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DU CONCILE.
' Non moriar sed vivam —
Ce n’est pas la mort quo j'attends
•c’est la vie — Isaie.
MtTNCHEN 1870
H. Manz’sche Hof kunstliandluug- & Buchh auditing.
��Non moriar sed vivam.
Ca n’est pas la mort que j’ attends,
c’est la via — Isait.
. <
.
4 'TTWJQ'
'■'■■■
Ainsi done la discussion sur l’infaillibilite Pontificate est cldse —
La derniere periode de la lutte vient de s’ouvrir; a qui demeurera la
victoire ? Dieu seul |e salt.
Quant a nous, des & present nous pouvons dire & qui sera la
gloire. Oui, nous savons qui a lutte pour le droit et la liberty; nous
savons qui a sacrifie, aux graves obligations du devoir E une brillante
,popularity, le repos du present et peut-etre la tranquillity de l’avenir;
nous savons qui s’est genereusement efforce, sans jamais se decourager,
d’asseoir au sommet de la montagne le rocher qui redescendait sans
cesse, et aujourd’hui nos coeurs em|Ouivent de loin ces quelques
hommes heroiques pour qui, si souvent, nous avons prie. Que notre
cri d’ admiration leur arrive, au moins la veille de la bataille, pour
rehausser leur triomphe ou venger leur defaite.
Quelle force d’ ame il leur a fall JH durant sept mois, pour ne
jamais se lasser de toimgdufeo de tout tenter, sans parvenir a eloigner
le scandale! Un regteilW^impos^^wro^yngoits les plus evidents
du Concile, des commissions choisies d’avance, des votes illusoires, une
tutelle oppressive, des discussions sans ordre et sans but, des modifi
cations reglementaires aussl arbitrages que multipliees, ils ont tout subi,
esperant, par leur longue patience, faire accepter un jour leurs argu
ments <- Les calomnies publiques ne leua| ont pas ete epargnees, et
pourtant leur voix ne s’ est pas elevee, bruyante et indignee, dans cette
meme assemblee ou on les appelait heretiques et courtisans — Leurs
orateurs ont du, plus d’une fois. quitter la tribune sans pouvoir meme
expliquer leur pensee, encore moins defendre leurs convictions, tandisque
la majorite gardait sans cesse le droit de multiplier impunement ses
exagerations outrageantes et ses coupables allusions. Des le principe,
on s’est cru le devoir de prendre invariablement les raisons de la minorite pour des injures et de lui rendre des injures pour des raisons
— Ses protestations elles-memes, si dignes, si humbles et pourtant si
tegitimes, contre de tels abus, ne sont pas settlement demeurees sans
effet, mais encore sans reponse.
1
�2
Et, tandis qu’au sein du Concile l’illegalite ecrasait ces ames
genereuses, tandis qu’on leur disputait ouvertement le droit de rep^ter
a toute pretention despotique: non licet, et a toute sollicitation imprudente: non possumus, au dehors un parti terrible soulevait contre elles
le clerg6 du second ordre et bouleversait les dioceses. Le Pape IniM
meme, nul ne 1’ignore, donnait publiquement la main a cette re vol J
tion si strange et si inattendue dans l’Eglise. Il multipliait, contre
toutes les regies de la hierarchic catholique, les encouragements les plus
flatteurs et il louait, dans toute la France, ce qu’il condamnait si
fortement, et a la meme heure, a Constantinople, dans la douloureuse
affaire des Arm&iiens. Il accordait, au nom de l’Evangile, ce que
l’Eglise de tout temps, au nom de ce meme Evangile, avait refuse S
quiconque n’ avait pas la plenitude du Sacerdoce, la mission de temoigner
parmi les eveques et contre eux, le droit d’ intervenir, avec autorite,
pour la solution des questions dogmatiques les plus embarassantes.
Dans un siecle moins trouble que le nbtre, et dans une Societe ’
Chretienne moins bouleversee, il y a long-temps qu’ on eut fait justice
d’une telle intrusion, en imposant de force le silence a ceux d’en bas
et en rappelant le droit et le devoir a ceux d’ en haut.
Jusqu’ a cette heure, la voix de 1’indignation publique n’a su rien
dire et les eveques ont tout subi.
Cependant on comprendra aisement combien cette pression du
dehors, saisissant 1’ eveque dans les parties le plus vives de son ame
et de son coeur, a du, non seulement entraver les developpements de la
minorite, mais quelque fois aussi amoindrir ses forces. Tandis, en effet,
que le grand nombre de ses prelatl demeurait inebranlable, sous le coup
de la tempete, realisant ainsi T heroisme de 1’ homme fort, vante par
le poete, tenacem propositi virum, du juste impassible sous les mines
du monde detruit, quelques simes faibles, ou plutdt ou plus tard, ont
timidement courbe la tete et accepte le joug, laissant ainsi le troupeau
se transformer en pasteur, tandisque le pasteur se resignait & pratiquer
1 obeissance du troupeau. Nous ne jugerons pas ces faiblesses, mais,
simples fideles, nous avons le droit de nous demander si le vote de tels
t^moins sera libre, et si leur parole demeurera la tranche expression de
la vie doctrinale de F Eglise ?
Au reste, toute la question Conciliaire menace de se reduire &
celle-ci: a-t-on reellement voulu savoir la pensee du Catholicisme, ou
lui imposer celle qu’ on avait pr^paree d’avance ?
Si on a voulu interroger sincerement sa foi, pourquoi lier par tant
d entraves illegales ceux qui pouvaient le mieux parler au nom des
generations presentes, ou de la tradition des siecles passes? Pourquoi
fermer violenament fcs bouches les plus autorisees et les plus £loquentes ? Pourquoi enfin, en face de cette courageuse minorite, chargee de
chaines et comme desarmee, avoir convoqu^, si p^niblement, une majorite
qui devait rester fatalement immobile et comme inexpugnable, une majorite
non seulement pr^paree d’avance, mais surtout rendue incapable de jamais
sortir du cercle protecteur ou on 1’avait enfermee?
�Cette majorite, en effet, se compose sourtout d’eveques timides,
d’hommes en sous-ordre, d’esprits ardens et exageres. Les premiers aiment
a etre avec la force et le grand nombre, afin de ne pas courir de dangersV*ils suivent aisement le fleuve qui les emporte et trouvent moins
dangereux de descendre toujours que de lutter pour remonter le courant
qui mene aux abimes. Les seconds sont tous ces prelats sans diocese,
issus de la seule volonte Pontificale, relevant du Pape et du Pape seul,
revocables ad nutum pour la plupart, simples officiates, comme disent
les Canonistes romains, ou, si vous l’aimez mieux, dans notre langue
franfaise, bommes-liges de la Papautejj Enfin les derniers ne sont ni
indifferents, ni timides, ni victimes de leur position subalterne, ni flatteurs
par temperament, mais, dans une nature bouillante, ils portent des aspi
rations d’une autre epoque, de^ desirs irrealisables, des illusions, le plus
souvent des prejuges pieux que les misonnements theologiques n’ont
jamais dissipes — De ces categories, la premiere ne desire pas se convertir, la seconde ne peut pas, la troisieme ne doit pas.
Elie ne doit pas, parce qu’elle considere deja la question comme
jugee et que, tenant le Pape pour infaillible, elle condamnera d’ avance
et fatalement quiconque se levera pour essayer de douter. Roulant dans
un cercle vicieux perpetuel, avec un courage qui etonne, elle refuse
obstinement d’ accepter une loyale discussion; a toute proposition raisonnable elle repond: je vois la lumiere,j’ entends le cri de la verite
qui monte de toutes parts, laissez moi don©? dans mon extase, ellen’est
pas une illusion. Et elle s’enivre de son entbousiasme sans vouloir
s’assurer s’il est logiquement fondlE
C’est qu’ en effet un long et babile travail a prepare dans l’Eglise
cette exaltation morale qui ie.ut supprimeF la raison,, ce pietisme qui
supplante la theologie et desormais c’est le coeur qui devrait remplacer
la doctrine.
Ici il faut reconnaitre qu’une grande ecole a sp6cialement travailld
a cette dangereuse transformation. Dans quel interet? nul ne 1’ignore
Avec quel succes? Helas! l’histoire du present ne l’a que trop revele.
Quand Laynez, a Trente, se retirait vaincu par l’energie d’eveques
qui cqnnaissaient leur droits et savaient les defendre, j’ignore s’ il se
*onsola de sa defaite en donnant a l’episcopat, qu’il voulait decouronner,
un nouveau rendez-vous dans l’avenir. Ce qu’il y a de sur, c’est qu’
apres trois siecles de treve feinte, les deux adversaires se retrouvent
incore, mais cette fois l’un a tout prepare pour la bataille,, 1’autre n’a
rien prevu. Aujourd’hui ce n’est plus l’episcopat qui refuse d’entendre
le P. Laynez, c’est le P. Laynez, qui, maitre du terrain, ne daigne
pas meme ecouter l’episcopat et lui annonce que depuis longtemps la
question est jugee.
Et de fait, la Compagnie de Jesus n’a rien epargn£, pour faire
rcroire au monde que l’infaillibilite Pontificale ne pouvait plus meme
souffrir la discussion. Elle l’a d’abord soutenu dans les discussions
privees de 1’ecole, puis elle l’a hasarde dans quelques livres, insinue
dans l’education de la jeunesse, murmure dans la direction intime des
�4
>
consciences, enfin elle l’a apporte un jour dans la chaire evangdlique,
et sans crainte elle a ose l’imposer au Concile.
Cette fois, je le repete, elle avait tout prepare pour la victoire.
La pensee du Pape, elle 1’avait transformee patiemment; ses ambitions,
elle les avait excitees d’abord et serieusement sondees ensuite; sa con-1
fiance, elle 1’ avait saisie par ces mille liens que sa main mysterieuse
saura toujours reunir, sans qu’on la soup^onne, et le jour ou Pie IX a
dit: il y aura un Concile, la compagnie de Jesus a dit: le Concile, ce
sera moi.
En effet, nous avons vu trois de ses docteurs resumer tout a la
fois et la puissance doctrinale, et le droit d’initiative de l’auguste assemblee. Les deques ont et^ apples a sanctionner ce que les Jesuites avaient ecrit, voiU toute 1’ histoire du Concile.
Et quand des amelilibres se sont revoltees, quand les bouches
Episcopates ont voulu discuter la pensee et la doctrine de ces hommes,
& qui Dieu n’a pas donne mission pour enseigner infailliblement dans
1’ Eglise, on a entendu ce cri s’ elever, de toutes parts, car on le provoquait partout«la question est jugee, la cause est finie, ja’i jure de
croire
1’ infaillibilite Pie IX.» Je ne recbercberai pas maintenant si
les dioceses les plus. bouleverses ont ete ceux-la meme ou l’action des
Reverends Peres etait le plus considerable, l’histoire le revelera unjour.
Qu il me suffise d’avoir observe qu’ ils ont opere une immense pression
dogmatique au sein de 1’ Eglise, tandisque, a Rome meme, par d’ autre
instruments, ils»w etaiewt menage une action plus irresistible encore sur
le grand nombre des Peres du Concile.
En effet une institution tbute puissante, tient sous une meme tutelle tous les vicaires apostoliques et la plupart des eveques orientaux.
Quelques amEricains, , quelques anglais n’echappent eux-meme a son
influence que , par 1’ energie du caractere et 1’ independance naturelie
de leur temperamem. (Jltte institution, c’est la Propagande. C’est
elle qui, abusant de ses droits, se prEvaut de ses aumones annuelles. pour agir efficacement sur les Prelats qu’elle soutient et leur communiquer chaque semaine, l’impulsion speciale qui fait le Concile. '
C est elle qui,. cet hiver, surveillait la porte des pauvres eveques.'
orientaux opprimes et les obligeait a fermer leur cellule aux freres
compatissants qui venaient les visiter. C’est elle qui mandait le patri
arch0 Jussef, comme le Pape avait deja mande le patriarche Audu,
pour savoir de quel droit il osait temoigner des croyances de 1’Orient, .
sans soumettre prEalablement son discours au controle de la censure.
Mere de presque to us les vicaires apostoliques, elle se croit aussi le
devoir d etre leur maitresse et de regler leur opinion comme elle regie
leur budget. Or sa pensee, a elle, s’identifiant avec celle du Pape, il I
ainve fatalement que la parole de deux cents Peres de l’assemblee
oecumEmque demeure toujours la parole du Pape seul.
Et de fait, il est inoui encore qu’un seul de ces Prelats, fils de
la Propagande, ait eu le courage de parler devant le Concile ou de
voter autrement qu’on ne le voulait. Ce seul argument demeure d’une
�puissance demonstrative incomparable contre leur liberty rdelle, car,
K> tandisque toutes les Eglises, sans exception, ont eu quelques voix independantes, l’Eglise que j’ appellerai de la Propagande, n’en a encore
K produit aucune.
Au-dessus de cette surveillance d’une institution, les Jesuites en
. ont menage une autre qui se montre plus rarement et se reserve pour
Rs grands coups. Celle-ci atteint les plus hautes tetes, quand elles
|
sont levees, et fait trembler malgrd eux ceux qui se sentiraient des
F- . velleites d’ independance. J’ ai nomme 1’ autorite supreme de Pie IX.
Trop longtemps on a essaye de releguer son action au second plan,
dans l’histoire privee du Concile, en laissant dans 1’ombre une figure
gt qui a droit au plus grand jour. Les historiographes, jusqu’ a cette
heure, se sont contentes de dire, a chaque nouvel incident conciliaire,
_ Best l’oeuvre de la cour romaine. Eh bien, la cour romaine c’est
Pie IX, et 1’ histoire dechirant, quand le moment est venu, les voiles
vtu mystere, doit laisser a chacun la responsabilite qui lui revient. Elle
doit dire que c’est Pie IX qui a voulu le concile, malgre les Cardinaux,
qui veut encore, malgre eux, son infaillibilite personelle. C’est lui qui
a exig£ cette salle conciliaire ou 1’ on ne s’ entend pas; c’ est lui qui
L
s’taite contre Audu et lui arrache 1’abdication de ses droits; c’est lui
qui refuse de recevoir le postulatum ou la minorite demande a ecarter
iA des debats malheureux; c’est lui qui introduit la question brulante,
contre toutes les regies; c’est lui qui etouffe subitement la discussion,
L.. quand elle devient mena^ante pour ses pretentions; est lui qui exige,
K
des cures de Rome, l’adresse qu’ils avaient d’abord refusee; c’est lui
‘depossede le P. Theiner pour recompenser M^. Cardoni; c’est lui
■S-J qui afflige, par des classifications regrettables, les prelats qui, au jour
anniversaire de son election, sont venus le feliciter; c’est lui qui appelle
Kruidi appres son discours, pour contrister son ame independante; c’est
lui qui exige du Concile ou son infallibility personelle ou le courage
B de mourir sous le soleil et dans la fievre; c’est lui qui veut etre tout,
A . la foi universelle et la Tradition: la Tradizione sono io!
Jamais on n’avait vu l’absolutisme de si pres, dans une institution
V que J. C. avait fondee libre et inddpendante, malgre son unite monarchique et indivisible.
Les Papes du moyen age avaient sans doute, plus d’une fois,
" exagere leurs droits et leur pretentions, mais cette exageration meme
pouvait, a tout prendre, donner comme excuse le bien des peuples qu’
k. . on se proposait, ou la gloire de l’Eglise qu’on voulait defendre. Aujourd’
hui nous sommes en face de la Papaute luttant, non pas contre les
princes, mais contre l’episcopat, comme si Pie IX pouvait trouver sur
^a ruine de ses freres un trone plus dleve, ou, dans leur aneantissement,
une forteresse plus inexpugnable. 0 malheur des temps et abus des
B ■ plus saintes institutions! on ne veut plus qu’un seul eveque veritable
dans le monde, le Pape, un seul docteur infaillible et autorise, lePape!
Que toute voix se taise, si ce n’est pour dire ce qu’il aura dit, que
B,A toute action ne s’ exerce plus que sous sa jurisdiction dpiscopale, uni-
,. ..
v
X
�6
verselle, immediate, qu’ils renient leurs droits imprescriptibles, ceux
qui ont .ete etablis de Dieu pour gouverner, qu’ils dechirent les pages de
l’Evangile ou ces droits sont graves; il ne faut plus qu’une bouche,
une main, un monarque absolu, alors, dit-on, alors seulement nous
aurons l’ordre universel. Ainsi il y a 40 ans, un ministre parut, a la
tribune fran^aise, pour dire: l’ordre regne a Varsovie. Oui, mais
c’etait l’ordre que cree la mort; on avait tue la Pologne. L’ordre
qu’ on veut, c’ est la mort de 1’ Eglise.
Je sais bien qu’elle ne peut pas mourir cette Eglise, et cette foi
console mon ame, mais elle peut souffrir et elle souffrira, par la faute,
des siens. Malheur a ceux qui, par leur connivence, aident le scandale
et s’appretent a le multiplier.
Ils demandent ail petit nombre de rendre les armes, comme si
l’amour de la paix pouvait decider l’honnete homme, le chretien, l’eveque, a fouler aux pieds ses droits et a jeter, a toutes les ambitions,
les prerogatives inalienables que Dieu lui a confiees. Ils orient a l’aulicisme, comme s’ils pouvwnt impunement ddcerner a autrui le titre
qu’ils gagnent par leijJyfliblesses et leurs adulations quotidiennes.
Aujourd’hui, les Cesars s’eclipsent visiblement, et partout; j’ai beau
chercher Louis XIV, ou Joseph II, les gouvernements sont radicalement
transformes et se confondenfc desormais avec la patrie, qui, elle, au
moins n’a jamais eu de courtisans. Il ne demeure en realite qu’un
vrai Cesar etant, a lui seul, tout dans le spirituel et le temporel, distribuant ses faveurs a ceux qui le defendent et faisant sentir sa colere
a ceux qui le contredisen|, celui-la ne s’ appelle ni Francois-Joseph, ni
Napoleon III.
Et tandis que cette fois iMtes les puissances temporelles ont
scrupuleusemet respecte la liberte Au Concile, une seule 1’ a genee de
toute maniere, 1’ a redoutee, 1’ a aneantie. — Je n’ ai pas besoin de
la nommer — Ainsi F Eglise qui avait fourni aux societes civiles le
modele d’une monarchie, ou 1’ Element aristocratique et populaire temperaient efficacement les exces de la puissance supreme, 1’ Eglise qui
avait, la premiere, donne au monde moderne 1’ exemple de ses grandes
assemblies, discutant, dans la liberte, les droits de la verite et de la
justice, cette Eglise nous presente aujourd’ hui le spectacle d’ un con- 11
cile sans liberte et la menace d’ un absolutisme sans contrdle.
Esperons que 1’ exces du mal provoquera le retour du bien. Ce
Concile n’ aura eu qu’un heureux resultat, celui d’ en appeler un autre, . ’ ■
reuni dans la liberte, ou l’on admettra une discussion veritable, ou
chacun pourra penser tout haut et sans crainte, ou la vie de F Eglise
s’epanouira spontanement et pour le bien universel. Le Concile du
Vatican demeurera sterile, comme tout ce qui n’est pas eclos sous le
souffle^ de 1’Esprit Saint. Cependant il aura revele, non seulement
J
jusqu’a quel point 1’absolutisme peut abuser des meilleures institutions
etudes meilleurs instincts, mais aussi ce que vaut encore le droit, alors
meme qu’il n’a plus que le petit nombre pour le defendre. Quelle
belle page dans l’histoire pour cette minorite qui s’est maintenue huit
�I mWjsans avoir une heure de decouragement et qui, au dernier moment,
Unit par un coup d’ audace heroique !
La discussion est devenue plusque jamais impossible; on ne veut
plus la souffrir. Les meilleurs et les plus moderes des orateurs ne
peuvent se faire entendre qu’a travers des interruptions continuelles.
La majorite vient de renoncer en masse a la parole. Les presidents
la felicitent de sa resolution. Que faire alors? Les chaleurs obligent
les vieillards a fair le champ de bataille pour se r^server, comme les
temoins du passe, dans des temps meilleurs. Le nombre des courageux
opposants diminue par ces departs de chaque jour. Il faut absolument
accepter la derniere bataille. Pour hater 1’heure des non placet, la
minorite, en masse, a cesse de parler.
Quelques ames effrayees auront cru tout fini. Non. Le silence
de la minority est devenu, pour les plus clairvoyants, une affirmation
de sa dignite et de sa force, et lorsque quelques uns ont semble lui
dire: rendez les armes, elle a repondu, comme Leonidas: Venez les
prendre.
Elle les apportera le jour de la session, si ce jour doit luire, en
d6posant ses non placet. Nous verrons alors si la masse aura le cou
rage d’ecraser 1’intelligence, la liberte et la valeur.
Si la multitude passe quand meme, nous lui predisons qu’elle
nrira pas loin. Les Spartiates, qui etaient tombes aux Thermopyles,
pour defendre les terres de la liberty, avaient prepare au hot impitoyable
du despotisme la defaite de Salamine.
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Victorian Blogging
Description
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
Date
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
Text
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Title
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La derniere heure du concile
Creator
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Darboy, Georges [1813-1871]
Description
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Place of publication: Munich
Collation: 7 p. ; 23 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Inscription on front cover: Presented to M.D. Conway by Dr. Dollinger: a letter written by the Archbishop of Paris who was shot by the Communists. Georges Darboy was a French Catholic priest, later bishop of Nancy, then archbishop of Paris. He was among a group of prominent hostages executed as the Paris Commune of 1871 was about to be overthrown.
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H. Manz'sche
Date
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1870
Identifier
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G5408
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<p class="western"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /><br />This work (La derniere heure du concile), identified by <a href="www.conwayhall.org.uk">Humanist Library and Archives</a>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</p>
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application/pdf
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Text
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French
Subject
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France
Catholic Church
Conway Tracts
France
France-History-Third Republic
Paris Commune
Revolutionary Movements
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Text
1872.]
ELLE ET LUT.
“Shall we reach the New York pier at
the foot of Canal street by Saturday
noon?’’ If we do, there is for us all
long life, prosperity and happiness : if
we do not, it is desolation and misery.
For Monday is New Year’s Day. On
Sunday we may not be able to leave the
city: to be forced to stay in New York
over Sunday is a dreadful thought for
solitary contemplation. We study and
turn it over in our minds for hours as
we pace the deck. We live over and
over again the land-journey to our
hearthstones at Boston, Syracuse and
Cincinnati. We meet in thought our
long-expectant relatives, so that at last
our air-castles become stale and mo
notonous, and we fear that the reality
may be robbed of half its anticipated
pleasure from being so often lived over
in imagination.
Nine o’clock, Friday evening. The
excitement increases. Barnegat Light
is in sight. Half the cabin passengers
are up all night, indulging in unprofit
able talk and weariness, merely because
we are so near home. Four o’clock,
and the faithful engine stops, the cable
rattles overboard, and everything is still.
We are at anchor off Staten Island. By
the first laggard streak of winter’s dawn
I am on the hurricane-deck. I am curi
ous to see my native North. It comes
by degrees out of the cold blue fog on
either side of the bay. Miles of houses,
GJ
451
spotted with patches of bushy-looking
woodland—bushy in appearance to a
Californian, whose oaks grow large and
widely apart from each other, as in an
English park. There comes a shrieking
and groaning and bellowing of steam
whistles from the monster city nine miles
away. Soon we weigh anchor and move
up toward it. Tugs dart fiercely about,
or laboriously puff with heavily-laden
vessels in tow. Stately ocean steamers
surge past, outward bound. We become
a mere fragment of the mass of floating
life. We near the foot of Canal street.
There is a great deal of shouting and
bawling and counter-shouting and coun
ter-bawling, with expectant faces on the
wharf, and recognitions from shore to
steamer and from steamer to shore. The
young woman who flirted so ardently
with the young Californian turns out to
be married, and that business-looking,
middle-aged man on the pier is her hus
band. Well, I never! Why, you are
slow, my friend, says inward reflection.
You must recollect you have been nearly
out of the world these seventeen years.
At last the gangway plank is flung out.
We walk on shore. The little floating
world society, cemented by a month’s
association, scatters like the fragments
of an exploding bombshell, and Gotham
swallows us up for ever from each other’s
sight.
Prentice Mulford.
ELLE ET LUI.
ICTURE to yourself a salon of 1833,
P one of those famous gatherings of
the beauty, the fashion, the genius of
Paris that glorified the Sunday evenings
at the Arsenal. , Poets and painters chat
ted together in the quiet corners ; La
martine and Sainte-Beuve, Alfred de
Vigny and Victor Hugo, with the other
young journalists who had been setting
the Seine on fire with their revolutionary
notions in literature as well as politics,
might be seen like wandering comets
threading the mazes of the revolving
crowd: Chateaubriand and De Balzac
were there to represent sentimentalism
and realism, while M. Beyle (Stendhal)
was gathering materials for his caustic
critiques. His mission was to put down
vanity, and he seemed to be looking for
it in every one he met, that he might
�452
ELLE ET LUI.
immediately attack it. “But I do not
think he was malicious,” said one of his
lady friends : “he gave himself too much
trouble to appear so !”
Among all the brilliant crowd no one
attracted more attention than a young
man about twenty-three years of age,
slender, not very tall, and dressed with
extreme fastidiousness. His abundant
curls of light hair were most carefully
arranged to set off his well-shaped head,
and his dark whiskers and almost black
eyes gave vigor and force to his physiog
nomy. The Grecian outline of his nose
and the noble arch of his forehead in
creased his air of high-bred distinction,
still further heightened by the fire of ge
nius which lit up his expressive face. It
was the Byron of France, as his contem
poraries loved to call him; the poet of
youth, as he called himself, of whom
Heine said that at thirty he was a man
with a splendid past, and whom SainteBeuve painted with one of his delicately
felicitous touches as “Cherubino at a
masked ball, playing the part of Don
Giovannithe petted prodigal of Paris ;
the best-loved man in life, the best-loved
poet after death,—the brilliant Alfred de
Musset. Like Victor Hugo, he began
to write for the public at eighteen, and
found himself famous after the publica
tion of his Contes d'Espagne, when he
was but twenty. On first leaving col
lege the versatility that is often a cha
racteristic of genius led him, like a willo’-the-wisp, into many false ways. He
studied law, medicine, painting, and
even spent a short novitiate in a bank
ing-house. Then the writers of the
Globe got hold of him—Lamartine, Vic
tor Hugo, De Vigny, Sainte-Beuve—and
enlisted him in their eager and hot
headed ranks. It was under their stimu
lating influence that he wrote the Contes
d'Espagne, and from that moment his
fortune as a writer was assured. His
life was like that of some lush young
plant forced into premature luxuriance
and bloom in the torrid atmosphere of a
hot-house, wasting its sap in one splen
did burst of beauty, to wither before it
has time to keep the promise of its youth.
Taine compares him to a blood-horse
[Apr.
dashing across country, stimulated by
the odors of the flowers and the mag
nificent novelty of the vast sky to frantic
efforts which destroy everything before
him, and will soon destroy himself. “ He
asked too much of things,” says this
acute critic : “he wanted to drain life in
one fierce and eager draught; he would
not gather, would not taste its grapes,
but tore them away in one cluster,
bruised, pressed and wrenched them off,
and was left with stained hands and a
thirst as ardent as ever. Thence those
sobs, echoed by all hearts. What! so
young and already so weary ! So many
precious gifts—an intellect so fine, a tact
so delicate, a fancy so mobile and so rich,
a flame so precocious, so sudden a blos
soming of beauty and of genius, and at
the same instant anguish, disgust, cries
and tears ! What a medley ! With the
same gesture he adores and he curses.
The eternal illusion, the invincible expe
rience, are side by side in his soul to
struggle, and to rend it. He has grown
old, and he is still young: he is a poet,
and he is a skeptic. The Muse and her
tranquil beauty, Nature and her immor
tal freshness, Love and its happy smile,
—all the crowd of divine visions has
scarcely passed before his eyes when we
see hurrying up, amid sarcasms' and
curses, all the spectres of debauchery
and death. Like a man in the midst of
a feast who drinks from a chiseled gob
let, standing in the foremost place, amid
applause and the blare of trumpets,
with laughing eyes and joyful heart,
warmed and quickened by the generous
wine which courses through his veins,
and whom all at once we see turn pale:
there is poison in the bottom of the cup ;
he falls with the death-rattle in his throat;
his feet beat convulsively upon the silken
carpets, and all the feasters watch him
with terrified eyes. This is what we felt
the day when the best-loved, the most
brilliant among us, suddenly shivered at
an unseen blow, and sank down with a
death-groan among the lying gayety and
splendor of our banquet.
“Ah well! such as he was, we love
him always; we can listen to no other;
all beside him seem cold or false. . . ,
�1872.]
ELLE ET 'LUI.
He was not a simple dilettante, he was
not content to taste and to enjoy : he has
left his mark upon human thought. He
has suffered, but he has invented : he has
fainted by the way, but he has produced.”
To all the charms of this striking ge
nius and beauty were added the fascina
tions of his conversation, as full of mar
velous variety as his writings. He would
pass from some delicate fancy or some
profound thought into a mood of fierce
and bitter irony, to suddenly dispel the
gloom he had himself evoked by a burst
of childlike gayety. There was no resist
ing the impetuosity of his spirits—he
carried everything before him. “ He
had all the characteristics of the lover,”
says Madame Colet—‘‘an imagination
always on the alert; a child’s careless
ness of facts and of fleeting time; a
mockery of fame, an indifference to
opinion, and an absolute oblivion of
everything which was not the desire
of the moment.”
These last few words are peculiarly
significant. If the theory be true that
we carry always within us the latent,
germ of disease that will one day cause
our death, more especially was it true of
De Musset that he bore within his own
breast the elements of his destruction.
He seemed to be absolutely destitute of
principle—the slave of every impulse,
the victim of his ardent and headlong
temperament, the prey of every moment
ary passion that seized upon his inflam
mable heart. Add to this his utter inca
pacity for seeing anything but the desire
of the instant, and what a fatal tempera
ment we have to launch upon the treach
erous waters of Parisian life !
But with all his weakness he had the
soul of a great poet. He never lost the
consciousness of the ideal life, love,
poetry, that he was for ever betraying,
for ever defiling, and yet for ever seek
ing. It was as though that Ideal, an
attendant genius, walked ever by his
side, and when, in the midst of the riotous
revelry, the calm eyes met his, the wine
cup fell from his hand and the apples
of delight turned to bitter ashes upon his
lips. His life was a succession of
brilliant achievements, unbridled indul
453
gence, and sudden revulsions of self
contempt and disgust. “Suspended be
tween the heavens and the earth,” said
one who knew him well, “longing for the
one, curious about the other, disdaining
glory, appalled at the universal empti
ness, uncertain, tormented, changeable,
he lived alone in the midst of men, flee
ing from solitude, and yet finding it
everywhere. The power of his own
soul fatigued him. His thoughts were
too vast, his desires too immense : his
feeble shoulders bent beneath the burden
of his genius. He sought among the
imperfect pleasures of the earth the ob
livion of that unattainable good which
he had seen from afar.”
Among the brilliant crowd that our
poet met at the Arsenal that evening
was a woman of about twenty-nine,
chiefly noticeable among the brighter
and younger beauties for the splendor
of her dark eyes and the grace of her
perfect hand. Below the smooth bands
of thick black hair which swept across
her forehead and fell in two short curls
upon her neck, those eyes seemed to
burn with an inner fire which lit up all
the face. The rest was plain enough,
but such was the fascination of that face
that many were known to speak of it as
the most beautiful they had ever seen.
It was the face of Aurora, Madame
Dudevant, best known to that circle of
beaux esprits as George Sand, the auda
cious writer of Indiana and Lelia.
“ Happy are the women who have no
histories 1” some one says. But Aurora
had a history. She had spent a singular
childhood among the country scenes and
country children of Nohant, getting up
miniature battles which left the nursery
strewn with fragments of dismembered
dolls, organizing societies of little peas
ants to snare the birds in winter, erecting
flower-strewn altars in some mossy cave
to a strange and entirely original fetish,
weaving romances by the hour together
before she could even put pen to paper.
Always the busy brain, the sensitive
heart, the inflexible will. As she grew
older the continual bickerings between
mother and grandmother grew to be in
tolerable, their incessant jealousy made
�454
ELLE ET LUI.
her life miserable, and she was thankful
to take refuge from this persecuting af
fection in the Couvent des Anglaises at
Paris. Here she went through all the
phases common to the convent of the
period, from diable to devote. By the
time she was seventeen, domestic dis
sensions, severe study, physical and
mental weariness had so worn upon her
precociously-excited brain that she tried
to drown herself, but was happily un
successful. The mania for suicide that
possessed her at this time was in part
inherited, and though her attempt at the
ford had cured her of a desire for a wa
tery death, she found herself attracted
by an almost irresistible longing to pis
tols and to poisons. At last, with rest and
better health, the mania gradually pass
ed away. At eighteen she was married
to a man for whom she always professed
a tranquil esteem and friendship, but
whose temperament was entirely uncon
genial, and in a few years she was living
in Paris again with her two children,
supporting herself by painting portraits,
by ornamenting snuff-boxes with minia
ture groups of flowers, and by her pen,
going about in the costume of a young
student to save the numberless little ex
penses of a woman’s dress, and living
in a garret upon scanty means enough.
Whatever we may think of her theories
of life and of marriage, we cannot but ad
mire her sincerity and her heroism ; and
when we read the sad words which she
has set down in her Lettres d'ztn Voyagetir, we can better appreciate the hard
and dreary nature of that life which too
many of us have been apt to consider
one of reckless freedom.
“Launched upon a fatal career,” she
writes, “guilty neither of cupidity nor
of extravagant desires, but the prey of
unforeseen reverses, burdened with the
care of dear and precious existences, of
whom I was the only support, I have
never been an artist, although I have
felt all the fatigues, all the excitement,
all the ardor and all the sufferings be
longing to that sacred profession : true
glory has not crowned my labors, be
cause I have rarely been able to wait for
inspiration. Hurried, obliged to earn
[Apr.
money, I have driven my imagination
to work without troubling myself about
the co-operation of my reason ; I have
forced my Muse when she has refused
to yield; she has revenged herself by
cold caresses and sombre revelations.
It is the want of bread which has made
me morbid: it is the grief of having to
force myself to an intellectual suicide
which has made me bitter and skeptical.’ ’
There is but one thing that can add
to the sadness of this revelation: it is,
that this is the history not of one woman,
but of hundreds of women all over the
world.
It was while she was leading this toil
some and precarious life that she met
Alfred de Musset. At first attracted only
by the curiosity of a poet, he was soon
seized by one of those irresistible pas
sions that were perpetually swaying his
restless soul, and in a few days they
were inseparable. There is a special,
though involuntary, attraction to a poet
in a woman of genius, says Madame
Colet in her book called Lui. “ But
with such women the inevitable lovers’
quarrels are multiplied: they spring from
every contact of two beings of equal
worth, but whose sensations and aspira
tions may be nevertheless very diverse.
In such a union the joys are extreme,
but so are the sufferings.” It is all very
well in a moment of happiness to be
able to exalt the woman one loves as
wiser and stronger than any of her sex,
but when it comes to a dispute, to feel
that that superior intelligence is calm
ly reading your own, is analyzing your
character and taking stock of your weak
nesses, is a terrible contingency at which
masculine pride naturally shudders.
Such a case brings up one of the strong
est arguments for the theory of “ counter
parts ” in marriage. Some one declares
it to be fatal for a wife to excel in her
husband’s favorite pursuit. If he be a
musician, the less she knows about
music, except to have a sympathetic
love for it, the better. To be able to
criticise her husband’s performances
with a knowledge equal—nay, perhaps
superior—to his own, would be risking
their wedded happiness. And to place
�1872.]
ELLE ET LUI.
side by side in the harness of matrimony
two of the irritabile genus is indeed
rather a dangerous experiment. The
extreme sensitiveness to every impres
sion which causes the aeolian harp to
vibrate with a breath brings forth dis
cords as easily as harmonies, and the
heart of an artist (whether he be poet,
painter or musician) is but a human
harp.
Every touch sets the' strings
quivering — impossible but that they
should sometimes jangle. And when
we think of two of these susceptible
natures acting and reacting on each
other, with all the little circumstances of
our daily lives, which float by a phleg
matic temperament unheeded, the source
to them of immense delight or misery,
it is a wonder not that there are so many
unhappy marriages in the artistic world,
but that any are successful.
In the case we are considering at
present there were not only the ordinary
difficulties to be encountered, but there
were radical differences of character,
which could not fail, sooner or later, to
produce dissension. Alfred de Musset
was, as we have seen, a type of the
purely artistic organization intensified by
the French element of race. It was im
possible for him to conceive of existence
except in the present tense—to see any
thing beyond the now and here. The
idea of duty was wanting in his con
sciousness.
Like a man born color
blind, to whom red and black are the
same, he realized no difference between
I will and I ought. He was a perfect
embodiment of the old poetic represen
tation of Genius as an immortal child.
He writes of himself:
My first verses were a little child’s ;
My second still a youth’s ;
The last were scarcely to be called a man’s.
With this lack of moral strength he
united all the attractive qualities of child
hood— its irresistible gayety, its spon
taneous generosity, its unceasing verve
and enthusiasm, its rapid joys and sor
rows, its endless capacity for pleasure,
its insatiable appetite for novelty, its
helpless appeal to strength and wisdom,
its quick recognition of both. He was
like the children who go to seek the pot
455
of gold at the end of the rainbow, and
who find that the end of the rainbow
always overhangs some dangerous mo
rass. He was always seeking the ideal
at the other end of the rainbow of his
fancy, and much mire he traversed in
pursuit of it. No wonder that when he
met with a woman of genius, of great
talents and of lofty aspirations, with clean
hands and a pure heart, he should throw
himself headlong at her feet, and think
he had found rest for his soul at last.
But Aurora, in spite of her earnest and
devoted affection for him, in spite of her
thorough appreciation of his genius,
was not the counterpart he sought. She
was attuned to a different key. While
he was particularly individual, positive,
determined, she seemed an incarnation
of pure intellect, cold, judicial and gen
eral. Contrary to the usual feminine
type, her sympathies were more with the
race than with the individual, more
abstract than concrete. Universal Na
ture appealed to her profoundly : hence
the superb landscape painting we find in
her books, the fine sketches of storm and
sunshine. Her novels are usually the
embodiment of some abstract idea—her
dramatis personae are charged with the
duty of working it out in the course of
their conversations. The women in her
books are almost always the incarnation
of part of herself: they are made of a
portion of her own heart, as Eve was
taken from Adam’s side. They repre
sent not her complete personality, it is
true, but certain of her own attributes
or mental conditions, rarely a separate
idiosyncrasy. They are given to long
and sometimes rather prosy harangues,
even atpic-nics and on other inauspicious
occasions, to much moralizing, and to
lengthy discussions of the utopias of the
day. They have something too much
usually of “the reason firm, the temper
ate will,’’ and lack that gracious caprice
which goes a long way to make up the
fascination of the ewige weiblichkeit.
Their pride as reasonable beings forbids
them to act from mere impulse, and their
capitulation, however sudden it may
seem, is the result of a long siege of
silent argument. Like the goddesses
�456
ELLE ET LUL
of old, they envelop themselves in the
clouds before they descend to their
adorers.
In fact, the central point of Aurora’s
character was precisely that which was
wanting in De Musset—moral principle,
unflinching devotion to duty. It may
seem strange to assert this of a woman
who in many ways has overstepped the
boundary-lines which we should draw
to define right living, and whose books
have been so often regarded with holy
horror. But we venture to assert that
no one can study her character or read
her works with calm, unbiased judgment
without deciding that in all things she
has acted up to her highest idea of duty,
that in her life and in her books she
may have made mistakes—as who of us
has not ?—but that they have been errors
of judgment, not sins against conscience.
Duty was ever her first and last consid
eration.
To endeavor to unite two such cha
racters in a lasting attachment was like
trying to yoke together fire and water.
We can fancy the struggles of the wide
ly-differing organizations — the one, a
calm, clear intelligence, self-poised and
independent, seeing clearly the ante
cedents and the consequences of every
act, earnest, devoted, unflinching, reso
lute, but stern, unyielding, and devoid
of that exquisite sensibility to the moods
of another which alone could satisfy the
exactions of the singular organization
with which it was brought in contact;
the other eager, impetuous, ardent, un
disciplined, full of good impulses and
great ideas, but a weathercock swayed
by every wind of passion, the slave of
an untrained genius and an ungoverned
heart. The one weary of never-ceas
ing efforts to chasten and reform this
unruly spirit, her endless devotion met
with ingratitude and scorn, her kindness
misinterpreted, her affection rejected,
her instant submission to the whim of
the moment imperiously demanded;
the other, conscious of dashing like a
wave upon an unyielding rock, ever
running against that unflinching sense
of duty, ever repulsed by the cold upbraidings of the preacher when longing
[Apr.
for the tender sympathy of love. Par
don was to be had, indeed, for all sins,
but it was to be earned first. Love was
to be relegated to its appropriate place
among the pleasures of life, and to come
in after the labor of the day, like the
sugar-plums of a dessert. Work was
work, and not a sentiment, not an emo
tion was to be allowed to escape till it
was ovèr. Then the Loves and the
Graces were bidden to the banquet, and
then the Loves and the Graces very nat
urally would not always come. Affec
tion was not the golden thread upon
which all the hours of life were to be
strung, but the heart-shaped bead at one
end of the necklace. This measured
rule, this heart trained to beat in time to
the music of labor, was hardly to be un
derstood by our poet. Aurora’s was one
of those natures to whom great sacrifices
are .a delight, but petty ones a fetter and
an impossibility. She was capable of
watching by a poet’s sick-bed for three
sleepless weeks, but she could not see
the need of giving him an hour of sym
pathy and comfort out of the time she
had set aside for work. He, on the con
trary, was equal to anything that was
outside of the realm of law and order.
He reveled in the unexpected, and de
tested the preordained from the bottom
of his heart. It needed not only infinite
charity, but infinite tact, to guide this
rudderless nature through the perils of
its storm-tossed way. And that tact,
born only of keen perception and the
most delicate sympathy, Aurora seemed
to lack. Walking through life with her
eyes steadily fixed upon the pole-star
of her purpose, she trampled every ob
stacle beneath her feet, and she expect
ed the same fortitude and endurance
from all who accompanied her. If they
could not keep up with her, let them fall
behind : she could not alter her course to
save the bleeding feet or to comfort the
weary spirits. That she was sometimes
aware of this failure to make allowance
for others we see in an occasional pas
sage in her history of her life ; such as
this, for example: “The seal of true
greatness is never to exact from others
the hard things it imposes upon itself.’’
�1872.]
ELLE ET LUI.
And being the servant of her reason,
that reason, like all servants, sometimes
played her false. It led her to reduce
life top much to a set of philosophical
axioms, and to expect of human nature
the regularity of the heavenly bodies.
She made no allowance for perturba
tions, but expected the hearts of her
friends to revolve in their constant and
changeless orbits around their central
sun. That overruling reason, too, was
constantly tempting her to dissect what
she should have been content to enjoy,
to analyze what it was enough to feel.
She was in this akin to Margaret Fuller,
of whom Lowell writes :
And yet, O subtle analyst,
That canst each property detect
Of mood or grain, that canst untwist
Each tangled skein of intellect,
And with thy scalpel eyes lay bare
Each mental nerve more fine than air!
O brain exact, that in thy scales
Canst weigh the sun and never err !
For once thy patient science fails,
One problem still defies thy art:
Thou never canst compute for her
The distance and diameter
Of any simple human heart.
We can easily foresee the fate of such
a connection — contentions, struggles,
misery and final rupture. One shade
less of philosophy, one ray more of com
passionate love, one touch of that divine
sympathy which has been called the
genius of the heart, and the Aurora
which shone upon the poet’s waking
might have broadened for him into the
perfect day. But it was not to be.
It needs all the remembrance of that
sad confession we have already quoted to
enable us to pardon the sad ending of
the story. “ It is the want of bread which
has made me morbid,” she says : ‘‘it is
the grief of having to force myself to an
intellectual suicide which has made me
bitter and skeptical.” But we cannot
help feeling how far the head must have
got the better of the heart, how far the
peculiarly French fondness for morbid
study of emotion must have triumphed
over the delicacy of the woman, when
we find her anatomizing her old love in
her famous novel called Elie et Lui, dis
secting the character of the dead poet
457
who had thrown himself, heart and soul,
at her feet, for the amusement of a curi
ous world, eager to know the particulars
of their relations to each other. Paul
de Musset, outraged through all his fiery
nature by what he deemed an insult to
his brother’s memory, retaliated in a
fierce and bitter sketch called Lui et
Elie, and this again was followed by a
more impartial statement, though still in
defence of the poet, by Madame Colet,
called Lui. Any one of the books is
dreary in the extreme. To watch the
wrecking of a noble ship can never be
a cheering or a helpful spectacle, and to
see two great souls, the one drifting to
destruction, the other powerless to aid
what it so longed to save, but only has
tening the end, is the saddest sight that
can be seen by mortal eyes. Except in
the interests of mental anatomy, the
three books had better never have been
written, except perhaps it be Madame
Colet’s, for the sake of the charity it
inspires us with toward the Byron of
French poetry. It has much merit also
in the fine thoughts and keen reflections
that go far to justify its existence.
The impartial critic can hardly help
noting how impossible it is, with all the
help of special pleading on either side,
quite to disguise the truth as concerns
the history of these two natures. Their
characteristics were so salient, so un
mistakable, the differences in their or
ganization so patent, that no history of
infinite exaction on the one side, of in
finite sacrifice on the other, can quite
blind us to the real state of the case. We
shut the volumes with a sigh, and it is
Madame Colet, after all, who teaches us
the great lesson of charity. “To those
who have no visible superiority,” she
says, “are readily ascribed concealed
treasures, while even every-day virtues
are refused to those exceptional beings
endowed with rarer gifts. . . . Before
wondering at the deterioration of a no
ble soul, we should know by what blows
it has been struck and wounded, and
what it has suffered through its very
greatness.”
Kate Hillard.
�
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Victorian Blogging
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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Elle et lui
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Hillard, Kate
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Place of publication: [Philadelphia]
Collation: 451-457 p. ; 25 cm.
Notes: From Lippincott's Monthly Magazine 9, April 1872. Attribution: Virginia Clark's catalogue. Printed in double columns. From the library of Dr Moncure Conway.
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[J.B. Lippincot & Co.]
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[1872]
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G5306
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France
Literature
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<a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (Elle et lui), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span>
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English
Alfred de Musset
Conway Tracts
France
George Sand
Literature
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Text
I
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LITTELL’S LIVING AGE.-NO. 1134.-24 FEBRUARY, 1866.
From the Fortnightly Review.
AMERICA, FRANCE, AND ENGLAND.
concerned would be in certain expectation
of it, were it not for the general belief that
M. Taine speaks of certain conditions there are in America paramount domestic
under which society becomes nothing more reasons against the adoption of such a polithan tm commerce d’affronts. Whilst .there cy. Such a course would increase the
is reason to hope that the relations be financial burdens, already very heavy, un
tween man and man, or class and class, in der which the country is now struggling;
any society of the, present day, cannot be Msvould indefinitely postpone that return to
properly characterised as an interchange of a settled and normal condition of things
insults, it is to be feared that the phrase is, which trade always craves, and especially
to a sad degree, expressive of the relations after the losses consequent upon war; it
subsisting between nations; Here the skies would call again from their homes the sol
seem always angry, and the volleys of can diers who, after the wear and tear of four
non alternate only with the hurtling of years of hardship and danger, are desirous
recriminations. The historian who shall of rest; it would cost more than any prob
live when there is a community of nations, able result of a foreign war could repay;
will probably, in reading the Blue Books of it would involve the possibility of defeat,
these years, think of Saurian growings which would imply a humiliating downfall
and gnashings in primaeval swamps. It is from the position and prestige which the
therefore with a natural anxiety that one of United States has gained by the thorough
the leading nations is seen holding a brand, suppression of the gigantic rebellion that
and hesitating whether, and whither, to threatened its existence. Nevertheless, con
throw it. It is undeniable that the United vinced as the writer himself is, by these and
States stands in this attitude at the pres higher considerations, that it would be
ent moment, and that the world has reason wrong for the United States to enter upon
to await with profound solicitude the deci a war with any foreign power, he is equally
sions of the present Congress as to the foreign' convinced that there are other considera
policy to be adopted by that nation. I tions calculated to tempt the present Gov
cannot conceive, of a, legislative assembly ernment at Washington to an opposite
gathered under more solemn circumstances course, some of which may be briefly stated
than those which surround this Congress, or here.
of one holding in itself more important
It is an old idea with rulers that, in cer
issues.
tain conditions, a foreign war is conducive
Formation, material expansion, centrali to the health of a nation, — an idea which
sation, and an ambition to lead in the, old countries have outgrown, but one that
affairs of the world, may be traced in his is sure to have powerful advocates in a
tory as the successive embryonic phases young_one. A civil war, says Lord Bacon,
through which nations pass. Unfortunately is like the heat of a fever; a foreign one,, is
history attests also many “ arrests ” on this like the heat of exercise. It need be no
line of development. America, however, longer a secret that, in the few months suc
has thus far advanced well, and has now ceeding the bombardment of Fort Sumter,
reached the last form that precedes a set and preceding the actual determination,
tled nationality. Her foreign policy, hith to coerce the South into the Union by
erto relatively of the least, now becomes of military power, there was a powerful influ
the first importance; for while it seems inev ence at Washington seeking to superinduce
itable that she should now be tempted to a war with England, with the object of
aspire to a leading position in the world, uniting the discordant parties and sections
the temptation is reinforced by some pro by a direct appeal to the patriotism of both.
vocations from without, and by certain This concession to the anti-English senti
strong inducements from within. The con ment— which, for reasons, to be hereafter
ditions for a war policy are so obvious that stated, was hitherto confined to the South
I have little doubt the nations immediately and its ally, the Northern Democratic party
THIRD 3ERIES. LIVING AGE. VOL. XXXL
1475.
