, 269, 416, vol. ii. pp. 139, 140; Jefferson's Correspond. vol. i. p. 90; Barruel, Hist. du Jacobinisme, vol. v. p. 311. The influence which the American Revolution exercised over the mind of Lafayette is noticed by Bouillé, his cousin and his enemy. Mém. de Bouillé, vol. i. p. 102, vol. ii. pp. 131, 183.

[1163] ‘The Duke of Dorset, the English ambassador, writing to Mr. Pitt from Paris, July 9th, 1789, said, “Mr. Jefferson, the American minister at this court, has been a great deal consulted by the principal leaders of the tiers état; and I have great reason to think that it was owing to his advice that order called itself L'Assemblée Nationale.”’ Tomline's Life of Pitt, vol. ii. p. 266.

CHAPTER VIII.

In the preceding chapters, I have endeavoured to establish four leading propositions, which, according to my view, are to be deemed the basis of the history of civilization. They are: 1st, That the progress of mankind depends on the success with which the laws of phenomena are investigated, and on the extent to which a knowledge of those laws is diffused. 2nd, That before such investigation can begin, a spirit of scepticism must arise, which, at first aiding the investigation, is afterwards aided by it. 3rd, That the discoveries thus made, increase the influence of intellectual truths, and diminish, relatively not absolutely, the influence of moral truths; moral truths being more stationary than intellectual truths, and receiving fewer additions. 4th, That the great enemy of this movement, and therefore the great enemy of civilization, is the protective spirit; by which I mean the notion that society cannot prosper, unless the affairs of life are watched over and protected at nearly every turn by the state and the church; the state teaching men what they are to do, and the church teaching them what they are to believe. Such are the propositions which I hold to be the most essential for a right understanding of history, and which I have defended in the only two ways any proposition can be defended; namely, inductively and deductively. The inductive defence comprises a collection of historical and scientific facts, which suggest and authorize the conclusions drawn from them; while the deductive defence consists of a verification of those conclusions, by showing how they explain the history of different[426] countries and their various fortunes. To the former, or inductive method of defence, I am at present unable to add anything new; but the deductive defence I hope to strengthen considerably, and by the aid of the following chapters, confirm not only the four cardinal propositions just stated, but also several minor propositions, which, though strictly speaking flowing from them, will require separate verification. According to the plan already sketched, the remaining part of the introduction will contain an examination of the history of Spain, of Scotland, of Germany, and of the United States of America, with the object of elucidating principles on which the history of England supplies inadequate information. And as Spain is the country where what I conceive to be the fundamental conditions of national improvement have been most flagrantly violated, so also shall we find that it is the country where the penalty paid for the violation has been most heavy, and where, therefore, it is most instructive to ascertain how the prevalence of certain opinions causes the decay of the people among whom they predominate.

We have seen that the old tropical civilizations were accompanied by remarkable features which I have termed Aspects of Nature, and which, by inflaming the imagination, encouraged superstition, and prevented men from daring to analyze such threatening physical phenomena; in other words, prevented the creation of the physical sciences. Now, it is an interesting fact that, in these respects, no European country is so analogous to the tropics as Spain. No other part of Europe is so clearly designated by nature as the seat and refuge of superstition. Recurring to what has been already proved,[1164] it will be remembered that among the most important physical causes of superstition are famines, epidemics, earthquakes, and that general unhealthiness of climate, which, by shortening the average duration of life, increases the frequency and earnestness with which supernatural aid is invoked. These peculiarities,[427] taken together, are more prominent in Spain than anywhere else in Europe; it will therefore be useful to give such a summary of them as will exhibit the mischievous effects they have produced in shaping the national character.

If we except the northern extremity of Spain, we may say that the two principal characteristics of the climate are heat and dryness, both of which are favoured by the extreme difficulty which nature has interposed in regard to irrigation. For, the rivers which intersect the land, run mostly in beds too deep to be made available for watering the soil, which consequently is, and always has been, remarkably arid.[1165] Owing to this, and to the infrequency of rain, there is no European country as richly endowed in other respects, where droughts and therefore famines have been so frequent and serious.[1166] At the same time the vicissitudes of climate, particularly in the central parts, make Spain habitually unhealthy; and this general tendency being strengthened in the middle ages by the constant occurrence of famine, caused the ravages of pestilence to be[428] unusually fatal.[1167] When we moreover add that in the Peninsula, including Portugal, earthquakes have been extremely disastrous,[1168] and have excited all those superstitious[429] feelings which they naturally provoke, we may form some idea of the insecurity of life, and of the ease[430] with which an artful and ambitious priesthood could[431] turn such insecurity into an engine for the advancement of their own power.[1169]

Another feature of this singular country is the prevalence of a pastoral life, mainly caused by the difficulty of establishing regular habits of agricultural industry. In most parts of Spain, the climate renders it impossible for the labourer to work the whole of the day;[1170] and this forced interruption encourages among the people an irregularity and instability of purpose, which makes them choose the wandering avocations of a shepherd, rather than the more fixed pursuits of agriculture.[1171][433] And during the long and arduous war which they waged against their Mohammedan invaders, they were subject to such incessant surprises and forays on the part of the enemy, as to make it advisable that their means of subsistence should be easily removed; hence they preferred the produce of their flocks to that of their lands, and were shepherds instead of agriculturists, simply because by that means they would suffer less in case of an unfavourable issue. Even after the capture of Toledo, late in the eleventh century, the inhabitants of the frontier in Estramadura, La Mancha, and New Castile, were almost entirely herdsmen, and their cattle were pastured not in private meadows but in the open fields.[1172] All this increased the uncertainty of life, and strengthened that love of adventure, and that spirit of romance, which, at a later period, gave a tone to the[434] popular literature. Under such circumstances, everything grew precarious, restless, and unsettled; thought and inquiry were impossible; doubt was unknown; and the way was prepared for those superstitious habits, and for that deep-rooted and tenacious belief, which have always formed a principal feature in the history of the Spanish nation.

To what extent these circumstances would, if they stood by themselves, have affected the ultimate destiny of Spain, is a question hardly possible to answer; but there can be no doubt that their effects must always have been important, though, from the paucity of evidence, we are unable to measure them with precision. In regard, however, to the actual result, this point is of little moment, because a long chain of other and still more influential events became interwoven with those just mentioned, and, tending in precisely the same direction, produced a combination which nothing could resist, and from which we may trace with unerring certainty the steps by which the nation subsequently declined. The history of the causes of the degradation of Spain will indeed become too clear to be mistaken, if studied in reference to those general principles which I have enunciated, and which will themselves be confirmed by the light they throw on this instructive though melancholy subject.

After the subversion of the Roman Empire, the first leading fact in the history of Spain is the settlement of the Visigoths, and the establishment of their opinions in the Peninsula. They, as well as the Suevi, who immediately preceded them, were Arians, and Spain during a hundred and fifty years became the rallying point of that famous heresy,[1173] to which indeed most of the Gothic[435] tribes then adhered. But, at the end of the fifth century, the Franks, on their conversion from Paganism, adopted the opposite and orthodox creed, and were encouraged by their clergy to make war upon their heretical neighbours. Clovis, who was then king of the Franks, was regarded by the church as the champion of the faith, in whose behalf he attacked the unbelieving Visigoths.[1174] His successors, moved by the same motives, pursued the same policy;[1175] and, during nearly a century, there was a war of opinions between France and Spain, by which the Visigothic Empire was seriously endangered, and was more than once on the verge of dissolution. Hence, in Spain, a war for national independence became also a war for national religion,[1176] and[436] an intimate alliance was formed between the Arian kings and the Arian clergy. The latter class were, in those ages of ignorance, sure to gain by such a compact,[1177] and they received considerable temporal advantages in return for the prayers which they offered up against the enemy, as also for the miracles which they occasionally performed. Thus early a foundation was laid for the immense influence which the Spanish priesthood have possessed ever since, and which was strengthened by subsequent events. For, late in the sixth century, the Latin clergy converted their Visigothic masters, and the Spanish government, becoming orthodox, naturally conferred upon its teachers an authority equal to that wielded by the Arian hierarchy.[1178] Indeed, the rulers of Spain, grateful to those who had shown them the error of their ways, were willing rather to increase the power of the church than to diminish it.[437] The clergy took advantage of this disposition; and the result was, that before the middle of the seventh century the spiritual classes possessed more influence in Spain than in any other part of Europe.[1179] The ecclesiastical synods became not only councils of the church, but also parliaments of the realm.[1180] At Toledo, which was then the capital of Spain, the power of the clergy was immense, and was so ostentatiously displayed, that in a council they held there in the year 633, we find the king literally prostrating himself on the ground before the bishops;[1181] and half a century later, the ecclesiastical historian mentions that this humiliating practice was repeated by another king, having become, he says, an established custom.[1182] That this was not a mere meaningless ceremony, is moreover evident from other and analogous facts. Exactly the same tendency is seen in their jurisprudence; since, by the Visigothic code, any layman, whether plaintiff or defendant, might insist on his cause being tried not by the temporal magistrate, but by the bishop of the diocese. Nay, even if[438] both parties to the suit were agreed in preferring the civil tribunal, the bishop still retained the power of revoking the decision, if in his opinion it was incorrect; and it was his especial business to watch over the administration of justice, and to instruct the magistrates how to perform their duty.[1183] Another, and more painful proof of the ascendency of the clergy, is that the laws against heretics were harsher in Spain than in any other country; the Jews in particular being persecuted with unrelenting rigour.[1184] Indeed, the desire of upholding[439] the faith was strong enough to produce a formal declaration that no sovereign should be acknowledged, unless he promised to preserve its purity; the judges of the purity being of course the bishops themselves, to whose suffrage the king owed his throne.[1185]

Such were the circumstances which, in and before the seventh century, secured to the Spanish Church an influence unequalled in any other part of Europe.[1186] Early in the eighth century, an event occurred which apparently broke up and dispersed the hierarchy, but which in reality was extremely favourable to them. In 711 the Mohammedans sailed from Africa, landed in the south of Spain, and in the space of three years conquered the whole country, except the almost inaccessible regions of the north-west. The Spaniards, secure in their native mountains,[1187] soon recovered heart, rallied their forces, and began in their turn to assail the invaders. A desperate struggle ensued, which lasted nearly eight centuries, and in which, a second time in the history of Spain, a war for independence was also a war for religion; the contest between Arabian Infidels and Spanish Christians, succeeding that formerly carried[440] on between the Trinitarians of France and the Arians of Spain. Slowly, and with infinite difficulty, the Christians fought their way. By the middle of the ninth century, they reached the line of the Douro.[1188] Before the close of the eleventh century, they conquered as far as the Tagus, and Toledo, their ancient capital, fell into their hands in 1085.[1189] Even then much remained to be done. In the south, the struggle assumed its deadliest form, and there it was prolonged with such obstinacy, that it was not until the capture of Malaga in 1487, and of Granada in 1492, that the Christian empire was re-established, and the old Spanish monarchy finally restored.[1190]

The effect of all this on the Spanish character was most remarkable. During eight successive centuries, the whole country was engaged in a religious crusade; and those holy wars which other nations occasionally waged, were, in Spain, prolonged and continued for more than twenty generations.[1191] The object being not[441] only to regain a territory, but also to re-establish a creed, it naturally happened that the expounders of that creed assumed a prominent and important position. In the camp, and in the council-chamber, the voice of ecclesiastics was heard and obeyed; for as the war aimed at the propagation of Christianity, it seemed right that her ministers should play a conspicuous part in a matter which particularly concerned them.[1192] The danger to which the country was exposed being moreover very imminent, those superstitious feelings were excited which danger is apt to provoke, and to which, as I have elsewhere shown,[1193] the tropical civilizations owed some of their leading peculiarities. Scarcely were the Spanish Christians driven from their homes and forced to take refuge in the north, when this great principle began to operate. In their mountainous retreat, they preserved a chest filled with relics of the saints, the possession of which they valued as their greatest security.[1194] This was to them a national standard,[442] round which they rallied, and by the aid of which they gained miraculous victories over their infidel opponents. Looking upon themselves as soldiers of the cross, their minds became habituated to supernatural considerations to an extent which we can now hardly believe, and which distinguished them in this respect from every other European nation.[1195] Their young men saw visions, and their old men dreamed dreams.[1196] Strange sights were vouchsafed to them from heaven; on the eve of a battle mysterious portents appeared; and it was observed that whenever the Mohammedans violated the tomb of a Christian saint, thunder and[443] lightning were sent to rebuke the misbelievers, and, if need be, to punish their audacious invasion.[1197]

Under circumstances like these, the clergy could not fail to extend their influence; or, we may rather say, the course of events extended it for them. The Spanish Christians, pent up for a considerable time in the mountains of Asturias, and deprived of their former resources, quickly degenerated, and soon lost the scanty civilization to which they had attained. Stripped of all their wealth, and confined to what was comparatively a barren region, they relapsed into barbarism, and remained, for at least a century, without arts, or commerce, or literature.[1198] As their ignorance increased, so also did their[444] superstition; while this last, in its turn, strengthened the authority of their priests. The order of affairs, therefore, was very natural. The Mohammedan invasion made the Christians poor; poverty caused ignorance; ignorance caused credulity; and credulity, depriving men both of the power and of the desire to investigate for themselves, encouraged a reverential spirit, and confirmed those submissive habits, and that blind obedience to the Church, which form the leading and most unfortunate peculiarity of Spanish history.

From this it appears, that there were three ways in which the Mohammedan invasion strengthened the devotional feelings of the Spanish people. The first way was by promoting a long and obstinate religious war; the second was by the presence of constant and imminent dangers; and the third way was by the poverty, and therefore the ignorance, which it produced among the Christians.

These events being preceded by the great Arian war, and being accompanied and perpetually reinforced by those physical phenomena which I have indicated as tending in the same direction, worked with such combined and accumulative energy, that in Spain the theological element became not so much a component of the national character, but rather the character itself. The ablest and most ambitious of the Spanish kings were compelled to follow in the general wake; and, despots though they were, they succumbed to that pressure of opinions which they believed they were controlling. The war with Granada, late in the fifteenth century, was theological far more than temporal; and Isabella, who made the greatest sacrifices in order to conduct it, and who in capacity as well as in honesty was superior to Ferdinand, had for her object not so much the acquisition of territory as the propagation of the Christian[445] faith.[1199] Indeed, any doubts which could be entertained respecting the purpose of the contest must have been dissipated by subsequent events. For, scarcely was the war brought to a close, when Ferdinand and Isabella issued a decree expelling from the country every Jew who refused to deny his faith; so that the soil of Spain might be no longer polluted by the presence of unbelievers.[1200] To make them Christians, or, failing in that,[446] to exterminate them, was the business of the Inquisition, which was established in the same reign, and which before the end of the fifteenth century was in full operation.[1201] During the sixteenth century, the throne was occupied by two princes of eminent ability, who pursued a similar course. Charles V., who succeeded Ferdinand in 1516, governed Spain for forty years, and the general character of his administration was the same as that of his predecessors. In regard to his foreign policy, his three principal wars were against France, against the German princes, and against Turkey. Of these, the first was secular; but the two last were essentially religious. In the German war, he defended the church against innovation; and at the battle of Muhlberg, he so completely humbled the Protestant princes, as to retard for some time the progress of the Reformation.[1202] In his other great war, he, as the champion[447] of Christianity against Mohammedanism, consummated what his grandfather Ferdinand had begun. Charles defeated and dislodged the Mohammedans in the east, just as Ferdinand had done in the west; the repulse of the Turks before Vienna being to the sixteenth century what the conquest of the Arabs of Granada was to the fifteenth.[1203] It was, therefore, with reason that Charles, at the close of his career, could boast that he had always preferred his creed to his country, and that the first object of his ambition had been to maintain the interests of Christianity.[1204] The zeal with which he struggled for the faith, also appears in his exertions against heresy in the Low Countries. According to contemporary and competent authorities, from fifty thousand to a hundred thousand persons were put to death in the Netherlands during his reign on account of their religious opinions.[1205] Later inquirers have doubted the accuracy of this statement,[1206] which is probably exaggerated; but we know that, between[448] 1520 and 1550, he published a series of laws, to the effect that those who were convicted of heresy should be beheaded, or burned alive, or buried alive. The penalties were thus various, to meet the circumstances of each case. Capital punishment, however, was always to be inflicted on whoever bought an heretical book, or sold it, or even copied it for his own use.[1207] His last advice to his son, well accorded with these measures. Only a few days before his death, he signed a codicil to his will, recommending that no favour should ever be shown to heretics; that they should all be put to death; and that care should be taken to uphold the Inquisition, as the best means of accomplishing so desirable an end.[1208]

This barbarous policy is to be ascribed, not to the vices, nor to the temperament of the individual ruler, but to the operation of large general causes, which acted upon the individual, and impelled him to the course he pursued. Charles was by no means a vindictive man; his natural disposition was to mercy rather than to rigour; his sincerity is unquestionable; he performed what he believed to be his duty; and he was so kind a friend, that those who knew him best were precisely those who loved him most.[1209] Little, however, could all that avail in shaping his public conduct. He was obliged to obey the tendencies of the age and country in which he lived. And what those tendencies were, appeared still more clearly after his death, when the throne of Spain was occupied upwards of forty years by a prince who inherited it in the prime of life, and whose reign is particularly interesting as a symptom and a consequence of the disposition of the people over whom he ruled.

Philip II., who succeeded Charles V. in 1555, was[450] indeed eminently a creature of the time, and the ablest of his biographers aptly terms him the most perfect type of the national character.[1210] His favourite maxim, which forms the key to his policy, was, ‘That it is better not to reign at all than to reign over heretics.’[1211] Armed with supreme power, he bent all his energies towards carrying this principle into effect. Directly that he heard that the Protestants were making converts in Spain, he strained every nerve to stifle the heresy;[1212] and so admirably was he seconded by the general temper of the people, that he was able without risk to suppress opinions which convulsed every other part of Europe. In Spain, the Reformation, after a short struggle, died completely away, and in about ten years the last vestige of it disappeared.[1213] The Dutch wished to adopt, and in many instances did adopt, the[451] reformed doctrine; therefore Philip waged against them a cruel war, which lasted thirty years, and which he continued till his death, because he was resolved to extirpate the new creed.[1214] He ordered that every heretic who refused to recant should be burned. If the heretic did recant, some indulgence was granted; but having once been tainted, he must die. Instead of being burned, he was therefore to be executed.[1215] Of the number of those who actually suffered in the Low Countries, we have no precise information;[1216] but Alva triumphantly boasted that, in the five or six years of his administration, he had put to death in cold blood more than eighteen thousand, besides a still greater number whom he had slain on the field of battle.[1217] This, even during his short tenure of power, would make about forty thousand victims; an estimate probably not far from the truth, since we know, from other sources, that in one year more than eight thousand were[452] either executed or burned.[1218] Such measures were the result of instructions issued by Philip, and formed a necessary part of his general scheme.[1219] The desire paramount in his mind, and to which he sacrificed all other considerations, was to put down the new creed, and to reinstate the old one. To this, even his immense ambition and his inordinate love of power were subordinate. He aimed at the empire of Europe, because he longed to restore the authority of the Church.[1220] All his policy, all his negotiations, all his wars, pointed to this one end. Soon after his accession, he concluded an ignominious treaty with the Pope, that it might not be said that he bore arms against the head of the Christian world.[1221] And his last great enterprise, in some[453] respects the most important of all, was to fit out, at an incredible cost, that famous Armada with which he hoped to humble England, and to nip the heresy of Europe in its bud, by depriving the Protestants of their principal support, and of the only asylum where they were sure to find safe and honourable refuge.[1222]

While Philip, following the course of his predecessors, was wasting the blood and treasure of Spain in order to propagate religious opinions,[1223] the people, instead of rebelling against so monstrous a system, acquiesced in it, and cordially sanctioned it. Indeed, they not only sanctioned it, but they almost worshipped the man by whom it was enforced. There probably never lived a prince who, during so long a period, and amid so many vicissitudes of fortune, was adored by his subjects as Philip II. was. In evil report, and in good report, the Spaniards clung to him with unshaken loyalty. Their affection was not lessened, either by his reverses, or by his forbidding deportment, or by his[454] cruelty, or by his grievous exactions. In spite of all, they loved him to the last. Such was his absurd arrogance, that he allowed none, not even the most powerful nobles, to address him, except on their knees, and, in return, he only spoke in half sentences, leaving them to guess the rest, and to fulfil his commands as best they might.[1224] And ready enough they were to obey his slightest wishes. A contemporary of Philip, struck by the universal homage which he received, says that the Spanish did ‘not merely love, not merely reverence, but absolutely adore him, and deem his commands so sacred, that they could not be violated without offence to God.’[1225]

That a man like Philip II., who never possessed a friend, and whose usual demeanour was of the most repulsive kind, a harsh master, a brutal parent, a bloody and remorseless ruler,—that he should be thus reverenced by a nation among whom he lived, and who had their eyes constantly on his actions; that this should have happened, is surely one of the most surprising, and, at first sight, one of the most inexplicable facts in modern history. Here we have a king who, though afflicted by every quality most calculated to excite terror and disgust, is loved far more than he is feared, and is the idol of a very great people during a very long reign. This is so remarkable as to deserve our serious attention; and in order to clear up the difficulty, it will be necessary to inquire into the causes of that spirit of loyalty which, during several centuries, has distinguished the Spaniards above every other European people.

One of the leading causes was undoubtedly the immense influence possessed by the clergy. For the maxims inculcated by that powerful body have a natural tendency to make the people reverence their princes more than they would otherwise do. And that there is a real and practical connexion between loyalty and superstition, appears from the historical fact that the two feelings have nearly always flourished together and decayed together. Indeed, this is what we should expect on mere speculative grounds, seeing that both feelings are the product of those habits of veneration which make men submissive in their conduct and credulous in their belief.[1226] Experience, therefore, as well as reason, points to this as a general law of the mind, which, in its operation, may be occasionally disturbed,[456] but which holds good in a large majority of cases. Probably the only instance in which the principle fails is, when a despotic government so misunderstands its own interests as to offend the clergy, and separate itself from them. Whenever this is done, a struggle will arise between loyalty and superstition; the first being upheld by the political classes, the other by the spiritual classes. Such a warfare was exhibited in Scotland; but history does not afford many examples of it, and certainly it never took place in Spain, where, on the contrary, several circumstances occurred to cement the union between the Crown and the Church, and to accustom the people to look up to both with almost equal reverence.

By far the most important of these circumstances was the great Arab invasion, which drove the Christians into a corner of Spain, and reduced them to such extremities, that nothing but the strictest discipline, and the most unhesitating obedience to their leaders, could have enabled them to make head against their enemies. Loyalty to their princes became not merely expedient, but necessary; for if the Spaniards had been disunited, they would, in the face of the fearful odds against which they fought, have had no chance of preserving their national existence. The long war which ensued, being both political and religious, caused an intimate alliance between the political and religious classes, since the kings and the clergy had an equal interest in driving the Mohammedans from Spain. During nearly eight centuries, this compact between Church and State was a necessity forced upon the Spaniards by the peculiarities of their position; and, after the necessity had subsided, it naturally happened that the association of ideas survived the original danger, and that an impression had been made upon the popular mind which it was hardly possible to efface.

Evidence of this impression, and of the unrivalled loyalty it produced, crowds upon us at every turn. In no other country are the old ballads so numerous and so intimately connected with the national history. It has, however, been observed, that their leading characteristic[457] is the zeal with which they inculcate obedience and devotion to princes, and that from this source, even more than from military achievements, they draw their most favourite examples of virtue.[1227] In literature the first great manifestation of the Spanish mind was the poem of The Cid, written at the end of the twelfth century, in which we find fresh proof of that extraordinary loyalty which circumstances had forced upon the people.[1228] The ecclesiastical councils display a similar tendency; for, notwithstanding a few exceptions, no other church has been equally eager in upholding the rights of kings.[1229] In civil legislation, we see the[458] same principle at work; it being asserted, on high authority, that in no system of laws is loyalty carried to such extreme height as in the Spanish codes.[1230] Even their dramatic writers were unwilling to represent an act of rebellion on the stage, lest they should appear to countenance what, in the eyes of every good Spaniard, was one of the most heinous of all offences.[1231] Whatever the king came in contact with, was in some degree hallowed by his touch. No one might mount a horse which he had ridden;[1232] no one might marry a mistress[459] whom he had deserted.[1233] Horse and mistress alike were sacred, and it would have been impious for any subject to meddle with what had been honoured by the Lord's anointed. Nor were such rules confined to the prince actually reigning. On the contrary, they survived him, and, working with a sort of posthumous force, forbade any woman whom he had taken as a wife, to marry, even after he was dead. She had been chosen by the king; such choice had already raised her above the rest of mortals; and the least she could do was to retire to a convent, and spend her life mourning over her irreparable loss. These regulations were enforced by custom rather than by law.[1234] They were[460] upheld by the popular will, and were the result of the excessive loyalty of the Spanish nation. Of that loyalty their writers often boast, and with good reason, since it was certainly matchless, and nothing seemed able to shake it. To bad kings and to good kings it equally applied. It was in full strength amid the glory of Spain in the sixteenth century; it was conspicuous when the nation was decaying in the seventeenth century; and it survived the shock of civil wars early in the eighteenth.[1235] Indeed, the feeling had so worked[461] itself into the traditions of the country, as to become not only a national passion, but almost an article of national faith. Clarendon, in his History of that great English Rebellion, the like of which, as he well knew, could never have happened in Spain, makes on this subject a just and pertinent remark. He says that a want of respect for kings is regarded by the Spaniards as a ‘monstrous crime;’ ‘submissive reverence to their princes being a vital part of their religion.’[1236]

These, then, were the two great elements of which the Spanish character was compounded. Loyalty and superstition; reverence for their kings and reverence for their clergy were the leading principles which influenced the Spanish mind, and governed the march of Spanish history. The peculiar and unexampled circumstances under which they arose, have been just indicated; and having seen their origin, we will now endeavour to trace their consequences. Such an examination of results will be the more important, not only because nowhere else in Europe have these feelings been so strong, so permanent, and so unmixed, but also because Spain, being seated at the further extremity of the Continent, from which it is cut off by the Pyrenees, has, from physical causes, as well as from moral ones, come little into contact with other nations.[1237] The course[462] of affairs being, therefore, undisturbed by foreign habits, it becomes easier to discover the pure and natural consequences of superstition and loyalty, two of the most powerful and disinterested feelings which have ever occupied the human heart, and to whose united action we may clearly trace the leading events in the history of Spain.

The results of this combination were, during a considerable period, apparently beneficial, and certainly magnificent. For, the church and the crown making common cause with each other, and being inspirited by the cordial support of the people, threw their whole soul into their enterprises, and displayed an ardour which could hardly fail to insure success. Gradually advancing from the north of Spain, the Christians, fighting their way inch by inch, pressed on till they reached the southern extremity, completely subdued the Mohammedans, and brought the whole country under one rule and one creed. This great result was achieved late in the fifteenth century, and it cast an extraordinary lustre on the Spanish name.[1238] Spain, long occupied by her own religious wars, had hitherto[463] been little noticed by foreign powers, and had possessed little leisure to notice them. Now, however, she formed a compact and undivided monarchy, and at once assumed an important position in European affairs.[1239] During the next hundred years, her power advanced with a speed of which the world had seen no example since the days of the Roman Empire. So late as 1478 Spain was still broken up into independent and often hostile states; Granada was possessed by the Mohammedans; the throne of Castile was occupied by one prince, the throne of Aragon by another. Before the year 1590, not only were these fragments firmly consolidated into one kingdom, but acquisitions were made abroad so rapidly as to endanger the independence of Europe. The history of Spain, during this period, is the history of one long and uninterrupted success. That country, recently torn by civil wars, and distracted by hostile creeds, was able in three generations to annex to her territory the whole of Portugal, Navarre, and Roussillon. By diplomacy, or by force of arms, she acquired Artois and Franche Comté, and the Netherlands; also the Milanese, Naples, Sicily, Sardinia, the Balearic Islands, and the Canaries. One of her kings was emperor of Germany; while his son influenced the councils of England, whose queen he married. The Turkish power, then one of the most formidable in the world, was broken and beaten back on every side. The French monarchy was humbled. French armies were constantly worsted; Paris was once in imminent jeopardy; and a king of France, after being defeated on the field, was taken captive, and led prisoner to Madrid. Out of Europe, the deeds[464] of Spain were equally wonderful. In America, the Spaniards became possessed of territories which covered sixty degrees of latitude, and included both the tropics. Besides Mexico, Central America, Venezuela, New Granada, Peru, and Chili, they conquered Cuba, San Domingo, Jamaica, and other islands. In Africa, they obtained Ceuta, Melilla, Oran, Bougiah, and Tunis, and overawed the whole coast of Barbary. In Asia, they had settlements on each side of the Deccan; they held part of Malacca; and they established themselves in the Spice Islands. Finally, by the conquest of the noble archipelago of the Philippines, they connected their most distant acquisitions, and secured a communication between every part of that enormous empire which girdled the world.

In connexion with this, a great military spirit arose, such as no other modern nation has ever exhibited. All the intellect of the country which was not employed in the service of the Church was devoted to the profession of arms. Indeed, the two pursuits were often united; and it is said that the custom of ecclesiastics going to war was practised in Spain long after it was abandoned in other parts of Europe.[1240] At all events, the general tendency is obvious. A mere list of successful battles and sieges in the sixteenth and part of the fifteenth century, would prove the vast superiority of the Spaniards, in this respect, over their contemporaries, and would show how much genius they had expended in maturing the arts of destruction. Another illustration, if another were required, might be drawn from the singular fact that since the time of ancient Greece, no country has produced so many eminent literary men who were also soldiers. Calderon, Cervantes, and Lope de Vega risked their lives in fighting for their country. The military profession was also adopted by many other celebrated authors, among whom may be mentioned,[465] Argote de Molina, Acuña, Bernal Diaz del Castillo, Boscan, Carrillo, Cetina, Ercilla, Espinel, Francisco de Figueroa, Garcilasso de la Vega, Guillen de Castro, Hita, Hurtado de Mendoza, Marmol Carvajal, Perez de Guzman, Pulgar, Rebolledo, Roxas, and Virues; all of whom bore, in this manner, unconscious testimony to the spirit by which Spain was universally pervaded.

Here, then, we have a combination which many readers will still consider with favour, and which, at the time it occurred, excited the admiration, albeit the terror, of Europe. We have a great people glowing with military, patriotic, and religious ardour, whose fiery zeal was heightened, rather than softened, by a respectful obedience to their clergy, and by a chivalrous devotion to their kings. The energy of Spain, being thus both animated and controlled, became wary as well as eager; and to this rare union of conflicting qualities we must ascribe the great deeds which have just been related. But the unsound part of a progress of this sort is, that it depends too much upon individuals, and therefore cannot be permanent. Such a movement can only last as long as it is headed by able men. When, however, competent leaders are succeeded by incompetent ones, the system immediately falls to the ground, simply because the people have been accustomed to supply to every undertaking the necessary zeal, but have not been accustomed to supply the skill by which the zeal is guided. A country in this state, if governed by hereditary princes, is sure to decay; inasmuch as, in the ordinary course of affairs, incapable rulers must sometimes arise. Directly this happens, the deterioration begins; for the people, habituated to indiscriminate loyalty, will follow wherever they are led, and will yield to foolish counsels the same obedience that they had before paid to wise ones. This leads us to perceive the essential difference between the civilization of Spain and the civilization of England. We, in England, are a critical, dissatisfied, and captious people, constantly complaining of our rulers, suspecting their schemes, discussing their measures in a hostile spirit,[466] allowing very little power either to the Church or to the Crown, managing our own affairs in our own way, and ready, on the slightest provocation, to renounce that conventional, lip-deep loyalty, which, having never really touched our hearts, is a habit lying on the surface, but not a passion rooted in the mind. The loyalty of Englishmen is not of that sort which would induce them to sacrifice their liberties to please their prince, nor does it ever, for a moment, blind them to a keen sense of their own interests. The consequence is, that our progress is uninterrupted, whether our kings are good or whether they are bad. Under either condition, the great movement goes on. Our sovereigns have had their full share of imbecility and of crime. Still, even men like Henry III. and Charles II. were unable to do us harm. In the same way, during the eighteenth and many years of the nineteenth century, when our improvement was very conspicuous, our rulers were very incompetent. Anne and the first two Georges were grossly ignorant; they were wretchedly educated, and nature had made them at once weak and obstinate. Their united reigns lasted nearly sixty years; and after they had passed away, we, for another period of sixty years, were governed by a prince who was long incapacitated by disease, but of whom we must honestly say that, looking at his general policy, he was least mischievous when he was most incapable. This is not the place to expose the monstrous principles advocated by George III., and to which posterity will do that justice from which contemporary writers are apt to shrink; but it is certain that neither his contracted understanding, nor his despotic temper, nor his miserable superstition, nor the incredible baseness of that ignoble voluptuary who succeeded him on the throne, could do aught to stop the march of English civilization, or to stem the tide of English prosperity. We went on our way rejoicing, caring for none of these things. We were not to be turned aside from our path by the folly of our rulers, because we know full well that we hold our own fate in our own hands, and that the English people possess within themselves those resources and[467] that fertility of contrivance by which alone men can be made great, and happy, and wise.

In Spain, however, directly the government slackened its hold, the nation fell to pieces.[1241] During that prosperous career which has just been noticed, the Spanish throne was invariably filled by very able and intelligent princes. Ferdinand and Isabella, Charles V. and Philip II., formed a line of sovereigns not to be matched in any other country for a period of equal length. By them, the great things were effected, and by their care, Spain apparently flourished. But, what followed when they were withdrawn from the scene, showed how artificial all this was, and how rotten, even to the core, is that[468] system of government which must be fostered before it can thrive, and which, being based on the loyalty and reverence of the people, depends for success not on the ability of the nation, but on the skill of those to whom the interests of the nation are entrusted.

Philip II., the last of the great kings of Spain, died in 1598, and after his death the decline was portentously rapid.[1242] From 1598 to 1700, the throne was occupied by Philip III., Philip IV., and Charles II. The contrast between them and their predecessors was most striking.[1243] Philip III. and Philip IV. were idle, ignorant, infirm of purpose, and passed their lives in the lowest and most sordid pleasures. Charles II., the last of that Austrian dynasty which had formerly been so distinguished, possessed nearly every defect which can make a man ridiculous and contemptible. His mind and his person were such as, in any nation less loyal than Spain, would have exposed him to universal derision. Although his death took place while he was still in the prime of life, he looked like an old and worn-out debauchee. At the age of thirty-five, he was completely bald; he had lost his eyebrows; he was[469] paralyzed; he was epileptic; and he was notoriously impotent.[1244] His general appearance was absolutely revolting, and was that of a drivelling idiot. To an enormous mouth, he added a nether jaw protruding so hideously that his teeth could never meet, and he was unable to masticate his food.[1245] His ignorance would be incredible, if it were not substantiated by unimpeachable evidence. He did not know the names of the large towns, or even of the provinces, in his dominions; and during the war with France he was heard to pity England for losing cities which in fact formed part of his own territory.[1246] Finally, he was immersed[470] in the most grovelling superstition; he believed himself to be constantly tempted by the devil; he allowed himself to be exorcised as one possessed by evil spirits; and he would not retire to rest, except with his confessor and two friars, who had to lie by his side during the night.[1247]

Now it was that men might clearly see on how sandy a foundation the grandeur of Spain was built. When there were able sovereigns, the country prospered; when there were weak ones, it declined. Nearly everything that had been done by the great princes of the sixteenth century, was undone by the little princes of the seventeenth. So rapid was the fall of Spain, that in only three reigns after the death of Philip II., the most powerful monarchy existing in the world was depressed to the lowest point of debasement, was insulted with impunity by foreign nations, was reduced more than once to bankruptcy, was stripped of her fairest possessions, was held up to public opprobrium, was made a theme on which school-boys and moralists loved to declaim respecting the uncertainty of human affairs, and, at length, was exposed to the bitter humiliation of seeing her territories mapped out and divided by a treaty in which she took no share, but the provisions of[471] which she was unable to resent.[1248] Then, truly, did she drink to the dregs the cup of her own shame. Her glory had departed from her, she was smitten down and humbled. Well might a Spaniard of that time who compared the present with the past, mourn over his country, the chosen abode of chivalry and romance, of valour and of loyalty. The mistress of the world, the queen of the ocean, the terror of nations, was gone; her power was gone, no more to return. To her might be applied that bitter lamentation, which, on a much slighter occasion, the greatest of the sons of men has put into the mouth of a dying statesman. Good reason, indeed, had the sorrowing patriot to weep, as one who refused to be comforted, for the fate of his earth, his realm, his land of dear souls, his dear, dear land, long dear for her reputation through the world, but now leased out like to a tenement or pelting farm.[1249]

It would be a weary and unprofitable task to relate the losses and disasters of Spain during the seventeenth century. The immediate cause of them was undoubtedly bad government and unskilful rulers; but the real and overriding cause, which determined the whole march and tone of affairs, was the existence of that loyal and reverential spirit which made the people submit to what any other country would have spurned, and, by accustoming them to place extreme confidence in individual men reduced the nation to that precarious position in which a succession of incompetent princes was sure to overthrow the edifice which competent ones had built up.[1250]

The increasing influence of the Spanish Church was the first and most conspicuous consequence of the declining energy of the Spanish government. For, loyalty and superstition being the main ingredients of the national character, and both of them being the result of habits of reverence, it was to be expected that, unless the reverence could be weakened, what was taken from one ingredient would be given to the other. As, therefore, the Spanish government, during the seventeenth century, did, owing to its extreme imbecility, undoubtedly lose some part of the hold it possessed over the affections of the people, it naturally happened that the Church stepped in, and occupying the vacant place, received what the crown had forfeited. Besides this, the weakness of the executive government encouraged the pretensions of the priesthood, and emboldened the clergy to acts of usurpation, which the[473] Spanish sovereigns of the sixteenth century, superstitious though they were, would not have allowed for a single moment.[1251] Hence the very striking fact, that, while in every other great country, Scotland alone excepted, the power of the Church diminished during the seventeenth century, it, in Spain, actually increased. The results of this are well worth the attention, not only of philosophic students of history, but also of every one who cares for the welfare of his own country, or feels an interest in the practical management of public affairs.

For twenty-three years after the death of Philip II., the throne was occupied by Philip III., a prince as distinguished by his weakness as his predecessors had been by their ability. During more than a century the Spaniards had been accustomed to be entirely ruled by their kings, who, with indefatigable industry, personally superintended the most important transactions, and in other matters exercised the strictest supervision over their ministers. But Philip III., whose listlessness almost amounted to fatuity, was unequal to such labour, and delegated the powers of government to Lerma, who wielded supreme authority for twenty years.[1252] Among a people so loyal as the Spaniards,[474] this unusual proceeding could not fail to weaken the executive; since, in their eyes, the immediate and irresistible interference of the sovereign was essential to the management of affairs, and to the well-being of the nation. Lerma, well aware of this feeling, and conscious that his own position was very precarious, naturally desired to strengthen himself by additional support, so that he might not entirely depend on the favour of the king. He therefore formed a strict alliance with the clergy, and, from the beginning to the end of his long administration did everything in his power to increase their authority.[1253] Thus the influence lost by the crown was gained by the Church, to whose advice a deference was paid even greater than had been accorded by the superstitious princes of the sixteenth century. In this arrangement, the interests of the people were of course unheeded. Their welfare formed no part of the general scheme. On the contrary, the clergy, grateful to a government so sensible of their merits, and so religiously disposed, used all their influence in its favour; and the yoke of a double[475] despotism was riveted more firmly than ever upon the neck of that miserable nation, which was now about to reap the bitter fruit of a long and ignominious submission.[1254]

The increasing power of the Spanish Church during the seventeenth century, may be proved by nearly every description of evidence. The convents and churches multiplied with such alarming speed, and their wealth became so prodigious, that even the Cortes, broken and humbled though they were, ventured on a public remonstrance. In 1626, only five years after the death of Philip III., they requested that some means might be taken to prevent what they described as a constant invasion on the part of the Church. In this remarkable document, the Cortes, assembled at Madrid, declared that never a day passed in which laymen were not deprived of their property to enrich ecclesiastics; and the evil, they said, had grown to such a height, that[476] there were then in Spain upwards of nine thousand monasteries, besides nunneries.[1255] This extraordinary statement has, I believe, never been contradicted, and its probability is enhanced by several other circumstances. Davila, who lived in the reign of Philip III., affirms that in 1623, the two orders of Dominicans and Franciscans alone amounted to thirty-two thousand.[1256] The other clergy increased in proportion. Before the death of Philip III., the number of ministers performing in the Cathedral of Seville had swelled to one hundred; and in the diocese of Seville, there were fourteen thousand chaplains; in the diocese of Calahorra, eighteen thousand.[1257] Nor did there seem any[477] prospect of remedying this frightful condition. The richer the Church became, the greater was the inducement for laymen to enter it; so that there appeared to be no limit to the extent to which the sacrifice of temporal interests might be carried.[1258] Indeed, the movement, notwithstanding its suddenness, was perfectly regular, and was facilitated by a long train of[478] preceding circumstances. Since the fifth century, the course of events, as we have already seen, invariably tended in this direction, and insured to the clergy a dominion which no other nation would have tolerated. The minds of the people being thus prepared, the people themselves looked on in silence at what it would have been impious to oppose; for, as a Spanish historian observes, every proposition was deemed heretical which tended to lessen the amount, or even to check the growth of that enormous wealth which was now possessed by the Spanish Church.[1259]

How natural all this was, appears also from another fact of considerable interest. In Europe generally, the seventeenth century was distinguished by the rise of a secular literature in which ecclesiastical theories were disregarded; the most influential writers, such as Bacon and Descartes, being laymen, rather hostile to the Church than friendly to it, and composing their works with views purely temporal. But in Spain, no change of this sort occurred.[1260] In that country, the Church[479] retained her hold over the highest as well as over the lowest intellects. Such was the pressure of public opinion, that authors of every grade were proud to count themselves members of the ecclesiastical profession, the interests of which they advocated with a zeal worthy of the Dark Ages. Cervantes, three years before his death, became a Franciscan monk.[1261] Lope de Vega was a priest; he was an officer of the Inquisition; and in 1623 he assisted at an auto da fé, in which, amid an immense concourse of people, a heretic was burned outside the gate of Alcalá at Madrid.[1262] Moreto, one of the three greatest dramatists Spain has produced, assumed the monastic habit during the last twelve years of his life.[1263] Montalvan, whose plays are still remembered, was a priest, and held office in the Inquisition.[1264] Tarrega, Mira de Mescua, and Tirso de[480] Molina, were all successful writers for the stage, and were all clergymen.[1265] Solis, the celebrated historian of Mexico, was also a clergyman.[1266] Sandoval, whom Philip III. appointed historiographer, and who is the principal authority for the reign of Charles V., was at first a Benedictine monk, afterwards became bishop of Tuy, and later still, was raised to the see of Pampeluna.[1267] Davila, the biographer of Philip III., was a priest.[1268] Mariana was a Jesuit;[1269] and Miñana, who continued his History, was superior of a convent in Valencia.[1270] Martin Carrillo was a jurisconsult as well as an historian, but, not satisfied with his double employment, he too entered the Church, and became canon of Saragossa.[1271] Antonio, the most learned bibliographer Spain ever possessed, was a canon of Seville.[1272] Gracian, whose prose works have been much read, and who was formerly deemed a great writer, was a Jesuit.[1273] Among the poets, the same tendency was exhibited. Paravicino was for sixteen years a popular preacher at the courts of Philip III. and Philip IV.[1274] Zamora was a monk.[1275] Argensola was a canon of Saragossa.[1276] Gongora was a priest;[1277] and Rioja received a high post [1278][481] in the Inquisition. Calderon was chaplain to Philip IV.;[1279] and so fanatical are the sentiments which tarnish his brilliant genius, that he has been termed the poet of the Inquisition.[1280] His love for the Church was a passion, and he scrupled at nothing which could advance its interests. In Spain, such feelings were natural; though to other nations they seem so strange, that an eminent critic has declared that it is hardly possible to read his works without indignation.[1281] If this be so, the indignation should be extended to nearly all his contemporary countrymen, great or small. There was hardly a Spaniard of that period who did not entertain similar sentiments. Even Villaviciosa, author of one of the very best mock-heroic poems Spain has produced, was not only an officer in the Inquisition, but, in his last will, he strongly urged upon his family and all his descendants, that they too should, if possible, enter the service of that noble institution, taking whatever place in it they could obtain, since all its offices were, he said, worthy of veneration.[1282] In such a state of[482] society, anything approaching to a secular or scientific spirit was, of course, impossible. Every one believed; no one inquired. Among the better classes, all were engaged in war or theology, and most were occupied with both. Those who made literature a profession, ministered, as professional men too often do, to the prevailing prejudice. Whatever concerned the Church was treated not only with respect, but with timid veneration. Skill and industry worthy of a far better cause, were expended in eulogizing every folly which superstition had invented. The more cruel and preposterous a custom was, the greater the number of persons who wrote in its favour, albeit no one had ventured to assail it. The quantity of Spanish works to prove the necessity of religious persecution is incalculable; and this took place in a country where not one man in a thousand doubted the propriety of burning heretics. As to miracles, which form the other capital resource of theologians, they, in the seventeenth century, were constantly happening, and as constantly being recorded. All literary men were anxious to say something on that important subject. Saints, too, being in great repute, their biographies were written in profusion, and with an indifference to truth which usually characterizes that species of composition. With these and kindred topics, the mind of Spain was chiefly busied. Monasteries, nunneries, religious orders, and cathedrals received equal attention, and huge books were written about them, in order that every particular might be preserved. Indeed, it often happened that a single convent, or a single cathedral, would have more than one historian; each seeking to distance his immediate competitor, and all striving which could do most to honour the Church and to uphold the interests of which the Church was the guardian.[1283]

Such, was the preponderance of the ecclesiastical profession, and such was the homage paid to ecclesiastical interests by the Spaniards during the seventeenth century.[1284] They did everything to strengthen the Church in that very age when other nations first set themselves in earnest to weaken it. This unhappy peculiarity was undoubtedly the effect of preceding events; but it was the immediate cause of the decline of Spain, since, whatever may have been the case in former periods, it is certain that, in modern times, the prosperity of nations depends on principles to which the clergy, as a body, are invariably opposed. Under Philip III. they gained an immense accession of strength; and in that very reign they signalized this new epoch of their power by obtaining, with circumstances of horrible barbarity, the expulsion of the whole Moorish nation. This was an act so atrocious[484] in itself,[1285] and so terrible in its consequences, that some writers have ascribed to it alone, the subsequent ruin of Spain; forgetting that other causes, far more potent, were also at work, and that this stupendous crime could never have been perpetrated, except in a country which, being long accustomed to regard heresy as the most heinous of all offences, was ready, at any cost, to purge the land and to free itself from men whose mere presence was regarded as an insult to the Christian faith.

After the reduction, late in the fifteenth century, of the last Mohammedan kingdom in Spain, the great object of the Spaniards became to convert those whom they had conquered.[1286] They believed that the future welfare of a whole people was at stake; and finding that the exhortations of their clergy had no effect, they had recourse to other means, and persecuted the men they were unable to persuade. By torturing some, by burning others, and by threatening all, they at length succeeded; and we are assured that, after the year 1526, there was no Mohammedan in Spain, who had not been converted to Christianity.[1287] Immense[485] numbers of them were baptized by force; but being baptized, it was held that they belonged to the Church, and were amenable to her discipline.[1288] That discipline was administered by the Inquisition, which, during the rest of the sixteenth century, subjected these new Christians, or Moriscoes, as they were now called,[1289] to the most barbarous treatment. The genuineness of their forced conversion was doubted; it therefore became the business of the Church to inquire into their sincerity.[1290] The civil government lent its aid; and among other enactments, an edict was issued by Philip II. in 1566, ordering the Moriscoes to abandon everything which by the slightest possibility could remind them of their former religion. They were commanded, under severe penalties, to learn Spanish, and to give up all their Arabic books. They were forbidden to read their native language, or to write it, or even to speak it in their own houses. Their ceremonies and their very games were strictly[486] prohibited. They were to indulge in no amusements which had been practised by their fathers; neither were they to wear such clothes as they had been accustomed to. Their women were to go unveiled; and as bathing was a heathenish custom, all public baths were to be destroyed, and even all baths in private houses.[1291]

By these and similar measures,[1292] these unhappy people were at length goaded into rebellion; and in 1568 they took the desperate step of measuring their force against that of the whole Spanish monarchy. The result could hardly be doubted; but the Moriscoes maddened by their sufferings, and fighting for their all, protracted the contest till 1571, when the insurrection[487] was finally put down.[1293] By this unsuccessful effort, they were greatly reduced in numbers and in strength; and, during the remaining twenty-seven years of the reign of Philip II. we hear comparatively little of them. Notwithstanding an occasional outbreak, the old animosities were subsiding, and in the course of time would probably have disappeared. At all events, there was no pretence for violence on the part of the Spaniards, since it was absurd to suppose that the Moriscoes, weakened in every way, humbled, broken, and scattered through the kingdom, could, even if they desired it, effect any thing against the resources of the executive government.