�546 ,
AMERICA, FRANCE, AND ENGLAND.
— seemed a fine card to play at that junc
ture ; and if the Trent affair could have
occurred sooner than it did, that card might
have been played. That it was not, at any
rate, is due to the moral character of Mr.
Lincoln, and to the strong friendship for
England of the Chairman of the Senatorial
Committee on Foreign Affairs, the Hon.
Charles Sumner. It was plain, too, that
New England, the centre of friendship for
England at that time, would permit no war
to be undertaken on such immoral grounds,
and at the same time that she was deter
mined to make the crisis that had come an
occasion for settling the slavery question
for ever. Thus the foreign war project for
evading the national emergency was smoth
ered. It was essentially a pro-slavery plan
— though it might have encountered a pow
erful opposition from those Confederates of
Virginia and the Carolinas who cared more
for separation than for slavery — and had
it succeeded in uniting the North and
South, slavery would to-day be entering
upon a new lease of existence instead of
being abolished.
Just now the same temptation recurs.
The status of the negro in the South is a
.-subject for agitations and divisions nearly
as .fierce as those which preceded and re
sulted in the civil war. The South and its
old ally, the Democratic party in the North,
are demanding the return of the Southern
States with their governments still commit
ted exclusively to the whites : the Northern
Republicans bitterly oppose this, maintain
ing that.the humiliated slaveholders cannot
be trusted to legislate justly for the blacks,
without whose aid (in the declared opinion
of President Lincoln) the rebellion could
not have been suppressed. The issue is
most important; for, once restored to the
position of equal States, - the Southern
legislatures . could — providing only that
they did not contravene technically the
law against chattel slavery — enact a sys
tem of serfdom, and retain the “ Black
Codes,” which prohibit the education and
Srevent the elevation;of the negroes, the
forth being powerless to interfere unless
another war should arise to arm it with the
abnormal right, which it. now has, to con
trol the section it has ;just conquered.
The security proposed by the Northern Re
publicans is to give the negroes votes, which
the . Southerners and the. Democrats furi
ously oppose. It will ,be seen at once that
.this political situation necessitates the con
tinuance of a bitter sectional strife. The
. arguments of the Southern party about the
constitutional rights of States to regulate
their own suffrage naturally provoke taunts
concerning their four years’ effort to over
throw the constitution; their talk about the
inferiority of the negro leads their antago
nists to place the barbarities of Anderson
ville prison by the side of the long patience
of the negro ; the alleged “ unfitness of the
negro to vote ” is replied to with the tu
quoque based on the disloyalty of the
whites; and so long as this issue is before
the country, the Northern press naturally
parades every current instance of inhuman
ity to the negro, and every expression of
hatred to the Yankees, of which its corre
spondents easily find enough in the South.
All this of course wakes an angry and de
fiant spirit there ; and thus the country is
relegated to the dissension and agitation
about the negro which had prevailed with
out intermission for more than a generation
before the war.
There is no doubt that the late President
Lincoln foresaw this issue, and he has left
on record, in a letter recently published,
his determination to have ended the negro
agitation for ever by demanding equal
rights in the seceded States for the ne
gro. But President Johnson is a very
different man. For more than thirty years
a Southern slave-holder, a Democratic poli
tician, and a steady voter in the Congress
against all New England ideas, he never
theless— simply from a pride in the old
flag — opposed his own section. He vigor
ously resisted the rebellion, though it can
scarcely be said that he clung to the North.
The North rewarded his constancy by elect
ing him to the Vice-Presidency. But,now
that the convulsion is over, he and the
country are discovering that sudden chan
ges are rarely 'thorough. So, in the present
controversy on negro-suffrage, President
Johnson takes the side that might be expect
ed of a Tennessean Democrat, and opposes
the party which elected him. Of course
his cabinet are with him. Nevertheless
President Johnson and his cabinet see that
either by conceding the last hope of slave
ry — “a white man’s government ” — or by
some other means, this controversy must ter
minate, at least for the present, in order
that reconstruction, clamorously demanded
by the national exchequer and by trade,
may take place.
If it has been determined that negro-suf
frage shall not be conceded, what “ other
means ” remain ? Suppose some great and
overpowering national emergency were to
occur— one involving the national pride or
interest — would it not at once divert at
tention from the sectional issue ? If the
�JjjaHfrffii' jwiiuiriiiwij
»
AMERICA, FRANCE, AND ENGLAND.
I
547
Northern and the Southern man should fight mise of the negro questibn; and if their Gov
side by side for a common cause, against a ernment should attempt to bring on a for
common foe, for some years—the longer eign war for the purpose of suppressing the
the better — would not old differences be agitation of that question, there would not
healed ? And if to carry on such a war be wanting clear-headed men to repeat
Southern States as well as Northern must throughout the country the story of how
furnish quotas of men and money, and raise the original colonies compromised on the
crops for food, then Southern States must be negro question in ord er that they might form
at once reconstituted; and to effect this at a Union “for the common defence,” — that
once, must not the country be persuaded to ■ is, present an unbroken front to George III.
compromise on the negro-suffrage question ? should he seek to subjugate them,—and
The influence at Washington—I need how that compromise has proved to have
not mention names — which four years ago been pregnant with wrongs and agonies
*
urged these considerations to prevent utter which make the tea-tax of our fathers ridic
rupture between North and South, survives ulous. To keep off King George they
to suggest them as furnishing a possible es bowed to King Slavery: their posterity, still
cape from the dilemma of the administra groaning under the terrible results of that
tion which is hardly strong enough to en “policy,” will be very unlikely to extempor
counter the present Congress—the most ise a King George for the purpose of re
radical one that has ever assembled • in peating the blunder. When, however, the
America. And to this influence is now add restoration of the Southern people and lead
ed another, urging a new classof considera ers, and the re-pledging them to the Union,
tions in favour of a foreign war .; chiefly are added to the first consideration, the
this: there are a number of able leading men North-West, to whose prosperity the loyalty
in the South, each influential in his com of the Mississippi river and of both its banks
munity, who are now in disgrace, and who, to the Gulf is esseMQl may not prove to be
if the country settles down to peace, have (^inflexible virtue.
A third reason why a foreign war might
nothing left but to live on in obscurity, una
ble to hold office, and without anything to not be unwelcQme to the Washington Gov
mitigate the deep sense of humiliation or the ernment is, that it has now a large army al
wounds of pride. The flag at which Lee, ready collected and to a certain extent
Beauregard, Johnstone, Mosby, and many drilled, which it is deemed inexpedient, for
others struck, can float only to bring a shad reasous connected with the internal condi
ow upon them. The greatest of them has tion of the country, to dissolve at once, and
already hidden himself in a fourth-class col which is likely to be demoralized if it has
lege. Already the North asks, Which shall nothing to do. Nor would the people of
we prefer, the negro who defended, or the America be willing to support a large army
white who trampled upon, our flag ? A and navy in idleness. And in this connec
foreign war would be the rehabilitation of tion it may be said that whilst the rank and
these Southern men. Indeed, emigration file of the Americm military force would be
seems to be almost the only alternative glad to remain, for a loDg time certainly, in
which would enable them to emerge from their homes, a war would be more welcome to
their disgrace with the American people, the vast number of officers whom the late con
recover position, and claim rights as defend flict raised from obscurity, and for the most
ers of the nation. Moreover, it is not at all part created, and to the large majority of
certain but that they mi"ht— particularly- whom peace is sure to bring the obscurity
in the case of a war with England — be able which it brought them six years ago. The
, ■ to cast a part of the cloud under which they prominent generals of the United States
now sit upon the people and leaders of New were before the war railroad-presidents, sur
' England, who have never applauded the veyors, lawyers, &c.; hardly one of them,
motto, “ Our country, right or wrong,” and excepting Fremont, had a national reputa
• who assuredly could not be brought to fight tion. It need not be a matter of wonder
with anything like the earnestness lately dis-1 that so many among them, General Grant
played in their war with slavery, in an un- ; being of the number, are already widely
necessary or a doubtful war — not at all in ; and justly quoted as favourable to a foreign I
one whose political objects would be precise war policy.
As crowning all these considerations it
ly those which are most repulsive to the
strong moral sense of that section.
must not be forgotten that the old undying
My belief is that New England and the dream of continental occupation, of which
North-West may be relied upon to oppose the “ Monroe doctrine ” is the familiar but
any undisguised postponement by compro- , inexact label, is at present producing more
�548
AMERICA, FRANCE, AND ENGLAND.
exasperations and is under fewer restraints
than ever before. The Romulus of the
United States, whoever he may have been,
did not surround the country with any fur
row, and the Remuses had not in the first
years even to leap, so long as their filibus
tering expeditions respected those bounda
ries which the average American regards as
the natural ones of his country —i.e. the
Pacific Ocean on the west, the Atlantic on
the east, the Isthmus of Panama on the south,
and the North Pole on the north. Since the
Mexican war, and in recoil from the mean
ness and criminality which led to and at
tended the seizure of Texas, there has been
in the United States a moral sentiment able
to hold in check the disposition to encroach
upon its neighbours, as those representa
tives of a Democratic administration who
met at Ostend a few years ago and pro
posed to obtain Cuba by fair means or foul,
discovered to their cost. But the moral sen
timent which would have continued to shel
ter Mexico would not find a single American to plead its applicability to Maximilian,
unless in the reverse of the obvious sense.
And since it is understood, that the exci
sion of Maximilian by the power of the Unit
ed States means the grateful self-annexation
of Mexico (in some way) to the Union, it
will be at once seen that the passion for ex
pansion and the moral sentiment of the
country jump together in a way that they
never did before. On the other hand,
whilst the desire for Canada is much feebler
than that for Mexico, the restraint of inter
national morality which would have protect
ed it has been removed by the general sense
of wrongs received at the hands of England,
and the representatives of England in Cana
da, and by a current belief that annexation
to the Union is desired by nearly all of the
French Canadians and the Irish.
Whilst these considerations are being
urged at Washington, those who are most
strongly opposed to a foreign war, and were
among the most trusted advisers of Presi
dent Lincoln — as, for example, the Chair
man of the Committee on Foreign Affairs,
before alluded to — are now without the ear
of the President, and range in hostility.to
his plan of reconstruction. Of all the rea
sons that have been mentioned, the consid
eration which will weigh most strongly with
the President and his Cabinet will be the
hope of starving off the negro-agitation, and
of securing the ret urn of the Southern States
without negro-suffrage. If negro-equality
were to be placed beyond question by the
present Congress, every cloud of war would
clear away tor the present, and the Mexican
Empire would be the only thing concerning
which one could anticipate, even at a distant
period, any collision between the United
States and any nation of the Old World.
Hence the friends of peace in America are
as anxiously hoping for the settlement of the
negro question on the only basis which can
be final, and that will not remit the country
to the bitter animosities and agitations of
the past, as the friends of war are indiffer
ent to or anxious to' evade such settlement.
The particular danger is that the Congress
will decide to keep out the Southern States
without imposing negro-suffrage as a condi
tion of their return, in which case the Presi
dent might be induced to try and alter the
conditions under which the question would
come before another Congress, by seeking,
as above indicated, to weld the two sections,
and purge the South of the stain upon its
loyalty, with the fires of a foreign war. I
confess that the probabilities affecting the
question of war or peace between Ameri
ca and France or England seem to me
slightly inclining to the side of war; and I
am sure that the internal considerations
enumerated, much more than the claim
against England, or the Monroe doctrine —
whose importance in the case I am far from
undervaluing — will be the mainspring of
the war policy, if it be adopted.
The next question of interest is whether
a hostile movement, if determined upon, will
be directed against France or against Eng
land.
~
There is in America a traditional friend
liness towards France. At a celebration of
the national American Thanksgiving-day,
by Americans in Paris, December 7, the
heartiest applause was awarded to a toast
proposed by General Schofield in these
words: — “The old friendship between
France and the United States; may it be
strengthened and perpetuated ! ” At the
same festival the Hon. John Jay, the chair
man, alluded to some of the associations
which are stirred in every American’s mind
when France is mentioned. “ Our patriotic
assemblage,” he said, “ in this beautiful Capi
tol, amid the splendours of French art and
the triumphs of French science, recalls the
infancy of our country, and the various
threads of association that are so frequently
intertwined in the historic memories of
America and France. The French element
was early and widely blended with our
transatlantic blood, and it is a fact that two
of the five commissioners wdio in this city
signed the Treaty of Paris in 1783 —that
treaty by which England closed the war and
recognised the American Republic — were
�<
AMERICA, FRANCj
AND ENGLAND.
\
549
of Huguenot descent. In the war now ever, his perception of a growing feeling for
closed, as in that of our Revolution, French territorial expansion among the Americans.
and American officers fought side by side, But an element of .even paramount import
and side by side in our House of Representa ance in this feeling was a dread that the
tives hang — and will continue to hang, as a American Republic might have to struggle
perpetual memento of the early friendship with powerful and hostile forms of govern
between the countries — the portraits of ment. The Monroe doctrine was really
Washington and Lafayette. The territory that for which few Europeans would give it
. of Orleans, including that vast and fertile credit — a conservative policy. Explicitly
valley extending from the gulf to the limits respecting powers already planted on that
of Missouri, was ceded to us by the First continent, it affirmed the limits of the right
Napoleon almost for a song, and there are of intervention for itself, as well as for lorstill perpetuated in its names, habits, and eign powers. It was meant to be, and was,
traditions, pleasant memories of France.” an especial check upon the westward ag
Mr. Jay did not, in Catholic France, hint gressions of American filibusters, by imwhy the Huguenots happened to be in plying that only their unjust encroachments
America; he did not bring to any rude test from aBtid could justify interference with
■of historic criticism the part played, literal- other nations. It recommended <tself to
. ly, by the Marquis de Lafayette in the first, the most thoughtful men of the last genera
or by the young French chevaliers, who en tion in the United SffieB as the means of
joyed their cigars and champagne with keeping for ever out of the Western hemi
McClellan whilst the soldiers of the Union sphere that grim political idol to which the
were being massacred before Richmond, in peace of the old world had been so often
the second revolution; neither did he in sacrificed — the “ balance of power.” It as
quire whether at that time the Emperor of sumed, indeed, the Predominance of the
the French was making proposals to Eng United States on that continent, but then
land to join him in an inte wention favoura the United States open® its arms, its lands,
ble to the South, nor remenfter the Jiisses its honours to the people of all nations.
and cries in the French Assembly which The Monroe doctrine was, then, conserva
drowned M. Pelletan’s voice when he an tive, in that it put a defiq^M check upon the
nounced the downfall of Richmond (which idea of absorbing surrounding countries, and
M. Pelletan declared — mistakenly, it would limited the United States wtheidea of pre
appear — were so loud, tha®they would be dominance. Even this may seem arrogant,
heard across the Atlantic). But, in ignor but it is difficult to see by what other means
ing such questions and crowning his address the New World could have been saved from
with tue toast “ The Empgror of the becoming the mere duplicate of the Old.
French,” Mr. Jay undoubtedly represented To permit the occupation of countries,
the general determination of his country ■ which the United States has restrained her
men to put the best construction possible self from occupying, by foreign governupon everything that France does, and their, nlents of formstessentially hostile, necessi
instinctive disposition to wink at her plain tates an injurious modification of her own.
est offences. This disposition must be con Any such Power, once admitted and estab
sidered prominently in our calculations of lished, must be Watpied; and to watch it
the probable action of the United States implies Expensive fortifications of long fron
upon the Mexican Empire. There can be tiers, standing armies, and young men sup
no doubt that if any other nation than plying them — things utterly opposed to
France had established that Empire, the end the spirit in which the American Republic
of the rebellion in -America would have been was founded. A few ships might prevent
swiftly followed by the march of Federal the landing on those shores of a Power
troops across the Rio Grande.
which, once fixed there, would require that
The Monroe doctrine was of gradual and the Union should become a centralized and
natural development. The earliest ex military nation. Thus there is no principle
pression of the sentiment out of which it that would protect California, or Texas, or
grew was given by the First Napoleon, Louisiana from French encroachment, that
when he assigned as a chief reason for dis would not haye equally have protected
posing of the territory of Orleans — the Mexico. The south-western states have
greater part of the Mississippi Valley — on only to be weak to become food for the fur
the easy terms in which President Jefferson ther growth of “the Latin race/’and the
obtained it, that it was the manifest destiny glory of its new Cmsar. Hence garrisons,
of that territory to become a portion of the .under General Weitzel, and others, are al- ■
United States. . He did but express, how- ready on the south-western border, where
�550
AMERICA, FRANCE, AND ENGLAND.
x they must stay so long as the representative
of French power stays. The best men in
America, are persuaded that it would be
more favourable to the peace of the world
if such garrisons should cease to exist,
through the removal of the occasion for
them.
‘
.
The traditional friendship of the United
States with France has undoubtedly, been
strained to the utmost by this invasion of
Mexico, and by the circumstances under
which it occurred. The subversion of the
Mexican Republic was consummated in the
face of three unequivocal declarations to
the American Minister at Paris, that the
Government then existing in Mexico should
not be altered by the invasion; it was. ac
complished at a time when, the United
States was prevented from having any voice
in the matter by the gigantic war which
tied her hands; it was for the avowed pur
pose of building up a rival power on the
North American continent; and it selected
as the representative of that flagrant de
fiance of the principle which in America
has a sanctity corresponding to that of .the
“ balance of power ” in Europe, a prince
belonging to a House more unpopular
among Americans, and more associated with
the oppression of weaker peoples, than any
that has reigned on the continent of Eu
rope.
'
If it should ultimately appear that only
by war can the empire thus attempted be
expelled, war will surely come. But there
are reasons why the United States will
strain every nerve to secure that object by
negotiation before resorting to armed force.
The friendly feeling towards France already
adverted to, the equally strong feeling
among the Irish and the Roman Catholics
generally, and the especial affection and
gratitude to France of the Southerners —
whom the foreign war, if undertaken, is ex
pected to rehabilitate —• would all make
the conflict one for which the American
people tiould have little heart. It would
require repeated refusals of any other set
tlement on the part of Louis Napoleon to
generate the amount of popular exaspera
tion requisite for the war. At the same
time I doubt not but that General Scho
field and others will sufficiently convince
the Emperor of the French that the Ameri
can Government and people will never con
sent to the permanent existence of a for
eign monarchy in Mexico. The willingness
to postpone positive action in the matter is
enhanced by the consideration that non-re
cognition and hesitation on the part of the
United States, encouraging as they do the
Juarists to continue their resistance, in
juriously affecting the Mexican loan, and
accumulating the expenditure of France,
constitute in themselves almost a forcible
attack upon Maximilian. There is also
something like a superstitious belief among
the people that no government will stand
long in Mexico until it is consigned by des
tiny to the United States; and I venture to
predict that in that direction the United
States will pursue the Micawber policy of
waiting for something to turn up, and that
this policy will be presently justified by the
evacuation of Mexico by French troops,
with Maximilian close upon their heels.
Much as I regret to say it, I cannot deny
to myself that a war with England — were
there any pretext for it, or anything to be
gained by it — would unite all sections and
classes in America more effectually than one
with any other Power. The reasons for a
war, so far as they are external, weigh
against France; the feeling., against Eng
land. The traditional feeling in America
toward England has been the reverse of
what it has been toward .France. The ori
gin of this anti-English feeling is not won
derful. NextMo those portraits of Wash
ington and Lafayette, mentioned by Mr.
Jay as hanging side by side in the Hall of
Representatives at Washington, may be
found several pictures of the American gen
erals and English generals standing in less
gentle relations to each other. But the
resuscitation and increase of the ill-feeling
toward England are due to causes which it
may be well to explain, for there have been
strong commercial and other reasons why
all animosities between the countries should
Jong ago have passed away. The jealousies
which existed after the separation of 1782,
were such as are often witnessed between
parties just near enough to each other to
make differences irritating—as the right
and left wings, or old and new schools of
Churches — but these tend to subside as the
parties become more and more set and se
cure in their respective’positions. As a
matter of fact these jealousies had almost
disappeared, and but few traces of them can
be found in the generation that preceded this.
The cause of the animosity between the
Northern and Southern States was the cause
also of the revival of an anti-English feeling
in America—Slavery. English Quakers
were among the first agitators for emancipa
tion in the Union. The first abolitionist in
America — Benjamin Lundy — had. by his
side Fanny Wright, who established in Ten. nessee a colony of liberated negroes with
the intent of proving that they were fit for
�AMERICA, FRANCE, AND ENGLAND.
551
freedom. The Anti-Slavery Society, which to his immediate withdrawal from that city,
sprang up in the North, was materially as and a determination to proceed no farther
sisted by the English societies ; its watch into the Slave States. But meanwhile this
words were taken from the great anti-slave feeling had a strong reinforcement. The
ry leaders of England, and the utterances Irish were thronging to America by thou
of Sharpe, Clarkson, Wilberforce, and oth sands, and the Irish vote had become the
ers, were hurled with tremendous effect deciding power in every general election.
against the Southern institution. The It is a dreary fact that the Irish elected
*
Methodists were made to remember that every America^ President from 1844 to
Wesley had pronounced slavery to be “the 1860. To win that Irish vote a political
sum of all villanies ; ” and everywhere it party had simply to take the ground of
was held up as a token of the superiority violent antagonism to England: that sure
of England that her air was “ too pure for card the Democratic party had always been
a slave to breathe.” When the “ pro willing to play, and the Irish, almost with
slavery re-action,” as it is termed, set in — out exception, voted for it and its protege,
that is, when the invention of the cotton- Slavery. The denouncers oft England in
gin (about the first part of this century) the North were notoriously the leading
had gradually quadrupled the value of Democrats, who, for party purposes, fanned
slaves, and the Southern politicians began the hatred of this country which every Irish
to reverse the verdict of Washington, Jeff man was sure to bring with him to the Unit
erson, and Henry against slavery per se — ed States. I have no idea that these dema
mutterings against “ English Abolitionists” gogues really felt any sympathy with the
began to be heard. The anti-slavery ggsits, Irish, or that they knew anything whatever
in later times, of William Forster, Joseph about Ireland or its relations to England^
Sturge, George Thompson, and other distin whilst pouring out their invectives against
guished abolitionists, led to a fierce outcry “British Tyranny.” The Fenians have,
in the South that her rights and institutions perhaps, by this time learned (if a Fenian
were threatened by “ British abolitionists,” can learn anything) how much reality there
“ British emissaries,” and “ British gold.” was in this profuse Democratic sympathy
The writer can remember when every po for Ireland ; but when it is considered that
litical gathering in Virginia, his native there are five million Irish haters of Eng
State, was lashed into fury by the use of land in America, and that to obtain this
these phrases. President Jackson, in a great electoral power the Democratic party
Message to Congress, denounced the inter has committed itself to every anti-English
ference of “foreign emissaries” with the policy, it will be seen how vast an. addition
institution of slavery. Boston, because of to the hatred of the enraged pro slavery
its anti-slavery character, was scornfully men has thus been made in these later years.
called “ that English city.” The pro-slave-S In all this time the only section of Ameri
ry re-action gained a complete sway of the ca that could be called friendly to England
Union about twenty years ago ; since which was New England, such friendliness having
time, until 1860, slavery elected every Presi been frequently made the occasion for
dent, and was represented by large though denouncing thatByoup of States. The
gradually diminishing majorities in Con leading men of New England — Emerson,
gress. ,The commercial classes of the North Channing, Phillips, Sumner, Garrison, Low
were its violent adherents on account of ell — had been guests in the best English
the immense value of the Southern trade; homes, and had entertained English gen
and if any merchant became tarnished by a tlemen. The youth of the colleges and
suspici on of his pro-slavery soundness, the universities of New England were kindling
New York Herald published his name—a with enthusiasm for Carlyle, Tennyson,
proceeding which withdrew all dealings Mill, and the Brownings. Along with her
from him, and threatened him with ruin. anti-slavery influence there, went forth also
Thus a vast majority, North and South, from. New England editions of English
came to nourish a deep hostility toward books and English modes of thought; and as
England, for her policy of emancipation in the country at large was, in the years im
her own colonies, and for her alleged inter mediately preceding the war, gradually won
ference with slavery in America. How to an anti-slavery positions^ England be
furious the South was toward England was came, if not generally liked, at least the
shown in those disgraceful scenes — not to most respected of foreign nations. The
be reported here — which are said to have virtues of Queen Victoria were especially
attended the attempt of the Prince of a subject of frequent eulogium throughout
Wales to visit Richmond, Virginia, and led the North; and everything bade fair tO’
�552
AMERICA, FRANCE, AND ENGLAND.
bring about a reaction in the feeling to
wards the people over whom she ruled.
Indeed the welcome given to the Prince of
Wales at the time of which I now write,
bore witness to the existence of a friendlier
spirit regarding “ the mother country ” than
any one would have ventured to predict
a few years before. The gradual repres' sion of the anti-English prejudice cost the
' Republicans of the North a long period of
political weakness (for they too might have
bid for the Irish vote) ; it was the result of
the laborious diffusion of English literature,
and I know that it was esteemed by the
reflecting Americans to be a victory for
mankind.
The reasons why this friendliness has
been of late replaced by indignation and an
ger, in New England as well as elsewhere,
are too well known to require much elucida
tion here. I am quite sure that if England
had known as much about the United States
five years ago as she knows now, the pres
ent unhappy relations between the two coun
tries could not be subsisting. England
sneered at those who had been her friends,
who were fighting the last battles of a con
flict begun by herself, and gave her sympa
thies to those who had denounced her for
her love of freedom. Not going far enough
to do more than repress for a moment the
traditional animosity of the South, she
went far enough to fill the North with in
dignant surprise, and has left in both sec
tions a sentiment which might easily find
vent in war, if any sufficient object to be
gained thereby should present itself. If it
were England that had occupied Mexico,
war would have been declared against her
ere now; hitherto, as I have intimated,
whilst the war-interest has pointed to
France, the war feeling in America has
been toward England. The feeling of an
ger towards this country is so universal in
the United States that I believe it would
be impossible to find amongst its public
men, or even its literary men, a single ex
ception from it, — unless it be among a few
who, having constant personal intercourse
with England, know how little any quick
generalisations concerning this country, its
character, or its feeling, are likely to be
correct. A few protests against the very
general denunciation of England may have
been uttered there, or sent there by Ameri
cans resident here; but they have been lost
like chips in the rapids of Niagara. I
write these things with profound regret;
but I think the facts should be known.
There have been many instances in his
tory where such a condition of popular
feeling has required the merest pretext to
initiate war. In the present case there is
something which is already regarded in
America as a sufficient occasion for war
(were war desirable), and may be presently
regarded as an adequate cause for it. The
United States has, although so young as a
nation, presented more than a score of
“ claims ” against other nations; and in
every case, I believe, these claims have
been ultmately adjusted to its satisfaction,
though now and then refused at first. The
late claim upon the English Government
for damages committed by the Alabama —■
for those alone would probably have been
insisted upon-—meant much more than
a pecuniary matter to the Americans. As
*
foi the merchants who had suffered losses
by Confederate cruisers they were gener
ally men who a few years ago were so pa
tient and resigned when slavery was scut
tling human hearts and homes, that many
of us smiled with a grim satisfaction at their '
pathetic emotions when some defenceless
sloop with its innocent family of bags and
barrels was sent to the bottom. But withal
the Alabama was regarded as the palpable
symbol of that anti-American sentiment
which had appeared at the outbreak of the
war — a symbol which not the Kearsage,
but England alone, could sink; and the
claim for the losses by hei’ ' signified also a
reclamation for wounds rankling in every
American heart.
I have no intention of discussing here
the case of the A liibama; but the legal case
as it stands in the correspondence between
Earl Russel and Mr. Adams is so different
from the moral case which is at this moment
powerfully agitating the American mind,
that it seems to me important to mention
a few points recently laid by Mr. George
Bemis, the eminent jurist of Boston, before
his countrymen, which are more likely to
poison the future relations between the two
countries than any question raised in the
diplomatic discussion referred to. This
hitherto unwritten, or rather uncollected,
chapter in the history of the Alabama is
derived from the English Blue Boole, and
refers to the last two days’ stay of that
cruiser in British waters, after the Govern
ment had decided upon her detention, and
after the alleged telegraphic order for her
seizure had been sent to the officials of
Liverpool.
.
The Alabama left Laird’s dock in Liver
pool in July, 1862, under pretence of tak
ing out a pleasure party, and went to sea
without ever returning to that port again.
The American Minister having called upon
�I
AMERICA, FRANCE, AND ENGLAND.
553
Earl Russell for an explanation of this, be well to remind the reader here that, so
wrote home the following as the statement early as July 4th, the British Government
he received at that interview : —
"had promised Mr. Adams that the Custom
House officials at Liverpool should keep a
“ His lordship first took up the case of the strict watch on the movements of the ex
‘290’ [the name by which the Alabama was pected Alabama, and report any further in
first known], and remarked that a delay in de formation that could be collected concern
termining upon it had most unexpectedly ing her.) The Hercules proceeds to fulfil
been caused by the sudden development of her errand, but has not completed her ship
a malady of the Queen’s Advocate, Sir John
D? Harding, totally incapacitating him for the ping of men and warlike equipment until
transaction of business. This made it neces sometime during the morning of the 30th.
sary to call in other parties, whose opinion had During the forenoon, some hours before the
been at last given for the detention of the gunboat, Hercules starts, the AmcMn Consul has
but before the order got down to Liverpool the vessel placed the following note under the eye of
was gone.” *
the head of the Custom House : —
In the debate on the escape of the Ala
“U. S. Consulate, Liverpool,
bama, which occurred in the House of
July 30, 1862.
Lords, Aprd 29, 1864, Earl Russell gave f“Sir,—Referring to myaPMions communi
cation to you on the subject of the gunboat
.' this further explanation : —
■‘No. 290fl|fitted out by Mr. LaiM at Birken
“ The United States Government had no head, I beg now to inform you that she left
reason to complain of us in that respect [in the Birkenhead dock on Monday night [the
ves^mHmorningMrthe 29th] left
regard to the escape of the Alabama], because 28thl
we took all the precaution we could. We col M^M^^^ycomi^wed by the steilm-tug Hercu
les. The Hercules returned last evening, and
lected evidence, but it was not till it was com
was cruising off
plete that we felt ourselves justified in giving the her master stated
orders for the seizure of the vessel. These orders, Port Iypias, that she had six guns on board
however, were evaded. I can tell your lord ship concealed below, and was taking powder from
from a trustworthy source how theyiwere evaded!?’ another vessel.
The Hercules is now alongside the Wood_[Eaii Russell then proceeded to quote a pass
age from Fullam’s ‘ Cruise in the Confederate side landing-stage, taking on board men (forty
States War Steamer Alabama ’ (p. 5), of which or fifty), beams, evidently for guiMcarriages,
and other things, to convey down to the gunthe last paragraph ran as iollows] : —
“Our unceremonious departure [from Liver bo® A quantity of cutlasses was taken on
pool] was owing to the fact of news being receiv board on Friday last.
These circumstances all go to confirm the
ed to the effect that the customs authorities had
orders to board and detain us that morning.” representations heretofore made to you about
this vessel, in the face of which I cannot but
[Upon which Earl Russell adds] : —
“ That was the fact. However the owner regret she lias been permitted to leave the port,
,and I report them to youH^M you may take
came to be informed of it, it is impossible for
me to say. There certainly seems to have been such steps as you may deem necessary to pre
treachery on the part of some one furnishing the vent this flagrant violation of neutrality.
Respectfully, I am your obedient servant,
information.”
“ Thomas H. Dudley, Consul.
On the morning of July 29th, 1862, the “ The Collector of Customs, Liwrpool.”
Alabama put out from the Liverpool docks,
In response to this urgent appeal, Mr. E.
having on board several ladies,and gentle
men of the family of Mr. John Laird, M. P., Morgan, Surveyor of the Port, seems to
and enough of other invited guests to make have been sent to visit the Hercules. The
a show of a pleasure party, and was towed following is the record of his labours: —
by a steam-tug, the Hercules, to a point
Copy of a Letter from Mr. E. Morgan, Sur
fourteen miles from Liverpool. There the
party was transferred to the Hercules, and veyor, to the Collector, Liverpool.
“ Surveyor’s Office, 30 July, 1862.
the Commander of the Alabama made an
“Sir, — Referring to the steamer built by
appointment with the Hercules to return to
the
Liverpool and bring a large portion of hjs boat Messrs. Laird, which is suspected to be a gun
intendedfor some foreign government, —
crew to Beaumaris Bayljabout forty miles ■ “ I beg to state that since the date of my
distant from ’ the town.
The Hercules last report concerning her she has been lying
reached Liverpool on the evening of the in the Birkenhead docks fitting for sea, and
29th, and anchored for the night. (It may receiving on board coals and provisions for her
*The itaZzes here and elsewhere, in paragraphs crew.
“ She left the dock on the evening of the
quoted from the Blue Book,.are, of course, not in
the originals.
28th instant, anchored for the night in the
i
�554 .
AMERICA, FRANCE, AND ENGLAND.
Mersey, abreast the Canning Dock, and pro
ceeded out of the river on the following morn
ing, ostensibly on a trial trip, from which she
has not returned.
X “ I visited the tug Hercules this morning, as
she lay at the landing-stage at Woodside, and
strictly examined her holds, and other parts of
the vessel. She had nothing of a suspicious
character onboard —no guns, no ammunition,
or anything appertaining thereto. A consider
able number of persons, male and female, were
on deck, some of whom admitted to me
THAT THEY WERE A PORTION OF THE CREW,
AND WERE GOING TO JOIN THE ‘GUNBOAT.’
“ I have oniy to add that your directions to
keep a strict watch on the said vessel have been
carried out, and I write in the fullest confidence
that she left this port without any part of her
armament on board; she had not as much as a
single gun or musket.
“ It is said that she cruised off Point Lyna,9
1st night, which, as you are aware, is some fifty
miles from this port.
“Very respectfully,
(Signed)
“ E. Morgan, Surveyor.
The Foreign Enlistment Act says very
plainly, that every ship “ having on board,
conveying, carrying, or transporting ” any
person or persons “ enlisted, or who have
agreed or been procured to enlist, or who
shall be departing from his Majesty’s domin
ions for the purpose or with the intent of
enlisting,” “ shall and may be seized by
the Collector,” &c., (Stat. 59 George III. c.
69, s. 6). Mr. Morgan says some of the men
on the Hercules admitted to him “ that they
were a portion of the crew, and were going
to join the gunboat;” he knows that it is
a gunboat, and that it has gone off “ osten
sibly on a trial trip
and yet we find the
following letter sent to the Commissioners
of Customs in London: —
“ Custom House, Liverpool,
30th July, 1862.
“Honourable Sirs,—Immmediately on re
ceipt of the aforegoing communication [not
given, or perhaps Consul Dudley’s, qu. ?], Mr.
Morgan, Surveyor, proceeded on board the
Hercules, and I beg to enclose his report, ob
serving that he perceived no beams, such as are
alluded to by the American Consul, nor any
thing on bourd that would justify further action on
my part.
“ Respectfully,
. (Signed)
“ S. Price Edwards.”
The following • telegram was laid before
The Lords Commissioners of her Majesty’s
Treasury on the morning of July 29 : —
“Liverpool, 29th July, 1862.
“ ‘ No. 290.’
“Sir, — We telegraphed you this morning
that the above vessel was leaving Liverpool.
She came out of dock last night, and steamed
down the river between 10 and 11 a. m.
“ We have reason to believe she has gone to
Queenstown.
“ Yours obediently,
“Duncan, Squarey, & Blackmore.”
Lastly, here is the record of how, when
the horse was stolen, the stable-door was
locked: —
I
“ Thirty-first July, 1862, at about |
half-past seven, p. m.
“ Telegrams were sent to the Collectors at Liver
pool and CorL [at above date] pursuant to
Treasury Order, dated 31st July, to seize the gun
boat (290) should she be within either of those ports. • ,
-- “ Similar telegrams to the officers at Beaumaris
and Holyhead were sent on the morning of the 1stAugust. They were not sent on the 3ist July,
the telegraph offices to those districts being
closed. '
“ And on the 2d August a letter was also
sent to the Collector at Cork, to detain the ves
sel should she arrive at Queenstown.”
It is noticeable that only on the evening
of the 31st of July was any word sent to
Queenstown, where, according to the tele
gram of the 29th, the American agents in
Liverpool “ have reason to believe she (the
Alabama) has gone ! ” And why was no
telegram sent to Point Lynas on the night
of the 30th ? Three days were lost when
all depended upon hours. Nay, there have
been cases when England, feeling herself
aggrieved by such ships, has — as those who
remember the cases of the Terceira and the
Heligoland know — pursued and destroyed
them even in foreign waters. The feeling
was of another kind in this case: the Ala
bama .was followed through English and
other waters, but with plaudits.
Now all this is far lrom pleasant read
ing to an American. Earl Russell him
self, as quoted above, has said that there
seems to have been “ treachery ” in the
proceeding. Nay, in “ Hansard ” for Feb
ruary 16, 1864, he will be found to have
classified it as a “ belligerent operation,”
and as “ a scandal and in some degree a re
proach to British law.” Is it wonderful
then that the United States should prefer a
claim, accompanied by a suggestion of ar
bitration, for the losses by this cruiser,
which for a time swept American ships from
the seas ? Is it wonderful that it should in
terpret the refusal to admit the claim or the
suggestion as a moral confession of judg
ment ? Is it wonderful that, irrespective of
the legal points of the case, Americans
should perceive in the above facts the ex
�janet’s
555
questions.
pression of a hostile animus toward her, as
yet unlaid, so far as any official act is con
cerned, and that they, should, with their
deep sense of wrong, be eager to seize an oc
casion for retaliation ?
The liberation of John Mitchell, at the
request of the Fenians, by President John
son, after he (Mitchell) had rendered himself
so especially odious to the people of the
United States by his treason, was attended
with no popular outcry. ' It could never
have been done had there not been a gen
eral feeling of resentment toward England.
It is a straw only, but it shows the wind to
be setting from a tempestuous quarter.
It may be supposedEhat the very causes
which have operated to alienate the
Northern States from England would im
ply a friendship for her in the South; but
besides the old animosity of the South
toward England, on account of her influence
against slavery, she feels bitterly the sym
pathy of the English masses for the North,
the cold shoulder given to her agents at the
English Court, the repeated refusals of the
British Government to join France in an in
tervention, and its refusal of any aid to
prevent the South being crushed. Thus
every class and section in America has a
grievance against England.
There are, indeed, men in that country
whose thoughts reach beyond the vexations
and passions of the moment, who may be
counted on to do what they can to prevent
such a dire calamity as a war between the
two great branches of the Anglo-Saxon
race would be.
But the fact may not
be concealed that by the refusal to submit
the case of the Alabama to arbitration, in
the present state of American feeling, the
wildest Irishman who would fire a hemi
sphere to boil his potatoes is made stronger
than the most thoughtful statesman. To a
point of ministerial dignity — for the dignity
of a nation cannot depend upon shielding
the blunders of a Cabinet or the “ treachery”
of its subordinates — it must be ascribed,
that the entrance into Parliament of such
friends of the United States as Mill, Hughes,
and Fawcett, and of Forster into the Gov
ernment does not mark the meginning of
an era of good-will between the two na
tions; that the sunken AZaframa leaves
a brood of her kind to be hatched out by
the heat of the next English war, and to
resuscitate a semi-baiMSrs mode of war
fare which had seemed about to pass away;
and that even this ugly programme is the
least disastrous alternative to which the
friends of peace can look forward.
Moncuke D. Conway.
/
!
X
JANET’S QUESTIONS.
Janet ! my little Janet!
You think me wise I know;
And that when you sit and question,
With your eager face aglow,
I can tell you all you ask me :
My child, it is not so.
I can tell my little Janet
Some things she well may prize;
I could tell her some whose wisdom
Would be foolish in her eyes;
There are things I would not tell, her,
They are too sadly wise.
I can tell her of noble treasures
Of wisdom stored of old;
To the chests where they are holden
I can give her keys of gold ;
And as much as she can carry
She may take away untold.
But till her heart is opened,
Like the book upon her knee,
What is written in its pages
She cannot read nor see :
Nor tell till the rose has blossomed
If red or white Twill be.
And till life’s book is opened,
And read through every age,
Come questions, without answers, ■
Alike from child and sage :
Yet God himself is teaching
His children page by page.
I still am asking questions
With each new leaf I see ;
To your new eyes, my Janet,
Yet more revealed may be.
You must ask of God the questions
I fail to answer thee.
— Good Words.
�556
A HISTORY OF CARICATURE AND
From the Quarterly Review.
A History of Caricature and Grotesque in
Literature and Art. By Thomas Wright,
Esq.; with Illustrations from various sour-,
ces, drawn and engraved by E. W. Fair
holt, Esq.
Among the many contributions which
Mr. Thomas Wright has made towards Eng
lish antiquarian research, and, in particular,
towards the familiar delineation of the man
ners and customs of our ancestors, none is,
perhaps, so popular or so well known as his
two volumes entitled ‘ England under the
House of Hanover, illustrated from the Car
icatures and Satires of the day.’ The very
spirited woodcuts with which this book is
adorned by Mr. Fairholt might alone have
sufficed to make its fortune. Published
only in 1848, it is already difficult to pro
cure a copy. Encouraged by his success in
this line, Mr. Wright has now attempted
the wider enterprise announced in this title
page. Wd fear that in'doing so he has been
somewhat over ambitious. A history of the
‘ caricature and grotesque in literature and
art,’ extending over all countries and all
time, comprising not only pictorial represen
tations, but poetry, satire, the drama, and
buffoonery of all descriptions, is a subject
which, if it be attempted at all in a single
octavo volume, could only be so in the form
of a compact and well-reasoned essay, to
which Mr. Wright’s entertaining fragmen
tary sketches bear little resemblance. The
‘immeasurable laughter’ of nations, ancient
and modern, cannot be reduced within so
small a compass. We must therefore con
tent ourselves with thanking Mr. Wright
for his desultory but agreeable attempts for
our enlightenment. And we propose, on
the present occasion, to confine ourselves
entirely to the artistic portion of them: en
livened, as it is, by a new series of Mr. Fair
holt’s excellent illustrations. Our inability
to transfer these to our own pages places
us, as we feel, at a great disadvantage:
many words are required to explain to the
reader the contents of a picture, which
a few outlines by an able hand impress
at once visibly on the recollection. De
prived of this advantage, we must confine
ourselves as well as we can to the points on
which caricature touches the history of
social and political life, rather than those by
which it borders on the great domain of
Art, properly so called.
GROTESQUE
course, an Italian word, derived from the verb
caricare, to charge or load; and therefore it
means a picture which is charged or exaggerat
ed. [“Kitratto ridicolo,” says Baretti s Dic
tionary, “in cui fiensi grandemente accresciuti
i difetti.” The old French dictionaries say.
“ c’est la meme chose que charge en peinture.”]
The word appears not to have come into use in
Italy until the latter half of the seventeenth cen
tury, and the earliest instance I know of its em
ployment by an English writer is that quoted
by Johnson from the ‘ Christian Morals ’ of Sir
Thomas Brown, who died in 1682, but it was
one of his latest writings, and was not printed
till long after his death: “ Expose not thyself
by fourfooted manners unto monstrous draughts
(i. e. drawings) and caricatura representations.”
This very quaint writer, who had passed some
time in Italy, evidently uses it as an exotic
word. We find it next employed by the writer
of the Essay, No. 537, of the ‘ Spectator,’ who,
speaking of the way in which different people
are led by feelings of jealousy and prejudice to
detract from the characters of others, goes on to
say “From all these hands we have such
draughts of mankind as are represented in those
burlesque pictures which the Italians call cari
catures, where the art consists in preserving
amidst distorted proportions" and aggravated
features, some distinguishing likeness of the
person, but in such a manner as to transform
the most agreeable beauty into the most odious
•monster.” The word was not fully established
in oqr language in its English form of carica
ture until late in the last century.’ — p. 415.
This, no doubt, is a serviceable, artistic
definition of the word; but • its popular
meaning is, perhaps, a little more limited.
It would be difficult accurately to distin
guish ‘caricature ’in composition, accord
ing to the above description, from what we
simply term ‘ grotesque ; ’ exaggeration,
that is, of natural effects for the mere
purpose of the ludicrous. In using the word
caricature, we generally add to this notion
that of satire; and the best definition for
our purpose, as well as to suit ordinary ap
prehension, though not at all originating in
the primary meaning of the word, will
be, that ‘ caricature ’ implies the use of the
grotesque for the purpose of satire : satire,
of course, of many kinds, individual, moral,
political, as the case may be.
Looking at our subject from this point of
view, we must never eliminate from it all
those amusing details respecting classical
‘ caricature,’ to which Mr. Wright has de
voted the first part of his work, and which
a clever French writer, M. Champfleury,
hasjust illustrated inalittle book, superficial,
‘ The word caricature is not found in the dic entertaining, and ‘ cock-sure of everything,’
tionaries, I believe, until the appearance of that as the manner of his nation- is, entitled
of Dr. Johnson, in 1755. Caricature is, of ‘ Histoire de la Caricature Antique.’ The
�IN LITERATURE AND ART.
557
ancients were passionately fond of the gro erical creatures.’ In others, the desired
tesque : the Greeks intermingled it strange effect is produced, not by these mere fabri
ly, but gracefully, with their inimitable cre cations, but by grouping men and animals
ations of beauty: the Romans, after their together in fanciful or ridiculous conjunc
nature, made it coarse and sensual, where tions. And these — conceived and execut
not merely imitative of the Hellenic.
ed with a prodigality of imagination
_ ‘ The discourses of Socrates resemble the amounting in many instances to genius —
pictures of the painter Pauson.’ Some one constitute, perhaps, the favourite, though
had ordered of Pauson the picture of a by no means the only, style of comic art
horse rolling on the ground. Pauson paint familiar to the classical ancients; one of
ed him running. The customer complained which the known examples have of late
that the condition of his order had not been years greatly multiplied, owing to the disfulfilled. ‘ Turn the picture upside down,’ cowries of ancient paintings at Pompeii and
said the artist, ‘ and the horse will seem to elsewhere. There is a pretty description
roll on the ground.’ From this moderately of a picture of this sort in» the ‘ leones ’ of
facetious anecdote of Lucian Mlom a pas Philostratus. It represents a ‘number of
sage of Aristotle, in which it is said that BQpids riding races on swans: one is tight
‘ Polygnotus painted men better thanBjley ening his golden rein, another loosening"it;
are; Pauson;. worse than they are; PionHSisI one dexterously wheeling round the goal:
such as they are ; ’ and, lastly, from a few you might fancy that you could hell them
lines of Aristophanes, in which some Pau encouraging their birds, and threatening
son or other is jeered at for his poverty, as and qtSffilling with one another, as their
sumed to be the lot of Bohemian artists in very faces represent: one is trying to throw
general; M. Champfleury has arrived at the down his neighbour j another has just thrown
rapid conclusion, that Pauson was the doyen down his; another is slipping off his steed,
of all caricaturists. And he vindicates him, in order to bathe himself in the basin of the
eloquently, from the aspersions of the Sta- hippodrome.’ *
gyrite. ‘ Aristotle,’ says he, ‘ preoccupied
But, to revert to our original distinction,
with the idea of absolute beauty, has not ancient art. though rich in the grotesque,
expounded the scope of caricature, and its does not produce on us the effect of carica
importance in society. This thinker, plun ture ; either it has no definite satirical aim,
ged in philosophical abstractions, despised orDM® has such, the satire is lost .upon our
as futile an act which nevertheless consoles ignorance. The attempts of antiquaries to
the people in its sorrows, avenges it on explain its productions byraWig them a
its tyrants, and reproduces, with a satirical supposed libellous meaning are among the
pencil, the thoughts of the multitude.’
most comical efforts of modern pedantry.