But, after the death of Philip II., that movement began which I have just described, and which, contrary to the course of affairs in other nations, secured to the Spanish clergy in the seventeenth century, more power than they had possessed in the sixteenth. The consequences of this were immediately apparent. The clergy did not think that the steps taken by Philip II. against the Moriscoes were sufficiently decisive; and even during his lifetime they looked forward to a new reign, in which these Christians of doubtful sincerity should be either destroyed or driven from Spain.[1294] While he was on the throne, the prudence[488] of the government restrained in some degree the eagerness of the Church; and the king, following the advice of his ablest ministers, refused to adopt the measures to which he was urged, and to which his own disposition prompted him.[1295] But, under his[489] successor, the clergy, as we have already seen, gained fresh strength, and they soon felt themselves sufficiently powerful to begin another and final crusade against the miserable remains of the Moorish nation.[1296]

The Archbishop of Valencia was the first to take the field. In 1602, this eminent prelate presented a memorial to Philip III. against the Moriscoes; and finding that his views were cordially supported by the clergy, and not discouraged by the crown, he followed up the blow by another memorial having the same object.[1297] The Archbishop, who spoke as one having[490] authority, and who from his rank and position was a natural representative of the Spanish Church, assured the king that all the disasters which had befallen the monarchy, had been caused by the presence of these unbelievers, whom it was now necessary to root out, even as David had done to the Philistines, and Saul to the Amalekites.[1298] He declared that the Armada, which Philip II. sent against England in 1588, had been destroyed, because God would not allow even that pious enterprise to succeed, while those who undertook it, left heretics undisturbed at home. For the same reason, the late expedition to Algiers had failed; it being evidently the will of Heaven that nothing should prosper while Spain was inhabited by apostates.[1299] He, therefore, exhorted the king to exile[491] all the Moriscoes, except some whom he might condemn to work in the galleys, and others who could become slaves, and labour in the mines of America.[1300] This, he added, would make the reign of Philip glorious to all posterity, and would raise his fame far above that of his predecessors, who in this matter had neglected their obvious duty.[1301]

These remonstrances, besides being in accordance with the known views of the Spanish Church, were warmly supported by the personal influence of the Archbishop of Toledo, the primate of Spain. In only one respect did he differ from the views advocated by the Archbishop of Valencia. The Archbishop of Valencia thought that children under seven years of age need not share in the general banishment, but might, without danger to the faith, be separated from their parents, and kept in Spain. To this, the Archbishop of Toledo strongly objected. He was unwilling, he said, to run the risk of pure Christian blood being polluted by infidels; and he declared that sooner than leave one of these unbelievers to corrupt the land, he would have the whole of them, men, women, and children, at once put to the sword.[1302]

That they should all be slain, instead of being banished, was the desire of a powerful party in the Church, who thought that such signal punishment would work good by striking terror into the heretics of every nation. Bleda, the celebrated Dominican, one of the most influential men of his time, wished this to be done, and to be done thoroughly. He said,[493] that, for the sake of example, every Morisco in Spain should have his throat cut, because it was impossible to tell which of them were Christians at heart, and it was enough to leave the matter to God, who knew his own, and who would reward in the next world those who were really Catholics.[1303]

It was evident that the fate of the wretched remnant of a once splendid nation was now sealed. The religious scruples of Philip III. forbade him to struggle with the Church; and his minister Lerma would not risk his own authority by even the show of opposition. In 1609, he announced to the king, that the expulsion of the Moriscoes had become necessary. ‘The resolution,’ replied Philip, ‘is a great one; let it be executed.’[1304] And executed it was, with unflinching barbarity. About one million of the most industrious inhabitants of Spain were hunted out like wild beasts, because the sincerity of their religious opinions was doubtful.[1305] Many were slain, as they approached the[494] coast; others were beaten and plundered; and the majority, in the most wretched plight, sailed for Africa. During the passage, the crew, in many of the ships, rose upon them, butchered the men, ravished the women, and threw the children into the sea. Those who escaped this fate, landed on the coast of Barbary, where they were attacked by the Bedouins, and many of them put to the sword. Others made their way into the desert, and perished from famine. Of the number of lives actually sacrificed, we have no authentic account; but it is said, on very good authority, that in one expedition, in which 140,000 were carried to Africa, upwards of 100,000 suffered death in its most frightful forms within a few months after their expulsion from Spain.[1306]

Now, for the first time, the Church was really triumphant.[1307] For the first time, there was not a heretic to be seen between the Pyrenees and the Straits of Gibraltar. All were orthodox, and all were loyal. Every inhabitant of that great country obeyed the Church, and feared the king. And from this happy combination, it was believed that the prosperity and grandeur of Spain were sure to follow. The name of Philip III. was to be immortal, and posterity would never weary of admiring that heroic act by which the last remains of an infidel race were cast out from the land. Those who had even remotely participated in the glorious consummation, were to be rewarded by the choicest blessings. Themselves, and their families, were under the immediate protection of Heaven. The earth should bear more fruit, and the trees should clap their hands. Instead of the thorn should come up the fir-tree, and instead of the brier, the myrtle. A new era was now inaugurated, in which Spain, purged of her heresy, was to be at ease, and men, living in safety, were to sleep under the shade of their own vineyards, sow their gardens in peace, and eat of the fruit of the trees they had planted.[1308]

These were the promises held out by the Church, and believed by the people. It is our business to inquire how far the expectations were fulfilled, and what the consequences were of an act which was instigated by the clergy, welcomed by the nation, and eagerly applauded by some of the greatest men of genius Spain has produced.[1309]

The effects upon the material prosperity of Spain may be stated in a few words. From nearly every part of the country, large bodies of industrious agriculturists and expert artificers were suddenly withdrawn. The best systems of husbandry then known, were practised by the Moriscoes, who tilled and irrigated with indefatigable labour.[1310] The cultivation of rice, cotton, and sugar, and the manufacture of silk and[498] paper, were almost confined to them.[1311] By their expulsion, all this was destroyed at a blow, and most of it was destroyed for ever. For, the Spanish Christians considered such pursuits beneath their dignity. In their judgment, war and religion were the only two avocations worthy of being followed. To fight for the king, or to enter the Church was honourable; but everything else was mean and sordid.[1312] When, therefore, the Moriscoes were thrust out of Spain, there was no one to fill their place; arts and manufactures either degenerated, or were entirely lost, and immense regions of arable land were left uncultivated. Some of the richest parts of Valencia and Granada were so neglected, that means were wanting to feed even the scanty population which remained there.[1313] Whole[499] districts were suddenly deserted, and down to the present day have never been repeopled. These solitudes gave refuge to smugglers and brigands, who succeeded the industrious inhabitants formerly occupying them; and it is said, that from the expulsion of the Moriscoes is to be dated the existence of those organized bands of robbers, which, after this period, became the scourge of Spain, and which no subsequent government has been able entirely to extirpate.[1314]

To these disastrous consequences, others were added, of a different, and, if possible, of a still more serious kind. The victory gained by the Church increased both her power and her reputation. During the rest of the seventeenth century, not only were the interests of the clergy deemed superior to the interests of laymen, but the interests of laymen were scarcely thought of. The greatest men, with hardly an exception, became ecclesiastics, and all temporal considerations, all views of earthly policy, were despised and set at nought. No one inquired; no one doubted; no one presumed to ask if all this was right. The minds of men succumbed and were prostrate. While every other country was advancing, Spain alone was receding.[500] Every other country was making some addition to knowledge, creating some art, or enlarging some science. Spain, numbed into a death-like torpor, spellbound and entranced by the accursed superstition which preyed on her strength, presented to Europe a solitary instance of constant decay. For her, no hope remained; and, before the close of the seventeenth century, the only question was, by whose hands the blow should be struck, which would dismember that once mighty empire, whose shadow had covered the world, and whose vast remains were imposing even in their ruin.

To indicate the different steps which mark the decline of Spain would be hardly possible, since even the Spaniards, who, when it was too late, were stung with shame, have abstained from writing what would only be the history of their own humiliation; so that there is no detailed account of the wretched reigns of Philip IV. and Charles II., which together comprise a period of nearly eighty years.[1315] Some facts, however,[501] I have been able to collect, and they are very significant. At the beginning of the seventeenth century, the population of Madrid was estimated to be 400,000; at the beginning of the eighteenth century, less than 200,000.[1316] Seville, one of the richest cities in Spain, possessed in the sixteenth century upwards of sixteen thousand looms, which gave employment to a hundred and thirty thousand persons.[1317] By the reign of Philip[502] V., these sixteen thousand looms had dwindled away to less than three hundred;[1318] and, in a report which the Cortes made to Philip IV., in 1662, it is stated that the city contained only a quarter of its former number of inhabitants, and that even the vines and olives cultivated in its neighbourhood, and which comprised a considerable part of its wealth, were almost entirely neglected.[1319] Toledo, in the middle of the sixteenth century, had upwards of fifty woollen manufactories; in 1665, it had only thirteen, almost the whole of the trade having been carried away by the Moriscoes, and established at Tunis.[1320] Owing to the same cause, the art of manufacturing silk, for which Toledo was celebrated, was entirely lost, and nearly forty thousand persons, who depended on it, were deprived of their means of support.[1321] Other branches of industry shared the same fate. In the sixteenth century, and early in the seventeenth, Spain enjoyed great repute for the manufacture of gloves, which were made in enormous quantities, and shipped to many parts, being particularly valued in England and France, and being also exported to the Indies. But Martinez de Mata, who wrote in the year 1655, assures us that at that time this source of wealth had disappeared; the manufacture of gloves having quite ceased, though formerly,[503] he says, it had existed in every city in Spain.[1322] In the once-flourishing province of Castile, every thing was going to ruin. Even Segovia lost its manufactures, and retained nothing but the memory of its former wealth.[1323] The decay of Burgos was equally rapid; the trade of that famous city perished; and the deserted streets and empty houses formed such a picture of desolation, that a contemporary, struck by the havoc, emphatically declared that Burgos had lost every thing except its name.[1324] In other districts, the[504] results were equally fatal. The beautiful provinces of the south, richly endowed by nature, had formerly been so wealthy, that their contributions alone sufficed, in time of need, to replenish the imperial treasury; but they now deteriorated with such rapidity, that, by the year 1640, it was found hardly possible to impose a tax on them which would be productive.[1325] During the latter half of the seventeenth century, matters became still worse, and the poverty and wretchedness of the people surpass all description. In the villages near Madrid, the inhabitants were literally famishing; and those farmers who had a stock of food refused to sell[505] it, because, much as they needed money, they were apprehensive of seeing their families perish around them. The consequence was, that the capital was in danger of being starved; and ordinary threats producing no effect, it was found necessary, in 1664, that the President of Castile, with an armed force, and accompanied by the public executioner, should visit the adjacent villages, and compel the inhabitants to bring their supplies to the markets of Madrid.[1326] All over Spain, the same destitution prevailed. That once rich and prosperous country was covered with a rabble of monks and clergy, whose insatiate rapacity absorbed the little wealth yet to be found. Hence it happened, that the government, though almost penniless, could obtain no supplies. The tax-gatherers, urged to make up the deficiency, adopted the most desperate expedients. They not only seized the beds and all the furniture, but they unroofed the houses, and sold the materials of the roof, for whatever they would fetch. The inhabitants were forced to fly; the fields were left uncultivated; vast multitudes died from want and exposure; entire villages were deserted; and in many of the towns, upwards of two-thirds of the houses were, by the end of the seventeenth century, utterly destroyed.[1327]

In the midst of these calamities, the spirit and energy of Spain were extinguished. In every department, all power and life disappeared. The Spanish troops were defeated at Rocroy in 1643; and several writers ascribe to that battle the destruction of the military reputation of Spain.[1328] This, however, was only one of many symptoms.[1329] In 1656, it was[507] proposed to fit out a small fleet; but the fisheries on the coast had so declined, that it was found impossible to procure sailors enough to man even the few ships which were required.[1330] The charts which had been[508] made, were either lost or neglected; and the ignorance of the Spanish pilots became so notorious, that no one was willing to trust them.[1331] As to the military service, it is stated, in an account of Spain, late in the seventeenth century, that most of the troops had deserted their colours, and that the few who were faithful were clothed in rags, received no pay, and were dying of hunger.[1332] Another account describes this[509] once mighty kingdom as utterly unprotected; the frontier towns ungarrisoned; the fortifications dilapidated and crumbling away; the magazines without ammunition; the arsenals empty; the workshops unemployed; and even the art of building ships entirely lost.[1333]

While the country at large was thus languishing, as if it had been stricken by some mortal distemper, the most horrible scenes were occurring in the capital, under the eyes of the sovereign. The inhabitants of Madrid were starving; and the arbitrary measures which had been adopted to supply them with food, could only produce temporary relief. Many persons fell down in the streets exhausted, and died where they fell; others were seen in the public highway evidently dying, but no one had wherewithal to feed them. At length the people became desperate, and threw off all control. In 1680, not only the workmen of Madrid, but large numbers of the tradesmen, organized themselves into bands, broke open private houses, and robbed and murdered the inhabitants in the face of day.[1334] During[510] the remaining twenty years of the seventeenth century, the capital was in a state, not of insurrection, but of anarchy. Society was loosened, and seemed to be resolving itself into its elements. To use the emphatic language of a contemporary, liberty and restraint were equally unknown.[1335] The ordinary functions of the executive government were suspended. The police of Madrid, unable to obtain the arrears of their pay, disbanded, and gave themselves up to rapine. Nor did there seem any means of remedying these evils. The exchequer was empty, and it was impossible to replenish it. Such was the poverty of the court, that money was wanting to pay the wages of the king's private servants, and to meet the daily expenses of his household.[1336] In 1693, payment was suspended of every[511] life-pension; and all officers and ministers of the crown were mulcted of one-third of their salaries.[1337] Nothing, however, could arrest the mischief. Famine and poverty continued to increase;[1338] and, in 1699, Stanhope, the British minister then residing in Madrid, writes, that never a day passed in which people were not killed in the streets scuffling for bread; that his own secretary had seen five women stifled to death by the crowd before a bakehouse; and that, to swell the catalogue of misery, upwards of twenty thousand additional beggars from the country had recently flocked into the capital.[1339]

If this state of things had continued for another generation, the wildest anarchy must have ensued, and the whole frame of society been broken up.[1340] The only chance of saving Spain from a relapse into barbarism, was that it should fall, and fall quickly, under foreign dominion. Such a change was indispensable; and there was reason to fear that it might come in a form which would have been inexpressibly odious to the nation. For, late in the seventeenth century, Ceuta was besieged by the Mohammedans; and as the Spanish Government had neither troops nor ships, the greatest apprehensions were entertained respecting the fate of this important fortress; there being little doubt, that if it fell, Spain would be again overrun by the infidels, who, this time, at least, would have found little difficulty in dealing with a people weakened by suffering, half famished, and almost worn out.[1341]

Fortunately, in the year 1700, when affairs were at their worst, Charles II., the idiot king, died; and Spain fell into the hands of Philip V., the grandson of Louis XIV. This change from the Austrian dynasty to the Bourbon,[1342] brought with it many other changes. Philip, who reigned from 1700 to 1746,[1343] was a Frenchman, not only by birth and education, but also in feelings and habits.[1344] Just before he entered Spain, Louis charged him never to forget that he was a native of France, the throne of which he might some day ascend.[1345] After he became king, he neglected the Spaniards, despised their advice, and threw all the power he could command into the hands of his own countrymen.[1346] The affairs of Spain were now administered[514] by subjects of Louis XIV., whose ambassador at Madrid frequently performed the functions of prime minister.[1347] What had once been the most powerful monarchy in the world, became little else than a province of France; all important matters being decided in Paris, from whence Philip himself received his instructions.[1348]

The truth is, that Spain, broken and prostrate, was unable to supply ability of any kind; and if the government of the country was to be carried on, it was absolutely necessary that foreigners should be called[515] in.[1349] Even in 1682, that is, eighteen years before the accession of Philip V., there was not to be found a single native well acquainted with the art of war; so that Charles II. was obliged to intrust the military defence of the Spanish Netherlands to De Grana, the Austrian ambassador at Madrid.[1350] When, therefore, the War of the Succession broke out, in 1702, even the Spaniards themselves desired that their troops should be commanded by a foreigner.[1351] In 1704, the extraordinary spectacle was exhibited of the Duke of Berwick, an Englishman, leading Spanish soldiers against the enemy, and being in fact generalissimo of the Spanish army.[1352] The King of Spain, dissatisfied with his[516] proceedings, determined to remove him; but, instead of filling his place with a native, he applied to Louis XIV. for another general; and this important post was confided to Marshal Tessé, a Frenchman.[1353] A little later, Berwick was again summoned to Madrid, and ordered to put himself at the head of the Spanish troops, and defend Estremadura and Castile.[1354] This he effected with complete success; and, in the battle of Almansa, which he fought in 1707, he overthrew the invaders, ruined the party of the pretender Charles,[1355] and[517] secured the seat of Philip on the throne.[1356] As the war, however, still continued, Philip, in 1710, wrote to Paris for another general, and requested that the Duke de Vendôme might be sent to him.[1357] This able commander, on his arrival, infused new vigour into the Spanish counsels, and utterly defeated the allies;[1358] so that the war by which the independence of Spain was established, owed its success to the ability of foreigners,[518] and to the fact that the campaigns were planned and conducted, not by natives, but by French and English generals.

In the same way, the finances were, by the end of the seventeenth century, in such deplorable confusion, that Portocarrero, who at the accession of Philip V. was the nominal minister of Spain, expressed a desire that they should be administered by some one sent from Paris, who could restore them.[1359] He felt that no one in Spain was equal to the task, and he was by no means singular in this opinion. In 1701, Louville wrote to Torcy, that if a financier did not soon arrive from France, there would shortly be no finances to administer.[1360] The choice fell upon Orry, who reached Madrid in the summer of 1701.[1361] He found everything in the most miserable condition; and the incompetence of the Spaniards was so obvious, that he was soon forced to undertake the management, not only of the finances, but also of the war-department. To save appearances, Canalez became the ostensible minister at war; but he, being completely ignorant of affairs, merely performed the drudgery of that office, the real duties of which were fulfilled by Orry himself.[1362]

This dominion of the French continued, without interruption, until the second marriage of Philip V., in 1714, and the death of Louis XIV., in 1715, both of which events weakened their influence, and for a time almost destroyed it. The authority, however, which they lost, was transferred, not to Spaniards, but to other foreigners. Between 1714 and 1726, the two most powerful and conspicuous men in Spain were Alberoni, an Italian, and Ripperda, a Dutchman. Ripperda was dismissed in 1726;[1363] and after his fall, the affairs of Spain were controlled by Konigseg, who was a German, and who, indeed, was the Austrian ambassador residing at Madrid.[1364] Even Grimaldo,[520] who held office before and after the dismissal of Ripperda, was a disciple of the French school, and had been brought up under Orry.[1365] All this was not the result of accident, nor is it to be ascribed to the caprice of the court. In Spain, the national spirit had so died away, that none but foreigners, or men imbued with foreign ideas, were equal to the duties of government. To the evidence already quoted on this point, I will add two other testimonies. Noailles, a very fair judge, and by no means prejudiced against the Spaniards, emphatically stated, in 1710, that, notwithstanding their loyalty, they were incapable of ruling, inasmuch as they were ignorant both of war and of politics.[1366] In 1711, Bonnac mentions that a resolution had been formed to place no Spaniard at the head of affairs, because those hitherto employed had proved to be either unfortunate or unfaithful.[1367]

The government of Spain being taken from the Spaniards, now began to show some signs of vigour. The change was slight, but it was in the right direction,[521] though, as we shall presently see, it could not regenerate Spain, owing to the unfavourable operation of general causes. Still, the intention was good. For the first time, attempts were made to vindicate the rights of laymen, and to diminish the authority of ecclesiastics. Scarcely had the French established their dominion, when they suggested that it might be advisable to relieve the necessities of the state, by compelling the clergy to give up some of the wealth which they had accumulated in their churches.[1368] Even Louis XIV. insisted that the important office of President of Castile should not be conferred on an ecclesiastic, because, he said, in Spain the priests and monks had already too much power.[1369] Orry, who for several years possessed immense influence, exerted it in the same direction. He endeavoured to lessen the immunities possessed by the clergy, in regard to taxation, and also in regard to their exemption from lay jurisdiction. He opposed the privilege of sanctuary; he sought to deprive churches of their right of asylum. He even attacked the Inquisition, and worked so powerfully on the mind of the king, that Philip, at one time, determined to suspend that dreadful tribunal, and abolish the office of grand inquisitor.[1370] This intention was very properly abandoned; for there can be no doubt that if it had been enforced, it would have caused a revolution, in which Philip would probably[522] have lost his crown.[1371] In such case, a reaction would have set in, which would have left the Church stronger than ever. Many things, however, were done for Spain in spite of the Spaniards.[1372] In 1707, the clergy were forced to contribute to the state a small part of their enormous wealth; the tax being disguised under the name of a loan.[1373] Ten years later, during the administration of Alberoni, this disguise was thrown[523] off; and not only did government exact what was now called ‘the ecclesiastical tax,’ but it imprisoned or exiled those priests who, refusing to pay, stood up for the privileges of their order.[1374] This was a bold step to be taken in Spain, and it was one on which, at that time, no Spaniard would have ventured. Alberoni, however, as a foreigner, was unversed in the traditions of the country, which, indeed, on another memorable occasion, he set at defiance. The government of Madrid, acting in complete unison with public opinion, had always been unwilling to negotiate with infidels; meaning by infidels every people whose religious notions differed from their own. Sometimes, such negotiations were unavoidable, but they were entered into with fear and trembling, lest the pure Spanish faith should be tainted by too close a contact with unbelievers. Even in 1698, when it was evident that the monarchy was at its last gasp, and that nothing could save it from the hands of the spoiler, the prejudice was so strong, that the Spaniards refused to receive aid from the Dutch, because the Dutch were heretics. At that time, Holland was in the most intimate relation with England, whose interest it was to secure the independence of Spain against the machinations of France. Obvious, however, as this was, the Spanish theologians, being consulted respecting the proposal, declared that it was inadmissible, since it would enable the Dutch to propagate their religious opinions; so that, according to this view, it was better to be subjugated by a Catholic enemy, than to be assisted by a Protestant friend.[1375]

Still, much as the Spaniards hated Protestants, they hated Mohammedans yet more.[1376] They could never forget how the followers of that creed had once conquered nearly the whole of Spain, and had, during several centuries, possessed the fairest portion of it. The remembrance of this strengthened their religious animosity, and caused them to be the chief supporters of nearly every war which was waged against the Mohammedans, both of Turkey and of Africa.[1377] But Alberoni, being a foreigner, was unmoved by these considerations, and, to the astonishment of all Spain, he, on the mere ground of political expediency, set at[525] naught the principles of the Church, and not only concluded an alliance with the Mohammedans, but supplied them with arms and with money.[1378] It is, indeed, true, that, in these and similar measures, Alberoni opposed himself to the national will, and that he lived to repent of his boldness. It is, however, also true, that his policy was part of a great secular and anti-theological movement, which, during the eighteenth century, was felt all over Europe. The effects of that movement were seen in the government of Spain, but not in the people. This was because the government for many years was wielded by foreigners, or by natives imbued with a foreign spirit. Hence we find that, during the greater part of the eighteenth century, the politicians of Spain formed a class more isolated, and, if I may so say, more living on their own intellectual resources, than the politicians of any other country during the same period. That this indicated a state of disease, and that no political improvement can produce real good, unless it is desired by the people before being conferred on them, will be admitted by whoever has mastered the lessons which history contains. The results actually produced in Spain, we shall presently see. But it will first be advisable that I should give some further evidence of the extent to which the influence of the Church had prostrated the national[526] intellect, and by discouraging all inquiry, and fettering all freedom of thought, had at length reduced the country to such a plight, that the faculties of men, rusted by disuse, were no longer equal to fulfil the functions required from them; so that in every department, whether of political life, or of speculative philosophy, or even of mechanical industry, it was necessary that foreigners should be called in, to do that work, which the natives had become unable to perform.

The ignorance in which the force of adverse circumstances had sunk the Spaniards, and their inactivity, both bodily and mental, would be utterly incredible, if it were not attested by every variety of evidence. Gramont, writing from personal knowledge of the state of Spain, during the latter half of the seventeenth century, describes the upper classes as not only unacquainted with science or literature, but as knowing scarcely any thing even of the commonest events which occurred out of their own country. The lower ranks, he adds, are equally idle, and rely upon foreigners to reap their wheat, to cut their hay, and to build their houses.[1379] Another observer of society, as it existed[527] in Madrid in 1679, assures us that men, even of the highest position, never thought it necessary that their sons should study; and that those who were destined for the army could not learn mathematics, if they desired to do so, inasmuch as there were neither schools nor masters to teach them.[1380] Books, unless they were books of devotion, were deemed utterly useless; no one consulted them; no one collected them; and, until the eighteenth century, Madrid did not possess a single public library.[1381] In other cities professedly devoted to purposes of education, similar ignorance prevailed. Salamanca was the seat of the most ancient and most famous university in Spain, and there, if anywhere, we might look for the encouragement of science.[1382] But De Torres, who was himself a[528] Spaniard, and was educated at Salamanca, early in the eighteenth century, declares that he had studied at that university for five years before he had heard that such things as the mathematical sciences existed.[1383] So late as the year 1771, the same university publicly refused to allow the discoveries of Newton to be taught; and assigned as a reason, that the system of Newton was not so consonant with revealed[529] religion as the system of Aristotle.[1384] All over Spain, a similar plan was adopted. Everywhere, knowledge was spurned, and inquiry discouraged. Feijoo, who, notwithstanding his superstition, and a certain slavishness of mind, from which no Spaniard of that age could escape, did, on matters of science, seek to enlighten his countrymen, has left upon record his deliberate opinion, that whoever had acquired all that was taught in his time under the name of philosophy, would, as the reward of his labour, be more ignorant than he was before he began.[1385] And there can be no doubt that he was right. There can be no doubt that, in Spain, the more a man was taught, the less he would know. For, he was taught that inquiry was sinful, that intellect must be repressed, and that credulity and submission were the first of human attributes. The Duke de Saint Simon, who, in 1721 and 1722, was the French ambassador at Madrid, sums up his observations by the remark, that, in Spain, science is a crime, and ignorance a virtue.[1386] Fifty years later, another[530] shrewd observer, struck with amazement at the condition of the national mind, expresses his opinion in a sentence equally pithy and almost equally severe. Searching for an illustration to convey his sense of the general darkness, he emphatically says, that the common education of an English gentleman would, in Spain, constitute a man of learning.[1387]

Those who know what the common education of an English gentleman was eighty years ago, will appreciate the force of this comparison, and will understand how benighted a country must have been, to which such a taunt was applicable. To expect that, under such a state of things, the Spaniards should make any of the discoveries which accelerate the march of nations, would be idle indeed; for they would not even receive the discoveries, which other nations had made for them, and had cast into the common lap. So loyal and orthodox a people had nothing to do with novelties, which, being innovations on ancient opinions, were fraught with danger. The Spaniards desired to walk in the ways of their ancestors, and not have their faith in the past rudely disturbed. In the inorganic world, the magnificent discoveries of Newton were contumeliously rejected; and, in the organic world, the circulation of the blood was denied, more than a hundred and fifty years after Harvey had proved it.[1388] These things[531] were new, and it was better to pause a little, and not receive them too hastily. On the same principle, when, in the year 1760, some bold men in the government proposed that the streets of Madrid should be cleansed, so daring a suggestion excited general anger. Not only the vulgar, but even those who were called educated, were loud in their censure. The medical profession, as the guardians of the public health, were desired, by the government, to give their opinion. This, they had no difficulty in doing. They had no doubt that the dirt ought to remain. To remove it, was a new experiment; and of new experiments, it was impossible to foresee the issue. Their fathers having lived in the midst of it, why should not they do the same? Their fathers were wise men, and must have had good reasons for their conduct. Even the smell, of which some persons complained, was most likely wholesome. For, the air being sharp and piercing, it was extremely probable that bad smells made the atmosphere heavy, and in that way deprived it of some of its injurious properties. The physicians of Madrid were, therefore, of opinion that matters had better remain as their ancestors had left them, and that no attempts should be made to purify the capital by removing the filth which lay scattered on every side.[1389]

While such notions prevailed respecting the preservation of health,[1390] it is hardly to be supposed that the treatment of disease should be very successful. To bleed and to purge, were the only remedies prescribed by the Spanish physicians.[1391] Their ignorance of the[533] commonest functions of the human body was altogether surprising, and can only be explained on the supposition, that in medicine, as in other departments, the Spaniards of the eighteenth century knew no more than their progenitors of the sixteenth. Indeed, in some respects, they appeared to know less. For, their treatment was so violent, that it was almost certain death to submit to it for any length of time.[1392] Their own king, Philip V., did not dare to trust himself in their hands, but preferred having an Irishman for his physician.[1393] Though the Irish had no great medical reputation, anything was better than a Spanish doctor.[1394] The arts[534] incidental to medicine and surgery, were equally backward. The instruments were rudely made, and the drugs badly prepared. Pharmacy being unknown, the apothecaries' shops, in the largest towns, were entirely supplied from abroad; while, in the smaller towns, and in districts remote from the capital, the medicines were of such a quality, that the best which could be hoped of them was, that they might be innocuous. For, in the middle of the eighteenth century, Spain did not possess one practical chemist. Indeed, we are assured by Campomanes himself, that, so late as the year 1776, there was not to be found in the whole country a single man who knew how to make the commonest drugs, such as magnesia, Glauber's salts, and the ordinary preparations of mercury and antimony. This eminent statesman adds, however, that a chemical laboratory was about to be established in Madrid; and although the enterprise, being without a precedent, would surely be regarded as a portentous novelty, he expresses a confident expectation, that, by its aid, the universal ignorance of his countrymen would in time be remedied.[1395]

Whatever was useful in practice, or whatever subserved[535] the purposes of knowledge, had to come from abroad. Ensenada, the well-known minister of Ferdinand VI., was appalled by the darkness and apathy of the nation, which he tried, but tried in vain, to remove. When he was at the head of affairs, in the middle of the eighteenth century, he publicly declared that in Spain there was no professorship of public law, or of physics, or of anatomy, or of botany. He further added, that there were no good maps of Spain, and that there was no person who knew how to construct them. All the maps which they had, came from France and Holland. They were, he said, very inaccurate; but the Spaniards, being unable to make any, had nothing else to rely on. Such a state of things he pronounced to be shameful. For, as he bitterly complained, if it were not for the exertions of Frenchmen and Dutchmen, it would be impossible for any Spaniard to know either the position of his own town, or the distance from one place to another.[1396]

The only remedy for all this, seemed to be foreign aid; and Spain being now ruled by a foreign dynasty, that aid was called in. Cervi established the Medical Societies of Madrid and of Seville; Virgili founded the College of Surgery at Cadiz; and Bowles endeavoured to promote among the Spaniards the study of mineralogy.[1397] Professors were sought for, far and wide; and application was made to Linnæus to send a person from Sweden who could impart some idea of botany to physiological students.[1398] Many other and similar steps were taken by the government, whose indefatigable exertions would deserve our warmest praise, if we did not know how impossible it is for any government to enlighten a nation, and how absolutely essential it is that the desire for improvement should, in the first place, proceed from the people themselves. No progress is real, unless it is spontaneous. The movement, to be effective, must emanate from within, and not from without; it must be due to general causes acting on the whole country, and not to the mere will of a few powerful individuals. During the eighteenth century, all the means of improvement were lavishly supplied to[537] the Spaniards; but the Spaniards did not want to improve. They were satisfied with themselves; they were sure of the accuracy of their own opinions; they were proud of the notions which they inherited, and which they did not wish either to increase or to diminish. Being unable to doubt, they were, therefore, unwilling to inquire. New and beautiful truths, conveyed in the clearest and most attractive language, could produce no effect upon men whose minds were thus hardened and enslaved.[1399] An unhappy combination of events, working without interruption since the fifth century, had predetermined the national character in a particular direction, and neither statesmen, nor kings, nor legislators, could effect aught against it. The seventeenth century was, however, the climax of all. In that age, the Spanish nation fell into a sleep, from which, as a nation, it has never since awakened. It was a sleep, not of repose, but of death. It was a sleep, in which the faculties, instead of being rested, were paralyzed, and in which a cold and universal torpor succeeded that glorious, though partial, activity, which, while it made the name of Spain terrible in the world, had insured the respect even of her bitterest enemies.

Even the fine arts, in which the Spaniards had formerly excelled, partook of the general degeneracy, and, according to the confession of their own writers, had, by the beginning of the eighteenth century, fallen into complete decay.[1400] The arts which secure national[538] safety, were in the same predicament as those which minister to national pleasure. There was no one in Spain who could build a ship; there was no one who knew how to rig it, after it was built. The consequence was, that, by the close of the seventeenth century, the few ships which Spain possessed, were so rotten, that, says an historian, they could hardly support the fire of their own guns.[1401] In 1752, the government, being determined to restore the navy, found it necessary to send to England for shipwrights; and they were also obliged to apply to the same quarter for persons who could make ropes and canvass; the skill of the natives being unequal to such arduous achievements.[1402] In this way, the ministers of the Crown, whose ability and vigour, considering the difficult circumstances in which the incapacity of the people placed them, were extremely remarkable, contrived to raise a fleet superior to any which had been seen in Spain for more than a century.[1403] They also took many other steps towards putting the national defences into a satisfactory condition; though in every instance, they were forced to rely on the aid of foreigners. Both the military and the naval service were in utter confusion, and had to be organized afresh. The discipline of the infantry[539] was remodelled by O'Reilly, an Irishman, to whose superintendence the military schools of Spain were intrusted.[1404] At Cadiz, a great naval academy was formed, but the head of it was Colonel Godin, a French officer.[1405] The artillery, which like everything else, had become almost useless, was improved by Maritz, the Frenchman; while the same service was rendered to the arsenals by Gazola, the Italian.[1406]

The mines, which form one of the greatest natural sources of the wealth of Spain, had likewise suffered from that ignorance and apathy into which the force of circumstances had plunged the country. They were either completely neglected, or if worked, they were worked by other nations. The celebrated cobalt-mine, situated in the valley of Gistan, in Aragon, was entirely in the hands of the Germans, who, during the first half of the eighteenth century, derived immense profit from it.[1407] In the same way, the silver-mines of Guadalcanal, the richest in Spain, were undertaken, not by natives, but by foreigners. Though they had been discovered in the sixteenth century, they, as well as other matters of importance, had been forgotten in[540] the seventeenth, and were reopened, in 1728, by English adventurers; the enterprise, the tools, the capital, and even the miners, all coming from England.[1408] Another, and still more famous, mine is that of Almaden in La Mancha, which produces mercury of the finest quality, and in great profusion. This metal, besides being indispensable for many of the commonest arts, was of peculiar value to Spain, because without it the gold and silver of the New World could not be extracted from their ores. From Almaden, where every natural facility exists for collecting it, and where the cinnibar in which it is found is unusually rich, vast supplies had formerly been drawn; but they had for some time been diminishing, although the demand, especially from foreign countries, was on the increase. Under these circumstances, the Spanish government, fearing that so important a source of wealth might altogether perish, determined to institute an inquiry into the manner in which the mine was worked. As, however, no Spaniard possessed the knowledge requisite for such an investigation, the advisers of the Crown were obliged to call on foreigners to help them. In 1752, an Irish naturalist, named Bowles, was commissioned to visit Almaden, and ascertain the cause of the failure. He found that the miners had acquired a habit of sinking their shafts perpendicularly, instead of following the direction of the vein.[1409] So absurd a[541] process was quite sufficient to account for their want of success; and Bowles reported to the government, that if a shaft were to be sunk obliquely, the mine would, no doubt, again be productive. The government approved of the suggestion, and ordered it to be carried into effect. But the Spanish miners were too tenacious of their old customs to give way. They sank their shafts in the same manner as their fathers had done; and what their fathers had done must be right. The result was, that the mine had to be taken out of their hands; but as Spain could supply no other labourers, it was necessary to send to Germany for fresh ones.[1410] After their arrival, matters rapidly improved. The mine, being superintended by an Irishman, and worked by Germans, assumed quite a different appearance; and, notwithstanding the disadvantages with which new comers always have to contend, the immediate consequence of the change was, that the yield of mercury was doubled, and its cost to the consumer correspondingly lowered.[1411]

Such ignorance, pervading the whole nation, and extending to every department of life, is hardly conceivable, considering the immense advantages which the Spaniards had formerly enjoyed. It is particularly striking, when contrasted with the ability of the government, which, for more than eighty years, constantly laboured to improve the condition of the[542] country. Early in the eighteenth century, Ripperda, in the hopes of stimulating Spanish industry, established a large woollen manufactory at Segovia, which had once been a busy and prosperous city. But the commonest processes had now been forgotten; and he was obliged to import manufacturers from Holland, to teach the Spaniards how to make up the wool, though that was an art for which in better days they had been especially famous.[1412] In 1757, Wall, who was then minister, constructed, upon a still larger scale, a similar manufactory at Guadalajara in New Castile. Soon, however, something went wrong with the machinery; and as the Spaniards neither knew nor cared anything about these matters, it was necessary to send to England for a workman to put it right.[1413] At length the advisers of Charles III., despairing of rousing the people by ordinary means, devised a more comprehensive scheme, and invited thousands of foreign artisans to settle in Spain; trusting that their example, and the suddenness of their influx might invigorate this jaded nation.[1414] All was in vain. The spirit of the country was broken, and nothing could retrieve it. Among other attempts which were made, the formation of a National Bank was a favourite idea of politicians, who expected great things from an institution which was to extend credit, and[543] make advances to persons engaged in business. But, though the design was executed, it entirely failed in effecting its purpose. When the people are not enterprising, no effort of government can make them so. In a country like Spain, a great bank was an exotic, which might live with art, but could never thrive by nature. Indeed, both in its origin and in its completion, it was altogether foreign, having been first proposed by the Dutchman Ripperda,[1415] and owing its final organization to the Frenchman Cabarrus.[1416]

In everything, the same law prevailed. In diplomacy, the ablest men were not Spaniards, but foreigners; and during the eighteenth century the strange spectacle was frequently exhibited, of Spain being represented by French, Italian, and even Irish ambassadors.[1417] Nothing was indigenous; nothing was[544] done by Spain herself. Philip V., who reigned from 1700 to 1746, and possessed immense power, always clung to the ideas of his own country, and was a Frenchman to the last. For thirty years after his death, the three most prominent names in Spanish politics were, Wall, who was born in France, of Irish parents;[1418] Grimaldi, who was a native of Genoa; [1419] and Esquilache, who was a native of Sicily.[1420] Esquilache administered the finances for several years; and, after enjoying the confidence of Charles III. to an extent rarely possessed by any minister, was only dismissed, in 1766, in consequence of the discontents of the people at the innovations introduced by this bold foreigner.[1421] Wall, a much more remarkable[545] man, was, in the absence of any good Spanish diplomatist, sent envoy to London in 1747; and after exercising great influence in matters of state, he was placed at the head of affairs in 1754, and remained supreme till 1763.[1422] When this eminent Irishman relinquished office, he was succeeded by the Genoese, Grimaldi, who ruled Spain from 1763 to 1777, and was entirely devoted to the French views of policy.[1423] His principal patron was Choiseul, who had imbued him with his own notions, and by whose advice he was chiefly guided.[1424] Indeed, Choiseul, who was then the first minister in France, used to boast, with exaggeration, but not without a considerable amount of truth, that his influence in Madrid was even greater than it was in Versailles.[1425]

However this may be, it is certain that four years after Grimaldi took office, the ascendency of France was exhibited in a remarkable way. Choiseul, who hated the Jesuits, and had just expelled them from France, endeavoured also to expel them from Spain.[1426][546] The execution of the plan was confided to Aranda, who, though a Spaniard by birth, derived his intellectual culture from France, and had contracted, in the society of Paris, an intense hatred of every form of ecclesiastical power.[1427] The scheme, secretly prepared, was skilfully accomplished.[1428] In 1767, the Spanish government, without hearing what the Jesuits had to say in their defence, and indeed, without giving them the least notice, suddenly ordered their expulsion; and with such animosity were they driven from the country, in which they sprung up, and had long been cherished, that not only was their wealth confiscated, and they themselves reduced to a wretched pittance, but even that was directed to be taken from them, if they published anything in their own vindication; while it was also declared that whoever ventured to write respecting them, should, if we were a subject[547] of Spain, be put to death, as one guilty of high treason.[1429]

Such boldness on the part of the government [1430] caused even the Inquisition to tremble. That once omnipotent tribunal, threatened and suspected by the civil authorities, became more wary in its proceedings, and more tender in its treatment of heretics. Instead of extirpating unbelievers by hundreds or by thousands, it was reduced to such pitiful straits, that between 1746 and 1759, it was only able to burn ten persons; and between 1759 and 1788, only four persons.[1431] The extraordinary diminution during the latter period, was partly owing to the great authority wielded by Aranda, the friend of the encyclopædists and of other French sceptics. This remarkable man was President of Castile till 1773,[1432] and he issued an order forbidding[548] the Inquisition to interfere with the civil courts.[1433] He also formed a scheme for entirely abolishing it; but his plan was frustrated, owing to its premature announcement by his friends in Paris, to whom it had been confided.[1434] His views, however, were so far successful, that after 1781, there is no instance in Spain of a heretic being burned; the Inquisition being too terrified by the proceedings of government to do anything which might compromise the safety of the Holy Institution.[1435]

In 1777, Grimaldi, one of the chief supporters of that anti-theological policy which France introduced into Spain, ceased to be Minister; but he was succeeded by Florida Blanca, who was his creature, and to whom he transmitted his policy as well as his power.[1436] The[549] progress, therefore, of political affairs continued in the same direction. Under the new minister, as under his immediate predecessors, a determination was shown to abridge the authority of the Church, and to vindicate the rights of laymen. In everything, the ecclesiastical interests were treated as subordinate to the secular. Of this, many instances might be given; but one is too important to be omitted. We have seen, that early in the eighteenth century, Alberoni, when at the head of affairs, was guilty of what in Spain was deemed the enormous offence of contracting an alliance with Mohammedans; and there can be no doubt that this was one of the chief causes of his fall, since it was held, that no prospect of mere temporal advantages could justify an union, or even a peace, between a Christian nation and a nation of unbelievers.[1437] But the Spanish government, which, owing to the causes I have related, was far in advance of Spain itself, was gradually becoming bolder, and growing more and more disposed to force upon the country, views, which, abstractedly considered, where extremely enlightened, but which the popular mind was unable to receive. The result was, that, in 1782, Florida Blanca concluded a treaty with Turkey, which put an end to the war of religious opinions; to the astonishment, as we are told, of the other European powers, who could hardly believe that the Spaniards would thus abandon their long-continued efforts to destroy the infidels.[1438] Before, however,[550] Europe had time to recover from its amazement, other and similar events occurred equally startling. In 1784, Spain signed a peace with Tripoli; and in 1785, one with Algiers.[1439] And scarcely had these been ratified, when, in 1786, a treaty was also concluded with Tunis.[1440] So that the Spanish people to their no small surprise, found themselves on terms of amity with nations, whom for more than ten centuries they had been taught to abhor, and whom, in the opinion of the Spanish Church, it was the first duty of a Christian government to make war upon, and, if possible, to extirpate.

Putting aside, for a moment, the remote and intellectual consequences of these transactions, there can be no doubt that the immediate and material consequences were very salutary; though, as we shall presently see, they produced no lasting benefit, because they were opposed by the unfavourable operation of more powerful and more general causes. Still, it must be confessed that the direct results were extremely advantageous; and to those who take only a short view of human affairs, it might well appear that the advantages would be permanent. The immense line of coast from the kingdoms of Fez and Morocco to the furthest extremity of the Turkish empire was no longer allowed to pour forth those innumerable pirates who, heretofore, swept the seas, captured Spanish ships, and made slaves of Spanish subjects. Formerly, vast sums of money were annually consumed in ransoming these unhappy prisoners;[1441][551] but now all such evils were ended. At the same time, great impetus was given to the commerce of Spain; a new trade was thrown open, and her ships could safely appear in the rich countries of the Levant. This increased her wealth; which was moreover aided by another circumstance growing out of these events. For, the most fertile parts of Spain are those which are washed by the Mediterranean, and which had for centuries been the prey of Mohammedan corsairs, who frequently landing by surprise, had at length caused such constant fear, that the inhabitants gradually retired towards the interior, and abstained from cultivating the richest soil in their country. But, by the treaties just concluded, such dangers were at once removed; the people returned to their former abodes; the earth again gave forth its fruits; regular industry reappeared; villages sprung up; even manufactures were established; and the foundation seemed to be laid for a prosperity, the like of which had not been known since the Mohammedans were driven out of Granada.[1442]

I have now laid before the reader a view of the most important steps which were taken by those able and vigorous politicians, who ruled Spain during the greater part of the eighteenth century. In considering how these reforms were effected, we must not forget the personal character of Charles III., who occupied the throne from 1759 to 1788.[1443] He was a man of great energy, and though born in Spain, had little in common with it. When he became king, he had been long absent from his native country, and had contracted a taste for customs, and, above all, for opinions, totally dissimilar to those natural to the Spaniards.[1444][553] Comparing him with his subjects, he was enlightened indeed. They cherished in their hearts, the most complete, and therefore the worst, form of spiritual power which has ever been exhibited in Europe. That very power, he made it his business to restrain. In this, as in other respects, he far surpassed Ferdinand VI. and Philip V., though they, under the influence of French ideas, had proceeded to what was deemed a dangerous length.[1445] The clergy, indignant at such proceedings, murmured, and even threatened.[1446] They declared that Charles was despoiling the Church, taking away her rights, insulting her ministers, and thus ruining Spain beyond human remedy.[1447] The king, however, whose disposition was firm, and somewhat obstinate, persevered in his policy; and as he and his ministers were men of undoubted ability, they, notwithstanding the opposition they encountered, succeeded in accomplishing most of their plans. Mistaken and short-sighted though they were, it is impossible to refrain from admiring the honesty, the courage, and the disinterestedness, which they displayed in endeavouring to alter the destiny of that superstitions and half barbarous country over which they ruled.[554] We must not, however, conceal from ourselves, that in this, as in all similar cases, they, by attacking evils which the people were resolved to love, increased the affection which the evils inspired. To seek to change opinions by laws is worse than futile. It not only fails, but it causes a reaction, which leaves the opinions stronger than ever. First alter the opinion, and then you may alter the law. As soon as you have convinced men that superstition is mischievous, you may with advantage take active steps against those classes who promote superstition and live by it. But, however pernicious any interest or any great body may be, beware of using force against it, unless the progress of knowledge has previously sapped it at its base, and loosened its hold over the national mind. This has always been the error of the most ardent reformers, who, in their eagerness to effect their purpose, let the political movement outstrip the intellectual one, and, thus inverting the natural order, secure misery either to themselves or to their descendants. They touch the altar, and fire springs forth to consume them. Then comes another period of superstition and of despotism; another dark epoch in the annals of the human race. And this happens merely because men will not bide their time, but will insist on precipitating the march of affairs. Thus, for instance, in France and Germany, it is the friends of freedom who have strengthened tyranny; it is the enemies of superstition who have made superstition more permanent. In those countries, it is still believed that government can regenerate society; and therefore, directly they who hold liberal opinions get possession of the government, they use their power too lavishly, thinking that by doing so, they will best secure the end at which they aim. In England, the same delusion, though less general, is far too prevalent; but as, with us, public opinion controls politicians, we escape from evils which have happened abroad, because we will not allow any government to enact laws which the nation disapproves. In Spain, however, the habits of the people were so slavish, and their necks had so long been bowed under the yoke,[555] that though the government, in the eighteenth century, opposed their dearest prejudices, they rarely ventured to resist, and they had no legal means of making their voice heard. But not the less did they feel. The materials for reaction were silently accumulating; and before that century had passed away the reaction itself was manifest. As long as Charles III. lived, it was kept under; and this was owing partly to the fear which his active and vigorous government inspired, and partly to the fact that many of the reforms which he introduced were so obviously beneficial as to shed a lustre on his reign, which all classes could perceive. Besides the exemption which his policy insured from the incessant ravages of pirates, he also succeeded in obtaining for Spain the most honourable peace which any Spanish government had signed for two centuries; thus recalling to the popular mind the brightest and most glorious days of Philip II.[1448] When Charles came to the throne, Spain was hardly a third-rate power; when he died, she might fairly claim to be a first-rate one, since she had for some years negotiated on equal terms with France, England, and Austria, and had taken a leading part in the councils of Europe. To this, the personal character of Charles greatly contributed; he being respected for his honesty, as well as feared for his vigour.[1449] Merely as a man, he bore high repute; while, as a sovereign, none of his contemporaries were in any way equal to him, except[556] Frederick of Prussia, whose vast abilities, were, however, tarnished by a base rapacity, and by an incessant desire to overreach his neighbours. Charles III. had nothing of this; but he carefully increased the defences of Spain, and, raising her establishments to a war-footing, he made her more formidable than she had been since the sixteenth century. Instead of being liable to insult from every petty potentate who chose to triumph over her weakness, the country had now the means of resisting, and if need be, of attacking. While the army was greatly improved in the quality of the troops, in their discipline, and in the attention paid to their comforts, the navy was nearly doubled in number, and more than doubled in efficiency.[1450] And this was done without imposing fresh burdens on the people. Indeed, the national resources were becoming so developed, that, in the reign of Charles III., a large amount of taxation could have been easier paid than a small one under his predecessors. A regularity, hitherto unknown, was introduced into the method both of assessing imposts, and of collecting them.[1451] The laws of mortmain were relaxed, and steps were taken towards diminishing the rigidity of entails.[1452] The industry of the country was liberated from many of the trammels which had long been imposed upon it, and the principles of free trade were so far recognized, that, in 1765, the old[557] laws respecting corn were repealed; its exportation was allowed, and also its transit from one part of Spain to another, uninterrupted by those absurd precautions, which preceding governments had thought it advisable to invent.[1453]

It was also in the reign of Charles III. that the American Colonies were, for the first time, treated according to the maxims of a wise and liberal policy. The behaviour of the Spanish government in this respect, contrasts most favourably with the conduct pursued at the same time towards our great Colonies by that narrow and incompetent man who then filled the English throne. While the violence of George III. was fomenting rebellion in the British Colonies, Charles III. was busily engaged in conciliating the Spanish ones. Towards this end, and with the object of giving fair play to the growth of their wealth, he did everything which the knowledge and resources of that age allowed him to do. In 1764, he accomplished, what was then considered the great feat of establishing every month a regular communication with America, in order that the reforms which he projected might be more easily introduced, and the grievances of the Colonies attended to.[1454] In the very next year,[558] free trade was conceded to the West Indian Islands, whose abundant commodities were now, for the first time, allowed to circulate, to their own benefit, as well as to the benefit of their neighbours.[1455] Into the Colonies generally, vast improvements were introduced, many oppressions were removed, the tyranny of officials was checked, and the burdens of the people were lightened.[1456] Finally, in 1778, the principles of free trade having been successfully tried in the American Islands, were now extended to the American Continent; the ports of Peru and of New Spain were thrown open; and by this means an immense impetus was given to the prosperity of those magnificent colonies, which nature intended to be rich, but which the meddling folly of man had forced to be poor.[1457]

All this reacted upon the mother country with such rapidity, that scarcely was the old system of monopoly broken up, when the trade of Spain began to advance, and continued to improve, until the exports and[559] imports had reached a height that even the authors of the reform could hardly have expected; it being said that the export of foreign commodities was tripled, that the export of home-produce was multiplied fivefold, and the returns from America ninefold.[1458]

Many of the taxes, which bore heavily on the lower ranks, were repealed, and the industrious classes, being relieved of their principal burdens, it was hoped that their condition would speedily improve.[1459] And to benefit them still more, such alterations were effected in the administration of the law, as might enable them to receive justice from the public tribunals, when they had occasion to complain of their superiors. Hitherto, a poor man had not the least chance of succeeding against a rich one; but in the reign of Charles III., government introduced various regulations, by which labourers and mechanics could obtain redress, if their masters defrauded them of their wages, or broke the contracts made with them.[1460]

Not only the labouring classes, but also the literary and scientific classes, were encouraged and protected. One source of danger, to which they had long been exposed, was considerably lessened by the steps which Charles took to curtail the power of the Inquisition. The king, was, moreover, always ready to reward them; he was a man of cultivated tastes, and he delighted[560] in being thought the patron of learning.[1461] Soon after his accession, he issued an order, exempting from military service all printers, and all persons immediately connected with printing, such as casters of type, and the like.[1462] He, also, as far as he was able, infused new life into the old universities, and did all that was possible towards restoring their discipline and reputation.[1463] He founded schools, endowed colleges, rewarded professors, and granted pensions. In these matters his munificence seemed inexhaustible, and is of itself sufficient to account for the veneration with which literary Spaniards regard his memory. They have reason to regret that, instead of living now, they had not lived when he was king. In his reign, it was supposed that their interests must be identical with the interests of knowledge; and these last were rated so highly, that, in 1771, it was laid down as a settled principle of government, that of all the branches of public policy, the care of education is the most important.[1464]

But this is not all. It is no exaggeration to say, that in the reign of Charles III., the face of Spain underwent greater changes than it had done during the hundred and fifty years which had elapsed since the final expulsion of the Mohammedans. At his accession, in 1759, the wise and pacific policy of his predecessor, Ferdinand VI., had enabled that prince not only to pay many of the debts owed by the crown, but also to accumulate and[561] leave behind him a considerable treasure.[1465] Of this Charles availed himself, to begin those works of public splendour, which, more than any other part of his administration, was sure to strike the senses, and to give popularity to his reign. And when, by the increase of wealth, rather than by the imposition of fresh burdens, still larger resources were placed at his command, he devoted a considerable part of them to completing his designs. He so beautified Madrid, that forty years after his death, it was stated, that, as it then stood, all its magnificence was owing to him. The public buildings and the public gardens, the beautiful walks round the capital, its noble gates, its institutions, and the very roads leading from it to the adjacent country, are all the work of Charles III., and are among the most conspicuous trophies which attest his genius and the sumptuousness of his taste.[1466]

In other parts of the country, roads were laid down, and canals were dug, with the view of increasing trade by opening up communications through tracts previously impassable. At the accession of Charles III., the whole[562] of the Sierra Morena was unoccupied, except by wild beasts and banditti, who took refuge there.[1467] No peaceful traveller would venture into such a place; and commerce was thus excluded from what nature had marked as one of the greatest highways in Spain, standing as it does between the basins of the Guadiana and Guadalquivir, and in the direct course between the ports on the Mediterranean and those on the Atlantic. The active government of Charles III. determined to remedy this evil; but the Spanish people not having the energy to do what was required, six thousand Dutch and Flemish were, in 1767, invited to settle in the Sierra Morena. On their arrival, lands were allotted to them, roads were cut through the whole of the district, villages were built; and that which had just been an impervious desert, was suddenly turned into a smiling and fruitful territory.[1468]

Nearly all over Spain, the roads were repaired; a fund having been, so early as 1760, specially set apart for that purpose.[1469] Many new works were begun;[563] and such improvements were introduced, while at the same time, such vigilance was employed to prevent peculation on the part of officials, that in a very few years the cost of making public highways was reduced to less than half of what it used to be.[1470] Of the undertakings which were brought to a successful issue, the most important were, a road now first constructed from Malaga to Antequera,[1471] and another from Aquilas to Lorca.[1472] In this way, means of intercourse were supplied between the Mediterranean and the interior of Andalusia and of Mercia. While these communications were established in the south and south-east of Spain, others were opened up in the north and north-west. In 1769, a road was begun between Bilbao and Osma;[1473] and soon after, one was completed between Galicia and Astorga.[1474] These and similar works were so skilfully executed, that the Spanish highways, formerly among the worst in Europe, were now classed among the best. Indeed, a competent, and by no means over-friendly, judge gives it as his opinion, that at the death of Charles[564] III. better roads were to be found in Spain than in any other country.[1475]

In the interior, rivers were made navigable, and canals were formed to connect them with each other. The Ebro runs through the heart of Aragon and part of Old Castile, and is available for purposes of traffic as high up as Logroño, and from thence down to Tudela. But between Tudela and Saragossa, the navigation is interrupted by its great speed, and by the rocks in its bed. Consequently, Navarre is deprived of its natural communication with the Mediterranean. In the enterprising reign of Charles V., an attempt was made to remedy this evil; but the plan failed, was laid aside, and was forgotten, until it was revived, more than two hundred years later, by Charles III. Under his auspices, the great canal of Aragon was projected, with the magnificent idea of uniting the Mediterranean and the Atlantic. This, however, was one of many instances in which the government of Spain was too far in advance of Spain itself; and it was necessary to abandon a scheme, to which the resources of the country were unequal. But what was really effected, was of immense value. A canal was actually carried to Saragossa, and the waters of the Ebro were made available not only for transport, but also for irrigating the soil. The means of a safe and profitable trade were now supplied even to the western extremity of Aragon. The old land, becoming more productive, rose in value, and new land was brought under the plough. From this, other parts of Spain also benefited. Castile, for example, had in seasons of scarcity always depended for supplies on Aragon, though that province could, under the former system, only produce enough for its own consumption. But by this great canal, to which, about the same time,[565] that of Tauste was also added,[1476] the soil of Aragon became far more productive than it had ever yet been; and the rich plains of the Ebro yielded so abundantly, that they were able to supply wheat and other food to the Castilians, as well as to the Aragonese.[1477]

The government of Charles III., moreover, constructed a canal between Amposta and Alfaques,[1478] which irrigated the southern extremity of Catalonia, and brought into cultivation a large district, which, from the constant lack of rain, had hitherto been untilled. Another and still greater enterprise belonging to the same reign, was an attempt, only partly successful, to establish a water-communication between the capital and the Atlantic, by running a canal from Madrid to Toledo, whence the Tagus would have conveyed goods to Lisbon, and all the trade of the west would have been opened up.[1479] But this and many other noble projects were nipped in the bud by the death of Charles III., with whom every thing vanished. When he passed away, the country relapsed into its former inactivity, and it was clearly seen that these great works were not national, but political; in other words that they were due merely to individuals, whose most strenuous exertions always come to naught, if they are opposed by the operation of those general causes,[566] which are often undiscerned, but to which even the strongest of us, do, in our own despite, pay implicit obedience.

Still for a time much was done; and Charles, reasoning according to the ordinary maxims of politicians, might well indulge the hope, that what he had effected would permanently change the destiny of Spain. For these and other works which he not only planned but executed,[1480] were not paid for, as is too often the case, by taxes which oppressed the people, and trammelled their industry. At his side, and constantly advising him, there were men who really aimed at the public good, and who never would have committed so fatal an error. Under his rule the wealth of the country greatly increased, and the comforts of the lower classes, instead of being abridged, were multiplied. The imposts were more fairly assessed than they had ever been before. Taxes, which, in the seventeenth century, all the power of the executive could not wring from the people, were now regularly paid, and, owing to the development of the national resources, they became at once more productive[567] and less onerous. In the management of the public finances, an economy was practised, the first example of which had been set in the preceding reign, when the cautious and pacific policy of Ferdinand VI. laid a foundation for many of the improvements just narrated. Ferdinand bequeathed to Charles III. a treasure which he had not extorted, but saved. Among the reforms which he introduced, and which an unwillingness to accumulate details has compelled me to omit, there is one very important, and also very characteristic of his policy. Before his reign, Spain had annually been drained of an immense amount of money, on account of the right which the Pope claimed of presenting to certain rich benefices, and of receiving part of their produce; probably as a recompense for the trouble he had taken. Of this duty the Pope was relieved by Ferdinand VI., who secured to the Spanish crown the right of conferring such preferment, and thus saved to the country those enormous sums on which the Roman Court had been wont to revel.[1481] This was just the sort of measure which would be hailed with delight by Charles III., as harmonizing with his own views; and we accordingly find, that, in his reign, it was not only acted upon, but extended still further. For, perceiving that, in spite of his efforts, the feeling of the Spaniards on these matters was so strong as to impel them to make offerings to him whom they venerated as the Head of the Church, the king[568] determined to exercise control over even these voluntary gifts. To accomplish this end, various devices were suggested; and at length one was hit upon, which was thought sure to be effectual. A royal order was issued, directing that no person should send money to Rome, but that if he had occasion to make remittances there, they should pass not through the ordinary channels, but through the ambassadors, ministers, or other agents of the Spanish crown.[1482]

If we now review the transactions which I have narrated, and consider them as a whole, extending from the accession of Philip V. to the death of Charles III., over a period of nearly ninety years, we shall be struck with wonder at their unity, at the regularity of their march, and at their apparent success. Looking at them merely in a political point of view, it may be doubted if such vast and uninterrupted progress has ever been seen in any country either before or since. For three generations, there was no pause on the part of the government; not one reaction, not one sign of halting. Improvement upon improvement, and reform upon reform, followed each other in swift succession. The power of the Church, which has always been the crying evil of Spain, and which hitherto none of the boldest politicians had dared to touch, was restricted in every possible way, by a series of statesmen, from Orry to Florida Blanca, whose efforts were latterly, and for nearly thirty years, zealously aided by Charles III., the ablest monarch who has sat on the throne since the death of Philip II. Even the Inquisition was taught to tremble, and made to loosen its hold over its victims. The burning of heretics was stopped. Torture was disused. Prosecutions for heresy were discouraged. Instead of punishing men for imaginary offences, a disposition was shown to attend to their real interests, to alleviate their burdens, to increase their comforts, and to check the tyranny of those who were set over them. Attempts were made to restrain the cupidity of[569] the clergy, and prevent them from preying at will upon the national wealth. With this view, the laws of mortmain were revised, and various measures taken to interpose obstacles in the way of persons who desired to waste their property by bequeathing it for ecclesiastical purposes. In this, as in other matters, the true interests of society were preferred to the fictitious ones. To raise the secular classes above the spiritual; to discountenance the exclusive attention hitherto paid to questions respecting which nothing is known, and which it is impossible to solve; to do this, and, in the place of such barren speculations, to substitute a taste for science, or for literature, became the object of the Spanish government for the first time since Spain had possessed a government at all. As part of the same scheme, the Jesuits were expelled, the right of sanctuary was infringed, and the whole hierarchy, from the highest bishop down to the lowest monk, were taught to fear the law, to curb their passions, and to restrain the insolence with which they had formerly treated every rank except their own. These would have been great deeds in any country; in such a country as Spain, they were marvellous. Of them I have given an abridged, and therefore an imperfect, account, but still sufficient to show how the government laboured to diminish superstition, to check bigotry, to stimulate intellect, to promote industry, and to rouse the people from their death-like slumber. I have omitted many measures of considerable interest, and which tended in the same direction; because, here, as elsewhere, I seek to confine myself to those salient points which most distinctly mark the general movement. Whoever will minutely study the history of Spain during this period, will find additional proof of the skill and vigour of those who were at the head of affairs, and who devoted their best energies to regenerating the country which they ruled. But, for these special studies, special men are required; and I shall be satisfied, if I have firmly grasped the great march and outline of the whole. It is enough for my purpose, if I have substantiated the general proposition, and have convinced the reader of[570] the clearness with which the statesmen of Spain discerned the evils under which their country was groaning, and of the zeal with which they set themselves to remedy the mischief, and to resuscitate the fortunes of what had once not only been the chief of European monarchies, but had borne sway over the most splendid and extensive territory that had been united under a single rule since the fall of the Roman Empire.

They who believe that a government can civilize a nation, and that legislators are the cause of social progress, will naturally expect that Spain reaped permanent benefit from those liberal maxims, which now, for the first time, were put into execution. The fact, however, is, that such a policy, wise as it appeared, was of no avail, simply because it ran counter to the whole train of preceding circumstances. It was opposed to the habits of the national mind, and was introduced into a state of society not yet ripe for it. No reform can produce real good, unless it is the work of public opinion, and unless the people themselves take the initiative. In Spain, during the eighteenth century, foreign influence, and the complications of foreign politics, bestowed enlightened rulers upon an unenlightened country.[1483] The consequence was, that, for a time, great things were done. Evils were removed, grievances were redressed, many important improvements were introduced; and a spirit of toleration was exhibited, such as had never before been seen in that priest-ridden and superstitious land. But the mind of Spain was untouched. While the surface, and as it were the symptoms, of affairs were ameliorated, affairs themselves remained unchanged. Below that surface,[571] and far out of reach of any political remedy, large general causes were at work, which had been operating for many centuries, and which were sure, sooner or later, to force politicians to retrace their steps, and compel them to inaugurate a policy which would suit the traditions of the country, and harmonize with the circumstances under which those traditions had been formed.

At length the reaction came. In 1788, Charles III. died; and was succeeded by Charles IV., a king of the true Spanish breed, devout, orthodox, and ignorant.[1484] It was now seen how insecure everything was, and how little reliance can be placed on reforms, which, instead of being suggested by the people, are bestowed on them by the political classes. Charles IV., though a weak and contemptible prince,[1485] was so supported in his general views by the feelings of the Spanish nation, that, in less than five years, he was able completely to reverse that liberal policy which it had taken three generations of statesmen to build up. In less than five years everything was changed. The power of the Church was restored; the slightest approach towards free discussion was forbidden; old and arbitrary principles, which had not been heard of since the seventeenth century, were revived; the priests re-assumed their former importance; literary men were intimidated, and literature was discouraged; while the Inquisition, suddenly starting up afresh, displayed an energy, which caused its enemies to tremble, and proved that all the attempts which had been made to weaken it, had been unable to impair its vigour, or to daunt its ancient spirit.

The ministers of Charles III., and the authors of those great reforms which signalized his reign, were dismissed, to make way for other advisers, better suited to this new state of things. Charles IV. loved the Church too well to tolerate the presence of enlightened statesmen. Aranda and Florida Blanca were both removed from office, and both were placed in confinement.[1486] Jovellanos was banished from court, and Cabarrus was thrown into prison.[1487] For, now, work had to be done, to which these eminent men would not put their hands. A policy which had been followed with undeviating consistency for nearly ninety years, was about to be rescinded, in order that the old empire of the seventeenth century, which was the empire of ignorance, of tyranny, and of superstition, might be resuscitated, and, if possible, restored to its pristine vigour.

Once more was Spain covered with darkness; once more did the shadows of night overtake that wretched land. The worst forms of oppression, says a distinguished writer, seemed to be settling on the country with a new and portentous weight.[1488] At the same time, and indeed as a natural part of the scheme, every investigation likely to stimulate the mind, was prohibited, and an order was actually sent to all the universities, forbidding the study of moral philosophy; the minister, who issued the order, justly observing, that the king did not want to have philosophers.[1489] There was, however, little fear[573] of Spain producing anything so dangerous. The nation not daring, and, what was still worse, not wishing, to resist, gave way, and let the king do as he liked. Within a very few years, he neutralized the most valuable reforms which his predecessors had introduced. Having discarded the able advisers of his father, he conferred the highest posts upon men as narrow and incompetent as himself; he reduced the country to the verge of bankruptcy; and, according to the remark of a Spanish historian, he exhausted all the resources of the state.[1490]

Such was the condition of Spain, late in the eighteenth century. The French invasion quickly followed; and that unhappy country underwent every form of calamity and of degradation. Herein, however, lies a difference. Calamities may be inflicted by others; but no people can be degraded except by their own acts. The foreign spoiler works mischief; he cannot cause shame. With nations, as with individuals, none are dishonoured if they are true to themselves. Spain, during the present century, has been plundered and oppressed, and the opprobrium lights on the robbers, not on the robbed. She has been overrun by a brutal and licentious soldiery; her fields laid waste, her towns sacked, her villages burned. It is to the criminal, rather than to the victim, that the ignominy of these acts must belong. And, even in a material point of view, such losses are sure to be retrieved, if the people who incur them are inured to those habits of self-government, and to that feeling of self-reliance, which are the spring and the source of all real greatness. With the aid of these, every damage may be repaired, and every evil remedied. Without them, the slightest blow may be fatal. In Spain, they are unknown; and it seems impossible to establish them. In that country, men have so long been accustomed[574] to pay implicit deference to the Crown and the Church, that loyalty and superstition have usurped the place of those nobler emotions, to which all freedom is owing, and in the absence of which, the true idea of independence can never be attained.

More than once, indeed, during the nineteenth century, a spirit has appeared, from which better things might have been augured. In 1812, in 1820, and in 1836, a few ardent and enthusiastic reformers attempted to secure liberty to the Spanish people, by endowing Spain with a free constitution. They succeeded for a moment, and that was all. The forms of constitutional government they could bestow; but they could not find the traditions and the habits, by which the forms are worked. They mimicked the voice of liberty; they copied her institutions; they aped her very gestures. And what then? At the first stroke of adverse fortune, their idol fell to pieces. Their constitutions were broken up, their assemblies dissolved, their enactments rescinded. The inevitable reaction quickly followed. After each disturbance, the hands of the government were strengthened, the principles of despotism were confirmed, and the Spanish liberals were taught to rue the day, in which they vainly endeavoured to impart freedom to their unhappy and ill-starred country.[1491]

What makes these failures the more worthy of observation is, that the Spaniards did possess, at a very early period, municipal privileges and franchises, similar to those which we had in England, and to which our greatness is often ascribed. But such institutions, though they preserve freedom, can never create it. Spain had the form of liberty without its spirit; hence the form, promising as it was, soon died away. In England, the spirit preceded the form, and therefore the form was durable. Thus it is, that though the Spaniards could boast of free institutions a century before ourselves, they were unable to retain them, simply because they had the institutions and nothing more. We had no popular representation till 1264;[1492] but in Castile they had it in 1169,[1493] and in Aragon in 1133.[1494] So, too, while the earliest charter was granted to an English town in the twelfth century,[1495] we find, in Spain, a charter conferred on Leon as early as 1020; and in the course of the eleventh century the enfranchisement of towns was as secure as laws could make it.[1496]

The fact, however, is, that in Spain these institutions, instead of growing out of the wants of the people originated in a stroke of policy on the part of their rulers. They were conceded to the citizens, rather than desired by them. For, during the war with the Mohammedans, the Christian kings of Spain, as they advanced southwards, were naturally anxious to induce their subjects to settle in the frontier towns, where they might face and repel the enemy. With this object they granted charters to the towns, and privileges to the inhabitants.[1497] And as the Mohammedans were gradually beaten back from the Asturias to Granada, the frontiers changed, and the franchises were extended to[576] the new conquests, in order that what was the post of danger, might also be the place of reward. But, meanwhile, those general causes, which I have indicated, were predetermining the nation to habits of loyalty and of superstition, which grew to a height fatal to the spirit of liberty. That being the case the institutions were of no avail. They took no root; and as they were originated by one political combination, they were destroyed by another. Before the close of the fourteenth century, the Spaniards were so firmly seated in the territories they had lately acquired that there was little danger of their being again expelled [1498] while, on the other hand, there was no immediate prospect of their being able to push their conquests further, and drive the Mohammedans from the strongholds of Granada. The circumstances, therefore, which gave rise to the municipal privileges had changed; and as soon as this was apparent, the privileges began to perish. Being unsuited to the habits of the people, they were sure to fall, on the first opportunity.[1499] Late in the fourteenth century, their decline was perceptible; by the close of the fifteenth century, they were almost extinct; and,[577] early in the sixteenth century, they were finally overthrown.[1500]

It is thus that general causes eventually triumph over every obstacle. In the average of affairs, and on a comparison of long periods, they are irresistible. Their operation is often attacked, and occasionally, for a little time, stopped by politicians, who are always ready with their empirical and short-sighted remedies. But when the spirit of the age is against those remedies, they can at best only succeed for a moment; and after that moment has passed, a reaction sets in, and the penalty for violence has to be paid. Evidence of this will be found in the annals of every civilized country, by whoever will confront the history of legislation with the history of opinion. The fate of the Spanish towns has afforded us one good proof; the fate of the Spanish Church will supply us with another. For more than eighty years after the death of[578] Charles II. the rulers of Spain attempted to weaken the ecclesiastical power; and the end of all their efforts was, that even such an insignificant and incompetent king as Charles IV. was able, with the greatest ease, rapidly to undo what they had done. This is because, during the eighteenth century, while the clergy were assailed by law, they were favoured by opinion. The opinions of a people invariably depend on large general causes, which influence the whole country; but their laws are too often the work of a few powerful individuals, in opposition to the national will. When the legislators die, or lose office, there is always a chance of their successors holding opposite views, and subverting their plans. In the midst, however, of this play and fluctuation of political life, the general causes remain steady, though they are often kept out of sight, and do not become visible, until politicians, inclining to their side, bring them to the surface, and invest them with open and public authority.

This is what Charles IV. did in Spain; and when he took measures to favour the Church, and to discourage free inquiry, he merely sanctioned those national habits which his predecessors had disregarded. The hold which the hierarchy of that country possess over public opinion has always been proverbial; but it is even greater than is commonly supposed. What it was in the seventeenth century, we have already seen; and in the eighteenth century, there were no signs of its diminution, except among a few bold men, who could effect nothing, while the popular voice was so strong against them. Early in the reign of Philip V., Labat, who travelled in Spain, informs us, that when a priest performed mass, nobles of the highest rank deemed it an honour to help him to dress, and that they would go down on their knees to him, and kiss his hands.[1501] When this was done by the proudest aristocracy[579] in Europe, we may suppose what the general feeling must have been. Indeed, Labat assures us, that a Spaniard would hardly be considered of sound faith, if he did not leave some portion of his property to the Church; so completely had respect for the hierarchy become an essential part of the national character.[1502]

A still more curious instance was exhibited on the occasion of the expulsion of the Jesuits. That once useful, but now troublesome, body was, during the eighteenth century, what it is in the nineteenth—the obstinate enemy of progress and of toleration. The rulers of Spain, observing that it opposed all their schemes of reform, resolved to get rid of an obstacle, which met them at every turn. In France, the Jesuits had just been treated as a public nuisance, and suppressed at a blow, and without difficulty. The advisers of Charles III. saw no reason why so salutary a measure should not be imitated in their country; and, in 1767, they, following the example which had been set by the French in 1764, abolished this great mainstay of the Church.[1503] Having done this, the government supposed that it had taken a decisive step towards weakening ecclesiastical power, particularly as the sovereign cordially approved of the proceeding. The year after this occurred, Charles III., according to his custom, appeared in the balcony of the palace, on[580] the festival of St. Charles, ready to grant any request which the people might make to him, and which usually consisted of a prayer for the dismissal of a minister, or for the repeal of a tax. On this occasion, however, the citizens of Madrid, instead of occupying themselves with such worldly matters, felt that still dearer interests were in peril; and, to the surprise and terror of the court, they demanded, with one voice, that the Jesuits should be allowed to return, and wear their usual dress, in order that Spain might be gladdened by the sight of these holy men.[1504]

What can you do with a nation like this? What is the use of laws when the current of public opinion[581] thus sets in against them? In the face of such obstacles, the government of Charles III., notwithstanding its good intentions, was powerless. Indeed, it was worse than powerless: it did harm; for, by rousing popular sympathy in favour of the Church, it strengthened what it sought to weaken. On that cruel and persecuting Church, stained as it was with every sort of crime, the Spanish nation continued to bestow marks of affection, which, instead of being diminished, were increased. Gifts and legacies flowed in freely and from every side; men being willing to beggar themselves and their families, in order to swell the general contribution. And to such a height was this carried, that, in 1788, Florida Blanca, minister of the crown, stated that, within the last fifty years, the ecclesiastical revenues had increased so rapidly, that many of them had doubled in value.[1505]

Even the Inquisition, the most barbarous institution which the wit of man has ever devised, was upheld by public opinion against the attacks of the crown. The Spanish government wished to overthrow it, and did everything to weaken it; but the Spanish people loved it as of old, and cherished it as their best protection against the inroads of heresy.[1506] An illustration of[582] this was exhibited in 1778, when, on occasion of a heretic being sentenced by the Inquisition, several of the leading nobles attended as servants, being glad to have an opportunity of publicly displaying their obedience and docility to the Church.[1507]

All these things were natural, and in order. They were the result of a long train of causes, the operation of which I have endeavoured to trace, during thirteen centuries, since the outbreak of the Arian war. Those causes forced the Spaniards to be superstitious, and it was idle mockery to seek to change their nature by legislation. The only remedy for superstition is knowledge. Nothing else can wipe out that plague-spot of the human mind. Without it, the leper remains unwashed, and the slave unfreed. It is to a knowledge of the laws and relations of things, that European civilization is owing; but it is precisely this in which Spain has always been deficient. And until that deficiency is remedied, until science, with her bold and inquisitive spirit, has established her right to investigate all subjects,[583] after her own fashion, and according to her own method, we may be assured that, in Spain, neither literature, nor universities, nor legislators, nor reformers of any kind, will ever be able to rescue the people from that helpless and benighted condition into which the course of affairs has plunged them.

That no great political improvement, however plausible or attractive it may appear, can be productive of lasting benefit, unless it is preceded by a change in public opinion, and that every change of public opinion is preceded by changes in knowledge, are propositions which all history verifies, but which are particularly obvious in the history of Spain. The Spaniards have had everything except knowledge. They have had immense wealth, and fertile and well-peopled territories, in all parts of the globe. Their own country, washed by the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, and possessed of excellent harbours, is admirably situated for the purposes of trade between Europe and America, being so placed as to command the commerce of both hemispheres.[1508] They had, at a very early period, ample municipal privileges; they had independent parliaments; they had the right of choosing their own magistrates, and managing their own cities. They have had rich and flourishing towns, abundant manufactures, and skilful artizans, whose choice productions could secure a ready sale in every market in the world. They have cultivated the fine arts with eminent success; their noble and exquisite paintings, and their magnificent churches, being justly ranked among the most wonderful efforts of the human hand. They speak a beautiful, sonorous, and flexible language, and their literature is not unworthy of their language. Their soil yields treasures of every kind. It overflows[584] with wine and oil, and produces the choicest fruits in an almost tropical exuberance.[1509] It contains the most valuable minerals, in a profuse variety unexampled in any other part of Europe. No where else do we find such rare and costly marbles, so easily accessible, and in such close communication with the sea, where they might safely be shipped, and sent to countries which require them.[1510] As to the metals, there is hardly one which Spain does not possess in large quantities. Her mines of silver and of quicksilver are well known. She abounds in copper,[1511] and her supply of lead is enormous.[1512] Iron and coal, the two most useful of all[585] the productions of the inorganic world,[1513] are also abundant in that highly favoured country. Iron is said to exist in every part of Spain, and to be of the best quality;[1514] while the coal-mines of Asturias are described as inexhaustible.[1515] In short, nature has been so prodigal of her bounty, that it has been observed, with hardly an hyperbole, that the Spanish nation possesses within itself nearly every natural production which can satisfy either the necessity or the curiosity of mankind.[1516]

These are splendid gifts; it is for the historian to tell how they have been used. Certainly, the people who possess them have never been deficient in natural endowments. They have had their full share of great statesmen, great kings, great magistrates, and great legislators. They have had many able and vigorous rulers; and their history is ennobled by the frequent appearance of courageous and disinterested patriots, who have sacrificed their all, that they might help their country. The bravery of the people has never been disputed; while, as to the upper classes, the punctilious honour of a Spanish gentleman has passed into a bye-word, and circulated through the world. Of the nation generally, the best observers pronounce them to be high-minded, generous, truthful, full of integrity, warm[586] and zealous friends, affectionate in all the private relations of life, frank, charitable, and humane.[1517] Their[587] sincerity in religious matters is unquestionable;[1518] they are, moreover, eminently temperate and frugal.[1519] Yet, all these great qualities have availed them nothing, and will avail them nothing, so long as they remain ignorant. What the end of all this will be, and whether in their unhappy country the right path will ever be taken, is impossible for any one to say.[1520] But if it is not taken, no amelioration which can possibly be effected will penetrate below the surface. The sole course is, to[588] weaken the superstition of the people; and this can only be done by that march of physical science, which, familiarizing men with conceptions of order and of regularity, gradually encroaches on the old notions of perturbation, of prodigy, and of miracle, and by this means accustoms the mind to explain the vicissitudes of affairs by natural considerations, instead of, as heretofore, by those which are purely supernatural.

To this, in the most advanced countries of Europe, every thing has been tending for nearly three centuries. But in Spain, unfortunately, education has always remained, and still remains, in the hands of the clergy, who steadily oppose that progress of knowledge, which they are well aware would be fatal to their own power.[1521] The people, therefore, resting ignorant, and[589] the causes which kept them in ignorance continuing, it avails the country nothing, that, from time to time, enlightened rulers have come forward, and liberal measures been adopted. The Spanish reformers have, with rare exceptions, eagerly attacked the Church, whose authority they clearly saw ought to be diminished. But what they did not see is, that such diminution can be of no real use unless it is the result of public opinion urging on politicians to the work. In Spain, politicians took the initiative, and the people lagged behind. Hence, in Spain, what was done at one time was sure to be undone at another. When the liberals were in power, they suppressed the Inquisition; but Ferdinand VII. easily restored it, because, though it had been destroyed by Spanish legislators, its existence was suited to the habits and traditions of the Spanish nation.[1522] Fresh changes occurring, this odious tribunal was, in 1820, again abolished. Still, though its form is gone, its spirit lives.[1523] The name, the body, and the visible appearance of the Inquisition, are no more; but the spirit which generated the Inquisition is enshrined in the hearts of the people, and, on slight provocation, would burst forth, and reinstate an institution which is the effect, far more than the cause, of the intolerant bigotry of the Spanish nation.

In the same way, other and more systematic attacks which were made on the Church, during the present century, succeeded at first, but were sure to be eventually baffled.[1524] Under Joseph, in 1809, the monastic orders were suppressed, and their property was confiscated.[1525] Little, however, did Spain gain by this. The nation was on their side;[1526] and as soon as the storm passed away, they were restored. In 1836, there was another political movement, and the liberals being at the head of affairs, Mendizabal secularized all the Church property, and deprived the clergy of nearly the whole of their enormous and ill-gotten wealth.[1527] He[591] did not know how foolish it is to attack an institution, unless you can first lessen its influence. Overrating the power of legislation, he underrated the power of opinion. This, the result clearly showed. Within a very few years, the reaction began. In 1845, was enacted what was called the law of devolution, by which the first step was taken towards the re-endowment of the clergy.[1528] In 1851, their position was still further improved by the celebrated Concordat, in which the right of acquiring, as well as of possessing, was solemnly confirmed to them.[1529] With all this, the nation heartily concurred.[1530] Such, however, was the madness of the liberal party, that, only four years afterwards, when they for a moment obtained power, they forcibly annulled these arrangements, and revoked concessions which had been made to the Church, and which, unhappily for Spain, public[592] opinion had ratified.[1531] The results might have been easily foreseen. In Aragon and in other parts of Spain, the people flew to arms; a Carlist insurrection broke out, and a cry ran through the country, that religion was in danger.[1532] It is impossible to benefit such a nation as this. The reformers were, of course, overthrown, and by the autumn of 1856 their party was broken up. The political reaction now began, and advanced so rapidly, that, by the spring of 1857, the policy of the two preceding years was completely reversed. Those who idly thought that they could regenerate their country by laws, saw all their hopes confounded. A ministry was formed, whose measures were more in accordance with the national mind. In May 1857, Cortes assembled. The representatives of the people sanctioned the proceedings of the executive government, and, by their united authority, the worst provisions of the Concordat of 1851 were amply confirmed, the sale of Church property was forbidden, and all the limitations which had been set to the power of the bishops were at once removed.[1533]

The reader will now be able to understand the real nature of Spanish civilization. He will see how, under the high-sounding names of loyalty and religion, lurk the deadly evils which those names have always concealed, but which it is the business of the historian to drag to light and expose. A blind spirit of reverence, taking the form of an unworthy and ignominious submission to the Crown and the Church, is the[593] capital and essential vice of the Spanish people. It is their sole national vice, and it has sufficed to ruin them. From it all nations have grievously suffered, and many still suffer. But nowhere in Europe, has this principle been so long supreme as in Spain. Therefore, nowhere else in Europe are the consequences so manifest and so fatal. The idea of liberty is extinct, if, indeed, in the true sense of the word, it ever can be said to have existed. Outbreaks, no doubt, there have been, and will be; but they are bursts of lawlessness, rather than of liberty. In the most civilized countries, the tendency always is, to obey even unjust laws, but while obeying them, to insist on their repeal. This is because we perceive that it is better to remove grievances than to resist them. While we submit to the particular hardship, we assail the system from which the hardship flows. For a nation to take this view, requires a certain reach of mind, which, in the darker periods of European history, was unattainable. Hence we find, that, in the middle ages, though tumults were incessant, rebellions were rare. But, since the sixteenth century, local insurrections, provoked by immediate injustice, are diminishing, and are being superseded by revolutions, which strike at once at the source from whence the injustice proceeds. There can be no doubt that this change is beneficial; partly because it is always good to rise from effects to causes, and partly because revolutions being less frequent than insurrections, the peace of society would be more rarely disturbed, if men confined themselves entirely to the larger remedy. At the same time, insurrections are generally wrong; revolutions are always right. An insurrection is too often the mad and passionate effort of ignorant persons, who are impatient under some immediate injury, and never stop to investigate its remote and general causes. But a revolution, when it is the work of the nation itself, is a splendid and imposing spectacle, because to the moral quality of indignation produced by the presence of evil, it adds the intellectual qualities of foresight and combination; and, uniting in the same act some of[594] the highest properties of our nature, it achieves a double purpose, not only punishing the oppressor, but also relieving the oppressed.

In Spain, however, there never has been a revolution, properly so called; there never has even been one grand national rebellion. The people, though often lawless, are never free. Among them, we find still preserved that peculiar taint of barbarism, which makes men prefer occasional disobedience to systematic liberty. Certain feelings there are of our common nature, which even their slavish loyalty cannot eradicate, and which, from time to time, urge them to resist injustice. Such instincts are happily the inalienable lot of humanity, which we cannot forfeit, if we would, and which are too often the last resource against the extravagances of tyranny. And this is all that Spain now possesses. The Spaniards, therefore, resist, not because they are Spaniards, but because they are men. Still, even while they resist, they revere. While they will rise up against a vexatious impost, they crouch before a system, of which the impost is the smallest evil. They smite the tax-gatherer, but fall prostrate at the feet of the contemptible prince for whom the tax-gatherer plies his craft. They will even revile the troublesome and importunate monk, or sometimes they will scoff at the sleek and arrogant priest; while such is their infatuation, that they would risk their lives in defence of that cruel Church, which has inflicted on them hideous calamities, but to which they still cling, as if it were the dearest object of their affections.

Connected with these habits of mind, and in sooth forming part of them, we find a reverence for antiquity, and an inordinate tenacity of old opinions, old beliefs, and old habits, which remind us of those tropical civilizations which formerly flourished. Such prejudices were once universal even in Europe; but they began to die out in the sixteenth century, and are now, comparatively speaking, extinct, except in Spain, where they have always been welcomed. In that country, they retain their original force, and produce their natural results. By encouraging the notion, that[595] all the truths most important to know are already known, they repress those aspirations, and dull that generous confidence in the future, without which nothing really great can be achieved. A people who regard the past with too wistful an eye, will never bestir themselves to help the onward progress; they will hardly believe that progress is possible. To them, antiquity is synonymous with wisdom, and every improvement is a dangerous innovation. In this state, Europe lingered for many centuries; in this state, Spain still lingers. Hence the Spaniards are remarkable for an inertness, a want of buoyancy, and an absence of hope, which, in our busy and enterprizing age, isolate them from the rest of the civilized world. Believing that little can be done, they are in no hurry to do it. Believing that the knowledge they have inherited, is far greater than any they can obtain, they wish to preserve their intellectual possessions whole and unimpaired; inasmuch as the least alteration in them might lessen their value. Content with what has been already bequeathed, they are excluded from that great European movement, which, first clearly perceptible in the sixteenth century, has ever since been steadily advancing, unsettling old opinions, destroying old follies, reforming and improving on every side, influencing even such barbarous countries as Russia and Turkey; but leaving Spain unscathed. While the human intellect has been making the most prodigious and unheard-of strides, while discoveries in every quarter are simultaneously pressing upon us, and coming in such rapid and bewildering succession, that the strongest sight, dazzled by the glare of their splendour, is unable to contemplate them as a whole; while other discoveries still more important, and still more remote from ordinary experience, are manifestly approaching, and may be seen looming in the distance, whence they are now obscurely working on the advanced thinkers who are nearest to them, filling their minds with those ill-defined, restless, and almost uneasy, feelings, which are the invariable harbingers of future triumph; while the veil is being rudely[596] torn, and nature, violated at all points, is forced to disclose her secrets, and reveal her structure, her economy, and her laws, to the indomitable energy of man; while Europe is ringing with the noise of intellectual achievements, with which even despotic governments affect to sympathize, in order that they may divert them from their natural course, and use them as new instruments whereby to oppress yet more the liberties of the people; while, amidst this general din and excitement, the public mind, swayed to and fro, is tossed and agitated,—Spain sleeps on, untroubled, unheeding, impassive, receiving no impressions from the rest of the world, and making no impressions upon it. There she lies, at the further extremity of the Continent, a huge and torpid mass, the sole representative now remaining of the feelings and knowledge of the Middle Ages. And, what is the worst symptom of all, she is satisfied with her own condition. Though she is the most backward country in Europe, she believes herself to be the foremost. She is proud of every thing of which she should be ashamed. She is proud of the antiquity of her opinions; proud of her orthodoxy; proud of the strength of her faith; proud of her immeasurable and childish credulity; proud of her unwillingness to amend either her creed or her customs; proud of her hatred of heretics, and proud of the undying vigilance with which she has baffled their efforts to obtain a full and legal establishment on her soil.

All these things conspiring together, produce, in their aggregate, that melancholy exhibition to which we give the collective name of Spain. The history of that single word is the history of nearly every vicissitude of which the human species is capable. It comprises the extremes of strength and of weakness, of unbounded wealth and of abject poverty. It is the history of the mixture of different races, languages, and bloods. It includes almost every political combination which the wit of man can devise; laws infinite in variety, as well as in number; constitutions of all kinds, from the most stringent to the most liberal.[597] Democracy, monarchy, government by priests, government by municipalities, government by nobles, government by representative bodies, government by natives, government by foreigners, have been tried, and tried in vain. Material appliances have been lavishly used; arts, inventions, and machines introduced from abroad, manufactures set up, communications opened, roads made, canals dug, mines worked, harbours formed. In a word, there has been every sort of alteration, except alterations of opinion; there has been every possible change, except changes in knowledge. And the result is, that in spite of the efforts of successive governments, in spite of the influence of foreign customs, and in spite of those physical ameliorations, which just touch the surface of society, but are unable to penetrate beneath, there are no signs of national progress; the priests are rather gaining ground than losing it; the slightest attack on the Church rouses the people; while, even the dissoluteness of the clergy, and the odious vices which, in the present century, have stained the throne, can do naught to lessen either the superstition or the loyalty which the accumulated force of many centuries has graven on the minds, and eaten into the hearts of the Spanish nation.

Footnotes:

[1164] In the second chapter of the first volume of Buckle's History of Civilization.

[1165] ‘The low state of agriculture in Spain may be ascribed partly to physical and partly to moral causes. At the head of the former must be placed the heat of the climate and the aridity of the soil. Most part of the rivers with which the country is intersected run in deep beds, and are but little available except in a few favoured localities, for purposes of irrigation.’ M'Culloch's Geographical and Statistical Dictionary, London, 1849, vol. ii. p. 708. See also Laborde's Spain, London, 1809, vol. iv. p. 284, vol. v. p. 261. The relative aridity of the different parts is stated in Cook's Spain, London, 1834, vol. ii. pp. 216–219.

[1166] On these droughts and famines, see Mariana, Historia de España, Madrid, 1794, vol. ii. p. 270, vol. iii. p. 225, vol. iv. p. 32. Conde, Historia de la Dominacion de los Arabes en España, Paris, 1840, pp. 142, 149, 154, 170. Davila, Historia de la Vida de Felipe Tercero, Madrid, 1771, folio, lib. ii. p. 114. Clarke's Letters concerning the Spanish Nation, London, 1763, 4to. p. 282. Udal ap Rhys' Tour through Spain, London, 1760, pp. 292, 293. Spain by an American, London, 1831, vol. ii. p. 282. Hoskins' Spain, London, 1851, vol. i. pp. 127, 132, 152. ‘España es castigada frecuentemente con las sequedades y faltas de lluvias.’ Muriel, Gobierno de Carlos III., Madrid, 1839, p. 193.

[1167] ‘Añádase á todo esto las repetidas pestes, y mortales epidemias que han afligido á las provincias de España, mayormente á las meridionales que han sido las mas sujetas á estas plagas. De estas se hace mencion en los anales é historias muy freqüentemente; y en su confirmacion se puede leer el tratado histórico, ó epidemiológia que sobre ellas ha publicado Don Joachîn de Villalba, donde se verá con dolor y espanto con quanta freqüencia se repetian estos azotes desde mediados del siglo décimoquarto.’ … ‘Dos exemplos bien recientes y dolorosos hemos visto, y conservaremos en la memoria, en los formidables estragos que acaban de padecer gran parte del reyno de Sevilla, Cádiz, y sus contornos, Málaga, Cartagena, y Alicante; sin contar la mortandad con que han afligido á la mayor parte de los pueblos de ámbas Castillas las epidemias de calenturas pútridas en el año pasado de 1805.’ … ‘Por otra parte la fundacion de tantas capillas y procesiones á San Roque, y á San Sebastian, como abogados contre la peste, que todavía se conservan en la mayor parte de nuestras ciudades de España, son otro testimonio de los grandes y repetidos estragos que habian padecido sus pueblos de este azote. Y el gran número de médicos españoles que publicáron tratados preservativos y curativos de la peste en los reynados de Cárlos V., Felipe II., Felipe III., y Felipe IV., confirman mas la verdad de los hechos.’ Capmany, Qüestiones Criticas, Madrid, 1807, pp. 51, 52; see also pp. 66, 67; and Janer, Condicion Social de los Moriscos de España, Madrid, 1857, pp. 106, 107; and the notice of Malaga in Bourgoing, Tableau de l'Espagne, Paris, 1808, vol. iii. p. 242.

[1168] ‘Earthquakes are still often felt at Granada and along the coast of the province of Alicante, where their effects have been very disastrous. Much further in the interior, in the small Sierra del Tremédal, or district of Albarracia, in the province of Terruel, eruptions and shocks have been very frequent since the most remote periods; the black porphyry is there seen traversing the altered strata of the oolitic formation. The old inhabitants of the country speak of sinking of the ground and of the escape of sulphureous gases when they were young; these same phenomena have occurred during four consecutive months of the preceding winter, accompanied by earthquakes, which have caused considerable mischief to the buildings of seven villages situated within a radius of two leagues. They have not, however, been attended with any loss of life, on account of the inhabitants hastening to abandon their dwellings at the first indications of danger.’ Ezquerra on the Geology of Spain, in the Quarterly Journal of the Geological Society of London, vol. vi. pp. 412, 413, London, 1850. ‘The provinces of Malaga, Murcia, and Granada, and, in Portugal, the country round Lisbon, are recorded at several periods to have been devastated, by great earthquakes.’ Lyell's Principles of Geology, London, 1853, p. 358. ‘Los terremotos son tan sensibles y freqüentes en lo alto de las montañas, como en lo llano, pues Sevilla está sujeta á ellos hallándose situada sobre una llanura tan igual y baxa como Holanda.’ Bowles, Introduccion à la Historia Natural de España, Madrid, 1789, 4to, pp. 90, 91. ‘The littoral plains, especially about Cartagena and Alicante, are much subject to earthquakes.’ Ford's Spain, 1847, p. 168. ‘This corner of Spain is the chief volcanic district of the Peninsula, which stretches from Cabo de Gata to near Cartagena; the earthquakes are very frequent.’ Ford, p. 174. ‘Spain, including Portugal, in its external configuration, with its vast tableland of the two Castiles, rising nearly 2,000 feet above the sea, is perhaps the most interesting portion of Europe, not only in this respect, but as a region of earthquake disturbance, where the energy and destroying power of this agency have been more than once displayed upon the most tremendous scale.’ Mallet's Earthquake Catalogue of the British Association, Report for 1858, p. 9, London, 1858.

I quote these passages at length, partly on account of their interest as physical truths, and partly because the facts stated in them are essential for a right understanding of the history of Spain. Their influence on the Spanish character was pointed out, for I believe the first time, in my History of Civilization, vol. i. pp. 123, 124. On that occasion, I adduced no evidence to prove the frequency of earthquakes in the Peninsula, because I supposed that all persons moderately acquainted with the physical history of the earth were aware of the circumstance. But, in April 1858, a criticism of my book appeared in the Edinburgh Review, in which the serious blunders which I am said to have committed are unsparingly exposed. In p. 468 of that Review, the critic, after warning his readers against my ‘inaccuracies,’ observes, ‘But Mr. Buckle goes on to state that “earthquakes and volcanic eruptions are more frequent and more destructive in Italy, and in the Spanish and Portuguese peninsula, than in any other of the great countries.” Whence he infers, by a singular process of reasoning, that superstition is more rife, and the clergy more powerful; but that the fine arts flourish, poetry is cultivated, and the sciences neglected. Every link in this chain is more or less faulty. There is no volcano in the Spanish peninsula, and the only earthquake known to have occurred there was that of Lisbon.’ Now, I have certainly no right to expect that a reviewer, composing a popular article for an immediate purpose, and knowing that when his article is read, it will be thrown aside and forgotten, should, under such unfavourable circumstances, be at the pains of mastering all the details of his subject. To look for this would be the height of injustice. He has no interest in being accurate; his name being concealed, his reputation, if he have any, is not at stake; and the errors into which he falls ought to be regarded with leniency, inasmuch as their vehicle being an ephemeral publication, they are not likely to be remembered, and they are therefore not likely to work much mischief.

These considerations have always prevented me from offering any reply to anonymous criticisms. But the passage in the Edinburgh Review, to which I have called attention, displays such marvellous ignorance, that I wish to rescue it from oblivion, and to put it on record as a literary curiosity. The other charges brought against me could, I need hardly say, be refuted with equal ease. Indeed, no reasonable person can possibly suppose that, after years of arduous and uninterrupted study, I should have committed those childish blunders with which my opponents unscrupulously taunt me. Once for all, I may say that I have made no assertion for the truth of which I do not possess ample and irrefragable evidence. But it is impossible for me to arrange and adduce all the proofs at the same time; and, in so vast an enterprise, I must in some degree rely, not on the generosity of the reader, but on his candour. I do not think that I am asking too much in requesting him, if on any future occasion his judgment should be in suspense between me and my critics, to give me the benefit of the doubt, and to bear in mind that statements embodied in a deliberate and slowly-concocted work, authenticated by the author's name, are, as a mere matter of antecedent probability, more likely to be accurate than statements made in reviews and newspapers, which, besides being written hastily, and often at very short notice, are unsigned, and by which, consequently, their promulgators evade all responsibility, avoid all risk, and can, in their own persons, neither gain fame nor incur obloquy.

The simple fact is, that in Spain there have been more earthquakes than in all other parts of Europe put together, Italy excepted. If the destruction of property and of life produced by this one cause were summed up, the results would be appalling. When we moreover add those alarming shocks, which, though less destructive, are far more frequent, and of which not scores, nor hundreds, but thousands have occurred, and which by increasing the total amount of fear, have to an incalculable extent promoted the growth of superstition, it is evident that such phenomena must have played an important part in forming the national character of the Spaniards. Whoever will take the trouble of consulting the following passages will find decisive proofs of the frightful ravages committed by earthquakes in Spain alone; Portugal being excluded. They all refer to a period of less than two hundred years; the first being in 1639, and the last in 1829. Lettres de Madame de Villars, Ambassadrice en Espagne, Amsterdam, 1759, p. 205. Laborde's Spain, London, 1809, vol. i. p. 169. Dunlop's Memoirs of Spain, Edinburgh, 1834, vol. ii. pp. 226, 227. Boisel, Journal du Voyage d'Espagne, Paris, 1669, 4to, p. 243. Mallet's Earthquake Catalogue of the British Association, London, 1858; Report for 1853, p. 146; for 1854, pp. 26, 27, 54, 55, 57, 58, 65, 110, 140, 173, 196, 202. Swinburne's Travels through Spain, London, 1787, vol. i. p. 166. Ford's Spain, London, 1847, p. 178. Bacon's Six Years in Biscay, London, 1838, p. 32, compared with Inglis' Spain, London, 1831, vol. i. p. 393, vol. ii. p. 289–291.

These authorities narrate the ravages committed during a hundred and ninety years. From their account it is manifest, that in Spain hardly a generation passed by without castles, villages, and towns being destroyed, and men, women, or children killed by earthquakes. But according to our anonymous instructor, it is doubtful if there ever was an earthquake in Spain; for he says of the whole Peninsula, including Portugal, ‘the only earthquake known to have occurred there was that of Lisbon.’

[1169] On the superstitious fears caused by earthquakes in Spain, see a good passage in Conde, Historia de la Dominacion de los Arabes, p. 155. ‘En el año 267, dia jeuves, 22 de la luna de Xawâl, tembló la tierra con tan espantoso ruido y estremecimiento, que cayeron muchos alcazares y magnificos edificios, y otros quedaron muy quebrantados, se hundieron montes, se abrieron peñascos, y la tierra se hundió y tragó pueblos y alturas, el mar se retrajo y apartó de las costas, y desaparecieron islas y escollos en el mar. Las gentes abandonaban los pueblos y huian á los campos, las aves salian de sus nidos, y las fieras espantadas dejaban sus grutas y madrigueras con general turbacion y trastorno; nunca los hombres vieron ni oyeron cosa semejante; se arruinaron muchos pueblos de la costa meridional y occidental de España. Todas estas cosas influyeron tanto en los animos de los hombres, y en especial en la ignorante multitud, que no pudo Almondhir persuadirles que eran cosas naturales, aunque poco frecüentes, que no tenían influjo ni relacion con las obras de los hombres, ni con sus empresas, sino por su ignorancia y vanos temores, que lo mismo temblaba la tierra para los muslimes que para los cristianos, para las fieras que para las inocentes criaturas.’ Compare Geddes' Tracts concerning Spain, London, 1730, vol. i. p. 89; and Mariana, who, under the year 1395, says (Historia de España, vol. v. p. 27): ‘Tembló la tierra en Valencia mediado el mes de Diciembre, con que muchos edificios cayéron por tierra, otros quedaron desplomados; que era maravilla y lástima. El pueblo, como agorero que es, pensaba eran señales del cielo y pronosticos de los daños que temian.’ The history of Spain abounds with similar instances far too numerous to quote or even to refer to. But the subject is so important and has been so misrepresented, that, even at the risk of wearying the reader, I will give one more illustration of the use of earthquakes in fostering Spanish superstition. In 1504 ‘an earthquake, accompanied by a tremendous hurricane, such as the oldest men did not remember, had visited Andalusia, and especially Carmona, a place belonging to the Queen, and occasioned frightful desolation there.’ The superstitious Spaniards now read in these portents the prophetic signs by which Heaven announces some great calamity. Prayers were put up in every temple, &c. &c. Prescott's History of Ferdinand and Isabella, Paris, 1842, vol. iii. p. 174.

[1170] Buckle's History of Civilization, vol. i. p. 43. See also Laborde's Spain, vol. iv. p. 42.