Pliny the elder, after mentioning the seri A laughable scene on an Etruscan vase, repous compositions of the painter Antiphilus, resenting a lover. climbing |l ladder to his
informs us that ‘ idem (Antiphilus) jocoso. mistress’s casement,' figures, we are told,
nomine Gryllum deridiculi habitus pinxit. Jupiter and Alcmena. The capital travesUndb hoc genus picturse Gryll^voeabantur. tie of fEneas and Anchises as monkeys
The meaning of this obscure passage — (PQm») is meant tolMBfee the imitative
whether Grylluswas a ridiculous personage style of Virgil! The well-known and amus
who had the misfortune to descend to posteri ing seejSeifn a paMs studio (tW.) is ‘ an
ty in some too faithful portrait byAntiphibus,' allusion to the deMkiM of art.’ A pigmy
or whether Grvllus was a serious person a.jgl and a fox (GreoorBn Museum) are a phi
perhaps the son of Xenophon and hero of losopher and flatterer. An owl cutting off
Mantinea, whose portrait was placed by the the head of a cock is Clytemnestra mur
Athenians in the Ceramicus, whom Anti dering AgameAon;
a^shopper
philus had the audacity to caricature — driving a parrot in a car (Herculaneum) is
has exercised. the wits of plenty of anti
quaries, and will no doubt give occupation
The ‘ leones. of Flavius Philostratus, a
to many more. However, it seems to be of*the age of the’ Flavian Emperors, contain writer
a rhe
from this anecdote of Pliny that grotesque torical description of a series of pictures which he
figures engraved on ancient gems have re saw, or feigns himself to have seen, in, a ‘ stoa,’ or
colonnaded
four or
ceived the name of ‘ Grylli ’ among the ated ‘in a building® ofthe city live stories,’situ
suburb of
Neapolis.’ The
curious in modern times. This title has subjects described are partly mythological, partly
landscape. Someof them are identical with those
been particularlyKapplied to those which of frescoes of Pompeii, overwhelmed at the same
represent figures ‘ composed of the heads period; and the general description of the style of
and bodies of different animals capriciously treatment such as to remind the reader closely of
united, so as to form monstrous and chim- | those beautiful and singular Specimens of the art
of a world gone by.
�558
A HISTORY OF CARICATURE AND GROTESQUE
Seneca conducting Nero! Such are a few I tians, they still found pagan emblems and figamong the solemn interpretations which I ures in their models, and still went on imitat
modern sagacity has put on these ‘ capricci, ing them, sometimes merely copying, and
rather than caricatures,’ as M: Champfleury at others turning them to caricat ure or burlesque.
long that, a
truly calls them, with which the spirit of And this tendency continued sostill existedatre
much later date, where there
Greek antiquity, as playful as it was daring, mains of Roman buildings, the mediaeval archi
loved to decorate the chamber and engrave tects adopted them as models, and did not hesi
the gem.
tate to copy the sculpture, although it might
It is painful, and in some degree humiliat be evidently pagan in character. The accom
ing, to note the transition from the light and panying cut represents a bracket in the church
comparatively graceful character of ancient of Mont Majour, near Nismes, built in the tenth
art, even in its comic forms, to the excessive century. The subject is a monstrous head eat
grossness, meanness, and profanity, which ing a child, and we can hardly doubt that it
characterised the corresponding branch of it was really intended for a caricature on Saturn
in the middle ages in Western Europe. No devouring one of his children.’ — pp. 40-49.
doubt this change was partly a continuation
For our own parts, we should doubt
of that which took place when the brief im
portation of Grecian models into the West greatly whether the sculptor in question had
had ceased, and the coarser Roman style Saturn in his mind at all, any more than
Dante had when he imagined Satan devour
succeeded it.
ing a sinner with each of his three mouths:
‘ The transition from antiquity to what we the illustrations of which passage, in early
usually understand by the name of the middle illuminations and woodcuts, are exactly
ages,’ says Mr. Wright, ‘ was long and slow : like the copy in Mr. Wright’s work of this
it was a period during which much of the tex Mont Majour sculpture. And generally, we
ture of the old society was destroyed, while, at doubt whether Mr. Wright does not attri
the same time, a new life was gradually given bute to classical recollections .too large a
to that which remained. We know very little share in the production of that monstrous
of the comic literature of this period of transi style of art which furnishes our next re
tion ; its literary remains consist chiefly of a markable chapter in the history of carica
miss of heavy theology or of lives of Saints.
. . . The period between antiquity and the ture — the Ecclesiastical Grotesque, such
middle ages was one of such great and general as it exhibited itself especially in France,
destruction, that the gulf between ancient and England, and Germany. It has to our
mediaeval art seem to us greater and more ab minds very distinctive marks of a rougher
rupt than it really was. The want of monu Northern original. However this may be,
ments, no doubt, prevents our seeing the gradu there is something humiliating, as we have
al change of the ooe into the other; but enough, said, in the degradation of skill and esthet
nevertheless, of facts remain to convince us ic perception which is evinced by these rel
that it was not a sudden change. It is now, ics of generations to which we so often as
indeed, generally understood that the knowledge cribe a peculiarly reverential character.
and practice of the arts and manufactures of
the Romans were handed onward from master No doubt its elements, so to speak, may be
to pupil after the empire had fallen ; and this traced in part to some very ordinary pro
took place especially in the towns, so that the pensities of the human mind. It has been
workmanship, which had been declining in said, probably with some truth, that when
character during the later periods of the em the most prevailing of all common motives
pire, only continued in the course of degrada was an intense fear of hell and of evil
tion afterwards. Thus, in the first Christian spirits, the most natural mode of relief, by
edifices, the builders who were employed, or at reaction, was that of turning them into
least many of them, must have been pagans; ridicule. And however impossible it may
and they would fodow their old models of or
namentation, introducing the same grotesque be, to intellects cultivated after the modern
figures, the same masks and monstrous faces, fashion, to reconcile these propensities with
and even sometimes the same subjects from the a strong sense of the majestic and the beau
old mythology, to which they had been accus tiful, yet we cannot doubt the fact that they
tomed. It is to be observed, a so, that this kind were so reconciled. As. Dante could inter
of iconographical ornamentation had been en mingle his unique conceptions of supernatu
croaching more and more upon the old archi ral grandeur with minute descriptions of
tectural purity during the latter ages of the the farcical proceedings of the vulgarest
Empire, and that it was employed more pfo- possible fiends with their pitchforks, so the
•fusely in the later works, fro n which this task same artists who produced, or at least orna
was transferred to the ecclesiasical and to the
domestic architecture of the middle ages. Af mented, our cathedrals, with those glorious
ter the architects themselves had become Chris- | expressions of thought sublimed at once by
�IN LITERATURE AND ART.
559
the love of beauty and the love of heaven, I pride, envy; in fact, all the deadly sins comcould furnish them out with the strangest, I bined in one diabolical whole? — p. 74.
meanest, often filthiest images which a de
The goat-like countenance of the arch
based imagination might suggest. Fortu
nately, age has done so much to veil these fiend is a common mediaeval, as well as mod
debauches of skill with sober indistinctness, ern German, type; but whoever wishes to
that they seldom strike the eye of a casual tracq backward the conception of Retsch’s
observer, in a sacred edifice, very offen Mepnistopheles, should look in particular at
sively. But they lurk everywhere, and in an ivory carving, in the Maskell collection
' disgusting multitudes; in the elaborate at the British Museum, of exquisite work
stonework of ceilings, windows, and' col manship, styled the Temptation of Christ, by
umns ; in battlements, bosses, and corbeils ; Christoph Angermair, 1616.
One more instance, and a very striking
in the wood-carving of stalls, misereres,
and often on the lower surface of folding one, may be mentioned by way of exception
subsellia; while they are equally to be found, to the ordinary meanness and vulgarity
strangest of all, where the Donna Inez of which characterise the mediaeval representa
Lord Byron’s ‘ Don Juan ’ found them, in tions of the supernatural. It is noticed and
the illuminated pages of missals, destined for engraved by Malcolm, in his ‘ History of
purposes of daily devotion. So long as Caricature? The missal of King Richard
these were confined to mere burlesque, no II., preserved in the BrMRi Museum, is full
great harm was done, and certainly non,e of grotesque illustrSions ofEhe ordinary
cast, though beautifully executed.
But
intended.
among them is one of a higher and stranger
turn of invention, the exact meaning of
‘ The number and variety of such grotesque which is unknown. It Represents the choir
faces/ says Mr. Wright, ‘which we find scat of a solemn Gothic chapel. A white monk
tered over the architectural decoration of our old is celebrating mass at the altar; another lies
ecclesiastical buildings, are so great that I will prostrate before it; ten of
order, seated
not attempt to give any more particular classifi in iSir stalls, sing the service. Above these
cation of them. All this church decoration was
intended especially to produce its effect upon the appearEeated in a higher range of stalls,
middle and lower classes, and mediaeval art was, five figures dimly drawn, which on examina
perhaps more than anything else, suited to nga tion appear to be robed skeletons — two
diaeval society, for it belonged to the mass and with the Papal tiara, two with coronets, one
not to the individual. The man who could enjoy with a cardinal’s hat. The effect of the
a match at grinning through horse collars, must whole is very terrific, after the fashion of
have been charmed by the grotesque works of the the ghostliest conceptions of Jean Paul
meidteval stone-sculptor and wood-carver; and, Richter, and otheiEGerman masters of the
we may add, that these display, though often spectral and calling back to
mind, at
rather rude, a very high degree of skill in art, a the same: time,(the coincidence the the lines
of
great power of producing striking imagery? —
which Shakspeare has put into the mouth of
p. 1.48.
‘ In all the delineations of demons we have the same monarch —
yet seen,’ he says elsewhere, ‘ the ludicrous is
the spirit which chiefly predominates; and in no ‘For within the hollow crown
one instance have we had a figure which is real That wreathes the mortal temples of a King,
ly demoniacal. The devils are droll, but not Keeps Deith his court: and there the antic sits,
frightful; they provoke laughter, or at least ex Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp?
cite a smile, but they create no horror. Indeed,
But when the prevailing and violent quar
they torment their victims so good-humouredly
that we hardly feel for them. There is, howev rels between different classes of religious
er, one well-known instance in which the me persons in the Church perverted the same
diaeval artist has shown himself thoroughly suc tendency into a taste for licentious ribaldry
cessful in representing the features of the spirit — when it was no longer the Devil who was
of evil. On the parapet of the external gallery piously laughed at in these compositions,
of the cathedral church of Notre Dame in Par but monks, nuns, hermits, and so forth, who
is, there is a figure in stone, of the ordinary were introduced as symbols of everything
stature of a man, representing the demon, ap
parently looking wi;h satisfaction upon the in degrading — when grotesque, assuming the
habitants of the city as they were everywhere in attitude of satire, turned, according to our
dulging in sin and wickedness. The unmixed suggested distinction, into caricature prop
evil — horrible in its expression in this coun erly so called — then the practice in ques
tenance — is marvellously portrayed. It is an tion assumed a much darker complexion.
absolute Mephistopheles, carrying in his features The foulest of these representations, and
a strange mixture of hateful qualities — malice, they are only too numerous, can be barely
�560
A HISTORY OF CARICATURE AND
alluded to in a work like Mr. Wright’s. Au
older publication, already noticed, Mal
colm’s very imperfect ‘ History of Carica
ture,’ goes into more details respecting them.
We will only say that those who enter on
the subject had better not carry into the in
quiry exaggerated notions respecting the
decorum or the piety of the so-called ‘Ages
of Faith,’ lest they should be too abruptly
dispelled.
Gradually, and with the progress of en
lightenment, a somewhat more serious,
though still familiar, mode of dealing with
subjects of this description became general;
but the change was not so early as has been
sometimes supposed, since the stalls of Hen
ry VII.’s chapel at Westminster exhibit
some of the very worst of this class of offen
ces against taste and religious feeling. But
in the fifteenth century, under the hands of
its artists, the supernatural, though still
tainted with the grotesque, germinated into
the awful. The union of the two may still
be traced in that marvellous but perishing
series of representations, ranging over all
the known and conjectured regions of life
and eternity, which decorates the Campo
Santo of Pisa—that ‘‘Antechamber of
Death,’ as the Italians call it. From the
same sources of thought arose the profuse
crop of ‘ Danses Macabres,’ dances of death,
coarsely painted on thousands of cemetery
walls, and drawn and engraved by number
less artists, with more or less of spirit; phan
tasmagorias, in which the love of the horri
ble was repulsively mixed with that of the
ludicrous, but still far less ignoble in taste
and character than those early grotesques of
ecclesiastical sculpture, to which our atten
tion has been hitherto drawn.
It is refreshing, however, to turn from this
disagreeable class of subjects to the few
specimens of a freer and healthier turn for
the ludicrous, unmixed with profanity, which
mediaaval art has left us. Probably one of
the earliest specimens of English caricature
drawing, as distinguished from mere gro
tesque, is that described by Mr. Wright, as
follows: — ‘It belongs to the Treasury of
the Exchequer, and consists of two volumes
of vellum, called Liber A and Liber B, form
ing a register of treaties, marriages, and sim-,
ilar documents of the reign of Edward I.
The clerk who was employed in writing it
seems to have been, like many of these of
ficial clerks, somewhat of a wag, and he has
amused himself by drawing in the margin
figures of the inhabitants of the provinces
of Edward’s crown, to which the documents
referred. Some of these are plainly designed for caricature.’ Two of themare evi
GROTESQUE
dently Irishmen, their costume and weapon,
the broad axe, exactly answering to the de
scription given of them by Giraldus Cambrensis. Two are Welchmen — ludicrous
figures enough, whose dress is equally in ac
cordance with contemporary description,
except in one curious particular, which
writers have not noticed. The right legs
are naked, like those of the German hackbutteers in the ‘ Lay of the Last Minstrel ’:—
‘ Each better knee was bared, tr aid
The warrior in the escalade.’
‘ When the official clerk who wrote this tran
script came to documents relating to Gascony,
his thoughts wandered naturally enough to its
rich vineyards and the wine they supplied so
plentifully, and to which, according to old re
ports, clerks seldom showed any dislike; and
accordingly, in the next sketch, we have a Gas
con occupied diligently in pruning his vine
tree.’
From the sculptured and illuminated re
ligious-grotesque of the Middle Ages to the
German and Dutch woodcut-literature of
the period of the Reformation, the transition
is not a very wide one. The style is pretty
similar, the profanity much the same, only
a fiercer element has been added by contro
versial bitterness. Perhaps this class of
works may be justly cited, in chronological
series, as affording the real commencement
of the art of modern political caricature,
properly so called. On both sides of the
question this method of ridiculing antago
nists was most profusely resorted to. The
jovial, popular figure of Martin Luther, in
particular, formed, as it well might, a very
favourite piece de resistance for pictorial sa
tirists in the old interest to work upon. One
cut, preserved by Mr. Wright, ‘ taken from
a contemporary engraving in wood, presents
a rather fantastic figure of the demon play
ing on the bagpipes. The instrument is
formed of Luther’s head, the pipe through
which the devil blows entering his ear, and
that through which the music is produced
forming an elongation of the reformer’s
nose. It was a broad intimation that Lu
ther was a mere tool of the evil one, created
for the purpose of bringing mischief into
the world.’ — p. 251. But, continues Mr.
Wright, the reformers were more than a
match for their opponents in this sort of
warfare. Doctor Martin had been identi
fied, for various cogent reasons, with Anti
christ : —
.
•
‘ But the reformers had resolved, on what ap
peared to be much more conclusive evidence,
�/!
.
561
IN LITERATURE AND ART.-
that Antichrist was only emblematical of the [ he chose, to rank among the most original
papacy : that under this form he had been long | as well as powerful of modern artists — the
dominant on earth, and that the end of his reign I famous Jacques Callot, born at the end of
was then approaching. A remarkable pamph I the century, in 1592 — a man, as Mr.
let, designed to bring this idea pictorially before i Wright truly observes, who was destined
the world, was produced from the pencil of
Luther’s friend, the celebrated painter Lucas j not only to give a new character to the
Cranach, and appeared in the year 1521, under ! then recent art of engraving on copper,
the title of “ The Passionale of Christ and An | but also to bring in a new style of ludic
tichrist.” It is a small quarto, each page of rous and fanciful composition. Inimita
which is nearly filled by a woodcut, having a ble, however, as Callot’s works are, they
few lines of explanation in German below. The belong rathesl to the class of ‘ caprices,’
cut to the left represents some incident in the or ‘ ex-travaganzas,’ than of caricature in
life of Christ, while that facing it to the right the sense in which we have used it; for his
gives a contrasting fact in the history of Papal genius had not the satirical turn, properly
tyranny. Thus, the first cut on the left repre speaking: and the same may be said of his
sents Jesus in His humility, refusing earthly
dignities and power, while on the adjoining page most successful copyisfflDella Bella, a clever )
we see the Pope, with his cardinals and bishops, artist, but who never succeeded in equalling
. supported by his hosts of warriors, his cannon his origin IM The works of Romain de
and fortifications, in his temporal dominion over Hooghe, who, brought up in the merely exsecular princes. On another we have Christ travagant school of Callot, was extensively
washing the feet of his disciples, and in con employed in producing ^satirical and em
trast the Pope compelling the Emperor to kiss blematic representations of English political
his toe. And so on, through a number of illus events after the Restoration, perhaps serve
trations, until at last we come to Christ’s ascen
sion into heaven, in contrast with which a troop as the connecting link between the old
of demons, of the most varied and singular ‘ caprice ’ and the modern political carica
forms, have seized upon the Papal Antichrist, ture.
The need for pictorial representations to
and are casting him down into the flames of
hell, where some of his own monks wait to re stimulate the political feelings of the public,
in times when literature was comparatively
ceive him.’— p. 254.
scanty, had been of course as keenly felt in
This style of pictorial satire, as the ad England as in c®Br errantries $ but it was
*
vancing art of wood-engraving began more kept in check, through the public contests >
and more to multiply specimens, attained, of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries,
as we have said, much popularity in the six by the great inferioritjalof our artists, and
teenth century in Germany, and extended particularly our engravers, to those of the
itself from religious to political and purely Continent. Here and there we meet with
social subjects. Its latest employment in ’striking exceptions. The vwodcuts to the
those regions on a large and popular scale first edition of ‘Fox’s Martyrs’ contain,
was perhaps during the Thirty Years’ War ; among the fearful scenes which they gener
but the extremity to which that country was ally representkjcaricature likenesses of Gar
reduced by that dreary contest seems to diner, Bonner, and other well-known per
have extinguished its very life. The works sonages of the time, and are singularly pow
of this class, disseminated through broad erful in execution. But the like of these
sides, printed sheets, large illustrated folios are very few. One odd illustration, per
and popular duodecimos, are frequently ex haps, of the need felt for these pictorial rep
ecuted with considerable spirit as well as resentations, and the defectiveness of the
humour. But often, and especially towards ordinary means for supplying it, is to be
the latter portion of the period, they exhibit found in the peculiar taste of that age for
a strong tendency to become pedantic and employing elaborate devices on banners
allegorical. When the art of caricature, borne in procession or carried in the field,
becoming over-learned, addresses itself to in order to stimulate the ardour of partisans.
particular classes only, and requires a spe It will be remembered how the Scottish
cial education in order to make its products Protestant lords took the field against
understood, it may be-safely pronounced in Queen Mary with (among others) a great
a declining condition.
standard, on which the catastrophe of the
Perhaps the most successful result of the Kirk of Field was represented, with the fig
early wood cut-grotesque was, that it led the ure of Darnley lying on the ground, and.
way for greater achievements in art; and the words ‘ Judge and revenge my cause, O
its influence may be especially traced in the Lord.’ In the Great Rebellion such stand
designs of one who deserves, notwithstand ards were abundantly used, chiefly on the
ing the inferiority of the department which Royalist side, with devices both serious and
THIRD SERIES. LIVING AGE. VOL. XXXII.
1476.
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�562
A HISTORY OF CARICATURE AND
GROTE.SQUE
of the caricature order. Here is an ex
English specimens of art, at first few and
ample of the latter, taken by the Round far between, began to make their way into
heads at Marston Moor, described by Rush favour among these foreign importations;
worth : —
and it is just at this period (the reign of
George I.) that we find them first exhibiting
‘ A yellow coronet: in its middle a lion couch the well-known advertisements,4 Printed for
ant, and behind him a mastiff seeming to Carington Bowles, next the Chapter House
snatch at him, and in a label from his mouth
written, Kimboltoq: at his feet little beagles, in St. Paul’s Church Yard, London,’—a
and before their mouths written, Pym, Pym, house famous in the same line for full a cen
Pym : and out of the lion’s mouth these words tury afterwards.
4 It was a defect of the earlier publica
proceeding, Quousque tandem abutere patientions of this class,’ says Mr. Wright in his
tia nostra ? ’
earlier work, 4 that they partook more of
Another curious vehicle of political cari an emblematical character than of what we
cature in England, in the seventeenth cen now understand by the term 44 caricature.”
tury, generally of very inferior order, was Even Hogarth, when he turned his hand to
that of playing-cards. 4 The earliest of politics, could not shake off his old preju
these packs of cards known,’ says Mr. dice on this subject; and it would be diffi
Wright, is one which appears to have been cult to point out worse examples than the
published at the very moment of the restora two celebrated publications which drew
tion of Charles II., and which was perhaps upon him so much popular odium,44 The
engraved in Holland. It contains a series Times.” ’ The reader will easily under
of caricatures on the principal acts of the stand the distinction, though^it cannot of
commonwealth, and on the parliamentary course be traced out with absolute accuracy
leaders.’ The ace of diamonds, for instance, in comparing different pieces. A design,
: represents 4 The High Court of Justice, or for example, in which political characters
Oliver’s Slaughterhouse.’ Among other are represented under the guise of various
packs of a" similar character which have animals, is generally emblematic or sym
been preserved, one relates to the Popish bolical in character. This is a simple in
Plot, another to the Ryehouse Conspiracy stance ; but the symbolism is often compli
(published in Holland), another to the cated, and not easy of • comprehension.
South Sea Bubble.
Hence a necessity for long letterpress ex
Romain de Hooghe, already mentioned planations in the form of labels issuing
as a follower of Callot, became, together from the mouths of the characters, or other
with others of his countrymen, as we have wise — a device showing inferiority of skill.
seen, the great exponent of English political The most effective caricature explains it
satires during the events of the last Stuart self, and exhibits point instead of allegory.
. reigns. Their productions must have been The favourite plates of the first part of the
widely circulated in England ; and, in fact, Georgian era, which appeared periodically,
, superseded in public estimation the very about 1740, styled 4 The Series of Euro
. inferior articles of domestic manufacture. pean State Jockies,’ and so forth, were
This period of Dutch supremacy among us compositions of many figures, as hiero
may be said to have continued down to the glyphical as the frontispiece to a prophetical
• date of the South Sea Bubble aforesaid ■— almanac. The gradual way in which Eng
‘ the time,’ says Mr. Wright, 4 in which lish comic art became emancipated from
■ caricatures began to be common in Eng this somewhat pedantic mould may be illus
land ; lor they had been before published at trated by a later instance, out of Gillray’s
rare intervals, and "partook so much of the works. Charles Fox was represented by
character of emblems that they are not the caricaturists of his youth with a fox’s
easily understood.’ The earliest of these, head, as his father, Lord Holland, had al
and the best, were of Dutch manufacture, most invariably been before him. And so
yet these were negligently executed. 4 So he is in one or two of Gillray’s first prints.
little point is there often in these carica But Gillray almost immediately abandoned
tures, and so great appears to have been the the old usage, and gave the patriot his own
call for them in Holland, that people seem burly physiognomy. The gradual passage
to have looked up old engravings destined from the emblematic to the simply satirical
■ originally for a totally different purpose, completes the establishment of the modern
. and, adding new inscriptions and new ex- English school of caricature.
The nature of the change cannot be bet
j planations, they were published as carical tures on the Bubble.’ *
ter exemplified than by reference to a piece
which had prodigious vogue in its day, and
* House of Hanover, i, 71.
�IN LITERATURE AND ART.
/
x
,
■
• i
■
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563
is repeatedly mentioned with interest by described in the .verses accompanying the
Horace Walpole and other contemporaries. print, which are wittier than the print
Copies of it are still common in collections : itself. Its great success, however, was
we have seen it even jconverted into the evinced by the numerous rival works of art
mounting of a lady’s fan. This is headed of both political colours which it called,
‘ The Motion, 1741/ and commemorates the forth, ‘ the Reason, ‘ the Motive/ ‘ the
failure of a famous attempt to upset Sir Grounds,’ &c. It may perhaps be said with
Robert Walpole’s government. The back truth to be the prototype of that whole
ground represents Whitehall, the Treasury, class of pictorial satires, great favourites
and the adjoining buildings as they then | with Englishmen, in which the small revo
stood. (The spectator is looking down lutions of ministries and oppositions are
Whitehall from a point nearly opposite travestied as scenes of popular life.
the modern Admiralty : to his left is a dead
We need not delay over the other innu
wall along the east side of the street, be- merable caricatures of the same reign; •
hind it private buildings, Scotland Yard, they are generally very ignoble ones; but
&c., extending as far as the Banqueting ghe comparative novelty of the fashion in
House; in front, the gateway over the en England rendered them extremely popular,
trance of what is now Parliament Street, and there was a kind of frank jollity pre
with the inscription ‘ Treasury.’)
dominant in the English body corporate
*>
just at that epoch — the epoch, as Hallam
‘Lord Carteret, in the coach, is driven to satisfied himself, of the maximum of physi
ward the Treasury by the Duke of Argyll as cal well-being to be traced in our history
coachman, with the Earl of Chesterfield as among the mass of the people — which
postilion, who, in their haste, are overturning peculiarly suited this development of broad
the vehicle; and Lord Carteret cries “ Let me
get out!” The Duke brandishes a wavy national humour. One or two specimens
sword, instead of a whip; and between his may detain for a moment the eyes of those
legs the heartless changeling, Bubb Dodington, who turn them over, rare as they have now
sits in the form of a spaniel. . i. . ' Lord generally become, in the collection at the
Cobham holds firmly by the straps behind, as British Museum, or in that far more valua
footman; while Lord Lyttelton follows on ble one amassed in many a year of busy
horseback, characterised equally by his own collectorship by Mr. Hawkins, formerly of
lean form, and that of the animal on which that establishment. There is a wild force
he strides. ... In front, Pulteney, drawl in the very rough execution of the print on
ing his partisans by the noses, and wheeling a
barrow laden with the writings of the Opposi the original broadside of Glover’s famous
tion, the Champion, the Craftsman, Common ballad, ‘ Hosier’s Ghost,’ in which the spirits
Sense, &c., exclaims, “ Zounds, they’re of ‘ English captains brave,areally form a
ours ! ’” *
very spectral crew. Another may be noted
for the quiet savageness of its insult to
This once famous squib affords, as we Lord George Sackville: it is entitled, ‘ A
have said, a good exemplification of the Design for a Monument to General Wolfe
passage from the old and formal to the (1760), or, a Living Dog better than a Dead
modern style of political caricature. It Lion.’ The dead lion reclines below a bust
bears strongly the type of Dutch origin, of this hero : the living dog at his side is a
but without the carefulness of Dutch ex greyhound, and on his collar is the word
ecution. The idea is clever and suggestive, ‘ Minden.’ And, lastly, one more, for the
but the workmanship at once artificial and very oddity of the conception : ‘ Our late
feeble.
The likenesses were no doubt Prime Minister,’ 1743. It is simply the jolly
sufficiently good to amuse the public of that face of Sir Robert Walpole, without any
day; Horace Walpole calls them 1 admira accessories whatever, thrown back as against
ble ; ’ but they are inexpressive. The wavy a pillow, and the jaws relaxed into a most
sword, a relic of the emblematic school, is contagious yawn, with the words, ‘ Lo,
a clumsy piece of allegory, spoiling the what are all your schemes come to ? ’ and
realism of the piece; and so is the figure the lines from the Dunciad : —
of Pulteney, leading the Tory squires by
cords passed through their noses. The ‘ Ev’n Palinurus nodded at the helm
only fun in the composition is to be found The vapour mild o’er each Committee crept,
in the figures of Bubb Dodington as a Unfinished treaties in each office slept,
spaniel, and Lord Lyttelton on horseback And chiefless armies dozed out the campaign,
— ‘ so long, so lean, so lank, so bony,’ as And navies yawned for orders on the main.’
* House of Hanover, i. 179.
i
We cannot, however, pass over the period
�564
A HISTORY OF CARICATURE AND
of George II. without noticing that it seems
to us to be the first in which that much
enduring animal, the British lion, figures
extensively as a popular character. As
yet, people’s eyes were not open to his
ludicrous side, and artists accordingly made
free with him in every variety of emblema
tic action. We have him roaring with in
dignation at the misdeeds of various Minis
ters ; ‘ hocussed ’ apparently, and with the
Spaniard paring his claws, in allusion to
the matter of Jenkins’s ears: frightening
the Gallic cock, defending the Austrian
eagle, led passive in a leash by the Duke of
Newcastle; and, lastly, ‘ embracing George
II.’ (1745), to the discomfiture of the Pope
and Pretender, who exclaim: ‘ We shall
never be a match for George while that
lion stands by him I ’
Some of the names of the hack carica
turists of this epoch are preserved by Mr.
Wright; most of them of as little notoriety
as merit. Among them< however, are some
amateurs of social position ; and one dame
of quality—a Countess of Burlington.
‘ She was the lady of the Earl who built
Burlington House in Piccadilly; was the
leader of one of the factions in the Opera
disputes at the close of the reign of George
I.; and is understood to have designed the
well-known caricature upon Cuzzoni, Fari
nelli, and Heidegger, which was etched by
Guppy, whom she patronised.’
Such were the very undistinguished
characteristics and history of English art
in the grotesque and comic line, when the
appearance of Hogarth on the stage marked
an entirely new epoch in its history. It
would be superfluous here to recapitulate
the details of the life or achievements of
our great domestic painter; the more so,
as his powers in the line of caricature, pro
perly so called, though very great, were
subordinate to his far higher merits as a
painter of ‘ genre,’ as the French phrase it,1
a delineator of popular scenes and incidents
into which the humorous only entered as an
ingredient, although a very important one.
As a political caricaturist poor Hogarth
made a fatal mistake: he took the wrong
side:—
..
4|<
tjUlW
‘It appears evident,’ says Mr. Wright, ‘that
before this time (October, 1760) Hogarth had
gained the favour of Lord Bute, who, by his
interest with the Princess of Wales, was all
powerful in the household of the young Prince.
The painter had hitherto kept tolerably clear
of politics in his prints, but now, unluckily
for himself, he suddenly rushed into the arena
of political caricature. It was generally said
that Hogarth’s object was, by displaying his;
GROTESQUE
1,4
zeal in the cause of his patron, to obtain an in
crease of his pension; and he acknowledges
himself that his object was gain. “ This,” he
says, “being a period when war abroad and
contention at home engrossed everyone’s mind,
prints were thrown in the background; and the
stagnation rendered it necessary that I should
do some timed thing to recover my lost time,
and stop a gap in my income.” Accordingly
he determined to attack the great minister
Pitt, who had recently been compelled to re
sign his office, and had gone over to the oppo
sition. It is said that John Wilkes, who had
previously been Hogarth’s friend, having been
privately informed of his design, went to the
painter, expostulated with him, and, as he con
tinued obstinate, threatened retaliation.’
‘ The Times, No. 1,’ was the first fruit of
Hogarth’s unlucky fit of loyalty ; a labour
ed emblematic print, after the. older fash
ion, to the glory of Lord Bute and discredit
of Pitt. Wilkes attacked the artist in the
‘ North Briton; ’ Hogarth retorted — only
too successfully—in this admirable print
of Wilkes with the cap of liberty: ‘ eventu
que impalluit ipse secundo,’ for Wilkes,
with all his apparent firn and bonhomie,
was a deadly enemy. The nettled patriot
brought his friend Churchill, and a host
more of libellers in letterpress and in cop
perplate, on the back of his unfortunate as
sailant : —
‘ Parodies on his own works, sneers at his
personal appearance and manners, reflections
upon his character, were all embodied in prints
which bore such names as Hogg-ass, Hoggart,
O’Garth, &c. . . . The article by Wilkes
in the “ North Briton,” and Churchill’s metri
cal epistle, irritated Hogarth more than the
hostile caricatures, and were generally believed
to have broken his heart. He died on the 26 th
of October, 1764, little more than a year after
the appearance of the attack by Wilkes, and
with the taunts of his political as well as his
professional enemies still ringing in his ears.’
— pp. 446-449.
Hogarth left no school of followers; his
genius was of too independent and peculiar
an order to admit of this. Perhaps the
nearest to him was Paul Sandby; described
by Mr. Wright as ‘ one of those rising artists
who were offended by the sneering terms in
which Hogarth spoke of all artists but him
self, and foremost among those who turned
their satire against him.’ Sanby was one
of the original members of the Royal Ac ardemy, and is best known as a topographical
draughtsman; but Mr. Wright terms him
the father of water-colour art in England.
As a caricaturist he led the attack against
Lord Bute and the Princess Dowager, as
�I' * >
IN LITERATURE AND ART.
well as against Hogarth ; his sketch of the
two Scotchmen travelling to London on a
witch’s broomstick, with the inscription,
‘ the land before them is as the Garden of
Eden, and behind them a desolate wilder
ness,’ is one of the best of the witticisms
provoked by the miso-Caledonian movement
of that day.
We cannot quite dgree with Mr. Wright
when he says that, ‘ with the overthrow of
Bute’s Ministry (1763) we may consider the
English school of caricaturists as completely
formed and fully established.’ On the con
trary, it seems to us, from such collections as
we have examined, that the political branch
of the art was at a particularly low standard
for nearly twenty years after that event. The
American war produced very little amuse
ment of this kind; it was an affair into
which the nation entered with a dogged and
reluctant seriousness: and Washington and
Franklin, Silas Deane and John Adams,
afforded but drab-eoloured subjects for the
facetious limner. Social topics were just then
much more in vogue ; the extravagances in
dress of the Macaronies and high-flying la
dies'of the day (the acme of absurdity, in
modern costume, was certainly reached in
the years 1770-1780), the humours of Vauxhall,.and Mrs. Cornely’s masquerades, di
verted men’s minds from the bitter disap
pointment of a contest in which nothing
was to be gained either by persevering or
giving way.
*
Perhaps the best specimen
of the pictorial humour of that time was to
be found, not in the shop window prints!
but in the pages of the numerous magazines;
some of these never appeared without an
illustration or two of the jocose order, like
the comic newspapers of our time. But
when the incubus of the American war was
removed, and domestic faction reappeared
on the stage in all its pristine vivacity, the
simultaneous appearance of the ‘ Rolliad ’
and its fellow satires in literature, and of
Gillray and his fellow-workmen in art,
heralded the advent of a new era.
We must hasten to him whom Mr. Wright
terms, with perfect justice in our opinion,
1 the greatest of English caricaturists, and
perhaps of all caricaturists of modern times
whose works are known — James Gillray.’
His father was an out-pensioner of Chel* In one of the caricatures of this period (repro
duced by Mr. Wright in his former work) Lord
Sandwich is represented with a bat in his hand, in
allusion, we are told, to his fondness for cricket;
but it is a curved piece of wood, much more resem
bling that with which golf is played. And the same
peculiarly shaped instrument is put into the hand
of a cricket-loving lady in a.print of 1778 (Miss
Wicket and Miss Trigger).' What is the date of the
bat now used ?
.
‘ 565
sea Hospital, and sexton of the Moravian
burial-ground at Chelsea, where the carica
turist was born in 1757. Belonging by his
origin, and still more by his loose and Bohe
mian habits, to a very ordinary sphere of
life, it is certainly singular that he should
have acquired such a close observation and
intimate knowledge of events as they oc
curred, not only in the political, but in the
fashionable world. His great sources of
information were, no doubt, the newspa
pers ; but occasionally he seems even to have
anticipated the newspapers; more than one
court scandal and state intrigue seems to
have been blazoned first to public notice
in the well-known shop windows of Hum
phreys or of Fores, always crowded with
loiterers as soon as one of Gillray’s novel
ties appeared. It is no doubt true, and af
fords a curious subject of speculation to any
one who may think the inquiry worth pur
suing, that, when Gillray’s fame was estab
lished, many an amateur of the higher cir
cles seems to have assisted him, not merely
in furnishing hints, but also sketches, which
Gillray etched and sold for his own profit.
Some of his best caricatures, if we are not
mistaken J are from outlines supplied by
Bunbury, others were composed by Brown '
low North. But these are exceptions only,
and do-not invalidate the general proposi
tion as to the singularity of the circum
stance that this drunken son of a sexton was
for many years the pictorial Aristophanes
of his day, and aided, at least, by those who
were behind the sceMs. of much which
took place in the inner recesses of high
life.
His fame as a political caricaturist was
first established by his burlesque prints on
Rodney’s victory (1782). The rueful figure
of the unlucky French admiral De Grasse,
in one of them, is among the most charac
teristic of his performances. As we have
said, it was some time before he thoroughly
emancipated himself from the allegorical
style ; and another peculiarity of inferior ar
tists haunted him a long' time, the fashion,
namely, of overloading his compositions
with quantities of letter-press, oratorical or
jocose, proceeding from the mouths of his
characters, as if his pencil had not been fully
powerful enough to speak for itself. He
rushed with an energy all his own into the
war of squibs which succeeded the Fox and
North coalition, and then conceived those
ideals of the leading patriot, and of his
friend Burke, which he afterwards rendered
popular in every corner of the kingdom by
a thousand repetitions. A very admirable
series of sketches, however, of these two
�566
A HISTORY OF CARICATURE AND GROTESQUE
and Lord North, as ‘War, Peace, and
Neither War nor Peace,’ portraits scarcely
touched with grotesque, though in skilfully
exaggerated attitudes, commonly inserted
in the bound volumes of Gillray’s works, is,
we are satisfied, not his; it bears much
more the appearance of Sayer’s workman
ship. Fox and his personal following were
peculiarly the objects of Gillray’s aversion ;
and, not many years later than this, the
unhappy circumstances of the Prince of
Wales’s matrimonial career provoked him
into a series of the most popular, daring,
and spirited of all his works; some of which,
however, it is not easy in our decent age to
indicate even by reference, though they
seem to have been exposed without scandal
in the most frequented thoroughfares of Lon
don. Gillray, however, was ‘ not a hired
libeller,’says Mr. Wright,‘like Sayer and
some other of the lower caricaturists of that
time: he evidently chose his subjects in
some degree independently, as those which
offered him the best mark for ridicule; and
he had so little respect for the ministers or
the court, that they all felt his satire in
turn.’ After exhausting his power of picto
rial invention against the heir apparent,
he found a still more congenial subject of
1 satire in the peculiarities of his Majesty
George III. himself. Here, however, per
sonal spite is said to have given the induce
ment.
‘ According to a story which seems to be
authentic, Gillray’s dislike of the King was em
bittered bv an incident somewhat similar to
that by which George II. had provoked the
anger of Hogarth. Gillray had visited France,
Flanders, >and Holland, and he had made
sketches, a few of which he had engraved. He
accompanied the painter Loutherbourg, who
had left his native city of Strasburg to settle
in England, and became the King’s favourite
artist, to assist him in making groups for his
great painting of the ‘ Siege of Valenciennes,’
Gillray sketching groups of figures while
.Loutherbourg drew the landscapes and build
ings. After their return, the King expressed a
desire to see these sketches, and they were
placed before him. Louthesbourg’s landscapes
and buildings were plain drawings, and easy to
understand, and the King expressed himself
greatly pleased with them. But the King’s
mind was already predjudiced against Gillray
for his satirical prints : and when he saw his
hasty and rough, though spirited sketches of
the French soldjers, he threw them aside con
temptuously with the remark, “ I don’t under
stand these caricature fellows.” Perhaps the
„ very word he used was intended as a sneer
upon Gillray, who, we are told, felt the affront
deeply, and he proceeded to retort by a carica
ture which struck at once at one of the
King’s vanities, and at his political predjudices.
George III. imagined himself a great connois
seur in the Fine Arts, and the caricature was
entitled “ a connoisseur examining a Cooper’.”'
It represented the King looking at the celebrat
ed miniature of Oliver Cromwell, by the Eng
lish painter, Samuel Cooper. When Gillray
had completed this print, he is said to have ex
claimed, “I wonder if the Royal connoisseur
will understand this!” It was published on
the 18th of June, 1792, and cannot have failed
to produce sensation at that period of revolu
tions. The King is made to exhibit a strange
mixture of alarm with astonishment hi contem
plating the features of this great overthrower
of kingly power, at a moment when all kingly
power was threatened. It will he remarked,
too, that the satirist has not overlooked the
royal character for domestic economy; the
King is looking at the picture by the light of a
candle end stuck on a save-all.’
If there is any truth in the story, certainly
never was artist’s revenge more completeThe homely features of the poor old king
— his prominent eyes, light eyebrows, pro
truding lips, his shambling walk, his gaze of
eager yet vacant curiosity — are even now
better known to us through Gillray’s carica
tures than through anything which theMuses of painting and sculpture, in their
serious moods, could effect for him or
against him. Gillray’s etchings, and Peter
Pindar’s verses, were for years among the
minor plagues of royalty. Not, indeed, in
the estimation of the stout-hearted monarch
himself, as impervious to ridicule as to
argument whenever he thought himself in
the right; no man in his dominions laughed
more regularly at each hew caricature of
Gillray than he ; and a whole set, inscribed
‘ for the king,’ forwarded to him as they
came out, is said to be preserved at Wind
sor. But they were more keenly felt by
his little knot of attached courtiers, and
also by sober-minded people in general,
seriously apprehensive, in those inflammable
times, of anything which might throw ridi
cule on the Crown. One of the coarsest
and most powerful, and which is said to
have given especial offence at head-quarters,
is that which represents Queen Charlotte as
Milton’s Sin, between Pitt as Death and
Thurlow as the Devil. Others, of less
virulence, such as ‘ Affability,’ or the King
and the Ploughman ; the ‘ Lesson in Apple
Dumplings ; ’ the conjugal breakfast scene,
where George is toasting muffins, and Char
lotte frying sprats; the ‘ Anti-Saccharites,’
where the Royal pair are endeavouring to
coax the reluctant princesses (charming
figures) to take their tea without sugar, —
these, and numbers more, held up the Royal
�IN LITERATURE AND ART.
567
peculiarities, especially the alleged stingi wild and extravagant now grew on him.
ness of the Court, in a manner in which the Doubtless it was sharpened by the effect on
usual coarseness of the execution rather his brain of constant potations, which grad
tended to heighten the exceeding force and ually brought on delirium tremens. His
latest art-debauches — if such we may term
humour of the satire.
But when this country became seriously them — have often a touch of phantasma
involved in hostilities with France, repub goric-pictorial nightmare, like those of Callot,
lican, and afterwards imperial, a change Teniers, and Hollenbreughel. His last draw
came over the spirit of Gillray’s satire. ing is preserved in the British Museum, exe
Thenceforth he gradually ceased his at cuted when he was quite out of his mind — a
tacks, not only on the Royal family, but on madman’s attempt at a portrait, said to be
domestic objects of raillery in general, and that of Mr. Humphreys, the printseller. He
applied himself almost exclusively to sharp died in 1815 ; and the inscription 4 Here lies
ening the national spirit of hostility against James Gillray, the caricaturist,’ marks, or
the foreign enemy. His caricatures against lately marked, the spot of his interment in
the French are those by which he is best the Broadway, Westminster. His works,
known, especially abroad, and occupy the once so popular, had fallen so much in
greatest space in his works. This was, no fashion a few years ago that the plates were
doubt, the popular line to take, and Gillray about to be sold for old copper, when they
worked for money; but it would be doing were rescued by Mr. J. H. Bohn, the pub
great injustice to the poor caricaturist’s lisher, who gave to the public those now
memory to suppose that money was his well-known re-impressions which have pro
main object. The son of the old pensioner cured for the artist a new' lease of fame.
Gillray was the Rubens of caricature, and
was full of the popular instincts of his class.
It was not the French revolution or con the comparison is really one which does no
quests that he opposed; it was the French injustice to the inspired Fleming. The life
themselves, whom he hated with all the ve like realism of the Englishman’s boldlyhemence of a Nelson or a Windham. rounded, muscular figures, and the strong
These later compositions of his are, indeed, expression communicated to them by a few
marvellous performances. But they are so strokes of the pencil, are such as Antwerp
rather from the intensity of imaginative fu in all her pride might not disdain. Any
ry with which they are animated, than from one who has studied some of Rubens’s
crowds of nude figures which approach
the ordinary qualities of the caricaturist.
They are comparatively destitute of his nearest to the order of caricature — his
old humour and fun. Not that he had out sketches of the4 Last Judgment,’for instance,
grown these. His few domestic caricatures in the Munich Gallery —■ will appreciate the
are still full of them; such are those on justice of the parallel. Gillray was undoubt
4 All the Talents ’ (1806), one of which, the edly coarse to excess, both in conception
4 Funeral of Baron Broadbottom,’ is among and execution ; so much so, as to render his
the most comic of all his productions. The last works mere objects of disgust to many ed
survivor of its procession of mourners, the ucated in the gentler modern school. But
late Marquis of Lansdowne, has now been there are also numbers of a taste more re
dead for some years ; the features of the re fined than catholic, who disclaim all admira
mainder are quite unfamiliar to this genera tion for Rubens on the very same grounds.
tion ; and yet it is scarcely possible to look And one quality Gillray possessed which
at it even now without a smile, such as we was apparently discordant from his ordinary
bestow on the efforts of our cotemporaries character. Many of his delineations of female
Leech or Doyle. But when Gillray tried beauty ■ are singularly successful, and he
his vein on a French subject, he passed at seems to have dwelt on them with special
once from the humourous to the grotesque, pleasure, for the sake of the contrast with
and thence to the hideous and terrible. his usual disfigurements of humanity. His
One of his eccentric powers, amounting heroines are certainly not sylphs, but they
certainly to genius, comes out strongly in often are, like the celestials of Rubens, un
these later caricatures ; that of bringing to commonly fine women. Let us refer to a
gether an enormous number of faces, dis few well-known instances only ; such as his
torted into every variety of grimace, and representations of Mrs. Fitzherbert at her
yet preserving a wonderfully human ex best time, notwithstanding the. prominence
pression. We would signalise particularly of the aquiline feature, which it was his
two, one almost tragical, thh 4 Apotheosis of business to enhance ; of George III.’s daugh
Hoche;’ one farcical, the ‘Westminster ters in the 4 Anti-Saccharites,’ and other
Election’ (1804). The tendency to the prints; the Duchess of Richmond as the
�..
568
1
A HISTORY OF CARICATURE AND GROTESQUE
‘ Height of Fashion; ’ the charming seated
figure entitled ‘ Modern Elegance,’ 1795
(said to be Lady Charlotte Campbell, but
is it not an older person ?), in which, though
the costume is playfully exaggerated, the
features are finely drawn; the beauty (evi
dently a portrait also) who is reading Monk
Lewis’s ‘Tales of Wonder’ to a' bevy of
I very homely gossips (1802); and even the
I common ball-room figures, in ‘ A Broad
1
1'Hint of not meaning to Dance’ (1804), in
which, however, the design is Brownlow
North’s.
Still, we fear that Gillray must be gener
ally comprehended in the somewhat auda
cious assertion of M. Champfleury, that
‘satirists, from Moliere down to Prudhon,
only recognise two conditions for women —
those of courtezan and housewife.’ It will
be seen that several of our instances are
taken from what may be termed social,
in contradistinction to political, caricatures,
many of which are quite equally worthy of
the master, although not those on which his
popularity mainly rests. They are often of
a libellous boldness, inconceivable now-adays, and equally so in earlier times; for
the generation to which Gillray belonged
stood out in bad pre-eminence among all
others in English domestic history in respect
of this particular kind of coarseness — a
generation which could see exposed in the
shop-windows such shameless pictorial sa
tires as those directed against Lady Arch
er, and other dames of gambling celebrity;
or the representation of the dashing daugh,
ters of a countess as the ‘ Three Graces in
a High Wind; ’ or of a titled beauty nurs
ing her infant in a ball-dress, as the ‘ Fash
ionable Mamma; ’ or of Lady Cecilia John
ston, an inoffensive lady, of unobtrusive
style as well as character, against whom it
is said the artist had conceived some grudge,
which induced him spitefully to represent
her in all manner of ludicrous situations.
Others of this class, it may be added, related
to darker scandals behind the scenes, and
may not now be met with in the ordinary
collections of Gillray’s works, though they
excited little comment, and no disgust, in
his day. To pass again, for one moment
only, from Gillray’s merit as an artist,
to his specialty as a caricaturist; his strong
i power of seizing likenesses, and giving them
! a ludicrous expression, was, no doubt, the
1 chief element of his popularity. In this he
surpassed all his predecessors, though he has
been equalled by one or two of his succes
sors. But in one bye-quality we are in
clined to think him unrivalled: the faculty
of giving by a few touches a kind of double
expression to a countenance; cowardice
underlying bravado; impudence, affected,
modesty. See, as a specimen, the exceedingly comic representation of Addington
and Napoleon, sword in hand, daring each
other to cross the Channel which flows
between them. A single figure of Burke
as an ‘Uniform Whig’ (1791), admirably
drawn in other respects, conveys much
of this mingled meaning, though not quite
so easily decipherable. The sage is lean
ing against a statue of George III.; he
holds in one hand Burke’s ‘ Thoughts on
the Revolution,’ in the other a cap of liber
ty ; the motto, ‘ I preserve my consistency,
by varying my means to secure the unity of
my end.’ The caricaturist’s experience
had attained for once to ‘something like
prophetic strain.’ His facility of execution
was wonderful. It must, no doubt, be
added, as a natural qualification of such
praise, that his drawing is often incorrect
and careless in the extreme, even after
all allowance for what we have never seen
fully explained, the vast difference, in point
of excellence, between various copies of
what is apparently the same print. He
is said ‘to have .etched his ideas at once
upon £he copper, without making a previ
ous drawing, his only guides being sketches
of the distinguished characters he intended
to produce, made on small pieces of card,
which he always carried about with him.’
Of Rowlandson (born 1756, died 1827),
Mr. Wright speaks in high terms of praise,
saying that he ‘ doubtlessly stands second to ■
Gillray, and may, in some respects, be con
sidered as his equal.
. He was distin
guished by a remarkable versatility of tal
ent, by a great fecundity of imagination,
and by a skill in grouping quite equal to
that of Gillray, and with a singular ease in
forming his groups of a great variety of
figures. It has been remarked, too, that no
artist ever possessed the power of Rowland
son of expressing so much with so little ef
fort.’ We are sorry that we cannot, for our
own parts, subscribe to these eulogies. As
a political caricaturist — to which line he
resorted as a matter of trade, espousing the
Whig side as others did the Tory — he
seems to us dujl enough. In general sub
jects he succeeded better, yet appears to us
endowed with all Gillray’s coarseness, but
with little of his satirical power and none of
his artistic genius.
James Sayer, cotemporary with these
two as an artist, deserves mention as pos
sessed of a certain amount of original tai-'
ent, though not of a very high order. He
was ‘ a bad draughtsman,’ says Mr. Wright
�IN LITERATURE AND ART.
—- surely too sweeping a criticism — ‘ and
his pictures are produced more by labour
than by skill in drawing, but they possess a
considerable amount of humour.’ His like
nesses, generally produced by a small num
ber of hard and carefully-executed lines,
seem to us of great merit as such, though
wanting in life and energy. He was almost exclusively a political caricaturist,
and, unlike the reckless ^but independent
Gillray, he turned his talents to good ac. count, devoting himself to the cause of Pitt,
who bestowed on him in return the ‘ not
, unlucrative offices of Marshal of the Court
of Exchequer, Receiver of the Sixpenny
Dues, and Cursitor.’ His most famous
production was the well-known ‘ Carlo
' Khan’s Triumphal Entry into Leadenhallstreet’ (on the occasion of Fox’s India Bill,
1783), still common in collections. Butthis
succeeded chiefly because it fell in with the
humour of the time; though the idea is
good, the execution is cold, and it is encum
bered with symbolical accessories, after the
older fashion which we have described.
Among his minor works, an unfinished proof
of Boswell, Mrs. Piozzi, and others of the
Johnsonian clique, with the ghost of the
Doctor himself scowling at them from
above, exhibits a good deal of his peculiar
laborious talent.
Our catalogue of cotemporaries would
hardly be complete without including in it
the clever and goodhumoured amateur
Henry Bunbury, though no dabbler in
State affairs, like jGillray and Sayer. Bunbury had (as Mr. Wright says) ‘ little taste
for political caricature, and seldom meddled
with it. He preferred scenes of social life
and humourous incidents of cotemporary
manners, fashionable or popular.’ It may
be added that he does not seem to have
often inserted portraits in his .pieces. He
was rather the forerunner of the modern
French ' school of grotesque artists ‘ de
genre,’ of whom we shall have a word to
say presently. His drawing, says Mr.
Wright, ‘ was often bold and good, but he
had little skill in etching.’ After some
early essays in that line, “ his designs were
engraved by various persons, and his own
style was sometimes modified in this pro
cess.’ We have ourselyes seen original
drawings by his hand, very superior both in
force and refinement to the coarse style of
the ordinary plates which bear his name.
z Perhaps the best known and most ludicrous
t of his compositions are his illustrations of
‘ Geoffry Gambado’s Art of Horsemanship.’
Bunbury was brother to the baronet who
married Lady Sarah Lennox, and himself
569
husband of one of Goldsmith’s’ favourite
Miss Hornecks. He died in 1811, the date
of his last work, ‘ A Barber’s Shop in Assize
Time,’ engraved by Gillray.
Passing over Isaac Cruikshank — a very
prolific artist of the same period with Gill
ray, of whom he was a pretty close imitator
— we arrive at his illustrious son George,
who still survives to connect our era with
the last. He is now almost forgotten as a
political caricaturist, in which line he em
barked, fifty years ago, under the auspices
of his father, but soon abandoned it to
achieve his peculiar andaunique celebrity as
an etcher of small figures, chiefly in the
way of illustrations to letterpress, in which
humour and the most exquisite appreciation
of the ludicrous alternate with beauty and
pathos of no common order. ‘ The ambi
tion of George Cruikshank,’ says Mr.
Wright, ‘ was to draw what Hogarth called
moral comedies, pictures of society through
a series of acts and scenes, always pointed
with some great moral; and it must be con
fessed that he has, through a long career,
succeeded admirably.’ Every one is aware
of the zeal with which the amiable artist
has devoted himself to promote the public
good by this employment of his brain, of
which an amusing illustration is furnished
by the current story — for the truth of
which, however, we will by no means vouch
— that he insisted on formally presenting
his ‘Drunkard’s Progress’ to her Majesty!
And yet, to our taste, George Cruikshank’s
most ambitious attempts in this line are
scarcely equal to the trifling productions
which he has now and then thrown off in
mere exuberance of genius and animal
spirits. The first edition of a little book,
entitled ‘ German Popular Stories,’ which
appeared in 1834 (the letterpress was by
the late Mr. Jardine), contains, on the mi
nutest possible scale, some of the most per-1feet gems, both of humour and gracefulness,
which are anywhere to be found. The
reader need only cast his eye on ‘ Cherry,
or the Frog-Bride ; ’ the ‘ Tailor and the
Bear-; ’ ‘ Rumpelstiltskin,’ and the inimi
table procession of country folks jumping
into the lake after the supposed flocks of
sheep in ‘ Pee-wit,’ to learn how much of fun,
and grotesque, and elegance of figures also,
and beauty of landscape, may be conveyed
in how few lines.
The history of English caricature of the
Georgian era would be incomplete without
a notice of the various printsellers who
supplied the material to the public, and
whose shop-windows furnished, not so many
years ago, favourite stages or stations, as it
�570
A HISTORY OF CARICATURE AND
were, for the wandering Cockney, on his
peregrinations between East and West; and
with this Mr. Wright has accordingly fur
nished us. Perhaps the most celebrated
were Humphreys, of New Bond-street and
Piccadilly (whom, however, Mr. Wright
does not mention), and Fores.
‘ S. W. Fores dwelt first at No 3, Piccadilly,
but afterwards establishe i himself at No. 50, the
corner of Sackville Street, where the name still
remains. Fores seems to have been most fertile
in ingenious expedients for the extension of his
business. He formed a sort of library of cari
catures, and other prints, and charged for ad
mission to look at them; and he afterwards adopt
ed a system of lending them out in portfolios for
evening parties, at which these portfolios of car
icatures became a very fashionable amusement
in the latter part of the last century. At times
some remarkable curiosity was employed to add
to the attractions of his shop. Thus, on carica
tures published in 1790, we find the statement
that “ In Fores Caricature Museum is the completest collection in the kingdom. Also the
Head and Hand of Count Struenzee. Admit
tance, one shilling.” Caricatures against the
French revolutionists, published in 1793, bear
imprints stating that they were “ published by
S. W. Fores, No. 3 ,Piccadilly, where may be
seen a Complete Model of the Guillotine. Ad
mittance, one shilling.” In some this model is
said to be six feet high.’
Mr. Wright closes his list with George
Cruikshank, as the last representative of
the great school of caricaturists formed in
the reign of George HI. But there is anoth
er, still living among us, whose experience
as an artist goes very nearly back to that
reign, and who may be in the most literal
sense called the last of the political caricatu
rists as he is considered by many the best —
Mr. Doyle, the world-famous H.B. of the
past generation. Those who belonged to it
can well remember the height of popularity
which his lithographed sketches achieved,
the little blockades before the shop-windows
in St. James’s-street and the Flaymarket
whenever a new one appeared, and the con
venient topic of conversation which it was
sure to afford to men of the clubs, when meet
ing each other on the pavement. For it was
to critics of this class that H.B. particularly
addressed himself. His productions wanted
the popular vigour of those of Gillray and his
school. But it is to Mr. Doyle’s high honour
that they were also entirely free from the
scandalous coarseness of his predecessors, and
that he showed the English public how the
purposes of political satire could be fully se
cured without departing a hand’s breadth
from the dignity of the artist or the charac
GROTESQUE
ter of the gentleman. As a delineator of
figures, we cannot esteem him very success
ful. They run too much into the long and
lanky; portions of the outline, the extremities
in particular, are often almost effeminate in
their refinement: when he attempts a really
broad, bluff personage, he is apt to produce
the effect of a fine gentleman masquerading
as a Falstaff. But it was in the likeness of
his portraits, and their expression, that his
chief and singular merit consisted. And in
these, again, his success was extremely va
rious. His fortune, in a professional sense,
may be said to have been made by three
faces — those of the Duke of Wellington,
King William IV., and Lord Brougham.
The provoking, sly no-meaning, establishing
itself on the iron mask of the first; the goodhumoured, embarrassed expression of the
second; the infinite variety of grotesque
fancies conveyed in the contorted features
of the third ; these were reproduced, week
after week, for years, with a variety and
fertility perfectly astonishing. In other
cases he never could succeed in hitting off
even a tolerable likeness : of his hundred or
so representations of the late Sir Robert
Peel, we do not recollect one which conveys
to us any real remembrance of the original.
The Peel of caricaturists in general, not
only of H.B.,was a conventional person
age ; .as is, though in a less marked degree,
the Gladstone of our present popular artists.
Still more remarkable was the failure of
H.B., in common with his predecessors, in
catching the likeness of Gtsorge IV. In all
the countless burlesque representations of
that personage, from the handsome youth of
1780 to the puffy veteran of 1827, there are
scarcely any which present a tolerable re
semblance.
The courtly Lawrence suc
ceed in portraying him well enough ; the
caricaturists, usually so happy, never. H.
B.’s published sketches amount to some nine
hundred, and afford a capital key to the
cabinet and parliamentary history of Eng
land, from the Ministry of Wellington to
the end of Lord Melbourne’s. While num
bers of them *o credit to the artist’s politi
d
cal sagacity as well as his skill, we cannot
forbear to notice one which, to our present
notions, illustrates the ‘ nescia mens hominum fati sortisque futurse ’ — produced
when the Tories, to whom H.B. appertain
ed with all his heart, anticipated the tri
umphs of French over English diplomacy
under the conduct of our then Foreign Sec
retary : it is No. 171 in the series, ‘The
Lame leading the Blind: ’ Lord Palmers
ton, guided into a ditch by Talleyrand.
With the renowned H. B. the line of regu-
�IN LITERATURE AND ART.
lar British caricaturists closes. The taste of
the nation has sought another direction. But
do not let us be misunderstood. The spir
it of the' art survives, and will do so as long
as England is a free country and Englishmen
retain a sense of the ludicrous ; but its form
is so completely changed, by the substitu
tion of the cheap illustrated newspaper for
the comparatively expensive broad-sheet of
the last century, that a more convenient
moment could not be found, for closing the
old chapter in artistic history and beginning
a new one, than that in. which Doyle ceas
ed his labours and the ‘ Punch ’ school of
satirists began theirs. The very distinct
mode of treatment which the small size of
the modern comic newspaper, compared
with the old sheet, necessarily requires,
combines with other causes of difference to
render this new school something quite apart
from the old one. Its success must needs be
obtained more through skill in the delinea
tion of individual faces, and compactness of
wit in the 1 motive ’ of the composition, than
through breadth of treatment, or (generally
speaking) through talent for grouping. In
the delineation of faces, however, and es
pecially in portrait, which is the specialty
of political caricature, the designers with
whom we are now dealing have an immense
advantage over those of former times, in
being able to use the results of the art of
photography. Photographs of faces and fig
ures, always at hand, are a very superior
class of auxiliaries to those hasty ‘ drawings
on bits of card ’ with which Gillray was wont
to content himself. The popularity which
our present favourites have earned is prob
ably more real, certainly much more exten
sive, than that gained by their most success
ful predecessors, from Hogarth to Cruik-1
shank : with whose names that of Leech, so
lately lost to us, and of his living associates
and rivals, of whom we need only name
Doyle the younger and John Tenniel as
specimens, will assuredly find their places
in the future annals of art. But, arrived at
this turning point, we must take farewell of
our subject, devoting only a few pages more
to the cotemporary history of modern
French caricature, on which Mr. Wright
(to our regret) does not enter. We had
hoped to derive considerable assistance
for this purpose from a new publication
of our friend M. Champfleury, entitled
‘ Histoire de la Caricature Moderne,’ which
has just fallen into our hands ; but although
the title is thus comprehensive, the contents
reduce themselves to a few lively pages of
panegyric on two or three recent artists,
which seem to be diotated’in great measure
by personal feelings.
I
571
The general subject can be nowhere so
well studied in a summary way as in the two
volumes of M. Jaime (‘ Musee de la Carica
ture’), with very fairly executed illustra
tions, to which we can only apply the an
cient reproach, ‘ tantamne rem tarn negligenter; ’ for M. Jaime has but treated' the
matter in a perfunctory way, as if afraid
of dwelling too much on it. It has not,
however, the interest which attaches either
to the coarser but bolder style of art inaug
urated by the Germans in the sixteenth cen
tury, or to that which prevailed in the great
English age of political caricature. Callot
was indeed aJFrenchman, by race at least,
though born in Lorraine, then independ
ent ; but his associations were more with
the school of the Netherlands than that of
France. Nor had he any followers of note
in the latter country. The jealous wake
fulness of French government, and the cold
and measured style which French art de
rived from a close addiction to supposed
classical models, were both alike unfavoura
ble to the development of the artistic empire
of ‘ Laughter, holding both his sides.’
French artists of the eighteenth century for
the most part touched ludicrous subjects in
a decorous and timid way, as if ashamed of
them. As the literature of theEeountry is
said to abound in wit, while it is poor in hu
mour, so its pictorial talent found vent rath
er in the neat and effective K tableau de
genrejlthan in the irregularity of the gro
tesque ; or, to employ another simile, French
cbmic art was to English as the genteel
comedy to the screaming farce. And the
same was the case (to treat the subject
briefly) with that of other nations over
which France exercised predominant influ
ence. Chodowiecki was the popular Ger
man engraver of domesti(?fecenes in the last
century, and his copper-plates have great
delicacy of execution and considerable pow
er of expression. He was in high vogue
for the purpose of illustrating with cuts the
novels and the poetry of the great age of
German literature, and his productions are
extraordinarily numerous. But he habitu
ally shrank from the grotesque. His ad
mirers styled him the German Hogarth — a
comparison which he, we are told, rejected
with some indignation, and which Hogarth,
could he have known it, would certainly
have rejected likewise; for Chodowiecki,
with all his other merits, very seldom ap
proaches the ludicrous, and never soars to
the height or descends to the depth of cari
cature.
The unbounded licence of the first French
Revolution, and the strange mixture of the
burlesque with the terrible which attended
�572
A HISTORY OF CARICATURE AND
its progress, gave of course for some years
the most favourable opportunities possible
for the exercise of pictorial wit, so far as the
nation possessed it. There can be no great
er treat to one who loves to tread the by
ways of history, often the shortest cuts to
truth, than to turn over the series of those
magnificent volumes in the Imperial Libra
ry of Paris, in which the whole pictorial an
nals of the last century or so in France are
preserved; everything arranged as nearly
as may be in order of date, and not of sub
jects : portraits, festal shows and triumphs,
processions, battles, riots, great events, rep
resented under every form down to the
rough newspaper woodcut and street carica
ture, unrolling in one vast phantasmagoria
before the eye. We have much that is val
uable and useful in our Museum, but noth
ing, in the matter of historical art, compara
ble to this collection. An inadequate idea
of it only can be formed from the miscella
neous contents of the well-known three fo
lio volumes of prints, entitled ‘ Tableaux de
la Revolution Francaise.’ The earlier part
of the caricatures of that age are the most
humourous and also the best executed. As
the tragedy deepened, fun became more
and more out of place; and the satirists who
had seen its outbreak having most of them
lost their heads or fled the country, the
business fell into the hands of more vulgar
workmen. One of the first (1788) may be
mentioned, not so much for its execution,
which is tame enough, as because it is (as
far as we know) the real original of a piece
of wit which has since made its fortune in
every language, and been falsely attributed
to many facetious celebrities. Calonne, as a
monkey, has assembled his 1 notables,’ a flock.
of barn-door fowl. ‘ Mes chers administres,
je vous ai rassembles pour savoir a quelle
sauce vous voulez etre manges.’ ‘Maisnous
ne voulons pas etre manges du tout.’ ‘ Vous
vous ecartez de la question.’
But French art, as we have seen, refined
and softened into effeminacy under the class
civilization of the ancien regime, and ren
dered prudish also by its adherence to classi
cal models, had its decorum soon shocked by
too coarse intermixture of the grotesque. In
deed, the reason often given by Frenchmen
of the last generation for the acknowledged
inferiority of their caricatures to ours, was the
superiority of French taste, which could not
accommodate itselfto ‘ignoble’ exaggeration.
On the whole, therefore, those of the revo-<
lutionary series of which we have been
speaking are more interesting, historically,
and also from the keen wit of ten developed
in them, than from their execution. There
GROTESQUE
is no French Gillray or Rowlandson. Here
and there, however, among a multitude of
inferior performances, the eye is struck by
one really remarkable as a work of a higher
order than our English cotemporary series
could furnish. Such is the famous ‘ Arresta-'
tion du Roi d Varennes,’ 1791. The wellknown features of the Royal party, seated
at supper with lights, are brought out with
a force worthy of Rembrandt, and with
slight but marked caricature; while the
fierce, excited patriotic figures, closing in on
them from every side, have a vigour which
is really terrific. Another, in a different
style, is the ‘ Interieur d’un Comite Revolutionnaire,’ 1793. It is said, indeed, to have
been designed by a first-rate artist, Fragonai’S, one who doubtless wrought with a will,
for he had prostituted his very considerable
talents to please the luxurious profligacy of
the last days of the ancient regime, and the
stern Revolution had stopped his trade, an
nihilated his effeminate customers, and re
duced him to poverty. Fragonard’s powers
as a caricaturist are characterised by a wellknown anecdote. He was employed in
painting Mademoiselle Guimard, the famous
dancer, as Terpsichore; but the lady quar
relled with him, and engaged another to
complete the work. The irritated painter got
access to the picture, and with three or four
strokes of his brush turned the face of Terp
sichore into that of a fury. The print now
in question is a copper-plate, executed with
exceeding delicacy of touch. A dozen fig
ures of men of the people, in revolutionary
costume, are assembled round a long table in
a dilapidated hall of some public building.
A young ‘ ci-devant,’ his wife and child, are
introduced through an open door by an ush
er armed with a pike. If the artist’s inten
tion was to produce effect by the contrast of
these three graceful figures with the vulgar
types of the rest of the party, he has suc
ceeded admirably. They are humbly pre
senting their papers for examination ; but it
is pretty clear that the estimable commit
teeman, to whom the noble is handing his
passport, cannot read it. The cunning,
quiet, lawyer-like secretary of the commit
tee, pen in hand, is evidently doing all its
work. At the opposite end of the table an
excited member is addressing to the walls
what must be an harangue of high elo
quence ; but no one is listening to him, and
the two personages immediately behind him
are evidently determined to hear no noise
but their.own. But our favourite figure —
and one well worthy of Hogarth — is that of
the sentinel off duty: he is seated beside a
bottle, pike in hand, enjoying his long pipe,
�iwinM i^i i
IN LITERATURE AND ART.
573
and evidently, from the expression of his tember. It had a brief and feverish revi
face, far advanced from the excited into the val under the Republic of 1848 ; some of
meditative stage of convivial patriotism. A its productions in that period are worth a
placard on the door announces, somewhat moment’s notice, both from their execution
contradictorily as well as ungrammatically, and good humour: we remember two
‘ Ici on se tutoyent: fermez la porte s’il vous of the class of general interest; the 1 Ap
plait! ’ Altogether there is much more of parition du Serpent de Mer,’ a boat full of
the comic than the ferocious about the pa kings, startled by the appearance of the new
triots ; and one may hope that the trembling Republic as the problematical monster of
family, for whom it is impossible not to feel the deep ; and the ‘ Ecole de Natation,’ in
an interest, will this time be ‘ quittespourla which the various Kings and Emperors.of
peur.’
Europe are floundering in a ludicrous, variThe popular governments — Revolutiona ety of attitudes among the billows of revo
ry and of the First Empire — easily tamed lution, while the female rulers of Britain,
the spirit of caricature, as they did that of Spain, and Portugal are kept afloat by their
more dangerous enemies, and it only revived crinolines. But under the decorous rule of
when France was replaced under the. tyran the Empire, no such violation of the re
ny of legitimacy. There is a great deal of spect due to constituted authorities at home
merit in those on the Bonapartist side, of is any longer tolerate^, while ridicule,
1814 and 1815 ; many of them appear to be even of foreign potentates, is permitted
executed by some one clever artist, to us un only under polite restrictions. Debarred
known. We will only notice one of them,' from this mode of expressing itself, French
the ‘Voeu d’un Royaliste, ou la seconde en gaiety finds one of its principal outlets, in
tree triomphante.’ Louis XVIII. is mounted the more innocent shape of social carica
behind a Cossack — the horse and man are ture, which was never so popular, or culti
admirably drawn—while the poor King’s vated by artists of so much eminence, as
expression, between terror and a sense’ of within the last thirty years. And here we
the ludicrous of his position, is worthy of the must notice a singular change in French
best efforts of Gillray or Doyle.
workmanship, which appears to us to have
Caricature continued to be a keen party been occasioned chiefly or wholly by the
weapon in France through the period of introduction of lithography. We have al
the Restoration, and in the early years of ready observed how much difficulty its art
Louis Philippe. The latter monarch’s head ists found in departing from the rules of
especially, under the resemblance of a pear, classical outline and correct drawing, so
which Nature had rendered appropriate, long as the old-fashioned line engraving
was popularised in a thousand ludicrous or prevailed, and the consequent inferiority of
ignominious representations; his Gillray French to English caricature in breadth,
was Honore Daumier, a special friend and its superiority in congjlmess. The intro
favourite of M. Champfleury, but in whom duction and great popularity of lithography
we are unable ourselves to recognize more in'France seems to have altogether changed
than secondary merit. ‘ Entre tous, Dau the popular taste. Artists now dash off,
mier fut celui qui accommoda la poire aux rather than embody, their humorous con
sauces les plus diverses. Le roi avait une ceptions in the sketchiesLof all possible
honnete physionomie, large et etouffee. styles, and that which affords the greatest
La caricature, par l’exageration des lignes licence for grotesque distortions of figure \
du masque, par les differents sentimens and face. Boilly, a clever and fertile lithog
qu’elle preta a l’homme au toupet, le ren- rapher, was perhaps the first to bring
dit typique, et laissa un ineffa?able relief. this style of composition into vogue. But
Les adversaires sont utiles. En politique, to such an extent has the revolution now
un ennemi v.aut souvent mieux qu’un ami.’ gone, while we, on the other hand, have
The genius of Daumier had some analogy been pruning the luxuriance of the old
with that of the sculptor-caricaturist Dan- genius of caricature, that the positions of
tan.
the two countries seem to have become re
But, the liberty of art, like that of the versed, and England to be now the country
Tribune, degenerated into licence, and of classic, France of grotesque art; in the
France has never been able in her long age comic line of which any reader may judge
of State tempests to maintain the line be for himself, by comparing the style of the
tween the two. Political caricature was cuts in ‘ Punch,’, for instance, with those in
once more extinguished in the Orleans the ‘ Charivari.’ We cannot say that we
reign, with the applause of decent people find the change on the other side of the
in general, by the so-called laws of Sep- Channel an improvement, or that we have
�I
574
/
A HISTORY OF CARICATURE AND GROTESQUE.
been enabled to acquire a taste for the
hasty lithographed caricatures of popular
figures and scenes which encumber French
print-shops. The works of Bunbury, among
English artists of this kind of renown, per
haps most nearly approach them ; but these,
rough though they are, have, at all events,
a body and substance, and consequently a
vigour, which their Gallic successors appear
to us to lack, and which they endeavour too
often to supply by loose exaggeration.
However, it is idle to set up our own canons
of taste in opposition to that of a nation,
and a foreign nation into the bargain ; and
we may do our readers more service by
giving them a few short notices of the
leading artists who have risen to popular
ity in modern France by this style of com
position.
Nicolas Toussaint Charlet had an educa, tion and parentage somewhat like those of
our Gillray; born in 1792, the son of an
old dragoon of Sambre-et-Meuse, he began
his career in a not very noble occupation,
being employed in the office where military
recruits were registered and measured: and
it was in that function, possibly, that he
picked up and stored in his memory those
thousand types of grotesque young con
scripts and old grognards, ‘ enfants de
troupe,’ ‘ tourlourous,’ and ‘ gamins,’ with
which he filled the shop-windows while
amusing the multitude with their darling
‘ scenes populaires.’ He was not exactly a
caricaturist in the peculiar sense which we
have given to the word, but an artist‘de
genre; ’ in his own peculiar line few have
surpassed him. It must be noticed that his
sturdy Bonapartism evinced itself in some
ambitious attempts at more serious compo•sitions ; one of which, ‘ La Garde meurt et
ne se rend pas,’ established his fame in 1816,
while an ‘ Episode de la Campagne de
Russie ’ (1836) is ranked at the head of his
works by some of his admirers. But for
our part, we greatly prefer the exquisite
naivete, though without much of the Eng
lish vigour, which characterises some of his
popular scenes; such — to quote one among
a thousand — as that in which a peasant,
looking down with the utmost gravity on a
comrade who is lying in the road, helplessly
drunk, exclaims, ‘ Voilh pourtant comme je
serai dimanche ! ’ Charlet, who died in
1845, left some two thousand lithographed
designs, besides numerous water-colours and
etchings.
Paul Chevalier Gavarni, born in 1801,
ranks at the head of the living caricaturists
of France, unless the Vicomte Amedee de
Noe (under his nom de plume, or rather de
crayon, of ‘ Cham,’ Ham the son of Noah) be
supposed to contest with him that eminence.
The journal ‘ Les Gens du Monde ’ (1835),
and subsequently the ‘Charivari,’ owed to
him the greater part of tlaeir celebrity. If not
equal to Charlet in the ‘ naif’ and simply
popular style, Gavarni excels him in satiri
cal force and in variety. Twenty-five
years hence (says Theophile Gautier) ‘ it is
through Gavarni that the workhwill know
of the existence of Duchesses of the Rue
du Helder, of Lorettes, students, and so
forth.’ Gavarni visited England in 1849,
where, according to his biographer M. de
Lacaze (in the ‘ Nouvelle Biographie Ge
nerale ’), he took so profound a dislike to our
English aristocratic social system (it was
the year, be it remembered, in which the
doctrine ‘la propriete c’est- le vol,’ took
some short hold on Parisian spirits), that
he fell into a fit of‘le spleen,’ became
misanthrophic, and produced nothing fora
long time but sketches of ‘ gin-shop frequent
ers, thieves, street-sweepers, Irishmen, and
the beggars of St. Giles’s and Whitechapel;’
but we are happy to learn, from the same
authority, that he soon recovered his gaiety
in the less oppresive atmosphere of Paris.
His ‘ CEuvres Choisies’ were published as
long ago as 1845, in four volumes. ‘ Deja,’
says Champfleury, ‘ son oeuvre est curieuse
h consulter comme l’expression d’un peintre
de moeurs epris d’ideal elegant dans une
epoque bourgeoise.’
Completing these brief notices of modern
French caricaturists with the mere mention,
of the great artist Gustave Dore, who has
lately condescended to some clever extrava
gances allied to caricature, and of that ec
centric novelty Griset,.we must now con
*
clude our hasty retrospect of the art in
general. The institution of the ‘ comic
illustrated newspaper ’ has now made the
tour of the world ; the United States fur
nish abundant specimens; Germany and
Italy toil manfully in the wake of France and
England; we have even seen political carica
tures from Rio de Janeiro nearly as good as
the ordinary productions of either. But it
is impossible to follow a subject so greatly
widening in its dimensions; and as cheap
ness of execution, while it extends the
popularity of this class of compositions,
diminishes the labour expended on them,
we have not to expect for the future either
productions of so much interest, or artists
of such celebrity, as some of those dealt
with in this article.
�575
REST FOR THE WEARY.
I
,arest for the weary.
“ TRere remaineth therefore a rest to the people of
God/’— Heb. iv. 9.
Dear the storm-won calm of autumn
Brooding o’er the quiet lea;
Sweet the distant harp-like murmur
Trembling from the charmed sea.
Nestling breezes clog the branches;
Leaves lie swooning on the air;
Nature’s myriad hands are folding
O’er her gentle heart, for prayer.
Make the lean grave sleek with treasn
Whilst they, weary, take their rest.
Dead they are not; only sleeping,
Dull although their senses be,
Yet they for the summons listen,
Calling to eternity.
Brothers, sleeping in the Saviour,
Sound their dreamless sleep and ble
But we trust, when this is broken,
There remaineth still a rest !
New-born on the lap of silence,
Cradled on a hoary tomb,
Lo 1 babe evening craves a blessing
As the day forsakes the gloom;
As one lingering sunbeam flushes
The grey spire to golden red,
And the motto “ peace ” is blazoned
Glorious o’er the resting dead.
Peace be to the shapeless ashes,
Perfect once in valour’s mould;
Once on fire for truth and duty,
Now without a spark, and cold..
Smiting was the hero smitten,
Swordless hands now cross his breast;
Share we his mute supplication ;
Weary, may the soldier rest!
Peace to him who braved the tempest,
Polar ice, and tropic wave;
Long the homeless sea who traversed,
Then came home to find a grave !
In this calmest roadstead anchored,
May no more the sailor rove,
Till he lose himself for ever
“ In the ocean of God’s love! ”
Peace to him, the tried and saintly;
Wise to counsel, apt to cheer;
With a sober smile for gladness,
With a hope for every tear.
Earth lies lightly on his bosom,
Faith bedecks his priestly tomb
With the sacred flowers that symbol
Life, and light, and deathless bloom.
Peace to him who bears no legend
Carved above his lowly bed,
Save that he was found, unsheltered
From the storm and winter, dead.
Peace to him, that unknown brother,
Quit of want, and woe, and shame;
Trust we that the nameless stranger
Bears in heaven a filial name 1
From the four winds assembled,
Kindred in the fate to die ;
Eld and infant, alien, homebred,
Neighbours now, how calm they lie!
Valour, beauty, learning, goodness,
With the weight of life opprest,
THE BITTER AND THE SWEET.
Come, darling Effie,
Come, take the cup:
Effie must drink it all —
Drink it all up.x
/
Darling, I know it is
Bitter and bad;
But ’twill make Effie dear .
Rosy and glad.
Mother would take it all
For her wee elf— ,
But who would suffer then?
Effie herself.
If Effie drinks it,
Then, I can tell,
She will go out to play
Merry and well.
' Drink, and then, darling,
You shall have this, —
Sweet after bitter:
Now, first, a kiss.
Ah, darling Effie,
God also knows,
When cups of bitterness
His hand bestows,
1
How His poor children need
Urging to take
Merciful draughts of pain,
Mixed for their sake.
He, too, gives tenderly
Joy after pain,
Sweet after bitterness,
After loss gain.
— Sunday Magazine.
I,
�WERE WOLVES.
From the Spectator.
WERE *
WOLVES.
. A i >; i
In this remarkable little book, remarkable
for a power its external aspect does not
promise and an interest its name will not
create, Mr. Baring-Gould, an author known
hitherto chiefly by his researches in North
ern literature, investigates a belief, once
general in Europe, and even now enter
tained by the majority of the uneducated
class. In widely separated places, and
among races the most distinct, a belief has
been traced in the existence of beings who
combine the human and the animal char
acter, who are in fact men changed either
in form or in spirit into beasts of prey. The
belief, though strong still, was strongest in
the Middle Ages, when men were more un
restrained both in their acts and their cre
dulities. In the extreme North it was so
powerful that Norwegians and Icelanders
had a separate name for the transformation,
calling men gifted with the power or afflicted
with the curse men “ not of one skin.” Mr.
Baring-Gould pushes his theory far when
he connects the story of the Berserkir with
the theory of were wolves, the Berserkir be
ing extant to this day in Asia, calling them
selves Ghazis, and keeping up their fury as
the Berserkir probably did, with drugs ; but
all Scandinavia undoubtedly believed that
men had upon occasion changed into ani
mals, and exhibited animal bloodthirstiness
and power. So did the Livonians. So
down to the very end of the sixteenth cen
tury did all Southern Europe, where the
Holy Office made cases of metempsychosis
subject of inquiry and of punishment. The
very victims often believed in their own
guilt. One man in 1598, Jacques Roulet,
of Angers, stated in his confession that
though he did not take a wolf’s form he was
a wolf, and as a wolf committed murders,
chiefly of children. Even now the peasants
in Norway believe as firmly in persons who
can change themselves into wolves as the
peasants in Italy do in the evil eye, the
Danes think persons with joined eye brows
liable to the curse, the people of SchleswigHolstein keep a charm to cure it, the Slo
vaks, Greeks, and Russians have popular
words for the were wolf, and Mr. BaringGould was himself asked at Vienne to as
sist in hunting a loup garou, or wolf who
ought to have been a human being. In In
dia the belief is immovable, more particu
larly in Oude, where the mass of evidence
collected is so extraordinary that it shook
-for a moment the faith of a man so calm as
the Resident, Colonel Sleeman, and induced
him to give currency to a theory that
wolves might suckle and rear the children
of human beings, who thenceforward would
be wolves. Ultimately, we believe, he
abandoned that notion, but not before he
had puzzled all India with his collection of
exceptional facts, and riveted the supersti
tion of the people of Oude.
A belief so universal and so lasting sug
gests some Cause more real than a supersti
tious idea, and Mr. Baring-Gould believes
he has discovered one. He hold^that in
every human being there is some faint
trace of the wild-beast nature, the love of
destruction and of witnessing the endurance
of suffering. Else why do children display
cruelty so constantly, string flies on knitting
pins, and delight in the writhings of any
animal ? In the majority this disposition is
eradicated either by circumstances, by
training, or by the awakening of the great
influence we call sympathy. In a minority
the desire remains intact but latent, liable
to be called out only by extraordinary inci
dents or some upset of the ordinary balance
of their minds. In a few it becomes a pas
sion, a sovereign desire, or even a mania
entitled to be ranked as a form, and an ex
treme form, of mental disease. It was the
latter exhibition which gave rise to the be
lief in the were-wolves, who were, in Mr.
Baring-Gould’s opinion, simply raving mani
acs, whose wildness took the form either of
a desire to murder or of a belief in their own
power of becoming beasts of prey. So late
as 1848 an officer, of the garrison in Paris
was brought to trial on a charge of rifling
graves of their bodies and tearing them to
pieces, and the charge having been proved
on conclusive evidence, his own confession
included, was sentenced to one year’s im
prisonment. He was mad, but had he lived
before madness was understood he would
have been pronounced either a vampire or
a loup garou. Madness miscomprehended
was the cause of the facts which supported
, the monstrous belief, a theory almost de
monstrated by the history of the case of
Jacques Roulet. The extract is long, but
the story is complete:
“ In 1598, a year memorable in the annals of
lycanthropy, a trial took place in Angers, the
details of which are very terrible. In a wild
and unfrequented spot near Caude, some coun
trymen came one day upon the corpse of a boy
of fifteen, horridly mutilated and bespattered
with blood. As the men approached, two
* Were Wolves. By Sabine Baring-Gould. Lon wolves, which had been rending the body,
bounded away into the thicket. The men gave
don : Smith, Elder, and Co.
�7
\
WERE WOLVES.
577
chase immediately, following their bloody tracks
Jacques Roulet would have been found in
till they lost them; when suddenly crouching sane by any modern jury, and there is scarcely
among the bushes, his teeth chattering with in mediaaval literature a case of lycanthropy
fear, they found a man half naked, with long which cannot be explained upon this sim
/
hair and beard, and with his hands dyed in
blood. His nails were long as claws, and ple theory, — the one at last adopted, and
were clotted with fresh gore and shreds of hu in our judgment proved, by Colonel Sleeman flesh. This is one of the most puzzling man in Oude, but a more difficult question
and peculiar cases which come under our no remains behind. Is it quite certain that all
tice. The wretched man, whose name was cases of long-continued and outrageous cruel
Roulet, of his own accord stated that he had ty presuppose madness ? Is cruelty in fact
fallen upon the lad and had killed him by a natural quality, which can be cultivated,
smothering him, and that he had been prevent or an abnormal desire, the result of extreme
ed from devouring the body completely by the and gradual depravation of the passions
arrival of men on the spot. Roulet proved and the reason ? Take the well known case
on investigation to be a beggar from house to of Gilles de Uetz in 1440. If evidence
house, in the most abject state of poverty. His
companions in mendicity were his brother John can prove anything it is certain that this
and his cousin Julien. He had been given man, head of the mighty House of Laval,
lodging out of charity in a neighbouring vil lord of entire counties and of prodigious
lage, but before his apprehension he had been wealth, did throw up a great position in the
absent for eight days. Before the judges, public service to wander from town to
Roulet acknowledged that he was able to trans town and seat to seat kidnapping children,
form himself into a wolf by means of a salve whom he put slowly te death to delight
which his parents had given him. When ques himself with their agonies. He confessed
tioned about the two wolves which had been himself to eight hundred such murders, and
seen leaving the corpse, he said that he knew
perfectly well who they were, for they were his his evidence was confirmed by the relics
companions, Jean and Julien, who possessed found. He was betrayed by his own agents,
the same secret as himself. He was shown the and in the worst age of a cruel cycle his
clothes he had worn on the day of his seizure, crimes excited a burst of horror so profound
and he recognized them immediately; he de that he, a noble of the class which was be
scribed the boy whom he had murdered, gave yond the law, so powerful that he never at
the date correctly, indicated the precise spot tempted to escape, «vas burnt alive. Was he
where the deed had been done, and recognized mad, or only bad beyond all human ex
the father of the boy as the man who had first perience ? Mr. Baring-Gould inclines evi
run up when the screams of the lad had been dently to the former theory, and it is at all
heard. In prison, Roulet behaved like an idiot. events a pleasing one, but it is difficult for I
When seized, his belly was distended and hard;
in prison he drank one evening a whole pailful thinking men to forget that power has in oth
of water, and from that moment refused to eat er instances produced this capacity of cruelty,
or drink. His parents, on inquiry, proved to to refuse credence to all stories of the cruelty
be respectable and pious people, and they proved of Caesars, and Shahs, and West Indian slave
that his brother John and his cousin Julien holders. It is possible, and we hope true,
had been engaged at a distance on the day of that the genuine enjoyment of pain is rare
Roulet’s apprehension. ‘ What is your name, among the sane, though the Roman popu
and what your estate ? ’ asked the judge, Pierre
Herault. — ‘My name is Jacques Roulet, my lace felt something like it, and though we
age thirty-five; I am poor, and a mendicant/ are ever and anon startled by cases of wil
— ‘ What are you accused of having done ? ’ — ful cruelty to animals, but genuine indiffer
‘Of being a thief—of having offended God. ence to it is frequent, and granted the in
My parents gave me an ointment; I do not difference, any motive may give it an ac
know its composition.’—‘When rubbed with tive form. The thirst for domination is the
this ointment, do you become a wolf? ’ — ‘ No • most common impulse, but in well known
but for all that, I killed and ate the child Cor instances jealousy, fear, hatred, religious
nier : I was a wolf.’ — ‘ Were you dressed as a bigotry, and even vanity, have been equal
wolf?’ — ‘I was dressed as I am now. I had
events the passion
my hands and my face bloody, because I had ly efficacious. At all that it is restraina
been eating the flesh of the said child.’ — ‘ Do differs from madness in
your hands and feet become paws of a wolf ? ’_ ble. Hardly one genuine case on a great
‘ Yes, they do.’ — ‘ Does your head become like scale has been recorded in a civilized coun
that of a wolf — your mouth become larger ? ’ — try for many years, and it seems certain
‘ I do not know how my head was at the time; I that the restraints of order prevent it from
used my teeth; my head was as it is to-day. I acquiring its full sway, and that therefore it
have wounded and eaten many other little is rather the depravation of nature than na
children; I have also been to the sabbath.’ ”
ture itself which is its origin. Gilles de
THIRD SERIES. DIVING AGE. VOL. XXXII.
1477.
V
�578
SCIENCE AND MIRACLE.
,Retz is possible, if he were sane, only in a
class which can indulge every impulse with
impunity, and at a time when law is no
longer to be feared. It may be true that he
belonged to the were-wolf genus, the men
afflicted with homicidal mania, but he may
also have belonged to a class now almost as
exceptional, the men in whom unrestricted
power has developed that thirst for testing
it in its highest, its most frequent, and its
most visible form, the infliction of slow
death-agonies upon powerless human beings.
It was, we fear, the madness of a Ceesar
rather than of a were wolf which influenced
Gilles de Betz, and Mr. Baring-Gould
would, we think, have exemplified his theo
ry more perfectly had he excluded stories
which testify not so much to the instability
of human reason as to the depths of evil
lurking in the human heart. He argues in
deed that Gilles de Betz is the link between
the citizen and the were wolf, but then in so
doing he assumes one tremendous datum,
that madness always shows itself in the ex
treme development of the latent heart, and
not in its radical perversion. One of its
■ commonest forms nevertheless is intense
hatred of those whom the patient has most
genuinely and fondly loved, and the bal
ance of probability is that insanity as often
perverts as intensifies the secret instincts of
its victim. Mr. Baring-Gould has, we
■ think, demonstrated that madness misap
prehended was the root of the were-wolf
delusion, but not that homicidal mania is
the ultimate expression of an inherent ten• dency in universal human nature.
From the Spectator.
SCIENCE AND MIRACLE.
Professor huxley, in the remarkable
lecture on “ improving natural knowledge ”
delivered to the working classes at St. Mar
tin’s Hall, and since published in the Fort
nightly Review, states with a candour and
moderation worthy of all praise, certain
notions destructive of all worship, — ex
cept that very impossible kind of worship
recommended by Professor Huxley, worship
■ of the Unknown and Unknowable, — which
have been gaining more and more hold of
■ merely scientific men for many generations,
and which, we need not say, are absolutely
inconsistent with admitting the activity of
: any supernatural will in the Universe, and
.•.still more the actual occurrence of miracle.
Now it is a matter worth a little considera
tion how far men of pure science are trust
worthy on matters of this kind, how far
their evidence is what we should call on
other subjects the evidence of experts, or
not. On a medical subject, we should never.think of adopting absolutely any theory
rejected by a very large and, perhaps in
creasing, number of the most eminent men
in the medical profession. On a historical
subject, we should think it absurd to take
up with a view against which every fresh
historian of learning and eminence began
with clearer and clearer conviction to pro
test. How far, then, even if it be true, as
it possibly may be, that the tendency of
the highest and calmest scientific thought is
increasingly anti-supernatural, can we con
sider this the tendency of a class entitled
to special intellectual deference, or the re
verse ? Mr. Brooke Foss Westcott, in a
very thoughtful volume which he has just
published on the Gospel of the Resurrec
tion” * freely admits that “ a belief in
miracles decreases with the increase of
civilization,” but maintains, amidst other
weaker and less defensible positions, that
the accuracy of comprehensive views of
nature as a whole, is not only not secured,
but may be even specially endangered, by
too special and constant a study of given
parts of nature. “ The requirements,” he
says, “ of exact science bind' the attention
of each student to some one small field,
and this little fragment almost necessarily
becomes, for him the measure of the whole,
if indeed he has ever leisure to lift his eyes
to the whole at all.” And undoubtedly the
man who has been studying, say, for the
sake of a definite example, the chemical
effects of light all his life, and who knows
that every different substance when burnt
yields a different spectrum, so that you may
know by the number and situation of the
dark lines exactly what substance it is that
is burning, might be inclined to look at the
possibility of miracle, and at faith in the
supernatural will, from a narrow point of
view. He will say to himself, ‘If one of
these spectra were suddenly to change its
appearance, if such a dark line vanished,
and such others appeared, should I not
know with a certainty to me infallible, — a
certainty on the absoluteness of which I
should never hesitate to risk my own life
or that of my family, — that some other
element had been introduced into the burn
ing substance ? Could anything persuade
me that the change was due to divine
volition apart from the presence of a new
* Macmillan.
�SCIENCE AND MIRACLE.