[1171] A writer early in the eighteenth century notices ‘el gran numero de pastores que hay.’ Uztariz, Theorica y Practica de Comercio, 3rd ed. Madrid, 1757, folio p. 20. As to the Arabic period, see Conde, Historia de la Dominacion, p. 244: ‘Muchos pueblos, siguiendo su natural inclinacion, se entregaron á la ganaderia.’ Hence ‘the wandering life so congenial to the habits of the Spanish peasantry,’ noticed in Cook's Spain, vol. i. p. 85, where, however, the connexion between this and the physical constitution of the country is not indicated. The solution is given by Mr. Ticknor with his usual accuracy and penetration: ‘The climate and condition of the Peninsula, which from a very remote period had favoured the shepherd's life and his pursuits, facilitated, no doubt, if they did not occasion, the first introduction into Spanish poetry of a pastoral tone, whose echoes are heard far back among the old ballads.’ … ‘From the Middle Ages the occupations of a shepherd's life had prevailed in Spain and Portugal to a greater extent than elsewhere in Europe; and, probably, in consequence of this circumstance, eclogues and bucolics were early known in the poetry of both countries, and became connected in both with the origin of the popular drama.’ Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature, London, 1849, vol. iii. pp. 9, 36. On the pastoral literature of Spain, see Bouterwek's History of Spanish Literature, London, 1823, vol. i. pp. 123–129; and on the great number of pastoral romances, Southey's Letters from Spain, Bristol, 1799, p. 336. But these writers, not seizing the whole question, have failed to observe the relation between the literary, physical, and social phenomena.

[1172] See the memoir by Jovellanos, in Laborde's Spain, vol. iv. p. 127. This was the necessary consequence of those vindictive attacks by which, for several centuries, both Mohammedans and Christians seemed resolved to turn Spain into a desert; ravaging each other's fields, and destroying every crop they could meet with. Conde, Dominacion de los Arabes, pp. 75, 188, 278, 346, 396, 417, 418, 471, 499, 500, 505, 523, 539, 544, 551, 578, 645, 651, 658. To quote one of these instances, late in the eleventh century: ‘La constancia de Alfonso ben Ferdeland en hacer entradas y talas en tierra de Toledo dos veces cada año, fué tanta que empobreció y apuró los pueblos;’ … ‘el tirano Alfonso taló y quemó los campos y los pueblos.’ Conde, p. 346. As such havoc, which was continued with few interruptions for about seven hundred years, has done much towards forming the national character of the Spaniards, it may be worth while to refer to Mariana, Historia de España, vol. iii. p. 438, vol. iv. pp. 193, 314, vol. v. pp. 92, 317, 337; and to Circourt, Histoire des Arabes d'Espagne, Paris, 1846, vol. i. p. 99.

[1173] The unsettled chronology of the early history of Spain appears from the different statements of various writers respecting the duration of Arianism, a point of much more importance than the death and accession of kings. Antequera (Historia de la Legislacion Española, Madrid, 1849, p. 37) says, ‘La secta Arriana, pues, segun las epocas fijadas, permaneció en España 125 años;’ Fleury (Histoire Ecclésiastique, vol. vii. p. 586, Paris, 1758) says ‘environ 180 ans;’ and M'Crie, generally well informed, says in his History of the Reformation in Spain, Edinburgh, 1829, p. 7, ‘Arianism was the prevailing and established creed of the country for nearly two centuries:’ for this, he refers to Gregory of Tours. With good reason, therefore, does M. Fauriel term it ‘une question qui souffre des difficultés.’ See his able work, Histoire de la Gaule Méridionale, Paris, 1836, vol. i. p. 10.

[1174] In 496, the orthodox clergy looked on Clovis as ‘un champion qu'il peut opposer aux hérétiques visigoths et burgondes.’ Fauriel, Histoire de la Gaule Méridionale, vol. ii. p. 41. They also likened him to Gideon, p. 66. Compare Fleury, Histoire Ecclésiastique, vol. vii. pp. 89, 90. Ortiz is so enthusiastic that he forgets his patriotism, and warmly praises the ferocious barbarian who made war, indeed, on his country, but still whose speculative opinions were supposed to be sound. ‘Mientras Alarico desfogaba su encono contra los Católicos, tuvo la Iglesia Galicana el consuelo de ver Católico á su gran Rey Clodoveo. Era el único Monarca del mundo que á la sazón profesaba la Religion verdadera.’ Ortiz, Compendio de la Historia de España, vol. ii. p. 96, Madrid, 1796.

[1175] Thus, in 531, Childebert marched against the Visigoths, because they were Arians. Fauriel, Histoire de la Gaule Méridionale, vol. ii. p. 131; and in 542, Childebert and Clotaire made another attack, and laid siege to Saragossa, p. 142. ‘No advertian los Godos lo que su falsa creencia les perjudicaba, y si lo advertian, su obcecacion les hacia no poner remedio. Los reyes francos, que eran católicos, les movian guerras en las Galias por arrianos, y los obispos católicos de la misma Galia gótica deseaban la dominacion de los francos.’ Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. ii. p. 380, Madrid, 1850.

[1176] ‘Los Francos por el amor que tenian á la Religion Cathólica, que poco antes abrazaran, aborrecian á los Visigodos como gente inficionada de la secta Arriana.’ Mariana, Historia de España, vol. ii. p. 43. And of one of their great battles he says, p. 46, ‘vulgarmente se llamó el campo Arriano por causa de la religion que los Godos seguian.’

[1177] ‘En religion et en croyance, comme en toute chose, les Visigoths se montrèrent plus sérieux, plus profonds, plus tenaces que les Burgondes. J'ai dit ailleurs comment ils étaient devenus presque en même temps chrétiens et ariens. Transplantés en Gaule et en Espagne, non-seulement ils avaient persévéré dans leur hérésie; ils s'y étaient affermis, affectionnés, et dans le peu que l'histoire laisse apercevoir de leur clergé, on s'assure qu'il était austère, zélé, et qu'il exerçait un grand empire sur les chefs comme sur la masse de la nation visigothe.’ … ‘Les rois visigoths se croyaient obligés à de grandes démonstrations de respect pour leur clergé arien.’ Fauriel, Histoire de la Gaule Méridionale, vol. i. pp. 577, 578.

[1178] The abjuration of Recared took place between the years 586 and 589. Dunham's History of Spain and Portugal, London, 1832, vol. i. pp. 126–128. Mariana, Historia de España, vol. ii. pp. 99–101. Ortiz, Compendio de la Historia de España, vol. ii. p. 120. Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. ii. pp. 360–363; and says Lafuente, p. 384, ‘Recaredo fué el primero que con todo el ardor de un neófito, comenzó en el tercer concilio toledano à dar a estas asambleas conocimiento y decision en negocios pertenecientes al gobierno temporal de los pueblos.’ Similarly, Antequera (Historia de la Legislación, p. 31) is happy to observe that ‘Recaredo abjuró la heregia arriana, abrazó decididamente la religion de Jesu-Cristo, y concedió à los ministros de la Iglesia una influencia en el gobierno del Estado, que vino à ser en adelante, ilimitada y absoluta.’

[1179] ‘As for the councils held under the Visigoth kings of Spain during the seventh century, it is not easy to determine whether they are to be considered as ecclesiastical or temporal assemblies. No kingdom was so thoroughly under the bondage of the hierarchy as Spain.’ Hallam's Middle Ages, edit. 1846, vol. i. p. 511. ‘Les prêtres étaient les seuls qui avaient conservé et même augmenté leur influence dans la monarchie goth-espagnole.’ Sempere, Histoire des Cortès d'Espagne, Bordeaux, 1815, p. 19. Compare Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. ii. p. 368, on ‘la influencia y preponderancia del clero, no ya solo en los negocios eclesiásticos, sino tambien en los políticos y de estado.’

[1180] ‘But it is in Spain, after the Visigoths had cast off their Arianism, that the bishops more manifestly influence the whole character of the legislation. The synods of Toledo were not merely national councils, but parliaments of the realm.’ Milman's History of Latin Christianity, London, 1854, vol. i. p. 380. See also Antequera, Historia de la Legislación Española, pp. 41, 42.

[1181] In 633, at a council of Toledo, the king ‘s'étant prosterné á terre devant les évêques.’ Fleury, Histoire Ecclésiastique, vol. viii. p. 308, Paris, 1758.

[1182] In 688, at a council of Toledo, ‘le roi Egica y étoit en personne; et après s'être prosterné devant les évêques, suivant la coutume, il fit lire un mémoire où il leur demandoit conseil,’ &c. Fleury, Histoire Ecclésiastique, vol. ix. p. 89, Paris, 1758.

[1183] See a short but admirable summary of this part of the Visigothic code in Dunham's History of Spain, vol. iv. pp. 77, 78; perhaps the best history in the English language of a foreign modern country. ‘In Spain, the bishops had a special charge to keep continual watch over the administration of justice, and were summoned on all great occasions to instruct the judges to act with piety and justice.’ Milman's History of Latin Christianity, 1854, vol. i. p. 386. The council of Toledo, in 633, directs bishops to admonish judges. Fleury, Histoire Ecclésiastique, vol. viii. p. 313; and a learned Spanish lawyer, Sempere, says of the bishops, ‘Le code du Fuero Juzgo fut leur ouvrage; les juges étaient sujets à leur juridiction; les plaideurs, grevés par la sentence des juges, pouvaient se plaindre aux évêques, et ceux-ci évoquer ainsi leurs arrêts, les réformer, et châtier les magistrats. Les procureurs du roi, comme les juges, étaient obligés de se présenter aux synodes diocésains annuels, pour apprendre des ecclésiastiques l'administration de la justice; enfin le gouvernement des Goths n'était qu'une monarchie théocratique.’ Sempere, Monarchie Espagnole, Paris, 1826, vol. i. p. 6, vol. ii. pp. 212–214.

[1184] ‘The terrible laws against heresy, and the atrocious juridical persecutions of the Jews, already designate Spain as the throne and centre of merciless bigotry.’ Milman's History of Latin Christianity, vol. i. p. 381. ‘Tan luego como la religion católica se halló dominando en el trono y en el pueblo, comenzaron los concilianos toledanos á dictar disposiciones canónicas y á prescribir castigos contra los idolatras, contra los judios, y contra los hereges.’ Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. ix. pp. 199–200. See also p. 214, and vol. ii. pp. 406, 407, 451. Prescott's History of Ferdinand and Isabella, vol. i. pp. 235, 236. Johnston's Institutes of the Civil Law of Spain, p. 262. Circourt, Histoire des Arabes d'Espagne, vol. i. pp. 260, 261; and Southey's Chronicle of the Cid, p. 18. I particularly indicate these passages, on account of the extraordinary assertion of Dr. M'Crie, that ‘on a review of criminal proceedings in Spain anterior to the establishment of the court of Inquisition, it appears in general that heretics were more mildly treated there than in other countries.’ M'Crie's History of the Reformation in Spain, p. 83, the best book on the Spanish Protestants.

[1185] A council of Toledo in 638 orders, ‘qu'à l'avenir aucun roi ne montera sur le trône qu'il ne promette de conserver la foi catholique;’ and at another council in 681, ‘le roi y présenta un écrit par lequel il prioit les évêques de lui assurer le royaume, qu'il tenoit de leurs suffrages.’ Fleury, Histoire Ecclésiastique, vol. viii. p. 339, vol. ix. p. 70.

[1186] Those happy times have received the warm applause of a modern theologian, because in them the church, ‘ha opuesto un muro de bronce al error;’ and because there existed ‘la mas estrecha concordia entre el imperio y el sacerdocio, por cuyo inestimable beneficio debemos hacer incesantes votos.’ Observaciones sobre El Presente y El Porvenir de la Iglesia en España, por Domingo Costa y Borras, Obispo de Barcelona, Barcelona, 1857, pp. 73, 75.

[1187] To which they fled with a speed which caused their great enemy, Muza, to pass upon them a somewhat ambiguous eulogy. ‘Dijo, son leones en sus castillos, aguilas en sus caballos, y mugeres en sus escuadrones de á pié; pero si ven la ocasion la saben aprovechar, y cuando quedan vencidos son cabras en escapar á los montes, que no ven la tierra que pisan.’ Conde, Historia de la Dominacion de los Arabes, p. 30.

[1188] Prescott's History of Ferdinand and Isabella, vol. i. pp. xxxviii. 287. Lafuente (Historia de España, vol. iii. p. 363) marks the epoch rather indistinctly, ‘basta ya el Duero.’ Compare Florez, Memorias de las Reynas Catholicas, Madrid, 4to, 1761, vol. i. p. 68.

[1189] There is a spirited account of its capture in Mariana's Historia de España, vol. ii. pp. 506–513; after which Ortiz (Compendio de la Historia, vol. iii. p. 156) and Lafuente (Historia General, vol. iv. pp. 236–242) are rather tame. The Mohammedan view of this, the first decisive blow to their cause, will be found in Conde, Historia de la Dominacion de los Arabes, p. 347. ‘Asi se perdió aquella ínclita ciudad, y acabó el reino de Toledo con grave pérdida del Islam.’ The Christian view is that ‘concedió Dios al Rey la conquista de aquella capital.’ Florez, Reynas Catholicas, vol. i. p. 165.

[1190] Circourt, Histoire des Arabes, vol. i. pp. 313, 349. Conde, Dominacion de los Arabes, pp. 656, 664. Ortiz, Compendio, vol. v. pp. 509, 561. Lafuente, Historia, vol. ix. pp. 341, 399.

[1191] ‘According to the magnificent style of the Spanish historians, eight centuries of almost uninterrupted warfare elapsed, and three thousand seven hundred battles were fought, before the last of the Moorish kingdoms in Spain submitted to the Christian arms.’ Robertson's Charles V. by Prescott, London, 1857, p. 65. ‘En nuestra misma España, en Leon y Castilla, en esta nueva Tierra Santa, donde se sostenia una cruzada perpétua y constante contra los infieles, donde se mantenía en todo su fervor el espiritu á la vez religioso y guerrero.’ Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. v. p. 293. ‘Era España theatro de una continua guerra contra los enemigos de la Fe.’ Florez, Reynas Catholicas, vol. i. p. 226. ‘El glorioso empeño de exterminar á los enemigos de la Fe.’ p. 453. ‘Esta guerra sagrada.’ Vol. ii. p. 800. ‘Se armaron nuestros Reyes Cathólicos, con zelo y animo alentado del cielo; y como la causa era de Religion para ensanchar los Dominios de la Fe, sacrificaron todas las fuerzas del Reyno, y sus mismas personas.’ p. 801. What was called the Indulgence of the Crusade was granted by the Popes ‘aux Espagnols qui combattoient contre les Mores.’ Fleury, Histoire Ecclésiastique, vol. xviii. p. xxi., vol. xix. pp. 158, 458, vol. xxi. p. 171.

[1192] ‘En aquellos tiempos [y duró hasta todo el siglo xv. y toma de Granada] eran los obispos los primeros capitanes de los exércitos.’ Ortiz, Compendio, vol. iii. p. 189. ‘Los prelados habían sido siempre los primeros no solo en promover la guerra contra Moros, sino á presentarse en campaña con todo su poder y esfuerzo, animando á los demas con las palabras y el exemplo.’ Vol. v. pp. 507, 508.

[1193] History of Civilization, vol. i. pp. 121–130.

[1194] ‘Les chrétiens avoient apporté dans les Asturies une arche ou coffre plein de reliques, qu‘ils regardèrent depuis comme la sauve-garde de leur état.’ … ‘Elle fut emportée et mise enfin à Oviedo, comme le lieu le plus sûr entre ces montagnes, Père 773, l'an 775.’ Fleury, Histoire Ecclésiastique, vol. ix. p. 190. This ‘arca llena de reliquias’ was taken to the Asturias in 714. Mariana, Historia de España, vol. ii. p. 227; and, according to Ortiz (Compendio, vol. ii. p. 182), it was ‘un tesoro inestimable de sagradas reliquias.’ See also Geddes' Tracts concerning Spain, vol. ii. p. 237, London, 1730; and Ford's Spain, 1847, p. 388.

[1195] ‘But no people ever felt themselves to be so absolutely soldiers of the cross as the Spaniards did, from the time of their Moorish wars; no people ever trusted so constantly to the recurrence of miracles in the affairs of their daily life; and therefore no people ever talked of Divine things as of matters in their nature so familiar and common-place. Traces of this state of feeling and character are to be found in Spanish literature on all sides.’ Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature, vol. ii. p. 333. Compare Bouterwek's History of Spanish Literature, vol. i. pp. 105, 106; and the account of the battle of las Navas in Circourt, Histoire des Arabes d'Espagne, vol. i. p. 153: ‘On voulait trouver partout des miracles.’ Some of the most startling of these miracles may be found in Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. v. p. 227; in Mariana, Historia de España, vol. ii. pp. 378, 395, vol. iii. p. 338; and in Ortiz, Compendio, vol. iii. p. 248, vol. iv. p. 22.

[1196] One of the most curious of these prophetic dreams is preserved in Conde, Dominación de los Arabes, pp. 378, 379, with its interpretation by the theologians. They were for the most part fulfilled. In 844 ‘El Apóstol Santiago, según que lo prometiera al Rey, fué visto en un caballo blanco, y con una bandera blanca y en medio della una cruz roxa, que capitaneaba nuestra gente.’ Mariana, Historia de España, vol. ii. pp. 310, 311. In 957 ‘El Apóstol Santiago fué visto entre las hacas dar la victoria à los fieles,’ p. 382. In 1236 ‘Publicóse por cierto que San Jorge ayudó á los Christianos, y que se halló en la pelea.’ Vol. iii. p. 323. On the dreams which foreshadowed these appearances, see Mariana, vol. ii. pp. 309, 446, vol. iii. pp. 15, 108.

[1197] ‘Priests mingle in the council and the camp, and, arrayed in their sacerdotal robes, not unfrequently led the armies to battle. They interpreted the will of Heaven as mysteriously revealed in dreams and visions. Miracles were a familiar occurrence. The violated tombs of the saints sent forth thunders and lightnings to consume the invaders.’ Prescott's History of Ferdinand and Isabella, vol. i. p. 39. In the middle of the ninth century, there happened the following event: ‘En lo mas cruel de los tormentos’ [to which the Christians were exposed] ‘subió Abderramen un dia á las azuteas ó galerias de su Palacio. Descubrió desde alli los cuerpos de los Santos martirizados en los patíbulos y atravesados con los palos, mandó los quemasen todos para que no quedase reliquia. Cumplióse luego la órden: pero aquel impio probó bien presto los rigores de la venganza divina que volvía por la sangre derramada de sus Santos. Improvisamente se le pegó la lengua al paladar y fauces; cerrósele la boca, y no pudo pronunciar una palabra, ni dar un gemido. Conduxeronle, sus criados á la cama, murió aquella misma noche, y antes de apagarse las hoguerasen que ardian los santos cuerpos, entró la infeliz alma de Abderramen en los eternos fuegos del infierno.’ Ortiz, Compendio, vol. iii. p. 52.

[1198] Circourt (Histoire des Arabes, vol. i. p. 5) says, ‘Les chrétiens qui ne voulurent pas se soumettre furent rejetés dans les incultes ravins des Pyrénées, où ils purent se maintenir comme les bêtes fauves se maintiennent dans les forêts.’ But the most curious account of the state of the Spanish Christians in the last half of the eighth century, and in the first half of the ninth, will be found in Conde, Historia de la Dominacion, pp. 95, 125. ‘Referian de estos pueblos de Galicia que son cristianos, y de los mas bravos de Afranc; pero que viven como fieras, que nunca lavan sus cuerpos ni vestidos, que no se los mudan, y los llevan puestos hasta que se los caen despedazados en andrajos, que entran unos en las casas de otros sin pedir licencia.’ … In a.d. 815, ‘no habia guerra sino contra cristianos por mantener frontera, y no con deseo de ampliar y extender los limites del reino, ni por esperanza de sacar grandes riquezas, por ser los cristianos gente pobre de montaña, sin saber nada de comercio ni de buenas artes.’

[1199] ‘Isabella may be regarded as the soul of this war. She engaged in it with the most exalted views, less to acquire territory than to reëstablish the empire of the Cross over the ancient domain of Christendom.’ Prescott's History of Ferdinand and Isabella, vol. i. p. 392. Compare Fleury, Histoire Ecclésiastique, vol. xxiii. p. 583, ‘bannir de toute l'Espagne la secte de Mahomet;’ and Circourt, Histoire des Arabes d'Espagne, vol. ii. pp. 99, 109, ‘pour elle une seule chose avait de l'importance; extirper de ses royaumes le nom et la secte de Mahomet.’ … ‘Sa vie fut presque exclusivement consacrée à faire triompher la croix sur le croissant.’ Mariana (Historia de España, vol. v. p. 344, and vol. vii. pp. 51, 52) has warmly eulogized her character, which indeed, from the Spanish point of view, was perfect. See also Florez, Reynas Catholicas, vol. ii. pp. 774, 788, 829.

[1200] ‘En España los Reyes Don Fernando y Doña Isabel luego que se viéron desembarazados de la guerra de los Moros, acordáron de echar de todo su reyno á los Judíos.’ Mariana, Historia de España, vol. vi. p. 303. A Spanish historian, writing less than seventy years ago, expresses his approbation in the following terms: ‘Arrancado de nuestra peninsula el imperio Mahometano, quedaba todavía la secta Judayca, peste acaso mas perniciosa, y sin duda mas peligrosa y extendida, por estar los Judíos establecidos en todos los pueblos de ella. Pero los Catolicos Monarcas, cuyo mayor afan era desarraigar de sus reynos toda planta y raiz infecta y contraria á la fé de Jesu-Cristo, dieron decreto en Granada dia 30 de Marzo del año mismo de 1492, mandando saliesen de sus dominios los Judíos que no se bautizasen dentro de 4 meses.’ Ortiz, Compendio, Madrid, 1798, vol. v. p. 564. The importance of knowing how these and similar events are judged by Spaniards, induces me to give their own words at a length which otherwise would be needlessly prolix. Historians, generally, are too apt to pay more attention to public transactions than to the opinions which those transactions evoke; though, in point of fact, the opinions form the most valuable part of history, since they are the result of more general causes, while political actions are often due to the peculiarities of powerful individuals.

Of the number of Jews actually expelled, I can find no trustworthy account. They are differently estimated at from 160,000 to 800,000. Prescott's History of Ferdinand and Isabella, vol. ii. p. 148. Mariana, Historia de España, vol. vi. p. 304. Ortiz, Compendio, vol. v. p. 564. Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. ix. pp. 412, 413. Llorente, Histoire de l'Inquisition, Paris, 1817, vol. i. p. 261. Mata, Dos Discursos, Madrid, 1794, pp. 64, 65. Castro, Decadencia de España, Cadiz, 1852, p. 19.

[1201] It had been introduced into Aragon in 1242; but, according to M. Tapia, ‘sin embargo la persecucion se limitó entónces á la secta de los albigenses; y como de ellos hubo tan pocos en Castilla, no se consideró sin duda necesario en ella el establecimiento de aquel tribunal.’ Tapia, Historia de la Civilizacion Española, Madrid, 1840, vol. ii. p. 302. Indeed, Llorente says (Histoire de l'Inquisition d'Espagne, Paris, 1817, vol. i. p. 88), ‘Il est incertain si au commencement du 15^e siècle l'Inquisition existait en Castille.’ In the recent work by M. Lafuente, 1232 is given as its earliest date; but, ‘á fines del siglos xiv. y principios del xv. apenas puede saberse si existia tribunal de Inquisicion en Castilla.’ Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. ix. pp. 204–206, Madrid, 1852. It seems therefore with good reason that Mariana (Historia, vol. vi. p. 171) terms the Inquisition of Ferdinand and Isabella ‘un nuevo y santo tribunal.’ See also Florez, Memorias de las Reynas Catholicas, vol. ii. p. 799.

[1202] Prescott's History of Philip II., vol. i. p. 23, London, 1857. Davies' History of Holland, vol. i. p. 447, London, 1841. On the religious character of his German policy, compare Mariana, Historia de España, vol. vii. p. 330; Ortiz, Compendio, vol. vi. pp. 195, 196.

[1203] Prescott's Philip II., vol. i. p. 3; and the continuation of Fleury, Histoire Ecclésiastique, vol. xxvii. p. 280. Robertson, though praising Charles V. for this achievement, seems rather inclined to underrate its magnitude; History of Charles V., p. 246.

[1204] In the speech he made at his abdication, he said that ‘he had been ever mindful of the interests of the dear land of his birth, but above all of the great interests of Christianity. His first object had been to maintain these inviolate against the infidel.’ Prescott's Philip II., vol. i. p. 8. Miñana boasts that ‘el César con piadoso y noble ánimo exponia su vida á los peligros para extender los limites del Imperio Christiano.’ Continuación de Mariana, vol. viii. p. 352. Compare the continuation of Fleury, Histoire Ecclésiastique, vol. xxxi. p. 19.

[1205] Grotius says, 100,000; Bor, Meteren, and Paul say 50,000. Watson's History of Philip II., London, 1839, pp. 45, 51. Davies' History of Holland, London, 1841, vol. i. pp. 498, 499. Motley's Dutch Republic, London, 1858, vol. i. pp. 103, 104.

[1206] It is doubted, if I rightly remember, by Mr. Prescott. But the opinion of that able historian is entitled to less weight from his want of acquaintance with Dutch literature, where the principal evidence must be sought for. On this, as on many other matters, the valuable work of Mr. Motley leaves little to desire.

[1207] Prescott's Philip II., vol. i. pp. 196, 197. In 1523, the first persons were burned. Motley's Dutch Republic, vol. i. p. 69. The mode of burying alive is described in Davies' History of Holland, vol. i. p. 383, vol. ii. pp. 311, 312.

[1208] He died on the 21st September; and on the 9th he signed a codicil, in which he ‘enjoined upon his son to follow up and bring to justice every heretic in his dominions, and this without exception, and without favour or mercy to any one. He conjured Philip to cherish the holy inquisition as the best means of accomplishing this good work.’ Prescott's Additions to Robertson's Charles V., p. 576. See also his instructions to Philip in Raumer's History of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. i. p. 91; and on his opinion of the Inquisition, see his conversation with Sir Thomas Wyatt, printed from the State Papers in Froude's History of England, vol. iii. p. 456, London, 1858. This may have been mere declamation; but in Tapia's Civilizacion Española, Madrid, 1840, vol. iii. pp. 76, 77, will be found a deliberate and official letter, in which Charles does not hesitate to say, ‘La santa inquisicion como oficio santo y puesto por los reyes católicos, nuestros señores y abuelos á honra de Dios nuestro señor y de nuestra santa fé católica, tengo firme é entrañablemente asentado y fijado en mi corazon, para la mandar favorecer y honrar, como principe justo y temeroso de Dios es obligado y debe hacer.’

The codicil to the will of Charles still exists, or did very recently, among the archives at Simancas. Ford's Spain, 1847, p. 334. In M. Lafuente's great work, Historia de España, vol. xii. pp. 494, 495, Madrid, 1853, it is referred to in language which, in more senses than one, is perfectly Spanish: ‘Su testamento y codicilo respiran las ideas cristianas y religiosas en que habia vivido y la piedad que señaló su muerte.’ … ‘Es muy de notar en primera cláusula [i.e.] of the codicil

por la cual deja muy encarecidamente recomendado al rey Don Felipe que use de todo rigor en el castigo de los hereges luteranos que habian sido presos y se hubieren de prender en España.’ … ‘“Sin escepcion de persona alguna, ni admitir ruegos, ni tener respeto á persona alguna; porque para el efecto de ello favorezca y mande favorecer al Santo Oficio de la Inquisición,”’ &c.]

[1209] Native testimony may perhaps be accused of being partial; but, on the other hand, Raumer, in his valuable History of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. i. p. 22, justly observes, that his character has been misrepresented ‘by reason that historians have availed themselves by preference of the inimical narratives of French and Protestant writers.’ To steer between these extremes, I will transcribe the summing up of Charles's reign as it is given by a learned and singularly unprejudiced writer. ‘Tortuous as was sometimes the policy of the emperor, he never, like Francis, acted with treachery; his mind had too much of native grandeur for such baseness. Sincere in religion and friendship, faithful to his word, clement beyond example, liberal towards his servants, indefatigable in his regal duties, anxious for the welfare of his subjects, and generally blameless in private life, his character will not suffer by a comparison with that of any monarch of his times.’ Dunham's History of Spain, vol. v. p. 41. ‘Clemency was the basis of his character.’ p. 30.

[1210] ‘The Spaniards, as he grew in years, beheld, with pride and satisfaction, in their future sovereign, the most perfect type of the national character.’ Prescott's History of Philip II. vol. i. p. 39. So, too, in Motley's Dutch Republic, vol. i. p. 128, ‘he was entirely a Spaniard;’ and in Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. i. p. 155, ‘pero el reinado de Felipe fué todo Español.’

[1211] Prescott's Philip II. vol. i. pp. 68, 210, vol. ii. p. 26. Watson's Philip II. p. 55. Compare Fleury, Histoire Ecclésiastique, vol. xxxiv. p. 273.

[1212] ‘Como era tan zeloso en la extirpación de la heregía, uno de sus primeros cuidados fué el castigo de los Luteranos; y á presencia suya, se executó en Valladolid el dia ocho de Octubre el suplicio de muchos reos de este delito.’ Miñana, Continuacion de Mariana, vol. ix. p. 212.

[1213] ‘The contest with Protestantism in Spain, under such auspices, was short. It began in earnest and in blood about 1559, and was substantially ended in 1570.’ Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature, vol. i. p. 425. See also M'Crie's History of the Reformation in Spain, pp. 336, 346. Thus it was that ‘España se preservó del contagio. Hizolo con las armas Carlos V., y con las hogueras los inquisidores. España se aisló del movimiento europeo.’ Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. i. p. 144, Madrid, 1850. M. Lafuente adds, that, in his opinion, all Christendom is about to follow the good example set by Spain of rejecting Protestantism. ‘Si no nos equivocamos, en nuestra misma edad se notan sintomas de ir marchando este problema hácia su resolucion. El catolicismo gana prosélitos; los protestantes de hoy no son lo que antes fueron, y creemos que la unidad católica se realizará.’

[1214] Before the arrival of Alva, ‘Philip's commands to Margaret were imperative, to use her utmost efforts to extirpate the heretics.’ Davies' History of Holland, vol. i. p. 551; and in 1563 he wrote, ‘The example and calamities of France prove how wholesome it is to punish heretics with rigour.’ Raumer's History of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. i. p. 171. The Spaniards deemed the Dutch guilty of a double crime; being rebels against God and the king: ‘Rebeldes á Dios por la heregía, y á su Principe á quien debian obedecer.’ Mariana, Historia de España, vol. vii. p. 410. ‘Tratauan de secreto de quitar la obediencia á Dios y á su Principe.’ Vanderhammen's Don Filipe el Prudente Segundo deste Nombre, Madrid, 1632, p. 44 rev. Or, as Miñana phrases it, Philip ‘tenia los mismos enemigos que Dios.’ Continuacion de Mariana, vol. x. p. 139.

[1215] Motley's Dutch Republic, vol. i. p. 229. Watson's Philip II. pp. 51, 52, 177.

[1216] Mr. Motley, under the year 1566, says, ‘The Prince of Orange estimated that up to this period fifty thousand persons in the provinces had been put to death in obedience to the edicts. He was a moderate man, and accustomed to weigh his words.’ Motley's Dutch Republic, vol. i. pp. 424, 425.

[1217] Watson's Philip II. pp. 248, 249. Tapia (Civilizacion Española, vol. iii. p. 95) says, ‘quitó la vida á mas de diez y ocho mil protestantes con diversos géneros de suplicios.’ Compare Motley's Dutch Republic, vol. ii. p. 423, and Davies' History of Holland, vol. i. p. 608.

[1218] Davies' History of Holland, vol. i. p. 567. Vanderhammen (Don Filipe el Prudente, Madrid, 1632, p. 52 rev.), with tranquil pleasure, assures us that ‘muriessen mil y setecientas personas en pocos dias con fuego, cordel y cuchillo en diuersos lugares.’

[1219] ‘El duque de Alba, obrando en conformidad á las instrucciones de su soberano, y apoyado en la aprobacion que merecian al rey todas sus medidas.’ Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. xiii. p. 221.

[1220] ‘It was to restore the Catholic Church that he desired to obtain the empire of Europe.’ Davies' History of Holland, vol. ii. p. 329. ‘El protestó siempre “que sus desinios en la guerra, y sus exercitos no se encaminauan á otra cosa, que el ensalçamiento de la Religion Christiana.”’ Vanderhammen's Don Filipe el Prudente, p. 125. ‘El que aspiraba á someter todas las naciones de la tierra á su credo religioso.’ Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. xv. p. 203. The bishop of Salamanca in 1563 openly boasted ‘que son roi ne s'étoit marié avec la reine d'Angleterre que pour ramener cette isle à l'obéissance de l'église.’ Continuation de Fleury, Histoire Ecclésiastique, vol. xxxiii. p. 331. Compare Ortiz, Compendio, vol. vi. p. 204. ‘Este casamiento no debió de tener otras miras que el de la religion.’

[1221] On this treaty, the only humiliating one which he ever concluded, see Prescott's Philip II. vol. i. p. 104. His dying advice to his son was, ‘Siempre estareis en la obediencia de la Santa Iglesia Romana, y del Sumo Pontifice, teniendole por vuestro Padre espiritual.’ Davila, Historia de la Vida de Felipe Tercero, Madrid, 1771, folio, lib. i. p. 29. According to another writer, ‘La ultima palabra que le salió con el espiritu, fue: “Yo muero como Catolico Christiano en la Fe y obediencia de la Iglesia Romana, y respeto al Papa, como á quien trae en sus manos las llaues del Cielo, como á Principe de la Iglesia, y Teniente de Dios sobre el imperio de las almas.”’ Vanderhammen, Don Filipe el Prudente, p. 124.

[1222] Elizabeth, uniting the three terrible qualities of heresy, power, and ability, was obnoxious to the Spaniards to an almost incredible degree, and there never was a more thoroughly national enterprise than the fitting out of the Armada against her. One or two passages from a grave historian, will illustrate the feelings with which she was regarded even after her death, and will assist the reader in forming an opinion respecting the state of the Spanish mind. ‘Isabel, ó Jezabel, Reyna de Inglaterra, heretica Calvinista, y la mayor perseguidora que ha tenido la sangre de Jesu-Christo y los hijos de la Iglesia.’ Davila, Historia de Felipe Tercero, p. 74. ‘Los sucesos de fuera causaron admiracion; y el mayor y muy esperado de toda la Christiandad fue la muerte de Isabela, Reyna de Inglaterra, heretica Calvinista, que hizo su nombre famoso con la infamia de su vida, y perseguir á la Iglesia, derramando la sangre de los Santos, que defendian la verdadera Religion Catolica, dexando registradas sus maldades en las historias públicas del mundo, pasando su alma á coger el desdichado fruto de su obstinada soberbia en las penas del Infierno, donde conoce con el castigo perpetuo el engaño de su vida.’ pp. 83, 84.

[1223] One of the most eminent of living historians well says, ‘It was Philip's enthusiasm to embody the wrath of God against heretics.’ Motley's Dutch Republic, vol. ii. p. 155. ‘Philip lived but to enforce what he chose to consider the will of God.’ p. 285.

[1224] ‘Personne vivante ne parloit à lui qu'à genoux, et disoit pour son excuse à cela qu'estant petit de corps, chacun eust paru plus eslevé que lui, outre qu'il sçavoit que les Espagnols estoient d'humeur si altiere et hautaine, qu'il estoit besoin qu'il les traittast de cette façon; et pour ce mesme ne se laissoit voir que peu souvent du peuple, n'y mesme des grands, sinon aux jours solemnels, et action necessaire, en cette façon? il faisoit ses commandemens à demy mot, et falloit que l'on devinast le reste, et que l'on ne manquast à bien accomplir toutes ses intentions; mesmes les gentilshommes de sa chambre, et autres qui approchoient plus près de sa personne, n'eussent osé parler devant luy s'il ne leur eust commandé, se tenant un tout seul à la fois près de la porte du lieu où il estoit, et demeurant nud teste incessamment, et appuyé contra une tapisserie, pour attendre et recevoir ses commandemens.’ Mémoires de Cheverny, pp. 352, 353, in Petitot's Collection des Mémoires, vol. xxxvi. Paris, 1823.

[1225] These are the words of Contarini, as given in Ranke's Ottoman and Spanish Empires, London, 1843, p. 33. Sismondi, though unacquainted with this passage, observes in his Literature of the South of Europe, vol. ii. p. 273, London, 1846, that Philip, though ‘little entitled to praise, has yet been always regarded with enthusiasm by the Spaniards.’ About half a century after his death, Sommerdyck visited Spain, and in his curious account of that country he tells us that Philip was called ‘le Salomon de son siècle.’ Aarsens de Sommerdyck, Voyage d'Espagne, Paris, 1665, 4to, pp. 63, 95. See also Yañez, Memorias para la Historia de Felipe III., Madrid, 1723, p. 294. ‘El gran Felipe, aquel Sabio Salomon.’ Another writer likens him to Numa. ‘Hacia grandes progresos la piedad, á la qual se dedicaba tanto el Rey Don Felipe, que parecia su reynado en España lo que en Roma el de Numa, despues de Rómulo.’ Miñana Continuacion de Mariana, vol. ix. p. 241. When he died, ‘celebradas sus exêquias entre lágrimas y gemidos.’ vol. x. pp. 259, 260. We further learn from Vanderhammen's Filipe Segundo, Madrid, 1632, p. 120 rev., that the people ascribed to him ‘una grandeza adorable, y alguna cosa mas que las ordinarias á los demas hombres.’

[1226] ‘Habits of reverence, which, if carried into religion, cause superstition, and if carried into politics, cause despotism.’ Buckle's Hist. of Civilization, vol. ii. p. 117.

[1227] ‘More ballads are connected with Spanish history than with any other, and, in general, they are better. The most striking peculiarity of the whole mass is, perhaps, to be found in the degree in which it expresses the national character. Loyalty is constantly prominent. The Lord of Butrago sacrifices his own life to save that of his sovereign,’ &c. Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature, vol. i. p. 133. ‘In the implicit obedience of the old Spanish knight, the order of the king was paramount to every consideration, even in the case of friendship and love. This code of obedience has passed into a proverb—“mas pesa el Rey que la sangre,”’ Ford's Spain, p. 183. Compare the admirable little work of Mr. Lewes, The Spanish Drama, London, 1846, p. 120, ‘ballads full of war, loyalty, and love.’

[1228] See some interesting remarks in M. Tapia's Civilizacion Española, vol. i. He observes that, though cruelly persecuted by Alfonso, the first thing done by the Cid, after gaining a great victory, was to order one of his captains ‘para que lleve al rey Alfonso treinta caballos árabes bien ensillados, con sendas espadas pendientes de los arzones en señal de homenage, á pesar del agravio que habia recibido.’ p. 274. And at p. 280, ‘comedido y obediente súbdito á un rey que tan mal le habia tratado.’ Southey (Chronicle of the Cid, p. 268) notices with surprise that the Cid is represented in the old chronicles as ‘offering to kiss the feet of the king.’

[1229] ‘Le xvi^e Concile de Tolède appelait les rois “vicaires de Dieu et du Christ;” et rien n'est plus fréquent dans les conciles de cette époque que leurs exhortations aux peuples pour l'observation du serment de fidélité á leur roi, et leurs anathêmes contre les séditieux.’ Sempere, Monarchie Espagnole, vol. i. p. 41. ‘Aparte de los asuntos de derecho civil y canonico y de otros varios que dicen relacion al gobierno de la iglesia, sobre los cuales se contienen en todos ellos disposiciones muy útiles y acertadas, la mayor parte de las leyes dictadas en estas asambleas tuvieron por objeto dar fuerza y estabilidad al poder real, proclamando su inviolabilidad y estableciendo graves penas contra los infractores; condenar las heregías,’ &c. Antequera, Historia de la Legislacion Española, p. 47.

[1230] ‘Loyalty to a superior is carried to a more atrocious length by the Spanish law than I have seen it elsewhere.’ … ‘The Partidas (P. 2, T. 13, L. 1) speaks of an old law whereby any man who openly wished to see the King dead, was condemned to death, and the loss of all that he had. The utmost mercy to be shown him was to spare his life and pluck out his eyes, that he might never see with them what he had desired. To defame the King is declared as great a crime as to kill him, and in like manner to be punished. The utmost mercy that could be allowed was to cut out the offender's tongue. P. 2, T. 13, L. 4.’ Southey's Chronicle of the Cid, p. 442. Compare Johnston's Civil Law of Spain, London, 1825, p. 269, on ‘Blasphemers of the King.’

[1231] Thus, Montalvan, the eminent poet and dramatist, who was born in 1602, ‘avoided, we are told, representing rebellion on the stage, lest he should seem to encourage it.’ Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature, vol. ii. p. 283. A similar spirit is exhibited in the plays of Calderon and of Lope de Vega. On the ‘Castilian loyalty’ evinced in one of Calderon's comedies, see Hallam's Literature of Europe, 2d edit. London, 1843, vol. iii. p. 63; and as to Lope, see Lewes on the Spanish Drama, p. 78.

[1232] ‘His Majesty's horses could never be used by any other person. One day, while Philip IV. was going in procession to the church of Our Lady of Atocha, the Duke of Medina-de-las-Torres offered to present him with a beautiful steed which belonged to him, and which was accounted the finest in Madrid; but the King declined the gift, because he should regret to render so noble an animal ever after useless.’' Dunlop's Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 372. Madame d'Aulnoy, who travelled in Spain in 1679, and who, from her position, had access to the best sources of information, was told of this piece of etiquette. ‘L'on m'a dit que lors que le Roy s'est servy d'un cheval, personne par respect ne le monte jamais.’ D'Aulnoy, Relation du Voyage d'Espagne, Lyon, 1693, vol. ii. p. 40. In the middle of the eighteenth century, I find another notice of this loyal custom, which, likely enough, is still a tradition in the Spanish stables. ‘If the king has once honoured a Pad so much as to cross his back, it is never to be used again by anybody else.’ A Tour through Spain, by Udal ap Rhys, 2d edit. London, 1760, p. 15.

[1233] Madame d'Aulnoy, who was very inquisitive respecting these matters, says (Relation du Voyage d'Espagne, vol. ii. p. 411), ‘Il y a une autre étiquette, c'est qu'après que le Roi a eu une Maitresse, s'il vient à la quitter, il faut qu'elle se fasse Religieuse, comme je vous l'ai déjà écrit; et l'on m'a conté que le feu Roi s'estant amoureux d'une Dame du Palais, il fut un soir fraper doucement à la porte de sa chambre. Comme elle comprit que c'estoit lui, elle ne voulut pas lui ouvrir, et elle se contenta de lui dire au travers de la porte, Baya, baya, con Dios, no quiero ser monja; c'est à dire, “Allez allez, Dieu vous conduise, je n'ai pas envie d'estre Religieuse.”’ So too Henry IV. of Castile, who came to the throne in the year 1454, made one of his mistresses ‘abbess of a convent in Toledo;’ in this case to the general scandal, because, says Mr. Prescott, he first expelled ‘her predecessor, a lady of noble rank and irreproachable character.’ Prescott's Ferdinand and Isabella, vol. i. p. 68.

[1234] There is, however, one very remarkable old law, in the form of a canon enacted by the third Council of Saragossa, which orders that the royal widows ‘seront obligées à prendre l'habit de religieuses, et à s'enfermer dans un monastère pour le reste de leur vie.’ Fleury, Histoire Ecclésiastique, vol. ix. p. 104. In 1065 Ferdinand I. died; and, says the biographer of the Spanish Queens, ‘La Reyna sobrevivió: y parece, que muerto su marido, entró en algun Monasterio; lo que expressamos no tanto por la costumbre antigua, quanto por constar en la Memoria referida de la Iglesia de Leon, el dictado de ‘Consagrada á Dios,’ frasse que denota estado Religioso.’ Florez, Memorias de las Reynas Catholicas, Madrid, 1761, 4to, vol. i. p. 148. In 1667 it was a settled principle that ‘les reines d'Espagne n'en sortent point. Le couvent de las Señoras descalças reales est fondé afin que les reines veuves s'y enferment.’ Discours du Comte de Castrillo à la Reine d'Espagne, in Mignet's Négociations relatives à la Succession d'Espagne, vol. ii. p. 604, Paris, 1835, 4to. This valuable work consists for the most part of documents previously unpublished, many of which are taken from the archives at Simancas. To the critical historian, it would have been more useful if the original Spanish had been given.

[1235] See some good remarks on San Phelipe, in Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature, vol. iii. pp. 213, 214, which might easily be corroborated by other testimony; as, for instance, Lafuente under the year 1710: ‘Ni el abandono de la Francia, ni la prolongacion y los azares de la guerra, ni los sacrificios pecuniarios y personales de tantos años, nada bastaba á entibiar el amor de los castellanos á su rey Felipe V.’ (Historia de España, vol. xviii. p. 258); and Berwick (Mémoires, vol. ii. p. 114, edit. Paris, 1778): ‘La fidélité inouie des Espagnols;’ and, nine years earlier, a letter from Louville to Torcy: ‘Le mot révolte, pris dans une acception rigoureuse, n'a pas de sens en Espagne.’ Louville, Mémoires sur l'établissement de la Maison de Bourbon en Espagne, edit. Paris, 1818, vol. i. p. 128. See also Memoirs of Ripperda, London, 1740, p. 58; and Mémoires de Gramont, vol. ii. p. 77, edit. Petitot, Paris, 1827. All these passages illustrate Spanish loyalty in the eighteenth century, except the reference to Gramont, which concerns the seventeenth, and which should be compared with the following observations of Madame D'Aulnoy, who writes from Madrid in 1679: ‘Quelques richesses qu'ayent les grands Seigneurs, quelque grande que soit leur fierté ou leur présomption, ils obéïssent aux moindres ordres du Roy, avec une exactitude et un respect que l'on ne peut assez loüer. Sur le premier ordre ils partent, ils reviennent, ils vont en prison, ou en exil, sans se plaindre. Il ne se peut trouver une soûmission, et une obéïssance plus parfaite, ni un amour plus sincère, que celui des Espagnols pour leur Roi. Ce nom leur est sacré, et pour réduire le peuple à tout ce que l'on souhaite, il suffit de dire, “Le Roi le veut.”’ D'Aulnoy, Voyage, vol. ii. pp. 256, 257.

[1236] ‘And Olivarez had been heard to censure very severely the duke's (Buckingham's) familiarity and want of respect towards the prince, a crime monstrous to the Spaniard.’ … ‘Their submissive reverence to their princes being a vital part of their religion.’ Clarendon's History of the Rebellion, ed. Oxford, 1843, p. 15. For the religion of loyalty, in an earlier period, see Florez, Reynas Catholicas, vol. i. p. 421: ‘La persona del Rey fue mirada de sus fieles vassallos con respeto tan sagrado,’ that resistance was ‘una especie de sacrilegio.’

[1237] These impediments to intercourse were once deemed almost invincible. Fontenay-Mareuil, who visited Spain in 1612, and was not a little proud of the achievement, says, ‘Au reste, parcequ'on ne va pas aussy ordinairement en Espagne qu'en France, en Italie et ailleurs; et qu'estant comme en un coin, et séparée du reste du monde par la mer ou par les Pyrénées, on n'en a, ce me semble, guere de connoissance, j'ay pense que je devois faire icy une petite digression pour dire ce que j'en ay appris dans ce voyage et despuis.’ Mémoires de Fontenay-Mareuil, in Collection des Mémoires par Petitot, vol. i. p. 169, 1^e Série, Paris, 1826. Seventy years later, another writer on Spain says of the Pyrenees, ‘Ces montagnes sont à nos voyageurs modernes, ce qu'étoit aux anciens mariniers le Non plus ultra et les colomnes du grand Hercule.’ L'Estat de l'Espagne, Geneve, 1681 Epistre, p. ii. This work, little known and not much worth knowing, forms the third volume of Le Prudent Voyageur.

[1238] ‘Con razon se miró la conquista de Granada, no como un acontecimiento puramente español, sino como un suceso que interesaba al mundo. Con razon tambien se regocijó toda la cristiandad. Hacia medio siglo que otros mahometanos se habian apoderado de Constantinopla; la caida de la capital y del imperio bizantino en poder de los turcos habia llenado de terror á la Europa; pero la Europa se consoló al saber que en España habia concluido la dominacion de los musulmanes.’ Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. xi. p. 15.

[1239] ‘L'Espagne, long-temps partagée en plusieurs états, et comme étrangère au reste de l'Europe, devint tout-à-coup une puissance redoutable, faisant pencher pour elle la balance de la politique.’ Koch, Tableau des Révolutions de l'Europe, Paris, 1823, vol. i. p. 362. On the relation between this and some changes in literature which corresponded to it, see Bouterwek's History of Spanish Literature, vol. i. pp. 148–152, where there are some ingenious, though perhaps scarcely tenable, speculations.

[1240] ‘The holy war with the infidels’ (Mohammedans) ‘perpetuated the unbecoming spectacle of militant ecclesiastics among the Spaniards, to a still later period, and long after it had disappeared from the rest of civilized Europe.’ Prescott's History of Ferdinand and Isabella, vol. i. p. 162.

[1241] A learned Spanish lawyer has made some remarks which are worth quoting, and which contain a curious mixture of truth and error: ‘Comment la monarchie espagnole fut-elle déchue de tant de grandeur et de gloire? Comment perdit-elle les Pays-Bas et le Portugal dans le dix-septième siècle, et s'y trouva-t-elle réduite à n'être qu'un squelette de ce qu'elle avait été auparavant? Comment vit-elle disparaître plus d'une moitié de sa population? Comment, possédant les mines inépuisables du Nouveau Monde, les revenus de l'état n'étaient à peine que de six millions de ducats sous le règne de Philippe III? Comment son agriculture et son industrie furent-elles ruinées? et comment presque tout son commerce passa-t-il dans les mains de ses plus grands ennemis? Ce n'est point ici le lieu d'examiner les véritables causes d'une métamorphose si triste; il suffira d'indiquer que tous les grands empires contiennent en euxmêmes le germe de leur dissolution,’ &c. ‘D'ailleurs les successeurs de ces deux monarques’ (Charles V. and Philip II.) ‘n'eurent point les mêmes talens, ni les ducs de Lerme et d'Olivarès, leurs ministres, ceux du cardinal Cisneros; et il est difficile de calculer l'influence de la bonne ou de la mauvaise direction des affaires sur la prospérité ou les malheurs des nations. Sous une même forme de gouvernement, quel qu'il puisse être, elles tombent ou se relèvent suivant la capacité des hommes qui les dirigent, et d'après les circonstances où ils agissent.’ Sempère, Histoire des Cortès, Bordeaux, 1815, pp. 265–267. Of the two passages which I have marked with italics, the first is a clumsy, though common, attempt to explain complicated phenomena by a metaphor which saves the trouble of generalizing their laws. The other passage, though perfectly true as regards Spain, does not admit of that universal application which M. Sempere supposes; inasmuch as in England, and in the United States of America, national prosperity has steadily advanced, even when the rulers have been very incapable men.