'
'
j
■
579
element or new elements in the burning be equivalent to the positive alteration in
substance ? Must not the Almighty him the essence of a mighty whole, as really
self, if He chose to make the change, make astounding in itself as the change which
it by providing the characteristic element could made oxygen burn (that is, oxidize)
for the purpose,—just as if He chose to or two and two equal to five.
alter the moral traits of a human character,
Now this is, we take it, something less
He could only do it by a process that would than conjecture, — indeed demonstrable
alter the character itself, and not by mak scientific error, if science be taken to in
ing a stupid and ignorant man give out all clude anything more than the laws of physi
the characteristic signs of wisdom and cal phenomena. It is probably true indeed
learning, or a malignant and cruel man put that in some sense the physical forces of the
forth all the moral symptoms of warm be- Universe are an invariable quantity, which
nevolence and charity.’ Sb the scientific only alter their forms, and not their sum
man would argue, and we are disposed to total. If I move my arm, the motion, says
think would argue rightly. For, admitting the physiologist, is only the exact equiva
that the physical qualities of things are lent of a certain amount of heat which has
realities at all, we should say that to make disappeared and taken the form of that
the physical qualities of one thing inter motion. If I do not move it, the heat re
change with the physical qualities of an mains for use in some other way. In either
other, without interchanging the things, is, case the stock of force is unchanged. This
if it be logically and morally possible, as is the conviction of almost all scientific
the Transubstantiationists believe and most men, and is probably true. But whether
other men disbelieve, a piece of divine the stock of physical force is constant or
magic or conjuring, and not a miracle. But not, the certainty that human will can
then, do not many great scientific men like change its direction and application — can
Professor Huxley really infer from such transfer it from one channel to another —
trains of reasoning far more than they will is just the same. And what that really
warrant ? All that such reasonings do tend means, if Will be ever free and uncaused,
to show, is, that if you truly conceive the though of course not unconditioned,—
natural constitutions of things, there are which is, we take it, as ultimate arid scienti
changes which you cannot make without fic a certainty as any in the Universe, — is
destroying those very things altogether, no less than this, — that a strictly super
and substituting new ones. As a miracle natural power alters the order and constitu
which should make two and two five is tion of nature, — takes a stock of physical
intrinsically impossible (Mr. Mill and the force lying in a reservoir here and transfers
Saturday Review in anywise notwithstand it to a stream of effort there, — in short,
ing), so also (though less certainly) a mira that the supernatural can change the order
cle which should make oxygen a combusti and constitution of the natural, — in its
ble gas instead of a supporter of combus essence pure miracle, though miracle of hu
tion, and quite certainly a miracle which man, and not of divine origin. For ex
should make it right to do what is known ample, almost every physiologist will admit
to be wrong, or wrong to do what is known the enormous power that pure Will has
to be right, is intrinsically impossible. But over the nervous system, — that it can pro
the modern scientific inference goes much long consciousness and even life itself for
further than this, and immediately extends certain short spaces, by the mere exertion
the conception of these inherent constitu of vehement purpose. Physicians tell you
tions of certain things and qualities to the constantly that such and such a patient
whole Universe, — assuming, for instance, may no doubt, if it be sufficiently impor
that it is just as impossible, just as much tant, by a great effort command his mind
a breach in the inherent constitution of sufficiently to settle his affairs, but that it
some one or more things, for one who has will be at the expense of his animal force,
been dead to live again, for the phenomena — in short, that it will be a free transfer of
of decomposition to be arrested, the heart force from the digestive and so to say vege
once silent to begin to beat, as for oxygen tating part of his system, to that part of
itself to burn without ceasing to be oxygen. his physical constitution, his nervous system,
The way in which this view would *e de which lies closest, as it were, to the will.
b
fended would be that all matter and all its Nay, we have heard physicians say that
qualities are now almost proved to be modes patients, by a great effort of pure will,
of force, and all force indestructible, so have, as they believe, prolonged their own
that any kind of supernatural change in life for a short space, that is, have imparted,
the phenomena of matter would appear to we suppose, through the excitement pro
�580
SCIENCE AND MIRACLE.
duced by the will on the nervous system
and so downwards, a certain slight increase
of capacity to assimilate food to the failing
organic powers of the body. In other
words, we conclude, just as the organism is
failing to draw supplies of physical force
from the outward world, its power of doing
so may be slightly prolonged,—the out
ward world drained of a small amount of
force it would otherwise, have kept in stock,
and the organism compelled to absorb it —
by a pure volition. Can there be a clearer
case of action of the supernatural on the
natural, — even granting that the sum
total of physical force is not altered, but
only its application changed ?
What more do we want to conceive
clearly the room for Christian miracle, than
the application of precisely the same con
ception to God and Christ ? The students
of the Universe appear to us to be in pre
cisely the same condition with regard to
the Universe, as a scientific observing mind
secreted in some part of a human body
(not the mind moving that body, but some
other) would be in with relation to the
structural, chemical, mechanical laws of
that body. Suppose an atom of your
blood able to retain its identity constantly
in a human body, and to travel about it on
a tour of scientific observation. It would
very soon arrive at the conclusion that
there were great laws of circulation of the
blood and the fluids which supply it,—
such as we see in nature in the astronomi
cal laws, — great laws of force by which
the legs and arms are moved, like the forces
of tides or falling waters in the Universe,
— great structural laws, by which different
tissues, like the hair, the skin, nails, the
nervous and muscular tissues, grow up out
of the nourishment supplied them, just as
we notice the growth of trees and flowers
out of the earth, —and great though some
what uncertain laws of alternation between
activity and repose, — like the laws of night
and day; — and such a scientific particle
as we have supposed would undoubtedly
soon begin to say that the more deeply it
studied these things, the more the reign of
pure law seemed to be extended in the
universe of the body, so that all those un
certain and irregular phenomena (which
we, however, really know to be due to the
changes effected by our own free self-gov
erning power), must be ascribed, it would
say^ not to any supernatural influence, but
to its own imperfect knowledge of the
more complex phenomena at work. And
such a scientific particle would be perfectly
justified in its inferences; for we have sup
posed it only an intellectual observing ma
chine, not a free will with knowledge of its
own that there is a power which is not
caused, and which can effect real modificacations in the relation even of physical
forces which never vary in amount. But
nevertheless it would be wrong, and could
never know the truth, namely, that the
ordering of the succession in these physical
forces, — the interchanges between one and
the other, — the physical influences over
the body exerted by the command of the
appetites and passions, were all of them
really traceable in great part to super
natural power, though to supernatural pow
er which does not either add to or subtract
from the sum total of physical force present
in the Universe. And we maintain that
the men of pure science, as they are called,
—the men who study everything- but Will,
— fall into precisely the same blunder as
such a rationalizing particle of a human
body, and for the same reason. They are
quite right in their inferences from their
premises, but their premises are radically
defective.
In truth the room for miracle remains as
wide as ever. Admit all the discoveries
of science, and still they only prove a cer
tain constancy in the amount of physical
force, and a certain invisible law of suc
cession between the same phenomena. But
just as a man who puts forth a great effort
to retain his consciousness and reason or
even life for a short time longer than he
would otherwise do, may succeed, — suc
ceed, that is, in pumping up the failing
supply of physical force from the Universe
to his system for a few minutes or hours,
when without such an effort it would have
fled from his body and passed away ipto
other channels, — so miracle only assumes
that a supernatural power infinitely greater
than man’s will might, on sufficient reason,
— which every Christian believes to be far
more than sufficient, — do the same thing
infinitely more effectually, and for a far
longer time. Miracle is in essence only the
directing supernatural influence of free
mind over natural forces and substances,
whatever these may be. In man we do 'not
call this miracle, only because we are ac
customed to it, — and in nature scientific
men refuse to believe that any such direct
ing power exists at all. But nevertheless,
every accurate thinker will see at once,
that free will, Providence, and Miracle do
not differ in principle at all, but are only
less or more startling results of the same
fact, — which true reason shows to be fact,
— that above nature exist .free wills, pro-
�THE DURATION
OF OUR SUPPLY OF COAL.
shall readily understand that the vital ques
tions for the wealth, progress, and greatness
of our country are these : — “Is our supply1
of coal inexhaustible ? and if not, how
long will it last?” — Mr. Jevons enables
us to answer both these 'questions. It is
very far from being inexhaustible ; it is in
process of exhaustion ; and, if we go on
augmenting our consumption from year to
year at our present rate of increase, it will
not last a hundred years. Our geological
knowledge is now so great and certain, and
what we may term the underground survey
of our islands has been so complete that we
know with tolerable accuracy both the ex
tent, the thickness, and the accessibility
of our coal fields, and the quantity of coal
annually brought to the surface and used
up. The entire amount of coal remaining
in Great Britain, down to a depth of 4,000
feet, is estimated to be 80,000 millions of
tons. Our annual consumption was in 1860
about 80 millions. At that rate the avail
able coal would last for 1,000 years. But
our consumption is now steadily increasing
at the rate of
per cent, per annum, and
will in 1880 be, not 80 millions, but 160
millions ; and, if it continues thus to increase,
will have worked out the whole 80,000 mil
lions before the year 1960. Nay it would
reach this climax probably some time earlier ; for our calculation includes all the coal
down to 4,000 feet; and no coal mine has
yet been worked at a greater depth than
2,500 feet; and we do not believe that mines
can be worked profitably, and we have lit
tle reason to think they can be worked at
all, at such a depth as 4,000 feet.
Of course we know that, practically, our
coal-fields will not be worked out within this
period. Of course we are aware that our
present rate of annual augmentation cannot.
be maintained. Every year we have to go
deeper for our supply; and going deeper
means incurring greater and greater ex
pense for labour, for machinery, for ventila
tion, for pumping out the water, for acci
dents, &c. Going deeper, therefore, implies
an enhanced price for the coal raised, and
that enhancement of price will check con
sumption. But it is precisely this imminent '
enhancement of price, and not ultimate ex
haustion, that we have to dread; for it is this
enhancement which will limit our rate of
progress and deprive us of our special ad
vantages and our manufacturing supremacy.
Let us see a little in detail the modus ope
rands The difficulty of working and raid
ing coal increases rapidly as the mine grows
deeper, or as inferior mines have to be
worked ; the heat grows more insupporta
bably of all orders of power, which do not,
indeed, ever break the order of nature, but
’ can and do transform, — as regards man by
very small driblets,— but as regards higher
than human wills in degrees the extent of»,
which we cannot measure, — natural forces
from one phase of activity into another, so
as greatly to change the moral order and
significance of the Universe in which we
live.
?
k
THF DURATION
k’
From the Economist, 6 Jan.
OF OUR SUPPLY OF
COAL.
U$der the title of “ The Coal Question/
Mr. Jevons * has furnished the public with
a number of well-arranged and for the
most part indisputable facts, and with a
series of suggestive reflections, which every
one interested in the future progress and
greatness of his country will do well to pon
der seriously. Few of us need to be re
minded how completely cheap coal is at the
foundation of our prosperity and our com
mercial and manufacturing supremacy.
Coal and iron make England what she is ;
and her iron depends upon her coal. Other
countries have as much iron ore as we have,
and some have better ore ; but no country
(except America, which is yet unde
veloped) has abundant coal and ironstone
in the needed proximity." Except in
our supply of coal and iron we have no
natural suitabilities for the attainment
of industrial greatness; nearly all the
raw materials of our manufactures come to
us from afar ; we import much of our wool,
most of our flax, all our cotton and all our
silk. Our railroads and our steamboats are
made of iron and are worked by coal. So
are our great factories. So now is much of
our war navy. Iron is one of our chief arti
cles of export; all our machinery is made
of iron; it is especially in our machinery
that we surpass other nations ; it is our ma
chinery that produces our successful textile
fabrics; and the iron which constructs this
machinery is extracted, smelted, cast, ham
mered, wrought into tools, by coal and the
steam which coal generates. It is believed
that at least half the coal raised in Great
Britain is consumed by the various branches
of the iron trade.
With these facts present to our mind we
I
* The Coal Question. By W. Stanley Jevons, M.
A. Macmillan, 1865.
581
�582
THE DURATION OF OUR SUPPLY OF COAL.
ble, the shafts and passages longer, the dan
Nor does there seem any escape from
ger greater, the ventilation more costly, the these conclusions theoretically, nor any way
quantity of water to be kept out or got out of.modifying them practically. We may,
more unmanageable. A very short period it is said, economise in the use of coal.
may raise engine coal and smelting coal But, in the first place, the great economies
from 5s to 10s per ton. Now a cotton mill that can be reasonably looked for have been
of ordinary size will often use for its steam- already introduced. In smelting iron ore
power 80 tons of coal per week. This at 5sis we use two-thirds less coal than formerly,
l,000Z a year; at 10s per ton, it is 2,000/. and in working our steam engines one-half
But the cotton mill is full of machinery; less;. and, in the second place, it is only a
and one great element in the cost of this rise in the price of coal that will goad us
machinery is the coal used in smelting and into a more sparing use of it; and this
working the iron of which the machinery is very rise of price is the proof and the meas
made. The railroads which bring the cot ure of our danger. “ Export no more
ton to the mill and take the calico and yarn coal,” it is suggested, and so husband your
back to the place of exportation are made stores. But we could not adopt this expe
of iron and worked by coal: so are the dient, even if it were wise to do so, or con
steamboats which bring the cotton to our sistent with our commercial policy, without
shores and export the yarn to Germany; — throwing half our shipping trade into ton
the cost of carriage, therefore, which is a fusion by depriving them of their ballast
very large item in the contingent expenses trade; and even then the evil would be
of our factories, will be greatly increased scarcely more than mitigated ? “ Why,”
both directly and indirectly by a rise in the ask others, “ should we not, when our own
price of coal. An advance in that price stores of coal are exhausted, import coal
from 5s to 10s per ton, maybe estimated to from other countries which will still be rich
be equivalent to 2,000/ a year on the work in mineral fuel, and thus supply our need ?”
ing cost of a good-sized cotton mill. That Simply because of all articles of trade and
is,, as compared with the present state of industry coal is the most bulky in propor
things, and as compared with foreign coun tion to its value; and that it is the fact of
tries, every manufacturer wouid have a having it at hand, of having it in abundance,
burden of 2,000/ a year laid upon him, and of having it cheap, of having it without the
would have to raise the cost of his goods to cost of carriage, that has given us our manu
that extent. .How long could he continue facturing superiority. With coal brought
to compete with his rivals under this disad from America, with coal costing what coal
vantage, or (it would be more correct to then would cost, we could neither smelt our
say) with his present advantage taken away iron, work our engines, drive our locomo
from him ? And how long would coal con tives, sail our ships, spin our yarn, nor
tinue to be supplied even at 10s a ton ?
weave our broad cloths. Long before we
And, be it observed, the check to the had to import our fuel the game would be
consumption of coal— the retardation i. e. up.
in our progress towards ultimate and abso
Of 136 millions of tons now annually
lute exhaustion — can only come from in raised throughout the world, Great Britain
crease of price, and the moment that it does produces 80 millions and the United States
come, the decline of our relative manufac only 20. But this is only because we have
turing pre-eminence has begun. We shall had the first start, and because our popula
avoid the extinction of our coal in the short tion is far denser, and because our iron and
period of a century ; but we shall do so only our coal lie conveniently for each other and
by using less now; — and using less now conveniently for carriage. As soon as
means producing less iron, exporting less America is densely peopled, to America
calico and woollens, employing less ship must both our iron and our coal supremacy
ping, supporting a scantier population, — and all involved therein — be trans
ceasing our progress, receding from our rela ferred ; for the United States are in these
tive position. We may, it is true, make our respects immeasurably richer than even
coal last a thousand years instead of a hun- Great Britain. Their coal-fields are esti
dred, and reduce the inevitable increase in mated at 196,000 square miles in extent,
its price to a very inconsiderable rate; while ours are only 5,400. But this is not
but we can do so only by becoming stationary ; all: their coal is often better in quality and
and to become stationary implies letting incomparably more accessible than ours, es
other nations pass us in the race, exporting pecially in the Ohio valley. In some places
our whole annual increase of population, the cost at the pit’s mouth even now is 2sjper
growing relatively, if not positively, poorer ton in America, against 6s in England.
'
and feebler.
�HAIR-DRESSING IN EXCELSIS.
From the Spectator.
'583
a man’s hair is naturally as long as a woman’s
strikes them with a sense of surprise, and
have almost ceased to dress it. They use
It is not easy to understand the differen pomade still, or at least hairdressers say
ces in the popular appreciation of the mi so, and a few of them, unaware that a
nor trades. Why is a tailor considered rath mixture of cocoa-nut oil and thin spirit is
er contemptible, when no idea of ridicule in all ways the absolutely best unguent,
attaches to a bootmaker ?
Both make waste cash upon costly coloured oils, but
clothes, and in trade estimation the tailor, hairdressing for men is out of fashion. The
who must always be something of a capital average hairdresser contemptuously turns
ist, is the higher man of the two, but the over the male head to some beginner, who
popular verdict is against him. Nobody snips away till hair and tournure are got
calls a hosier the eighteenth part of a man, rid of with equal speed. Up to 1860, too,
yet strictly speaking his business is only a women wore their hair, even on occasions
minor branch of tailoring. No ridicule at demanding a grand toilette, after a very
taches to a hatter, notwithstanding the lu simple fashion, one which the majority of
natic proverb about his permanent mental them could manage very well for them
condition, but everybody laughs internally selves, and which required only careful
as he speaks of a -hairdresser. Is it because brushing. This fashion was not perhaps
.hairdressers were once popularly supposed altogether in perfect taste. Simplicity has
to be all Frenchmen, and therefore share charms, but still a custom which compelled
the contempt with which dancing-masters women with Greek profiles and complex
are regarded by people who, while they ex lions of one shade only and girls with cherry
press it, would not for the world fail to profit cheeks and turned-up noses equally to wear
by their instructions ? A singing-master is their hair like Madonnas, was open to some
allowed to be an artist, often one of the slight attack on artistic grounds. Madonnas
first class, but a dancing-master is consider should not have laughing blue eyes, or pout
ed a cross between an artist and a monkey. ing lips, or flaxen hair, or that look of esOr are hairdressers despised, like men mil pieglerie which accompanies a properly turn
liners, because their occupation, especially ed-up nose, — not a snub, that is abomina
in modern Europe, where men have aban ble, but just the nez retrousse which artists
doned wigs, long locks, and the careful ar detest and other men marry. The Second
rangement of the hair, is essentially femi Empire, however, does not approve simpli
nine ? That may be the explanation, for city, and gradually the art of dressing hail'
nobody despises the lady’s-maid more or has come again into use. The fashion of
less because if she is “ very superior ” she wearing hair a I’Imperatrice was the first
- can dress hair as well as any hairdresser. blow to the Madonna mania, and young
Or is the sufficient cause to be sought in women with no foreheads, and with pointed
their pretensions, in their constant but un foreheads, and with hair-covered foreheads,
successful claim to be considered artists, all pulled their unruly locks straight back
something a little lower than professionals, because an Empress with a magnificent
but a great deal higher than mere trades forehead chose to make the best of it. Any
men, a claim which induces them to indulge thing uglier than this fashion in all women
in highflown advertisements and the inven with unsuitable foreheads and all women
tion of preposterous names, usually .Greek, whatever with black hair it would be hard
but not unfrequently Persian, for totally to conceive, and the mania did not as a
useless unguents ? The claim is allowed in mania last very long. Then came the day
France, but in England, like the similar of invention, the use of false hair, the in
one of the cook and the confectioners, sertion of frisettes, the introduction of gold
it has always been rejected, a rejection en dyes, the re-entry of the vast combs prized
which excites the profession every now and by our great grandmothers, the admiration
then to somewhat violent and therefore ri of pins stolen from the Ionian and Pompe
diculous self-assertion. They perceive an ian head-gear, and a general attention to
opportunity just at present. For a good the head-dress which we can best describe
many years past the business of the coiffeur by quoting from the Manners and Customs
has been comparatively a very simple affair, of Ancient Greece a paragraph on the hair
rising scarcely to the dignity of a trade and dressing of Athenian women : — “ On noth
entirely outside the province of art.x Men ing was there so much care bestowed as.
all over Europe have adopted the fashion upon the hair. Auburn, the colour of Aph
of the much ridiculed Roundheads, cut their rodite’s tresses in Homer, being consider
hair habitually close, till the assertion that ed most beautiful, drugs were invented in
HAIRDRESSING IN EXCELSIS.
�584
HAIR-DRESSING IN EXCELSIS.
which the hair being dipped, and exposed incident in the annals of modern folly. Some
to the noon day sun, it acquired the covet thirty women had their hair dressed in pub
ed hue, and fell in golden curls over their lic by the, same number of men — not, we
shoulders. Others, contented with their,. are sorry to say, to the accompaniment of
own black hair, exhausted their ingenuity slow music,— an improvement we recom
in augmenting its rich gloss, steeping it in mend to Mr. Carter’s attention — and some
oils and essences, till all the fragrance of two hundred men and women looked on and
Arabia seemed to breathe around them. applauded the result. There was in the
Those waving ringlets which we admire in middle of the room a long table covered
their sculpture were often the creation of with a white cloth, as it were for some sort
art, being produced by curling-irons heated of experiment, but upon the table could be
in ashes ; after which, by the aid of jewel seen nothing but hand-mirrors, which look
led fillets and golden pins, they were ed indigestible. So long were other visitors
brought forward over the smooth white incoming that one visitor, who was con
forehead, which they sometimes shaded to scious of wan ting the scissors and of a total
the eyebrows, leaving a small ivory space absence of bear’s grease, was afraid that one
in the centre, while behind they floated in of the many gentlemen who in winning cos
shining profusion down the back. When tume, and faultless “ ’eads of air,” and un
decked in this manner, and dressed for the mistakable hairdressing propensities, hover
gunascitis in their light flowered sandals ed near the door, would insist upon his
and semi-transparent robes, they were having his hair cut and dressed forthwith,
scarcely farther removed from the state of merely to wile away the time. But fortu
nature than the Spartan maids themselves.” nately, just as a gentleman with a “ ’ead of
The grand triumph of the Ionic barbers, air” which would have done credit to any
the invention of a mode of plaiting which wax figure in any shop window, was ap
occupied many hours, and could therefore proaching with sinister looks, visitors, mas
be repeated only once a week, and requir culine and feminine began to pour in. Then
ed those who wore it to sleep on their backs there was diffused around the room an
with their necks resting on wooden trestles, odour of bear’s grease, and probably cost
hollowed out lest the bed should derange lier unguents, and from the look of the
the hair, has not indeed been repeated, ladies’ hair the writer was under the im
though under the fostering care of Mr. Car pression that he beheld the victims who
ter even that perfection may one
be had been immolated •upon the shrine of
attained. Still we have the auburn dyes, hairdressing, and who were to exhibit the
and the pins, and all the Athenian devices, effects of the sacrifice. But not so. Awhile,
and it is not quite certain that the “ chig and then there came in, each leaning upon
non,” the nasty mass of horsehair and hu the arm of the cavalier who was to “ dress
man hair which women have learnt to stick her,” about thirty-two ladies, from an age to
on the back of their heads, and which is ac which it would be ungallant to allude down
tually sold in Regent Street attached to to (one can hardly say “ bashful ”) fifteen.
bonnets, is not an additional triumph over Their hair was in some instances apparently
nature. We have a picture somewhere of just out of curl-papers, but for the most part
a chignon more than three thousand years hanging unconfined except at the back, where
old, but if we are not mistaken there are it was fastened close to the crown, and then
feathers on it as well as hair, the very idea hung down like a horse’s tail. Among the
which the President of the Hairdressers’ thirty were one or two magnificent cheveAcademy on Tuesday reinvented, and for lures, but we did not see one that quite
which he was so heartily applauded. Of realized the painter’s ideal, one which the
course, with the new rage for artificial ar wearer could have wrapped round her as
rangement, false hair, dyes, chignons, hair Titian’s model must have done, or one on
crepe, hair frise, and we know not what, the which the owner could have stood, as on a
hairdresser’s art is looking up, and the sen mat, as Hindoo women have been known to
sible tradesmen who practise it, sensible in do. Their comic appearance, and the clap
in all but their grandiloquence — which is, ping of hands which arose thereat, showed
we take it, half-comic, half a genuine effort one at once that they were the victims or
at self-assertion — are making the most of (if you please) the heroines. They sat at the
their opportunity.
white-cloth-covered table, and the cavaliers
The soire'e, or “ swarry,” as the doorkeep drew from black bags combs, arid puffs, and
er persisted in calling it, of the Hairdress hair-pins, and what looked like small roll
ers’ Academy, held in the Hanover Square ing-pins, and tapeworms, and bell-ropes,
Rooms on Tuesday, was really a noteworthy and cord off window-curtains, and muslin
�mmM-
/
’
'
•.
'
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FRENCH AND AMERICAN CONSTITUTIONS.
>
585
and tissue-paper, and flowers and fruits of sheAvould entice oui’ “ golden youth ” (or
the earth imitated in green and gold. Then our golden age, for the matter of that) ?
the “ dressing ” began, and the spectator What manner of woman, then, would set
saw with awe and amazement what art can the fashion in hairdressing ?
And we
do for hair, then one repented of ever hav know what has been the consequence in
ing doubted the truth of ladies who at balls France (if we are not nearly as bad here)
say, with a significant glance at head-dresses, of following in small matters the lead of the
“ Why, how do you do, dear ? I really did demi-monde. On the other hand, two con
not know you.” Some people may think victions at all events we acquired from the
that hair, however plenteous or however spectacle. One is that modern hairdressing
scanty, looks better in its natural state than in its highest form is a branch of jewelling,
when it is made into a flower garden ; and the real art being shown not in the arrange
others may hold that no kind of hair is im ment of the hair, but in the addition of
proved by being interwoven with tape things which are not hair — combs, rib
worms or bell-ropes, or even the cord off bons, flowers, dewdrops, and gilt insects —
window-curtains. But it is certain that by the last a taste essentially inartistic and de
the use of muslin and other materials already praved. The other was that it is not safe
spoken of a result may be obtained which for any man to make a proposal in the
would justify a man in cutting his mother evening.
So utterly were some of the
(on the score of non-recognition, if on no “ subjects” changed by the act of the ope
other), and which would lead one to believe rators, that the possibility of not knowing
that so long as a lady has a couple of hand in the morning the betrothed of the even
fuls of hair left she may, with the help of ing seemed very real indeed, and the mis
art, hold her own against Berenice. When take would be an awkward one for both
all the ladies were “ dressed ” one of the parties.
“ dressers ” made an unexceptionable little
speech in unexceptionable English (for
which our experience of hairdressing had
not prepared us), concluding by saying
that the ladies in their “ dressed ” state
would walk round the table each leaning
From the Economist, 27 January.
on the arm of her “ dresser,” so that the
spectators might all have a full view. As THE ANALOGY BETWEEN THE FRENCH
he said, so did they; nay, they went fur
AND AMERICAN CONSTITUTIONS.
ther, and walked round twice, amidst the
applause of (he assembled witnesses. We
The Emperor of the French has said
were disappointed that no prize beyond many remarkable things, but few more
applause was given; we had thought that remarkable than the short sentence in
at least a small-tooths comb, after the fash which he hints that there is some analogy
ion of those said by Miss Emmeline Lott to between the Constitution of France and
be used in the Turkish harems, would have that of the United States. The statement
been bestowed. But perhaps it would have has been received in England with an
been dangerous to have given so decided a impatience which is. a little unjust, and
preference to the hair of one lady over that is caused by too exclusive an attention
of another, for after all it must be with some to surface differences. Those differences
difficulty that the subjects of the exhibition are of course patent to every one ; but the ■
are collected. After the b< swarry ” came a analogy is not the less real and striking.
ball, at which whosoever danced with the The key-note of the American Constitution
ladies who had their heads powdered was, is the existence of an Executive which dur
if he disliked dust, to be pitied. The com ing its term of office is irresponsible to the
pany seemed to be, for the most part, or at people, which acts by its own volition,
any rate to a considerable extent, connect which can pursue if necessary a policy dia
ed with the hairdressing interest, and that metrically opposed to the wishes of those
they should do all they could to bring their who elected it. That also is the key-note
craft to perfection is not only pardonable, of the system established by the Second
but commendable. Would it, however, be Empire. The President does as he pleases
well if society in general should patronize in all matters within his province just as
such exhibitions ? Opinions happily differ, the Emperor does, and like him is irrespon
but we cannot help thinking evil would come sible to the Legislature — need not, indeed,
of it. What manner of woman, is it that explain to the representatives of the people
must study such matters as hairdressing, if | his own official acts. His ministers are his
�586
FRENCH AND AMERICAN CONSTITUTIONS.
ministers or clerks, bound to obey his or
ders; not bound to pay any heed, and fre
quently not paying any heed, to votes
passed by the popular body. Of course,
in America as in France this absolute
disunion between the Executive and the
body which controls the purse is very
inconvenient, and it has in each country
been met in the same way. In France the
Minister without a portfolio explains to
the Corps Legislatif the plans of depart
ments which he does not control, and in
America a friend or connection or political
ally of the President performs the same
function, Mr. Raymond for example occupy
ing as nearly as possible that position in
Congress, which M. Rouher occupies in
the French Chamber. It is true the French
spokesman is a recognised official, and the
American spokesman is not, but the recog
nition does not diminish “ responsibility ” in
the English parliamentary sense, but rather
increases it. It is true Mr. Johnson cannot
effect through Congress what the Emperor
can effect through his Legislature, but that
is because he has not a majority and the
Emperor has. In theory the French Cham
ber has as much right to reject a bill pro
posed by the Imperial Government as Con
gress has, and were the Emperor less dread
ed it would frequently do so. At the pres
ent moment Mr. Johnson is trying to
“ make a majority ” to support his policy b^
means quite as strong as those used in
French elections. He has ordered that
no radical recommendation for office shall
be listened to, and has it is said threatened
that unless his opponents give way he will
dismiss every official throughout the Union
who owes his election to the recommenda
tion of an opponent, a measure which has
daunted his stoutest adversaries as fatal
to their re-election. They will be in fact,
as in France, struck out of the Government
list. Indeed the prerogative of the Presi
dent is in many ways greater than that
of the Emperor. Each is commander-inchief, but the President can deprive any
officer of his commission by decree, and
the Emperor cannot. A French officer’s
grade is his “property,” and though the
law has once or twice been violated, it
/could not be broken through except for
a State necessity. Emperor and President
are alike masters of the Civil Service, but
the President can and does dismiss at will,
and the bureaucracy of France is perma
nent. An order, such as Mr. Johnson is
said to have threatened to give, would in
France have aroused an unconquerable re
sistance. No doubt the Emperor of the
French can do things infinitely more highhanded than the President could attempt,
but that is not by virtue of the idea of
the French Constitution, but by reason
of his control over a system essentially and
radically despotic, which he did not make,
and which his predecessors also used, the
French police. Mr. Johnson has no such
organisation at his disposal, but when it ex
isted during the first two years of the war it
was used without much regard to anything
but the safety of the Federation. Without
the police aud the immense army, and with
a hostile majority in the Chamber, the Em
peror would be almost precisely in the po
sition of the President.
But the latter is subject to removal at
the expiration of his term ? No doubt Mr.
Johnson is, and has therefore a great temp
tation to make his policy accord with the
policy approved by the electors, and so has
the Emperor Napoleon, who follows opinion
quite as anxiously; but. that deference is no
part of the Constitution, which provides for
change in the individual, but not for change
in the absolute independence of the office.
In changing our Premier, we ensure a
Change of policy, because if the new man
disobeys, he also can be dismissed next day;
but in changing the President, America
merely places one independent and irre
movable official in place of another. The
theories of the Imperial and Republican sys
tems are identical, except in the illogical
peculiarity of the French Constitution, that
it introduces the hereditary element into the
Executive, whereas the right of election
logically includes a right of dismissal at
periods fixed by mutual agreement. But
the freedom of the Press, of speech, of asso
ciation ? Well, these things exist in Amer
ica and do not exist in France; but it is
not in consequence of the Constitution, but
of the popular will. Nothing prevents an
American President, with Congress at his
back, from subverting the freedom of the
Press, by means, for example, of remissible
taxes, if they think that policy sound. The
Emperor and his first Chamber did think it
sound, and so freedom in France ended, a
fact greatly no doubt to be regretted, but
in, no way proving that the principles of the
American and French Constitutions are not
analogous. One very remarkable power
indeed is possessed by the American Legis
lature which is not possessed by the French,
and that is the right of passing a law by a
two-third vote, in defiance of the President.
But the French Chamber is theoretically
just as strong, for it could insist on a certain
law being passed, under penalty of a rejec
�/
/
xico.
s
587
tion of the Budget, and the Emperor must by which alone a constitutional monarch
. either yield, or appeal to a plebiscitum, that can acquire great individual power. At all
is, strike a coup d’etat upsetting the Consti events, should circumstances ever compel
tution, which gives the Chamber such a the Emperor to relax the overstrictness
right of control. That the two sets of insti of his regime, it is to the American rather
tutions are worked in a different way, and than to the British form of freedom that
with a different spirit, is too obvious for re he appears likely to feel his way.
mark ; but that does not destroy the theo
retic analogy to which the Emperor points.
The truth is that apart from the operation
..of the State system, which with many faults
' still organises popular resistance, the Presi
dent of the United States is, during his
From the Saturday Review, Jan. 27.
term of office, an excessively powerful mon
MEXICO.
arch, and the fact, revealed only by the
war, has evidently struck forcibly on the
The position which the Government of
imagination of the Emperor of the French. the United States is prepared to take up
As he acknowleges in his speech he still dis with regard to Mexico is at last clearly and
likes Parliamentary Government, for which finally established, and it is one that is cal
he is himself singularly unfitted, and he culated to excite some apprehension for the
glances at the Union with a passing thought future peace of the world. During the au
that if he ever grants “ liberty,” it will be in tumn months of last year, Mr. Seward was
the American and not in the English form. continually urging on the Federal Govern
Should the thought ever become active, it ment the expediency of the speedy with
is astonishing how little he will have to do drawal of the French troops; and, with
to restore “liberty” after the American many sincere protestations of the most frienimodel as it would appear were the Union ly feeling towards France, he gave the Em
a republic one and indivisible. He would peror to understand that, if his troops were
have to introduce laws establishing the free to stay much longer where they were, a
dom of the press, and the right of associa rupture between the two countries was inev
tion, and the liability of all officials to pros itable. The Emperor would be only too
ecution for illegal acts done in their official glad to get his troops away if he could do so
capacities; and the exemption of all citizens without compromising his own honour, and
from arrest except on criminal charges, and that of France ; and it seemed to him that
the constitutional change would be theoret the best way of arranging the matter would
ically alinost complete. The remaining bethat the French troops. should go, and
changes which would be necessary — such that the United States should recognise the
as abstinence from interference in the elec Emperor Maximilian. • The Mexican Em
tions, recognition of the right of debate, pire, being thus placed on a friendly footing
and restoration of the legislative initiative with the only Power it has to dread, might
to individual members — are scarcely con hope to establish itself and prosper, if pros
stitutional. These changes once accom perity in Mexico is possible for it. France
plished, France would be in possession of a would have succeeded, or, at least, would
great amount of practical liberty, of the not have openly and conspicuously failed;
control of her own Legislature, and of an and all jealousy between Washington and
Executive terribly strong indeed, but not Paris would have been at an end. But Mr.
stronger than that of the American Union; Seward has distinctly and decisively re
rather less strong, because hampered by the jected this proposal. The United States
legal rights of the army, and the customary will not recognise the Emperor Maximil
rights of the civil bureaucracy. That is not ian, nor treat him on any but a hostile foot
a form of Government we admire, because ing. lathe eyes of the Americans, he is
it lacks the one strength of the Parliamen an intruder, and an enemy of an injured and
tary system, the absolute identity of the friendly Republic, and they can never be
Legislature and the Executive power; but content until his enterprise has wholly failed.
it is one which might suit France for a time, Congress, as Mr. Seward remarks, must
and would have the immense advantage of exercise its legitimate influence on the Gov
permitting free thought and its expression, ernment of the President ; and the Pres
and some activity of Parliamentary life ident has not only to announce his own de
without the previous dismissal of the Napo cision, but that of the American people and
leonic dynasty, which will never, we fear, its representatives; and the opinion of the
consent to that incessant intellectual conflict American people is violently against the
�588
MEXICO.
Mexican Empire. Of this there can be no withdrawn; but if this is not done, the time
doubt; for even if the accusations continu must come when they will insist on having
ally brought up in Congress against the Em their wishes fulfilled.
peror Maximilian were true, instead of
This uncompromising language of the
being, as for the most part they are, gross American Government has placed the Em
misrepresentations, still the vehemence and peror of the'French in a very difficult po
pertinacity with which they are urged show sition. He cannot seem to yield to threats;
clearly enough how deep is the animosity but still he knows that, if any way of with
that prompts them. If the whole question drawing his troops with honour can be found,
were simply one of the continuance of the he must use it. He has, therefore, set ear
Mexican Empire, it might be worth while nestly to work to disprove the view which
to discuss these accusations, and to show how the American Government has adopted.
very slight is the basis on which they have He denies altogether that he ever wished to
been reared ; but all matters of detail are set up a Monarchy in Mexico, or to crush a
swallowed up in the gravity of the declara Republic. But the Republican Govern
tion which the United States have now is ment had insulted and offended him, plun
sued. The view of the Government of the dered and murdered his subjects, gave no
United States is, that the French have vio compensation, and perhaps was too weak,
lated the Monroe doctrine in its proper poor, and anarchical to give any. He inter
and original sense. There was a Republic fered merely to get redress, but he did not
established in Mexico, holding its territory see how it was possible to hope for redress
unopposed, in harmony with the country, from, such a Government as then existed in
dear to the inhabitants, and in the most Mexico. Several leading Mexicans pro
friendly relations with the United States. posed to establish a Monarchy, and he con
The French came to pull down this Repub curred in the idea because he thought a Mon
lic, and to set up a Monarchy, and they per archy, which had long been a favourite no
sist in remaining in Mexico to force this tion of many Mexicans, offered the best
alien Empire on an unwilling Republican chance of getting a Government strong, du
people. This is the mode in which the rable, and enlightened enough to pay him
United States have determined, after full what he was owed. This is all. He no
deliberation, to regard the recent history of more wishes to put down a Republic in Mexi
Mexico; and they will not allow any com co than he does to put down a Republic at
promise by which their adherence to this Washington; he merely wished, and wishes,
view might seem to be weakened. So long to have an instrument ready to provide him
as France stays in Mexico, forcing an Em with the redress he asked. The Emperor
pire on the Republicans of a contiguous Maximilian and his Court, and his Orders
State, America will treat France exactly as of the Eagle and Gaudalupe, are only pret
she would expect France to treat her if ty bits of machinery for the recovery of
she sent a fleet, and landed troops, to set up money owing to Frenchmen; and it must
a Republic in Belgium. Much, it is ac be owned that, if this is all, they are about
knowledged, is to be borne from France, as expensive a pi^ce of machinery, in com
which would not be borne from any other parison with the object to be effected, as
country. It will be only in the last resort was ever invented. But then, as the Em
that the language of America would be peror said in his speech, this machinery
come hostile to a country endeared to her has answered, or very nearly answered.
by so many traditions, and bound to her by There is now in Mexico an enlightened
so many ties. The tone of Mr. Seward’s Government triumphant overall opposition,
letter is very conciliatory, and the Govern with a French commerce trebled in an in
ment of President Johnson has been reso credibly short space of time, plentifully sup
lute in preventing any indirect breaches of plied with troops, and quite ready to pay off
amity. The export of arms from California all that is due to France. A few more ar
has been prevented, and still more recently rangements have still to be made with the
a considerable portion of the troops in Tex Emperor Maximilian, so that the stipulat
as has been disbanded. France has nothing ed payments may be fully secured, and then
to complain of in small things; there is only the French troops will be finally and hon
the one great point of difference between her ourably withdrawn. The ecstatic visions of
and the United States, that she has violated M. Chevalier, and the ardent proclama
a doctrine to which the United States at tions of Marshal Forey, are forgotten, or
tach the greatest importance, and which utterly neglected. We hear no more of the
they are resolved to uphold. They now spread of French influence over the West
merely ask that the French troops shall be ern hemisphere, of the necessity of enabling
�MEXICO.
tv
*
589
the Latin race to confront the Anglo-Saxon his own resources. If the Emperor Maxi
race in the New World. The Americans milian would but announce that he was
are told that all that has been done in Mexi- now quite, sure of his throne, and that
. Co has been done simply to redress the French aid was no longer necessary to him,
wrongs and support the claims of French the French might undoubtedly retire with
men; the French’themselves are told that out dishonour. They could not retire at
this most desirable end has been accom once, but it may be presumed that the
plished, and that the troops who have ren Americans would be quite satisfied if a Con
dered its accomplishment possible may soon vention like the September Convention
be expected home. But it is scarcely neces with Italy were agreed on, and if it were
sary to say that neither the Americans nor arranged that all French troops should have
the French will be satisfied. The Ameri quitted Mexico by the end of the present
cans think, and think with perfect truth, year. If the French went, the Austrians
that the experiment of recovering French and Belgians must go too— not necessarily
debts by shooting Republicans until the at the very same time, but before very long;
Austrian Archduke was made Emperor as it is obvious that, if the French have been
would never have been tried unless it had guilty of coming to American soil to tram
been supposed that it could be tried with ple down a Republic and set up a Monarchy,
out the United States being able to inter so have they. The Emperor Maximilian
fere with it. The French know that at least would therefore have to decide whether he
twenty millions of French money have been could possibly hold his own with native
sunk in the experiment, and that if their troops against his domesticV’enemies; and
troops were withdrawn it would be a great secondly, whether, if he thought it possible
deal more difficult to"recover the new debt to succeed, he would also think it worth
than it was to recover the old one. The while to try. It may be assumed, perhaps, that
Emperor, by adopting the view that he is the Emperor of the French would be able
merely trying to get his just dues from Mexi to provide that Mexico should be left alone,
co, has done something to conciliate the and that, if he did not go there, neither
Americans; yet he has made it even harder would the Americans. But if all foreign
than before to justify to France the with troops were withdrawn, the Emperor
drawal of the troops. To throw away twen would have to fight Mexicans with Mexi
ty millions in the attempt to get back a cans. His Mexicans would feel no enthusi
tenth of that sum is as deplorable an invest asm for him, would regard him as a foreign
ment, and as conspicuous a failure, as he er, and would with difficulty be induced to
could well make. The last Mexican loan of believe that his cause was the winning one.
about six millions sterling was almost entire His adversaries would be ardent, stimulated
ly subscribed by the French poor, on the by the encouragement of the Americans,
direct solicitation of the local officials of the panting for revenge, and able to take ad
Government, and it would most seriously vantage of that general disposition to go
impair the confidence of the lower classes in against the existing Government, whatever
the Emperor’s policy if it ended in a loss it may be, which pervades all nations of
to them of money which they only sub Spanish descent. But even if the Emper
scribed because he seemed to ask for it him- or thought that, after a very long and pro
self.
tracted fight, he might possibly hold his own,
The Emperor must, therefore, risk some and retain a precarious possession of some
thing. He might risk either a war with of the richer parts of the Mexican territory,
America, or a blow to his prestige in France. he might very probably hesitate before he
His speech was very judiciously worded, and embarked on so dangerous an adventure,
he seemed to be preserving a firm attitude, and might begin to examine whetherit could
and consulting the dignity of his country, possibly answer to him to take the risk. If
while he prepared a mode of escape from his he stayed as long as the French stayed, and
Embarrassment by asserting that his work found that the pressure of the Americans
was done in Mexico, and that the Emperor was depriving him even of his Austrians 1
Maximilian was firmly established there. and Belgians, he would incur no- disgrace
It will now naturally be his first object to by resigning a position that he might fairly
get the Emperor Maximilian to share this consider untenable. But the French could
opinion ; and the story may be true that he .scarcely withdraw altogether if he went.
has sent over a special envoy to represent They could not acknowledge that their at
to the Emperor of Mexico that he must tempt to obtain redress had been entirely in
consent to the withdrawal of the French vain, and all their money wasted ; and they
troops, and tTy his chance of empire from would naturally seek to make some arrange-
�THE EMPERORS SPEECH.
From the Spectator, 27th January.
ment with the United States by which, if a
Government favoured by the United States
THE EMPEROR’S SPEECH.
was set up, a return to mere anarchy should
be prevented, and the right of the French
The Emperor of the French has opened
to enjoy some sort of guarantee for the settle the Session of his Chambers for the thir
ment of their claims should be recognized. teenth time, and for the thirteenth time his '
speech is the political fact in the European
history of the week. Its interest turns
mainly upon three paragraphs, those relating
[From another article in the same paper, we to Mexico, to Italy, and to his pledge of one
copy the French Emperor’s address.]
day “crowning the edifice” by conceding
liberty. Of course he says other things,
The French Emperor’s address to his but they are so vague or so formal that they
Legislature is generally an interesting study. add nothing to our knowledge either of his
It is feebler and less clever this year than purposes or his position. He will “ remain
usual, but still it is interesting/ The au a stranger” to the internal disputes of Ger
gust author of these compositions has the art many, “ provided French interests are not
of touching all great questions of European directly engaged,” but as he is the sole
concern in a tone of frankness and gener judge whether they are so or not, this
osity, and noble sentiments in a Royal or amounts only to a pledge that France will
Imperial speech are always pleasant and re not interfere with Prussia until her Em
freshing. What, for example, can be more peror chooses, an assertion which makes a
considerate or delicate than the manner in very small draft upon our political faith.
which he handles the Americans? They He promises to restore the right of associa
are reminded of a century of friendship, and tion for industrial purposes, but the liberty
it is politely suggested that Imperialism is thus regained is to be “ outside politics,”
only the Constitution of the United States and to be limited “ by the guarantees which
in a French Court dress. The Mexican ex public order requires ” i. e., by any guaran
pedition is explained in a manner that tee the Emperor thinks expedient. He an
ought to disarm the most suspicious Yankee, nounces a reduction of the Army, but it has
and it seems as if all had been a mistake been effected without a reduction of num
about the Latin race, as it was about the bers, and declares that a financial equili
proposed recognition of the South. Some brium has been secured by the surplus of
body did say something about the Latin revenue, for which surplus his Minister of
race, which has evidently been misconstrued Finance only just ventures to hope on con
a good deal; but the “ American people” dition that everything goes right for two
will now comprehend that “ the expedition, more years. He suggests that France is
in which we invited them to join, was not governed very much like the United States,
opposed to their interests.” France “prays” but does not attempt to explain wherein he
sincerely for the prosperity of the great Re finds the analogy between a Constitution
public, and, just as a French Emperor is only which changes its Executive every four
an American President in disguise, so Im years, and leaves the entire legislative power
perialism in Mexico has been founded “ on to the representatives of the people, and a
the will of the people.” Mr. Seward very Constitution which was intended to make
Hkely never swears. His talent lies chiefly the executive power hereditary, and which
in the line of making other people swear. intrusts the initiative of legislation entirely
But it is possible that some less courteous to the man who is to carry that legislation
Anglo-Saxons in Washington and in New out. On all these subjects, Germany, fi
York, who are anxious about the Monroe nance, co-operation, and the Constitution,
doctrine, after reading all these high-mind the Emperor’s utterance is suggestive, with
ed expressions, and especially the one about out clearly instructing either his subjects or
the French praying for them, will feel in the world. No one, for example, could tell
clined, in the language used in the School without knowing facts which the Emperor
for Scandal by the friends of Joseph Sur does not reveal whether his paragraph on
face, to observe, “ Damn your sentiments.” Germany is a hint to Count von Bismark to
However this may be, and whatever may be go on in his course and prosper, or a.men
the turn the Mexican difficulty is taking, ace that France would not bear a Union, of
one thing is clear, that the French Emper Northern Germany against which its in
terests are directly engaged.
or puts his sentiments neatly and well.
�THE EMPEROR ’S SPEECH.
591
Even on the three points we have excepted die course, and the object of this part of
the Emperor, as his wont is, gives the world his speech is simply to soothe Americans
a riddle to read. What, for instance, is the into waiting until he can retreat with hon
meaning of the sentence which says that our. He who three years ago spoke only of
France “ has reason to rely on the scrupulous strengthening a branch of the Latin race to
execution of the Treaty with Italy of the 15 th resist Anglo-Saxon aggression, now anxious
September, and on the indispensable main ly repudiates any idea of hostility to the
tenance of the power of the Holy Father ? ” Union. He recalls to the Americans “ a
Does it mean that Napoleon regards the noble page in the history of France,” her
temporal power as indispensable, or only assistance to the Republic in its great rebel
the spiritual; that he will put down internal lion, reminds them that he requested them to
revolt in Rome, or suffer Italy to garrison take a part in reclaiming Mexican debts,
the city, provided only the Pope is left spir and almost implores thein to recollect that
itually independent ? Is his dictum a threat “ two nations equally jealous of their inde
to the Revolution or a threat to the priests | pendence ought to avoid any step which
Reading it by the light of the Emperor’s would implicate their dignity and their
character, we should believe the sentence honour.” Is that an assurance or a menintended only to ward off opposition until 1 afte ? For a French Sovereign to speak
the evacuation of Rome was complete, but of possible contingencies as “ implicating
read by the facts in progress, blithe re French dignity and honour ” is a very
cruiting for Rome going on in France, and ^serious thing, but then why these unusual
the pressure employed in Florence to make professions of regard for the Union ? It is
Italy accept the Papal debt, we should be true in a preceding paragraph Napoleon
lieve it implied that while Napoleon will re has affirmed that he is arranging with the
tire, the Pope must remain independent Emperor Maximilian for the recall of his
King of Rome. The maintenance of the army, bumhen their return must be effect-'
Pope’s power is declared indispensable, but ed when it “will not compromise the in
nothing is said of the invisible means by terests which France went out to that dis
which it is to be maintained.
tant land to defend.” When is that ? Do
So with the Mexican declaration. The the interests to be defended include the re
Emperor, we admit, is upon this point placed invigoration of the Latin race ? Nothing is
in a most difficult position. He made the clear from the speech, and according to
singular blunder made by the Times and by the Yellow Book, which is always supposed
the majority of English politicians, but not to explain the speech, the French Army is
made by the people he rules. Careless of only to return from Mexico when the Presi
principle and forgetting precedent, reject dent of the Union has recognized the Mexi
ing the idea that freedom must conquer can Empire, an act which he has refused to
slavery, and overlooking his uncle’s adage do, and which Congress has specifically for
that twenty-five millions must beat fifteen if bidden him to perform. There is nothing in
they can once get at them, he convinced the speech inconsiste^; with that interpreta
himself that the South must break up the tion, and if it is correct the Americans will
Union. Consequently he invaded Mexico, simply contrast the compliments offered
and placed his nominee on its throne. As them in words with the impossible proposal
his subjects, with the strange instinct which submitted in fact, and be less content than
supplies to great populations the place of ever. All they obtain is a promise 'that at
wisdom, had from the first foreseen, he some time not specified, when a result they
erred in his first essential datum. The dislike has been accomplished, the Emperor
South did not break up the Union, but the will, if consistent with his honour, withdraw
Union broke up the South, and Napoleon the troops through whom he has been able
finds himself compelled either to withdraw to accomplish it — not a very definite or
from a great undertaking visibly baffled and very satisfactory pledge.
repulsed, or to accept a war with the oldest
It is on the “ crowning of the edifice ’
ally of France — a war in which, if defeat alone that the Emperor is partially explicit.
ed, he risks his throne, and if successful, can He will not grant a responsible Ministry.
gain nothing except financial embarrass That system of government, always abhor
ment. Neither alternatiye seems to him en rent to him, has not become more pleasant
durable — the former as fatal to the reputa of late years, and he declares for the tenth
tion for success which is essential to his per time that “ with one Chamber holding with
sonal power, the latter as bringing him into di in itself the fate of Ministers the Executive
rect conflict with the wishes of all his peo is without authority and without spirit,” the
ple. He strives therefore to find some mid- “ one ” being inserted either to avoid a di-
�592
BEAU-MONDE AND THE DEMI-MONDE IN PARIS.
ers by an anouncement for which, after
all, both should have been prepared. No
one who is at all conversant with the ordina
ry course of Parisian life — we do not say
familiar with its inner mysteries — ought to
have been astonished at hearing that cer
tain grandes dames of French society had
sought for invitations to a masqued ball
which was to be given by a distinguished
leader of the demi-monde. We have had, in
our own country, certain faint and partial
indications of the same curiosity, revealed
in an awkward and half-hesitating sort of
way. English great ladies once made an
off-night for themselves at Cremorne, in
order to catch a flying and furtive glance,
not of the normal idols of those gay gar
dens, but of the mere scenic accessories to
their attractions and triumphs. But as yet
we have never heard that the matrons of
English society have sought an introduction
to the Lais of Brompton or the Phryne of
May-fair, even under the decorous con
cealment of mask and domino. Nor has it
yet been formally advertised here that the
motive of so unusal a request was a desire
to learn the arts and tactics by which the
gilded youth — and, it might be added, the
gilded age — of the country is subjected to
the thrall of venal and meretricious beauty.
That such a rumour should be circulated
and believed in France is — to use the cur
rent slang — “highly suggestive.” It sug
gests a contrast of the strongest, though it is
far from a pleasing, kind between the
society of to-day and the society of other
days. It was long the special boast of the
French that with them women enjoyed an
influence which in no other part of the
world was accorded to their sex, and that
this influence was at least as much due to
their mental as to their physical charms.
The women of other nations may have been
more beautiful. To the Frenchwomen was
specially given the power of fascination ;
and it was the peculiar characteristic of her
fascination that its exercise involved no dis
credit to the sense or' the sensibility of the
men who yielded to it. A power which
showed itself as much in the brilliance of
bons mots and repartee as ip smiles and
glances, a grace of language and expression
which enhanced every grace of feature
and of attitude, a logic which played in
the form of epigram, and a self-respect
From the Saturday Review.
which was set off rather than concealed by
THE 1 BEAU-MONDE AND THE
DEMI the maintenance of the most uniform cour
tesy to others — such were the arts and
MONDE IN PARIS.
insignia of the empire which the most cele
The Paris journals lately surprised their brated Frenchwomen, from the days of
French, and startled their foreign, read Maintenon and De Sevigne to those of
rect sarcasm upon the English Constitution,
or from a sudden recollection of the part
played by the Prussian Chamber of Peers.
He believes that his system has worked well,
that France, tranquil at home, is respected
abroad, and, as he adds with singular au
dacity, is without political captives within or
exiles beyond her frontiers. Are, then, the
Due d’Aumale, M. Louis iBlanc, and the
author of Labienus at liberty to return
to France ? Consequently nothing will be
changed, but the Emperor, resolving to “ im
prove the conditions of labour,” will await
the time when all France, being educated,
shall abandon seductive theories, and all
who live by their daily toil, receiving in
creasing profits, “ shall be firm supporters
of a society which secures their well-being
and their dignity.” No one can complain
of any obscurity in that apology for the
Empire. Its central ideas are all expressed,
and all expressed with truthful lucidity.
The Emperor is to rule “ with authority and
spirit.” There is to be no political freedom,
no discussion even of “ theories of govern
ment, which France for eighty years has
sufficiently discussed.” Intelligence and cap
ital are still to remain disfranchised, but in
return the labourer’s condition is to be im
proved. “ Bread to the cottage, justice to
the palace,” was the promise of the Venetian
Ten, and Napoleon, if he changes the
second, adheres to the first condition. His
offer is also bread to the cottage, provided
only that there is silence in the palace. It
is for France to decide whether she accepts
an offer which is not a small one, which if
honestly made is capable of fulfillment, and
which would pledge her Government to the
best ad interim occupation it could possibly
pursue. Only we would just remind her
that education in the Emperor’s mouth has
hitherto meant only education through
priests, and improvement in the condition
of the labourer only a vast expenditure out
of taxes which the labourer pays, that the first
result of these works has been the reckless
over-crowding of all towns, and that of these
promises there is not one which liberty
could not also secure.
�BEAU-MONDE ANDTPHE DEMI-MONDE IN PARIS.
593
Madame Deffand and Madame Roland or of the roturier ; the conflicts of science and
those of Madame Recamier, exercised over theology — all these furnished materials for
the warriors, sages, and statesmen of France. the tongues of the clever women, materials
The homage paid by the men to the brilliant of which the clever women fully availed
women who charmed the society which they themselves. The final result was not, in
had helped to create may not always have deed, wholly satisfactory. How many a
been perfectly disinterested. The friend short sharp sarcasm, shot from the tongue
ship of the women for their illustrious ad of brilliant causeuses,‘rebounded on the gil
mirers may not always have been perfectly ded rooms wherein it first hurtled! How
Platonic. There may have been some im many a satire, sugared with compliment, at
propriety—or, as our more Puritan friends which rival beaux chuckled in delight,
would say, some sin — in the intercourse of came back with its uncovered venom to the
some of the most celebrated Frenchmen hearts of those whose admiration had first
and Frenchwomen. Yet even this could provoked it! How many a gibe of reckless
not have been predicated of all. Madame truth, aimed at courts and nobles, distilled
de Sevigne’s reputation comes out. clear through laquais and waiting-maids into the
and spotless even from the foulest assault of streets of Paris, to whet the after-wrath
wounded vanity and slighted love. We do of that fierce canaille! Many of those
not forget the comprehensive loves and the clever women had better been silent; many
deliberate inconstancy of Ninon. But Ni of those pungent epigrams had better been
non, corrupt, as she may have been, was unsaid. Still, while the spirited talk went
not venal. She did not ruin her lovers by her on, life was illumined by no common bril
covetousness, and then receive their wives liance ; and vice not only decked itself, but
and sisters in her salons. She was courted forgot _ itself, in the guise of intelligence
by elegant and virtuous women, because she and wit.
was the single and solitary instance as yet
But what a change is it now! There are
known of a woman possessing every grace drawing-rooms in Paris which are more
and every charm save the grace and charm brilliant and gorgeous than any that De
of virtue. Whatever may have been the Sevigne or Recamier ever satin
*
But their
relations between the sexes in those days, brilliance and splendour are not of such
it was at least free from grossness. The airy impalpabilities as genius or wit. They
charms which attracted men to the Maison are solid, substantial, tangible. They are
Rambouillet were not those of sense alone, the brilliance and the splendour, not of able
or in a special degree. They were those of men and clever women, but of the uphol
conversation at once spirited, graceful, sterer, the mechanician, and the decorator.
elegant, and vivacious. To an accom There is gold, there is marble, there is lapis
plished man there is perhaps no greater lazuli; there are pictures, statues, ormolu
social treat than to hear good French clocks; there are rich velvets and cloud
spoken by an educated and clever French like lace, and a blaze of amethysts, rubies,
woman. In her hands a language of which and diamonds. There are trains of Impe
both the excellences and the defects eminent rial dimensions and tiaras of Ijnperial bright
ly qualify it for the purposes of conversational ness. And in whose honour is all this grand
combat becomes a weapon of dazzling fence. display ? To whom is the court paid by
Those delicate turns of phrase which imply this mob of sombre-clad and neatly-gloved
so much more than they express fly like men of every age, from twenty to sixty ?
Parthian shafts, and the little commonplaces Who have taken the place of the great
which may mean nothing do what the female leaders of society whose names have
pawns do when manipulated by a clever added lustre to France ? Strange as it
chess-player — everything. And in the age may seem, their successors are secondwhen the empire of Frenchwomen rested rate or third-rate actresses, opera-dancers,
upon their grace and power in conversa and singers at public rooms and public gar
tion, there was ample matter to task their dens. We do not intend to undertake the
remarkable talents. It was an age of new superfluous task of penning a moral dia
ideas. Government, religion, and philoso tribe, or inveighing against the immorality
phy: the administration of the kingdom of the age. Sermons there are, and will
and the administration of the universe ; the be, in abundance on so prolific and provok
rights of kings to be obeyed by their people ing a theme. In every age actresses and
and the right of the Creator to the adora ballet-girls have had their admirers. In
tion of his creatures; the claims of privi every age, probably, they will continue to
lege and the claims of prerogative; the have admirers. But what is worthy of note
pretensions of rank and the pretensions is this. Formerly this admiration was of
THIRD SERIES. LIVING AGE. VOL. XXXI [.
1478.
�594
BEAU-MONDE AND THE DEMIMONDE IN PARIS.
an esoteric kind. The worshippers adored
their divinities in secret. The temples of
the goddesses were, at any rate, not obtrud
ed on the public eye, nor in possession of
the most open, public, and splendid streets.
The cult, too, was confined to a narrower
circle. But now all this is changed; the
fanes of the divinities ‘are splendid and in
the most splendid streets ; the cult is open,
avowed, public. The worshippers are of
every age, and are all equally indifferent to
secrecy. There is no restriction and no ex
clusion, save on two grounds — those of
poverty and intelligence. There is a kind
of intellect admitted into this gorgeous cote
rie, but it is intellect in livery. The dra
matic author and the dramatic critic are
now as much appendages to the dramatic
courtezan as her coachman and her femme de
chambre. Where professional reputation
depends on scenic effect, and scenic effect
depends upon the equivoque put into the
.actress’s mouth, and the applause with
Tvhich their delivery is received, the man
who concocts the equivoque and the man
•who criticises their delivery become equally
•objects of attention to the actress who is
looking ou^ for a clientele. Saving these
necessary exceptions, these assemblies are
• comprised of rich old men anxious to dissi;pate the money which they have made, and
•rich young men as anxious to dissipate the
•wealth which they have inherited. And
;now we hear that the wives and sisters of
these men seek admission to these Paphian
jhalls.
Jt is, indeed, not an unnatural, though it
iis far from a decent, curiosity which prompts
ladies entitled to the reputation of virtue
do examine something of the life and dounestic economy of those ladies whose very
• existence presupposes an entire repudiation
< of virtue. The married women naturally
•■desire to know something of the manners
and mein and language of the-rivals whose
■arts have diverted their own husbands’
■treasures into alien and obnoxious channels.
'When a wife hears that her husband has,
at one magnificent stroke on the Bourse,
(Carried off one or two millions of francs,
; she is curious to ascertain the process by
which no inconsiderable proportion of these
-winnings has been “ affected ” to the payiment of Madlle. Theodorine’s debts or to the
■purchase of Madlle. Valentine’s brougham.
.And the anxious mother, who has long
■dreamed of the ceremony which might
unite the fortunes of her dear Alcide with
"the dot of her opulent neighbour’s daughter,
Is tortured between the misery of frustrated
Slopes and curiosity to understand the mo
tives which impel Alcide to become the
daily visitor of Mdlle. Gabrielle in the Rue
d’Arcade, and her daily companion when
riding in the Bois de Boulogne. Certainly
the subject is a very curious one. But does
the solution of the problem quite justify
the means taken to solve it? Might not
enough be inferred from the antecedent
history of those who are the subjects of it
to dispense with the necessity of a nearer
examination? Take a number of women
of the lower classes from the different
provinces of France — with no refinement,
with a mere shred of education, and with
but small claim to what an English eye
would regard as beauty — but compensating
for lack of knowledge, education, and re
finement by a vivacity and a coquetry pe
culiarly French. Take these women up to
Paris, tutor them as stage supernumeraries,
and parade before them the example of the
arts of the more successful Eorettes. The
rest may be imagined. From these general
premises it is not difficult to conjecture the
product obtained; to conceive that manner
on which jeunes gens dote, a manner made
up of impudence and grimace ; that repar
tee which mainly consists of ,a new slang
hardly known two miles beyond the Made
line ; those doubles entendres of which per
haps memory is less the parent than instinct,
and that flattery which is always coarse and
always venal. It would be erroneous to say
that we have here given a complete picture
of the class which certain leaders of Paris
fashion wish to study. There are, in the
original, traits and features which we could
not describe, and which it is unnecessary
for us to attempt to describe, as they are por
trayed in the pages of the satirist who has im
mortalized the vices of the most corrupt city
at its most corrupt era. Juvenal will supply
what is wanting to our imperfect delinea
tion. English ladies may read him in the
vigorous paraphrases of Dryden and Gif
ford ; ’ while their French contemporaries
may arrive at a livelier conception of what
we dare not express, if only they stay till
the supper crowns the festal scene of the
masqued ball. If they outstay this, they
will have learned a lesson the value of
which we leave it for themselves to com
pute.
.
. .
It is idle to say that curiosity of this kind
is harmless because it is confined to a few.
Only a few, indeed, may have contemplated
the extreme step of being present at the
Saturnalia of the demi-monde. But how
many others have thought of them and
talked of them ? To how many leaders of
society are the doings of these women the
�THE COVERT.
subjects of daily curiosity and daily con
versation ? How many patrician. -— or, at
all events, noble — dames regular attend
ants at mass, arbiters of fashion, and orna
ments of the Church, honour with their in
quisitiveness, women of whose existence,
twenty years ago, no decent Frenchwoman
was presumed to have any knowledge ?
And do these noble ladies suppose that this
curiosity is disregarded by the adventur
esses from Arles or Strasburg, Bordeaux or
Rouen, whom successful prostitution has
dowered with lace, diamonds, carriages,
and opera-boxes ? Do they suppose that
the professed admiration of the young
Sardanapali for the ex-couturieres and bal
let-girls of Paris has not a more potent ef
fect when combined with the ill-concealed
interest of their mothers and sisters ? And
what that effect is on the men in one class,
and on the women in another, a very slight
knowledge of human nature is sufficient to
suggest. That girls of moderately good looks
will contentedly continue to ply the shuttle
at Lyons, or to drudge as household servants
in Brittany, or to trudge home to a supperless
chamber in Paris with the bare earnings of
a supernumerary or a coryphee at a small
theatre, when a mere sacrifice of chastity
may enable them not only to ruin young
dukes and counts, but to become the theme
and admiration of duchesses and countesses,
is a supposition which involves too high a
U 1 •-■! .
belief in human virtue; and the conditions
we have named are found to be fatal to the
virtue of the poorer Frenchwomen. And
as for the men, what must be the effect on
them ? Debarred from the stirring conflict
of politics; exiled, so to speak, from the
natural arena of patriotic ambition ; know
ing no literature save that of novels in
which courtezans are the heroines, and
caring for no society but that of which
courtezans are the leaders; diversifying the
excitement of the hazard-table and the
betting-room with the excitement of the
coulisses; learning from their habitual asso
ciations to lose that reverence for women
and that courteous attention to them which
are popularly supposed to have at one time
characterized the gentlemen of France —
they partially redeem the degradation which
they court by showing that even a mixture
of vapid frivolity, sensual indulgence, and
senseless extravagance is insufficient to cor
rupt a nation, unless also the female leaders
of society conspire to select for their notice
and admiration those creatures for whom
the law of the land would better have pro
vided the supervision of the police and
the certificate of professional prostitution.
When virtuous women of birth and position
rub shoulders with strumpets, protests are
useless and prophecies are superfluous; for
the taint which goes before destruction is
already poisoning the heart of the nation.
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THE COVERT.
The eagle beats his way
Strong-winged through the burning blue:
All through the heat of the day
In the covert the wood-doves coo.
Take the wings of the dove, my soul!
Take the wings of the dove!
For the sun is not thy goal,
But the secret place of love. <
Close to the earth and near,
And hidden among the flowers,
By the brink of the brooklet clear,
The dove in her covert cowers.
>‘ni Wq XT
. .ih
Take the wings of the dove, my soul I
Take the wings of the dove!
For the sun is not thy goal,
But the secret place of love.
<•
--.ml.
Flee not afar, my soul
Flee not afar for rest 1
.
The tumult may round thee roll,
q
Yet the dove be in thy breast.
Take the wings of the dove, my soul!
Take the wings of the dove!
--X
For the sun is not thy goal,
But the resting place of love.
"ir Mw
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Good Words'
�596
ORATION OF THE HON. GEORGE BANCROFT.
IN MEMORY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN, THE in her inmost nature, she disenthralled re
MARTYR PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED ligion from bondage to temporal power,
STATES.
that her worship might be worship only in
Oration of the Hon. George Bancroft,
at the request of both Houses of Congress,
in the Hall of the House of Representa*v lives of the United States, on Monday,
Feb. 12, 1866. !
Senators, Representatives, ofAmerica: —
GOD IN HISTORY.
That God rules in the affairs of men is
as certain as any truth of physical science.
On the great moving power which is from
the beginning hangs the world of the senses
and the world of thought and action. Eternal
wisdom marshals the great procession of the
nations, working in patient continuity
through the ages, never halting, and never
abrupt, encompassing all events in its over
sight, and ever affecting its will, though
mortals may slumber in apathy or oppose
with madness. Kings are lifted up or thrown
down, nations come and go, republics flour
ish and wither, dynasties pass away like a
tale that is told; but nothing is by chance,
though men in their ignorance of causes may
think so. The deeds of time are governed
as well as judged, by the decrees of eterni
ty. The caprice of fleeting existences bends
to the immovable omnipotence which plants
its foot on all the centuries, and has neither
change of purposes nor repose. Sometimes
like a messenger through the thick darkness
of night, it steps along mysterious ways ; but
when the hour strikes for a people, or for
mankind, to pass into a new form of being,
unseen hands draw the bolts from the gates
of futurity; an all-subduing influence pre
pares the mind of men for the coming revo
lution ; those who plan resistance find them
selves in conflict with the will of Provi
dence, rather than with human devices;
and all hearts and all understandings, most
of all the opinions and influences of the
unwilling, are wonderfully attracted and
compelled to bear forward the change which
becomes more an obedience to the law of
universal nature than submission to the ar
bitrament of man.
GROWTH OF THE AMERICAN REPUBLIC.
In the fulness of time a republic rose up
in the wilderness of America. Thousands
of years had passed away before this child
of the ages could be born. From whatever
there was of good in the systems of former
centuries she drew her nourishment: the
wrecks of the past were her warnings.
With the deepest sentiment of faith fixed
spirit and in truth. The wisdom which had
passed from India through Greece, with
what Greece had added of her own; the
jurisprudence of Rome; the mediaaval mu
nicipalities ; the Teutonic method of repre
sentation ; the political experience of Eng
land ; the benignant wisdom of the exposi
tors of the law of nature and of nations in
France and Holland, all shed on her their
selectest influence. She washed the gold
of political wisdom from the sands whereever it was found; she cleft it from the
rocks; she gleaned it among ruins. Out of
all the discoveries of statesmen and sages,
out of all the experience of past human life,
she compiled a perennial political philoso
phy, the primordinal principles of national
ethics. The wise men of Europe sought the
best government in a mixture of monarchy,
aristocracy, and democracy; and America
went behind t^ese names to extract from
them the vital elements of social forms, and
blend them harmoniously in the free Com
monwealth, which comes nearest to the illus
tration of the natural equality of all men.
She intrusted the guardianship of establish
ed rights to law; the movements of reform
to the Spirit of the people, and drew her
force from the happy reconciliation of both.
TERRITORIAL EXTENT OF THE REPULIC.
Republics had heretofore been limited to
small cantons or cities and their dependen
cies ; America, doing that of which the like
had not before been known upon the earth,
or believed by kings and statesmen to be
possible, extended her republic across a
continent. Under her auspices the vine of
liberty took deep root and filled the land;
the hills were covered with its shadow ; its
boughs were like the goodly cedars, and
reached unto both oceans. The fame of
this only daughter of freedom went out
into all the lands of the earth; from her
the human race drew hope.
PROPHECIES ON THE CONSEQUENCES OF
SLAVERY.
Neither hereditary monarchy nor heredi
tary aristocracy planted itself on our soil;
the only hereditary condition that fastened
itself upon us was servitude. Nature works
in sincerity, and is ever true to its law.
The bee hives honey, the. viper distils pois
on ; the vine stores its juices, and so do the
poppy and the upas. In like manner, every
thought and every action ripens its seed,
each in its kind. In the individual man,
�ORATION OF THE HON. GEORGE BANCROFT.
. 597
and still more in a nation, a just idea gives position of Virginia and the South that the
life, and progress, and glory; a false j®pn- clause of Jefferson was restored, and the
ception portends disaster, shame, and death. whole Northwestern Territory — all the
A hundred and twenty years ago, a West' territory that then belonged to the nation
Jersey Quaker wrote : “ this trade of im — was reserved for the labor of freemen.
porting slaves is dark gloominess hanging
over the land; the consequences will be DESPAIR OK THE MEN OF THE REVO’‘£l
" lution.
grievous to posterity.”. At the North the
growth of slavery was arrested by natural
The hope prevailed in Virginia that the
causes; in the region nearest the tropics it abolition of the slave trade would bring
throve rankly, and worked itself into the with it the gradual abolition of slavery ; but
organism of the rising States. Virginia the expectation was doomed to disappoint
stood between the two; with soil, and cli ment. In supporting incipient measures
mate, resources demanding free labour, for emancipation, Jefferson encountered
and yet capable of the profitable employ difficulties greater than he could overcome;
ment of the slave. She was the land of and after vain wrestlings, the words that
great statesmen ; and they saw the danger broke from him, “ I tremble for my coun
of her being whelmed under the rising flood try, when I reflect that God is just, that his
in time to struggle against the delusions of justice cannot sleep forever,” were words
avarice and pride. Ninety-four years ago, of despair. It was the desire of Washing
the Legislature of Virginia addressed the ton’s heart that Virginia should remove
British king, saying that the trade in slaves slavery by a public act; and as the pros
was “ of great inhumanity,” was opposed to pect of a general emancipation grew more
the “ security and happiness ” of their con and more dim he, in utter hopelessness of
stituents, “ would in time have the most the action of the State, did all that he could
destructive influence,” and “ endanger their by bequeathing freedom to his own slaves.
very existence.” And the king answered Good and true men had, from the days of
them, that “ upon pain of-his highest dis 1776, thought of colonizing the negro in
pleasure, the importation of slaves should the home of his ancestors. But the idea of
not be in any respect obstructed. “ Phar colonization was thought to increase the dif
isaical Britain,” wrote Franklin in behalf of ficulty of emancipation; and in spite of
Virginia, “to pride thyself in setting free a strong support, while it accomplished much
single slave that happened to land on thy good for Africa, it. proved impracticable as
coasts, while thy laws continue a traffic a remedy at home. Madison, who in early
whereby so many hundreds of thousands are life disliked slavery so much that he wished
dragged into a slavery that is entailed on “ to depend as little as possible on the labor
their posterity.” “A serious view of this of slaves ; ” Madison, who held that where
subject,” said Patrick Henry in 1773, “ gives slavery exists “ the republican theory be
a gloomy prospect to future times.” In the comes fallaciotis; ” Madison, who in the
same year George Mason wrote to the Leg last years of his life would not consent to
islature of Virginia: “ The laws of impar the annexation of Texas, lest his country
tial Providence may avenge our injustice men should fill it with slaves ; Madison, who
upon our posterity.” In Virginia, and in said, “ slavery is the greatest evil under
the Continental Congress, Jefferson, with which the nation labors, a portentous evil,
the approval of Edmund Pendleton, brand an evil — moral, political and economical —ed the slave trade as piracy; and he fixed a sad blot on our free country,” went mourn
in the Declaration of Independence as the fully into old age with the cheerless words:
corner stone of America: “ All men are “ No satisfactory plan has yet been devised
created equal, with an unalienable right to for taking out the stain.”
liberty.” On the first organization of tem
NEW VIEWS OF SLAVERY.
porary governments for the continental do
main Jefferson, but for the default of New
The men of the Revolution passed away.
Jersey, would, in 1784, have consecrated A new generation sprang up, impatient that
every part of that territory to freedom. In an institution to which they clung should be
the formation of the National Constitution condemned as inhuman, unwise and unjust;
Virginia, opposed by a part of New Eng in the throes of discontent at the self-re
land vainly struggled to abolish the slave proach of their fathers, and blinded by the
trade at once and forever; and when the lustre of wealth to be acquired by the cul
ordinance of 1787 was introduced by Na ture of a new staple, they devised the theo
than Dane, without the clause prohibiting ry that slavery, which they would not abol
slavery, it was through the favourable dis ish, was not evil, but good. They turned
�598
ORATION OF THE HON. GEORGE BANCROFT.
on the friends of colonization, and confi
dently demanded, “ Why take black men
from a civilized and Christian country, where
their labor is a source of immense gain and
a power to control the markets of the
world, and send them to a land of ignorance,
idolatry, and indolence, which was the home
of their forefathers, but not theirs ? Slav
ery is a blessing. Were they not in their
ancestral land naked, scarcely lifted above
brutes, ignorant of the course of the sun,
controlled by nature ? And in their new
abode, have they not been taught to know
the difference of the seasons, to plough, to
plant and reap, to drive oxen, to tame the
horse, to exchange their scanty dialect for
the richest of all the languages among men,
and the stupid adoration of follies for the
purest religion ? And since slavery is good
for the blacks, it is good for their masters,
bringing opulence and the opportunity of
educating a race. The slavery of the black
is good in itself; he shall serve the white
man forever.” And nature, which better
understood the quality of fleeting interest
and passion, laughed, as it caught the
echo: “ man ” and “ forever 1 ”
SLAVERY AT HOME.
A regular development of pretensions fol
lowed the new declaration with logical con
sistency. Under the old declaration every
one of the States had retained, each for itself,
the right of manumitting all slaves by an
ordinary act of legislation ; now, the power
of the people over servitude through their
legislatures was curtailed, and the privil
eged class was swift in imposing legal and
constitutional obstruction, on the people
themselves. The power of emancipation
was narrowed or taken away. The slave
might not be disquieted by education. There
remained an unconfessed consciousness that
the system of bondage was wrong, and a
restless memory that it was at variance
with the true American tradition, its safety
was therefore to be secured by political or
ganization. The generation that made the
Constitution took care for the predomi
nance of freedom in Congress, by the ordi
nance of Jefferson ; the new school aspired
to secure for slavery an equality of votes in
the Senate; and while it hinted at an or
ganic act that should concede to the collec
tive South a veto power on national legisla
tion, it assumed that each State separately
had the right to revise and nullify laws of
the United States, according to the discre
tion of its judgment.
SLAVERY AND FOREIGN RELATIONS.
The new theory hung as a bias on the for
eign relations of the country; there could be
no recognition of Hayti, nor even the Amer
ican colony of Liberia; and the world was
given to understand that the establishment
of free labor in Cuba would be a reason for
wresting that island from Spain. Territo
ries were annexed; Louisiana, Florida, Tex
as, half of Mexico; slavery must have its
share in them all, and it accepted for a time
a dividing line between the unquestioned
domain of free labor and that in which in
voluntary labor was to be tolerated. A few
years passed away, and the new school,
strong and arrogant, demanded and recived an apology for applying the Jefferson
proviso to Oregon.
SQUATTER SOVEREIGNTY.
The application of that proviso was inter
rupted for three administrations; but justice
moved steadily onward. In the news that the
men of California had chosen freedom, Cal
houn heard the knell of parting slavery7; and
on his deathbed he counselled secession.
Washington, and Jefferson, and Madison,
had died despairing of the abolition of slav
ery ; Calhoun died in despair at the growth
of freedom., His system rushed irresistibly
to its natural development. The death
struggle for California was followed by a
short truce; but the new school of politicians
who said that slavery was not evil, but good,
soon sought to recover the ground they had
lost, and confident of securing Texas, they
demanded that the established line in the
territories between freedom and slavery
should be blotted out. The country, believ
ing in the strength and enterprise and ex
pansive energy of freedom, made answer,
though reluctantly: “ Be it so ; let there be
no strife between brethren ; let freedom and
slavery compete for the territories on equal
terms, in a fair field under an impartial ad
ministration ; ” and on this theory, if on any,
the contest might have been left to the de
cision of time.
DEED SCOTT DECISION.
The South started back in appallment
from its victory; for it knew that a fair
competition foreboded its defeat. But where
could it now find an ally to save it from its
own mistake ? What I have next to say is
spoken with no emotion but regret. Our
meeting to-day is, as it were, at the grave,
in the presence of Eternity, and the truth
must be uttered in soberness and sincerity.
�ORATION OF THE. HON. GEORGE BANCROFT.
In a great republic, as was observed more
than two thousand years ago, any attempt
to overturn the state owes its strength to aid
from some branch of the government. The
Chief Justice of the United States, without
any necessity or occasion, volunteered to
come to the rescue of the theory of slavery.
And from his court there lay no appeal but
to the bar of humanity and history. Against
the Constitution, against the memory of the
nation, against a previous decision, against
a series of enactments, he decided that the
slave is property, that slave property is en
titled to no less protection than any other
property, that the Constitution upholds it in
every territory against any act of a local
Legislature, and even against Congress it
self ; or, as the President tersely promulgat
ed the saying : “ Kansas is as much a slave
. State as South Carolina or Georgia ; slav
ery, by virtue of the Constitution, exists in
every territory.” The municipal character
of slavery being thus taken away, and slave
property decreed to be “ sacred,” the au
thority of the courts was invoked to intro
duce it by the comity of law into States
where slavery had been abolished; and in
one of the courts of the United States a
judge pronounced the African slave trade
legitimate, and numerous and powerful ad
vocates demanded its restoration.
TANEY AND SLAVE RACES.
Moreover, the Chief Justice, in his elabo
rate opinion, announced what had never
been heard from any magistrate of Greece
or Rome — what was unknown to civil law,
and canon law, and feudal law, and comm on
law, and constitutional law; unknown to
Jay, to Rutledge, Ellsworth and Marshall
— that there are “ slave races.” The spirit
of evil is intensely logical. Having the au
thority of this decision, five States swiftly
followed the earlier example of a sixth, and
opened the way for reducing the free negro
to bondage; the migrating free negro be
came a slave if he but touched the soil of a
seventh ; and an eighth, from its extent and
soil and mineral resources, destined to in
calculable greatness, closed its eyes on its
coming prosperity, and enacted — as by Ta
ney’s decision it had the right to do — that
every free black man who would live within
its limits must accept the condition of slav
ery for himself‘and his posterity.
SECESSION RESOLVED ON.
Only one step more remained to be taken.
Jefferson and the leading statesmen of his
day held fast to the idea that the enslave
ment of the African was socially, morally
599
and politically wrong. The new school was
founded exactly upon the opposite idea;
and they resolved first to distract the demo
cratic party for which the Supreme Court
had now furnished the means, and then to
establish a new government, with negro
slavery for its corner stone, as socially, mor
ally and politically right.
THE ELECTION.
As the presidential election drew on, one
of the old traditional parties did not make
its appearance; the other reeled as it sought
to preserve its old position; and the candi
date who most nearly represented its best
opinion, driven by patriotic zeal, roamed
the country from end to end to speak for
union, eager at least to confront its enemies,
yet not having hope that it would find its
deliverance through him. The storm rose
to a whirlwind ; who should allay its wrath ?
The most experienced statesmen of the
country had failed ; there was no hope from
those who were great after the flesh; could
relief come from one whose wisdom was like
the wisdom of little children ?
EARLY LIFE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
The choice of America fell on a man born
west of the Alleghanies, in the cabin of poor
people of Hardin county, Kentucky — Abra
ham Lincoln.
His mother could read, but not write ; his
father could do neither ; but his parents sent
him, with an old spelling-book, to school,
and he learned in his childhood to do both.
When eight years old he floated down the
Ohio with his father on a raft which bore
the family and all their possessions to the
shore of Indiana; and, child as he was, he
gave help as they toiled through dense for
ests to the interior of Spencer county.
There in the land of free labor he grew up
in a log cabin, with the solemn solitude for
his teacher in his meditative hours.
Of
Asiatic literature he knew only the Bible;
of Greek, Latin, and medieval, no more
than the translation of 2Esop’s Fables; of
English, John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress.
The traditions of Georgfe Fox and William
Penn passed to him dimly along the lines .of'
two centuries through his ancestors, who
were Quakers.
HIS EDUCATION.
Otherwise his education was altogether
American. The Declaration of Independ
ence was his compendium of political wis
dom, the life of Washington his constant
study, and something of Jefferson and Madi
son reached him through Henry Clay, whom
�600
ORATION OF THE HON. GEORGE BANCROFT.
he honoured from boyhood. For the re^t,
from day to day, he lived the life of the
American people; walked in its light; rea
soned with its reason, thought with its pow
er of thought; felt the beatings of its mighty
heart; and so was in every way a child of
nature—a child of the West—a child of
America.
HIS PROGRESS IN LIFE.
At nineteen, feeling impulses of ambition
to get on in the world, he engaged himself
to go down the Mississippi in a flat boat,
receiving ten dollars a month for his wages,
and afterwards he made the trip once more.
At twenty-one he drove his father’s cattle
as the family migrated to Illinois, and split
rails to fence in the new homestead in the
wild. At twenty-three he was a captain of
volunteers in the Black Hawk war. He
kept a shop ; he learned something of sur
veying ; but of English literature he added
to Bunyan nothing but Shakespeare’s plays.
At twenty-five he was elected to the Legis
lature of Illinois, where he served eight
years. At twenty-seven he was admitted
to the bar. In 1837 he chose his home at
Springfield, the beautiful centre of the
richest land in the State. In 1847 he was
a member of the national Congress, where
he voted about forty times in favour of the
principle of the Jefferson proviso. In 1854
he gave his influence to elect 'from Illinois
to the American Senate a democrat who
would certainly do justice to Kansas. In
1858, as the rival of Douglas, he went be
fore the people of the mighty Prairie State,
saying: “ This Union cannot permanently
endure, half slave and half free ; the Union
will not be dissolved, but the house will
cease to be divided.” And now, in 1861,
with no experience whatever as an exec
utive officer, while States were madly fly
ing from their orbit, and wise men knew
not where to find counsel, this descendant
of Quakers, this pupil of Bunyan, this
child of the great West was elected Presi
dent of America.
He measured the difficulty of the duty
that devolved on him, and was resolved to
fulfil it.
HE GOES TO WASHINGTON.
As on the eleventh of February, 1861, he
left Springfield, which for a quarter of a
century had been his happy home, to the
crowd of his friends and neighbours whom
he was never more to meet, he spoke a
solemn farewell: “ I know not how soon I
shall see you again. A duty has devolved
upon me, greater than that which has de
volved upon any other man since Washing
ton. He never would have succeeded, ex
cept for the aid of Divine Providence, upon
which he at all times relied. On the same
Almighty Being I place my reliance. Pray
that I may receive that Divine assistance,
without which I cannot succeed, but with
which success is certain.” To the men of
Indiana he said : > “ I am but an accidental,
temporary instrument; it is your business
to rise up and preserve the Union and lib
erty.” At the capital of Ohio he said:
“ Without a name, without a reason why I
should have a name, there has fallen upon
me a task such as did not rest even upon
the Father of his country.” At various
places in New York, especially at Albany
before the Legislature, which tendered him
the united support of the great Empire
State, he said: “ While I hold myself the
humblest of all the individuals who have
ever been elevated to the Presidency, I
have a more difficult task to perform than
any of them. I bring a true heart to the
work. I must rely upon the' people of the
whole country for support; and with their
sustaining aid even I, humble as I am, can
not fail to carry the ship of State safely
through the storm.” To the Assembly of
New Jersey, at Trenton, he explained: “ I
shall take the ground I deem .most just to
the North, the East, the West, the South,
and the whole country, in good temper,
certainly with no malice to any section. I
am devoted to peace, but it may. be neces
sary to put the foot down firmly.” In the
old Independence Hall of Philadelphia he
said: “ I have never had a feeling politi
cally that did not spring from the senti
ments embodied in the Declaration of In
dependence, which gave liberty, not alone
to the people of this country, but to the
world in all future time. If the country
cannot be- saved without giving up that
principle, I would rather be assassinated on
the spot than surrender it. I have said
nothing but what I am willing to live and
die by.
IN WHAT STATE HE FOUND THE
.COUNTRY.
Travelling in the dead of night to escape
assassination, Lincoln arrived at Washing
ton nine days before his inauguration. The
outgoing President, at the opening of the
session of Congress had still kept as the
majority of his advisers men engaged in
treason : had declared that in case of even
an “ imaginary ” apprehension of danger
from notions of freedom among the slaves,
“ disunion would become inevitable.” Lin-
�ORATION OF THE HOI . GEORGE BANCROFT.
601
coin and others had questioned the opinion of of th© South, or any decision of the Su
Taney; such impugning he ascribed to the preme Court; and, nevertheless, the seced
“ factious temper of the times.” The fa ing States formed at Montgomery a provi
vorite doctrine of the majority of the sional government, and pursued their re
democratic party on the power of a terri lentless purpose with such success that the
torial legislature over slavery he condemned Lieutenant-General feared the city of
as an attack on “ the sacred rights of pro Washington might find itself “ included in
perty.” The State Legislatures, he insist a foreign country,” and proposed, among
ed, must repeal what he called “their un the options for the consideration of Lincoln,
constitutional and obnoxious enactments,” to bid the seceded States “ depart in peace.”
and which, if such, were “ null and void,” The great republic seemed to have its em
or “ it would be impossible for any human blem in the vast unfinished capitol, at that
power to save the Union ! ” Nay 1 if these moment surrounded by masses of stone and
unimportant acts were not repealed, “ the prostrate columns never yet lifted into
injured States would be justified in revolu their places: seemingly the monument of
tionary resistance to the government of the high but delusive aspirations, the confused
Union.” He maintained that no State wreck of inchoate magnificence, sadder
might secede at its sovereign will and than any ruin of Egyptian Thebes or
pleasure; that the Union was meant for Athens.
perpetuity; and that Congress might at
tempt to preserve, but only by conciliation;
HIS INAUGURATION.
that “the sword was not placed in their
The fourth of March came. With inhands to preserve it by force; ” that “ the stincftve wisdom the new President, speak
last desperate remedy of a despairing peo ing to the people on taking the oath of
ple ” would be “ an explanatory amend office, put aside every question that divided
ment recognizing the decision of the Su the country, and gained a right to univer
preme Court of the United States.” The sal support, by planting himself on the
American Union he called “ a confederacy ” single idea of Union. That Union he de
of States, and he thought it a duty to make clared to be unbroken and perpetual; and
the appeal for amendment “ before any of he announced his determination to fulfil
these States should separate themselves “the simple duty of taking care that the
from the Union.” The views off the Lieu laws be faithfully executed in all the
tenant-General, containing some patriotic States.” Seven days later, the convention
advice, “ conceded the right of secession,” of confederate States unanimously adopted
pronounced a quadruple rupture of the a constitution of their own; and the new
Union “ a smaller evil than the reuniting of government was authoritatively announ
the fragments by the sword,” and “ eschew ced to be founded on the idea that slave
ed the idea of invading a seceded State. ry is the natural and normal condition
After changes in the Cabinet, the Presi of the negro race. The issue was made up
dent informed Congress that “ matters were whether the great republic was to main
still worse; ” that “ the South suffered se tain its providential place in the history of
rious grievances,” which should be redress mankind, or a rebellion founded on negro
ed “ in peace.” The day after this message slavery gain a recognition of its principle'
the flag of the Union was fired upon from throughout the civilized world. To the
Fort Moultrie, and the insult was not disaffected Lincoln had said: “ You have
revenged or noticed. Senators in Congress no conflict without being yourselves the ag
telegraphed to their constituents to seize gressors.” To fire the passions of the South
the national forts, and they were not ar ern portion of the people the confederate
rested. The finances of the country were government chose to become aggressors;
grievously embarrassed. Its little army and on the morning of the 12th of April
was not within reach — the part of it in began the bombardment of Fort Sumter,
Texas,' with all its stores, were made over and compelled its evacuation.
by its commander to the seceding insur
UPRISING OF THE PEOPLE
gents. One State after another voted in
convention to go out of the Union. A
It is the glory of the late President that
peace Congress, so-called, met at the re he had perfect faith in the perpetuity of
quest of Virginia, to concert the terms of the Union. Supported in advance by
capitulation for the continuance of the Douglas, who spoke as with the voice of a
Union. Congress in both branches sought million, he instantly called a meeting of
to devise conciliatory expedients ; the ter Congress, and summoned the people to
ritories of the country were organized in a come up and repossess the forts, places and
manner not to conflict with any pretensions property which had been seized from the
�602
ORATION OF THE HON. GEORGE BANCROFT.
Union. The men of the North were trained
in schools; industrious and frugal; many
of them delicately bred, their minds teem
ing with ideas and fertile in plans of enter
prise ; given to the culture of the arts;
eager in the pursuit of wealth, yet employ
ing wealth less for ostentation than for de
veloping the resources of their country;
seeking happiness in the calm of domestic
life; and such lovers of peace that for gen
erations they have been reputed unwarlike.
Now, at the cry of their country in its dis
tress, they rose up with unappeasable patri
otism : not hirelings'— the purest and of the
best blood in the land; sons of a pious
ancestry, with a clear perception of duty,
unclouded faith and fixed resojve to succeed,
they thronged round the President to sup
port the wronged, the beautiful flag of the
nation. The halls of theological semi
naries sent forth their young men, whose
lips were touched with eloquence, whose
hearts kindled with devotion to serve in the
ranks, and make their way to command
only as they learned the art of war. Strip
lings in the colleges, as well as the most
gentle and the most studious; those of
sweetest temper and loveliest character and
brightest genius passed from their classes to
the camp. The lumbermen sprang forward
from the forest, the mechanics from their
benches, where they had been trained by
the exercise of political rights to share
the Hfe and hope of the Republic, to feel
their responsibility to their forefathers,
their posterity and mankind, went forth re
solved that their dignity as a constituent
part of this republic should not be impaired.
Farmers and sons of farmers left the land
but half ploughed, the grain but half plant
ed, and, taking up the musket, learned to
face without fear the presence of peril- and
the coming of death in the shocks of war,
while their hearts were still attracted to the
charms of their rural life, and all the tender
affections of home. Whatever there was of
truth and faith and public love in the com
mon heart broke out with one expression.
The mighty winds blew from every quarter
to fan the flame of the sacred and unquench
able fire.
in an eminent degree attained to freedom
of industry and the security of person and
property. Its middle class rose to greatness.
Out of that class sprung the noblest poets
and philosophers, whose words built up the
intellect of its people; skilful navigators,
to find out the many paths of the ocean;
discoverers in natural science, whose inven
tions guided its industry to wealth, till it
equalled any nation of the world in letters,
and excelled all in trade and commerce.
But its government was become a govern
ment of land, and not of men; every blade
of grass was represented, but only a small
minority of the people. In the transition
from the feudal forms, the heads of the so
cial organization freed themselves from the
military services which were the conditions
of their tenure, and throwing the burden on
the industrial classes, kept all the soil to
themselves. Vast estates that had been
managed by monasteries as endowments for
religion and charity were impropriated to
swell the wealth of courtiers and favorites;
and the commons, where the poor man once
had his right of pasture, were taken away,
and, under forms of law, enclosed distributively within their own domains. Although
no law forbade any inhabitant from pur
chasing land, the costliness of the transfer
constituted a prohibition; so that it was the
rule of that country that the plough should
not be in the hands of its owner. The
church was rested on a contradiction,
claiming to be an embodiment of absolute
truth, and yet was a creature of the statute
book.
HER SENTIMENTS.
The progress of time increased the terri
ble contrast between wealth and poverty;
in their years of strength, the laboring peo
ple, cut off from all share in governing the
State, derived a scanty support from the
severest toil, and had no hope for old age
but in public charity or death. A grasping
ambition had dotted the world with military
posts, kept watch over our borders on the
northeast, at the Bermudas, in the West
Indies, held the gates of the Pacific, of the
Southern and of the Indian Ocean, hover
ed on our northwest at Vancouver, held the
THE WAR A WORLD-WIDE WAR.
whole of the newest continent, and the en
For a time the war was thought to be trances to the old Mediterranean and Red
confined to our own domestic affairs; but Sea ; and garrisoned forts all the way from
it was soon seen that it involved the desti Madras to China.
That aristocracy had
nies of mankind, and its principles and gazed with terror on the growth of a com
causes shook the politics of Europe to the monwealth where freeholds existed by the
centre, and from Lisbon to Pekin, divided million, and religion was not in bondage to
the governments of the world.
the state ; and now they could not repress
GREAT BRITAIN.
their joy at its perils. They had not one
There was a kingdom whose people had I word of sympathy for the kind-hearted
�ORATION OF THE HON
poor man’s son whom America had chosen
for her chief; they jeered at his large hands,
and long feet, and ungainly stature; and
the British' secretary of state for foreign af
fairs made haste to send word through the
palaces of Europe that the great republic
was in its agony,, that the republic was no
more, that a head stone was all that remain
ed due by the law of nations to “ the late
Union.” But it is written: “ Let the dead
bury their dead ; ” they may not bury the
living. Let the dead bury their dead; let
a bill of reform remove the worn-out gov
ernment of a class, and infuse new life into
the British constitution by confiding right
fill power to the people.
HER POLICY.
GEORGE BANCROFT.
603
land. Thrice only in all its history has that
yearning been fairly met; in the days of
Hampden and Cromwell, again in the first
ministry of the elder Pitt, and once again in
the ministry of Shelburne. Not that there
have not at all times been just men among
the peers of Britain — like Halifax in the
days of James the Second, or a Granville, an
Argyll, or a Hdughton in ours ; and we can
not be indifferent to a country that produces
statesmen like Cobden and' Bright; but the
best bower anchor of peace was the working
class of England, who suffered most from
our civil war, but who, while they broke
their diminished bread in sorrow, always en
couraged us to persevere.