[1242] ‘With Philip II. ends the greatness of the kingdom, which from that period declined with fearful rapidity.’ Dunham's History of Spain, vol. v. p. 87. And Ortiz (Compendio, vol. vii., Prologo, p. 6) classes together ‘la muerte de Felipe II. y principios de nuestra decadencia.’ The same judicious historian elsewhere observes (vol. vi. p. 211), that if Philip III. had been equal to his father, Spain would have continued to flourish. Several of the more recent Spanish writers, looking at the heavy expenses caused by the policy of Philip II., and at the debts which he incurred, have supposed that the decline of the country began in the latter years of his reign. But the truth is, that no great nation ever was, or ever will be, ruined by the prodigality of its government. Such extravagance causes general discomfort, and therefore ought not to be tolerated; but if this were the place for so long an argument, I could easily show that its other and more permanent inconveniences are nothing like what they are commonly supposed to be.

[1243] ‘Abstraido Felipe III. en devociones, amante Felipe IV. deregocijos, mortificado Carlos II. por padecimientos, cuidáronse poco ó nada de la gobernacion del Estado, y confiaronla á validos altaneros, codiciosos, incapaces, y de muy funesta memoria.’ Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., Madrid, 1856, vol. i. p. 33.

[1244] ‘Sans espérance de postérité.’ Millot, Mémoires de Noailles, vol. i. p. 419. ‘Incapaz de tener hijos.’ Ortiz, Compendio, vol. vi. p. 560. See also Mémoires de Louville, vol. i. p. 82; and the allusions in Lettres de Madame de Villars, edit. Amsterdam, 1759, pp. 53, 120, 164. She was ambassadress in Spain in the reign of Charles II. M. Lafuente, who, if I rightly remember, never quotes these interesting letters, and who indeed, with very few exceptions, has used none but Spanish authorities, ventures nevertheless to observe that ‘La circunstancia de no haber tenido sucesion, falta que en general se achabaca mas al rey que á la reina,’ &c. Historia de España, vol. xvii. pp. 198, 199, Madrid, 1856. According to the biographer of the Spanish Queens, some persons imputed this to sorcery, ‘y aun se dijo si intervenia maleficio.’ Florez, Memorias de las Reynas Catholicas, vol. ii. p. 973, Madrid, 1761, 4to.

[1245] In 1696, Stanhope, the English minister at Madrid, writes: ‘He has a ravenous stomach, and swallows all he eats whole, for his nether jaw stands so much out that his two rows of teeth cannot meet; to compensate which, he has a prodigious wide throat, so that a gizzard or liver of a hen passes down whole, and his weak stomach not being able to digest it, he voids it in the same manner.’ Mahon's Spain under Charles II., London, 1840, p. 79; a very valuable collection of original documents, utterly unknown to any Spanish historian I have met with. Some curious notices of the appearance of Charles II. in his childhood may be seen published for the first time in Mignet's Négociations relatives à la Succession d'Espagne, Paris, 1835–1842, 4to. vol. i. pp. 294, 295, 310, 396, 404, 410, vol. ii. p. 130, vol. iii. pp. 418, 419, 423. See also vol. iv. p. 636, for an instance of his taciturnity, which was almost the only mark of sense he ever gave, ‘Le roi l'écouta, et ne lui répondit rien.’

[1246] ‘Le Roy demeuroit dans une profonde ignorance et de ses affaires et même des Etats de sa couronne; à peine connoissoit-il quelles étoient les places qui lui appartenoient hors du continent d'Espagne.’ … ‘La perte de Barcelone lui fut plus sensible qu'aucune autre, parce que cette ville, capitale de la Catalogne, et située dans le continent de l'Espagne, lui étoit plus connue que les villes de Flandre, dont il ignoroit l'importance au point de croire que Mons appartenoit au roi d'Angleterre, et de le plaindre lorsque le Roi fit la conquête de cette province.’ Mémoires du Marquis de Torcy, vol. i. pp. 19, 23, edit. Petitot, Paris, 1828.

[1247] ‘Fancying everything that is said or done to be a temptation of the devil, and never thinking himself safe but with his confessor, and two friars by his side, whom he makes lie in his chamber every night.’ Mahon's Spain under Charles II., p. 102. On account, no doubt, of this affection for monks, he is declared by a Spanish historian to have possessed a ‘corazon pio y religioso.’ Bacallar, Comentarios de la Guerra de España, vol. i. p. 20. The best notice of the exorcism will be found in Lafuente's Historia de España, vol. xvii. pp. 294–309, where there is an entire chapter, headed ‘Los Hechizos del Rey.’

[1248] ‘La foiblesse de l'Espagne ne permettoit pas à son roi de se ressentir du traitement dont il croyoit à propos de se plaindre.’ Mémoires de Torcy, vol. i. p. 81. Or, as an eminent native writer bitterly says, ‘Las naciones estrangeras disponiendo de la monarquia española como de bienes sin dueño.’ Tapia, Civilizacion Española, vol. iii. p. 187.

[1249]

‘This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise;
This fortress, built by nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war;
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands;
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth,
Renowned for their deeds as far from home,
For Christian service and true chivalry,
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son:
This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leas'd out, I die pronouncing it,
Like to a tenement or pelting farm.’

[1250] The Spanish theory of government is well stated in the following passage in Davila's Life of Philip III. The remarks apply to Philip II. ‘Que solo havia gobernado sin Validos ni Privados, tomando para sí solo, como primera causa de su gobierno, el mandar, prohibir, premiar, castigar, hacer mercedes, conocer sugetos, elegir Ministros, dar oficios, y tener como espiritu que andaba sobre las aguas, ciencia y providencia de todo, para que nada se hiciese sin su saber y querer: no serviendo los Ministros mas que de poner por obra (obedeciendo) lo que su Señor mandaba, velando sobre cada uno, como pastor de sus ovejas, para ver la verdad con que executan sus mandamientos y acuerdos.’ Davila, Historia de Felipe Tercero, lib. i. pp. 22, 23.

[1251] Even Philip II. always retained a certain ascendency over the ecclesiastical hierarchy, though he was completely subjugated by ecclesiastical prejudices. ‘While Philip was thus willing to exalt the religious order, already far too powerful, he was careful that it should never gain such a height as would enable it to overtop the royal authority.’ Prescott's History of Philip II., vol. iii. p. 235. ‘Pero este monarca tan afecto á la Inquisicion mientras le servia para sus fines, sabia bien tener á raya al Santo Oficio cuando intentaba invadir ó usurpar las preeminencias de la autoridad real, ó arrogarse un poder desmedido.’ Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. xv. p. 114.

[1252] ‘Por cuyo absoluto poderío se executaba todo.’ Yañez, Memorias para la Historia de Felipe III., Prologo, p. 150. ‘An absoluteness in power over king and kingdom.’ Letter from Sir Charles Cornwallis to the Lords of the Council in England, dated Valladolid, May 31, 1605, in Winwood's Memorials, vol. ii. p. 73, London, 1725, folio. ‘Porque no era fácil imaginar entónces, ni por fortuna se ha repetido el ejemplo después, que hubiera un monarca tan pródigo de autoridad, y al propio tiempo tan indolente, que por no tomarse siquiera el trabajo de firmar los documentos de Estado, quisiera dar á la firma de un vasalla suyo la misma autoridad que á la suya propia, y que advirtiera y ordenára, como ordenó Felipe III. á todos sus consejos, tribunales, y súbditos, que dieran á los despachos firmados por el duque de Lerma el mismo cumplimiento y obediencia, y los ejecutáran y guardáran con el mismo respeto que si fueran firmados por él.’ Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. xv. pp. 449, 450. ‘El duque de Lerma, su valído, era el que gobernaba el reino solo.’ vol. xvii. p. 332. His power lasted from 1598 to 1618. Ortiz, Compendio, vol. vi. pp. 290, 325.

[1253] Davila (Historia de Felipe Tercero, lib. ii. p. 41), after eulogizing the personal qualities of Lerma, adds, ‘Y sin estas grandes partes tuvo demostraciones christianas, manifestandolo en los conventos, iglesias, colegiatas, hospitales, ermitas y catedras, que dejó fundadas, en que gastó, como me consta de los libros de su Contaduría, un millon ciento cincuenta y dos mil doscientos ochenta y tres ducados.’ After such monstrous prodigality, Watson might well say, in his rather superficial, but, on the whole, well-executed History, that Lerma showed ‘the most devoted attachment to the church,’ and ‘conciliated the favour of ecclesiastics.’ Watson's History of Philip III., London, 1839, pp. 4, 8, 46, 224.

[1254] The only energy Philip III. ever displayed, was in seconding the efforts of his minister to extend the influence of the Church; and hence, according to a Spanish historian, he was ‘monarque le plus pieux parmi tous ceux qui out occupé le trône d'Espagne depuis saint Ferdinand.’ Sempère, Monarchie Espagnole, vol. i. p. 245. ‘El principal cuidado de nuestro Rey era tener á Dios por amigo, grangear y beneficiar su gracia, para que le asistiese propicio en quanto obrase y dixese. De aqui tuvieron principio tantos dones ofrecidos á Dios, tanta fundacion de Conventos, y favores hechos á Iglesias y Religiones.’ Davila, Historia de Felipe Tercero, lib. ii. p. 170. His wife, Margaret, was equally active. See Florez, Reynas Catholicas, vol. ii. pp. 915, 916. ‘Demas de los frutos que dió para el Cielo y para la tierra nuestra Reyna, tuvo otros de ambas lineas en fundaciones de Templos y obras de piedad para bien del Reyno y de la Iglesia. En Valladolid fundó el Convento de las Franciscas Descalzas. En Madrid trasladó á las Agustinas Recoletas de Santa Isabel desde la calle del Principe al sitio en que hoy estan. Protegió con sus limosnas la fundacion de la Iglesia de Carmelitas Descalzas de Santa Ana; y empezó á fundar el Real Convento de las Agustinas Recoletas con titulo de la Encarnacion en este misma Corte, cuya primera piedra se puso á 10 de Junio del 1611. En la parroquia de S. Gil junto al Palacio introdujo los Religiosos Franciscos, cuyo Convento persevera hoy con la misma advocacion.’ How the country fared, while all this was going on, we shall presently see.

[1255] The burden of the petition was, ‘Que se tratasse con mas veras de poner limite á los bienes, que se sacauan cada dia del braço Seglar al Eclesiastico, enflaqueciendo no tan solo el patrimonio Real, mas el comun, pues siendo aquel libre de pechos, contribuciones, y gauelas, alojamientos, huespedes, y otros grauamenes mayores, presidios, guerras, y soldados.’ … ‘Que las Religiones eran muchas, las Mendicantes en excesso, y el Clero en grande multitud. Que auia en España 9088 monasterios, aun no cõtando los de Monjas. Que yuan metiẽdo poco á poco, con dotaciones, cofradias, capellanias, o con cõpras, á todo el Reyno en su poder. Que se atajasse tanto mal. Que huuiesse numero en los frayles, moderacion en los Cõuentos, y aun en los Clerigos seglares.’ Cespedes, Historia de Don Felipe IV., Barcelona, 1634, fol. lib. vii. cap. 9, p. 272 rev. This is the only noticeable passage in an unusually dull chronicle, which, though professing to be a history of Philip IV., is confined to the first few years of his reign.

[1256] ‘En este año, que iba escribiendo esta Historia, tenian las Ordenes de Santo Domingo, y S. Francisco en España, treinta y dos mil Religiosos, y los Obispados de Calahorra y Pamplona veinte y quatro mil clerigos; pues qué tendran las demas Religiones, y los demas Obispados?’ Davila, Historia de Felipe Tercere, lib. ii. p. 215. See also cap. xcvii. pp. 248, 249; and, on the increase of convents, see Yañez, Memorias para la Historia de Felipe III., pp. 240, 268, 304, 305.

[1257] ‘The reign of Philip III., surnamed from his piety the Good, was the golden age of Churchmen. Though religious foundations were already too numerous, great additions were made to them; and in those which already existed, new altars or chancels were erected. Thus, the duke of Lerma founded seven monasteries and two collegiate churches; thus, also, the diocese of Calahorra numbered 18,000 chaplains, Seville 14,000. How uselessly the ministers of religion were multiplied, will appear still more clearly from the fact that the cathedral of Seville alone had a hundred, when half-a-dozen would assuredly have been sufficient for the public offices of devotion.’ Dunham's History of Spain, vol. v. p. 274. According to the passage quoted in note 93, from Davila, there were twenty-four thousand ‘clerigos’ in the two dioceses of Calahorra and Pamplona.

[1258] ‘Entre tanto crecia por instantes y se aumentaba prodigiosamente el poder y la autoridad de la Iglesia. Sus pingües riquezas desmembraban de una manera considerable las rentas de la corona; y el estado eclesiástico, que muchos abrazaron en un principio á consecuencia de las desgracias y calamidades de la época, fué despues el mas solicitado por las inmensas ventajas que ofrecia su condicion comparada con la de las clases restantes.’ Antequera, Historia de la Legislacion, pp. 223, 224. See also in Campomanes, Apendice á la Educacion, Madrid, 1775–1777, vol. i. p. 465, and vol. iv. p. 219, a statement made by the University of Toledo in 1619, or 1620, that ‘hay doblados religiosos, clerigos y estudiantes; porque ya no hallan otro modo de vivir, ni de poder sustentarse.’ If the eye of M. Lafuente had lighted upon this and other passages, which I shall shortly quote from contemporary observers, he would, I think, have expressed himself much more strongly than he has done respecting this period, in his recent brilliant, but unsatisfactory, History of Spain. On the great wealth of the convents in 1679, when the rest of the country was steeped in poverty, see a letter dated Madrid, July 25, 1679, in D'Aulnoy, Relation du Voyage d'Espagne, Lyon, 1693, vol. ii. p. 251. But the earliest evidence I have met with is in a letter, written in 1609, to Prince Henry of England, by Sir Charles Cornwallis, the English ambassador at Madrid. ‘The furniture of their churches here, and the riches and lustre of their sepulchres made in every monasterie (the general povertye of this kingdome considered), are almost incredible. The laity of this nation may say with Davyde (though in another sense), “Zelus domus tuæ comedit me:” for, assuredly, the riches of the Temporall hath in a manner all fallen into the mouthes and devouring throates of the Spiritual.’ Winwood's Memorials of Affairs of State, vol. iii. p. 10, London, 1725, folio.

[1259] ‘Deux millions de ducats, que le clergé possédait sous le règne de Charles V, étaient réputés comme un revenu exorbitant; et, un demi-siècle plus tard, lorsque ces revenus s'élevaient à huit millions, on qualifiat d'hérétique, toute proposition tendant à opérer quelque modification dans leur accroissement.’ Sempère, Monarchie Espagnole, vol. ii. p. 16.

[1260] In a work on Spanish literature which was published about seventy years ago, and which, at the time of its appearance, made considerable noise, this peculiarity is frankly admitted, but is deemed rather an honour to Spain than otherwise, inasmuch as that country, we are told, has produced philosophers who have gone much deeper into things than Bacon, Descartes, and Newton, who, no doubt, were clever men, but were nowise comparable to the great thinkers of the Peninsula. Such assertions, proceeding, not from some ignorant despiser of physical science, who contemns what he has never been at the pains to study, but from a really able and, in some respects, competent judge, are important for the history of opinion; and as the book is not very common, I will give two or three extracts. ‘Confiesan los Franceses con ingenuidad que Descartes fué un novelista: y con todo eso quieren hacerle pasar por el promotor de la filosofía en Europa, como si su filosofía se desemejase mucho de la que dominaba en las sectas de la antigüedad. Su tratádo “Del Metodo” es nada en comparacion de los libros “De la Corrupcion de las Artes” de Juan Luis Vives, que le antecedió buen número de años.’ Oracion Apologética por la España y su Mérito Literario por D. J. P. Forner, Madrid, 1786, p. xi. ‘No hemos tenido en los efectos un Cartesio, no un Neuton: démoslo de barato: pero hemos tenido justísimos legisladores y excelentes filósofos prácticos, que han preferido el inefable gusto de trabajar en beneficio de la humanidad á la ociosa ocupacion de edificar mundos imaginarios en la soledad y silencio de un gabinete.’ p. 12. ‘Nada se disputaba en España.’ p. 61. At p. 143 a comparison between Bacon and Vives; and the final decision, p. 146, that Vives enjoys ‘una gloriosa superioridad sobre todos los sabios de todos los siglos.’

[1261] The final profession was not made till 1616; but he began to wear the clothes in 1613. ‘Tal era su situacion el sábado santo 2 de abril’ [1616] ‘que por no poder salir de su casa hubieron de darle en ella la profesion de la venerable órden tercera de San Francisco, cuyo hábito habia tomado en Alcalá, el dia 2 de julio de 1613.’ Navarrete, Vida de Cervantes, p. cii. prefixed to Don Quijote, Barcelona, 1839. Even in 1609, says Navarrete, (p. lxii.), ‘Se ha creido que entónces se incorporó tambien Cervantes, como lo hizo Lope de Vega, en la congregacion del oratorio del Caballero de Gracia, mientras que su muger y su hermana doña Andrea se dedicaban á semejantes ejercicios de piedad en la venerable órden tercera de San Francisco, cuyo hábito recibieron en 8 de junio del mismo año.’

[1262] Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature, vol. ii. pp. 125, 126, 137, 147, 148.

[1263] Ibid. vol. ii. p. 374. Biographie Universelle, vol. xxx. pp. 149, 150.

[1264] Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature, vol. ii. pp. 276, 327.

[1265] Ticknor, vol. ii. p. 327.

[1266] Bouterwek's History of Spanish Literature, vol. i. p. 525. But the best account is that given by his biographer, who assures us of two facts; that he received ‘todas las órdenes sagradas,’ and that he was ‘devotísimo de María santísima.’ Vida de Solis, p. 15, prefixed to Solis, Historia de la Conquista de Mejico, edit. Paris, 1844.

[1267] Biographie Universelle, vol. xl. p. 319.

[1268] ‘Sacerdote soy.’ Davila, Historia de la Vida de Felipe Tercero, lib. ii. p. 215.

[1269] Biographie Universelle, vol. xxvii. p. 42.

[1270] Ibid. vol. xxix. p. 80.

[1271] Ibid. vol. vii. p. 219.

[1272] Ibid. vol. ii. p. 293.

[1273] Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature, vol. iii. p. 177.

[1274] Ibid. vol. ii. p. 491, vol. iii. pp. 117, 118.

[1275] Sismondi's Literature of the South of Europe, vol. ii. p. 348, London, 1846.

[1276] ‘Pero en fin murio Don Andres Martinez, y sucediole en la Canongia nuestro Bartholome.’ Pellicer, Ensayo de una Bibliotheca, Madrid, 1778, 4to. p. 94. This was the younger Argensola.

[1277] Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature, vol. ii. p. 486.

[1278] ‘Occupied a high place in the Inquisition.’ Ticknor, vol. ii. p. 507. ‘Prit les ordres, et obtint un canonicat.‘**RSQU

Biographie Univ. vol. xxxviii. p. 120.]

[1279] In 1663 Philip IV. ‘le honró con otra Capellanía de honor en su real Capilla.’ Vida de Calderon, p. iv., prefixed to Las Comedias de Calderon, edit. Keil, Leipsique, 1827.

[1280] ‘Calderon is, in fact, the true poet of the Inquisition. Animated by a religious feeling, which is too visible in all his pieces, he inspires me only with horror for the faith which he professes.’ Sismondi's Literature of the South of Europe, vol. ii. p. 379. Compare Lewes on the Spanish Drama, pp. 176–179.

[1281] Salfi says, ‘Calderon de la Barca excite encore plus une sorte d'indignation, malgré son génie dramatique, qui le mit audessus de Vega, son prédécesseur. En lisant ses drames sans prévention, vous diriez qu'il a voulu faire servir son talent uniquement à confirmer les préjugés et les superstitions les plus ridicules de sa nation.’ Ginguenè, Histoire Littéraire d'Italie, vol. xii. p. 499, Paris, 1834.

[1282] ‘Entró en el año de 1622 á ser Relator del Consejo de la General Inquisicion, cuyo empleo servió y desempeñó con todo honor muchos años.’ And he declared, ‘en esta clausula de su Testamento: “Y por quanto yo y mis hermanos y toda nuestra familia nos hemos sustentado, autorizado y puesto en estado con las honras y mercedes, que nos ha hecho el santo Oficio de la Inquisicion, á quien hemos servido como nuestros antepassados; encargo afectuosissimamente á todos mis successores le sean para siempre los mas respetuosos servidores y criados, viviendo en ocupacion de su santo servido, procurando adelantarse y señalarse en él, quanto les fuere possible, en qualquiera de sus ministerios; pues todos son tan dignos de estimacion y veneracion.”’ La Mosquea, por Villaviciosa, Prologo, pp. x.–xii., edit. Madrid, 1777.

[1283] ‘Hardly a convent or a saint of any note in Spain, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, failed of especial commemoration; and each of the religious orders and great cathedrals had at least one historian, and most of them several. The number of books on Spanish ecclesiastical history, is, therefore, one that may well be called enormous.’ Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature, vol. iii. p. 132. Forner assures us, somewhat needlessly, of what no one ever doubted, that ‘los estudios sagrados jamas decayéron en España.’ Forner, Oracion Apologética, Madrid, 1786, p. 141.

[1284] In 1623, Howell writes from Madrid: ‘Such is the reverence they bear to the church here, and so holy a conceit they have of all ecclesiastics, that the greatest Don in Spain will tremble to offer the meanest of them any outrage or affront.’ Howell's Letters, edit. London, 1754, p. 138. ‘The reverence they show to the holy function of the church is wonderful; Princes and Queens will not disdain to kiss a Capuchin's sleeve, or the surplice of a priest’ … ‘There are no such sceptics and cavillers there, as in other places.’ p. 496. In 1669, another observer writes: ‘En Espagne les Religieux sont les maîtres, et l'emportent partout où ils se trouvent.’ Voyages faits en divers Temps en Espagne, Amsterdam, 1700, p. 35. And, to quote one more authority, the following picture is given of Spanish society in the reign of Philip IV.: ‘No habia familia con quien no estuvieran entroncados los frailes por amistad ó parentesco; ni casa que les cerrara sus puertas; ni conversacion en que no se les cediera la palabra; ni mesa en que no se les obligara á ocupar la primera silla; ni resolucion grave entre ricos ó pobres que se adoptara sin su consejo; y si no tomaban parte en ellas, las satisfacciones domésticas no eran cabales.’ Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. i. p. 94.

[1285] ‘Le cardinal de Richelieu, qui n'étoit pas très-susceptible de pitié, l'appelle “le plus hardi et le plus barbare conseil dont l'histoire de tous les siècles précédens fasse mention.”’ Sismondi, Histoire des Français, vol. xxii. p. 163, Paris, 1839.

[1286] ‘Porque los Reyes queriendo, que en todo el Reino fuesen Christianos, embiaron á Frai Francisco Ximenez, que fue Arzobispo de Toledo i Cardenal, para que los persuadiese. Mas ellos, gente dura, pertinaz, nuevamente conquistada, estuvieron recios,’ Mendoza, Guerra de Granada que hizo Felipe II. contra los Moriscos, Valencia, 1776, 4to. p. 10. The author of this book was born early in the sixteenth century, at Granada, where he lived for a considerable period.

[1287] ‘L'année 1526 vit donc disparaître dans toutes les parties de l'Espagne les signes extérieurs de l'islamisme.’ Circourt, Hist. des Arabes d'Espagne, Paris, 1846, vol. ii. p. 220. M. Lafuente (Historia de España, vol. x. p. 132) says of 1502, that ‘desde entónces, por primera vez al cabo de ocho siglos, no quedo un solo habitante en España que esteriormente diera culto á Mahoma:’ but in vol. xi. p. 447, he says that, in 1524, ‘volvieron inmediatamente á sus ritos y ceremonias muslímicas.’ As M. de Circourt was well acquainted with all the materials used by M. Lafuente, and is, moreover, a much more critical writer, it seems likely that his statement is the correct one.

[1288] ‘Ces malheureux auraient tous été exterminés, s'ils n'avaient consenti à recevoir le baptême. Au milieu des décombres de leurs maisons, sur les cadavres fumans de leurs femmes, ils s'agenouillèrent. Les germanos, ivres de sang, firent l'office de prêtres; l'un d'eux prit un balai, aspergea la foule des musulmans, en prononçant les paroles sacramentelles, et crut avoir fait des chrétiens. L'armée des germanos se répandit ensuite dans le pays environnant, saccageant d'abord, baptisant après.’ Circourt, Histoire des Arabes d'Espagne, vol. ii. p. 175. See also p. 202.

[1289] That was their general name; but, in Aragon, they were termed ‘“tornadizos,” en lenguage insultante.’ Janer, Condición de los Moriscos de España, Madrid, 1857, p. 26.

[1290] ‘Recibieron el Sacramento por comodidad, no de voluntad, y asi encubrian todo lo possible el viuir y morir en la secta de Mahoma, siendo infieles apostatas.’ Vanderhammen's Filipe Segundo, p. 12. ‘Porque la Inquisicion los comenzó á apretar mas de lo ordinario.’ Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 20. ‘Poner nuevo cuidado i diligencia en descubrir los motivos destos hombres,’ p. 26. And yet this very writer has the impudence to declaim against Mohammedanism as a cruel religion. ‘Cruel i abominable religion aplacar á Dios con vida i sangre innocente!’ pp. 107, 108.

[1291] Vanderhammen (Filipe Segundo, p. 12, Madrid, 1632) merely tells us that ‘Por cedula el año sesenta y seis les mandó dexassen el habito, lengua y costumbres de Moros, y fuessen Christianos y lo pareciessen.’ But the exact provisions were, ‘Que dentro de tres años aprendiesen los moriscos á hablar la lengua castellana, y de allí adelante ninguno pudiese hablar, leer ni escriber arábigo en publico ni en secreto: que todos los contratos que se hiciesen en arábigo fuesen nulos: que todos los libros así escritos los llevasen en término de treinta dias al presidente de la audiencia de Granada para que los mandase examinar, devolviendoseles aquellos que no ofrecieran inconveniente para que los pudiesen guardar solo durante los tres años: que no se hicieran de nuevo marlotas, almalafas, calzas ni otra suerte de vestidos de los que se usaban en tiempos de moros; que durante este tiempo, las mujeres vestidas á la morisca llevarian la cara descubierta; que no usasen de las ceremonias ni de los regocijos moros en las bodas, sino conforme al uso de la Santa Madre Iglesia, abriendo las puertas de sus casas en tales dias, y tambien en los de fiesta, no haciendo zambras ni leylas con instrumentos ni cantares moriscos, aunque no dijesen en ellos cosas contraria á la religion cristiana,’ &c. Janer, Condicion de los Moriscos, pp. 31, 32, where other particulars will be found, which should be compared with Circourt, Histoire des Arabes d'Espagne, vol. ii. pp. 278, 283, 459–463.

[1292] Some of the other steps which were taken, before 1566, to affront the Moriscoes are enumerated in Prescott's History of Philip II., vol. iii. p. 10, and elsewhere. In the reign of Charles V., there were many acts of local tyranny which escape the general historian. One of them, on the part of the Bishop of Guadix, is worth quoting. ‘On le vit pousser l'intolérance jusqu'à faire raser les femmes et les obliger à racler leurs ongles pour en faire disparaître les traces du henné, cosmétique inoffensif dont il abhorrait l'usage, en raison de ce que les Arabes l'avaient introduit.’ Circourt, Histoire des Arabes d'Espagne, vol. ii. p. 226.

[1293] Its concluding scene, in March, 1571, is skilfully depicted in Prescott's History of Philip III., vol. iii. pp. 148–151. The splendid courage of the Moriscoes is attested by Mendoza in his contemporary history of the war; but, in narrating the horrible outrages which they undoubtedly committed, he makes no allowance for the long-continued and insufferable provocations which they had received from the Spanish Christians. What he mentions of one of the battles is curious, and I do not remember to have seen it elsewhere recorded. ‘Fue porfiado por ambas partes el combate hasta venir á las espadas, de que los Moros se aprovechan menos que nosotros, por tener las suyas un filo i no herir ellos de punta.’ Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, edit. 4to. Valencia, 1776, p. 168.

[1294] An instance of this was exhibited in 1578, on the very day in which Philip III. was born. ‘Predicando en un lugar de Aragon, todo de Moriscos, llamado Ricla, ó Torrellas, un religioso, llamado Vargas, el mismo dia que nació su Magestad, viendo el poco fruto que hacia con sus sermones, dixo, como en Profecia, á aquella gente rebelde: Pues no quereis despedir de vuestros pechos esta infernal secta, sabed, que ha nacido en Castilla vn Principe que os ha de echar de España.’ Porreño, Dichos y Hechos de Phelipe III., in Yañez, Memorias, Madrid, 1723, p. 224; and nearly the same words in Janer, Condicion de los Moriscos, p. 60. Mr. Prescott, in his History of Philip II., vol. iii. p. 139, quotes a Ms. letter from Don John of Austria to Philip II., written in 1570, and stating that the Spanish monks were openly preaching against the leniency with which the king treated the Moriscoes. ‘Predicando en los púlpitos publicamente contra la benignidad y clemencia que V. M. ha mandado usar con esta gente.’

[1295] In a recent work of considerable authority, it is denied that Philip II. entertained the desire of expelling the Moriscoes. ‘El carácter austero y la severidad de Felipe II. redundaban en favor de los moriscos, porque no daba oidos á las instigaciones de algunos personajes que señalaban la expulsion general como unico remedio eficaz para los males que ofrecia al pais aquella desventurada raza. Acababa el monarca de tocar los tristes resultados de una emigracion por las funestas consecuencias de la despoblacion del reino granadino, y preferia continuar en la senda de la conciliacion, procurando de nuevo la enseñanza de los conversos.’ Janer, Condicion de los Moriscos, Madrid, 1857, p. 59. But to say nothing of the fact that this is contrary to all we know of the character of Philip, we have, on the other side of the question, the testimony of Archbishop Ribera, who had often communicated with the King on the subject, and who distinctly states that Philip desired the expulsion of the Moors from Spain, ‘El hechar los Moros deste Reyno, ha sido cosa muy desseada, y procurada por los Reyes Predecessores del Rey nuestro Señor, aunque no executada.’ … ‘El Rey Don Felipe Segundo, nuestro Señor, despues de suceder en estos Reynos, tuvo el mismo desseo; y assi mandó, que se juntassen los Prelados deste Reyno para buscar remedio el año de 1568; siendo Arçobispo desta Metropoli el Reverendissimo Don Hernando de Lloazes. Hizieronse en aquella Junta algunas Constituciones de consideracion. Visto que no aprovechaban, mandó el año 1587 que se hiziesse otra Junta, en la qual me hallé yo: añadimos tambien algunas nuevas Constituciones. Y constando á su Magestad que no eran bastantes las diligencias passadas, y que siempre perseveraban en su heregia, se resolvio de mandarlos hechar del Reyno, ó por lo menos meterlos dentro de la tierra.’ Ximenez, Vida de Ribera, Roma, 1734, 4to. pp. 419, 420. This important passage is decisive as to the real feelings of Philip, unless we assume that Ribera has stated a deliberate falsehood. But, strange to say, even the book in which so remarkable a passage is contained, appears to be unknown either to M. Janer or to M. Lafuente.

[1296] ‘El rey Felipe III., hombre de rudo ingenio, se dejaba gobernar con facilidad por aquellos que sabiendo los temores de su conciencia, se aprovechaban de su imbecilidad para conseguir cuanto querian. Muchos eclesiásticos, recordando las espulsiones de judios y moros ejecutadas de órden de Fernando é Isabel, y conociendo que á Felipe III. seria agradable imitar á estos monarcas, le aconsejaron que condenase al destierro á todos los moriscos que vivian en sus reynos; pues no solo se obstinaban en seguir la ley mahometana, sino que tenían tratos con los turcos y entre sí para buscar sus libertades por medio del rigor de las armas.’ Castro, Decadencia de España, Cadiz, 1852, pp. 101, 102.

[1297] These memorials are printed in the Appendix to his Life by Ximenez. See the very curious book, entitled Vida y Virtudes del Venerable Siervo de Dios D. Juan de Ribera, por el R. P. Fr. Juan Ximenez, Roma, 1734, 4to. pp. 367–374, 376–393. This work is, I believe, extremely rare; at all events, I endeavoured in vain to obtain a copy from Spain or Italy, and, after some years' unsuccessful search, I met with the one I now have, on a London book-stall. M. de Circourt, in his learned History of the Spanish Arabs, does not appear to have been aware of its existence, and he complains that he could not procure the works of Ribera, whose Memorials he consequently quotes second-hand. Circourt, Histoire des Arabes d'Espagne, Paris, 1846, vol. iii. pp. 168, 351. Nor does Watson seem to have known it; though both he and M. de Circourt refer to Escriva's Life of Ribera. Watson's Philip III., London, 1839, pp. 214–221. An abstract of these Memorials is given by Geddes, who, though a learned and accurate writer, had the mischievous habit of not indicating the sources of his information. Geddes' Tracts, London, 1730, vol. i. pp. 60–71.

[1298] ‘Por lo qual se puede creer, que nuestro Señor ha querido reservar esta obra tan digna de pecho Real para Vuestra Magestad, como reservó la libertad e su pueblo para Moyses, la entrada de la Tierra de Promission para Josue, la vengança de la injuria antigua de los Amalequitas para Saul, y la victoria de los Filisteos para David.’ Ximenez, Vida de Ribera, p. 370. Again, p. 377: ‘Y al primer Rey que tuvo el Mundo, en siendo elegido por Dios, y confirmado en su Reyno, le embia á mandar por un Propheta que destruya á los Amalequitas, sin dexar hombres, ni mugeres, ni niños, aunque sean de leche, en fin que no quede rastro de ellos, ni des sus haziendas. Y porque no cumplió exactamente su mandamiento, cayó en indignacion de Dios, y fue privado del Reyno. Al segundo Rey, que fue David, le mandó Dios en siendo jurado, que destruyesse los Philisteos, como lo hizo.’

[1299] ‘El año quando se perdio la poderosa Armada, que iba á Inglaterra, confiado de la benignidad del Rey nuestro Señor, que está en el Cielo, me atreví con el zelo de fiel vassallo y Capellán, á dezir á Su Magestad; que aviendo gastado mucho tiempo en discurrir, que causa podia aver para que Dios, nuestro Señor, permitiesse aquel mal sucesso se me havia ofrecido una cosa de mucha consideracion, y era, querer dezir la Magestad Divina á Su Magestad Catolica; que mientras no ponia remedio en estas Heregias de España, cuyos Reynos le avia encomendado, no se debía ocupar en remediar las de los Beynos agenos. Y ahora confiando en la misma benignidad, y clemencia de Vuestra Magestad, me atrevo tambien á dezir, que aviendo considerado la causa, porque Dios nos ha quitado de las manos la toma de Argel, aviendose dispuesto todas las prevenciones para ella con la mayor prudencia, y sagacidad, que hemos visto en nuestros tiempos, y sirviendonos el mar, y los ayres, y las ocasiones, de la manera, que podiamos dessear, tengo por sin duda, que ha sido, querer nuestro Señor dar á Vuestra Magestad el ultimo recuerdo de la obligacion, que tiene, de resolver esta platica.’ Ximenez, Vida de Ribera, p. 373. It would be a pity if such admirable specimens of theological reasoning were to remain buried in an old Roman quarto. I congratulate myself and the reader on my acquisition of this volume, which is a vast repertory of powerful, though obsolete, weapons.

[1300] ‘Todas estas cosas, y otras muchas, que dexo de dezir, por no ser prolixo, me hazen evidencia, de que conviene para el servicio de Dios nuestro Señor, y que Vuestra Magestad está obligado en conciencia, como Rey, y Supremo Señor, á quien toca de justicia defender, y conservar sus Reynos, mandar desterrar de España todos estos Moriscos, sin que quede hombre, ni muger grande, ni pequeño; reservando tan solamente los niños, y niñas, que no llegaren á siete años, para que se guarden entre nosotros, repartien dolos por las casas particulares de Christianos viejos. Y aun hay opinion de personas doctas, que estos tales niños y niñas, los puede Vuestra Magestad dar por esclavos, y lo fundan con razones probables.’ Ximenez, Vida de Ribera, pp. 379, 380. ‘Destos que se han de desterrar, podra Vuestra Magestad tomarlos que fuere servido por esclavos, para proveer sus Galeras, ó para embiar á las minas de las Indias, sin escrupulo alguno de conciencia, lo que tambien será de no poca utilidad.’ p. 384. To do this, was to be merciful; for they all deserved capital punishment, ‘merecian pena capital.’ p. 381.

[1301] ‘Aora, Catolica Magestad, vemos que Dios nuestro Señor ha reservado para Vuestra Magestad, y para su Real Corona, el nombre, y hechos de Rey Catholico: permitiendo por sus secretos juizios, que los que han sido siempre enemigos de su Iglesia se conserven, y que los que antes eran Catholicos, ayan degenerado, y apostatado de su santa ley y assi va la honra de Dios nuestro Señor, y el exemplo, y confusion de los otros Reyes, en que Vuestra Magestad tenga sus Reynos limpios de Hereges, y principalmente á España. Y quando esto huviesse de costar grandes trabajos, y todo el oro, y plata, que hay en las Indias, estaria muy bien empleado: pues se atraviessa la honra de Dios, la de su Santa Iglesia, el antiguo renombre desta Corona,’ &c. Ximenez, Vida de Ribera, p. 382. And on the neglect of duty by Charles V. and Philip II., see p. 370.

[1302] ‘The most powerful promoter of their expulsion was Don Bernardo de Roias y Sandoval, Cardinal Archbishop of Toledo, and Inquisitor-General and Chancellor of Spain. This great prelate, who was brother to the Duke of Lerma, by whom the king for some years before, and for some years after the expulsion was absolutely governed, was so zealous to have the whole race of the Moriscoes extinguished, that he opposed the detaining of their children who were under seven years of age, affirming that of the two he judged it more advisable to cut the throats of all the Moriscoes, men, women, and children, than to have any of their children left in Spain, to defile the true Spanish blood with a mixture of the Moorish.’ Geddes' Tracts, vol. i. pp. 85, 86. Navarrete has pronounced a glowing eulogy upon the piety and other noble qualities of this prelate; and says that ‘llenando de esplendor con su virtud tres sillas episcopales, mereció que Clemente VIII. le honrase con el capelo, y fué elevado á la primada de Toledo y al empleo de inquisidor general.’ Vida de Cervantes, pp. xcvii., xcviii., Barcelona, 1839.

[1303] ‘He did assure all the old Christian laity, that whenever the king should give the word, they might, without any scruple of conscience, cut the throats of all the Moriscoes, and not spare any of them upon their professing themselves Christians; but to follow the holy and laudable example of the Croisado that was raised against the Albigenses, who, upon their having made themselves masters of the city of Bezeir; wherein were two hundred thousand Catholics and hereticks, did ask Father Arnold, a Cistercian monk, who was their chief preacher, “Whether they should put any to the sword that pretended to be Catholics;” and were answered by the holy Abbot, “That they should kill all without distinction, and leave it to God, who knew his own, to reward them for being true Catholics in the next world;” which was accordingly executed.’ Geddes, vol. i. p. 84.

[1304] ‘“Grande resolucion!” contestó el débil monarca al ministro favorito: “hacedlo vos, duque.”’ Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. xv. p. 375. But this reply, so far from being a mark of weakness on the part of Philip, was a strictly logical application of the principles which he entertained, and which, indeed, were almost universal in Spain. We know from his contemporary biographer, that ‘Determinó el Rey en los principios de su Reynado, como Rey tan poderoso y Catolico, de consagrar y dedicar à Dios la potencia de sus Consejos y Armas para extinguir y acabar los enemigos de la Iglesia Santa.’ Davila, Historia de la Vida de Felipe Tercero, lib. i. p. 44.

[1305] This is the average estimate. Some authors make it less, and some more; while one writer says, ‘The numbers expelled have been estimated at four hundred thousand families, or two millions of souls.’ Clarke's Internal State of Spain, London, 1818, p. 33. But this is incredible. M. Castro (Decadencia de España, Cadiz, 1852, p. 105) says, ‘España perdió en los moriscos un millon de habitantes;’ and M. Janer (Condicion de los Moriscos, Madrid, 1857, p. 93), ‘Sin entrar en cálculos sobre los que habia cuando se expidio el edicto de Valencia en 1609, ni sobre los que fenecieron en las rebeliones, de mano armada, de sed, de hambre ó ahogados, creemos poder fijar, aproximadamente, en novecientos mil los que llegaron á poner el pie fuera de la península, despidiéndose para siempre de las costas y fronteras de España, cuya cifra deducimos del exámen y contexto de unos y otros escritores, de las listas que nos han quedado de los expulsos, de los datos de diversas relaciones, estados y documentos examinados con este solo intento;’ and further on, p. 105, ‘la expulsion de un millon, ó novecientos mil de sus habitantes.’ Llorente (Histoire de l'Inquisition, vol. iii. p. 430, Paris, 1818) says, ‘un million d'habitans utiles et laborieux;’ Ximenez (Vida de Ribera, Roma, 1734, 4to. p. 70), ‘novecientos mil;’ and Boisel, who was in Spain, fifty years after the expulsion, and collected the traditionary evidence, says, ‘Il sortit neuf cens tant de mille hommes de compte fait, de Valence, d'Andalousie, et de Castille.’ Boisel, Journal du Voyage d'Espagne, Paris, 1669, 4to. p. 275.

[1306] Watson's Philip III., pp. 234–235. Davila, Vida de Felipe III., p. 146. Yañez, Memorias para la Historia de Felipe III., pp. 281, 290. Janer, Condicion de los Moriscos, pp. 83, 84, 90. Some particulars respecting their expulsion may also be seen in Cottington's Letters from Madrid, which were written in 1609, but are of very little value. Winwood's Memorials of Affairs of State, vol. iii. pp. 73, 91, 103, 118, London, folio, 1725.

[1307] In a contemporary sermon in commemoration of their expulsion, the preacher joyfully exclaims, ‘Pues, que mayor honra podemos tener en este Reyno, que ser todos los que vivimos en el, fieles á Dios, y al Rey, sin compañia de estos Hereges y traydores?’ Ximenez, Vida de Ribera, p. 423. Another clergyman cries out, ‘Al fin salieron estos, y quedó la tierra libre de la infamia de este gente.’ Davila, Vida de Felipe Tercero, p. 149. See also p. 151. ‘Y es digno de poner en consideracion el zelo que los Reyes de España tuvieron en todo tiempo de sustentar la Fé Catolica; pues en diferentes expulsiones que han hecho, han sacado de sus Reynos tres millones de Moros, y dos millones de Judios, enemigos de nuestra Iglesia.’

[1308] See the sermon by the Archbishop of Valencia, printed at length in the Appendix to Ximenez, Vida de Ribera, pp. 411–428. I would fain quote it all, but the reader must be content with part of the peroration, pp. 426, 427. ‘Entre las felizidades, que cuenta el Espiritu Santo que tuvieron los hijos de Israel en el govierno del Rey Salomon, es una; que vivian los hombres seguros, durmiendo á la sombra de su parra, y de su higuera, sin tener de quien temer. Assi estaremos en este Reyno de aqui adelante, por la misericordia de nuestro Señor, y paternal providencia de Su Magestad, todo nos sobrará, y la misma tierra se fertilizará y dará fruto de bendicion. Brocardico es, de que todos usabades, diziendo que despues, que estos se bautizaron, no se avia visto un año fertil; aora todos lo seran, porque las heregias y blasfemias de estos tenian esterilizada, abrasada, y inficionada la tierra, como dixo el Real Propheta David, con tantos pecados y abominaciones.’ … ‘Y edificarán en las tierras, que antes eran desiertas, plantando viñas, y bebiendo el vino de ellas, y sembrarán huertas, y comeran del fruto de los arboles, que han plantado, y nunca seran hechados de sus casas, dize Dios. Todo esto promete nuestro Señor por dos Prophetas suyos. Todo (digo otra vez) nos sobrará.’ All this was to happen to the people; while, as to the king, he, in the same sermon, p. 416, is likened to David; and it was declared by another high authority, that his expulsion of the Moriscoes was so great an exploit (‘hazaña’), that ‘durára su memoria por los venideros siglos.’ Porreño, in Yañez, Memorias para Felipe III., p. 281.

[1309] ‘Amidst the devout exultation of the whole kingdom,—Cervantes, Lope de Vega, and others of the principal men of genius then alive, joining in the general jubilee.’ Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature, vol. i. pp. 428, 429. Compare Dunlop's Memoirs, vol. i. p. 16. Porreño says that it may be placed among the seven wonders of the world; ‘la podemos poner entre las siete maravillas del mundo.’ Yañez, Memorias, p. 297: and Davila (Vida de Felipe Tercero, lib. ii. cap. 41, p. 139) pronounces it to be the most glorious achievement which had been seen since the days of Pelayo. All this is natural enough; but what is really curious is, to trace the modern remains of this feeling. Campomanes (Apendice á la Educacion Popular, vol. iv. p. 130, Madrid, 1777), a very able man, and far more liberal than most of his countrymen, is not ashamed to speak of ‘la justa expulsion de los moriscos desde 1610 á 1613.’ Ortiz, in 1801, expresses himself with more hesitation, but is evidently in favour of a measure which liberated Spain from ‘la perniciosa semilla de Mahoma que restaba en ella.’ Compendio de la Historia de España, vol. vi. pp. 304, 305. Nay, even in 1856, the great modern historian of Spain, while admitting the serious material injury which this horrible crime inflicted on the country, assures us that it had the ‘immense advantage’ of producing religious unity; unable to perceive that the very unity of which he boasts, generates an acquiescence and stagnation of mind fatal to all real improvement, because it prevents that play and collision of opinions by which the wits of men are sharpened and made ready for use, ‘Con la expulsion se completó el principio de la unidad religiosa en España, que fué un bien inmenso, pero se consumó la ruina de la agricultura, que fué un inmenso mal.’ Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. xvii. p. 340, Madrid, 1856. And, the year after this sagacious sentiment had been given to the world, another eminent Spaniard, in a work crowned by the Royal Academy of History, went still further, and declared, that not only did the expulsion of the Moriscoes cause great benefit by securing unity of creed, but that such unity was ‘necessary on the Spanish soil.’ ‘Y si bajo el aspecto económico reprobamos semejante medida por la influencia perniciosa que tuvo desde el momento de dictarse, la imparcialidad de historiadores nos obliga á respetarla por los inmensos bienes que produjo en el órden religioso y en el órden político.’ … ‘La unidad religiosa era necesaria en el suelo español.’ Janer, Condicion Social de los Moriscos de España, Madrid, 1857, pp. 110, 114. What are we to think of a country in which these opinions are expressed, not by some obscure fanatic, from the platform or the pulpit, but by able and learned men, who promulgate them with all the authority of their position, being themselves deemed, if anything, rather too bold and too liberal for the people to whom they address their works?

[1310] ‘Los moros eran muy diestros en todo lo que mira á obras de agua.’ Campomanes, Apendice á la Educacion Popular, vol. iii. p. cvii. ‘The Moors were the most intelligent agriculturists Spain ever had.’ Laborde's Spain, vol. ii. p. 216. Even Jovellanos admits that ‘except in the parts occupied by the Moors, the Spaniards were almost totally unacquainted with the art of irrigation.’ Clarke's Internal State of Spain, p. 116. See also Circourt, Arabes d'Espagne, vol. i. p. 255, vol. ii. p. 12, vol. iii. pp. 162, 222; Bourgoing, Tableau de l'Espagne, vol. ii. pp. 170, 171; and Townsend's Spain, vol. iii. p. 74. Remains of their splendid aqueducts still exist. Hoskins' Spain, vol. i. pp. 120, 125, 291, 292. Compare Spain by an American, vol. ii. p. 112 with L'Estat de l'Espagne, Genève, 1681, p. 399.

[1311] Compare Janer, Condicion de los Moriscos, pp. 47, 48, with Campomanes, Apendice á la Educacion Popular, vol. iii. p. xxii., and Dunlop's Memoirs, vol. i. p. 13.

[1312] The more sensible among the Spaniards notice, with regret, this national contempt for every form of useful industry. See Campomanes, Educacion Popular, p. 128, and Sempere, Monarchie Espagnole, vol. ii. pp. 277, 278. A traveller in Spain in 1669, says of the people, ‘ils méprisent tellement le travail, que la plûpart des artisans sont étrangers.’ Voyages faits en divers Temps par M. M****, Amsterdam, 1700, p. 80. Another traveller, between 1693 and 1695, says, they ‘think it below the dignity of a Spaniard to labour and provide for the future.’ Travels by a Gentleman (by Bromley?), London, 1702, p. 35. A third observer, in 1679, assures us that ‘ils souffrent plus aisément la faim et les autres nécessitez de la vie, que de travailler, disent-ils, comme des mercenaires, ce qui n'appartient qu'à des esclaves.’ D'Aulnoy, Relation du Voyage d'Espagne, Lyon, 1693, vol. ii. pp. 369, 370. For further illustrations of this, see Labat, Voyages en Espagne, Paris, 1730, vol. i. pp. 285, 286. Capmany, Qüestiones Criticas, pp. 43, 49, 50. Laborde's Spain, vol. i. p. i. Ranke's Spanish Empire, p. 103. Townsend's Journey through Spain, vol. ii. pp. 240, 241.

[1313] ‘Pudo, pues, decirse con razon de nuestra patria, que de Arabia Feliz se habia convertido en Arabia Desierta, y de Valencia en particular, que el bello jardin de España se habia convertido en páramo seco y deslucido. Dejóse en breve sentir en todas partes el azote del hambre; y al alegre bullicio de las poblaciones sucedió el melancólico silencio de los despoblados, y al frecuente cruzar de los labradores y trajineros por los caminos siguió el peligroso encuentro de los salteadores que los infestaban, abrigándose en las ruinas de los pueblos desiertos.’ Janer, Condicion de los Moriscos, p. 100. See also Dunlop's Memoirs, vol. i. p. 16. Campomanes says, ‘El gran número de artesanos, que salieron con la expulsion de los moriscos, causó un golpe mortal á las manufacturas, y á la labranza.’ Apendice á la Educacion Popular, vol. i. p. 13. And p. 268, ‘El punto de decadencia de nuestras manufacturas, puede fixarse desde el año de 1609, en que tubo principio la expulsion de los Moriscos.’

[1314] ‘Sur la carte d'Espagne, en mille endroits est inscrit ce funeste mot, despoblado; en mille endroits la nature sauvage a repris la place des cultures. Étudiez la direction des despoblados, et consultez les registres des commissaires de l'expulsion, vous verrez presque toujours que les familles morisques couvraient ces solitudes. Leur patrimoine abandonné forma le domaine des voleurs, qui établirent avec une sorte de sécurité leurs correspondances effrontées à travers toute l'Espagne. Le brigandage s'organisa comme une profession ordinaire; et la contrebande, sa compagne, leva le front avec autant d'audace, autant de succès.’ Circourt, Histoire des Arabes d'Espagne, vol. iii. pp. 227, 228.