FRANCE AND THE MONROE DOCTRINE. ■
*
The act of recognizing the rebel belliger
But while the vitality of America is inde
structible, the British government hurried ents wagLconcerted with France ; France, so
to do what never before had been done by beloved in America, on which she had con
Christian powers, what was in direct con ferred th® greatest benefits that one people
flict with its own exposition of public law in ever conferred on another^ France, which
the time of our struggle for. independence. stands foremost on the continent of Europe
Though the insurgent States had not a ship for the solidity of her culture, as well as for
in an open harbor, it invested them with the bravery and ■ generous impulses of her
all the rights of a belligerent, even on the sons ; France, which for centuries had been
ocean; and this, too, when the rebellion moving steadily in its own way towards in
was not only directed against the gentlest tellectual and policial freewom. The poli
and most beneficent government on earth, cy regarding further^ponization of Ameri
without a shadow of justifiable cause, but ca by European power®!, known commonly
when the rebellion was directed against Ma as the doctrine of Mowoe, had its origin in
man nature itself for the perpetual enslave France; and if it takes any man’s name,
ment of a race. And the effect of this re should bear the name of Turgot. It was
cognition was that acts in themselves pirati adopted by Louis the Sixteenth, in the cabi
cal found shelter in British courts of law. net of which Vergennes was the most imThe resources of British capitalist^ their portant member. It is emphatically the poliworkshops, their armories, their private ar cy of France^ to which, with transient de
senals, their shipyards, were in league with viations, the Bourbons, the First Napoleon,
the insurgents, and every British harbor in the House of Orleans have ever adhered.
the wide world became a safe port for British
ships, manned by British sailors, and arrngfl THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON AND MEXICO.
The late President was perpetually har
with British guns, to prey on our peaceful
commerce ; even on our ships coming from assed by rumors that the Emperor Napoleon
British ports, freighted with British pro the Third desired formally to recognize the
ducts, or that had carried gifts of grain to States in rebellion as an independent power,
the English poor. The prime minister in and that England held him back by her re
the House of Commons, sustained by cheers, luctance, or France by her traditions of
scoffed at the thought that their laws could freedom, or he himself by his own better
be amended at our request, so as to pre judgment and clear perception of events.
serve real neutrality; and to remonstrances But the republic of Mexico, on our borders,
now owned to have been just, their secreta was, like ourselves, distracted by a rebellion,
ry answered that they could not change and from a similar cause. The monarchy
of England . had fastened upon us slavery
their laws ad-infinitum.
which did not disappear with independence;
RELATIONS WITH ENGLAND.
in like manner, the ecclesiastical policy es
The people of America then wished, as tablished by the Spanish council of the In
they always have wished, as they still wish, dies, in the days of Charles the Fifth and
friendly relations with England; and no Philip the Second, retained its vigor in the
man in Europe or America can desire it Mexican Republic. The fifty years of civil
' more strongly than I. This country has al war under which she had languished was
ways yearned for good relations with Eng- I due to the bigoted system which was the
�604
ORATION OF THE HOnJ GEORGE BANCROFT. '
legacy of monarchy, just as here the inheri
tance of slavery kept alive political strife,
and culminated in civil war. As with us
there could be no quiet but through the end
of slavery, so in Mexico there could be no
prosperity until the crushing tyranny of in
tolerance should cease. The party of slav
ery in the United States sent their emissa
ries to Europe to solicit aid; and so did the
party of the church in Mexico, as organized
by the old Spanish council of the Indies,
but with a different result. Just as the re
publican party had made an end of the re
bellion, and was establishing the best gov
ernment ever known in that region, and giv
ing promise to the nation of order, peace,
and prosperity, word was brought us, in the
moment of our deepest affliction, that the
*
French emperor, moved by a desire to erect
in North America a buttress for Imperial
ism, would transform the republic of Mexico
into a secundo-geniture for the house of
Hapsburgh. America might complain ; she
>could not then interpose, and delay seemed
justifiable. It was seen that Mexico could
not, with all its wealth of land, compete in
cereal products with' our northwest, nor, in
tropical products, with Cuba; nor could it,
under a disputed dynasty, attract capital, or
create public works, or develop mines, or
borrow money; so that the imperial system
of Mexico, which was forced at once to rec
ognize the wisdom of the policy of the repub
lic by adopting it, could prove only an un
remunerating drain on the French treasury
for the support of an Austrian adventurer.
THE PERPETUITY OF REPUBLICAN INSTI
TUTIONS.
Meantime, a new series of momentous
questions grows up, and forces themselves
on the consideration of the thoughtful. Re
publicanism has learned how to introduce
into its constitution every element of order,
as well as every element of freedom; but
thus far the continuity of its government has
seemed to depend on the continuity of elec
tions. It is now tobe considered how per
petuity is to be secured against foreign oc
cupation. The successor of Charles the
First of England dated his reign from the
death of his father; the Bourbons, coming
back after a long series of revolutions,
claimed that the Louis who became king was
the eighteenth of that name. The present
emperor of the French, disdaining a title
from election alone, is called the third of his
name. Shall a republic have less power of
continuance when invading armies prevent
a peaceful resort to the ballot box ? What
force shall it attach to intervening legisla
tion ? What validity to debts contracted
for its overthrow ? These momentous
questions are by the invasion of Mexico
thrown up for solution. A free State once
truly constituted should be as undying as its
people; the republic of Mexico must rise
again.
THE POPE OF ROME AND THE REBELLION.
It was the condition of affairs in Mexico
that involved the Pope of Rome in our dif
ficulties so far that he alone among temporal
sovereigns recognized the chief of the Con
federate States as a president, and his sup
porters as a people; and in letters to two
great prelates of the Catholic Church in the
United States gave counsels for peace at a
time when peace meant the victory of se
cession. Yet events move as they are or
dered. The blessing of the Pope at Rome
on the head of Duke Maximilian could not
revive in the nineteenth century the eccle
siastical policy of the sixteenth; and the re
sult is only a new proof that there can be no
prosperity in the State without religious
freedom.
THE PEOPLE OF AMERICA.
When it came home to the consciousness
of the Americans that the war which they
were waging was a war for the liberty of all
the nations of the world, for freedom itself,
they thanked God for the severity of the
trial to which he put their sincerity, and
nerved themselves for their duty with an
inexorable will. The President was led
along by the greatness of their self-sacrifi
cing example; and as a child, in a dark
night on a rugged way, catches hold of the
hand of its father for guidance and support,
he clung fast to the hand of the people, and
moved Calmly through the gloom. While
the statesmanship of Europe was scoffing
at the hopeless vanity of their efforts, they
put forth such miracles of energy as the
history of the world had never known.
The navy of the United States drawing into
the public service the willing militia of the
seas, doubled its tonnage in eight months,
and established an actual blockade from
Cape Hatteras to the Rio Grande. In the
course of the war it was increased five fold
in men and in tonnage, while the inventive
genius of the country devised more effec
tive kinds of ordnance, and new forms of
naval architecture in wood and iron. There
went into the field, for various terms of
service, about two million men; and in
March last the men in service exceeded a
million; that is to say, one of every two
able-bodied men took some part in the war;
and at one time every fourth able-bodied
I man was in the field. In one single month.
�ORATION OF THE HO-N.
GEORGE BANCROFT.1
605
one hundred and sixty-five thousand were Mississippi, which would not be divided,
recruited into service. Once, within four and the range of mountains which car
weeks, Ohio organized and placed in the ried the stronghold of the free through
field, forty-two regiments of infantry — Western Virginia and Kentucky and Ten
nearly thirty-six thouand men; and Ohio nessee to the highlands of Alabama. But
was like other States in the east and in the it invoked the still higher power of immor
west. The well-mounted cavalry numbered tal justice. In ancient Greece, where ser
eighty-four thousand ; of horses there were vitude was the universal custom, it was
bought, first and last, two thirds of a mil held that if a child were to strike its parent,
lion. In the movements of troops science the slave should defend the parent, and by
came in aid of patriotism ; so that, to choose that act recover his freedom. After vain
a single instance out of many, an army resistance, Lincoln, who had tried to solve
twenty-three thousand strong, with its ar the question by gradual emancipation, by
tillery, trains, baggage and animals, were colonization, and by compensation, at last
moved by rail from the Potomac to the Ten saw that slavery must be abolished, or the
nessee, twelve hundred miles in seven days. Republic must die; and on the 1st day of
In the long marches, wonders of military January, 1863, he wrote liberty on the ban
construction bridged the rivers; and where- ners of the armies. When this proclamaever an army halted, ample supplies await tion, which struck the fetters from three
ed them at their ever changing base. The millions of slaves reached Europe, Lord
vile thought that life is the greatest of Russell, a countryman of Milton and Wil
blessings did not rise up. In six hundred berforce, eagerly put himself forward to
and twenty-five battles, and severe skir speak of it in
name of mankind, saying:
mishes blood flowed like water. It streamed “ It is of a very strange nature ; ” “a meas
over the grassy plains ; it stained the rocks; ure of war of a very questionable kind; ”
the undergrowth of the forest was red an “ act of vengeance on the slave owner,”
with it; and the armies marched on with that does no more thanEErofess to emanci
majestic courage from one conflict to anoth pate slaves where the United States authorer, knowing that they were fighting for God ities cannot make emancipation a reality.”
and liberty. The organization of the medi Now there was no pa™ of the country emcal department met its infinitely multiplied braced in the proclamation where the United
duties with exactness and despatch. At the States could not and did hot make emanci. news of a battle, the best surgeons of our jfflffipn a reality. Those who saw Lincoln
cities hastened to the field, to offer the most frequently had nev^fibefore heard
zealous aid of the greatest experience and him speak with bitterness of any human
skill. The gentlest and most refined of being ; but he did not conceal how keenly
women left homes of luxury and, ease to he felt that he had been wronged by Lord
build hospital tents near the armies, and Russell. And he wrote, in reply to another
serve as nurses to the sick and dying. Be caviller: “ The emancipation policy, and
sides the large supply of religious teachers the use of colored troops/gvere the greatest
by the public, the congregations spared to blows yet dealt to the rebellion. The job was
their brothers in the field the ablest minis a great national one ; and let none be slight
ters.
The Christian Commission, which ed who bore an honorable part in it. I hope
expended five and a half millions, sent four peace will come soon, and come to stay;
thousand clergymen chosen out of the best, then there will be some black men who can
to keep un soiled the religious character of remember that they have helped mankind
the men, and made gifts of clothes and food to this great consummation.”
and medicine. The organization of private
RUSSIA AND CHINA.
charity assumed unheard of dimensions.
■The Sanitary Commission, which had seven
The proclamation accomplished its end,
thousand societies, distributed, under the for, during the war, our armies came into
direction of an unpaid board, spontaneous military possession of every State in rebel
contributions to the amount of fifteen mil lion. Then, too, was called forth the
lions, in supplies or money — a million and new power that comes from the simultane
a half in money from California alone — ous diffusion of thought and feeling among
and dotted the scene of war from Paducah the nations of mankind. The mysterious
to Port Royal, from Belle Plain, Virginia, sympathy of the millions throughout the •
to Browsnville, Texas, with homes and world was given spontaneously. The best
lodges.
writers of Europe waked the conscience
of the thoughtful, till the intelligent moral
THE EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATION.
sentiment of the Old World was drawn
pi The country had for its allies "the River to the side of the unlettered statesman
�606
ORATION OF THE HONF GEORGE BANCROFT.
of the West. Russia, whose emperor had
just accomplished one of the grandest acts
in the course of time by raising twenty mil
lions of bondmen into' freeholders, and thus
assuring the growth and culture of a Rus
sian people, remained our unwavering
friend. From the oldest abode of civiliza
tion, which gave the first example of an im
perial government with equality among the
people, Prince Kung, the secretary of state
for foreign affairs, remembered the saying
of Confucius, that we should not do to
others what we would not that others should
do to us, and in the name of the Emperor
of China closed its ports against the war
ships and privateers of “ the seditious.”
CONTINUANCE OF THE WAR.
The war continued, with all the peoples
of the world for anxious spectators. Its
cares weighed heavily on Lincoln, and his
face was ploughed with the furrows of
thought and sadness. With malice towards
none, free from the spirit of revenge, victo
ry made him importunate for peace; and
his enemies never doubted his word, or
despaired of his abounding clemency. He
longed to utter pardon as the word for all,
but not unless the freedom of the negro
should be assured. The grand battles of
Mill Spring which gave us Nashville, of
Fort Donelson, Malvern Hill, Antietam,
Gettysburg, the Wilderness of Virginia,
Winchester, Nashville, the capture of New
Orleans, Vicksburg, Mobile, Fort Fisher,
the march from Atlanta and the capture of
Savannah and Charleston, all foretold the
issue. Still more, the self-regeneration of
Missouri, the heart of the continent; of Ma
ryland, whose sons never heard the mid
night bell chime so. sweetly as when they
rang out to earth and heaven that, by the
voice of her own people, she took her place
among the free ; of Tennessee, which passed
through fire and blood, through sorrows and
the shadow of death, to work out her own
deliverance, and by the faithfulness of her
own sons to renew her youth like the eagle
— proved that victory was deserved and
would be worth all that it cost. If words
of mercy uttered as they were by Lincoln
on the waters of Virginia, were defiantly
repelled, the armies of the country, moving
with one will, went as the arrow to its
mark, and without a. feeling of revenge
struck a deathblow at rebellion.
ing him to a second term of service. The
raging war that had divided the country
had lulled; and private grief was hushed
by the grandeur of its results. The nation
had its new birth of freedom, soon to be
secured forever by an amendment of the
Constitution. His persistent gentleness had
conquered for him a kindlier feeling on the
part of the South. His scoffers among the
grandees of Europe began to do him honor.
The laboring classes every where saw in his
advancement their own. All peoples sent
him their benedictions. And at the mo
ment of the height of his fame, to which his
humility and modesty added charms, he fell
by the hand of the assassin; and the only
triumph awarded him was tb,e march to the
grave.
THE GREATNESS OF MAN.
This is no time to say that human glory
is but dust and ashes, that we mortals are
no more than shadows in pursuit of shadows.
How mean a thing were man, if there were
not that within him which is higher than
himself—if he could not master the illu
sions of sense, and discern the connections
of events by a superior light which comes
from God. He so shares the divine impul
ses that he has power to subject interested
passions to love of country, and personal
ambition to the ennoblement of man. Not
in vain has Lincoln lived, for he has helped
to make this Republic an exatnple of jus
tice, with no caste but the caste of humani
ty. The heroes who led our armies and
ships into battle — Lyon, McPherson, Rey
nolds, Sedgwick, Wadsworth, Foote, Ward,
with their compeers — and fell in the ser
vice, did not die in vain ; they and the my
riads of nameless martyrs, and he, the chief
martyr, died willingly “ that government of
the people, by the people, and for the peo
ple, shall not perish from the earth.”
THE JUST DIED FOR THE UNJUST.
The assassination of Lincoln, who was so
free from malice, has from some mysterious
influence struck the country with solemn
awe, and hushed, instead of exciting, the
passion for revenge. It seemed as if the
just had died for the unjust. When I think
of the friends I have lost in this war — and
every one who hears me has, like myself,
lost those whom he most loved — there is
no consolation to be derivedftom victims on
the scaffold, or from any thing but the es
tablished union of the regenerated nation.
Lincoln’s assassination.
„ CHARACTER OF LINCOLN.
I
Where, in the history of nations, had a
Chief Magistrate possessed more sources of
In his character Lincoln was through and
consolation and joy, than Lincoln? His through an American. He is the first nacountrymen had shown their love by choos I tive of the region west of the Alleghanies to
�ORATION OF THE HON . GEORGE BANCROFT.
i
607
attain to the highest station; and how hap
Lincoln was one of the most unassuming
py it is- that the man who was brought for of men. In time of success, he gave credit
ward as the natural outgrowth and first for it to those whom he employed, to the
fruits of that region should have been of un people, and to the providence of God. He
blemished purity in private life, a good son, did not know what ostentation is; when he
a kind husband, a most affectionate father, became President he was rather saddened
and, as a man, so gentle to all. As to in than elated, and his conduct and manners
tegrity, Douglas, his rival, said of him, “ Lin showed more than ever his belief that all
coln is the honestest man I ever knew.”
men are born equal. He was no respecter
The habits of his mind were those of of persons ; and neither rank, nor reputa
meditation and inward thought, rather than tion, nor services overawed him. In judg
of action. He excelled in logical statement, ing of character he failed in discrimination,
more than in executive ability. He rea and his appointments were sometimes bad;
soned clearly, his reflective judgment was but he readily deferred to public opinion,
good, and his purposes were, fixed; but and in appointing tne head of the armies he
like the Hamlet of his only poet,, his will followed the manifest preference of Conwas tardy in action, and for this reason, and gressBu
A good President will secure unity to his
not from humility or tenderness of feeling,
he sometimes deplored that the duty which administration by his own supervision of
devolved on him had not fallen to the lot of the various departments. Lincoln, who acnever governed
another. He was skilful in analysis, dis cepted advice ^adily
cerned with precision the central idea, on by any member of his Caftnet, and could
which a question turned, and knew how to not be moved from a purpose deliberately
disengage it and present it by itself in a few formed; but his supervision of affairs was
homely, strong old English words that would unsteady and incomplete |Jand sometimes,
be intelligible to all. He delighted to ex by a sudden interference transcoding the
press his opinions by apothegm, illustrate usual forms, he rather confused than adthem by a parable, or drive them home by a vanced the public business. If he ever
story.
failed in the scrupulous regard due to the
Lincoln gained a name by discussing relative rights of Congress, it was so evi
questions which, of all others, most easily dently without design that no conflict
led to fanaticism; but he was never carried could ensue, or evil precefent be estabaway by enthusiastic zeal, never indulged lished. Truth he would receive from any
in extravagant language, never hurried to one ; but, when impressed by others, he did
support extreme measures, never allowed not use their opinions till by reflection he
himself to be controlled by sudden impulses. had made them thoroughly his own.
During the progress of the election at which
It was the nature of Lincoln to forgive.
he was chosen President, he expressed no When hostilities ceased w he who had al
opinion that, went beyond the Jefferson ways sent forth the flag with every one of its
proviso of 1784. Like Jefferson and Lafa stars in the field, was eager to receive back
yette, he had faith in the intuitions of the his returning count^men, and meditated
people, and read those intuitions with rare some new announcement to the South.”
sagacity. He knew how to bide his time, The amendment of the Constitution abolish
and was less apt to be in advance of public ing slavery had his most earnest and un
opinion than to lag behind. He never wearied support. During the rage of war
sought to electrify the public by taking we get a glimpse into his soul from his
an advanced position with a banner of privately suggesting to Louisiana that “ in
opinion; but rather studied to move for defining the franchise some of the colored
ward compactly, exposing no detachment people might be let in,” saying: “ They
in front or rear; so that the course of his would probably help, in some trying time
administration might have been explained to come, to keep the jewel of liberty in the
as the calculating policy of a shrewd and family of freedom.” In 1857 he avowed
watchful politician, had there not been seen himself “ not in favor of ” what he improp
behind it a fixedness of principle which erly called .“ negro citizenship: ” for the
from the first determined his purpose and Constitution discriminates between citizens
grew more intense with every year, consum and electors. Three days before his death
ing his life by,its energy. Yet his sensibili- he declared his preference that “ the elect
ties were not acute, he had no vividness of ive franchise were now conferred on the
imagination to picture to his mind the hor very intelligent of the colored men and on
rors of the battle-field or the sufferings in those of them who served our cause as
hospitals ; his conscience was more tender soldiers;” but he wished it done by the
than his feelings.
States themselves, and he never harbored
�608
ORATION OF THE HON. GEORGE BANCROFT.
the thought of ^exacting it from a new government as a condition of its recognition.
The last day of his life beamed with sun
shine, as he sent by the - speaker of this
House his friendly greetings to the men
of the Rocky Mountains and the Pa
cific slope; as he contemplated the return
of hundreds of thousands of soldiers to fruit
ful industry; as he welcomed in advance
hundreds of thousands of emigrants from
Europe; as his eye kindled with enthusi
asm at the coming wealth of the nation.
And'so, with these thoughts for his country,
he was removed from the toils and temp
tations of this life and was at peace.
PALMERSTON AND LINCOLN.
Hardly had the late President been con
signed to the grave, when the Prime Minis
ter of England died, full of years and hon
ours. Palmerston traced his lineage to the
time of the conqueror: Lincoln went back
only to his grandfather. Palmerston re
ceived his education from the best scholars
of Harrow, Edinburgh, and Cambridge;
Lincoln’s early teachers were the silent
forest, the prairie, the river, and the stars.
Palmerston was in public life for sixty
years ; Lincoln for but a tenth of that time.
Palmerston was a skilful guide of an estab
lished aristocracy; Lincoln a leader or rather
a companion of the people. Palmerston
was exclusively an Englishman, and made
his boast in the House of Commons that the
interest of England was his Shibboleth;
Lincoln thought always of mankind as well
as his own country, and served human na
ture itself. Palmerston from his narrowness
as an Englishman did not endear his coun
try to any one court or to any one people,
but rather caused uneasiness and dislike;
Lincoln left America more beloved than
ever by all the peoples of Europe. Palm
erston was self-possessed and adroit in
reconciling the conflicting claims of the fac
tions of the aristocracy; Lincoln, frank and
ingenuous, knew how to poise himself on the
conflicting opinions of the people. Palm
erston was capable of insolence towards the
weak, quick to the sense of honour, not
heedful of right; Lincoln rejected counsel
given only as a matter of policy, and was
not capable of being wilfully unjust. Palm
erston, essentially superficial, delighted in
banter, and knew how to divert grave op
position, by playful levity. Lincoln was a
man of infinite jest on his lips, with saddest
earnestness at his heart. Palmerston was a
fair representative of the aristocratic lib
erality of the day, choosing for his tribunal,
not the conscience of humanity, but the
House of Commons ; Lincoln took to heart
I the eternal truths of liberty, obeyed them
as the commands of Providence, and accept
*
ed the human race as the judge of his fidel
ity. Palmerston did nothing that will en
dure ; his great achievement, the separation
of Belgium, placed that little kingdom
where it must gravitate to France; Lincoln
finished a work which all time cannot over
throw. Palmerston is a shining example of
the ablest of a cultivated aristocracy; Lin
coln shows the genuine fruits of institutions
where the laboring man shares and assists to
form the great ideas and designs of his
country. Palmerston was buried in West
minster Abbey by the order of his Queen,
and was followed by the British aristocracy
to his grave, which after a few years will
hardly be noticed by the side of the graves
of Fox and Chatham; Lincoln was followed
by the sorrow of his country across the con
tinent to his resting-place in the heart of
the Mississippi valley, to be remembered
through all time by his countrymen, and by
all the peoples of the world.
CONCLUSION.
As the sum of all, the hand of Lincoln
raised the flag; the American people was
the hero of the war; and therefore the re
sult is a new era of republicanism. The dis
turbances in the country grew not out of any
thing republican, but out of slavery, which is
a part of the system of hereditary wrong,
and the expulsion of this domestic anomaly
opens to the renovated nation a career of
unthought of dignity and glory. Hence
forth our country has a moral unity as the
land of free labour. The party for slavery
and the party against slavery are no more,
and are merged in the party of Union and
freedom. The States which would have Ieff“*
us are not brought back as conquered States,
for then we should hold them only so long
as that conquest could be maintained ; they
come to their rightful place under the Consti
tution as original, necessary and inseparable
members of the State. We build monu
ments to the dead, but no monuments of
victory. We respect the example of the
Romans, who never, even in conquered
lands, raised emblems of triumph. And
our generals are not to be classed in the
herd of vulgar conquerors, but are of the
school of Timoleon and William of Orange'
and Washington. They have used the
sword only to give peace to their country
and restore her to her place in the great
assembly of the nations. Our meeting
closes in hope, now that a people begins to
live according to the laws of reason., and re
publicanism is intrenched in a continent.
�
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Victorian Blogging
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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America, France and England
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Conway, Moncure Daniel, 1832-1907 [1832-1907]
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: [Boston, Mass.]
Collation: [545]-608 p. ; 23 cm.
Notes: From Littell's Living Age, vol. XXX11, third series, no. 1134, (24 February 1866): re-published from Fortnightly Review 3: 442-459 (January 1 1866). From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Printed in double columns. Includes comment and letters on the Alabama debate in the House of Commons.
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[T.H. Carter & Co.]
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1866
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G5438
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International relations
France
England
USA
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<p class="western"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /><br />This work (America, France and England), identified by <span style="color:#0000ff;"><span lang="zxx"><u>Humanist Library and Archives</u></span></span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</p>
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English
Conway Tracts
Foreign Relations
France
Great Britain
United States-Foreign Relations
United States-Politics and Government
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Text
NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
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♦
A Victim to Fanaticism.
To WHICH IS ADDXD,
A LETTER from M. CALAS
T O H I S
WIFE and CHILDREN;
Written by M. DE VOLTAIRE.
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LONDON,
Printed by T.Sherlock, near Southampton-Street, Strand.
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Their Graces the Dvk.es of
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Proétor
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«¡■•William Meredith
f.Ir Jofeph Yorke
S>r Fraficis Molineux
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«■n Henry Bridgeman
Hon George Onflow I
Hon. John Buller
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Mr George PittMr. Thomas Pitt
Mr. CreT-CUrOOKe *■ ’ William Pulteney I
Mr Crew6 C°lebrooke £
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Hon. Frederick'Vane
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Mr.. Wedderburne
Mr. Foley
™ George Yonge
Meffi Charles and
Mr’^rCThÍbald
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Gen. Gra’me
Sir John Griffin
Mr. Buffier
Mr. Grofvenor
Mr. Boflanquet
Gen. Howard
Mr. Townftall
Gen. Smith
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���misfortunes
OF
FAM I LY
•
’
aaO
THE
of
C AL AS.
fo SE f’*
OHN GALAS was a reputable
merchant at Toulouze, where he
had been fettled for the fpace of
forty years. His honed: principles in
dealing, the • fweetnefs of his temper,
and the regularity of his morals, had
acquired him the eileem of the greateft
and bed: part of his countrymen. He
had married a lady allied to the bed:
nobility of the province of Languedoc;
but who was lefs diftinguifhed by
her high birth, than for her exemplary
B
virtue,
/
�-
,
[
a
j
virtue, and the qualifications of her
heart. The only objection that could
be made to their chara&er was their
being both Proteftants; and it was a
crime, and a capital one, to follow the
principles of their fathers. „
But if Calas, in the opinion of the
Roman-Catholics, was criminal in following a religion different from theirs,
they knew very well, that, far from
being an enemy to their profeffion, he
had in his houfe a fervant-maid, a
Roman-Catholic of extraordinary piety,
who had ferved in the family no lefs
than thirty years; that fhe received
the holy communion every week; and
that flie had been a nurfe and gover—
nefs to the children, who were all
Proteftants.
? The number of Calas’s children was
fix; viz. four ions, Marc-An tony, JohnPeter, Lewis, and Lewis-Donat; with
two daughters, Anna-Rofe, and Anna.
Marc-Antony, the eldeft of the ions,
was the only one who did'not profit
by an excellent education, which this
virtuous
�[ 3 ]
virtuous and belt of fathers had en
deavoured to bellow on all his children.
He poffeffed a great degree of underftanding; but his fondnefs for diffipation prevented his making that ufe of
it for which Providence deiigns fo in
valuable a bleffing. His being under
the tuition of a father grew every day
more irkfome to him; he fighed for
independency, but his want of fortune
prevented his attaining it. The billiardtable, fencing, tennis-court, and other
faihionable amufements, engroffed his
whole attention, Thus without for
tune, deftitute of refource, obliged to
curb his inclinations, fo humiliating
was his fituation, that life grew burdenfome to him. Reilraint at length
became fo intolerable, and danger fo
indifferent, that, about a month before
his death, he faid to a friend, whofe
name was Chalie, that he was re
folved to go to Geneva, in order to be
under a miniiler, and would return to
preach among the Proteftants in France.
46 My dear Sir, faid his friend, that
B 2
trade
�[ 4 ]
trade is very bad which brings us
“ to the gallows
“ Well then, re“ plied he, I have thought on another
fcheme, that I Will put in execution.”
From this time he became thought
ful, melancholy, feldom read any
other authors than Seneca, Montagne,
Shakefpeai, &c. and would often, in
a very expreffive manner, repeat thofe
words, “ To die; to die, to ileep
and then return to be the prey of
gloomy thoughts, and appear as if oppreffed with ihe heavieil misfortunes.
On the thirteenth of Odlober, 1761,
he executed his dreadful deiign ; on
the very fame day he had invited to
fupper one of his intimate friends,
whofe name was Lavayfe. As this
young gentleman is involved in the
prefent affair, it is indifpenfably neceffary to make him known.
He is fon to one of the moil cele
brated lawyers of Toulouze, who de* In Prance, a Proteilant minifter is hanged,
when convidted of having preached to a congre
gation.
0
fervedly
�[ 5 1
fervedly bears an excellent character.
7 Nature has been pleafcd to bellow on
this youth the bell qualifications ; and
has added to a good difpofition the molt
noble appearance, though he is but
nineteen years old.
In order to explain, in few words,
by what fatality he became entangled
in the misfortunes of Calas, the teadei
mull be informed, that his father,
who had fettled him with one of the
molt reputable merchants of Bourdeaux,
had juft fent for him home ; and that,
on his arrival at Toulouze, he heard
his father was at his country-houfe at
Caraman. In his way, he paid a vilit
to Marc-Antony, who invited him to
ftay to fupper; and John Calas, the
father, did every thing in his power
to induce him to do fo. It was but
five o’clock; the young Lavayfe promifed to return ; and then went to hire
a horfe, in order to proceed on his
- journey to his father’s the next morn
ing. About feven o’clock he came
again, and was introduced into Madame
Calas s
�[
6
J
Galas’s apartment. She was there, with
her huiband and her ion Alarc—Antony.
This unhappy ion faw his friend enter,
without even rifmg from the elbowchair in which he fat, or fpeaking a
word ; having his hand upon his fore
head, looking very wild, and feeming
abforbed in thought. But as for fome
time he had been very melancholy, his
relations did not take notice of his pre—
fent dullnefs; and in a few minutes
they all went into another room, where
fupper was ferved up.
Calas the father, his lady, the two
brothers, Marc-Antony and Peter, with
the young Lavayfe, compofed the com
pany ; Lavayfe being the only ftranger
among them. Marc-Antony eat very
little, rofe from the table before any
other perfon, and left the room. He
went into the kitchen: “ Are you cold,
“ Mr. Calas, faid the cook to him ?”
“ On the contrary, laid he, I am on
“ fireand direftly went away.
The fupper over, Mr. and Mrs. Calas,
their fon Peter, with the young Lavayfe,
went
c i
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j
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i
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7
1
went again into Mrs. Calas’s apartment,
without - taking any notice of MarcAntony’s abfence; fuppofing he was, ac
cording to cuftom, gone to feme billiardtable. Without apprehending any dan
ger, they began a converfation, which
lafted till young Lavayfe defired leave to
retire ; when Peter Calas attended him
down flairs, with a light. But going
through the pafiage which led to the
ilreet-door, they obferved the fhop-door
to be open; and going in to fee the
caufe, what conilernation I what a
dreadful fight!' they faw the body of
Marc-Antony hanging up, between the
two openings of the door which com- ,
municated from the ihop to the warehoufe.
Seized with horror, their piercing
cries frighten the father Calas, who
haftily comes to them. What does he
behold ? It is out of human power to
defcribe the fituation in which he
finds himfelf! He cannot but lament
with them, and join their mournful
concert.
�[
8
J
concert. His wife, who hears him
*
comes down; wants to follow him ;
Lavayfe flies to prevent her, and in
treats her to return up flairs; hoping
to conceal from her fo terrible a fcene.
While he is bufied to hinder her en
trance, the father, and the brother
Peter, take down the corpfe, and lay it
on the floor. Hope infpires Lavayfe
to feek a furgeon, and Peter to do the
fame. They bring him. In the mean
while, the mother being free, trem
bling feeks the caufe of fuch diilrefs.
What a fource of forrow to a mother ’
She fees her fon breathlefs upon the
floor! Her fwclling grief muil Purely
buril her heart, without relief from
tears ! She throws herfelf upon her fon,
and with thcfe friendly tears fhe bathes
his lifelefs body. She takes him up,
and endeavours to, renew his life, but
in vain. In vain would fhe doubt of
her misfortune ; the furgeon with great
care examines the corpfe; finds it cold,
and judges that Marc-An tony has been
dead two hours.
*
The
�[
9
ì
'
The cries of this diftrefled family foon
reached beyond their walls ; and the pd^
pulace, hearing Marc-Antony had died
fuddenlv, gathered round the houfe,
but without knowing the fatal caufe
of his catailrophe;
When the relations df this unhappy
youth recovered the powers of recol
lection; and reflected on this event;
they refolved, that, in order to preferve this unfortunate fuicide froin an
ignominious fentence * they ihoiild
,
not publiih. the manner of his death,
but keep it a profound fecret ; and
therefore, when the father Calas requelled young Lavayfe to wait On the
juilices for leave to bury the body of
his fon, “ I beg; faid he to that young
“ man, you will take particular care,
“ for the honour of our unhappy fa“ mily; not to let any perfon know
u my fon deflroyed himfelff’
* In France, the corpfe of a perfon who defiroys himfelf is condemned to be drawil on a
fledge; which puniihment reflects as much on
the family, as on the memory of the dead.
c
The
�r
io
The capitouls
David and Brieve^
came to the place, and were eyewitneffies of the inexpreffible grief of the.
whole family • but while they expect
ed the arrival of fome reputable perfons
of the faculty, in order to give an ac
count of the caufe of this melancholy
event, which had given fuch an alarm
to every-body, the mob, who befieged
the door; the mob, enemies to the Proteflants ; the mob, who are fond of un
lucky and extraordinary events, began
upon this to make fuch conjectures as
their malice dictated ; and one of them
began to fay loudly, that Marc-Antony
Calas was a martyr; and that his fa
ther had killed him becaufe he would
have turned a Roman-Catholic.
This report coming to the ears of
Mr. David, the capitoul, he took it
for granted; and the execution of his
office, as a jullice and a judge, having
made him familiar with the wickednefs
of men, he found nothing extraordinary
•' * A capitoul is the chief magiftrate in Toulouze.
-
in
�[
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1
in this crime; the atrocious crime,
however improbable, imputed to that
innocent, worthy, and unhappy family
feemed to him very poflible, and, as
I faid before, he took it for granted.
From that moment he became in
exorable; he faid nothing but vindi
cating offended Heaven, and avowed
his hopes of overturning and extirpat
ing very foon all the Proteflant fami
lies in the country,
He ordered into cuftody the family
of Calas, with young Lavayfe, and
even the fervant. It was in vain that
his colleague, wifer than himfelf, de
fired him to confider well upon an af
fair of fuch confequence: In vain he
reprefented to him the diilrefs and
grief of the family; their laudable
endeavours to bring again that unhappy
fon to life ; the difpofition, place, hour,
and other circumftances of the fuppofed crime ; fince it was in the evening;
in one of the moft frequented ftreets,
that Mark-Antony was found dead.
But above all he reprefented, that the
C 2
facred
�[
12
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íacred connection of father, mother, and
fon, 1 ejected fuch a cruel fufpicion
and, among thofe who had fpread fuch
an abominable apparent lye, not one
was bold enough to avow himfelf the
author of it; and concluded with fay
ing, that the commitment of thofe in
nocent and unhappy perfons would
give credit and confidence to this
vague and improbable dory: “ Well, it
does not lignify, replied David, vio“ lently; I will take upon me the
“ confequence of it; they ihall all be
£t put in irons, and fent to gaol.”
Every thing that the colleague of
the capitoul had foretold proved to be
true: The fight of the prifoners gave
to the lower fort of people an idea of
their guilt; and afterwards a common
report ran in Toulouze, that David
certainly had made fome important and
interelling difcoveries in this affair,
Gtherwife he would not have proceeded
to fuch extremity againit people of
their reputation; who, by the cha
racter they bore, were above all fuf
picion |
�[ H ]
picion ; and that very probably they
had been difcovered even in the adtion
of ftrangling their fon Marc-Antony
themfelves.
As for the poor unhappy, innocent
prifoners, overwhelmed with grief, they
were following the corpfe of their unhappy fon under a flrong guard, little
fuppoiing what would be the confequence of their commitment. They
imagined they were carried away only
to juftify the caufe of the event, accord
ing to the proofs which they were able
to give, and which were ilrong enough
to prove the fuicide of their fon.
When they were aiked how MarcAntony died, they gave iuch an anfwer
as they had before agreed on ; parental
affection only being capable of dictating
to them a fallhood : They faid, that
“ they had found Marc-Antony dead
“ upon the floorfar from even fear
ing that fuch a falfe report of the
fuicide would bring upon them a fufpicion of murder. Upon this declara
tion, they were decreed and ordered
tQ
�[
4
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1
to be all put into (confinement, and
feparately. It was at this time they
were informed, that they were fufpccted of having murdered their fon. What
a dreadful addition was this to miferies,
already great beyond expreflion! This
new, this more than ignominious miffortune, entirely overwhelmed themI
At the charge, they became motionlefs,
penetrated with extreme grief, for this
cruel imputation, together with the
lofs of a beloved fon.
It was only at the town-hall that Mr.
David, the capitoul, ftated the fad in
writing, and put a date from the houfe
where the fuppofed trefpafs had been
committed; wherefore the prifoners
protefted againft it: But the capitoul
was fq inveterate, that he not only
prevented this proteft from being ferviceable to them, but even the attor
ney whom they employed was inter
dicted for three months.
Neverthelefs, the luppofed parricide
was the fubject of converfation to the
whole city • every one agreed, that
Cala§
�I ''5
1
Galas the father had, with his wife,
made their fon Marc-Antony a vidim
to their hatred for the Roman-Catho
lic religion: And though there was
the higheft improbability and even
incredibility in this Rory, yet a mif
*
taken fondnefs for the religion of the
country, together with bigotry and fanaticifm, gave a fandion to it. Whether
from fimplicity, compailion, excefs of
piety, or of malice, every RomanCatholic ufed all his endeavours to add
fomething to the calumny: “ It was
“ tomorrow, faid one, that Marc-An“ tony was to have renounced the
“ errors of Proteftantifm.” “ The rite
<c of the Proteilants, faid another,
“ orders fathers in fuch a cafe to kill
“ their children.” “ You fpeak fo
“ true, faid a third, that in their lait
“ meeting they appointed an execu-’
“ tioner of the fed.”
As for. thofe who had heard the cries
of the father Galas at the light of the
corpfe of his fon, they did not fail to
aifert that they were the cries of the
martyr,
�[
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]
martyr, when he was flruggling againR
the homicide. Thus the moft fenfible
perlons were drawn into error by the
torrent of popular clamour, and the
whole city was foon poifoned by fanaticifm.
At Toulouze there is a celebra
tion of the anniverfary of the maffacre of the Proteftants; and that day
of cruel memory being near at handj
the people, who Were ready to drcfs
the fcaffold, and fet lire to the wood
pile which was to reduce the guilty to
aihes, afked loudly to have the victims'
referved for that day, in order to make
folemnly a burnt-offering of the blood
of a whole family.
The capitoul was highly pleafed to
fee this temper in the people, which
feemed to juftify what he had done,
and encouraged his proceeding in this
cruel bufinefs : Nor did he fail to com
pliment himfelf for having been the
firebrand in this caufc, or to feel the
heart-felt pleafure of felf-applaufe, for
this inftance of horrid malice^
According
�„ «.. J
[ b ]
According to the diétates of thè laW
in fuch cafes^ the inexorable David took
his colleague to the houfe of Calas, to
qualify themfelves to make à report of
the place, and to examine the papers
of the deceafed. And altho’ he found
nothing, either in that youth’s papers,
br his books, which could give the
ilighteft intimation, much lefs proof; of
his pretended abjtiration, yet he, the
fame day, iiliied an order for thè inhu
*
fnation of the corpfe among the Roman
Catholics.
* >'
What á triumph Was it for thè
populace, who ever rejoice in parade^
to behold fuch funeral pomp^ palling
from the town-hall to the cathedral
church^ Fifty clergymen^ with oné
hundred of the White Penitents
formed the proceffi On, which was fol
*
lowed by twenty thbufand enthuliafts.
Who would credit iti It Was to a-Pro*
teilant that this high honour, this
honour which is denied to all ¿ was
. * A congregati^ for religious abd charitable
purpofes,
t>
*
granted
�[
]
granted. In vain the redor of'the
parifh, a very worthy man, refufed .
<o lend the ufe of the church for fuch
a? grange ceremony; in vain did . he
remonftrate, that Marc-Antony Calas
had left nothing which could prove
Jiis having made an abjuration of the
Pfoteftant faith; David, was deaf to
every argument; for arguments muft
prove, that he , had acted contrary to
reafon, as well as to humanity. > r
; As rthe capitouls had ordered, that
the corpfe ihould bo buried according
to the Roman rite, every proof of the
fuicide was buried with it; fmce it
was only by the flrideft examination
of the corpfe, that that fad could be
afcertained. Nor was this incident lin
gular in.elfeding the ruin of this un«
fortunate family; to promote which,
the malice of the capitouls was carried
to fuch prodigious extent, that they
even refufed to receive the evidence of
feveral witneiles : Some of whom could
*
have proved, that, but a ihort time
before Marc>Antony's death, jthey had
,
-z.
fceir-
�[ .
$
*
J ■
feen him at the baptifm of a Protellant/
to whom he flood godfather. Others:
were ready to affirm, that he was, not
many weeks then paft, attending the
meetings of the Huguenots; and that
he fpoke, with the greateil energy,
before the congregation, in defence of
the excellent principles of the Proteilanf
religion. Mr. Le Beau jun. could have
declared, that when he was received
into the fociety of the ftudents at law,-’
he aiked Marc-Antony if he would not
do the fame ? and was anfwered by
him, that it was an impoffibility, as/
having been born in the city, he was
known to be a Proteilant, and was de
termined not to abjure his faith.
Thefe are juilifying fails,”rwhich'
the family could have proved; but it
was refolved to impofe iilence upon all
perfons who would have fpoken in their
behalf.
How many different impreffions did
this funeral pomp, to which all the
religious orders fent their deputies,
D 2
make
�make on the public credulity1 There was
nothing to be feen but the greateft ex*
travagancies. The multitude did not
pray for the dead, but invoked him as
a faint. Some proilrated themfelves
upon the coffin of this mob-eledted
martyr; fome fought the humbler ho-nour of only touching it; while others
with enthufiaftic zeal cut the fringes
from the pall. Nor were reports of
miracles forgot to be circulated, to
irritate more the deluded Romanics,
and confirm them in their prejudices
againil this wretched family. The
day after the funeral, the White Peni
tents celebrated a pompous fervice for
him ; in the middle whereof was ele
vated a magnificent and noble catafalque,
upon which was an human ikeleton,
reprefenting Marc-Antony, holding in
one hand a pen, the emblem of his
abjuration; in the other a palm, the
fymbol of his martyrdom. Animated
by the moil indecent zeal, the Grey
Friars made another monumentum, no
�[
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j
Jefs fcandalc^ whjl^ each religious
voider afpired to the pious honour of be' jng the executioner of the prifoners.-g
What hope of juftice could thefe un
fortunate victims entertain, from fucl|
partial, fuch prejudiced judges; who,
againft the law, by their own private
authority, had ordered tliis funeral
pomp? Was it not an omen.of their
perdition ? But what an ’ hardened
cruelty muft thofe men pofiefs, wh$
could not be infenfible to their own pre
judices, and yet, contrary to the laws
pf God and man, kept their feats as
judges?
o
f;.: Qn the eighteenth of November fol
lowing, the court of the capitouls met}
in order to give their opinions, and
pronounce fentence upon the prifoners.
David, that enraged perfecutor, who
, certainly was liable to exception, took
his feat among his colleagues ; and it
has been aiferted, that, before their
meeting, he took the common hang
man with him to the houfe of Calas;
•and then propagated a report through
the
�the city, that, after an impartial exa
mination of the place, the executioner
had delivered his opinion, that it was
impoffible filicide fhould have been
thefeA'bbmmitted.
;
', Contrary to the eftablilhed cuilom of
judgingcriminals in the morning, when
the fenfes ¿fe fuppofed to be moil cool,
the capitouls pronounced fentence at
five o’clock in the afternoon. Calas the
father, his wife, and Peter their fon,
were condemned firft to the ordinary
and extraordinary rack; Lavayfe and
the fervant-maid to be prefented to it
only.
The prifoners immediately made an
appeal from this fentence to the parlia
*
ment ; and altho’ in fuch cafes appel
lants are thereby removed from the
jurifdidlion of the capitouls, yet thefe
cruel and enthufiailic judges infilled
on their being loaded with the heaviell
irons, like the moil notorious convidls.
On the ninth of March, thirteen
judges of the parliament met at the
chambers of Tournelle $ where having
agreed,
�agreed, - nem. toh.'tv judge the father firfli
the unfortunate old man was ' taken
from his dungeon, and brought before,
them. •, tnl c;
.
u rb.mr ch had
But, as ;if Providence thought the
meafure'of the mifery of this poor
family was not yet full, as Galas wa£
croffing the palace-yard, in r order to
be examined by his judges for the lafb
time, there happened at the inftant .ta
be a wood-piler3in flames., y The exe
cutioner, with guards and; attendants^
was burning a writing againil Popery
The fight of the hangman, the archers j
and the vail number of fpedlators, tcH
gether with the flames^: worked Jo
forcibly on the imagination of Calasj
that his reafon was affected, and he
fuppofed this to be the apparatus of
his death.—His fenfes were fo much
diilurbed by this incident, and his agi
tation at the idea of his unmerited exe
cution fo great, that, when brought be*
>ir -> ...: .
* It was a Letter from a Proteftant miniiter,
in defence of that unhappy family.
�[
24
J
foie the judges, he could not give pf6®
pcranfwers to their interrogatories, nof
&y any thing in his defence, though he
had fo much to oppofe to his enemies /
but only, with a dying voice, the ve
nerable good old man protefted, th$?
he had not killed his fon, but dearly
loved him: And. this ^mbarraftment
the judges, ignorant of its real fource,
imputed to the confeioufnefs of guilt.
~~ As the very particular -and in terefting nature of this5 affair has caufed the
curtain to be drawn which commonly
fecretes the proceedings of the courts of
juftice in France, it has appeared, that
only feven judges of the thirteen ap
proved the condemnation of Calas•
which majority of one not being fuffh
cient, according to the rules of the
court, to Convict him, means were
found to prevail on one of the diffentients (a perfon fo well convinced of
Galas’s innocence, that he had fpoken
two hours in his behalf) to join the
other party; on which unhappy junc
tion, the old gentleman received the
following
�t
}
following fentenee : TO be pùt tó the
Ordinary and extraordinary rack# tó
be broke alive; to expire upon a wheel#
after having been upon it two hours;
and to be reduced to aihes ih a wood
pile.
This unhappy parent firft underwent
the rack# which he bore With that
heroic fpirit peculiar to the injured
innocent. Being preffed, by the moil
extraordinary tortures, to declare his
accomplices# he exclaimed, “ Where
“ there is no guilt# how can there be
<€ accomplices
He declared himfelf
. ready, in atonement for the faults he
had in liis life-time committed, to offer
the facrifice of liis reputation and his
life y but Rill averred his innocence of
the horrid crime for which he flood
condemned. The majeftic firirinefs of
the Old man# when arrived at the place
of execution# began at length to con
vince the fpe&ators of his innocence,
and to raife in their hearts confufed
fenfations of commiferation and re
pentance.
Before
E
�[ 26 ]
Before the executioner began his
bufmefs, Father Bourges, a prieft of the
Dominican order, drew near, took the
victim in his arms, and with great tendernefs embraced him: “ My dear broy
“ ther,” faid this refpedtable confolator
to him, “ you are going to leave this
u world: By the God whom you love,
“ in whom are your only hopes, and
“ who has died for you, I conjure
“ you to tell the truth.” “ I have faid
“ nothing but the truth,” anfwered
he, lifting his hands and eyes towards
Heaven. Then looking on the religious
man with aftoniihment and tendernefs,
he faid to him, “ ’ Would you believe
“ too, my dear friend, that a father
“ would have killed his fon ?” *
The executioner now began to make
ufe of the redoubtable iron bar, and
broke both the legs and arms of that
unfortunate and venerable old gentle
man. Every itroke was felt by the
fpeflators, and drew tears from their
eyes; but it was too late.
On
�[
\
27
J
<. On the firft flroke the fufferer cried
moderately, and received the others
without complaining. Being put after
wards upon the-wheel, he implored
the mercy of Heaven , and had the
Chriftian fortitude to avoid reproaching
his judges, or any other pcrfons, as
• the authors of his death. While every
one prefent was lamenting his fate,
and crying for his fufierings, he addreiTed thefe moving words to Father
Bourges, his confolator; ci I die innp-?
“ cent. Jefus Chrift, who was inno^
cency itfelf, has been willing to
« fuffer a more cruel death. God
$4 puniihes in me, my wife, and chil44 dren, the fin of that unhappy fan
k whq has deftroyed himfelf.