[1315] ‘Declinó pues muy sensiblemente la vasta monarquía, y callaron atonitos los historiadores, como huyendo la necesidad de traer á la memoria lo que veian y apenas creian. Enmudeció pues la historia de España en los dos reynados de Felipe IV. y Carlos II. viendo continuaba nuestra decadencia, hasta quedar España al nivel de los menos poderosos Estados de Europa. Este silencio nos ha privado de saber no solo las causas de nuestra decadencia, sino tambien de los acontecimientos civiles y militares del siglo xvii.’ Ortiz, Compendio de la Historia de España, vol. vi., Prologo, p. i. No attempt was made to supply the deficiency complained of by Ortiz, until 1856, when M. Lafuente published, in Madrid, the sixteenth and seventeenth volumes of his History of Spain, which contain the reigns of Philip IV. and Charles II. Of this work, I have no desire to speak disrespectfully; on the contrary, it is impossible to read it without interest, on account of the admirable clearness with which the different topics are arranged, and also on account of its beautiful style, which reminds us of the best days of Castilian prose. But I feel constrained to say, that, as a history, and especially as a history which undertakes to investigate the causes of the decline of Spain, it is a complete failure. In the first place, M. Lafuente has not emancipated himself from those very prejudices to which the decline of his country is owing. And, in the second place, he has, particularly in the reigns of Philip IV. and Charles II., not used sufficient diligence in searching for materials for studying the economical changes through which Spain has passed. Looking too intently at the surface, he mistakes symptoms for causes; so that the real history of the Spanish people every where escapes his grasp. As the object to which my studies are directed, compels me to contemplate affairs from a larger and more general point of view than he has done, it naturally happens that the conclusions at which we arrive are very different; but I wish to bear my testimony, whatever it may be worth, to the great merit of his book as a work of art, though, as a work of science, it appears to me that he has effected nothing, and has thrown no new light on the real history of that unfortunate, albeit once splendid, nation, of which his eloquence, his learning, and his taste, make him one of the chiefest ornaments.

[1316] See Dunlop's Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 320; and the interesting calculations in Uztariz, Theorica y Practica de Comercio, Madrid, 1757, folio, pp. 35, 36. Owing to the ignorance which formerly prevailed respecting statistics, such estimates are necessarily imperfect; but, after the desolation of Spain in the seventeenth century, an extraordinary diminution in the population of the capital was inevitable. Indeed, a contemporary of Charles II. states that in 1699, Madrid had only 150,000 inhabitants. Mémoires de Louville, Paris, 1818, vol. i. p. 72. This account is taken from ‘un mémoire manuscrit, en langue espagnole, trouvé dans les papiers du marquis de Louville.’ p. 67.

[1317] Capmany (Qüestiones Criticas, p. 30), who seems to have written his able, but not very accurate, work for the express purpose of concealing the decline of his country, has given these figures erroneously. My information is derived from an official report made in 1701, by the trade-corporations (‘gremios’) of Seville. ‘Fijan la época de la ruina de nuestras fábricas desde el reynado de Felipe II. y añaden “haber llegado á tener solo en esta ciudad al arte mayor, y menor de la sede, el número de mas de diez y seis mil telares, y se ocupaban en los exercicios adherentes á él, mas de ciento treinta mil personas de ambos sexos.”’ Campomanes, Apendice á la Educacion Popular, vol. i. p. 473, Madrid, 1775. See also Uztariz, Theorica y Practica de Comercio, p. 14, ‘diez y seis mil telares;’ where, however, no authority is quoted.

[1318] ‘El principal origen y causa de que los 16,000 telares de seda, lana, oro y plata, que se contaban en Sevilla, se hallen oy reducidos á menos de 300.’ Uztariz, Theorica de Comercio, p. 243.

[1319] Sempere, Monarchie Espagnole, vol. ii. p. 52, who refers to the report of the Cortes published by Alonso Nuñez de Castro.

[1320] Laborde's Spain, vol. iv. p. 338, where it is also said, that Tunis became, in consequence of the expulsion of the Moriscoes, famous for the manufacture of caps, which ‘were subsequently imitated at Orleans.’ Compare, on the cap-manufactories of Tunis, a note in Campomanes, Apendice, á la Educacion Popular, vol. iv. p. 249.

[1321] ‘Tolède, où se mettaient en œuvre 435,000 livres de soie, avait déjà perdu ce travail, qui suffisait autrefois à l'existence de 38,484 personnes. La population de cette ville avait éprouvé un tiers de diminution, et vingt-cinq maisons de ses familles les plus illustres étaient passées dans le domaine de divers couvens.’ Sempere, Monarchie Espagnole, vol. ii. p. 50.

[1322] See his interesting essay, reprinted in the appendix to Campomanes, vol. iv. p. 251. He says, ‘La fábrica de los guantes, que tenian pocos años ha todas las ciudades de estos reynos para el consumo de España y las Indias, era muy considerable; y se ha destruido, despues que se dió entrada al consumo de guantes estrangeros.’ Such a statement, made by a contemporary, is unimpeachable; but the reason he assigns is inadequate.

[1323] Segovia, as it appeared in 1659, is thus described in Boisel, Journal du Voyage d'Espagne, Paris, 1669, 4to. p. 186: ‘Autresfois, cette ville qui paroist assez grande, estoit fort riche, tant à cause que les rois de Castille y demeuroient, qu'à cause du grand commerce des laines et des beaux draps qui s'y faisoient; mais à présent le trafic n'y est plus, et on n'y fait plus que fort peu de draps, de sorte que la ville est presque désert et fort pauvre. Une marque de sa pauvreté, du mauvais ordre d'Espagne, et du peu de prévoyance des Espagnols (quoy qu'on dise de leur flegme), c'est que le jour que j'y arrivay jusques à deux heures après midy il n'y avoit point eu de pain en toute la ville, et ils ne s'en étonnoient point.’ The decline of the silk and wool manufactures of Segovia is also noticed by Martinez de la Mata, who wrote in 1650. See his Dos Discursos, edited by Canga, Madrid, 1794, p. 8. Saint Simon, who was there in 1722, says, ‘A l'égard de leurs laines, j'en vis les manufactures à Ségovie qui me parurent peu de chose et fort tombées de leur ancienne réputation.’ Mémoires du Duc de Saint Simon, vol. xxxvii. p. 230, Paris, 1841. Segovia used to be famous for the beautiful colour of its cloth, the dye of which was taken from a shell-fish found in the West Indies, and is supposed to be the same as the purpura of the ancients. See a note in Dillon's Spain, Dublin, 1781, pp. 19, 20.

[1324] Such is the language of a Spaniard in the middle of the seventeenth century. ‘Porque á la ciudad de Burgos, cabeza de Castilla, no le ha quedado sino el nombre, ni aun vestigios de sus ruinas; reducida la grandeza de sus tratos, Prior, y Cónsules, y ordenanzas para la conservacion de ellos, á 600 vecinos, que conservanel nombre y lustre de aquella antigua y noble cuidad, que encerró en si mas de seis mil, sin la gente suelta, natural, y forastera.’ Campomanes, Apendice á la Educacion, vol. i. p. 453, Madrid, 1765. An intelligent Dutchman, who visited Spain in 1665, says of Burgos, ‘elle a esté autrefois fort marchande, mais depuis peu, elle a presque perdu tout son commerce.’ Aarsens de Sommerdyck, Voyage d'Espagne, Paris, 1665, 4to. p. 16. To me, it certainly appears that facts of this sort have more to do with the real history of Spain than the details of kings, and treaties, and battles, which the Spanish historians love to accumulate.

[1325] ‘Could contribute little to the exigencies of the state.’ Dunlop's Memoirs, vol. i. p. 285. Compare Lamentos Apologéticos, in Dos Discursos, edit. Canga, Madrid, 1794, p. 82, on the state of things in ‘lo mas fértil de Andalucia.’ The government first became alive to all this when it found that no more money could be wrung from the people. In May 1667, a council of state, convoked by the queen, reported that ‘quant aux ressources qu'on voudrait tirer de l'Espagne, sous forme de dons volontaires ou autrement, le conseil estime qu'il est bien difficile d'imposer aux peuples des charges nouvelles;’ and in November of that same year, at another meeting of the council, a memoir was drawn up, stating that ‘depuis le règne de Don Ferdinand le Catholique jusqu'à ce jour, la monarchie d'Espagne ne s'est pas encore vue si près de sa ruine, si épuisée, si dénuée des ressources nécessaires pour faire face à un grand péril.’ See extracts from the proceedings of the Councils, published, for, I believe, the first time, by M. Mignet, in his Négociations relatives à la Succession d'Espagne, vol. ii. pp. 124, 601, Paris, 1835, 4to. See also, in the same valuable work, vol. ii. p. 127, a letter to Louis XIV., from his ambassador at Madrid, dated 2nd June, 1667, and stating that ‘l'extrémité est ici si grande qu'il se fait une contribution volontaire de tous les particuliers que l'on appelle donativo, pour fournir quelque argent présent pour les nécessitée publiques.’

[1326] In 1664, Sir Richard Fanshawe writes from Madrid to Secretary Bennet, ‘Since my last to you, of yesterday, the President of Castile, having, by the king's special and angry command, gone forth to the neighbouring villages, attended with the hangman, and whatsoever else of terror incident to his place and derogatory to his person, the markets in this town begin to be furnished again plentifully enough.’ Memoirs of Lady Fanshawe, written by herself, edit. London, 1830, p. 291.

[1327] Nothing but the precise and uncontradicted evidence of a contemporary witness could make such things credible. In 1686, Alvarez Osorio y Redin wrote his Discursos. They were published in 1687 and 1688; they were reprinted at Madrid in 1775; and from the reprint, pp. 345–348, I extract the following particulars: ‘Es preciso decir con la mayor brevedad, que pide el asunto, en la forma que los comisionantes continuamente están saqueando todos los lugares, con capa de servir á V.M. Entran en ellos, intíman sus comisiones á las justicias, y ellas les suplican, tengan misericordia de los moradores, que estan con mucha necesidad. Y luego que toman el uso, dicen: que á ellos no les toca dispensar en hacer gracias: que traen orden de cobrar con todo rigor las cantidades, que deben los lugares; y tambien dicen han de cobrar sus salarios. Y se van entrando por las casas de los pobres labradores, y demás vecinos; y con mucha cuenta y razon, les quitan el poco dinero, que tienen: y á los que no tienen, les sacan prendas: y donde no las hallan, les quitan las pobres camas, en que duermen: y se detienen en vender las prendas, todo el tiempo que pueden.’ … ‘Los saquéos referidos van continuando, obligando á los mas vecinos de los lugares, á que se vayan huyendo de sus casas, dexando baldías sus haciendas de campo; y los cobradores no tienen lástima de todas estas miserias, y asolaciones, como si entráran en lugares de enemigos. Las casas, que hallan vacías, si hay quien se las compre, las venden: y quando no pueden venderlas, las quitan los texados; y venden la texa, y madera por qualquier dinero. Con esta destruicion general, no han quedado en pie en los lugares la tercera parte de casas, y han muerto de necesidad gran multitud de personas. Con lo qual los lugares no tienen la mitad de familias, que antiguamente habia en España. Y si no se pone remedio á todo referido, será preciso, que la vengan á poblar de otros Reynos.’

[1328] ‘Allí acabó aquella antigua milicia española que desde el tiempo de los reyes católicos habia ganado tan gloriosos triunfos, siendo el terror de sus enemigos.’ Tapia, Civilizacion Española, vol. iii. p. 150, Madrid, 1840. ‘La batalla de Rocroy, en que el jóven Condé recogió los laureles con que engalanó la dorado cuna del niño Luis XIV., acabó con la reputacion que aun habian podido ir conservando los viejos tercios españoles de Flandres.’ Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. xvii. p. 368, Madrid, 1856.

[1329] In the Clarendon State Papers, vol. i. p. 275, Oxford, 1767, folio, I find a letter written by Hopton to Secretary Windebank, dated Madrid, 31st May, 1635. The author of this official communication gives an account of the Spanish troops just raised, and says, ‘I have observed these levies, and I find the horses are so weak, as the most of them will never be able to go to the rendezvous, and those very hardly gotten, the infantry so unwilling to serve, as they are carried like galley-slaves, in chains, which serves not the turn, and so far short of the number that was proposed, as they come not to one of three.’ This was eight years before the battle of Rocroy; after it, matters became rapidly worse. A letter from Sir Edward Hyde to Secretary Nicholas, dated Madrid, 18th March, 1649–50, states, that Spanish ‘affairs are really in huge disorder, and capable of being rendered almost desperate;’ and another letter, on 14th April, 1650, ‘if some miracle do not preserve them, this crown must be speedily destroyed,’ Clarendon State Papers, vol. iii. pp. 13, 17, Oxford, 1786. An official Report on the Netherlands, presented to Louis XIV. in 1665, declares that the Dutch ‘considered Spain so weakened, as to be out of condition to renew the war within the next one hundred years.’ Raumer's History of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, illustrated by Original Documents, London, 1835, vol. i. p. 237. See also Mignet, Négociations relatives à la Succession d'Espagne, Paris, 1835–1842, 4to. vol. i. pp. 37, 38, 314, 315, vol. iii. p. 684, vol. iv. p. 218; and L'Estat de l'Espagne, Genève, 1681, pp. 83, 271. ‘L'Espagne faisant en nos jours plus de pitié que de peur à ceux qu'elle a tenus long-tems dans une crainte perpétuelle, et dans une respectueuse vénération.’ … ‘Aussi peut-on dire que les Espagnols qui étoient autrefois des lions, ou des véritables hommes et incomparables en valeur, sont maintenant des cerfs, ou des femmes, et enfin des personnes peu propres à la guerre.’ And finally, the Spanish explanation of all this in Yañez, Memorias, Prologo, pp. 148, 149, Madrid, 1723. ‘La Monarquia de España, cuya decadencia la avia yá Dios decretado desde el año de 1621,’ &c.; blasphemously ascribing to the Almighty, what was the result of their own folly, and obstinately shutting their eyes to the real cause of their ruin.

[1330] ‘A century ago, Spain had been as supreme at sea as on land; her ordinary naval force was 140 galleys, which were the terror both of the Mediterranean and Atlantic. But now’ (1656), ‘in consequence of the decline of commerce and fisheries on the coast, instead of the numerous squadrons of the Dorias and Mendozas, which were wont to attend the movements of the first great John of Austria and the Emperor Charles, the present High-Admiral of Spain, and favourite son of its monarch, put to sea with three wretched gallies, which, with difficulty, escaped from some Algerine corsairs, and were afterwards nearly shipwrecked on the coast of Africa.’ Dunlop's Memoirs, vol. i. p. 549. In 1663, ‘Il n'y avait à Cadix ni vaisseaux ni galères en état d'aller en mer. Les Maures insultaient audacieusement les côtes de l'Andalousie, et prenaient impunément les barques qui se hasardaient à une lieue de la rade. Le duc d'Albuquerque, qui commandait les forces navales, se plaignait hautement de la position humiliante dans laquelle on le laissait. Il avait demandé avec instance qu'on lui donnât des matelots et des soldats pour mettre sur les vaisseaux; mais le Comte de Castrillo, président du Conseil de Finances (de la hacienda) avait déclaré qu'il n'avait ni argent, ni la possibilité d'en trouver, et conseillait de renoncer à l'armée navale.’ Mignet, Négociations relatives à la Succession d'Espagne, vol. i. pp. 315, 316, Paris, 1835, 4to. from contemporary manuscripts. Even in 1648, Spain had ‘become so feeble in point of naval affairs as to be obliged to hire Dutch vessels for carrying on her American commerce.’ Macpherson's Annals of Commerce, vol. ii. p. 435, London, 1805, 4to. And, to complete the chain of evidence, there is a letter in the Clarendon State Papers, vol. ii. p. 86, Oxford, 1773, folio, written from Madrid in June 1640, stating that, ‘For ships they have few, mariners fewer, landsmen not so many as they need, and, by all signs, money not at all that can be spared.’ The history of Spain during this period never having been written, I am compelled, in my own justification, to give these and similar passages with a fulness which I fear will weary some readers.

[1331] And when they did, it was to their own cost, as Stanhope found, at the beginning of his career as British minister to the court of Madrid, in 1690. See his letter to Lord Shrewsbury, in Mahon's Spain under Charles II., London, 1840, p. 3. ‘We were forced into a small port, called Ferrol, three leagues short of the Groyne, and, by the ignorance of a Spanish pilot, our ships fell foul one with another, and the admiral's ship was on ground for some hours, but got off clear without any damage.’ Indeed, the Spanish seamen, once the boldest and most skilful navigators in the world, so degenerated, that, early in the eighteenth century, we find it stated as a matter of course, that ‘to form the Spaniard to marine affairs, is transporting them into unknown countries.’ The History of Cardinal Alberoni, London, 1719, p. 257.

[1332] ‘Le peu de soldats qui résistaient à la désertion, étaient vêtus de haillons, sans solde, sans pain,’ Mémoires de Louville, edit. Paris, 1818, vol. i. p. 72. ‘Dans l'état le plus misérable.’ p. 43. Compare Lefuente, in the reign of Philip IV. (Historia, vol. xvi. p. 519), ‘los soldados peleaban andrajosos y medio desnudos;’ and D'Aulnoy, in 1679 (Relation du Voyage d'Espagne, vol. i. p. 168), ‘Il est rare que dans tout un régiment, il se trouve deux soldats qui ayent plus d'une chemise.’

[1333] ‘Ruinosos los muros de sus fortalezas, aun tenía Barcelona abiertas las brechas, que hizo el duque de Vendoma; y desde Rosas hasta Cadiz, no habia Alcazar, ni Castillo, no solo presidiado, pero ni montada su artillería. La misma negligencia se admiraba en los puertos de Vizcaya, y Galicia; no tenian los almazenes sus provisiones, faltaban fundidores de armas, y las que habia, eran de ningun uso. Vacios los arsenales y artilleros, se habia olvidado el arte de construir naves, y no tenia el Rey mas que las destinadas al comercio de Indias, y algunos galeones; seis galeras, consumidas del tiempo, y del ocio, se ancoraban en Cartagena.’ Bacallar, Comentarios de la Guerra de España, vol. i. p. 43. Another eye-witness describes ‘the best fortresses consisting of ruined walls, mounted with here and there a rusty cannon, and the man thought an able engineer who knew how to fire them.’ Ripperda's Memoirs, second edition, London, 1740, p. 227.

[1334] Dunlop's Memoirs, vol. ii. pp. 224, 225. In 1680, Madame de Villars, the wife of the French Ambassador, writes from Madrid, that such was the state of affairs there, that her husband thought it advisable that she should return home. Lettres de Madame de Villars, Amsterdam, 1769, p. 169. A letter written by the Danish ambassador in 1677, describes every house in Madrid as regularly armed from top to bottom; ‘de haut en bas.’ Mignet, Négociations relatives à la Succession, vol. iv. p. 638, Paris, 1842, 4to. The deaths from starvation are said to have been particularly numerous in Andalusia. See Tapia, Civilizacion Española, vol. iii. p. 167. ‘En Andalucia especialmente moria mucha gente de hambre, y el consulado de Sevilla envió una diputacion para representar que aquella ciudad habia quedado reducida á la cuarta parte de la poblacion que habia tenido cincuenta años antes.’ On the state of the people generally, in 1680, compare Lettres de Villars, pp. 145, 152, 161.

[1335] ‘Point de libertés et point de frein.’ Mém. de Louville, vol. i. p. 68.

[1336] In 1681, the French ambassadress writes from Madrid, ‘Je ne vous parle point de la misère de ce royaume. La faim est jusques dans le palais. J'étois hier avec huit ou dix camaristes, et La Moline, qui disoient qu'il y avoit fort long-tems qu'on ne leur donnoit plus ni pain ni viande. Aux écuries du roi et de la reine, de même.’ Lettres de Madame la Marquise de Villars, Amsterdam, 1759, pp. 216, 217. The year after Charles II. died: ‘II n'y avoit pas de fonds pour les choses les plus nécessaires, pour la cuisine, l'écurie, les valets de pied,’ &c. Millot, Mémoires du Duc de Noailles, vol. ii. p. 26, ed. Petitot, Paris, 1828. Among other reckless expedients, the currency was so depreciated, that, in a letter from Martin to Dr. Frazer, dated Madrid, March 6th, 1680, we hear of ‘the fall of money to one fourth part of its former value.’ Miscellany of the Spalding Club, vol. v. p. 187, Aberdeen, 4to. 1852.

[1337] ‘The king has taken away, by a late decree, a third part of all wages and salaries of all officers and ministers without exception, and suspended for the ensuing year, 1694, all pensions for life granted either by himself or his father.’ Letter from the English Ambassador, dated Madrid, November 18th, 1693, in Mahon's Spain under Charles II., London, 1840, p. 40. This is also stated in Millot, Mémoires de Noailles, vol. i. p. 359, Paris, 1828; ‘retranchant le tiers des dépenses de sa maison, et des appointemens de ses officiers tant militaires que civils.’ In the preceding reign, the pension had been stopped, at all events for a time. In 1650, Sir Edward Hyde, writes from Madrid, ‘there is an universal stop of all pensions which have been granted formerly.’ Clarendon State Papers, vol. ii. p. 538, Oxford, 1773. The next step which was taken was a proposal, in 1667, to tax the salaries of the members of the Council of Castile, Arragon, &c.; but this idea was abandoned, until at length, they, like all other public servants, came under the comprehensive edict of 1693. See the letter from the French Ambassador to Louis XIV., dated Madrid, June 2nd, 1667, in Mignet, Négociations, vol. ii. p. 128, Paris, 1835, 4to. The only chance of recovering the history of Spain in the seventeenth century, is by collating these and similar documents with the meagre notices to be found in Spanish writers.

[1338] In 1695, ‘the miserable poverty in this country.’ Travels through Spain, performed by a Gentleman, London, 1702, p. 62. And, in the same year, ‘L'Espagne, manquant de tout d'hommes, et d'argent.’ Mémoires de Noailles, vol. i. p. 402. ‘L'Espagne, presque anéantie.’ p. 424.

[1339] See the letters in Mahon's Spain under Charles II., pp. 138–140. On the 21st of May, ‘We have an addition of above 20,000 beggars, flocked from the country round, to share in that little here is, who were starving at home, and look like ghosts.’ On the 27th of May, ‘The scarcity of bread is growing on apace towards a famine, which increases, by vast multitudes of poor that swarm in upon us from the countries round about. I shifted the best I could till this day, but the difficulty of getting any without authority, has made me recur to the Corregidor, as most of the foreign Ministers had done before; he, very courteously, after inquiring what my family was, gave me an order for twenty loaves every day: but I must send two leagues, to Vallejas, to fetch it, as I have done this night, and my servants with long guns to secure it when they have it, otherwise it would be taken from them, for several people are killed every day in the streets, in scuffles for bread, all being lawful prize that any body can catch.’ … ‘My secretary, Don Francisco, saw yesterday five poor women stifled to death by the crowd before a bakehouse.’

[1340] Even M. Lafuente, who having used scarcely any of the authorities which I have quoted in the last few pages, can have no adequate idea of the utter wretchedness of Spain, confesses that ‘Jamás monarca ni pueblo alguno se vieron en tan lastimosa situacion y en tan mísero trance como se hallaron en este tiempo’ (1699). ‘Carlos II. y la España.’ Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. xvii. p. 426, Madrid, 1856.

[1341] ‘Les Maures d'Afrique assiégeoient Ceuta. Le roi d'Espagne manquait non seulement de troupes, mais de vaisseaux pour transporter le peu de secours qu'il pouvoit y envoyer: Louis XIV lui fit offrir les troupes et les vaisseaux dont il auroit besoin. Il s'agissoit non seulement de conserver Ceuta, mais de plus Oran; par conséquent d'empêcher la prise de deux places dont la conquête facilitoit aux Maures un retour en Espagne.’ Mémoires du Marquis de Torcy, vol. i. p. 46, ed. Paris, 1828. Respecting the attacks made on Ceuta, from 1696 to 1698, see Ortiz, Compendio de la Historia de España, vol. vi. pp. 556, 567, 561.

[1342] A celebrated modern writer has made some remarks upon this, which are too apposite to be omitted. ‘Con el siglo xvii. acabó tambien la dinastía austriaca en España, dejando á esta nacion pobre, despoblada, sin fuerzas marítimas ni terrestres, y por consiguiente á merced de las demas potencias que intentaron repartir entre sí sus colonias y provincias. Así habia desparecido en poco mas de un siglo aquella grandeza y poderío, aquella fuerza y heroismo, aquella cultura é ilustracion con que habia descollado entre todas las naciones.’ Biografia de Ensenada, in Navarrete, Opúsculos, vol. ii. p. 5, Madrid, 1848.

[1343] Except during the short interregnum of Louis, in 1724, which only lasted a few months, and during which, the boy, though called king, exercised no real power, and Philip remained the actual ruler. ‘Aun el nuevo rey no resolvia negocio de consideracion sin asenso de su padre.’ Ortiz, Compendio, vol. vii. p. 374.

[1344] Saint Simon, who knew Philip well, and who was in Spain in 1721 and 1722, says of him, ‘L'amour de la France lui sortait de partout.’ Mémoires du Duc de Saint Simon, vol. xxxvii. p. 3, Paris, 1841. And, in 1746, shortly before his death, Noailles writes from Aranjuez, ‘Ce prince a le cœur tout français.’ Millot, Mémoires de Noailles, vol. iv. p. 191, Paris, 1829.

[1345] ‘N'oubliez jamais que vous êtes Français, et ce qui peut vous arriver.’ Millot, Mémoires de Noailles, vol. ii. p. 6. Compare Coxe's Memoirs of the Bourbon Kings of Spain, London, 1815, vol. i. p. 103.

[1346] In 1702, Philip ‘parlait moins que jamais, et seulement aux Français, comme s'ils eussent été les seuls êtres de son espèce.’ Mémoires de Louville, vol. i. p. 276. ‘Le dégoût que Philippe laissait voir pour sa cour espagnole.’ p. 333. A Spanish statesman, celebrated, or, I would rather say, notorious, at the close of the century, indignantly exclaims, ‘It was on the accession of the Bourbon dynasty, that foreigners came to govern us on our native soil.’ Godoy's Memoirs, ed. London, 1836, vol. ii. p. 271.

[1347] In 1701, it was the duty of the French ambassador, ‘qu'il pût au besoin être premier ministre d'Espagne.’ Millot, Mémoires de Noailles, vol. ii. p. 31; ‘que l'ambassadeur de sa Majesté soit ministre du roi Catholique; que, sans en avoir le titre, il en exerce les fonctions; qu'il aide au roi d'Espagne à connoître l'état de ses affaires, et à gouverner par lui-même.’ p. 55. In 1702, Marsin writes to Louis XIV., ‘Comme il est absolument nécessaire que l'ambassadeur de Votre Majesté en Espagne ait un crédit sans bornes auprès du Roy son petit-fils.’ p. 183. In 1705, Amelot, the French ambassador, ‘décidoit de tout en Espagne.’ Mémoires de Louville, vol. ii. p. 165; and in 1706, ‘étant à la tête des affaires, et joignant presque les fonctions de premier ministre à celles d'ambassadeur.’ Noailles, vol. ii. p. 398.

[1348] In 1703, ‘Il est clair que l'embarras de Philippe venoit surtout de la crainte que ses décisions ne fussent point approuvées en France, où toutes les affaires importantes se décidoient.’ Millot, Mémoires de Noailles, vol. ii. p. 244. ‘The King of France had always certain persons at Madrid, which compos'd a Council, of which that of Versailles was the soul; and whose members were all creatures of the French Court, and sent to Madrid from time to time to direct all affairs there, according to the views of the Most Christian King, and to give him an account of every thing that pass'd in the Councils of the Escurial. Alberoni got to be initiated in the mysteries of this cabal.’ History of Cardinal Alberoni, London, 1719, p. 70.

The Spanish historians are not very fond of admitting this unquestionable fact; but Bacallar, after mentioning the influence of the French Ambassador, frankly adds: ‘Desde entonces tomaron tanta mano sobre los de España los ministros franceses, que dieron mas zelos á los Principes, viendo estrechar la union á un grado, que todo se ponía al arbitrio de Luis XIV.’ Bacallar, Comentarios de la Guerra de España, vol. i. p. 33.

[1349] Even the veteran diplomatist was so struck by the escape of Spain from complete ruin, that he ascribes its change of masters to the direct interference of the Deity. ‘Sa seule puissance avait placé Philippe V sur le trône d'Espagne; elle seule pouvait l'y maintenir; les hommes n'avaient pas conduit ce grand événement.’ Mémoires de Torcy, vol. i. p. 333. ‘Le trône où Dieu l'avait placé.’ p. 401. See also vol. ii. pp. 3, 227. ‘The Spanish people received him with unhesitating obedience to the deceased king's will, and rejoiced at the prospect of a rule that would at least have the merit of being different from that under which they had so long withered.’ Memoirs of Peterborough, London, 1853, vol. i. p. 102. ‘Muchos españoles recibieron por su soberano á Felipe V., cansados de la dominacion de la casa de Austria. Esperaban de la mudanza de la dinastia la felicidad y el buen gobierno.’ Castro, Decadencia de España, Cadiz, 1852, p. 131. To the same effect, Millot, Mémoires de Noailles, vol. i. pp. 420, 426, vol. ii. p. 9.

[1350] He ‘committed the military defence of these provinces to the Marquis of Grana, the Austrian ambassador at Madrid, from the want of any Spanish commander whose courage or military endowments qualified him to repel such an enemy as the king of France.’ Dunlop's Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 232. Compare, on the want of Spanish generals, Mémoires du Maréchal de Gramont, vol. ii. p. 82, edit. Paris, 1827. The opinion which Grana himself formed of the Spanish government, may be learned from a conversation which he held at Madrid, in 1680, with the French ambassadress, and which is preserved in her correspondence. Lettres de Madame la Marquise de Villars, Amsterdam, 1759, pp. 118, 119.

[1351] See the letter of Philip V. to Louis XIV., dated June 22, 1702, in Mémoires de Noailles, vol. ii. pp. 256, 257, Paris, 1828, edit. Petitot.

[1352] See Bacallar, Comentarios de la Guerra de España, vol. i. pp. 137, 166, where he is called ‘el Duque de Bervich.’ His own account is, ‘J'arrivai à Madrid le 15 février’ (1704), ‘où d'abord S. M. Catholique me fit Capitaine-Général de ses armées.’ Mémoires de Berwick, Paris, 1778, vol. i. p. 227; and see p. xxv. No one would suppose this, from the observations of M. Lafuente, in his Historia de España, vol. xviii. p. 80, Madrid, 1857.

[1353] ‘Philippe n'étoit pas content de Berwick, ou plutôt il témoigna ne le pas être, et il demanda un autre général à Louis XIV. On lui envoya le maréchal de Tessé, pour qui il avoit montré du penchant.’ Millot, Mémoires de Noailles, vol. ii. p. 331. Berwick himself ascribes his dismissal to the influence of Gramont and of the Queen of Spain. Mémoires de Berwick, vol. i. pp. 269–273. At all events, the new general became supreme. In December 1705, the Princess des Ursins writes from Madrid to Madame de Maintenon, ‘M. le maréchal de Tessé, quand il est à Madrid, est consulté, et décide sur toutes les affaires, autant, pour le moins, que M. l'ambassadeur; et lorsqu'il est à l'armée, il est le maître absolu non seulement des troupes de France, mais encore de celles d'Espagne, commandant aux capitaines-généraux, ses anciens, contre l'usage du pays.’ Lettres inédites de Madame de Maintenon et de Madame la Princesse des Ursins, vol. iii. p. 259, Paris, 1826.

[1354] In 1706, ‘Le duc de Berwick, redemandé par Philippe V., arrivé à Madrid le 11 mars, avec le titre de maréchal de France, pour défendre l'Estramadure et la Castille, ayant rassemblé ce qu'il peut de troupes espagnoles, empêcha les ennemis d'entreprendre le siège de Badajoz.’ Millot, Mémoires de Noailles, vol. ii. p. 387. Philip ‘pria le Roi, son grand-père, d'envoyer un général pour commander sur les frontières de Portugal. Ce fut donc sur moi que le choix tomba.’ Mémoires de Berwick, vol. i. p. 305.

[1355] In a recently published work (Memoirs of Peterborough, London, 1853, vol. i. pp. 148, 155, 161, 206, 210, vol. ii. pp. 34, 93), Charles is not only called King of Spain, which he never was, as Spain always refused to accept him, but, in the teeth of all history, he is actually termed Charles III.; while Philip V. is merely ‘Philip of Anjou.’ If this were allowed, the consequence would be, that the king whom the Spaniards now call Charles III., would have to change his appellation, and become Charles IV.; and Charles IV. would be changed into Charles V. It is really too much when mere biographers obtrude, in this way, their own little prepossessions into the vast field of history, and seek to efface its established nomenclature, because they are enamoured of the hero whose life they write.

[1356] ‘This victory established the throne of Philip.’ Dunham's History of Spain, vol. v. p. 136. ‘A victory which may be justly said to have saved Spain.’ Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. i. p. 408. Even Ortiz allows that if Berwick had failed, Philip would have been ruined. ‘Esta batalla de Almansa, que las circunstancias hicieron ruidosa, comenzó á poner mejor la corona de España en la cabeza de Felipe V.; y se tuvo por indubitable que si la hubiera perdido, tambien hubiera perdido la corona.’ Ortiz, Compendio, vol. vii. p. 116. See also Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. xviii. p. 185. ‘Berwick, á quien, sin duda, debió su salvación la España.’

[1357] ‘Sa réputation étoit grande et bien établie; le roi d'Espagne avoit été témoin de sa conduite en Lombardie; il demanda au Roi un général si capable de commander ses armées.’ Mémoires de Torcy, vol. i. p. 386. See also History of Alberoni, London, 1719, p. 45. ‘Le duc de Vendôme alloit enfin commander les troupes d'Espagne.’ Mémoires de Noailles, vol. iii. p. 12. According to Berwick, the offer was first made to himself. Mémoires de Berwick, vol. ii. pp. 106, 109. M. Lafuente, without quoting any authority, says (Historia de España, vol. xviii. p. 279), ‘Luego que se perdió la batalla de Zaragoza escribió Felipe al rey Cristianísimo, su abuelo, rogándole que, ya que no pudiera socorrerle con tropas, le enviára al menos al duque de Berwick ó al de Vendome.’ But, as Berwick must have had the means of knowing the real state of the case, he is probably correct in saying that the first application was in his own favour.

[1358] ‘Vendôme arrived at this moment to call into action the spirit of the monarch and the zeal of his subjects.’ Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. ii. p. 41. ‘The arrival of the Duke de Vendôme again changed the fate of Spain.’ Memoirs of Peterborough, vol. ii. p. 130.

[1359] ‘Portocarrero, abrumado con las dificultades de la gobernacion, que excedian en mucho á sus escasas luces, no contento con haber inducido al rey á que aumentára su consejo de gabinete con dos ministros más, que fueron el marqués de Mancera, presidente del de Aragon, y el duque de Montalto, del de Italia, pidió á Luis XIV. le enviára una persona que pudiera establecer un plan de hacienda en España, y corregir y reformar los abusos de la administracion.’ Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. xviii. p. 15. On 22nd June 1701, Louis XIV. writes to the Duc d'Harcourt, ‘Qu'enfin le cardinal Porto-Carrero m'a fait demander quelqu'un intelligent en matière de finances pour voir et connoître l'état de celles du roi d'Espagne, pour examiner les moyens les plus propres de soulager ses sujets, et de pourvoir aux plus pressans besoins du public; qu'il m'assure que toute l'Espagne le désire en général: toutes ces raisons m'ont déterminé à choisir le sieur Orry, pour l'envoyer à Madrid.’ Millot, Mémoires de Noailles, vol. ii. p. 44.

[1360] ‘Il faudra que l'homme que vous enverrez pour les finances (car vous aurez la bonté d'en envoyer un, ou bien nous n'aurons plus de finances).’ Mémoires de Louville, vol. i. p. 149.

[1361] Ibid. vol. i. p. 181.

[1362] ‘Canalez, qu'on a substitué à Rivas pour le département de la guerre, n'a aucun talent pour cet emploi, selon l'instruction; et toute l'Espagne voit clairement qu'Orry ne le lui a procuré qu'afin d'en exercer les fonctions sous le nom d'un Espagnol.’ Millot, Mémoires de Noailles, vol. ii. p. 305; under the year 1704. See also, on the power of Orry in the war-department, Mémoires de Berwick, vol. i. pp. 226, 227, 306, 316, vol. ii. p. 166. Berwick, who hated Orry, says of him (vol. i. p. 232), ‘il se mêloit de tout et faisoit tout,’ But there can be no doubt of his being a man of very considerable ability; and M. Lafuente (Historia de España, vol. xix. p. 253, Madrid, 1857) candidly says, ‘Es lo cierto que hizo abrir mucho los ojos de los españoles en materia de administracion,’ Compare vol. xviii. p. 369; Mémoires du Duc de Saint Simon, vol. vii. pp. 102, 195, Paris, 1842; and Bacallar, Comentarios de la Guerra de España, vol. i. pp. 82, 83, 99, 168, vol. ii. pp. 95, 107. Bacallar treats him harshly.

[1363] Ripperda's Memoirs, London, 1740, second edition, pp. 117, 118. Saint Simon (Mémoires, vol. xxxvi. p. 246) says, that Ripperda was ‘premier ministre aussi absolu que le fut jamais son prédécesseur, Alberoni.’ The English pamphleteers and politicians of the last century were very unjust to Alberoni, who, notwithstanding the dangerous boldness of his nature, was one of the best ministers who ever governed Spain. M. Lafuente, while admitting his faults, says (Historia de España, vol. xix. pp. 437, 438), ‘Negarle gran capacidad seria una gran injusticia. Tampoco puede desconocerse que reanimó y regeneró la España, levantándola á un grado de esplendor y de grandeza en que nunca se habia vuelto á ver desde los mejores tiempos de Felipe II.’ See also a good summary of what he did for Spain, in Tapia, Historia de la Civilizacion Española, Madrid, 1840, vol. iv. pp. 50, 51.

[1364] ‘The all-powerful Konigseg.’ Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. iii. p. 154; ‘the prime mover of the Spanish counsels,’ p. 159; in 1727–8, ‘Konigseg usurped the control over every operation of government,’ p. 190; and see p. 235. His great power is likewise noticed in Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. xix. p. 71: ‘el hombre de mas influjo y valimiento en la córte.’

[1365] ‘Originally a clerk under Orry, he gained the favour of his employer,’ &c. Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. iii. p. 39. Coxe had access to a large mass of letters, which were written in the eighteenth century, by persons connected with Spain, and many of which are still unpublished. This makes his book very valuable; and, as a recital of political events, it is superior to anything the Spaniards have produced, though the author is, I need hardly say, far inferior to M. Lafuente as a writer, and also as an artistic arranger of facts.

[1366] ‘Que les Espagnols depuis longtemps ignoroient la guerre et la politique; qu'on devoit être sensible à leurs démonstrations d'attachement et de zèle, sans les croire, suffisantes pour soutenir un État’ … ‘l'incapacité des sujets pour le gouvernement.’ Millot, Mémoires de Noailles, vol. iii. pp. 24, 25.

[1367] ‘C'étoit un parti pris, comme l'observe Bonnac, de ne plus mettre le gouvernement entre leurs mains. On avoit trouvé parmi eux peu d'hommes capables des grands emplois: ceux à qui on les avoit confiés, malheureux ou infidèles, avoient inspiré de l'éloignement pour les autres.’ Millot, Mémoires de Noailles, vol. iii. p. 81.

[1368] In 1701, ‘Les églises d'Espagne ont des richesses immenses en or et en argenterie, qui augmentent tous les jours par le crédit des religieux; et cela rend l'espèce très-rare dans le commerce. On propose d'obliger le clergé à vendre une partie de cette argenterie. Avant que de prendre ce parti, il en faudroit bien examiner non seulement l'utilité, que l'on connoît, mais aussi les inconvéniens qu'un pareil ordre pourroit produire.’ Millot, Mémoires de Noailles, vol. ii. p. 60.

[1369] ‘Il insistoit sur la nécessité de ne pas donner à un ecclésiastique, ni à une créature du cardinal, la présidence de Castille, quand on rempliroit cette importante place; les prêtres et les moines n'avoient déjà que trop de pouvoir.’ Millot, Mémoires de Noailles, vol. ii. p. 77. Compare pp. 71, 72; a letter from Louville to Torcy, dated August 5th, 1701.

[1370] Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. ii. pp. 163–165. Mémoires de Noailles, vol. iii. p. 143.

[1371] In 1714, it was thought necessary, that Philip V., not having had the benefit of a Spanish education, should be enlightened on the subject of the Inquisition. He was, therefore, informed, ‘que la pureza de la religion Catolica en estos reynos se debia á la vigilancia de la Inquisicion y sus ministros, todos justos, clementes y circunspectos, no rigidos, violentos ni crueles, como por error ó malicia los pintan comunmente los Franceses. Y que la conservacion de la Monarquia dependia en gran parte de mantener ilibata la religion Catolica.’ Ortiz, Compendio, vol. vii. p. 286. Bacallar (Comentarios, vol. ii. pp. 122–125) gives an interesting account of the attacks made on the rights of the Church, and which, he says, p. 122, were ‘poco ajustados á la doctrina de los Santos Padres, á la Inmunidad de la Iglesia, y que sonaban á heregía.’ He significantly adds, p. 125, ‘Los pueblos de España, que son tan religiosos, y professan la mayor veneracion á la Iglesia, creían que esta se atropellaba, y huvo alguna interna inquietud, no sin fomento de los adversos al Rey, cuyo puro, y sincero corazon podia ser engañado; pero no inducido á un evidente error contra los Sagrados Canones,’ &c. Such passages, proceeding, in the eighteenth century, from a man like the Marquis de San Phelipe, are of no slight importance in the history of the Spanish mind.

[1372] So early as May 1702, Philip V., in a letter to Louis XIV., complained that the Spaniards opposed him in every thing. ‘Je crois être obligé de vous dire que je m'aperçois de plus en plus du peu de zèle que les Espagnols out pour mon service, dans les petites choses comme dans les grandes, et qu'ils s'opposent à tout ce que je désire.’ Millot, Mémoires de Noailles, vol. ii. p. 136. The dislike which the Spaniards felt for the liberal reforms advocated by the French, went on increasing, until, in 1709, ‘se renovaron los antiguos odios entre las dos naciones, con tanto ardor, que deseaban las tropas españolas el haber de combatir con los Franceses.’ Bacallar, Comentarios, vol. i. p. 360.

[1373] ‘L'opulence de l'Église devoit évidemment fournir des secours à la patrie. Un emprunt de quatre millions, fait sur le clergé l'année précédente, 1707, avoit cependant fort déplu au Pape ou à ses ministres.’ Millot, Mémoires de Noaulès, vol. ii. p. 412.

[1374] ‘He’ (Alberoni) ‘continued also the exaction of the ecclesiastical tax, in spite of the papal prohibitions, imprisoning or banishing the refractory priests who defended the privileges of their order.’ Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. ii. p. 288.

[1375] On January 2nd, 1698, Stanhope, the British Minister at Madrid, writes from that capital: ‘This Court is not at all inclined to admit the offer of the Dutch troops to garrison their places in Flanders. They have consulted their theologians, who declare against it as a matter of conscience, since it would give great opportunities to the spreading of heresy. They have not yet sent their answer but it is believed it will be in the negative, and that they will rather choose to lie at the mercy of the French, as being Catholics.’ Mahon's Spain under Charles II., pp. 98, 99.

[1376] ‘Entre el catolicismo y las diferentes sectas que brotaron en las imaginaciones de Calvino y de Lutero podia mediar tolerancia, y aun transaccion, si bien, como dice un escritor político, cuando se comienza á transigir sobre un principio, ese principio comienza á perder su imperio sobre las sociedades humanas. Pero entre el cristianismo de los españoles y el mahometismo de los moriscos era imposible todo avenimiento.’ Janer, Condicion Social de los Moriscos, Madrid, 1857, p. 112.

[1377] The Marquis of San Phelipe, who wrote in 1725, says, ‘Es ley fundamental de los Reyes Catholicos, nunca hacer la paz con los Mahometanos; y esta guerra permanece desde el Rey Don Pelayo, por mas de siete siglos, sin hacer jamás paces, ni treguas con ellos, como cada dia las hacen el Emperador, y otros Principes Catholicos.’ Bacallar, Comentarios de la Guerra de España, vol. ii. p. 169. And, in the most influential work on commerce which the reign of Philip V. produced, I find the following instructive passage: ‘Aunque en los Puertos de las dilatadas Costas, que de Europa, Asia y Africa baña el Mediterraneo, se hace comercio muy considerable, y util por diversas naciones, no podrá España tener gran parte en él, mientras se observare la maxima de hacer continua guerra á todos los Moros y Turcos, en cuyo dominio se hallan la mayor parte de aquellas Provincias; sin embargo de ser constante, que en esta guerra, aunque procedida de zelo Christiano, es mayor el daño que recibimos, que el que ocasionamos á los Infieles’ (the way the mercantile spirit peeps out here, is extremely curious) ‘á lo menos de muchos años á esta parte, como lo he explicado en diversos capitulos.’ Uztariz, Theorica y Practica de Comercio, Madrid, 1757, p. 399. This is the third edition of a book, which, considering the circumstances under which it was written, is a very remarkable production.

[1378] Compare Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, London, 1815, vol. ii. p. 314, with The History of Alberoni, London, 1719, pp. 119, 253; and Bacallar, Comentarios de la Guerra de España, vol. ii. pp. 168, 169. The outcry which this caused, may be easily imagined; and Alberoni, finding himself in great peril, took advantage of the secrecy of the negotiations, to deny part, at least, of the charges made against him. See his indignant, but yet cautious, letter to the Pope, in History of Alberoni, 1719, p. 124. Ortiz, who had evidently not looked into the evidence, is so ill-informed as to suppose that this was a calumnious accusation brought against Alberoni after his fall. ‘Caido ya por entonces Alberoni de su grandeza, expelido ignominiosamente de España, y aun perseguido por el Rey en Italia, preso en Roma por orden del Papa, etc., no era dificil atribuirle culpas agenas ó no cometidas.’ Note in Ortiz, Compendio, vol. vii. p. 321.

[1379] ‘Leur paresse, et l'ignorance non seulement des sciences et des arts, mais quasi généralement de tout ce qui se passe hors de l'Espagne, et on peut dire même hors du lieu où ils habitent, vont presque de pair, et sont inconcevables. La pauvreté est grande parmi eux, ce qui provient de leur extrême paresse; car si nombre de nos Français n'alloient faucher leurs foins, couper leurs blés et faire leurs briques, je crois qu'ils courroient fortune de se laisser mourir de faim, et de se tenir sous des tentes pour ne se pas donner la peine de bâtir des maisons.’ … ‘L'éducation de leurs enfans est semblable à celle qu'ils ont eu de leurs pères, c'est-à-dire sans qu'ils apprennent ni sciences ni exercices; et je ne crois par que parmi tous les grands que j'ay pratiqués, il s'en trouvât un seul qui sût décliner son nom.’ … ‘Ils n'ont nulle curiosité de voir les pays étrangers, et encore moins de s'enquérir de ce qui s'y passe.’ Mémoires du Maréchal de Gramont, vol. ii. pp. 77, 78, 82, 83, in Collection des Mémoires par Petitot et Monmerqué, vol. lvii. See also Aarsens de Sommerdyck, Voyage d'Espagne, Paris, 1665, 4to. p. 124. ‘La terré mesme n'y est pas toute cultiuée par des gens du pays: au tempe du labourage, des semailles et de la recolte, il leur vient quantité de paysans du Bearn et d'autres endroits de France, qui gagnent beaucoup d'argent, pour leur mettre leurs bleds en terre et pour les recueillir. Les architectes et charpentiers y sont aussi pour la plûpart estrangers, qui se font payer au triple de ce qu'ils gagneroient en leur pays. Dans Madrid on ne voit pas un porteur d'eau qui ne soit estranger, et la plûpart des cordonniers et tailleurs le sont aussi.’

[1380] ‘Mais aussi de quelle manière les élève-t-on? Ils n'étudient point; on néglige de leur donner d'habiles précepteurs; dès qu'on les destine à l'épée, on ne se soucie plus qu'ils apprennent le latin ni l'histoire. On devroit au moins leur enseigner ce qui est de leur mestier, les mathématiques, à faire des armes et à monter à cheval. Ils n'y pensent seulement pas. Il n'y a point ici d'Académie ni de maîtres qui montrent ces sortes de choses. Les jeunes hommes passent le tems qu'ils devroient emploïer à s'instruire dans un oisiveté pitoïable.’ Letter from Madrid, dated 27th June 1679, in D'Aulnoy, Relation du Voyage d'Espagne, Lyon, 1693, vol. ii. pp. 232, 233.

[1381] ‘Madrid étant la capitale d'une monarchie aussi vaste, il n'y eut dans cette ville jusqu'à l'époque du règne de Philippe V aucune bibliothèque publique.’ Sempere, De la Monarchie Espagnole, Paris, 1826, vol. ii. p. 79.

[1382] The university was transferred from Palencia to Salamanca, early in the thirteenth century. Forner, Oracion Apologética por la España, Madrid, 1786, p. 170. By the beginning of the fifteenth century, it had become very prosperous (Sempere, De la Monarchie Espagnole, vol. i. p. 65); and in 1535, it is described as ‘a great Universitie, conteyning seven or eight thowsand students.’ See a letter from John Mason, dated Valladolid, 3rd July, 1635, in Ellis's Original Letters, second series, vol. ii. p. 56, London, 1827. But, like every thing else which was valuable in Spain, it declined in the seventeenth century; and Monconys, who carefully examined it in 1628, and praises some of its arrangements which were still in force, adds, ‘Mais je suis aussi contraint de dire après tant de loüanges, que les écoliers qui étudient dans cette université sont des vrais ignorans.’ Les Voyages de Monsieur de Monconys, Quatrième Partie, vol. v. p. 22, Paris, 1695. However, their ignorance, of which Monconys gives some curious instances, did not prevent Spanish writers, then, and long afterwards, from deeming the University of Salamanca to be the greatest institution of its kind in the world. ‘La mayor del orbe, madre gloriosísima de todas las ciencias y de los mas vehementes ingenios, que han ilustrado las edades.’ Vida de Calderon de la Barca, pp. iii. iv., reprinted in Keil's edition of Calderon, Leipsique, 1827. Compare Davila (Felipe Tercero, p. 81), ‘Salamanca, madre de ciencias y letras;’ Yañez (Memorias, p. 228), ‘Universidad insigne, y Oficina de las buenas Letras de España;’ Bacallar (Comentarios, vol. i. p. 238), ‘El emporio de las ciencias;’ and Ximenez (Vida de Ribera, p. 6), ‘Salamanca, cathedra universal de las artes, y emporio de todas ciencias.’

[1383] ‘Says, that, after he had been five years in one of the schools of the university there, it was by accident he learned the existence of the mathematical sciences.’ Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature, vol. iii. p. 223. A celebrated Spanish writer of the eighteenth century, actually boasts of the ignorance of his countrymen concerning mathematics, and discerns, in their neglect of that foolish pursuit, a decisive proof of their superiority over other nations. ‘No se dexe deslumbrar con los ásperos calculos é intrincadas demostraciones geométricas, con que, astuto el entendimiento, disimula el engaño con los disfraces de la verdad. El uso de las matemáticas es la alquimia en la fisica, que da apariencias de oro á lo que no lo es.’ Forner, Oracion Apologética por la España y su Mérito Literario, Madrid, 1786, p. 38. Compare his contemptuous notice (p. 66) of those insignificant persons, who ‘con título de filósofos han dado algun aumento á las matemáticas;’ and his comparison (p. 222) of Mercado with Newton.

[1384] ‘L'université de Salamanque, excitée par le Conseil, à réformer ses études, en l'année 1771, lui répondit “qu'elle ne pouvait se séparer du péripatétisme, parce que les systèmes de Newton, Gassendi et Descartes, ne concordent pas autant avec les vérités révélées que ceux d'Aristote.”’ Sempere, Monarchie Espagnole, vol. ii. p. 152. This reply, says M. Sempere, p. 153, may be found ‘dans la collection des ordonnances royales.’ In Letters from Spain by an English Officer, London, 1788, vol. ii. p. 256, it is stated, that, in all the Spanish universities, ‘Newton, and modern philosophy, is still prohibited. Nothing can supplant Aristotle, and the superstitious fathers and doctors of the Church.’

[1385] Or, as he, in one place, expresses himself, would know ‘very little more than nothing.’ ‘El que estudió Logica, y Metaphysica, con lo demás que, debaxo del nombre de Philosofia, se enseña en las Escuelas, por bien que sepa todo, sabe muy poco mas que nada; pero suena mucho. Dicese, que es un gran Philosofo; y no es Philosofo grande, ni chico,’ Feijoo, Theatro Critico Universal, vol. ii. p. 187, quinta impression, Madrid, 1741.

[1386] ‘La science est un crime, l'ignorance et la stupidité la première vertu.’ Mémoires du Duc de Saint Simon, vol. xxxv. p. 209, Paris, 1840. Elsewhere (vol. xxxvi. p. 252) he says, ‘Les jésuites savants partout et en tout genre de science, ce qu ne leur est pas même disputé par leurs ennemis, les jésuites, dis-je, sont ignorants en Espagne, mais d'une ignorance à surprendre.’

[1387] ‘The common education of an English gentleman would constitute a man of learning here; and, should he understand Greek, he would be quite a phenomenon.’ Swinburne's Travels through Spain in 1775 and 1776, vol. ii. pp. 212, 213, 2d edit., London, 1787.

[1388] So late as 1787, Townsend, a very accomplished man, who travelled through Spain with the express object of noting the state of knowledge, as well as the economical condition of the country, and who, by previous study, had well qualified himself for such an undertaking, says, ‘I have observed in general, that the physicians with whom I have had occasion to converse, are disciples of their favourite doctor Piquer, who denied, or at least doubted of, the circulation of the blood.’ Townsend's Journey through Spain, 2d ed., London, 1792, vol. iii. p. 281. At that time, the Spanish physicians were, however, beginning to read Hoffmann, Cullen, and other heretical speculators, in whose works they would find, to their astonishment, that the circulation of the blood was assumed, and was not even treated as a debatable question. But the students were obliged to take such matters on trust; for, adds Townsend, p. 282, ‘In their medical classes, they had no dissections.’ Compare Laborde's Spain, vol. i. p. 76, vol. iii. p. 315, London, 1809, and Godoy's Memoirs, London, 1836, vol. ii. p. 157. Godoy, speaking of the three colleges of surgery at Madrid, Barcelona, and Cadiz, says that until his administration in 1793, ‘In the capital, even that of San Carlos had not a lecture-room for practical instruction.’

[1389] This little episode is noticed by Cabarrus, in his Elogio de Carlos III., Madrid, 1789, 4to. p. xiv. ‘La salubridad del ayre, la limpieza y seguridad de las calles,’ … ‘Pero ¿quién creerá que este noble empeño produxo las mas vivas quejas: que se conmovió el vulgo de todas clases; y que tuvo varias autoridades á su favor la extraña doctrina de que los vapores mefiticos eran un correctivo saludable de la rigidez del clima?’ But the fullest detail will be found in the recently published and very elaborate History of Charles III. by M. Rio, from which I will give one or two extracts. ‘Para la limpieza de las calles poseia mayores ó menores fondos el ayuntamiento, y cuando el Rey quiso poner la mano en este ramo de policía, le presentaron dictámenes de médicos en que se defendia el absurdo de ser elemento de salubridad la basura.’ Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., Madrid, 1856, vol. iv. p. 54. See also vol. i. pp. 267, 268, where it is mentioned, that when the minister, Esquilache, persevered in his attempts to have the streets of Madrid cleaned, the opponents of the scheme made inquiries into the opinions of their fathers on that subject; and the result was, ‘que le presentaron cierta originalísima consulta hecha por los médicos bajo el reinado de uno de los Felipes de Austria, y reducida á demostrar que, siendo sumamente sutil el aire de la poblacion á causa de estar próxima la sierra de Guadarrama, ocasionaria los mayores estragos si no se impregnara en los vapores de las inmundicias desparramadas por las calles.’ That this idea had long been entertained by the physicians of Madrid, we also know from another testimony, with which none of the Spanish historians are acquainted. Sir Richard Wynne, who visited that capital in 1623, describes a disgusting practice of the inhabitants, and adds, ‘Being desirous to know why so beastly a custom is suffered, they say it's a thing prescribed by their physicians; for they hold the air to be so piercing and subtle, that this kind of corrupting it with these ill vapours keeps it in good temper.’ The Autobiography and Correspondence of Sir Simonds D'Ewes, edited by J. O. Halliwell, London, 1845, vol. ii. p. 446.

[1390] Even thirty years later, it was said, with good reason, that ‘es menester deshacer todo lo que se ha hecho,’ and ‘confiar exclusivamente el precioso depósito de la sanidad pública á las manos capaces de conservarlo y mejorarlo.’ Cartas por el Conde de Cabarrus, Madrid, 1813, p. 280. These letters, which, though little known, contain some interesting statements, were written in 1792 and 1793. See p. 34, and Prologo, p. i.

[1391] Bleeding, however, had the preference. See the curious evidence in Townsend's Journey through Spain in 1786 and 1787, vol. ii. pp. 37–39. Townsend, who had some knowledge of medicine, was amazed at the ignorance and recklessness of the Spanish physicians. He says, ‘The science and practice of medicine are at the lowest ebb in Spain, but more especially in the Asturias.’ Compare Sprengel, Histoire de la Médecine, vol. iii. p. 217, Paris, 1815, with Winwood's Memorials, London, 1725, folio, vol. ii. p. 219. The last reference shows the terrible ‘purging and letting blood,’ to which the unfortunate Spaniards were exposed in the reign of Philip III. Another observer, much later, states that ‘La saignée leur est assez familière. Ils se la font faire hors du lit tant que leurs forces le permettent, et lorsqu'ils en usent par précaution, ils se font tirer du sang deux jours de suite du bras droit et du gauche, disant qu'il faut égaliser le sang. On peut juger de là, si la circulation leur est connue.’ Voyages faits en Espagne, par Monsieur M****, Amsterdam, 1700, p. 112. See further Clarke's Letters concerning the Spanish Nation, London, 4to. 1763, p. 55, and Spain by an American, London, 1831, vol. ii. p. 321.

[1392] In 1790, poor Cumberland, when in Madrid, was as nearly as possible murdered by three of their surgeons in a very few days; the most dangerous of his assailants being no less a man than the ‘chief surgeon of the Gardes de Corps,’ who, says the unfortunate sufferer, was ‘sent to me by authority.’ See Memoirs of Richard Cumberland, written by himself, London, 1807, vol. ii. pp. 67, 68.

[1393] Duclos says of Philip V., ‘Il étoit fort attentif sur sa santé; son médecin, s'il eût été intriguant, auroit pu jouer un grand rôle. Hyghens, Irlandois, qui occupoit cette première place, fort éloigné de l'intrigue et de la cupidité, instruit dans son art, s'en occupoit uniquement. Après sa mort, la reine fit donner la place à Servi, son médecin particulier.’ Mémoires par Duclos, 2^e édit. Paris, 1791, vol. ii. pp. 200, 201. ‘Hyghens, premier médecin, était Irlandais.’ Mémoires du Duc de Saint Simon, vol. xxxvi. p. 215, ed. Paris, 1841.

[1394] In the eighteenth century, the Spaniards, generally, began to admit this; since they could not shut their eyes to the fact that their friends and relations succumbed so rapidly under professional treatment, that sickness and death were almost synonymous. Hence, notwithstanding their hatred of the French nation, they availed themselves of the services of French physicians and French surgeons, whenever they had an opportunity of doing so. In 1707, the Princess des Ursins writes from Madrid to Madame de Maintenon, ‘Les chirurgiens espagnols sont mésestimés même de ceux de leur nation;’ and, in another letter, ‘Les Espagnols conviennent que les médecins français sont beaucoup plus savants que les leurs; ils s'en servent même très-volontiers, mais ils sont persuadés que ceux de la faculté de Montpellier l'emportent sur les autres.’ Lettres inédites de Madame de Maintenon et de la Princesse des Ursins, vol. iii. p. 412, vol. iv. p. 90.

[1395] Campomanes (Apendice á la Educacion Popular, Madrid, 1776, vol. iii. pp. 74, 75), speaking of a work on distillation, says, ‘La tercera (parte) describe la preparacion de los productos químicos sólidos: esto es la preparacion de varias sustancias terreas, como argamasa, magnesia blanca, ojos de cangrejo, etc., la de varios sales, como sal de glaubero, amoniaco, cristal mineral, borax refinado, etc., y la del antimonio, mercurio, plomo, litargirio, etc., comunicando sobre todo lo expresado varias noticias, que demuestran lo mucho que conducen á los progresos del arte, las observaciones del fisico reflexivo: unidas á la práctica de un profesor experimentado. Este arte en toda su extension falta en España. Solo le tenemos para aguardientes, rosolis, y mistelas. La salud pública es demasiado importante, para depender de los estraños en cosas esenciales; quando no estimulase nuestra industria la manutencion de muchas familias.’ … ‘Gran parte de estas cosas se introducen de fuera, por no conocerse bien las operaciones químicas. No son dificultosas en la execucion; pero es necesario enseñarlas, y conocer los instrumentos que son aproposito. Un laboratorio químico, que se va á establecer en Madrid, producirá maestros para las capitales del reyno.’

[1396] ‘Su ministro el célebre Ensenada, que tenia grandes miras en todos los ramos de la administracion pública, deseaba ardientemente mejorar la enseñanza, lamentándose del atraso en que esta se hallaba. “Es menester, decia hablando de las universidades, reglar sus cátedras, reformar las superfluas y establecer las que faltan con nuevas ordenanzas para asegurar el mejor método de estudios. No sé que haya cátedra alguna de derecho público, de física esperimental, de anatomía y botánica. No hay puntuales cartas geográficas del reino y de sus provincias, ni quien las sepa grabar, ni tenemos otras que las imperfectas que vienen de Francia y Holanda. De esto proviene que ignoramos la verdadera situacion de los pueblos y sus distancias, que es una vergüenza.”’ Tapia, Civilizacion Española, Madrid, 1840, vol. iv. pp. 268, 269. See also Biografía de Ensenada, in Navarrete, Coleccion de Opúsculos, Madrid, 1848, vol. ii. pp. 21, 22. ‘Le parecia vergonzoso que para conocer la situacion y distancias respectivas de nuestros mismos pueblos y lugares, dependiésemos de los franceses y holandeses, quienes por sus mapas imperfectas de la península extraían de ella sumas considerables.’ Eighty years after this complaint was made by Ensenada, we find a traveller in Spain stating that ‘a decent map of any part, even of the country round the gates of the capital, cannot be found.’ Cook's Spain from 1829 to 1832, London, 1834, vol. i. p. 322. Compare Notices of Geological Memoirs, p. 1, at the end of the Quarterly Journal of the Geological Society, vol. vi., London, 1850; ‘even a good geographical map of the Peninsula does not exist.’

[1397] M. Rio (Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. i. p. 185) mentions this in a very characteristic manner. ‘Varios extranjeros distinguidos hallaron fraternidad entre los españoles, y correspondieron hidalgamente al hospedaje: Cervi dió vida á las sociedades médicas de Madrid y Sevilla; Virgili al colegio de Cirugía de Cádiz; Quer trabajó sin descanso para que el Jardin Botánico no fuera un simple lugar de recreo, sino principalmente de estudio; Bowles comunicó grande impulso á la mineralogía,’ &c.

[1398] I have mislaid the evidence of this fact; but the reader may rely on its accuracy.

[1399] Townsend (Journey through Spain in 1786 and 1787, vol. ii. p. 275) says, ‘Don Antonio Solano, professor of experimental philosophy, merits attention for the clearness and precision of his demonstrations: but, unfortunately, although his lectures are delivered gratis, such is the want of taste for science in Madrid, that nobody attends them.’

[1400] ‘La ignorancia reinante en los últimos años del siglo xvii. depravó en tal manera el buen gusto, que á principios del xviii. las artes se hallaban en la mas lastimosa decadencia.’ Tapia, Civilizacion Española, Madrid, 1840, vol. iv. p. 346. See also, on this decline, or rather destruction, of taste, Valasquez, Origines de la Poesia Castellana, Malaga, 1754, 4to. ‘Un siglo, corrompido, en que las letras estaban abandonadas, y el buen gusto casi desterrado de toda la nacion.’ p. 70. ‘Al passo que la nacion perdia el buen gusto, y las letras iban caminando á su total decadencia.’ p. 107. ‘Los caminos por donde nuestros poetas en el siglo pasado se apartaron del buen gusto en esta parte.’ p. 170.

[1401] ‘Solo cuatro navíos de línea y seis de poco porte dejaron los reyes de orígen austriaco, y todos tan podridos que apenas podian aguantar el fuego de sus propias baterias.’ Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., Madrid, 1856, vol. i. p. 184.

[1402] ‘Se mandaron construir 12 navíos á la vez, y se contrataron otros. Por medio de D. Jorge Juan se trajeron de Inglaterra los mas hábiles constructores y maestros para las fábricas de jarcia, lona y otras.’ Biografía de Ensenada, in Navarrete, Coleccion de Opúsculos, Madrid, 1848, vol. ii. p. 18. M. Rio, taking all this as a matter of course, quietly says, ‘D. Jorge Juan fue á Lóndres para estudiar la construccion de navíos.’ Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., Madrid, 1856, vol. iv. p. 485.

[1403] M. Lafuente says that Ensenada was the restorer, and almost the creator, of the Spanish navy; ‘de la cual fué el restaurador, y casi pudiera decirse el creador.’ Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. xix. p. 344, Madrid, 1857.

[1404] ‘C'est par un Irlandais aussi, Oreilly, que la discipline de l'infanterie est réformée.’ Bourgoing, Tableau de l'Espagne Moderne, Paris, 1808, vol. ii. p. 142. ‘Las escuelas militares del puerto de Sta. Maria para la infanteria, que dirigió con tanto acierto el general Ofarril bajo las ordenes del conde de O'Reilly.’ Tapia, Civilizacion Española, vol. iv. p. 128.

[1405] ‘Vino á dirigir la academia de guardias marinas de Cadiz.’ Tapia, Civilizacion Española, vol. iv. p. 79. ‘Godin figuró como director del colegio de Guardias marinas.’ Rio, Historia de Carlos III., vol. i. p. 186. Compare Biographie Universelle, vol. xvii. p. 564, Paris, 1816.

[1406] See the interesting remarks in Bourgoing, Tableau de l'Espagne Moderne, Paris, 1808, vol. ii. pp. 96, 142. With good reason, therefore, was it stated, some years afterwards, that ‘c'est à des étrangers que l'Espagne doit presque tous les plans, les réformes utiles, et les connoissances dont elle a eu besoin.’ Voyage en Espagne par le Marquis de Langle, 1785, vol. ii. p. 159.

[1407] ‘Como los del pais entendian poco de trabajar minas, vinieron de Alemania algunos prácticos para enseñarlos.’ … ‘Los Alemanes sacaron de dicha mina por largo tiempo cosa de 500 á 600 quintales de cobalto al año.’ Bowles, Historia Natural de España, Madrid, 1789, 4to. pp. 418, 419. See also Dillon's Spain, Dublin, 1781, pp. 227–229.

[1408] ‘In 1728, a new adventurer undertook the work of opening the mines of Guadalcanal. This was Lady Mary Herbert, daughter of the Marquis of Powis.’ … ‘Lady Mary departed from Madrid for Guadalcanal, to which miners and engines had been sent from England at her expense, and at that of her relation, Mr. Gage, who accompanied her, and of her father, the marquis.’ Jacob's Historical Inquiry into the Production and Consumption of the Precious Metals, London, 1831, vol. i. pp. 278, 279.

[1409] ‘Los mineros de Almaden nunca hicieron los socavones siguiendo la inclinacion de las betas, sino perpendiculares, y baxaban ellos puestos en una especie de cubos atados desde arriba con cuerdas. De este mal método se originó todo al desórden de la mina, porque al paso que los operarios penetraban dentro de tierra, era forzoso que se apartasen de las betas y las perdiesen.’ Bowles, Historía Natural de España, Madrid, 1789, 4to. p. 14.

[1410] ‘Fué mi proyecto bien recibido del Ministerio, y habiendo hecho venir mineros Alemanes, le han executado en gran parte con mucha habilidad. Los mineros Españoles de Almaden son atrevidos y tienen robustez, maña y penetracion quanta es menester, de suerte que con el tiempo serán excelentes mineros, pues no les falta otra cosa que la verdadera ciencia de las minas.’ Historia Natural de España, p. 16. The latter part of this sentence is an evident struggle between the interests of truth, and the exigencies of a book printed at the Royal Press of Madrid, and licensed by the Spanish authorities.

[1411] ‘Encargado por el gobierno el laborioso extrangero Bowles de proponer los medios convenientes para beneficiar con mas acierto las famosas minas de azogue del Almaden, descubrió algunos nuevos procedimientos por medio de los cuales casi se duplicaron los productos de aquellas, y bajó una mitad el precio de los azogues.’ Tapia, Civilizacion Española, vol. iv. p. 117.

[1412] Memoirs of Ripperda, 2d ed., London, 1740, pp. 23, 62, 91, 104. ‘A ship arrived at Cadiz with fifty manufacturers on board, whom the Baron de Ripperda had drawn together in Holland.’ … ‘The new manufactures at Segovia, which, though at this time wholly managed by foreigners, he wished, in the next age, might be carried on by the Spaniards themselves, and by them only.’

[1413] ‘The minister, Wall, an Irishman, contrived to decoy over one Thomas Bevan, from Melksham, in Wiltshire, to set the machinery and matters to rights.’ Ford's Spain, London, 1847, p. 525.

[1414] ‘Ademas de la invitacion que se hizo á millares de operarios extrangeros para venir á establecerse en España,’ &c. Tapia, Civilizacion Española, vol. iv. pp. 112, 113. In 1768, Harris, who travelled from Pampeluna to Madrid, writes, ‘I did not observe a dozen men either at plough or any other kind of labour, on the road.’ Diaries and Correspondence of James Harris, Earl of Malmesbury, London, 1844, vol. i. p. 38.

[1415] ‘A national bank, a design originally suggested by Ripperda.’ Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. v. p. 202.

[1416] Bourgoing, not aware of Ripperda's priority, says (Tableau de l'Espagne Moderne, vol. ii. p. 49), ‘L'idée de la banque nationale fut donnée au gouvernement par un banquier français, M. Cabarrus.’ Compare Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. iv. pp. 122, 123: ‘Banco nacional de San Cárlos; propúsolo Cabarrús, apoyólo Floridablanca, y sancionólo el Soberano por Real cedula de 2 de junio de 1782.’ This sounds well; but the inevitable catastrophe soon came. ‘Charles IV.,’ says the Prince of the Peace, ‘had just ascended the throne; the bank of St. Carlos was rapidly falling, and on the verge of bankruptcy.’ Godoy's Memoirs, London, 1836, vol. i. p. 124.

[1417] ‘A Londres, à Stockholm, à Paris, à Vienne et à Venise, le souverain est réprésenté par des étrangers. Le prince de Masserano, Italien, ambassadeur en Angleterre; le comte de Lacy Irlandais, ministre à Stockholm; le marquis de Grimaldi, ambassadeur en France, avant de parvenir au ministère; le comte de Mahoni, Irlandais, ambassadeur à Vienne; le marquis de Squilaci, ambassadeur à Venise, après sa retraite du ministère.’ Bourgoing, Tableau de l'Espagne, vol. ii. pp. 142, 143. To this, I may add that, in the reign of Philip V., an Italian, the Marquis de Beretti Landi, was the representative of Spain in Switzerland, and afterwards at the Hague (Ripperda's Memoirs, 1740, pp. 37, 38); and that in, or just before, 1779, Lacy filled the same post at St. Petersburg. Malmesbury's Diaries and Correspondence, 1844, vol. i. p. 261. So, too, M. Rio (Historia de Carlos III., vol. i. pp. 288, 289) says of the important negotiations which took place in 1761, between Spain, England, and France, ‘Y así de las negociaciones en que Luis XV. trataba de enredar á Carlos III. quedaron absolutamente excluidos los españoles, como que por una parte las iban á seguir el duque de Choiseul y el marques de Ossun, franceses, y por otra el irlandés D. Ricardo Wall, y el genovés marques de Grimaldi.’ About the same time, Clarke writes (in his Letters concerning the Spanish Nation, London, 1763, 4to. p. 331), ‘Spain has, for many years past, been under the direction of foreign ministers. Whether this hath been owing to want of capacity in the natives, or disinclination in the sovereign, I will not take upon me to say; such as it is, the native nobility lament it as a great calamity.’

[1418] Lord Stanhope, generally well informed on Spanish affairs, says that Wall was ‘a native of Ireland.’ Mahon's History of England, vol. iv. p. 182, 3d edit., London, 1853; but in Mémoires de Noailles, vol. iv. p. 47, edit. Paris, 1829, he is called ‘irlandais d‘origine, né en France.’ See also Biografía de Ensenada, in Navarrete, Opúsculos, Madrid, 1848, vol. ii. p. 26, ‘D. Ricardo Wall, irlandés de orígen, nacido en Francia.’ Swinburne, who knew him personally, and has given some account of him, does not mention where he was born. Swinburne's Travels through Spain, second edition, London, 1787, vol. i. pp. 314–318.

[1419] ‘A Genoese, and a creature of France.’ Dunham's History of Spain, vol. v. p. 170.

[1420] ‘Era siciliano.’ Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. i. p. 244.

[1421] The fullest account of his dismissal is given by M. Rio, in the first chapter of the second volume of his Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., which should, however, be compared with Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. iv. pp. 340–346. Coxe terms him Squilaci; but I follow the orthography of the Spanish writers, who always call him Esquilache. Such was his influence over the King, that, according to Coxe (vol. iv. p. 347), Charles III. ‘publicly said that, “if he was reduced to a morsel of bread, he would divide it with Squilaci.”’

[1422] Coxe's Kings of Spain, vol. iv. pp. 15, 135. Rio, Historia de Carlos III., vol. i. pp. 246, 247, 400, 401. Navarrete, Biografía de Ensenada, pp. 26–28.

[1423] He resigned in 1776, but held office till the arrival of his successor, Florida Blanca, in 1777. Rio, Historia de Carlos III., vol. iii. pp. 171, 174. In reference to his appointment, in 1763, M. Rio observes (vol. i. p. 402), ‘De que Grimaldi creciera en fortuna se pudo congratular no Roma, sino Francia.’ In 1770, Harris, the diplomatist, who was then in Spain, writes, ‘His doctrine is absolutely French; guided in everything by the French closet,’ &c. Malmesbury's Diaries and Correspondence, vol. i. p. 56, London, 1844.

[1424] ‘Guided in his operations by the counsels of Choiseul.’ Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. iv. p. 339. ‘The prosecution of the schemes which he had concerted with Choiseul.’ p. 373. ‘His friend and patron.’ p. 391, and vol. v. p. 6.

[1425] ‘Personne n'ignoroit le crédit prodigieux que M. de Choiseul avoit sur le roi d'Espagne, dont il se vantoit lui-même, au point que je lui ai ouï dire, qu'il étoit plus sûr de sa prépondérance dans le cabinet de Madrid, que dans celui de Versailles.’ Mémoires du Baron de Besenval, écrits par lui-même, vol. ii. pp. 14, 15, Paris, 1805.

[1426] M. Muriel (Gobierno del Rey Don Carlos III., Madrid, 1839, pp. 44, 45) terms their expulsion from Spain ‘este acto de violencia hecho meramente por complacer al duque de Choiseul, ministro de Francia y protector del partido filosófico.’ See also Crétineau-Joly, Histoire de la Compagnie de Jésus, vol. v. p. 291, Paris, 1845; and Georgel, Mémoires pour servir à l'Histoire des Évènemens depuis 1760, vol. ii. p. 95, Paris, 1817.

[1427] Archdeacon Coxe, in a somewhat professional tone, says of Aranda, ‘In France he had acquired the graces of polished society, and imbibed that freedom of sentiment which then began to be fashionable, and has since been carried to such a dangerous excess.’ Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. iv. p. 402. His great enemy, the Prince of the Peace, wishing to be severe, unintentionally praises him; and observes, that he was ‘connected with the most distinguished literary Frenchmen of the middle of the last century,’ and that he was ‘divested of religious prejudices, though swayed by philosophical enthusiasm.’ Godoy's Memoirs, London, 1836, vol. i. p. 319. The hostility of some men is extremely valuable. The Prince further adds, that Aranda ‘could only lay claim to the inferior merit of a sectarian attachment,’ forgetting that, in a country like Spain, every enlightened person must belong to a miserably small sect.

[1428] Cabarrus (Elogio de Carlos III., Madrid, 1789, 4to. p. xxiv.) says, rather magniloquently, ‘El acierto de la execucion que correspondió al pulso y prudencia con que se habia deliberado esta providencia importante, pasará á la ultima posteridad.’

[1429] Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. iv. p. 362. M. Rio, in the second volume of his History of Charles III., Madrid, 1856, has given a long, but not very philosophical, nor very accurate, account of the expulsion of the Jesuits, which he considers solely from the Spanish point of view; overlooking the fact, that it was part of an European movement headed by France. He denies the influence of Choiseul, p. 125; censures the perfectly correct statement of Coxe, p. 123; and finally ascribes this great event to the operation of causes confined to the Peninsula. ‘De ser los jesuitas adversarios del regalismo emanó su ruina en España, cuando triunfaban las opiniones sostenidas con heróico teson desde mucho ántes por doctísimos jurisconsultos.’ p. 519.

[1430] One of the most recent historians of the Jesuits indignantly observes, ‘Depuis deux cent vingt ans les Jésuites vivent et prêchent en Espagne. Ils sont comblés de bienfaits par des monarques dont ils étendent la souveraineté. Le clergé et les masses acceptent avec bonheur leur intervention. Tout à coup l'Ordre se voit déclaré coupable d'un crime de lèse-majesté, d'un attentat public que personne ne peut spécifier. La sentence prononce la peine sans énoncer le délit.’ Crétineau-Joly, Histoire de la Compagnie de Jésus, vol. v. p. 295, Paris, 1845.

[1431] Dunham's History of Spain, vol. v. p. 285, where the facts are well brought together. The valuable History of the Inquisition, by Llorente, is not quite precise enough in these matters; though it is a very accurate, and, what is still more surprising, a very honest book.

[1432] Rio, Historia de Carlos III., vol. iii. pp. 103–107, which must be compared with the account of Coxe, who derived some of his information from a friend of Aranda's. Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. iv. pp. 401–415. A good life of Aranda would be very interesting. That contained in the Biographie Universelle is extremely meagre, and carelessly written.

[1433] Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. iv. p. 407.

[1434] ‘When at Paris, in 1786, I received the following anecdote from a person connected with the encyclopædists. During his residence in that capital, D'Aranda had frequently testified to the literati with whom he associated, his resolution to obtain the abolition of the Inquisition, should he ever be called to power. His appointment was, therefore, exultingly hailed by the party, particularly by D'Alembert; and he had scarcely begun his reforms before an article was inserted in the Encyclopædia, then printing, in which this event was confidently anticipated, from the liberal principles of the minister. D'Aranda was struck on reading this article, and said, “This imprudent disclosure will raise such a ferment against me, that my plans will be foiled.” He was not mistaken in his conjecture.’ Coxe‘s Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. iv. p. 408.

[1435] Even the case in 1781 appears to have been for witchcraft rather than for heresy. ‘La dernière victime qui périt dans les flammes fut une béate: on la brûla à Séville, le 7 novembre 1781, comme ayant fait un pacte, et entretenu un commerce charnel avec le Démon, et pour avoir été impénitente négative. Elle eût pu éviter la mort en s'avouant coupable du crime dont on l'accusait.’ Llorente, Histoire de l'Inquisition d'Espagne, Paris, 1818, vol. iv. p. 270. About this time, torture began to be disused in Spain. See an interesting note in Johnston's Institutes of the Civil Law of Spain, London, 1825, p. 263.

[1436] ‘Menesteres decir que el marqués de Grimaldi cayó venciendo á sus enemigos, pues, léjos de legarles el poder, á que aspiraban con anhelo, trasmitiólo á una de sus más legítimas hechuras; que tal era y por tal se reconocia el conde de Floridablanca.’ Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. iii. pp. 151, 152.

[1437] In 1690, it was stated that ‘since the expulsion of the Moors,’ there was no precedent for the King of Spain ever sending an envoy to a Mohammedan prince. See Mahon's Spain under Charles II., p. 5. In that year an envoy was sent to Morocco; but this was merely concerning the redemption of prisoners, and certainly without the remotest intention of concluding a peace.

[1438] ‘The other European courts, with surprise and regret, witnessed the conclusion of a treaty which terminated the political and religious rivalry so long subsisting between Spain and the Porte.’ Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. v. pp. 152, 153. ‘Une des maximes de la politique espagnole avait été celle de maintenir une guerre perpétuelle contre les mahométans, même après la conquête de Grenade. Ni les pertes incalculables éprouvées par suite de ce système, ni l'exemple de la France et d'autres puissances catholiques qui ne se faisaient point scrupule d'être en paix avec les Turcs, n'avaient suffi pour détromper l'Espagne sur l'inconvenance d'une telle politique. Le génie éclairé de Charles III corrigea un préjugé aussi dangereux; dicta la paix avec les empereurs de Turquie et d'autres potentats mahométans; délivra ses sujets de la terrible piraterie des corsaires, et ouvrit à leur commerce de nouvelles voies pour spéculer avec de plus grands avantages.’ Sempere, La Monarchie Espagnole, vol. ii. p. 160.

[1439] Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. iv. pp. 11–13.

[1440] Ibid. vol. iv. pp. 16, 17.

[1441] ‘Ha sido notable el número de cautivos, que los piratas de Berbería han hecho sobre nuestras costas por tres centurias. En el siglo pasado se solian calcular exístentes á la vez en Argel, treinta mil personas españolas. Su rescate á razon de mil pesos por cada persona á lo menos, ascendia á 30 millones de pesos.’ Campomanes, Apendice á la Educacion Popular, vol. i. p. 373, Madrid, 1775. On the precautions which had to be used to guard the coasts of Spain against the Mohammedan corsairs, see Uztariz, Theorica y Practica de Comercio, Madrid, 1757, folio, pp. 172, 173, 222–226; and Lafuente, Historia de España, vol. xv. p. 476, Madrid, 1855. In the middle of the eighteenth century, a regular watch had to be kept along the Mediterranean coast of Spain, ‘in order to give the alarm upon the appearance of the enemy.’ See A Tour through Spain by Udal ap Rhys, 2d edit., London, 1760, p. 170. As to the state of things in the seventeenth century, see Janer, Condicion de los Moriscos, Madrid, 1857, p. 63.

[1442] ‘De esta suerte quedaron los mares limpios de piratas desde los reinos de Fez y Marruecos hasta los últimos dominios del emperador Turco, por el Mediterráneo todo; vióse á menudo la bandera española en Levante, y las mismas naciones mercantiles que la persiguieron indirectamente, preferíanla ahora, resultando el aumento del comercio y de la Real marina, y la pericia de sus tripulaciones, y el mayor brillo de España y de su augusto Soberano: termino hubo la esclavitud de tantos millares de infelices con abandono de sus familias é indelebles perjuicios de la religion y el Estado, cesando tambien la continua extraccion de enormes sumas para los rescates que, al paso que nos empobrecian, pasaban á enriquecer á nuestros contrarios, y á facilitar sus armamentos para ofendernos; y se empezaban á cultivar rápidamente en las costas del Mediterráneo leguas de terrenos los más fertiles del mundo, desamparados y eriales hasta entónces por miedo á los piratas, y donde se formaban ya pueblos enteros para dar salida á los frutos y las manufacturas.’ Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. iv. pp. 17, 18.

[1443] M. Rio, whose voluminous History of the reign of Charles III. is, notwithstanding its numerous omissions, a work of considerable value, has appreciated the personal influence of the king more justly than any previous writer; he having had access to unpublished papers, which show the great energy and activity of Charles. ‘Entre sus mas notables figuras ninguna aventaja á la de Cárlos III.; y no por el lugar jerárquico que ocupa, sino por el brillante papel que representa, ora tome la iniciativa, ora el consejo, para efectuar las innumerables reformas que le valieron inextinguible fama. Ya sé que algunos tachan á este Monarca de cortedad de luces y de estrechez de miras; y que algunos otros suponen que sus ministros le engañaron ó sorprendieron para dictar ciertas providencias. Cuarenta y ocho tomos de cartas semanales y escritas de su puno desde octubre de 1759 hasta marzo de 1783 al marqués de Tanucci, existentes en el archivo de Simancas, por mí leidas hoja tras hoja, sacando de ellas largos apuntes, sirven á maravilla para pintarle tal como era, y penetrar hasta sus más recónditos pensamientos, y contradecir á los que le juzgan á bulto.’ Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., Madrid, 1856, vol. i. pp. xxii. xxiii.

[1444] ‘Although born and educated in Spain, Charles had quitted the country at too early an age to retain a partiality to its customs, laws, manners, and language; while, from his residence abroad, and his intercourse with France, he had formed a natural predilection for the French character and institutions.’ Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. iv. p. 337.

[1445] He ‘far surpassed his two predecessors in his exertions to reform the morals, and restrain the power of the clergy.’ Ibid. vol. v. p. 215.

[1446] His measures ‘alarmaron al clero en general, que empezó á murmurar con impaciencia, y aun algunos de sus individuos se propasaron á violentos actos.’ Tapia, Civilizacion Española, vol. iv. p. 98.

[1447] A popular charge against the government was, ‘que se despojara á la Iglesia de sus inmunidades.’ Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. ii. p. 54. See also at pp. 201, 202, a letter, in 1766, from the Bishop of Cuenca to the King's confessor, in which that prelate stated, ‘que España corria á su ruina que ya no corria, sino que volaba, y que ya estaba perdida sin remedio humano;’ and that the cause of this was the persecution of the poor Church, which was ‘saqueada en sus bienes, ultrajada en sus ministros, y atropellada en su inmunidad.’

[1448] Coxe (Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. v. p. 144) calls the peace of 1783 ‘the most honourable and advantageous ever concluded by the crown of Spain since the peace of St. Quintin.’ Similarly, M. Rio (Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. iii. p. 397), ‘Siglos habian pasado para España de continuas y porfiadas contiendas, sin llegar nunca, desde la famosa jornada de San Quintin y al alborear el reinado de Felipe II., tan gloriosamente al reposo.’

[1449] Towards the close of his reign, we find a contemporary observer, who was anything but prejudiced in his favour, bearing testimony to ‘the honest and obstinate adherence of his present Catholic Majesty to all his treaties, principles, and engagements,’ Letter by an English Officer, London, 1788, vol. ii. p. 329. Compare Muriel (Gobierno del Rey Don Carlos III., Madrid, 1839, p. 34), ‘Tan conocido llegó á ser Cárlos III. en los reinos estraños por la rectitud de su carácter, que en las desavenencias que ocurrian entre los gobiernos, todos consentian en tomarle por árbitro, y se sometian á sus decisiones;’ and Cabarrus (Elogio de Carlos III., Madrid, 1789, 4to. p. xl.), ‘Esta probidad llega á ser el resorte político de la Europa; todas las cortes penetradas de respeto á sus virtudes le buscan por árbitro y mediador.’ Evidence of the great respect paid to Charles III. by foreign powers, will also be found in Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. iv. pp. 41–43, 253.

[1450] On the increase of the navy, compare Tapia, Civilizacion Española, vol. iv. p. 127, with Muriel, Gobierno del Rey Carlos III., pp. 73, 82.

[1451] These financial improvements were due, in a great measure, to the Frenchman, Cabarrus. See Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. iv. pp. 122, 123.

[1452] Rio, ibid. vol. iv. pp. 164–166, and Tapia, Civilizacion Española, vol. iv. pp. 96, 97.

[1453] ‘La providencia mas acertada para el fomento de nuestra agricultura fué sin duda la real pragmática de 11 de julio de 1765, por la cual se abolió la tasa de los granos, y se permitió el libre comercio de ellos.’ Tapia, Civilizacion Española, vol. iv. p. 105. See also Dillon's Spain, p. 69, and Townsend's Spain, vol. ii. p. 230. The first step towards this great reform was taken in 1752. See the edict issued in that year, ‘Libertase de Derechos el trigo, cebada, centeno y maiz que por mar se transportáre de unas provincias á otras de estos dominios.’ This document, which is important for the history of political economy, is printed in the Appendix to Campomanes, Educacion Popular, vol. ii. pp. 16, 17, Madrid, 1775.

[1454] ‘Pronto se establecieron los correos marítimos y se comunicaron con regularidad y frecuencia no vistas hasta entónces la metrópoli y las colonias. Por efecto del importante decreto de 24 de agosto de 1764, salía el primero de cada mes un paquebot de la Coruña con toda la correspondencia de las Indias; desembarcábala en la Habana, y desde allí se distribuia en balandras y otros bajeles á propósito para puntear los vientos escasos, á Veracruz, Portobelo, Cartagena, islas de Barlovento y provincias de la Plata; y aquellos ligeros buques volvian á la Habana, de donde zarpaba mensualmente y en dia fijo otro paquebot para la Coruña.’ Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. i. p. 452. That part of the plan, however, which aimed at making Coruña a rival of Cadiz, appears to have been unsuccessful. See a letter from Coruña, written in 1774, in Dalrymple's Travels through Spain, London, 1777, 4to. p. 99.

[1455] See the edicts in Campomanes, Apendice, vol. ii. pp. 37–47, Madrid, 1775. They are both dated October 16th, 1765.

[1456] It was said, with reason, by Alaman, ‘que el gobierno de América llego al colmo de su perfeccion en tiempo de Carlos III.’ Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. iv. p. 151. And Humboldt observes (Essai Politique sur le Royaume de la Nouvelle-Espagne, Paris, 1811, 4to. vol. i. p. 102), ‘C'est le roi Charles III surtout qui, par des mesures aussi sages qu'énergiques, est devenu le bienfaiteur des indigènes; il a annulé les Encomiendas; il a défendu les Repartimientos, par lesquels les corregidors se constituoient arbitrairement les créanciers, et par conséquent les maîtres du travail des natifs, en les pourvoyant, à des prix exagérés, de chevaux, de mulets et de vêtemens (ropa).’

[1457] Cabarrus, Elogio de Carlos III., Madrid, 1789, p. xlii., and Canga's note in Martinez de la Mata, Dos Discursos, Madrid, 1794, p. 31. But these writers were not sufficiently familiar with political economy, really to appreciate this measure.

[1458] ‘Early in the reign of Charles, steps had been taken towards the adoption of more liberal principles in the commerce with America; but, in the year 1778, a complete and radical change was introduced. The establishment of a free trade rapidly produced the most beneficial consequences. The export of foreign goods was tripled, of home-produce quintupled; and the returns from America augmented in the astonishing proportion of nine to one. The produce of the customs increased with equal rapidity.’ Clarke's Examination of the Internal State of Spain, London, 1818, p. 72.

[1459] Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. v. pp. 197, 317, 318.

[1460] See Florida Blanca's statement in Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. v. p. 331; ‘to facilitate to artisans and journeymen the scanty payment of their labours, in spite of the privileges and interest of the powerful.’

[1461] Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. iv. pp. 317, 318, and elsewhere.

[1462] ‘“Desde mi feliz advenimiento al trono” (dijo el Rey en la ordenanza de reemplazos) “ha merecido mi Real proteccion el arte de la imprenta, y, para que pueda arraigarse sólidamente en estos reinos, vengo en declarar la exencion del sorteo y servicio militar, no solo á los impresores, sino tambien á los fundidores que se empleen de continuo en este ejercicio, y á los abridores de punzones y matrices.”’ Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. iii. p. 213.

[1463] On the steps taken to reform the universities between 1768 and 1774, see Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. iii. pp. 185–210. Compare vol. iv. pp. 296–299.

[1464] ‘La educacion de la juventud por los maestros de primeras letras es uno y aun el más principal ramo de la policía y buen gobierno del Estado.’ Real Provision de 11 de julio de 1771, printed in Rio, vol. iii. p. 182.

[1465] M. Lafuente, who has justly praised the love of peace displayed by Ferdinand VI. (Historia de España, vol. i. p. 202, vol. xix. pp. 286, 378), adds (vol. xix. p. 384), ‘De modo que con razon se admira, y es el testimonio más honroso de la buena administracion económica de este reinado, que al morir este buen monarca dejára, no diremos nosotros repletas y apuntaladas las arcas públicas, como hiperbólicamente suele decirse, pero sí con el considerable sobrante de trescientos millones de reales, despues de cubiertas todas las atenciones del Estado: fenómeno que puede decirse se veia por primera vez en España, y resultado satisfactorio, que aun supuesta una buena administracion, solo pudo obtenerse á favor de su prudente política de neutralidad y de paz.’

[1466] ‘But it is to Charles III. that Madrid owes all its present magnificence. Under his care, the royal palace was finished, the noble gates of Alcalá and San Vincente were raised; the custom-house, the post-office, the museum, and royal printing-office, were constructed; the academy of the three noble arts improved; the cabinet of natural history, the botanic garden, the national bank of San Carlos, and many gratuitous schools established; while convenient roads leading from the city, and delightful walks planted within and without it, and adorned by statues and fountains, combine to announce the solicitude of this paternal king.’ Spain by an American, London, 1831, vol. i. p. 206; see also p. 297.

[1467] The following passage describes its state so late as the year 1766: ‘Por temor ó por connivencia de los venteros, dentro de sus casas concertaban frecuentemente los ladrones sus robos, y los ejecutaban á mansalva, ocultándose en guaridas de que ahuyentaban á las fieras. Acaso á muy largas distancias se descubrian entre contados caseríos algunos pastores como los que allí hizo encontrar el ilustre manco de Lepanto al ingenioso hidalgo de la Mancha. Parte de la Sierra estuvo poblada en tiempo de moros; actualmente ya no habia más que espesos matorrales hasta en torno de la ermita de Santa Elena, donde resonaron cánticos de gracias al Cielo por el magnífico triunfo de las Navas.’ Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. iii. p. 9. On the condition of the Sierra Morena a hundred years before this, see Boisel, Journal du Voyage d'Espagne, Paris, 1669, 4to. pp. 62, 296; where it is termed ‘le lieu le plus désert, et où il n'y a que quelques ventas sans villages.’

[1468] Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. iii. pp. 9–11, 35. By 1771, ‘sin auxilio de la Real hacienda pudieron mantenerse al fin los colonos.’ p. 42. See also vol. iv. pp. 114, 115. On the subsequent history of this settlement, see Inglis' Spain, vol. ii. pp. 29–31, London, 1831.

[1469] ‘En 1760 se destinó por primera vez un fondo especial para la construccion de caminos.’ Tapia, Civilizacion Española, vol. iv. p. 123.

[1470] Indeed, M. Rio says, that the expense was reduced by two-thirds, and, in some parts, by three-fourths. ‘Antes se regulaba en un millon de reales la construccion de cada legua; ahora solo ascendia á la tercera ó cuarta parte de esta suma.’ Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. iv. p. 117.

[1471] A note in Bowles, Historia Natural de España, Madrid, 1789, 4to. p. 158, terms this ‘un camino alineado y sólido.’ In Cook's Spain, London, 1834, vol. i. p. 209, it is called ‘a magnificent road.’

[1472] ‘Para dar salida á los frutos, que regaban los pantanos de Lorca, ejecutóse una bien trazada via al puerto de las Aguilas.’ Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. iv. pp. 115, 116.

[1473] In 1769, Baretti writes, in great surprise, ‘the Biscayans are actually making a noble road, which is to go from Bilbao to Osma.’ Baretti's Journey through England, Portugal, Spain, and France, London, 1770, vol. iv. p. 311.

[1474] ‘Otras diferentes carreteras, construidas de nuevo ó rehabilitadas, multiplicaron las comunicaciones durante los nueve primeros años de estar á cargo de Floridablanca la superintendencia general de caminos, haciéndose de fácil y cómodo tránsito puntos escabrosos como el del Puerto de la Cadena y los que médian entre Astorga y Galicia, y Málaga y Antequera.’ Rio, Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., vol. iv. p. 115.

[1475] ‘The reigns of Ferdinand the Sixth and Charles the Third produced the most beneficial changes in this important branch of political economy. New roads were opened, which were carefully levelled, and constructed with solidity. There are at the present time in Spain several superb roads, such as may vie with the finest in Europe; indeed, they have been made with superior judgment, and upon a grander scale.’ Laborde's Spain, edit. London, 1809, vol. iv. p. 427.

[1476] Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. v. p. 287.

[1477] Ibid. vol. v. pp. 198, 199, 286, 287. Townsend's Spain, vol. i. pp. 212–215. Laborde's Spain, vol. ii. p. 271. This canal, which was intended to establish a free communication between the Bay of Biscay and the Mediterranean, is slightly noticed in Macpherson's Annals of Commerce, vol. iv. pp. 95, 96: a learned and valuable work, but very imperfect as regards Spain. The economical value of this great enterprise, and the extent to which it succeeded, are seriously under-estimated in Ford's Spain, p. 587; a book which, notwithstanding the praise that has been conferred upon it, is carelessly composed, and is sure to mislead readers who have not the means of comparing it with other authorities. M. Rio's History of Charles III. contains some interesting information on the subject; but, unfortunately, I omitted to mark the passages.

[1478] Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. v. pp. 288, 289, on the authority or Florida Blanca himself.

[1479] Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. v. p. 199. Townsend's Spain, vol. i. p. 304.

[1480] See Florida Blanca's statement in Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. v. p. 289. ‘In many other parts similar works have been promoted, for canals of irrigation, and for encouraging agriculture and traffic. The canals of Manzanares and Guadarrama are continued by means of the national bank, which has appropriated one-half of the profits derived from the export of silver to this end.’ … ‘The town of Almuradiel, formed in the middle of the campo nuevo of Andalusia, for the rugged pass of Despeña Perros, is another example of agriculture for the neighbouring places; since, instead of woods and frightful deserts, we have seen in a few years public buildings, houses, plantations, and cultivated lands, producing every species of grain and fruits, which border the road, and banish the danger of robbers and banditti.’ See also Muriel, Gobierno del Rey Don Carlos III., p. 5. ‘Habiendo sido el reinado de Carlos III. una serie continua de mejoras en todos ramos;’ and the striking picture (p. 15), ‘Agricultura, artes mecánicas, comercio, enseñanza, milicia, navegacion, ciencias, letras, legislacion, en una palabra, todo cuanto puede influir en la prosperidad del Estado, todo llamó la atencion de los ministros, y en todo hicieron las mejoras que permitian las circunstancias.’' On the improvements in internal communications, see the same valuable work, pp. 187–192.

[1481] Respecting this step, which as effected in 1754, see Tapia, Civilizacion Española, Madrid, 1840, vol. iv. pp. 81, 82. ‘Fué este tratado utilísimo para la España, pues por él se libertó del pago de enormes sumas que hasta entonces habian pasado á los estados pontificos. En el informe canónico-legal escrito á virtud de real órden en 1746 por el fiscal de la cámara de Castilla Don Blas de Jover, se decia; que según el testimonio del historiador Cabrera, en el espacio de 30 años el solo renglon de las coadjutorías y dispensas habia hecho pasar á Roma de la corona de Castilla millon y medio de ducados romanos. Y añade el mismo Jover que á principios del siglo xviii. subia aun esta contribucion cada año en todos los estados de la monarquia española á 500,000 escudos romanos, que era un tercio poco mas ó menos de lo que Roma percibia de toda la cristiandad.’

[1482] See Appendix I. to Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. v. p. 334.

[1483] It is important to observe, that the Cortes, where alone the voice of the people had a chance of being heard, was assembled but three times during the whole of the eighteenth century, and then merely for the sake of form. ‘Les Cortès ne se réunirent que trois fois pendant le dix-huitième siècle, et plutôt encore comme des solennités formulaires pour la prestation du serment aux princes héritiers de la couronne, que comme étant nécessaires pour de nouvelles lois et des contributions.’ Sempere, Histoire des Cortès d'Espagne, Bordeaux, 1815, p. 270.

[1484] By combining these three qualities, he has deserved and received the cordial approbation of the present Bishop of Barcelona, who, in his recent work on the Spanish Church, styles him ‘un monarca tan piadoso.’ Observaciones sobre El Presente y El Porvenir de la Iglesia en España, por Domingo Costa y Borras, Barcelona, 1857, p. 80.

[1485] Even in Alison's History of Europe, where men of his character are usually made much of, he is treated with moderate disdain. ‘Charles IV. was not destitute of good qualities, but he was a weak, incapable prince.’ Vol. viii. p. 382, Edinburgh, 1849.

[1486] Sempere, Monarchie Espagnole, vol. ii. p. 167. I need hardly say, that not the slightest credit is to be attached to the account given in Godoy's Memoirs. Every one tolerably acquainted with Spanish history, will see that his book is an attempt to raise his own reputation, by defaming the character of some of the ablest and most high-minded of his contemporaries.

[1487] Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature, vol. iii. pp. 277, 278.

[1488] ‘In all its worst forms, therefore, oppression, civil, political, and religious, appeared to be settling down, with a new and portentous weight, on the whole country.’ Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature, vol. iii. p. 318.