He is
<< juft, and I adore his decrees. As
for that young ftranger whom I im
« vited home, the foil of Mr. Lavayfe,
“ the Almighty beft knows why he
•
44 was involved in my misfortune.
He was fpeaking thus when David the
capitoul, jealous of the commiferation
3,11 d tears of the fpeviators, came near
E 2
the
�[
28
j
tl|e fcaffold, and, in order to crown
his proceedings with dignity, he faid to
him, “ Wretch, doft thou fee the wood“ pile which is to reduce thy body tq
“ alhes ? Speak the truth, and confefs
thy guilt.” Galas, as a mark of
contempt for his cruel perfecutor,
turned his head, and looked on the
executioner, who gave him the Jaft
?dying ftroke, and the innocent expired.
His heroifm and firmnefs touched his
judges, who began to dread they had
been wrong; but neverthelefs, accord
ing to their adjournment, proceeded on
the trial of the other priioners. They were
not a little embarrafled, having nothing
to bring any of them to convidlion. Thofe
unfortunate perfons all infilled on their
being as innocent as the victim who had
juft been facrificed to fanaticifin; that
they had not left him one minute
alone ; and that, if there had been any
proofs of his being guilty of the crime
for which he had buffered, the fame
would ferve for their conviction, or elfe
they were all innocent. On this fecond
trial,
�I
9
*
]
Vial, the judges acquitted the unfortupate and virtuous widow Mrs. Calas, the
young ftranger Mr. Lavayfe, and the
fervant-maid, there being not the leafl
fhadow of proofs of any kind again#
jtheni. As for Peter Calas their fon, they
baniihed him from the country, on ac
count of an irreligious converfation
that was imputed to him.
Such is the deplorable account of
pne of the moll tragical events on re
cord. Who would think that fuch an
horrible fcene was tranfadfed in one of
the moil civilized province of France.
Our fenfations will commiferate, our
tears will flow, but they can never reflore the honed: Galas to his inconfolable
yridow and proscribed children.
M. De Voltaire, on hearing of this
event, colleded all the information he
could upon the proceedings, both of
the capitouls and the parliament: He
faw with horror the force of fanaticifm,
and the impoflibility of the crime im
puted to that innocent old man ; and
refol ved
�£
3®
'J
rgfolved to do every thing in his power,
fo have thofe proceedings revifed by th?
Ring’s privy-council. With his advice,
his credit, and money, which he did
not fpare, Mrs. Calas and her children
name to Verfailles : They threw themdelves at the feet of his majefty, to whom
they were prefented by one of the lords
in waiting. He received their humble
petition, promifed, with his ufual goodnefs, to do them juftice, and immedir
ately ordered a privy-council to be held,
at which Jiifthfelf prefided. The lordhigh-chqncellor, all the great officers
of ftates both civil and military, were
prefent, to the number of one hundred
and ten privy-councellors, who unanir
paoufly received the petition. The king firft, with the advice of
his council, invalidated the fentence
of the capitouls, together with the
judgment given by the parliament of
Toulouze; and ordered ajl the pro
ceedings to be laid before the fovereign
judges of his hotel, in order to try again
fuch an important affair. He accord. '
ingly
�í 3í ]
íngly nominated commiflioners to make
proper enquiries. The petitioners then
furrendered themfelves to imprifonmeht, in order to be tried by the pzers
of the realm.
' The moft celebrated counfellors of
fered themfelves, and undertook to de
fend the oppreffed reliéis of that oncereputable and now-diftrefied family.
MeiT. Elie de Baumont and Loifeau de
Moleon, the two molt eminent counfel
in France, were their defenfors, and Mr.
Dupleix deBacquin-court * as thejudge
w
appointed to report the caufe. The trial
lailed three fittings, and there were
five and forty judges prefent. The prifoners, who were Mrs. Calas, her two
daughters and three fons, the young
Mr. Lavayfe, and the fervant-maid,
were brought before that auguft allcmw.
¿
• -. .
. X!' * dOJ Bi ; :
.
*
_
•
•
r
;
Altho’ this nobleman is famed for the rigor
of his proceedings in criminal cafes, and was
•therefore, by the influence of the principal judges
of the parliament, at this time appointed, the inno
cence of the prifoners prevailed over all other confiderations, and he gave his opinion in their behalf.
bly,
�I
32
J
Bly, and a great number of fpe&afol#
of the firft diftinchion, who crowded the
hall.
u
After an hearing of three days^ and
when the report was made upon the
whole, the judges without divifion,not one diflentient, found, That John
Calas and the reft of the family were'
innocent, and that he had fuffered un~
juftly; they annulled all the proceed
ings of the capitouls, together with the
judgment of the parliament of Toulouze ordered, ift. That the prifonersr
fhould be releafed from their confine
ment, their names erafed from the
feveral books of the gaols where they
had been detained, •r;
and be moft ho
*
nourably acquitted: 2d. That the un
happy John Calas ihould be deemed in
*
nocent of the crimes which had been
imputed to him; his commitment and
his name ihou^ikewife be erafed from
the book of tiftail where he had been
detained; a^Me margin of which
the prefent foreign judgment ihoul4
be written, and kept in record, for the
honour
�[
33
]
honour of his memory; that the clerk
of the court, the keepers, or their de
puty, ihould be compelled to do it at the
fuit of his majefty’s attorney-general, on
the pain of imprifonment of their perfons; 3d. As to the demand of the peti
tioners for the recovery of damages,
they ordered, that they fhould bring
actions againft the capitouls and the
judges of the parliament of Toulouze
who voted for the condemnation, as they
ihould think fit; and laftly, That, at
the fuit and,expejice of His majefty’s at
torney-general, the prefent judgment
fhould be publiihed and polled up in
all ordinary places, and where it ihould
be found necefiary.
There were incite palace-yard no lefs
than four or five'^thoufand perfons,
waiting for the event of inch an im
portant trial, which was received with
the greateft proofs of approbation, every
where but at Toulouz«b
F
ETTRE
��E
L
T
T
R
E
Î) È
CALAS,?
JE.A N
ï
‘
A
Sa FEMMÈ et à fes ENFANS;
Chere & tendre epoufe, ô moitié de tnoy-même;
Réponds moy : fens tu bien cette force fuprême
Qui nous fait, fans frémir, envifager la mort?
Si tu la fens, écouté, & vois quel eft mon fort.
Ce fénat éclairé * dont l’équité févére
,
Refifta fi long temps aux erreurs du vulgaire,
t
Que du glaive des loix le Ciel voulut armer ■
Pour venger l’ihnoèent & bon pouf l’opprimer:
Ce fenat, dont cent fois j’admirai la jüflice,
Vient de me cçndamner—-& je marche aü fuplicé.
Eh quoi ! ces magiftrats, faits pour vaincre l’erreürâ
Ont ils pu, d’un vil peuple, adopter la fureur?
Ont ils Cru qu’un vieillard, appéfentï par l’âge,
Pour un crime inoui ranimant fon courage
Brâvant ceqüe jamais l’homme eut de plus facré,
Ait porté fur foh fils un bras dénaturé?
Mais, fuppofant qu’en moy la nature bizarre
Ait placé, pour Ce crime, un cœur affés barbare,
O
A
* Le Parlement de Tculcuze,
' Obi
�[ 2 J
Ont ils cru qu’une mere avec tranquillité
Ait vû verfé le fang que fes flancs ont porté ;
Et qu’en nous unifiant l’Hymen trifte et fauvage
1
De deux monftres fanglatjts ait formé l’afTemblage ?
Helas ils ont cru tout—& mon fupplice eft prêt.
^1 eft donc prononcé ce redoutable arrêt
Quoi ? pendant foixante ans ma gloire fut entière,
Et l’oprobre m’attend au bout de ma carrière !
Quoi! la vie et l’honneur vont donc m’être ravis :
Déplorables humains, malheureux que nous fommes,
Notre honneur dépend donc du caprice des' hommes, j
Chere epoufe, dis moi ! quand propice à nos feux,
L’Hymen nous enchaîna par le plux doux des nœuds :
Quand le Ciel béniflant, cette union fi chere,
Augmentait les enfans dont il me rendit pere:
Quand je louais ce Dieu dont les foins bienfaifants
Et fur eux et fur nous répandaient fes prefents,
Quand pour eux J’implorais la puiflànce celefte,
Aurais tu cru qu’un deux nous devint fi funefte,
Et qu’un jour au fuplice injuftement livrés,
Par la main d’un bourreau nous fuflîons féparés ?
Mais dans le même fort, toi-même envelopée,
.
Chere epoufe avec moi te verrais tu frapée ?
Si je fuis criminel, il faut que tu le fois;
On doit ou nous abfoudre, ou nous perdre à la fois.
Ah? cruels, fi vos traits font expirer le père,
Du moins à des enfans confervés une mère,
D’une epoufe il tendre épargnés les douleurs:
N’augmentés point fes maux, et refpeétés fes pleurs $
Si la mort eft pour vous une fi. douce image
Frapés et que mon fang fuflîfe à vôtre rage.
O toi, le premier né de mes triftes enfans-,
Toi fur qui je fondais l’efpoir de mes vieux ans,
Toi
/
.
’
�[
3
1
Toi que j’ay tant aimé, toi dont la mort fanglante
A mes fens défolés femble toujours prefente,
O mon fils, mon cher fils, dans quel abime affreux
r'
As tu précipité tes parens malheureux?
.
Va, mon cœur te pardonne: ah! s’il étoitpoflible
Qu’à mes triftes deffins ton ombre fut fenfible,
Bientôt fortant pour moi du gouffre des enfers,
Tu me rendrais l’honneur et tu romprais mes fers:
Mais helas ! infenfible à mes plaintes funèbres,
Tu dors proffondément dans le fein des tenebres,
Et dans ce doux repos, tu ne t’imforme pas
.. . ,
Si ta mort aujourd’hui va caufer mon trépas.
Ah ! s’ils nous avoient vûs dans ce moment terrible,
Ou la mort fe montrant fous un afpeét horrible,
Vint offrir à nos yeux efraïés et furpris
Le corps pâle et glacé de ce malheureux fils;
Ou le cœur déchiré des plus vives allarmes,
J’éclatais en fanglots et je fondais en l’armes;
Ou, l’appelant cent fois, tu ferrais dans tes bras
Ce fils, ce trille fils qui ne repondoit pas,
Nous auraient-ils jamais foupçonnés d’impoilure?
Se feraient ils mépris au cri de la nature?
Ce defordre touchant pour nous aurait parlé ;
Leurs coçurs auraient frémi ; leurs pleurs auraient coulé.
Helas ! nôtre douleur ne fut’que trop finçere!
Parmi ces fénateurs, ah! s’il était un père,
Dans l’horreur d’un cachot je ne gémirais pas,
Et ces indignes fers tomberaient de mes bras.
Mais que m’importe à moy, que m’importe une vie,
Qui bientôt par les ans pourait m’être ravie?
C’eft à vous feuls à. craindre, ô, juges, tremblés tous
Le fang que vous verfez, peut rejaillir fur vous;
Du fonds de mon tombeau ma cendre peut renaître;
vous verrez un jour, qui n’eft pas loin peut-être,
A 2 1
�[ 4 I
La vérité terrible éclater à vos yeux ;
Le temps déchirera le voile injurieux
Qui cachoit dans la nuit ma timide innocence :
Alors vous frémirez d’une injufte feptençe
*
Par des larmes de fang vous pleureres ma mort 5
Vous ferés déchirés par le? traits du remord.
Dieu, qui vois leur erreur, pardonne à leur foiblefle;
pt détourne loin d’eux ta fureur vengereiTe.
Lâches perfeçuteprs, c’eft vous feuls, oui c’eft vous
Qui trompés le fénat? et conduifés fes coups;
Cruels, vous triomphés ; nous fommes vos viâime^
Et pour mieux me noircir vous me prêtés vos crimes.
De ma triftè maifon cet ardent opprefleur
,
*
Qui de la loi des Cieux fe croit le deffenfeur,
Luy, qui fur mon fils mort a vu couler nos larmes,
A perdre un innocent trouve donc bien des charmes!
La mort eft mon fuplice, et la vie eft le fien ;
Dans mes injuftes maux, Dieu fera mon foutien:
Mais, lui, de fes enfans la plus tendre caréfle
A fon coeur déchiré reprochera fans cefie
Ses cruelles fureurs, mes tourmepts et ma mort.
Dieu, ne le livrez point aux horreurs du remord |
Si, contraire à fa loi, la loi qui nous enchaîne
Dans fon ame inflexible a fait naître la haine,
Que du moins fur moi feul il cherche à fe venger ;
Mais comment fe peut-il que ce jeune etranger,
Dont le cœur eft fi noble & le front fi modefte?
Se trouve énvelopé dans mon malheur funefte.
Ah ! j’ay prévu le coup dont je me feps frapp-é,
Quand fur de faux raports tout un peuple trompé
Imputait à mon bras cette mort fi cruelle ;
Quand fa crédulité qu’enflammait un faux zèle,
Plaçait ap rang des faints cet enfant malheureux,
Que peut-être autrement Dieu jugait dans les Cieux.
? M. David le Capitoul.
y
�Ce qui fur le danger m’éclaira d’avantage,
''
*
Ce fut l’inftant funefte ou ranimant fa rage,
Touloufe avec tranfport célébrait le retour
De Ce maflàcre affreux, de cet horrible jour
? .
Qui dut être des pleurs une fourçe éternelle 5
Quand .de mes ennemis la fouje criminelle
Des feux du fanatifme embrafait les efprits ;
Quand pe peuple cruel demandait à grand cris
Que pour ce jour fanglant on gardât la viétime ;
Alors je vis fous moy s’approfondir l’âbipe :
Alors m’abandonant aux horreurs de mon fort,
J’offris ma vie au Ciel & j’attendis la mort.
Cependant (des humains tu connais la faibleffe)
Jufqu’ au dernier moment je me flattais fansceffe:
Oui, quoi que tout un peuple, avec acharnement,
D’un pere infortuné pourfuivit le tourment,
Je croyais qu’éfra;é des aprêts du fuplice,
Il ouvrirait les yeux & me rendrait juffjce:
Mais le Ciel fans pitié fe rit de mon erreur.
Un fonge cette nuit, pour mieux tromper mon cœur
Me faifait concevoir le plus heureux augure.
pn fpeétre, à la lueür d’une lumière obfcure,
S’offre à moi : de fraïeur tous mes fens font faifis,
‘‘ Raffure toi, dit-il ; que crains tu de ton fils?
« Mon pere de tes maux c’eft moi qui fuis la caufe ;
J’en gémis ; mais fur Dieu que ton cœur fe rcpofe :
« 11 ne fouffrira point qu’un injufte foupçon
*c Flétriffe pour jamais ta gloire & nôtre nom;
?c Par luy, par fon fecours l’innocence vengée
« Voit, d’un piege trompeur, fa marche dégagée.
<c Sans doute un jour viendra”—que veux tu m’annoncer,
M’écrai-je, ô monjils? je cours pour l’embraffer:
Mais je ne trouve plus qu’une vapeur horrible :
Alors mon cachot s’ouvre avec un bruit terrible ;
�i 6 ]
Je m’éveille ; je crois qu’on va changer mon fort :
Ma>s que vois-je un bourreau vient m’annoncer la mort,
Noir tombeau des vivans, trifte et lugubre enceinte,
Ou prés du crime affis l’innocent vit fans crainte,
Ou le coupable aux fers, de remords combatu,
Ofe efperer le prix qu’on doit à la vertu,
Parmi fes malheureux que ton ombre renferme,
En verras tu jamais qui, d’un œil auffi ferme
Porte au fuplice afreux, ou je fuis condamné
y ,
Un cœur plus innocent & plus infortuné?
Ou font ils ces amis dont la flateufe adréffe
Avaient trompé mon cœur et furpris ma tendrefle
Qui me cheriflaient tant dans mes profperités?
E- malheur loin de moi les a tous écartés j
Cette amitié fi vive, en projets confirmée,
Au milieu des fermens s’évapore en fumée,
Qu ils viennent ces témoins de mon intégrité
A mes juges feduits montrer la vérité 1
Quoi ! Jorfque de mon cœur connoiffant la droiture,
Ils peuvent d’un feul mot démentir l’impofture,
Ils gardent lâchement un filence profond!
Dans ces momens affreux tant d’horreur me confond J
Tout fuit, quand j’ay befoin d’une ûtile defenfe.
N efr il donc plus de cœur fenfible à l’innocence;
O Ciel! tout contre moi parait fe réunir ,
Mon culte eft tout mon crime, & l’on veut m’en punir.Helas ! ferions nous donc dans ces tems déplorables,
Où l’erreur fit verfer le fang de nos femblables? '
Quoi ! lorfqu éclairant tout de fon flambeau divin,
Ea raifon veutenfemble unir Rome et Calvin,
Qlæj fans approfondir tant de feéles contraires,
j ■
Elle veut des humains faire un peuple de freres,
C eft le fer à la main qu’on veut nous convertir J
Barbares, de l’erreur il eft temps de fortir j
’
Repon-
h
■'
'
�t 7 3
Répondes : eft ce ainfi que ces premiers apôtres,
Ces heureux fondateurs de vos loix & des nôtres,
A leur culte enchaînaient la foule des mortels?
m;.
Ont ils du fang humain arrofé les autels ?
La paix et la douceur étaient leur feules armes ;
D’une famille en deuil ils effuïaient les larmes ;
Ils pardonaient à ceux qui les ont accables;
Eft-ce en nous maffacrant que vous leur reffemblez ?
Jefus dont nous fuivons la morale divine,
A-1’-il fait par le glaive adopter fa doctrine ?, ’
x
ï-
I
A-t’-il du fanatifme enfeigné les chemins?
Vous a-t’-ilordonné d’égorger les humains?
Dans fes livres facrés l’humanité refpire,
Ce n’eft que fur la paix qu’eft fondé fon empire;
Et de la foudre enfin il ne s’arma jamais
. :• •
Que pour venger le jufte et punir vos forfaits.
O toi dont l’univers adore la puifiance,
,.ç_ •
Toi qui lis dans mon cœur, qui vois mon innocence
Dieu que j’implore, entens ma voix du haut des Cieux;
Ce jour eft le dernier qui va luire à mes yeux ;
Daigne éclaircir le doute ou cet inftant me plonge :
f
■ j
Si je fuis égaré dans la nuit du menfonge,
Si jamais loin de toi mon cœur s eft écarté;
Et que j’aie coulé mes jours dans 1 obfcurite.
J’embraffe des Romains le culte et les mifteres.
Mais fi fuivant en paix la trace de mes’ pères,
Je marche au vrai chemin qui conduit jufqu à toi,
Dans ces heureux fentiers, mon Dieu, raffermis moi,
Tu vois comme en ce jour l’erreur me perfécute ,
Tu fais fi j’ay commis le forfait qu’on m impute;
Helas ! je voudrais bien, dans ces momens d’éfroi,
N’avoir point d’autre crime à porter devant toi,
En permetant l’erreur que le fenat écoute,
Du crime de mon fils tu me punis fans doute;
Calas,
�f
8
1
Calas, qui de ta main reçoit ces chatimens,-
Se livre fans murmure, aux plus cruels tourmefi^
Mon Dieu, de tes élus fouffrir eft le partage j
Je t offre mes douleurs ; que cet afreux trepaâÿ '
Trouve grâce à tes yeux & defarme ton bras • '
Et que mon ame enfin de mes fautes lavées,
Jouiffe de la gloire à tes faints tefervée.
De ma trifte innocence infortunées temoinà
Vous dont les premiers ans mont coûté tant de foins,’
Dont les charmes naiffans font aimer la fageffe,
Mes filles, aütres fois je flattais ma tendréffe
De vous laiffer un jour dans les bras d’un époux :
Quel mortel courageux, helas voudrait pour vous
Braver ce préjugé, peut-être trop févére,
Qui flétrit les enfans du crime de leur père?
Et toi, dont le bonheur me fut fi précieux,
Chere epoufe, reçois mes plus tendres adieux.
’ Vives, mes chefs enfans, confoléz vôtre mère ;
Et, fi de nôtre nom la gloire vous eft chère,
Allez, couréz, vole£, tombéz aux pieds du roi :
Demandé?, luy l’honneur que vous perdez en moi:
Vous verrez qu’en ees lieux qu’on peint inacceffibfè^
Tous les coeurs mes enfans ne font point infenfibles'
Ce prince bienfaifant, touché de vos malheurs,
De fon bandeau facre peut effuïer vos pleùrs;
De vos vils ennemis démêlant l’artifice,
Il confondra leur brigue et vous rendra juftice.
Mais rentrés dans vos droits, devenéz généreux ;
•
Et ne vous en vengés qu’en les rendant heureux.
Ce n’eft qu’en pardonant qu’un grand cœur fe fignafe?
A Dieu,- j’entens déjà fonner l’heure fatale,
Helas ! fut-jl jamais un plus funefte fort;
Ou ouvre c en eft fait—ah ! votre père eft mort»
3
N.
.
ï
�
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Victorian Blogging
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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The history of the misfortunes of John Calas, a victim to fanaticism. To which is added, a letter from M. Calas to his wife and children
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Voltaire [voltai]
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Place of publication: London
Collation: iv,33, 8 p. ; 21 cm.
Notes: Printed by T. Sherlock, Strand. Date in Roman numerals. The letter from M. Calas is in French. Jean Calas was a merchant living in Toulouse, France, who was tried, tortured and executed for the murder of his son, despite his protestations of innocence. Due to Calas being a Protestant in an officially Roman Catholic society, doubts were raised by opponents of the Catholic Church about his guilt and he was exonerated in 1764. In France, he became a symbolic victim of religious intolerance. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
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[s.l.]
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1872
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G5771
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Religious Toleration
Catholic Church
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<a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (The history of the misfortunes of John Calas, a victim to fanaticism. To which is added, a letter from M. Calas to his wife and children), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span>
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Text
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English
French
France
John Calas
NSS
Religious Tolerance
Trials (Murder)
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https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/b17e54a0ca78b8e5523efa4ba566a1ba.pdf?Expires=1712793600&Signature=l1TFFbVV%7ESj7U-9KrJiY5WvPfHu0s85t7hxrEsI18zYqUD2Frl21F%7E8jEZBCF-j2GUymczI0-J%7E9DGriy%7Ek3CMuyi7u8daKMQJz%7EsT4f0Bm6jEsh4%7E88Z17dDOB5xxNI6Qs5qAY35dVFlEy8zZxk4l1kubiEMxtOrVv6cdjE8Rr5AvE7oEOTHXK0fRFpZ%7EzIChrqAow-2dEJlzBiqyVqcJm5pM%7E-TZUQoXbiLXJYh0KtQj2-CHt5D%7E-3h4d4F7tgwob6mu4AFwksa7clOKKrDQNilAeQ-uF%7EkJUtUu4HPz6mu-qiA7PW%7EQbkMRneG2kOvSHVR4MAEoBTyesn5Ti9rA__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM
fc867c8a956e4cdece02e876219417d8
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(Llj£ Cbljnmwl ®nnnd:
OUGHT THE DEMOCRACY TO OPPOSE
OR SUPPORT IT?
<*
--------------------- -
By CJ^LEg BHJTOIiJlU'QjI, JI.P.
LONDON:
Printed and Published by A. Bonner,
34, BOUVERIE STREET, FLEET STREET, E.C.
Price 2d.
��THE CHANNEL TUNNEL:
OUGHT THE DEMOCRACY TO OPPOSE OR SUPPORT IT ?
---------- +----------
I went down to the House of Commons on August 3rd
intending to speak and vote in favor of the second reading
of the Channel Tunnel Experimental Works Bill, but on
the appeal made first by the Chairman of Committees, and
repeated by the leader of the House—an appeal also con
curred in by Mr. John Morley, speaking on behalf of the
front Opposition bench—I refrained from speaking, and
contented myself with a silent vote in favor of the measure.
Since then I find such a concurrence of opinion in the
press hostile to the Channel Tunnel that I think it my
duty to publicly state my reasons for my vote, especially
as Sir Edward Watkin, in moving the Bill, directly asked
for an expression of opinion from the English democracy,
and on the division being taken the representatives of
labor in the House were in opposing lobbies on the
question. A circular signed by Mr. C. Sheath, Secretary
pro tem. of the Channel Tunnel Company, clearly stated
the objects of the Bill voted on, i.e., “To authorise the
promoters to prosecute the experimental works which they
have commenced at their own cost under authority granted
�4
THE CHANNEL TUNNEL.
by Parliamant in 1874, to test the practicability of con
structing a tunnel beneath the Straits of Dover”; and
explained that “the Bill empowers her Majesty’s Govern
ment, in the event of the experimental works proving
successful, to sanction the prosecution of permanent works
under such conditions and safeguards as the Government
in their absolute discretion may impose. The experi
mental works for which permission is now sought will be
made upon the promoters’ own property and at their own
cost. The public are not asked to contribute towards the
work, which will not impose any pecuniary obligation
upon the country.”
I, however, quite admit that those who are prepared
to support the experimental works ought also to be pre
pared—in the event of these workings proving successful
•—to authorise the construction of a complete working
tunnel, and that any objections which might be valid as
against the complete undertaking ought to be admitted
as conclusive against the experimental proposal. I am
personally in favor of the Channel Tunnel because I
believe it would promote peaceful relations between the
peoples of France and England. I am not a shareholder
in either the French or English scheme solely because I
have not the pecuniary means to acquire shares.
I believe that peaceful relations between Great Britain
and Europe would be rendered more probable by the
facilities afforded for commercial intercommunication. I
hold that the more peoples trade with each other, the
more they know one another, the less likely they are to
fight one another. It is because I am in favor of peace
between France and England that I am in favor of the
Channel Tunnel. Here I only reaffirm what was so well
�THE CHANNEL TUNNEL.
5
•said by the late Richard Cobden, speaking on this very
question of a tunnel between England and the Continent:
“It is not enough to put the Government and the higher
■classes of each country on a friendly footing; that good
feeling ought to penetrate the masses of the two nations ;
and it is our duty to multiply all the means for an inces
sant contact, which will certainly put an end to super
annuated prejudices and old ideas of antagonism?’
The horribly increased and always augmenting Euro
pean army and navy expenditure of the last twenty-five
years, the British share of which Lord Randolph Churchill
now strongly denounces, can only be efficiently checked by
concurrent and decided peace action on the part of all
European peoples. The great need for early disarming is
admitted. The peaceful co-operation of France and
England would enable each, relying on the other’s good
will, to waste less money in warlike preparations. It is
in this interest that I support the proposed submarine
pathway between this island and the Continent. I believe
that increased facilities for friendly intercourse would pro
mote and secure the peaceful co-operation I desire.
Something has already been done towards showing that
the Channel betwixt Kent and the Pas de Calais can be
tunnelled. Last year I visited the works, near Shakspere’s
Cliff, on the west of Dover, and penetrated under the sea to
the place where the engine, worked by compressed air, had
bored from England through the greyish clay chalk If miles
in the direction of France. I found the piece of tunnel
already executed quite dry; the air was perfectly pure, the
ventilation being provided by the compressed air which
works theboringmachine; and the work of tunnelling—which
under the supervision of a Government official was allowed
�6
THE CHANNEL TUNNEL.
to be continued for a few seconds—seemed astonishingly
easy, as the revolution of the machine cut the chalk away
and delivered it into the waggon behind ready for removal..
The experimental tunnel is bored in the strata which are sup
posed to represent the continuous earth surface—between
what are now the coasts of France and England—in pre
historic times when the land, now these islands, formed,
part of the great European continent. Messieurs Lavalley,
Larousse, Potier, and Lapparent, in their report to theFrench Channel Tunnel Company, presented in 1877, say:
“Examination of the cliffs on each coast of the Straitsshows that the geological strata are the same in the area
which concerns us, and which includes especially thecretaceous formation. On both sides are the same strata,
with the same characteristics, and, remarkable to say, with,
the same thickness. Hence the presumption—authorised
indeed by other considerations—that in the prehistoricperiod, instead of an arm of the sea, separating two coasts,
there stretched here a continuous, more or less undulating,
plain, between the points at which have since been built
Calais and Boulogne on the one side, Folkestone and Doveron the other. According to this hypothesis, the Straits
would be due to the gradual erosion of a soil of slight
consistency, such as the cretaceous formation in general,
which yielded before the ceaseless repetition of blows from,
the waves of the Northern Sea, a sea so stormy during therougher months of the year. From this we gather thehope that the strata encountered beneath the sea, through
which the tunnel must be driven, will be free from seriousdislocations, and will only present slight undulations to
which it will generally be possible to conform the plan of.'
the subterranean railway without any great difficulty.
�THE CHANNEL TUNNEL.
7
“ This hope is confirmed by the following circumstance:
the strata of the chalk formation on the two sides of the
Straits, although thrown out of the horizontal plane they
first occupied, have not acquired a steep inclination. The
inclination is always slight. Over the greater part of the
area of the Straits, starting from France, the gradient is
but f, a fact that seems to indicate that the force of the
upheaval which threw the strata out of the horizontal
plane was not violent.”
I am told that on the French side a similar boring
to the one which I visited near Dover has been
made towards this country, so that about one-eighth
of the experimental work has already been executed.
Why is it not continued to completion? The promoters
on both sides are ready enough; the French Government
is willing; but the British Government—influenced as I
think by the worst form of national prejudice—absolutely
forbids further working on this side, and the French are
of course unwilling to continue costly works—which can
only be completed with our full consent—until that con
sent is officially secured. The only reason for objecting to
the Channel Tunnel is that it will render us specially
liable to invasion. Some contend that the Tunnel will
not pay ; but that, as the British Government said thirteen
years ago, is rather the business of those who, believing
in the probabilities of its financial success, are willing to
risk their moneys in the hope of reasonable financial
profit. The war danger is the only cry to which the
democracy need pay any attention. When the matter
was discussed between the Governments of Great Britain
and France thirteen years ago, this war danger was
examined by the Government of the day of this country
�8
THE CHANNEL TUNNEL.
and dismissed as not serious. In a despatch from the
Foreign Office to Count de Jarnac, the French Ambassador,
dated 24th December, 1874, the Earl of Derby wrote that
“Her Majesty’s Government consider that it is for the
promoters of the undertaking to weigh well the questions
of the physical possibility of the undertaking, and its
probable financial success; but they see no objection to
the proposed preliminary concession to the French pro
moters, for the execution of the preliminary works, for
a term of three years, nor to the concession of five years
for making a definite contract with an English Company
for the completion of the undertaking, on the understand
ing that, should the promoters fail to fulfil these condi
tions, the land in England occupied by them, and the
works upon it, should revert to the Crown, or other present
owners thereof, so that the occupation of the land by a
Company which has failed, may not stand in the way of
any other undertaking.
“Her Majesty’s Government have no objection to offer
to the proposed grant to the promoters of a monopoly for
thirty years after the final completion of and opening of
the tunnel, nor to the concession itself extending to a
period of ninety-nine years from the same date, the ques
tion being reserved of some limitation being imposed as tothe date of the final completion.”
And it is clear that the military side of the question had
not been overlooked, for Lord Derby in a dispatch of the
same date to Lord Lyons says: “In regard to the refer
ence made in the papers received from Count de Jarnac
to the military necessities of either country, her Majesty’s
Government will only now observe that they must retain
absolute power not only to erect and maintain such works
�THE CHANNEL TUNNEL.
9
at the English mouth of the tunnel as they may deem
expedient, but also, should they apprehend danger of war,
or of intended war, to stop traffic through the tunnel; and
it remains to be considered whether they should not have
the right to exercise their power without claim for com
pensation.”
Nor was the military question neglected or glossed
over, for two months later the following memorandum
was submitted to the Surveyor-General of Ordnance by
Sir W. Drummond Jervois, Deputy-Director of Works, on
3rd March, 1875, Sir Frederick Chapman being at that
time the Inspector-General of Fortifications :
‘1 Memorandum with Deference to the Proposed
Tunnel between England and France.
“ There appears to be no military objection to the pro
posed tunnel, provided due precautions be adopted.
“Should this country, in alliance with France, be at
war with another Continental power, the existence of the
tunnel might be advantageous.
“ Should this country be at war with France, the pro
posed tunnel could no doubt be readily closed. Having
regard, however, to the possibility of the tunnel being
unnecessarily injured under the influence of panic, and to
the probable cost of repairing such injury, it is desirable
to obviate, as far as possible, the necessity for adopting
extreme measures, and with this object to pay due regard
to defensive considerations in the construction of the
tunnel.
“ Moreover, unless proper military precautions be taken,
it might under some circumstances happen that France
might be able, in anticipation of a declaration of war, to
�10
THE CHANNEL TUNNEL.
send a body of troops through, the tunnel, and thus obtain
an important military advantage. Such a body of troops
could readily intrench themselves, and could be rapidly
reinforced.
“ If, however, suitable defensive arrangements are made,
such an undertaking would be impracticable, and even in
case of war being imminent, no fears need be entertained
which might lead to the partial destruction of this costly
work.”
In April, 1876, the French Ambassador at the Court of
St. James applied on behalf of La Societe Frangaise Concessionnaire du. Chemin de Fer Sous-Marin entre la France
et l’Angleterre for the permission of her Majesty’s Govern
ment to take soundings in British waters near Dover for
the purpose of ascertaining the nature of the bottom
of that part of the English Channel, and the Board of
Trade were informed by the Lords Commissioners of her
Majesty’s Treasury, on the 10th June following, that the
necessary application had been granted.
Although a Channel Tunnel Company, with Lord Stalbridge (then Lord R. Grosvenor) as chairman, had ob
tained an Act of Parliament in 1875 authorising the com
mencement of experimental tunnelling works, nothing was
really done by way of submarine boring from the English
coast until the summer of 1880, when the borings just
referred to were commenced by the South Eastern Railway,
which obtained special powers from Parliament in 1881
for continuing the work and purchasing the necessary
land. These works and powers were taken over and con
tinued in 1882 by the Submarine Continental Railway
Company, Limited. The new company, however, found
itself almost immediately interrupted in the work by the
�THE CHANNEL TUNNEL.
11
intervention of the English Government, such intervention
being the result of a panic created by military alarmists.
In August, 1881, the Board of Trade wrote to the
Admiralty that “ the work of forming a subway under
the Channel was making considerable progress ”, and
that “public susceptibility having been aroused as to
possible danger to this country from a tunnel under the
Channel”, the Board desired “to be fortified with the
opinion of the naval and military authorities ”.
In January, 1882, Admiral Cooper Key sounded the
panic trumpet, and did much to excite the opposition
which has, up to the present, proved fatally obstructive to
the progress of the English borings.
In May, 1882, a memorandum—most important because
issued after the panic opposition had got into full cry—
was issued by Sir John Adye, then Surveyor-General of
the Ordnance, embodying the report of a military com
mittee, presided over by General Sir A. Alison, which had
been instructed to consider “the means by which, sup
posing the Channel Tunnel completed, its use could be
interdicted to an enemy in time of war ”. Sir J. Adye says :
“The military precautions necessary to provide against
such a contingency almost naturally divide themselves into
two parts:—1. The defence or command of the exit by
means of batteries and fortifications. 2. The closing or
destruction of the tunnel itself, either temporarily or per
manently, both as regards its land and submarine portions.
The Committee have dealt with both points in some
detail. As regards the former they urge, that whilst the
land portion of the tunnel should be constructed in the
vicinity of a fortress, it is also important that its exit
should lie outside but under the full command of the
�12
THE CHANNEL TUNNEL.
batteries in the outworks of the fortress itself. With
respect to the partial closing or entire destruction of the
tunnel, both in its land and submarine portions, the Com
mittee have entered into various details, and have made
numerous proposals by which, if necessary, these objects
may be accomplished. According to my judgment their
recommendations, both as to defence and closure, are
sound and practical, can be carried on without great cost
or difficulty, and will amply suffice for the objects in view.
I agree with them that the general line of the land portion
of the tunnel had better be constructed not far from the
lines of a fortress, whilst the exit should also be under
the command of the guns of its outworks. Such a dis
position of the tunnel will facilitate the arrangements in
respect to the preparation of mines, etc., whilst a full
command of the mouth will render its use or occupation
by an enemy practically impossible. The various details
and proposals of the Committee as to obstruction and
closure, partial or permanent, are such as, I think, will
commend themselves to engineers, civil or military, as
being efficacious for the purpose; and I would further
point out that whilst they are comparatively simple, it is
evident they can be multiplied indefinitely, and have the
further advantage, that the possession of the tunnel and
its exit by an enemy would not prevent their being carried
into effect; and even should some of them fail, such a
contingency would not necessarily entail the failure of
others. The means of obstruction, in short, are not only
various but are independent of each other, and many of
them could be improvised or multiplied even at the last
moment. Nothing, indeed, is more obvious than the
facility with which the tunnel can be denied to an enemy,
�THE CHANNEL TUNNEL.
13>
by means which no vigilance on his part could prevent or
remove.” And yet the British democracy are in 1887
asked to reject the tunnel scheme because a real or
counterfeit fear, in any case begotten of ignorance and
prejudice, has seized on some of our “great generals”
and hysterical journalists.
In April, 1883, a joint Select Committee of the Lords,
and Commons, five members from each House, was.
appointed ‘ ‘ to inquire whether it is expedient that Par
liamentary sanction should be given to a submarine com
munication between England and France ; and to consider
whether any or what conditions should be imposed by
Parliament in the event of such communication being
sanctioned
This Committee, presided over by the
Marquis of Lansdowne, held fifteen sittings, but although
several draft reports were prepared none was accepted,
but the majority of the Committee, six against four, wereof “opinion that it is not expedient that Parliamentary
sanction should be given to a submarine communication
between England and France
The minority report pre
sented by Lord Lansdowne is a paper of remarkable
ability, and sets out with great clearness the reasons for
and against the proposed tunnel.
General Sir Edward Hamley, M.P., who rose to speak
against the tunnel, as I rose to speak in its favor, but who
did not deliver his speech for the same reason which kept
me silent, wrote a letter to the Times, which the editor,
also hostile to the tunnel, says, “contrasts the position of
an invading army which had succeeded in effecting a
landing before a tunnel was formed with that of such
an army in the event of a tunnel being constructed—its
helplessness and peril, the difficulty in getting supplies
�14
THE CHANNEL TUNNEL.
or reinforcements, the risk that we should again obtain
command of the Channel in the former case, and the power
to draw indefinite supplies through the tunnel in the latter
case. The letter brings into relief the fact that even if we
succeeded in preventing an invader from coming on our
soil by means of this communication, it would be a great
.aid to invaders who had actually made good their footing
■otherwise.” 11 1 The possession of both ends would render
the invader independent of the sea. . . . Night and day
a stream of troops and supplies would be pouring through
the tunnel, possibly under the keels of our victorious but
helpless Channel fleet. Now, in this case—and I would
impress this point—it would no longer be a contest between
two armies, but between the entire military resources of
France on the one side and what we could oppose on the
other.’ Thus a tunnel makes hostile occupation, if not
invasion, easier.”
I submit that this is really carrying panic to madness
point, for, if an invading army, large enough and strong
enough to capture Dover, had landed otherwise than
through the tunnel, our state must have become so hope
less that discussion as to how such an enemy would get
supplies and reinforcement would cease to be material.
Such an army so invading England, otherwise than by the
tunnel, would be as dangerous to England whether or not
the tunnel existed.
The view now put forward by Sir E. Hamley was fully
raised and considered in 1883, and discussed in the
Minority Report of Lord Lansdowne, Lord Aberdare, the
Right Hon. W. E. Baxter, and Mr. Reel, now Speaker of
the House of Commons. The editor of the Times treats
Sir E. Hamley’s objection as not having been answered;
�THE CHANNEL TUNNEL.
15
but it was in truth exhaustively examined and completely
answered in that Report. In paragraph 92 the Report
examines seriatim the principal apprehensions expressed
for the safety of the tunnel. “ These are to the effect that
it might pass into the hands of an enemy—
“(1) By surprise, effected through the tunnel itself;
“(2) By surprise, effected by a force landed in the
neighborhood of the tunnel, with or without the aid of
troops passed through the tunnel;
11 (3) By surprise, facilitated by treachery;
“ (4) After investment by an invading force;
“ (5) By cession as the condition of a disastrous peace.”
All these apprehensions are really expressions of fear
of hostility from Prance. If anyone of these apprehen
sions had carried weight with Italy, Germany, or France,
the St. Gothard Tunnel, or the Mont Cenis Tunnel would
never have been made. The three suppositions, 1, 2, and
3, are possible in case of an attempt made by Frenchmen
when France and England are both at peace, and indeed
this is Lord Wolseley’s contention. “ The seizing of the
tunnel by a coup de main is, in my opinion,” says his lord
ship, “ a very simple operation, provided it he done without
any previous warning or intimation whatever by those who
wish to invade the country.” “My contention is, that
were a tunnel made, England, as a nation, could be
destroyed without any warning whatever, when Europe was in
a condition of profound peace............. the whole plan is based
upon the assumption of its being carried out during a time
of profound peace between the two nations, and whilst we
were enjoying life in the security and unsuspicion of a
fool’s paradise.”
My short answer to this wild contention is that all
�16
THE CHANNEL TUNNEL.
intercourse between nations would be impossible and
life would be unendurable, if in time of “ profound
peace ” we are always to treat neighboring nations as ever
ready without provocation to suddenly assail our shores in
order to rob and destroy. The European experience of
the past century is entirely against the monstrous con
tention put forward by Lord Wolseley that Erance might
suddenly surprise us whilst we were in peace and alliance
with her and all European powers. It is an insult to
suspect our French neighbors of any such possible treason.
The repetition of such insulting suspicions is in itself a
provocation. In modern times there is no instance of
any outbreak of hostilities between two great powers
which has not been preceded at least by rumors and ex
pressions of uneasiness and highly strained diplomatic
negotiations on the points likely to culminate in rupture of
peaceful relations. Yet, except on such a traitorous sur
prise, Lord Wolseley himself guarantees the safety of the
tunnel, for he says that, if sufficient notice were to be
given, “fifty men at the entrance of the tunnel can pre
vent an army of 100,000 men coming through it ”.
The strongest military objections to the proposed tunnel
are those stated with considerable literary skill, heightened
by strong flavor of romance, in the long Memorandum of
Adjutant-General Sir Garnet (now Lord) Wolseley, dated
16th June, 1882. The weight of Lord Wolseley’s objec
tions on military grounds is a little weakened by the
almost special pleading in which he indulges on the com
mercial and diplomatic aspects of the question. The
whole attitude of Lord Wolseley towards the Channel
tunnel is that of an advocate who has a very hostile
brief. He is not in this memorandum a serious military
�THE CHANNEL TUNNEL,
17
counsellor, warning his countrymen against real dangers.
He has recourse to poetry, pathos, general denunciation of
treaties as valueless, and to tricks of curiously irrelevant
appeal to national passion and national fear.
Every objection stated by Lord Wolseley was seriously
weighed by Lord Lansdowne and those who concurred in
the minority report.
‘‘With regard to the possibility of seizing the English
end of the tunnel by means of a small force landed in its
neighborhood,” Lord Lansdowne and those concurring
with him report: “we have endeavored to ascertain pre
cisely the conditions, of which the presence would be
indispensable if such an attempt were to have any chance
of success. Those conditions would, we understand, be
the following:
“(1.) It would be necessary that the invading force
should be despatched with absolute secrecy.
“ (2.) That it should cross the Channel unobserved and
unmolested by our fleet.
“ (3.) That the state of the weather should offer no
difficulties to the disembarcation.
“(4.) That its landing should be effected without
hindrance.
“ (5.) That it should advance without molestation from
the point at which it might be landed to the works by
which the exit of the tunnel would be protected.
“(6.) That it should find the garrison in a state of
absolute unpreparedness.
“(7.) That it should succeed in carrying by a simul
taneous rush the whole of the various works surrounding
the exit of the tunnel.
“ (8.) That this capture should be effected so rapidly as
�18
THE CHANNEL TUNNEL.
to render it impossible for the defenders of those works
to have recourse to any of the means which would be
in existence for the purpose of closing or destroying the
tunnel, or, that the whole of those means should simul
taneously chance to be out of working order.
“ That every one of these conditions should be present
at the same time appears to us most improbable. We
can well conceive that, with the rapid communications
now available for the movement of troops by land or sea,
a force such as that contemplated might be collected and
despatched, and possibly reach our coasts without warn
ing. That its landing, formation, and forward movement
could altogether escape detection we can scarcely conceive.
It would, we learn from Admiral Rice, take twelve hours,
even under the most favorable conditions, and assuming
the landing to be unresisted, to land 20,000 men, the force
contemplated by Sir Lintorn Simmons. Such a force could
not, however, in Admiral Rice’s opinion, be landed with
out attracting attention. A smaller body could, of course,
be landed with greater rapidity, but the diminution of
its numbers would not increase its chance of success. A
force of 1,000 men could, Sir Cooper Key informs us, be
landed under favorable circumstances in an hour; ‘the
larger the number of men,’ however, this witness adds,
‘ the more the difficulties that would arise against the
time, but I have no hesitation in saying, that if they were
equipped for it, with boats properly prepared, and a good
clear beach, they could land 10,000 men under ten hours.’
That such a force, or one approaching to it in strength,
should be able to traverse without detection or hindrance,
the distance intervening between the point of landing and
the exit of the tunnel, which, unless the recommendations
�THE CHANNEL TUNNEL.
19
of the military committee are altogether disregarded,
would be at a considerable distance from the shore,
appears to us difficult to conceive; were it to be detected,
and the alarm given, the complete surprise of the garrisons
of the different forts would no longer be possible.”
One most extraordinary objection to the tunnel was
gravely urged before the joint Committee of Lords find
Commons in the evidence by the late Mr. Eckroyd, M.P.
for Preston, in answer to a suggestive question from the
Earl of Devon : “ Earl of Devon : You spoke of the
probable influence you anticipated from the introduction
of Erench labor upon the pecuniary interests of the British
workman in the manufacturing departments of industry
with which you are concerned; does it occur to you that any
other evil might arise by the spread of Socialistic or Com
munistic views from an increased intercourse between the
large body of French and English workmen ?—Mr E.:
That is an apprehension that is very often felt; and I
believe we have found that, specially in periods of slack
ness of employment and discontent, there would be an
active propaganda of an Atheistic and Socialistic kind ”
As though any ideas now circulated in France or on the
Continent could be hindered from permeating here by
mere refusal to construct a submarine tunnel! Lord
"Wolseley and the Duke of Cambridge fear that French
soldiers may conquer us bodily, coming for that purpose
secretly through the tunnel. The Earl of Devon and
Mr. Eckroyd have like fears of French Atheists and
Socialists, who would find in the Channel tunnel a con
venient conduit-pipe for their propaganda!
The great plague of Europe just now, and one that has
been increasing in its virulence and oppressiveness for the
�20
THE CHANNEL TUNNEL.
last quarter of a century, is the huge waste of men and
material in every European country in preparing for armed
offence and defence. If the figures compiled by Mr. Lewis
Appleton are correct, then during the year ending 31st
December, 1886, Europe had under arms, not including
reserves, no less than 4,123,675 men, and the European
forces available for war, including reserves, were 16,697,484.
In 1886 Europe spent on army and navy no less than
£187,474,522. Unless there be disarmament, there must
be fierce war or terrible revolution. The burden of in
creasing taxation is too continuously heavy for long
peaceful bearing. The rulers find pride and pomp in the
controlling and array of huge masses of armed men. It
is the peoples who pay and suffer.
Commerce is an eloquent peace preacher; the frequent
and more complete intermingling of unarmed peoples
begets distaste for war; national prejudices die away
under frequent contact; explanations are easier as peoples
know one another better. I am in favor of this Channel
tunnel because it will give to us in this island easier moans
of seeing our European brethren in their own cities. It
will afford to the folk of France the opportunity of knnwing for themselves that the English workmen do not desire
quarrel or war.
�
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Victorian Blogging
Description
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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Pamphlet
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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The Channel Tunnel : ought the democracy to oppose it or support it?
Creator
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Bradlaugh, Charles [1833-1891]
Description
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 20 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
Publisher
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A. Bonner
Date
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1887
Identifier
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N082
Subject
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International relations
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<a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (The Channel Tunnel : ought the democracy to oppose it or support it?), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span>
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application/pdf
Type
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Text
Language
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English
Channel Tunnel
France
Great Britain-Foreign Relations-France
NSS