[1489] ‘Caballero, fearing the progress of all learning, which might disturb the peace of the Court, sent, not long since, a circular order to the universities, forbidding the study of moral philosophy. “His Majesty,” it was said in the order, “was not in want of philosophers, but of good and obedient subjects.”’ Doblado‘s Letters from Spain, p. 358.

[1490] 'Le gouvernement de Charles IV avait épuisé toutes les ressources de l'État.’ Sempere, Histoire des Cortès d'Espagne, p. 323.

[1491] In Spain, the voice of the people has always been opposed to the liberal party, as many writers have observed, without being aware of the reason. Mr. Walton (Revolutions of Spain, London, 1837, vol. i. pp. 322, 323) says of the Cortes, ‘Public indignation hurled them from their seats in 1814; and in 1823 they were overpowered, not by the arms of France, but by the displeasure of their own countrymen,’ &c. See also p. 290; and Quin's Memoirs of Ferdinand the Seventh, London, 1824, p. 121, where it is mentioned, that ‘in all the towns through which the King passed, the multitude, excited by the friars and clergy, overturned the constitutional stone, and uttered the most atrocious insults against the Constitution, the Cortes, and the Liberals.’ Compare Sempere, Histoire des Cortès, p. 335, and Bacon's Six Years in Biscay, p. 40. Indeed, a very intelligent writer on Spanish affairs in 1855, asserts, with, I believe, perfect truth, that Spain is ‘un pays où les populations sont toujours, à coup sûr moins libérales que les gouvernemens.’ Annuaire des Deux Mondes, 1854, 1855, Paris, 1855, p. 266.

[1492] Buckle's History of Civilization, vol. ii. p. 117.

[1493] Prescott's History of Ferdinand and Isabella, vol. i. p. xlviii.

[1494] Ibid. vol. i. p. xcvi.

[1495] Hallam's Middle Ages, ninth edition, London, 1846, vol. ii. pp. 153–157, which must be compared with Hallam's Supplemental Notes, London, 1848, pp. 323–327.

[1496] Ibid. vol. i. p. 373. Prescott's Ferdinand and Isabella, vol. i. pp. xlv. xlvi.

[1497] ‘Ce fut alors que les successeurs de Pélage descendirent de leurs montagnes dans les plaines, de leurs forteresses perchées sur des rocs inaccessibles dans les villes populeuses, le long des fleuves, dans de fertiles vallées et sur les côtes de la mer; ce fut alors que la ville d'Astorgue revint du pouvoir des Arabes à celui des Asturiens et chassa toute la partie musulmane de ces habitants; ce fut alors, enfin, que commencèrent en Espagne ces concessions de franchises municipales par lesquelles les rois et les seigneurs chrétiens cherchèrent à attirer des populations chrétiennes dans les lieux d'où ils avaient chassé les Musulmans.’ Fauriel, Histoire de la Gaule Méridionale, Paris, 1836, vol. iii. p. 215. See also Sempere, Monarchie Espagnole, vol. ii. pp. 256, 257.

[1498] On the increasing confidence of the Spaniards in the middle of the fourteenth century, see an interesting passage in Mariana, Historia de España, vol. iv. pp. 172, 173.

[1499] The deputies of the towns did, in fact, eventually overthrow their own liberties, as a Spanish historian truly remarks. ‘Il n'est pas étonnant que les monarques espagnols tâchassent d'affermir leur autorité autant que possible, et encore moins que leurs conseillers et leurs, ministres coopérassent à leurs desseins. L'histoire de toutes les nations nous offre de nombreux exemples de cette politique; mais ce qu'il y a de plus remarquable dans celle d'Espagne, c'est que les députés des villes qui auraient dû être les plus zélés défenseurs de leurs droits, conspirèrent ouvertement contre le tiers-état, et tentèrent d'anéantir les restes de l'ancienne représentation nationale.’ Sempere, Histoire des Cortès d'Espagne, p. 213. It strikes one as singular, that M. Sempere should never have inquired, why this happened in Spain, and not elsewhere. A later writer, reflecting on the destruction of the municipal element by the royal authority, gives a solution, which, like many other so-called solutions, is merely a statement of the same fact in different words. ‘Al fin la autoridad real logró alcanzar un gran predominio en el gobierno municipal de los pueblos, porque los corregidores y alcaldes mayores llegaron á eclipsar la influencia de los adelantados y alcaldes elegidos por los pueblos.’ Antequera, Historia de la Legislacion Española, Madrid, 1849, p. 287. This, instead of explaining the event, is simply narrating it afresh.

[1500] The final destruction of popular liberty is ascribed by many writers to the battle of Villalar, in 1521; though it is quite certain that, if the royalists had lost that battle, instead of gaining it, the ultimate result would have been the same. At one time, I had purposed tracing the history of the municipal and representative elements during the fifteenth century; and the materials which I then collected, convinced me that the spirit of freedom never really existed in Spain, and that therefore the marks and forms of freedom were sure, sooner or later, to be effaced.

[1501] ‘Ceux qui servent la Messe en Espagne, soit Religieux, ou Séculiers, ne manquent jamais d'aider le Prêtre à s'habiller, et le font avec beaucoup de respect. Les plus grande Seigneurs s'en font honneur, et à mesure qu'ils présentent au Prêtre quelque partie des ornemens, ils lui baisent la main. On se met à genoux pour donner à laver au Prêtre pendant la Messe, et après qu'il a essuyé ses doigts, celui qui lui a donné l'eau demeurant à genoux lui présente le bassin retourné, sur lequel le Prêtre met sa main pour la lui laisser baiser. Au retour à la Sacristie, il ne manque pas d'aider le Prêtre à se déshabiller, après quoi il se met à genoux pour recevoir sa bénédiction et baiser sa main.’ Labat, Voyages en Espagne et en Italie, Paris, 1730, vol. i. p. 36.

[1502] ‘Telle est la coûtume du Païs, on s'exposeroit à laisser douter de sa foi, et passer au moins pour Maran, ou Chrétien nouveau, si on ne laissoit pas le tiers de ses biens mobiliers à l'Eglise.’ Labat, Voyages en Espagne, vol. i. p. 268.

[1503] It was the opinion of the Pope, that Charles, by this act, had endangered his own soul. ‘Dans un bref adressé à Charles III; il déclara: “Que les actes du Roi contre les Jésuites mettaient évidemment son salut en danger.”’ Crétineau-Joly, Histoire de la Compagnie de Jésus, Paris, 1845, vol. v. p. 302.

[1504] As this circumstance, which is noticed by Crétineau-Joly (Histoire de la Compagnie de Jésus, vol. v. p. 311) and other writers (Dunham's History of Spain, vol. v. p. 180), has been much misrepresented, and has even been doubted by one author, I will transcribe the statement of Coxe, whose information respecting the reign of Charles III. was derived from eye-witnesses. ‘A remarkable and alarming proof of their influence was given at Madrid, the year after their expulsion. At the festival of St. Charles, when the monarch showed himself to the people from the balcony of the palace, and was accustomed to grant their general request; to the surprise and confusion of the whole court, the voice of the immense multitude, with one accord, demanded the return of the Jesuits, and the permission for them to wear the habit of the secular clergy. This unexpected incident alarmed and mortified the King; and, after a vigilant inquiry, he thought proper to banish the Cardinal Archbishop of Toledo, and his Grand Vicar, as the secret instigators of this tumultuary petition.’ Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, 2nd edit., London, 1815, vol. iv. pp. 368, 369. The remarks made on this event by M. Rio (Historia del Reinado de Carlos III., Madrid, 1856, vol. ii. pp. 197–199) are not very creditable, either to his criticism or to his candour. It is uncritical to doubt the statement of a contemporary, when that statement relates what is probable in itself, and what those who lived nearest to the period never denied. Indeed, so far from denying it, M. Muriel, the learned translator of Coxe's work into Spanish, gave it the sanction of his name. And, it is surely, to say the least, very uncandid on the part of M. Rio to impute to Coxe the error of placing this occurrence in 1767, and then proving that, owing to circumstances connected with the Archbishop of Toledo, it could not have happened in that year. For, Coxe distinctly asserts, that it was in 1768; ‘the year after their expulsion.’

[1505] See the statement of Florida Blanca, in Appendix I. to Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. v. p. 282. Another Spaniard, the Prince of the Peace, says, that at the accession of Charles IV., in 1788, ‘the cloisters were encumbered with an ever-increasing number of monks of all orders and of all ages.’ Godoy's Memoirs, edit. London, 1836, vol. i. p. 126. See also, on the state of ecclesiastical establishments in the same year, some interesting remarks in the Letters of Cabarrus; ‘con qué horrible desproporcion superabundan los individuos estériles á los operarios útiles y preciosos.’ Cartas escritas por el Conde de Cabarrus, Madrid, 1813, p. 133.

[1506] Of it, a celebrated writer in the reign of Philip V. boastfully says, ‘Su exacta vigilancia comprehende igualmente á Naturales y Estrangeros.’ Uztariz, Theorica y Practica de Comercio, tercera impression, Madrid, 1757, folio, p. 27. When such a man as Uztariz could pen a sentence like this, we may imagine what was felt by the people, who were far more ignorant than he, and far more orthodox. M. Tapia, in a remarkable and unusually bold passage, frankly admits that it was the pressure of public opinion which prevented Charles III. from abolishing the Inquisition. ‘Estraño pareceria que habiéndose hecho tanto en aquel reinado para limitar el poder escesivo del clero, y acabar con absurdas preocupaciones, no se suprimiese el monstruoso tribunal de la inquisicion; pero es necesario tener presente que el rey despues del motin de Madrid procedia con timidez en toda providencia que pudiese contrariar la opinion pública; y él creia que los españoles querian la inquisicion, como se lo manifestó al ministro Roda y al conde de Aranda, añadiendo que en nada coartaba su autoridad.’ Tapia, Civilizacion Española, vol. iv. p. 98, Madrid, 1840. To us, the Inquisition seems rather a singular object for men to set their affections on; but of the existence of the passion there can be no doubt. ‘L'Inquisition si révérée en Espagne.’ Mémoires de Louville, vol. i. p. 36. And Geddes (Tracts, London, 1730, vol. i. p. 400) tells us that ‘the Inquisition is not only established by law, but by a wonderful fascination is so fixed in the hearts and affections of the people, that one that should offer the least affront to another, for having been an informer or witness in the Inquisition, would be torn in a thousand pieces.’

[1507] ‘The familiars of the Inquisition, Abrantes, Mora, and others, grandees of Spain, attended as servants, without hats or swords.’ Coxe's Bourbon Kings of Spain, vol. iv. pp. 418, 419. This was in the great case of Olavide.

[1508] An accomplished modern geographer says: ‘From the extent of its coast-line, its numerous ports, its geographical position, and natural products, Spain possesses greater commercial advantages than any other country of Europe.’ Johnston's Dictionary of Physical, Statistical, and Historical Geography, London, 1850, p. 1213.

[1509] ‘No quiero hablar de los frutos de España, no obstante que los produzca tan exquisitos de todas especies. Solo diré que sus naranjas dulces las traxeron de la China los Portugueses, y que de Portugal se ha difundido su planta por lo restante de Europa. En fin, España es celebrada entre otras cosas por sus limones, por la fragrancia de sus cidras, por sus limas dulces, por sus granadas, por sus azeytunas, que merecieron ser alabadas hasta del gran Ciceron, y sus almendras, sus higos, sus uvas, etc.’ Bowles, Historia Natural de España, Madrid, 1789, 4to. p. 236.

[1510] ‘The marbles of Spain are in greater variety and beauty than those of any country in Europe, and most valuable kinds of them are in situations of easy access and communication with the sea; but they have long been entirely neglected, the greater part being unknown, even to the more intelligent of the natives.’ Cook's Spain, London, 1834, vol. ii. p. 51. In the Cabinet of Natural History at Madrid, ‘the specimens of marbles are splendid, and show what treasures yet remain buried in the Peninsula.’ Ford's Spain, London, 1847, p. 413.

[1511] ‘Hay infinitas minas de cobre en España las quales nunca se han tocado.’ Bowles, Historia Natural de España, Discurso Preliminar, p. 34.

[1512] In 1832, Cook writes, ‘The lead-mines of the Sierra de Gador are in a state of repletion at present from the enormous quantity of the mineral, and the facility of raising it.’ … ‘Lead abounds in other parts of the same chain, nearer to Almeria.’ Cook's Spain, vol. ii. p. 75. ‘The most valuable of the existing Spanish mines are those of lead in Granada; and the supplies obtained from them during the last twenty years have been so large, that they have occasioned the abandonment of several less productive mines in other countries, and a considerable fall in the price of lead.’ M'Culloch's Geographical and Statistical Dictionary, London, 1849, vol. ii. p. 705.

[1513] I use the popular language in referring coal to the inorganic world, despite its cellular tissue and vegetable origin.

[1514] ‘The most valuable of the whole mineral riches of Spain will be, in all probability, in a few years, the iron, which is found every where, and of the best qualities.’ Cook's Spain, vol. ii. p. 78. See also Bowles, Historia Natural de España, pp. 56, 67, 106, 273, 346, 415, and Ford's Spain, pp. 565, 618.

[1515] ‘The quantity is inexhaustible, the quality excellent, the working of extraordinary facility, and they possess an easy communication with the sea; yet they are practically useless, and afford only a miserable existence to a few labourers and mules used in conveying the mineral to Gijon.’ Cook's Spain, vol. ii. pp. 79, 80. ‘In the immediate neighbourhood of Oviedo are some of the largest coal-fields in Europe.’ Ford's Spain, p. 381; compare pp. 392, 606.

[1516] ‘La nacion española posee casi quantas producciones naturales puede apetecer la necesidad, ó curiosidad de los hombres.’ Campomanes, Apendice á la Educacion Popular, vol. iv. p. vi. Madrid, 1777.

[1517] ‘Ils sont fort charitables, tant à cause du mérite que l'on s'acquiert par les aumônes, que par l'inclination naturelle qu'ils ont à donner, et la peine effective qu'ils souffrent lorsqu'ils sont obligés, soit par leur pauvreté, soit par quelqu'autre raison, de refuser ce qu'on leur demande. Ils ont encore la bonne qualité de ne point abandonner leurs amis pendant qu'ils sont malades.’ … ‘De manière que des personnes qui ne se voyent point quatre fois en un an, se voyent tous les jours deux ou trois fois, dès qu'ils souffrent.’ D'Aulnoy, Relation du Voyage d'Espagne, Lyon, 1693, vol. ii. p. 374. ‘They are grave, temperate, and sober; firm and warm in their friendships, though cautious and slow in contracting them.’ A Tour through Spain by Udal ap Rhys, second edition, London, 1760, p. 3. ‘When they have once professed it, none are more faithful friends.’ … ‘They have great probity and integrity of principle.’ Clarke's Letters concerning the Spanish Nation, London, 1763, 4to. p. 334. ‘To express all that I feel, on the recollection of their goodness, would appear like adulation; but I may venture at least to say, that simplicity, sincerity, generosity, a high sense of dignity, and strong principles of honour, are the most prominent and striking features of the Spanish character.’ Townsend's Journey through Spain, second edition, London, 1792, vol. iii. p. 353. ‘The Spaniards, though naturally deep and artful politicians, have still something so nobly frank and honest in their disposition.’ Letters from Spain by an English Officer, London, 1788, vol. ii. p. 171. ‘The Spaniards have fewer bad qualities than any other people that I have had the opportunity to know.’ Croker's Travels through Spain, London, 1799, pp. 237, 238. ‘Spanish probity is proverbial, and it conspicuously shines in commercial relations.’ Laborde's Spain, London, 1809, vol. iv. p. 423. ‘Certainly, if it be taken in the mass, no people are more humane than the Spaniards, or more compassionate and kind in their feelings to others. They probably excel other nations, rather than fall below them, in this respect.’ Cook's Spain, London, 1834, vol. i. p. 189. ‘The Spaniards are kind-hearted in all the relations of life.’ Hoskins' Spain, London, 1851, vol. ii. p. 58. Finally, I will adduce the testimony of two professional politicians, both of whom were well acquainted with the Spaniards. In 1770 Mr. Harris, afterwards Lord Malmesbury, writes, ‘They are brave, honest, and generous.’ Diaries and Correspondence of the Earl of Malmesbury, London, 1844, vol. i. p. 48. And Lord Holland, according to Moore, deemed ‘that the Spaniards altogether are amongst the best people of Europe.’ Moore's Memoirs, edited by Lord John Russell, vol. iii. p. 253, London, 1853.

[1518] This their whole history decisively proves; and as to their more recent state, the author of Revelations of Spain in 1845, vol. i. p. 340, says: ‘But religion is so deeply rooted in the national character, that the most furious political storms, which prostrate everything else, blow over this and leave it unscathed. It is only amongst the educated male population that any lack of fervour is witnessed.’

[1519] ‘The habitual temperance of these people is really astonishing: I never saw a Spaniard drink a second glass of wine. With the lower order of people, a piece of bread with an apple, an onion, or pomegranate, is their usual repast.’ Croker's Travels in Spain, London, 1799, p. 116. ‘They are temperate, or rather abstemious, in their living to a great degree: borracho is the highest term of reproach; and it is rare to see a drunken man, except it be among the carriers or muleteers.’ Dalrymple's Travels through Spain, London, 1777, 4to. p. 174. ‘Drunkenness is a vice almost unknown in Spain among people of a respectable class, and very uncommon even among the lower orders.’ Esménard's note in Godoy's Memoirs, London, 1836, vol. ii. p. 321.

[1520] ‘This is the most wonderful country under the sun; for here, intellect wields no power.’ Inglis' Spain, London, 1831, vol. i. p. 101. ‘Tandis que l'activité publique, en Espagne, se porte depuis quelques années dans la sphère des intérêts pratiques et matériels, il semble, au contraire, qu'il y ait une sorte de ralentissement dans la vie intellectuelle.’ Annuaire des Deux Mondes for 1850, p. 410. ‘La vie intellectuelle n'est point, malheureusement, la sphère où se manifeste le plus d'activité en Espagne.’ Ibid. for 1856–1857, p. 356. Now, listen to the practical consequences of not giving free and fearless scope to the intellect. ‘It is singular, upon landing in the Peninsula, and making a short excursion for a few miles in any direction, to see reproduced the manners of England five centuries back,—to find yourself thrown into the midst of a society which is a close counterpart of that extinct semi-civilization of which no trace is to be found in our history later than the close of the fourteenth century and the reign of Richard the Second.’ Revelations of Spain in 1845 by an English Resident, vol. ii. p. 1.

[1521] ‘That the Spaniards, as a people, are ignorant, supremely ignorant, it is impossible to dissemble; but this comes from the control of education being altogether in the hands of the clergy, who exert themselves to maintain that ignorance to which they are indebted for their power.’ Spain by an American, vol. ii. p. 360. ‘The schools in Madrid are all conducted by Jesuits; and the education received in them, is such as might be expected from their heads.’ Inglis' Spain, vol. i. p. 156. ‘Private education here, is almost entirely in the hands of the clergy.’ Revelations of Spain in 1845, vol. ii. p. 27. In Spain, as in all countries, Catholic or Protestant, the clergy, considered as a body, inculcate belief instead of inquiry, and, by a sort of conservative instinct, discourage that boldness of investigation without which there can be no real knowledge, although there may be much erudition and mere book-learning. In Spain, the clergy are stronger than in any other country; therefore in Spain they display this tendency more fearlessly. A good instance of this may be seen in a work lately published by the Bishop of Barcelona, in which a violent attack upon all physical and philosophical knowledge is concluded in the following terms: ‘No intento recriminar á ningun católico de los que se asocian al nuevo sistema de filosofar y de extender indefinidamente el imperio de esta ciencia, pero deseo que fijen toda su atencion en los puntos que no haré sino indicar. Primero, que las escuelas de Holanda, Alemania, Inglaterra y Francia desafectas al Catolicismo, han iniciado y promovido con el mayor empeño ciertas discusiones filosóficas, presentándolas como un triunfo de la razon sobre la Religion, de la filosofía sobre la teología, del materialismo sobre el espiritualismo. Segundo, que sus máximas no son, en gran parte, mas que reproducciones ó nuevas evoluciones de errores mil veces refutados y condenados por la sana filosofía y por la Iglesia; bajo cuyo concepto no tienen por qué felicitarse en razon de su progreso, sino mas bien avergonzarse por su retroceso.’ Costa y Borras, Iglesia en España, Barcelona, 1857, p. 150.

[1522] ‘Immediately after his arrival in Madrid, Ferdinand re-established the Inquisition; and his decree for that purpose was hailed throughout all Spain with illuminations, thanksgivings, and other rejoicings. ’Quin's Memoirs of Ferdinand VII., London, 1824, pp. 189, 190. This and similar acts gave such delight to the Church as well as to the people, that, according to a great divine, the return of Ferdinand to Spain is to be deemed the immediate act of Divine Providence, watching over the interests of Spain. ‘La divina Providencia abrevió los dias de prueba, y la católica España respiró ceñida con los laureles del triunfo, recobrando luego á su tan deseado monarca, el señor rey don Fernando VII.’ Costa y Borras, Observaciones sobre la Iglesia en España, Barcelona, 1857, p. 91.

[1523] ‘The spirit of the Inquisition is still alive; for no king, cortes, or constitution, ever permits in Spain any approach to any religious toleration.’ Ford's Spain, London, 1847, p. 60. ‘Les cortès auraient beau permettre l'exercice du culte protestant ou juif, il n'est point certain que cela ne suscitât de périlleux conflits.’ Annuaire des Deux Mondes, ou Histoire Générale des Divers Etats, 1854–1855, vol. v. p. 272, Paris, 1855; a work of considerable ability, planned on the same scheme as the Annual Register, but far superior to it. Respecting the chance of the Inquisition being again restored, compare two interesting passages in Spain by an American, 1831, vol. ii. p. 330, and Inglis' Spain, 1831, vol. i. p. 85. Since then, the balance of affairs has, on the whole, been in favour of the Church, which received a further accession of strength by the success of the essentially religious war recently waged against the Moors. Hence, if any fresh political catastrophe were to occur in Spain, I should not be at all surprised to hear that the Inquisition was re-established.

[1524] Compare some very sensible remarks in Bacon's Six Years in Biscay, London, 1838, pp. 40, 41, 50, with Quin's Memoirs of Ferdinand the Seventh, pp. 192, 193.

[1525] Walton's Revolutions of Spain, London, 1837, vol. ii. p. 343.

[1526] Very shortly before the suppression of the monastic orders, ‘Le respect pour le froc en général est poussé si loin, qu'on lui attribue une vertu préservative, même au-delà de la vie, quelque peu régulière qu'elle ait été. Aussi n'y a-t-il rien de si commun que de voir les morts ensevelis en robe de moines, et conduits ainsi à leur dernière demeure à visage découvert.’ … ‘De même que le froc accompagne les Espagnols au tombeau, de même il en saisit quelques-uns au sortir du berceau. Il n'est pas rare de rencontrer de petits moines de quatre à cinq ans polissonnant dans la rue.’ Bourgoing, Tableau de l'Espagne, Paris, 1808, vol. ii. pp. 330, 331.

[1527] The confiscation took place at different periods between 1835 and 1841. Compare Ford's Spain, p. 48. Revelations of Spain by an English Resident, vol. i. p. 366. Costa y Borras, Iglesia en España, p. 95. Annuaire des Deux Mondes for 1850, Paris, 1851, p. 369. I have sought in vain for any detailed history of these transactions.

[1528] ‘Dès 1845, une loi dite de dévolution, en attendant un règlement définitif, applique à la dotation du clergé une portion des biens ecclésiastiques non vendus.’ Annuaire des Deux Mondes, 1851–2, Paris, 1852, p. 318.

[1529] ‘Il y a ici un règlement solennel, sous la forme d'un traité, de toutes les affaires relatives à l'église; c'est le concordat de 1851. Le concordat reconnaît à l'église le droit d'acquérir et de posséder.’ Ibid. 1854, 1855, p. 273, Paris, 1855.

[1530] The very year in which the Concordat became law, Mr. Hoskins, the well-known traveller in Africa, a gentleman evidently of considerable intelligence, published, on his return from Spain, an account of that country. His work is valuable, as showing the state of public feeling just before the Concordat, and while the Spanish clergy were still suffering from the well-intentioned, but grossly injudicious acts of the liberal party. ‘We visited these churches on a Sunday, and were surprised to find them all crowded to excess. The incomes of the clergy are greatly reduced, but their fortunes are gradually reviving.’ Hoskins' Spain, London, 1851, vol. i. p. 25. ‘The priests are slowly re-establishing their power in Spain,’ vol. ii. p. 201. ‘The crowded churches, and, notwithstanding the appropriation of their revenues, the absence of all appearance of anything like poverty in the chapels and services, prove that the Spaniards are now as devout worshippers, and as zealous friends of the Church, as they were in her palmy days,’ vol. ii. p. 281.

[1531] ‘La loi de désamortissement promulguée le 1^er mai, 1855, ordonne, comme on sait, la mise en vente de tous les biens de main-morte, et en particulier des biens qui restent encore à l'église.’ Annuaire des Deux Mondes, 1855, 1856, p. 310. See also Annuaire, 1854, 1855, p. 274. For an account of other steps taken against the Church in the spring and summer of 1855, see Costa y Borras, Observaciones sobre la Iglesia en España, Barcelona, 1857, pp. 119, 286, 292; and respecting the law of the 1st of May, see p. 247.

[1532] ‘Aussi le premier mot d'ordre de l'insurrection a été la défense de la religion.’ Annuaire des Deux Mondes, 1854, 1855, p. 275.

[1533] Annuaire des Deux Mondes, 1856, 1857, pp. 315–317, 324–331, 336.

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CHAPTER I.
OUTLINE OF THE HISTORY OF THE FRENCH INTELLECT FROM THE MIDDLE OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY TO THE ACCESSION TO POWER OF LOUIS XIV.
	PAGE
Importance of the question, as to whether the historian should begin with studying the normal or the abnormal condition of society	1–3
Greater power of the church in France than in England	4
Hence in France during the sixteenth century everything was more theological than in England	6–8
Hence, too, toleration was impossible in France	9–11
But at the end of the sixteenth century scepticism appeared in France, and with it toleration began, as was seen in the Edict of Nantes	11–15
The first sceptic was not Rabelais, but Montaigne	15–18
Continuation of the movement by Charron	18–21
Henry IV. encouraged the Protestants	23–24
And they were tolerated even by the queen-regent during the minority of Louis XIII.	24–26
The most remarkable steps in favour of toleration were, however, taken by Richelieu, who effectually humbled the church	27–34
He supported the new secular scheme of government against the old ecclesiastical scheme	34–42
His liberal treatment of the Protestants	42–46
They are deserted by their temporal leaders, and the management of the party falls into the hands of the clergy	46–51
Hence the French Protestants, being headed by the clergy, become more intolerant than the French Catholics, who are headed by statesmen	51–55
Evidence of the illiberality of the French Protestants	55–72
They raise a civil war, which was a struggle of classes rather than of creeds	73
Richelieu put down the rebellion, but still abstained from persecuting the Protestants	73–76
This liberal policy on the part of the government was only part of a much larger movement	76–77
Illustration of this from the philosophy of Descartes	77–92
Analogy between Descartes and Richelieu[vi]	92–93
The same anti-ecclesiastical spirit was exhibited by their contemporaries	93–95
And by Mazarin	96–98
It was also seen in the wars of the Fronde	99–102
But notwithstanding all this, there was a great difference between France and England; and the prevalence of the protective spirit prevented the French from becoming free	102–107
CHAPTER II.
HISTORY OF THE PROTECTIVE SPIRIT, AND COMPARISON OF IT IN FRANCE AND ENGLAND.
About the eleventh century the spirit of inquiry began to weaken the church	108–110
Coinciding with this, the feudal system and an hereditary aristocracy appeared	110–112
The nobles displace the clergy, and celibacy is opposed by the principle of hereditary rank	112
In England the nobles were less powerful than in France	113–116
And were glad to ally themselves with the people against the crown	116–118
Hence a spirit of popular independence unknown in France, where the nobles were too powerful to need the help of the people	118–119
Effects of this difference between the two countries in the fourteenth century	119–122
Centralization was in France the natural successor of feudality	122–126
This state contrasted with that of England	126–127
Power of the French nobles	128–131
Illustration from the history of chivalry	131–135
Another illustration from the vanity of the French and pride of the English	135–137
Also from the practice of duelling	137
The pride of Englishmen encouraged the Reformation	138
Analogy between the Reformation and the revolutions of the seventeenth century	138–139
Both were opposed by the clergy and nobles. Natural alliance between these two classes	139–142
In the reign of Elizabeth both classes were weakened	143–146
James I. and Charles I. vainly attempted to restore their power	147
CHAPTER III.[vii]
THE ENERGY OF THE PROTECTIVE SPIRIT IN FRANCE EXPLAINS THE FAILURE OF THE FRONDE. COMPARISON BETWEEN THE FRONDE AND THE CONTEMPORARY ENGLISH REBELLION.
Difference between the Fronde and the great English rebellion	148–150
The English rebellion was a war of classes	150–159
But in France the energy of the protective spirit and the power of the nobles made a war of classes impossible	160–162
Vanity and imbecility of the French nobles	162–170
As such men were the leaders of the Fronde, the rebellion naturally failed	167–173
But the English rebellion succeeded because it was a democratic movement headed by popular leaders	174–175
CHAPTER IV.
THE PROTECTIVE SPIRIT CARRIED BY LOUIS XIV. INTO LITERATURE. EXAMINATION OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF THIS ALLIANCE BETWEEN THE INTELLECTUAL CLASSES AND THE GOVERNING CLASSES.
The protective spirit in France, having produced these political evils, was carried into literature under Louis XIV., and caused an alliance between literature and government	176–177
Servility in the reign of Louis XIV.	177–181
Men of letters grateful to Louis XIV.	182
But his system of protecting literature is injurious	183–188
Its first effect was to stop the progress of science	188–192
Even in mechanical arts nothing was effected	192–194
Decline in physiology, in surgery, and in medicine	194–197
Also in zoology and in chemistry	197
Nor was anything done in botany	198–202
Intellectual decay under Louis XIV. was seen in every department of thought, and was the natural consequence of patronage	202–205
Illustrations from the history of French art	205–208
And from every branch of literature	208–210
Universal decline of France during the latter part of the reign of Louis XIV.	210–212
CHAPTER V.[viii]
DEATH OF LOUIS XIV. REACTION AGAINST THE PROTECTIVE SPIRIT, AND PREPARATIONS FOR THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.
English literature unknown in France in the reign of Louis XIV.	213–214
But began to be studied after his death, when the most eminent Frenchmen visited England. This caused a junction of French and English intellects	215–227
Admiration of England expressed by Frenchmen	228–229
Hence liberal opinions in France, which the government attempted to stifle	229
Consequent persecution of literary men by the French government	230–242
Violence of the government	242–246
In France literature was the last resource of liberty	246–247
Reasons why literary men at first attacked the church and not the government	247–253
Hence they were led to assail Christianity	254–258
But until the middle of the reign of Louis XV. the political institutions of France might have been saved; after that period all was over	258–259
CHAPTER VI.
STATE OF HISTORICAL LITERATURE IN FRANCE FROM THE END OF THE SIXTEENTH TO THE END OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.
Historical literature in France before the end of the sixteenth century	261–265
Improvement in the method of writing history late in the sixteenth century	266–267
Still further progress early in the seventeenth century	268–270
Which became more marked in Mezeray's history in 1643	271–272
Retrograde movement under Louis XIV.	273–279
Illustration of this from the work of Audigier	279–282
And from that of Bossuet	282–291
Immense improvements introduced by Voltaire	292–313
His History of Charles XII.	292–295
His Age of Louis XIV.	296–297
His Morals, Manners, and Character of Nations	297–298
His views adopted by Mallet, Mably, Velly, Villaret, Duclos, and Hénault	299–300
His habit of looking at epochs	301
A remark of his adopted by Constant	302
He advocated free trade	304
His anticipation of Malthus	304–305[ix]
His attack on the Middle Ages	305–306
And on the pedantic admirers of antiquity	306–308
He weakened the authority of mere scholars and theologians	308–309
Who had repeated the most childish absurdities respecting the early history of Rome	309–310
In attacking which Voltaire anticipated Niebuhr	310–313
Ignorant prejudice against him in England	313
His vast labours were aided by Montesquieu	314
The works of Montesquieu, and value of his method	314–319
The discourses of Turgot, and their influence	320–321
All this hastened the advance of the French Revolution	321–322
CHAPTER VII.
PROXIMATE CAUSES OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION AFTER THE MIDDLE OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.
Recapitulation of preceding views	323
Difference between certainty and precision	324–326
The intellect of France began to attack the state about 1750	326–327
Rise of the political economists	327–330
Influence of Rousseau	330–331
Just at the same time the government began to attack the church	332–334
And to favour religious toleration	334–336
Abolition of the Jesuits	336–346
Calvinism is democratic; Arminianism is aristocratic	339–342
Jansenism being allied to Calvinism, its revival in France aided the democratic movement, and secured the overthrow of the Jesuits, whose doctrines are Arminian	343–345
After the fall of the Jesuits the ruin of the French clergy was inevitable	347–348
But was averted for a time by the most eminent Frenchmen directing their hostility against the state rather than against the church	349–351
Connexion between this movement and the rise of atheism	351–353
Same tendency exhibited in Helvétius	353–357
And in Condillac	357–360
The ablest Frenchmen concentrate their attention on the external world	360–361
Effects of this on the sciences of heat, light, and electricity	361–363
Also on chemistry and geology	364–373
In England during the same period there was a dearth of great thinkers	374–375
But in France immense impetus was given to zoology by Cuvier and Bichat	375–376
Bichat's views respecting the tissues	377–421[x]
Connexion between these views and subsequent discoveries	383–386
Relation between inventions, discoveries, and method; and immense importance of Bichat's method	386–389
Bichat's work on life	390–395
Great and successful efforts made by the French in Botany	395–399
And in mineralogy by De Lisle and Haüy	399–403
Analogy between this and Pinel's work on insanity	403–404
All these vast results were part of the causes of the French Revolution	405
Physical science is essentially democratic	406–410
The same democratic tendency was observable in changes of dress	410–412
And in the establishment of clubs	412–415
Influence of the American Rebellion	415–418
Summary of the causes of the French Revolution	418–420
General reflections	420–424
CHAPTER VIII.
OUTLINES OF THE HISTORY OF THE SPANISH INTELLECT FROM THE FIFTH TO THE MIDDLE OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
In the preceding Chapters four propositions have been established	425–426
The truth of which may be further verified by studying the history of Spain	426
In Spain, superstition is encouraged by physical phenomena	426–434
It was also encouraged by the great Arian war with France	434–439
And, subsequently, by the war with the Mohammedans	439–444
These three causes influenced the policy of Ferdinand and Isabella	444–446
Continuation of the same policy by Charles V. and by Philip II.	446–453
Philip II., notwithstanding his repulsive qualities, was loved by the nation	453–455
Their affection for him was the result of general causes, which, during several centuries, have made the Spaniards the most loyal people in Europe	455
Origin of Spanish loyalty, and evidence of it	455–461
Loyalty became united with superstition, and each strengthened the other	461–462
In consequence of this union, great foreign conquests were made, and a great military spirit was developed	461–465
But this sort of progress, depending too much upon individuals, is necessarily unstable	465–466
The progress of England, on the other hand, depends upon the ability of the nation, and therefore, continues, whether individual rulers are skilful, or whether they are unskilful	466–467[xi]
In Spain, the ruling classes were supreme; the people counted for nothing; and hence the grandeur of the country, which was raised up by the able princes of the sixteenth century, was as quickly pulled down by the weak princes of the seventeenth	467–472
The decay of Spain, in the seventeenth century, was connected with the increasing influence of the clergy	472–483
The first use which the clergy made of their power was to expel all the Moors	483–496
Effect of this expulsion in impoverishing Spain	497–499
ODecline of manufactures, and of population, and increase of poverty	499–511
In 1700, when affairs were at their worst, the Austrian dynasty was succeeded by the Bourbon	513–514
Spain was now ruled by foreigners	514–520
Who endeavoured to improve the country by weakening the church	521–525
But the authority of the church had so enfeebled the national intellect, that the people, immersed in ignorance, remained inert	525–543
Government attempted to remedy this ignorance by calling in foreign aid	534–545
The influence of foreigners in Spain was displayed in the expulsion of the Jesuits, in 1767	545–546
And in the attacks made on the Inquisition	547–548
It was also displayed in the foreign policy of Spain	548–550
All this was promoted by the authority and high character of Charles III.	552–554
But it was of no avail; because politicians can do nothing, when the spirit of the country is against them	534–555
Still, Charles III. effected great improvements, from which, on a superficial view, permanent benefit might have been expected	555–568
Summary of what was accomplished for Spain, by the government, between the years 1700 and 1788	568–570
Inasmuch, however, as these ameliorations were opposed to the habits of the national character, a reaction was inevitable	570–571
In 1788, Charles III. was succeeded by Charles IV., and the new king, being a true Spaniard, the reaction began	571–573
In the nineteenth century, political reformers again endeavoured to improve Spain	574
For the reasons already stated, their efforts were fruitless, notwithstanding the early establishment in that country of municipal privileges, and of popular representation	575–576
In this way, general causes always triumph over particular actions	577–578[xii]
Those general causes predetermined the country to superstition, and it was impossible for individuals to make head against them	578–583
Nothing can weaken superstition but knowledge	583
Such failures are the more observable, because Spain enjoys immense natural advantages	583–585
And has possessed great patriots and great legislators	585
The Spaniards have, moreover, long been celebrated for honour, courage, temperance, humanity, and religious sincerity	585–588
So far, however, as national progress is concerned, these noble qualities are useless, while ignorance is so gross and so general	588–592
This it is, which, isolating Spain from the rest of the civilized world, keeps alive that spirit of superstition, that reverence for antiquity, and that blind and servile loyalty, which, as long as they last, will render improvement impossible; and which must last until ignorance is removed	592–597

The table below lists all corrections applied to the original text.
p. v: minority of Louis XIII → XIII.
p. 3: Geoffroy Saint Hilaire → Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire
p. 6: vol. iv. p. 511, 4to. → 4to,
p. 10: vol. xviii. pp. 431–436: → 431–436;
p. 10: Hist. de la Sorbonne → Hist. de la Sorbonne,
p. 11: Benoist → Benoist,
p. 12: vol. xi. pp. 30, 77, 131. → 131;
p. 23: Mably's Observations, vol. iii. p. 220: → 220;
p. 24: humane and enlightend → enlightened
p. 24: Historiettes de Tallement → Tallemant
p. 25: prevents them from doing so. – > so.’
p. 27: read the contemporay → contemporary
p. 29: endeavoured to instil → instill
p. 30: innocence of a religious life. → life.’
p. 30: Hist. of Louis XIII. → XIII
p. 32: Mém. de Retz, vol → vol.
p. 32: vol. v. pp. 51, seq. → 51 seq.
p. 34: Tallemant des Reaux → Réaux
p. 35: fils aîné de l'Eglise → l'Eglise’
p. 35: Œconomies Royales → Œconomies Royales,
p. 36: prix que ce fust → fut
p. 37: ‘Sismondi says, under → Sismondi
p. 37: Felice Hist. → Felice's Hist.
p. 40: livre ii. chap → chap.
p. 41: interests were alogether → altogether
p. 41: Element ist zurückge reten → zurückgetreten
p. 42: with infinte → infinite
p. 49: vol. xi. p. 450, vol. xii. p. → pp.
p. 53: conscientiously be tolerant. → tolerant.’
p. 54: Lettres d'un Français → François
p. 56: processions whorever → wherever
p. 60: Tallement des Réaux → Tallemant des Réaux
p. 62: Béarn démanderent aussytost → aussytôt
p. 63: Mem. de Montglat → Mém. de Montglat
p. 63: Mém de Montglat → Mém. de Montglat
p. 75: ‘The Edict of Nismes → The
p. 78: Hist. des Mathemat. → Mathémat.
p. 78: vol. ii. pp. 419–421 → pp. 419–421;
p. 79: Thomson's Hist. of the Royal Society, p. 364: → p. 364;
p. 80: greatest mathemetician → mathematician
p. 83: tout ce qu → qui
p. 88: p. 432. Compare vol → vol.
p. 88: Berkeley's Works, vol → vol.
p. 90: Œuvres de Descartes, vol. ii → vol. ii.
p. 91: Œuvres, vol → vol.
p. 91: 8vo. 1847 → 8vo., 1847
p. 91: Hist. de la Médecine, vol. ii, pp. 220 → vol. ii. p. 220
p. 91: Auf das innigste verbunden → ‘Auf
p. 94: 242, 342, 498 → 242, 342, 498,
p. 95: Lettres de Patin, vol. iii. p. 153: → p. 153;
p. 95: Mosheim‘s Eccles. Hist. vol. ii. p. 258: → p. 258;
p. 95: Leslie's Nat. Philos. p. 121: → p. 121;
p. 97: Hist de l'Edit de Nantes → Hist.
p. 100: Hunt's Hist. of Newspapers, vol. 1. → vol. i.
p. 110: faith, of sceptism → scepticism
p. 111: vol. i. pp. 5, 64: → 64;
p. 114: Mills's Hist. of Chivalry → Mills' Hist. of Chivalry
p. 115: Brougham's Polit. Philos → Philos.
p. 117: Compare, Meyer → Compare Meyer
p. 120: canaille, dès qu on → qu'on
p. 121: Les états-généraux → ‘Les états-généraux
p. 122: began to excercise → exercise
p. 123: énergique de la centralisation’) → centralisation’
p. 123: couvent ni collége → collège
p. 125: 1843, in → in
p. 125: Journal of Statist. Soc. vol, → vol.
p. 129: p. 118: Saint Aulaire → p. 118; Sainte-Aulaire
p. 135: which deprived knightnood → knighthood
p. 136: Hist. de France → Hist. de France,
p. 137: Milice Françoise → Milice Française
p. 137: vol. ii. p. 582; Sully → Sully,
p. 137: vol. iv. pp. 27, 28, 152, → 152;
p. 143: Collier's Eccles. Hist → Hist.
p. 144: (reprinted London, 1842), p → p.
p. 149: 401, 476: → 476;
p. 149: p. 78; Hutchison's → Hutchinson's
p. 150: Mem. de Retz → Mém. de Retz
p. 152: part. i. pp. 28, 29 → part i. pp. 28, 29
p. 153: Carlyle's Cromwell, vol. 1. → vol. i.
p. 154: laid, the slighest → slightest
p. 158: Holland the linke-boy → link-boy
p. 158: part. i. p. 167. → part i. p. 167.
p. 166: Mém. d'Omer Talon, vol. iii. p. 6.; → p. 6;
p. 168: Saint Aulaire → Saint-Aulaire
p. 168: Mém. de Retz vol. 1. → vol. i.
p. 169: Mém. de Motteville → Mém. de Motteville,
p. 170: vol ii. p. 357 → vol. ii. p. 357
p. 178: Capefigue's Louis XIV → XIV.
p. 178: tyranny of the clergy → clergy.
p. 179: the feet of others → others.
p. 180: vol. v. pp 887–889 → vol. v. pp. 887–889
p. 181: _Hist. de l'Economie Politique_, vol. ii, → vol.
p. 181: les plus industrieux," → industrieux,’
p. 182: brillant d'une clarte → clarté
p. 187: apostles of knowlege → knowledge
p. 190: Philos Pos. → Philos. Pos.
p. 190: vol. ii. pp. 627, 628 → vol. ii. pp. 627, 628.
p. 191: Aubrey's Letters. → Aubrey's Letters,
p. 191: vol ii. p. 624. → vol. ii. p. 624.
p. 192: et de Boörhaave → Boerhaave
p. 195: part. ii. p 42 → part. ii. p. 42
p. 199: Hist. de la Médecine, vol → vol.
p. 200: Royal Society. → Royal Society,
p. 201: corner-stone of the Linnean → Linnæan
p. 201: Gesch der Botanik → Gesch. der Botanik
p. 207: Ibid. xxiii. p, 496. → p. 496.
p. 207: vol. xxxvi p. 42 → vol. xxxvi p. 42.
p. 208: state of degradation.’ → degradation.
p. 209: both in 1639. Biog. Univ → Biog. Univ.
p. 211: was only saved by → ‘was only saved by
p. 211: Lock, who was → Locke, who was
p. 212: Lady Mary Wortley Montague → Montagu
p. 213: Hist. des Francais → Français
p. 213: Duclos, Mémoires, vol → vol.
p. 214: Lettres de Sevigné → Sévigné
p. 215: sur la poésie épique. → épique.’
p. 216: ses amitiés, il n'etait → n'était
p. 217: vol. i. 341 → vol. i. p. 341
p. 218: Le Blanc, Lettres, vol. 1. → vol. i.
p. 218: Corresp. vol. 1. p. 352; → vol. i. p. 352,
p. 219: Mém de Morellet → Mém. de Morellet
p. 220: Biog Univ. iii. 253 → Biog. Univ. iii. 253
p. 221: Biog. Univ. l. 42. → Biog. Univ. i. 42.
p. 221: Murray's Life of Bruce, 121, → 121;
p. 223: Biog. Univ. xlviii. 217. 218. → 217, 218.
p. 227: vol. ii. p. 291.’ → 291.
p. 228: even from the king himself. → himself.’
p. 234: croire que les ministrès → ministres
p. 238: by Reboulet, in 1752: → in 1752;
p. 238: Anomalies, de l'Organisation → Anomalies de l'Organisation
p. 241: Biog. Univ. xi. 314 → xi. p. 314
p. 242: Vie de Rosseau → Rousseu
p. 242: Quel est aujourd'hui → ‘Quel est aujourd'hui
p. 242: Grimm. Corresp. → Grimm, Corresp.
p. 243: de cachet pour enleve → enlever
p. 245: vol. i. p. 141, vol → vol.
p. 246: Les reproches d'avoir → ‘Les
p. 248: first heard in France → France.
p. 253: vol. iii. pp. 178, 179: → 179;
p. 253: Dieu d'être protestants. → protestants.’
p. 259: the most obnoxious laws → laws.
p. 262: to ecclesiastical dogmas, → dogmas.
p. 265: et regna dix ans → et régna dix ans,’
p. 265: conseillers, pour sçauoir → sçavoir
p. 266: vol. viii. p. 101-117 → vol. viii. pp. 101-117
p. 270: Méthode pour étudier l'Histoire → l'Histoire,
p. 271: undergone from the griping → gripping
p. 271: la cour.’ Le Long → Le Long,
p. 273: François, in Mémoires → François, in Mémoires
p. 275: Etablissement de Louis → Etablissement de Louis XIV
p. 276: Lettres de Sevigné → Sévigné
p. 277: Madame de Sevigné → Sévigné
p. 277: Lettres de Sevigné → Sévigné
p. 283: Lettres de Sevigné → Sévigné
p. 283: Lettres de Sévigné, vol → vol.
p. 283: stated by Sismondi → Sismondi
p. 293: Charles XII, l'homme → ‘Charles
p. 300: descriptions de siéges → sièges
p. 301: combats et des siéges → sièges
p. 303: Milman's History of Christianity, 1840, vol → vol.
p. 303: in Œuvres de Voltaire → in Œuvres de Voltaire
p. 303: History of the Church. → Church
p. 311: article on Chronology, vol → vol.
p. 318: livre xiv. chap. ii, → chap. ii.,
p. 320: Œuvres de Turgot, vol → vol.
p. 326: intuitives Erkenntniss klärer → klarer
p. 326: an sichgleich → an sich gleich
p. 330: Mém. sur Lebrun → Le Brun
p. 330: Brougham's Men of Letters, vol, → vol.
p. 334: letter written in 1751 → 1751.
p. 335: Lavallé → Lavallée
p. 339: Staüdlin → Stäudlin
p. 352: Hist. du Jacobin → Jacobin.
p. 352: vol. ii. pp. 250 350 → 250, 350
p. 353: their awowed → avowed
p. 360: L'imagination est la → ‘L'imagination
p. 391: Bichat sur la Vie, pp. 23–25 → 23–25.
p. 391: (vol. ii p. 8) → (vol. ii. p. 8)
p. 395: environ huit mille espèces; → espèces;‘
p. 398: Hence the remóval → removal
p. 404: à son histoire.’ Georget → Georget,
p. 407: vol. x. p. 341, vol → vol.
p. 412: Mém. sur Marie Antoinette → Mém. sur Marie-Antoinette
p. 416: Mahon's Hist. of England, vol → vol.
p. 432: frightful desolation there. → there.’
p. 440: 509, 561. Lafuente → Lafuente,
p. 445: Isabella may be → ‘Isabella may be
p. 446: vol. i. p. 23, London, 1857 → 1857.
p. 450: vol. xxxiv, p. 273. → vol. xxxiv. p. 273.
p. 453: One of the most → [60] One of the most
p. 454: et action necessaire. → necessaire,
p. 454: devinast le reste. → reste,
p. 459: je vous l'ai déja → déjà
p. 459: vous conduise, je na'i → n'ai?
p. 471: tenement or pelting farm. → farm.’
p. 472: Historia de Felipe Tercero → Historia de Felipe Tercero,
p. 473: desmedido.’ Lafuente → Lafuente,
p. 480: Ibid. vol. ii, → vol. ii.
p. 481: de su santo servido. → servido,
p. 483: decayéron en España. → España.’
p. 489: M. Janer or to M. Lafuente.’ → Lafuente.
p. 494: evidence, says, "Il → says, ‘Il
p. 496: people. It is ou → our
p. 496: expectations were ulfilled → fulfilled
p. 502: Theorica de Comercio. → Theorica de Comercio,
p. 510: et point de frein. → frein.’
p. 510: ‘In 1681, the French → In
p. 510: de la reine, de même. → même.’
p. 512: Historia de España → Historia de España,
p. 520: a clerk under Orri → Orry
p. 520: l'incapacité des sujets → ‘l'incapacité
p. 527: Ellis' Original Letters → Ellis's Original Letters
p. 529: parce que les systémes → systèmes
p. 533: London, 1831, vol → vol.
p. 533: son médecin particulier, → particulier.’
p. 539: Dublin, 1781, pp. 227–229 → 227–229.
p. 546: ecclesiastical power[26] → power[264]
p. 547: vol. v. p. 295. Paris → 295, Paris
p. 553: Civilizacion, Española → Civilizacion Española
p. 553: atropellada en su inmunidad. → inmunidad.’
p. 556: Historia de →	del
p. 560: Reinado de Carlos III → III.
p. 568: the regularity of them → their
p. 568: Looking at their → them
p. 574: que les gouvernemens. → gouvernemens.’
p. 575: Prescott's History of Ferdidinand → Ferdinand
p. 587: order of people, a peace → piece
p. 590: De même que le froc → ‘De même que le froc
p. 591: vol. ii. p. 281 → 281.
p. 595: but leaving Spain unscathed → unscathed.

HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION IN ENGLAND.

ANALYTICAL TABLE OF CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.